by Jess Foley
Chapter Two
Just over a week later, Lily returned home from her work at the Mellers’ and found her father in the kitchen. On Saturdays he worked only half days. He was alone in the house. Mrs Clair had taken Dora into Shearley, a village some little distance away. Tom was at the farm.
‘I’m just going down to get a few apples,’ Mr Clair said to Lily as she came in. He took up a basket, and an earthenware bowl. ‘And maybe a few blackberries too.’ He towered over her; she just came up to his shoulder. ‘You want to come with me?’
She accepted eagerly, and together they left the house, and with Mr Clair leading, went in single file down the narrow garden path. The afternoon was warm, with a fresh and fragrant breeze. Birds cheeped in the trees, and butterflies danced and tumbled over the shrubbery. In the week since her father had given her the news that she would not return to her apprenticeship at the school, he had spoken no further word on the matter. For her part, she had not dared ask more. She would learn everything in due course, she knew, though in the meantime the disappointment, the doubts and the questions had hung upon her like a cloak. All of it, the change in the family’s situation, she felt sure, must have to do with Seedley’s tile factory.
Today, as she followed her father’s broad shoulders down the narrow cinder path a little trace of her disappointment and sorrow was alleviated. It was for the simple reason that she was with him, alone. And today he did not appear quite so stern; she had discerned a warmth in his manner that she did not often see. But there, the atmosphere around the house was always more relaxed when Mrs Clair was not present.
Very soon they came to the orchard, a narrow strip of land at the end of the kitchen garden with a scattering of fruit trees. Hardly worth calling an orchard, her father would say. Together, Lily and Mr Clair gathered a number of wind-fall apples and put them into the basket, then went to the edge of the plot where the brambles grew lushly over the weather-beaten fence. The berries were thick on the stems, and although most of them were still red, a good number were a deep, luscious black. All the ripe ones went into the bowl, except for one particularly large one, which Mr Clair held out on his palm to Lily. ‘There you are, Lily,’ he said. ‘This un’s too good for the pie.’ Lily took the blackberry and put it into her mouth. It had the sweetest taste, and for that moment, if she could have held an instant in her life it would have been this one, this moment of being alone with him, with the taste of the blackberry on her tongue.
‘When we go indoors,’ her father said, ‘we’ll make us a nice cup o’ tea. And we’ll have a slice of your mam’s apple pie.’ His words continued the music in Lily’s ears, not for the promise of the pie, but for the closeness that was there. She wanted it never to end.
She was stretching up to reach one of the bramble stems, when he said to her, ‘Leave that for a minute. I want to talk to you.’
She stopped her action and turned to him.
‘Listen to me,’ he said.
She nodded, waiting. It was like the scene of a week before, when on the hearthrug he had given her the news that had proved so disheartening.
‘I wanted a chance to talk to you,’ he said, ‘when nobody else is about.’ He paused. ‘Now, Lily,’ he went on, ‘I told you last week that it’s just not possible for you to go back to school in September and go on training for a teacher . . .’
She nodded. ‘Yes, Father.’
‘And indeed I’m very sorry to have had to tell you such a thing. But as I said, the fact of the matter is that we just can’t afford it any more. Not,’ he added quickly, ‘that we were able to well afford it in the first place, but we got the little grant from the government, and that helped out a bit. And, as I said, I’ve always wanted the best for you, so we were willing to make sacrifices to see that you got the best. But now – well, it’s not so easy. We’ve got Dora to think of as well, and she’s growing fast. She’ll be starting school next month. And there’s your brother too, of course. He’s not cheap to keep, and he’ll be at school for a while yet. It all adds up.’ He sighed. ‘The truth is, times are hard, and are gunna get harder.’
Lily wanted to say, Is it Seedley’s that’s the trouble? but she did not dare, and kept silent.
