No Wings to Fly

by Jess Foley

  In the morning Lily saw no change in Miss Balfour. It was pointless to prepare food for her; she could not even take her medicine.

  Lily herself was running out of energy. Nevertheless she had to look after Miss Balfour and keep the fires banked and burning. She also had to give a thought to Mr Shad. He, who was usually fed by Mrs Nessant or Mary or Miss Balfour, was in danger of missing his meals, and Lily was obliged to provide for him. So she prepared food and set it out on the kitchen table. At other times, she supplied him with a basket of bread and pickles and cheese to take back to his room over the stable and make a meal for himself.

  In the late afternoon of that Saturday, when the skies darkened with threatened rain, Dr Hanbury called again, and shook his head over his patient’s prostrate form. The rain, a cold icy rain, began an hour after his departure, and set in, falling steadily. Up in Miss Balfour’s room Lily closed the casement and built up the fire. Later in the evening Mr Shad came with fresh supplies of firewood and kindling, and Lily gave him some soup and a plate of cold cuts for his supper, along with a jug of beer. When he had eaten and gone, she locked the door against the cold, wet night. Remaining in the kitchen she set out for herself a little of the food left over after providing for Mr Shad. She had no appetite, but she knew she must eat to keep up her strength, and keep illness at bay.

  When she had eaten what she could, she washed the dishes and cutlery. Standing at the sink she leant back, stretching. She felt exhausted. Her back ached and her feet ached and her breasts ached, and all she wanted to do was rest. Against the window the rain fell, the rivulets that ran down the panes reflecting, fractured, the glare of the gaslight. She put the kettle on the range and sat down again at the table. When the water had come to the boil she made a pot of tea, and while it was brewing went upstairs to look in on Miss Balfour. There was no change.

  Back in the kitchen she poured a mug of tea, added a little milk, and sat sipping it, her left hand resting on the swell of her belly. As she sat on the hard kitchen chair she felt the child inside her give a kick. It was not the first time, nevertheless it filled her with a sense of wonder. Moving her hand on her swollen form, she felt a kick again, now moving against her palm. ‘It’s all right,’ she murmured. ‘You don’t have to tell me; I know you’re there.’ It would not be so much longer, she thought, and the child would be born and she would be free again. Free to get on with her life, to make a fresh start.

  An image of Joel came into her mind, and she saw him, smiling, sitting beside her on the bench beside the water, while the music of the band drifted across the grass. The maverick thought came that when the baby was born and gone from her, she might see Joel once more. The wild thought lingered in her mind. He knew nothing of the child, and was there any reason that he should ever know? Once the baby had gone from her she would be as if it had never been born.

  A sudden flurry of rain, driven by the wind, threw itself at the pane, breaking into her thoughts and bringing her back to the here and now. No, she told herself angrily. Joel had gone out of her life, and she would never see him again.

  There was a clock on the dresser, and Lily’s eyes moved to it and took in the time. It was almost eleven. She would look in on Miss Balfour and then go to bed. She straightened on the chair, arching her spine, hands to the small of her back, caressing the ache there. As she relaxed she caught a movement at the window. She stiffened, alert. She had seen a figure there, a shadowy form, moving across beyond the rain-streaked pane.

  She rose and moved to stand at the window. Beyond the dark gardens the stables were black against the sky. Not even the window of Mr Shad’s room was lighted.

  Then, suddenly, with an abrupt movement that made her start, made her heart leap and begin to thud in her chest, a dark form lurched up from below the window sill. She gave a little cry, her hand leaping to her mouth, and jumped back. The figure moved closer to the window, and as he came to within the circle of light thrown by the flaring gaslight she saw who it was.

  ‘Tom!’ she gasped. ‘Tom, is that you?’

  Chapter Ten

  She had brought him in from the rain and closed the door against the wild night. On the kitchen flags she embraced him and kissed him, her lips against his wet, cold cheek. Standing before her he took off his saturated hat and put it on a chair. The rain had soaked into his shirt and jacket, and his sodden boots left wet prints on the floor. She took his hand in hers and felt the coldness of his flesh. ‘You’re wet through and you’re shrammed,’ she said. ‘Come and sit by the stove.’

  She pulled a chair up and he sat down and leaned towards the heat, stretching out his hands to it. She got him a towel. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘dry yourself off a bit.’

  He rubbed at his face and neck, shivering, and as he did so he took in the shape of her body. ‘I had no idea,’ he said as he handed the towel back. ‘You’re gunna ’ave a baby. Why didn’t you tell me, Lil?’

  She shook her head. ‘Oh – Tom, let’s not go into that now.’

  ‘Is that why you left home? Because of that?’

  ‘Yes, it is, but we’ll talk of it later. Have you eaten today?’

  ‘Nothing ‘cept a piece of bread.’

  ‘God, you must be so hungry. I’ll get you something.’

  She put some soup on the hob and while it was warming fetched a blanket. ‘Get your clothes off,’ she told him, ‘and put this round you.’

