No Wings to Fly

by Jess Foley

  ‘No,’ he said at once. ‘No, we’re not. Don’t say that.’

  ‘I must,’ she replied. ‘We’ve got to be sensible.’ Then with a sad smile she added, ‘It’s a perennial situation – and a perennial problem too – the rich man’s son and the maid.’

  A look of sadness darkened his face. ‘Is that how it is?’ he said. ‘Is that how you see it – as simply as that?’

  ‘I – I can’t escape from it. It’s something I have to face. Something we have to face.’

  ‘Yes, we. Something we’ll face together.’

  They fell silent, and the only sounds were that of their breathing, the scratching of the mice in the straw, and the drumming of the rain on the roof, a little fainter now. Then into the gentle quiet, Joel said, a little sound of wonder in his voice:

  ‘I – I think I love you, Lily.’

  He was not touching her now. His hands lay at his sides, but his eyes were piercing her own, not allowing her to shift her glance away, even had she wanted to. She looked back at him, held there by his words and his gaze, and feeling her heart beating with joy: so full of emotion and happiness that she felt that, like a cup, it might fill to the brim and spill over.

  ‘No,’ he said then, ‘I don’t think I love you. I know I do.’ He gave the briefest pause. ‘I love you. Oh, Lily, I love you.’

  She held her breath. His words were the most wondrous sounds she had ever heard, and she wanted to say, I too. Oh, I love you, Joel. And even as she stifled the words in her throat she knew that they were the truth.

  ‘I can see,’ he said, gazing at her, a faint smile on his lips, ‘I can see it in your face. Something . . . Oh, Lily,’ he breathed her name, ‘if you would say such words to me, I would be the happiest man in England.’

  She frowned. ‘I – I’m afraid,’ she murmured.

  ‘Afraid? Of me?’

  ‘No, not of you. Never of you. Of – our situation. As I said, we’re oceans apart.’

  ‘It will be all right,’ he said. ‘You’ll see. I’ll make it so.’ He leant forward a little. ‘Do you believe me?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I do.’

  And then he was holding her in his arms again, and his face was there, his mouth upon hers, and as his lips moved against her own a little voice in her head said yes, everything would be well; it was true what he said, and she must believe. Everything would be all right; he would make it so. And hearing the silent, sweet, comforting words, she took them and embraced them, and gave herself up to his kiss.

  For long, long minutes they had remained close together on the bale, arms entwined. Joel had kissed her over and over again, murmuring her name, and, caught up in the spell, she had been for a while almost unaware of anything else. There had been only him. In the whole world there was only the two of them.

  But now, turning a little out of his embrace, she became aware of the changed silence and realised that the rain had ceased. How long had they been there?

  ‘The rain,’ she said, ‘it’s stopped.’

  They sat listening to the quiet for a few moments, then, coming out of the spell, she said, frowning, ‘I must go. Joel, I must go,’ and with her words she stirred, preparing to rise. ‘No, wait,’ he urged her, ‘we don’t need to go just yet.’ But she got up from the bale, and began to brush the dust and the threads of hay from her skirt.

  Minutes later they were outside, and stepping onto the muddy track that led back down to the lane.

  Reaching the end of the lane, they waited interminable minutes for an omnibus, and when at long last one came by Joel hailed it and they climbed aboard. Inside the coach they sat side by side without speaking while the other passengers came and went. Lily felt different. She would never, she thought, be quite the same again.

  When the vehicle reached the corner of Willow Street she and Joel alighted, and set off towards the Haskins’ house. The day was dying, the light fading over the rain-wet landscape. Her hand was held in Joel’s as they walked, and she had taken off her glove, so as to feel the touch of him against her skin. Soon, too soon, they reached the corner of the lane that joined the Corster Road. Hollygrove was so close.

  When they drew near the house, Lily halted a few yards from the front gate and said, ‘Oh, no further. Don’t come any further.’

  They stood together on the cinder pathway. The light was swiftly fading now. ‘I’ll write to you,’ Joel said.

  ‘Yes. Yes, write to me. I’ll wait for your letter.’