Then her father said, answering her unspoken question, ‘There’s been talk, I know, and you might well have heard it. Fact is, there’ve been sackings at the factory. I know your mam wouldn’t agree with my telling you all this, but you’ve got to know. You’re not a little child – you’re old enough and smart enough to understand the situation. And the situation’s not the best. I’ve kept my job, thank the Lord, but at a much reduced wage, and God alone knows whether it’ll ever go back to what it was before. I couldn’t do anything about it. It was either accept it, or leave and try to find something else – which is out of the question. Times are not easy right now – anyone’ll tell you that.’
Lily stood silent before him on the grass. A dragonfly hovered for a moment by her shoulder and then darted away over the brambles. She was astonished that her father would tell her such things, confide in her so.
‘I’m lucky to have a job at all,’ he said. ‘Others haven’t been so fortunate. Ted Carwin was one of those to go, as was Mr Dilke.’ He added quickly, ‘Mind you, what I’m telling you here is not to be broadcast. It’s for your ears alone. Don’t you go telling the Mellers or any of your friends or anybody.’
‘Of course not, Father.’ She felt a little touch of pride that he had confided in her, though his words merely confirmed that her dream was irrevocably shattered.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘– so now you know.’
A few moments of silence, then Lily said, ‘So – so what am I to do, then, Father? I don’t know if Mrs Meller’d want me all year long. She might, though. I could ask her.’
‘No, you won’t be staying with the Mellers,’ he said shortly. He looked across towards the garden, avoiding her gaze. ‘We’re making other arrangements for you, your mam and me.’
‘Making other arrangements?’
‘That’s what your mam’s doing now. She’s gone off to meet Mrs Haskin, from Whitton.’
‘Mrs Haskin – who used to live here in the lane?’
‘Ah, that’s right. Before her husband inherited the share in the carriage company and they moved to Whitton.’
‘I remember them. They were old friends of yours.’
‘Well, he was, in particular. Roger Haskin. Oh, I’ll say. We’ve known each other since we were boys.’
‘Yes,’ Lily said, ‘I remember your saying. You were even in the military together.’
‘We were indeed. They were great days, those days in the Fusiliers. He’s a fine chap, is Roger Haskin. The best friend a man ever had.’
Lily had been made aware of the couple from time to time, though they had not lived in Compton Wells for a number of years. Middle-aged and childless, they were frequently referred to, and were established as old friends, and on one occasion a few years back Mrs Haskin had returned to the village and called in for tea. Lily remembered her as tall, with a large, plump frame, and a wide, smiling mouth; she had made a fuss of baby Dora. ‘What about Mrs Haskin, Father?’ Lily said. ‘Why is Mother seeing her about me?’
Before Mr Clair had a chance to reply, there came a distant call from the direction of the house, and he said, ‘Ah, there’s your mother and Dora come back. We’d best get up to the house. Don’t say anything more for the present. We’ll talk again soon.’
Later, in the scullery, Lily was set to washing Dora and getting her into her nightdress for the hour or so remaining before she took her up to bed. As she worked, she could hear her father and stepmother’s low, murmuring voices coming from the kitchen. When she went into the room with Dora, though, their conversation abruptly changed its tone.
Tom came back from the farm a little after six, and when Dora had gone off to sleep upstairs the four of them sat down to eat. Afterwards, Lily carried the dishes out to the scullery and began to
wash them. As she stood at the sink, her father came in from the kitchen.
‘It’s settled,’ he said. ‘It’s all settled now. You’ll be going to Mr and Mrs Haskin at Whitton.’
Lily put down the dish she was washing and turned to him. ‘Go to – to Mr and Mrs Haskin . . .?’ She had begun to fear something like this. ‘It’s all arranged?’
‘Yes. You’re to go as general maid. Mrs Haskin needs help around the place. The maid she had has just left and she’s lookin’ for another one.’
Lily stood in silence, letting the news sink in. ‘How long must I go for?’ she asked.
‘How long? Well, that remains to be seen.’ There was a certain brusqueness in his manner, an awkwardness in giving the unwelcome news. ‘At least for three or four years, I should reckon. After that we can think about it.’
‘Three or four years. But – but a girl’s petty place – when she first goes off into service – it’s usually for no more than a year. And if – ’
‘It’s not the same,’ he broke in shortly ‘You’re going to friends. It’s not the same thing at all.’