  She turned away then while he stripped down to his drawers and wrapped the warm woollen blanket about him. His boots she stuffed with newspaper and put in the hearth, while his clothes she hung on a clothes-horse in front of the range. In addition to being wet through, his trousers and coat were stained and torn and his stockings were full of holes. When the soup was hot she poured some into a bowl and he sat at the table and ate voraciously. When the bowl was empty, she put before him a plate of ham and cheese and cold potatoes with mayonnaise. ‘I’m sorry it’s nothing more exciting,’ she said. ‘We need to get to the shops.’

  ‘It’s just fine, it’s excellent. It’ll keep me goin’ for a while.’ He briefly put down his fork to pull the blanket more closely about his lean shoulders. ‘I’m feeling better already,’ he said.

  He looked small, slight, sitting there enveloped in the blanket. There were many questions she wanted to ask him, but for the moment she held back. She checked that the stove was well fuelled and that his clothes were on the way to drying, and then fetched from her room a pair of cotton stockings. ‘Here, put these on,’ she said. ‘They’ll keep you warm till your own are dry.’

  He had finished the food, the plate cleared, and she watched as he pulled the stockings on over his bare, chilled feet. ‘Have you got anywhere to go?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Then you must stay here tonight.’

  ‘Oh, Lil – you reckon I can?’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘What about the owner of the place? The lady – won’t she mind?’

  ‘You leave me to worry about that. I’ll make up a bed for you down here.’ She gestured to the old sofa in the corner. ‘You’ll be comfortable there, and no one’ll disturb you.’ She glanced over at the kettle standing on the heat. ‘I’ll make some tea in a minute. I could do with a cup too.’

  He looked at her in silence for a moment, then pushed his plate away, leant forward and laid his head on his arms. Lily was suddenly aware that he was weeping, and the realisation brought a sob to her own throat. At once she went to his side, bending over him, her arm around his thin shoulders.

  ‘Don’t cry, Tom. Oh, please don’t cry. Everything’ll be all right, you’ll see.’

  He gave a muffled sob and raised his head and she saw the streaks of his tears on his cheeks. ‘Oh, Lil,’ he said, his voice breaking, ‘why did you ever ’ave to leave ’ome? Why did you ever ’ave to go? I could’ve managed all right if you’d been there. I always could. But with you gone – oh, everything was so different. I use
d to look forward to your letters so much. They were never enough though. I needed you there, Lil. I needed you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Tom.’ Gently she stroked the back of his neck, his soft, damp hair. ‘Father wrote and told me you’d gone,’ she said.

  He nodded. His tears had ceased now. ‘I had to. I couldn’t see any change ’appening. Nothing was gettin’ any better.’

  She pulled out a chair and sat down facing him across the table. ‘Where did you go?’ she asked. ‘What did you plan to do?’

  He gave a sigh. ‘Aw, I was so foolish. I ’adn’t made any plans. I ’adn’t thought it out, I just knew I wanted to go. But what did I know of other places? I only knew Compton and Corster, and a few places round about. I ’aven’t been anywhere else in my life.’

  ‘Did it get really bad? Is that why you went?’

  His lip quivered as he held on to his control, the tears once again so near the surface. ‘No matter what I did, I was wrong,’ he said. ‘In the end he’d go for me like anything. I was black and blue afterwards.’

  Lily felt the tears prick behind her eyelids. That her father, someone she loved, should be the one to inflict such pain, was beyond her understanding.

  They sat in silence for a little while. When the kettle came to the boil she got up to make tea. Tom kept his eyes on her as she busied herself and brought the teapot and mugs to the table. ‘Here you are.’ She passed a full mug to him and he took it and sipped at it.

  ‘Where did you go,’ she asked as she sat down again, ‘when you left home?’

  ‘I didn’t get no further than Corster,’ he said. ‘Well, I had next to nothing. Only the little money I’d saved from workin’ at the farm. Mother never allowed me much from my wages. It took ages to get anything put by.’

  ‘What did you do – in Corster?’

  ‘I tried the villages round about first of all – to see if I could find any farm work. There wasn’t much goin’, though. Well, of course, it was the wrong time of year. I managed to get a little ’ere and there but it didn’t last long. In the end I went back into the town to try there. Trouble is, I’ve only ever worked on a farm. I ain’t got any experience of anything else.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘Whatever was goin’. Whatever I could get. I ran errands for people. I swept yards and crossings. I cleaned out cess-pits. I did odd jobs wherever I could, earnin’ the odd penny ’ere and there.’

  ‘How did you manage about eating?’

  ‘I picked up scraps where I could, scavengin’ round the coffee ’ouses and restaurants. I wusn’t the only one, though; there was competition for everything. Sometimes I was given food for ’elping out with some odd job or something. But it wusn’t easy to come by. I slept wherever I could find some place that was dry. When I was in Corster I slept under Tennon bridge. There were other men there; it was a popular place. I wrapped meself in old newspapers and an old coat that I found. I was cold but at least I was dry.’

  ‘Oh, Tom,’ Lily said, ‘I can’t bear to think of it.’