  He gazed down at her. In the fading light his eyes were shadowed, dark pools. ‘How shall I manage?’ he said. ‘I managed perfectly well before, but now – now that I’ve found you – everything is different.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know.’ And she did.

  ‘All I’ll have is my little drawing of you, but it’s better than nothing. Though I shan’t need to be reminded to think of you.’ He smiled gravely. ‘In time we shall be together. I know it. For ever.’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’

  He bent his face to kiss her, and for a moment she was minded to resist and say, Oh, no, not here, but she kept silent, and the kiss came and then she could not have uttered a word.

  After a few moments he drew back. Raising her ungloved hand, she touched at her lapel, feeling for the flowers, and said with a little moan, ‘Oh, my flowers, my gardenias – I’ve lost them.’ She bent her head to look down. Even the pin was gone.

  ‘I’ll bring you a real one,’ he said. ‘You shall have the prettiest there is.’

  She smiled. ‘You won’t forget.’ Half question, half statement.

  ‘No, I won’t forget.’

  She gave a little nod. ‘I must go,’ she said. ‘I’m so late.’ Another moment, drawing out the seconds, and then she was turning away, leaving him standing on the cinders.

  Inside the gate she turned up the gravel drive, and at the last minute looked back and saw him standing there. As their eyes locked, he lifted his hand to his mouth, and kissed the palm. She smiled back at him, and then he was gone from her sight.

  She entered the house by the scullery door, and went straight into the kitchen. From the front, the house had appeared to be in darkness, but Mr Haskin was there, sitting alone in his chair by the light of a single lamp, a glass and a bottle on the small table at his side.

  ‘Well,’ he said, as Lily came in, ‘the wanderer returns.’ He waved a hand towards the long-case clock. ‘Almost half-past-nine, look. I was thinking of sending out the peelers.’

  Acutely self-conscious, she felt as if she were drenched in the brightest light, and as if all her words and actions of the evening were written on her face, exposed in the glare for anyone to see. She was at a loss as to what to say. After a moment she asked, ‘Did you see Mrs Haskin, sir?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I didn’t. I’ve had a very solitary evening.’

  She hesitated on the spot, wanting to go, to be alone in her room, but not wishing to appear rude. She began to untie her bonnet strings. ‘Well, sir – I think I’ll go to bed if you don’t mind.’ Then she added quickly, ‘Unless there’s something you want doing, sir?’

  ‘What? No, nothing. You go on.’

  Lily nodded. ‘Well, sir – then I’ll wish you goodnight.’ Another moment’s hesitation then she moved across the room towards the hall. As she reached the door, she heard him say:

  ‘As I told you, I shall be having a word with Mr Carter and Mr Horsham next week.’

  She turned back to face him. ‘Oh – well – thank you, sir.’

  He took another drink from his glass. ‘Yes, we’ll see what they’ve got to say.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ She reached for the handle, then his voice came again:

  ‘My God, but you’re in a mighty hurry, aren’t you, miss?’

  She turned back to face him, awkward, uncertain. ‘Well – I’ve got to get up early in the morning, sir.’

  ‘Yes, I know that. It wouldn’t hurt you, though, to stay and talk for five minutes.’
He smiled. ‘You can at least be sociable. Doesn’t cost anything.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She gave a nod, remaining on the spot.

  He took another swallow from his glass. ‘As I said, I’ll have a word with Mr Horsham. Mr Carter too. I’m sure you could be quite an asset to have in the office – smart girl like you. And I’ve seen for meself that you write a good hand.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ She could think of nothing to say, and covered the awkward moments in taking off her bonnet.

  He watched her in silence for a second, then said, ‘Did you get caught in the rain earlier on?’

  ‘Yes, but I – I managed to get some shelter. I was all right.’

  ‘Good. It came on heavy for a spell.’

  ‘Yes – it did.’ She hovered there while the moments passed, then, her bonnet in her hand, reached out again for the door handle. ‘Goodnight, sir.’

  ‘You’re a fraud,’ he said. ‘You’re nothing but a fraud.’

  She turned back to him. ‘Sir?’

  ‘You – earlier, shakin’ your head when I asked if you had a young man.’ He was smiling, his eyes twinkling, slightly narrowed. ‘And there you are with one – right under our noses.’