‘Oh, Father – must I go?’
‘Yes,’ he said sternly, ‘you must. I told you, it’s all settled. And it’s true what your mam says: look at your old school-friends – those girls were going into service at twelve and thirteen. You should be grateful we let you stay on as long as you did. And what else is there for you to do? You’ve got to start bringing something in and paying your share.’
‘Oh, I want to do that,’ Lily said, ‘but – couldn’t I go somewhere local? Oh, let me ask Mrs Meller – see if she’d keep me on full time.’
‘I told you, it’s all settled. Besides, the Mellers don’t pay enough. The bit extra you get from the Haskins will come in very handy – specially in times like these.’
‘But Father –’
‘Enough!’ he said sharply. ‘It’s done. You go Sunday, a week tomorrow.’
When the Sunday came, Lily helped her stepmother get the midday dinner, and afterwards, when the dishes had been washed and put away, got into her second-best dress and put on her bonnet. Near the time of her leaving, her father came up to her room and hoisted up the box she had packed over the previous days, and carried it downstairs. It was not so heavy, for she owned little.
Tom was at the farm and not there to see her off, but they had made their sad goodbyes earlier. He had said little in words, but she could see from the way he pressed his lips together, and feel from the hard grip of his hand that he was deeply moved. Now there was just Dora and her stepmother. Lily bent to her half-sister and kissed her on the cheek, and then turned to her stepmother. ‘Well – goodbye, Mother.’
‘You don’t need to look so long in the face,’ Mrs Clair said. She made no move to embrace her stepdaughter but stood with her arms folded over her flat bosom. ‘You’re only going to Whitton, you’re not going to Timbuktu. You’ll soon have a chance to come back and see us.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘And listen – don’t write home asking us to send things. And don’t forget what we arranged – you remember to send something when you get your first pay.’
‘I won’t forget.’ In addition to her board and lodging, Lily was to receive twelve pounds a year, paid to her in quarterly sums, and it had been agreed that she would send a portion of her wages back home, to help out. The little that was left, she could keep for herself.
When it was time, Lily took her little portmanteau, and with her father carrying her box on his shoulder, they walked to the crossroads where they caught an omnibus to the station and got on the train. When eventually they arrived in Whitton they took one of the station flys, and after a short journey the vehicle turned at a crossroads and slowed in front of an old house.
‘Well, here we are,’ Mr Clair said, and moments later he and Lily were standing outside the carriage and looking at the house which, for the foreseeable future, was to be Lily’s home.
The house, Hollygrove, was situated on the Corster Road, some little distance from the centre of the small town of Whitton. It had a slate roof, and timber and plaster walls that were partly covered by ivy. It stood apart from the dwellings on either side with the space taken up by a small paddock on one side, and a large kitchen garden on the other. In the front garden, shrubbery grew thickly around an area of patchy grass.
‘Well, come on, then.’ As the fly began to turn in the road, Mr Clair pushed open the gate, and together they made their way around the side of the house to a green-painted door. There Mr Clair set the box down at his feet and knocked.
The door was opened by Mrs Haskin, who beamed at them and said expansively, ‘Well, here you are. Do come in.’ She stepped back, and Mr Clair, carrying Lily’s box, stepped into the kitchen. ‘You might as well take your things upstairs at once,’ Mrs Haskin said. ‘Come along.’ Moving ahead of them, she led the way into the main hall and up two flights of stairs to a small attic room at the top of the house. ‘Here we are,’ she said as Lily came up onto the landing. ‘I think you’ll be comfortable here.’
Inside the little room, Lily put down her portmanteau, and her father set down the box. Mrs Haskin watched from just inside the doorway, and nodded her approval. ‘Good. Now come on downstairs and we’ll have some tea.’ She turned to Mr Clair. ‘I’ve got the kettle on, Edwin, and I’m sure you could do with a cup.’ Mr Clair thanked her, but said he wouldn’t stop as he had left the fly waiting outside. ‘I told Annie I’d get the next train back,’ he said.