  Lily felt herself flushing.

  ‘Yes, I saw you, the two of you. Not far from the gate.’ He gave a little chuckle. ‘Oh, Lily, my girl, you are a dark horse, and no mistake.’ He chuckled again. ‘And it made a very pretty picture, I have to say, the two of you standing there in the twilight.’

  Lily remained motionless, her cheeks burning.

  ‘I couldn’t help wondering who the young man might be . . .’ His words trailed off with the inflection of a question, and when Lily said nothing in reply, he added, ‘I just hope he’s a decent sort. After all, I’ve got some responsibility for you while you’re under my roof.’ He paused. ‘I’ve no doubt the young man’s fond of you, isn’t he? And why shouldn’t he be? – a pretty, personable young woman like you.’

  He continued to look at Lily as she stood at the door, her eyes cast down. Then, summoning her will, she said, ‘I’ve got to go, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll wish you goodnight.’

  He nodded. ‘Ah, and goodnight to you, Lily. Sleep well.’

  She heard his words with the greatest relief, and in moments she had opened the door and was passing through into the small hall beyond.

  Later, upstairs in her room, lying in bed, with the candle out, she put away from her mind the awkwardness with Mr Haskin, and thought back on the time she had spent with Joel. It was all there before her, everything, all the images of the day, the sights, the smells, the sounds. She thought of them sitting on the grass while he had sketched her portrait, she remembered the laughter of the spectators as Mr Punch had gone through his outrageous, murderous antics. She saw again the interior of the inn where, in the light through the coloured glass, she and Joel had sat over their venison pie. She saw them in the barn, and smelled again the old hay and straw, heard again the scratching of the mice in the shadows. And she thought again of Joel’s kiss, felt his mouth once more on hers, soft and warm, magical.

  And now he had gone, and in a very short time he would be in France. But their parting was not for ever. He had impressed this upon her, and she knew it was true. He would have leave from his university, and he would come back and see her, and eventually they would be together, for always.

  She turned, restless, feeling that sleep was a long way off. It was likely that tomorrow Mrs Haskin would return. Thinking of the woman, the thought came that Mr Haskin was sure to tell of his discovery about herself and Joel. How would Mrs Haskin react? She would not be approving, that much Lily was sure of.

  Interrupting her thoughts came the faint sound of the opening of the Haskins’ bedroom door on the floor below. Mr Haskin was going to bed. Several minutes of silence followed, and then she heard the door opening again. After that there came, suddenly and surprisingly, the sound of footfalls on the stairs. Hearing them she listened more intently. Why should Mr Haskin be coming up the last flight?

  Listening still, she heard the thin treads creaking as he came on up. She lay quiet, puzzled and a little tense. Then, after a brief silence there came a faint tap on her door.

  She made no sound, and another tap came, a little stronger this time, and then Mr Haskin’s voice, softly calling out her name. ‘Lily? Lily? Lily, are you awake?’

  She pulled herself up in the bed. In the quiet she heard the door handle turn, and the next moment, in the faint glow from the moonlight that filtered through the crack in the curtains, she saw the door begin to open. ‘What is it?’ she said, pulling the bedclothes closer to her breast. ‘What is it?’

  The door opened fully then, and he stood there, a tall, dark shape. She could not make out his expression in the gloom, but she could see clearly that he was clad in his nightshirt.

  ‘What do you want?’ she breathed.

  ‘I just wondered if you’re all right,’ he said, and she heard the faint slurring of his words. She said nothing. He remained standing there. In the silence she could hear the sound of her own breathing.

  After a few moments he came forward until he was standing just a couple of feet from the bedside. She was aware of the beating of her heart.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of me,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have teased you like that.’

  ‘It – it’s all right, sir,’ she said at once. ‘It’s all right. It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Yes, it does. And let me say I’m not in the least surprised you’ve found yourself a young man. A girl as pretty as you.’

  He took a step nearer and the next moment Lily felt the mattress dip as he sat down on the side of the bed. She could hear his surging breath as he settled there. She closed her eyes, unable to bring herself to look at him. ‘Yes, a pretty girl like you,’ she heard him say, ‘you should be able to have your pick of the young fellows. And not only the young ones either.’ As she opened her eyes again she saw him raise his hand, and a moment later he was bringing it to her cheek. At his touch she flinched and pressed back against the pillow.

  ‘You mustn’t be afraid,’ he said softly, a little gruffly, ‘I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.’

  Her eyes wide, she shrank from him, but his rough hand remained on her. He began to stroke her cheek, his fingers lingering upon her skin. ‘Please,’ she muttered. ‘Please.’

  ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ he said softly. ‘It’s all right.’

  The next moment he was leaning forward and lowering his face to hers, and she could smell the whisky on his breath. And then his mouth was pushing against her own. Under the pressure of his lips she tried to move her head away, but his hand shifted from her cheek and gripped her chin. Held fast she lay there as his voracious mouth covered hers. A second later his wet tongue was pressing against her lips and insinuating itself into her unwilling mouth, moving over her teeth. Apart from the taste of the whisky, she could also taste the tobacco from his pipe, and something else, some sweet, sour essence in his saliva that made her almost gag and choke. Once again she tried to move her head away, and brought up her hands to try to push him back, but he was too powerful, and her efforts were to no avail.

  Breaking briefly away, he drew back just long enough to mutter through gritted teeth, ‘Lay still. I’m not going to hurt you,’ and then pressed his mouth on hers again. The horror was never ending. The next moment his right hand was grasping the bedcovers and yanking them down, exposing her nightdress-covered body. And then he was moving his own body to lay his weight upon her. Tearing her mouth from beneath his, she gave a little squeal. ‘No! No! I – I’m a good girl, sir. Please, no!’ But he took no heed, and in seconds she could feel the hardness of his sex against her thigh, pressing, pressing.

  Gruffly, almost angrily, he muttered, ‘Stop resisting, will you? I’ll bet you’re not so stand-offish with that young fellow of yourn.’ She gave another little cry of desperation, and he quickly added, ‘There’s
no sense crying out, there’s only you and me.’ He kissed her again, while he continued to press against her. ‘Come on,’ he said in a softer tone, ‘be nice, be nice.’ And she felt his right hand wrench at the fabric of her nightgown. As he did so she felt the cool air against her bare flesh. A moment later he was pulling up his nightshirt, and the next second was pressing against her once more. This time there was nothing between them, his bare skin was burning upon her own. He lay there for a brief moment, his rampant flesh against her, then put his hand between her thighs. He fumbled there for a second, coarse fingers exploring, and then moved to force her thighs apart. ‘No!’ she tried to cry out against him, ‘No,’ but her voice was stifled against his mouth. Another moment and he was manoeuvring his heavy body over her, and in a gasping, tearing thrust he was inside her.

  Chapter Seven

  When at last he had gone, she lay still for some minutes, as if stunned, and then got up and washed herself. Back in the bed she stared up into the dark, while the tears streamed from her eyes and ran into the hair at her temples.

  She did not sleep that night, and the next morning when she crawled out of bed she found that there were a few spots of blood on the under sheet. But it was Monday, and Monday was wash day, and by the afternoon the bedlinen had been washed and, along with the rest of the washing, was hanging out on the clothesline to dry. She was glad of the round of chores that awaited her for she desperately needed to be occupied, though never for one moment while she worked did her thoughts stray from the happening of the night before. First thing that morning she had prepared Mr Haskin’s breakfast and served it as he sat, ready for his day’s work, at the kitchen table. Throughout, she kept her eyes lowered, and spoke no single word. For his part he gave no word to her either, other than muttering the briefest thank you, and the moment his plate was empty he was gone, riding off on the cob.

  Left alone in the house she poured herself a cup of tea and sat with it. She would usually have made a breakfast of some bread and butter, but not today. Today she ate nothing. Over and over again she thought of the events of the previous day and night. How could it have been possible, in so little space of time, to fall from the very pinnacle of happiness to the deepest depths of horror and degradation? How wonderful had been those hours with Joel, and all the things they had done together. Images conjured from the time turned over in her mind, and the afternoon and evening were before her again, in the park, the field, and the barn and the inn, in the sun and in the rain. And what had provided the most wondrous and magical of memories was now all of it sullied, ruined for ever.