‘Oh, well, if you can’t stay,’ Mrs Haskin said, stepping out onto the small landing. ‘I’m sure Lily’ll want to see you off, then.’
The three of them made their way downstairs to the hall, where Mrs Haskin opened the front door, saying, ‘Now you have a good journey back, Edwin, and don’t you worry about your girl. She’ll be fine.’ She turned to Lily, raised her hand and gently pinched the girl’s cheek. ‘We’re going to get along just grand, I know we are.’
The open front door revealed the fly standing by the front gates. When Mrs Haskin had made her farewells to Mr Clair, she said she would see Lily in a minute and then turned and headed back towards the kitchen. Lily and her father went out to where the carriage waited at the roadside.
‘Well, Lily,’ Mr Clair said, ‘you look after yourself, won’t you?’
‘I will, Father.’
‘And be a good girl and do as you’re told, all right?’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘And mind you’re a credit to me – you will be, won’t you?’
‘I will.’
‘Good. Don’t you be doing or saying anything that’ll reflect badly. But you wouldn’t do that anyway, would you – smart girl like you?’
‘I’ll do my best, Father, really I will.’
‘Ah, I’m sure you will, and I’m sure your best’ll be good enough – if you want it to be. You’ve got a clever head on your shoulders, you’ve got a willing spirit, and a capable pair of hands. I don’t think as Mrs Haskin can ask for more.’ He glanced back towards the house. ‘You’ll get on all right with her, I’m sure. She’s a nice enough woman, and her husband, Roger, is an absolute champ.’ He nodded endorsement of his words, and touched at the collar of his shirt. ‘I must go or I’ll miss my train.’
He bent and gave Lily a peck on the cheek. ‘Well, g’bye, girl. You be good now.’
‘Goodbye, Father.’
He climbed in and closed the door after him, and a moment later the vehicle was starting away. As the rough little carriage moved off along the road Lily felt a tightness in her throat and the sting of tears in her eyes. She stood watching until the cab had gone out of sight around the bend.
She was still standing there a minute later when from behind her came Mrs Haskin’s voice calling out, ‘Well, are you gunna stay out there all day, young lady? Because there’s things to be done.’
The words shook Lily out of her preoccupation, and she turned and saw Mrs Haskin just c
losing the front door. Without wasting a moment, Lily moved around the side of the house to the rear door. As she stepped inside, Mrs Haskin said, ‘And if you’re looking for a drink of tea, dear, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait and make do with water. I’d have made some tea for your father, but since he decided not to bother, we shan’t be bothering either. You can have some later with your supper. Now,’ Mrs Haskin stood before her, hands clasping the dish towel over her girth, ‘I suggest you go upstairs and get changed into your working frock and your pinny. Then you come on down and I’ll tell you what your duties are gunna be. Maybe then we can get summat done.’
Lily spent the next hour in chores around the house, and then, shortly after six o’clock, Mr Haskin came in. His shadow darkened the open scullery doorway for a moment as he stepped into the room, his glance at once falling on Lily. ‘I reckon there’s gunna be some rain,’ he said, looking curiously at her. Then with a nod and a smile he said, ‘Hello, young miss.’
Lily gave a little bob, and said, ‘Mr Haskin, sir.’
He was a broad shouldered man of medium height, thick dark hair turning grey. Looking to be in his mid-forties, he was quite clearly some ten or so years younger than his wife. He was quite good-looking, with a strong nose, heavy dark brows, and a wide, generous mouth. He stood there with his hat in his hand looking Lily up and down.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘so we’ve got our new little maid. Though not so little really. How old are you, young lady?’
‘Fifteen, sir.’
‘Fifteen, eh. And you’re Edwin’s girl.’
‘Yes, sir.’
He nodded again. ‘You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t remember you from when we lived at Compton. I reckon you must have been knee-high to a grasshopper when I saw you last.’ He smiled warmly at her. ‘Anyway, it’s nice to have you here. We can do with some decent help after that useless little minx Kitty went off. Have you heard about her?’