  ‘Yeh, well, there’s no goin’ back ’ome now. I’ve just about burnt me bridges there, that’s for sure. They wouldn’t ’ave me back again now, even if I wanted to go.’

  The thought flashed through Lily’s mind that in that respect she and her brother were in the same boat. ‘So what will you do?’ she asked.

  He didn’t answer at once. In the quiet the clock ticked on, and the rain fell against the window pane. On the clotheshorse a faint veil of steam rose from the sodden clothes. He sat with his hands clenched around the warmth of the mug.

  ‘You’ll think I’m mad,’ he said after a moment, ‘but I thought I might go to London.’

  ‘London.’

  ‘There’d be plenty of work there, I reckon.’

  ‘I don’t know, Tom – I’ve heard some very sad stories of people who’ve banked on that.’

  ‘Well – I don’t know what else to do,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, but – there must be something. You can’t go on like this.’

  ‘I don’t see how it can change.’ He shook his head and added quickly, ‘Oh, Lil, I shouldn’t ’ave come ’ere, bringin’ my troubles to you. You, in your condition – you got enough on your plate.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. It’s you we’ve got to think about.’ She glanced at the clock and rose from her chair. ‘I’ve got to go upstairs. Miss Balfour’s sick, and I must go and see how she is. I shan’t be but a minute.’

  She went up to Miss Balfour’s room, which was faintly lit by the small flame of a nightlight. There was a candle on the chest, and Lily lighted it with a match and held it aloft. Standing beside the bed she looked down at Miss Balfour’s form beneath the covers, still and quiet. She bent and touched a hand to her brow and whispered her name. There was no response. The flesh of her forehead felt damp. The doctor would be calling again tomorrow; in the meantime there was nothing she could do.

  Downstairs in the kitchen she found Tom still sitting hunched over in the chair. She sat at the table again, picked up her mug and sipped from it. The tea was growing cold.

  ‘What’s the matter with her, the mistress?’ Tom asked.

  ‘It’s the flu.’

  ‘Ah, there’s so much of it about.’

  ‘She’s been ill for days. Really very ill, I mean, and now she – she’s in a kind of coma. She’s been unconscious for two days, and she’s taking nothing in the way of food or drink.’

  ‘It sounds bad.’

  ‘It is. I’m so worried about her.’

  ‘You been lookin’ after her, ’ave you?’

  ‘As well as I can. The maid’s away ill herself, and the cook’s off too, looking after her mother.’

  ‘Yeh, and on top of all that, ’ere I come, turnin’ up like a bad penny. That’s rich, that is. Oh, I’m sorry, Lil.’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘don’t say you’re sorry. I’d want you always to come to me if you’re in trouble. Promise me you will.’

  He said nothing. She leant a little closer across the table. ‘Promise me, Tom.’

  ‘Yeh.’

  She nodded. ‘Good.’ Turning to the window she said, ‘I think the rain’s stopped. About time.’ Looking back to him she asked, ‘Have you had enough to eat? Would you like some more tea?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, thanks. I’ve had plenty.’ He paused briefly, then said, ‘You’re gunna stay ’ere till you’ve had the baby, are you?’

  ‘Yes. Mother and Father arranged it.’

  ‘And then you’ll be going ’ome again, right?’

  She hesitated. ‘No, I shan’t be going back to Compton. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ll have to leave here come the summer, but where I shall go I don’t know.’

  ‘Maybe – maybe we could go somewhere together. We could get a house. Wouldn’t that be grand?’

  She smiled. ‘Oh, Tommo, yes, it would be grand. But you need money for a house, and I’ve got nothing. Like you, I shall have to find work.’

  Tom gave a sympathetic nod. Then after a moment he said, ‘Your babby, Lil . . .’

  ‘Yes? What about it?’

  ‘Who . . .? Whose is it?’

  She gave a brief shake of her head. ‘Please – don’t ask me that, Tom. Please don’t.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He dropped his glance, then raised his eyes again to hers. ‘What’ll you do, once you’ve got it? Who’ll look after you both?’ When she did not answer he added quickly, ‘Oh, I wish I wus rich, then I’d look after you all right. Both of you. You’d see if I didn’t.’

  She gave a little smile and sighed. ‘I’ll manage all right. In any case I shan’t be keeping the child.’

  ‘You won’t?’

  ‘It’s to go for adoption.’

  ‘With who?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s a society, a church society. They’ll take care of it all. They’ll find the baby a home.’ She did not want to talk about it.

  ‘And you�
�d never see it again? Oh, Lil, that’s awful.’

  ‘Awful,’ she said sharply. ‘Why is it awful?’

  ‘You mean you wouldn’t want to keep it?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t.’ She got up and moved to the door. ‘I’m going to get a couple of blankets.’

  A little later, when Tom was lying snug on the sofa, she fed the stove and turned off the gaslight. Holding a flickering candle in her hands she stood and looked down at him in the pale light.

  ‘You have a good sleep, Tom,’ she said. ‘We’ll talk again in the morning.’ She gestured to a chair she had placed near the sofa. ‘I’ve left a candle and matches in case you need to get up in the night.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She paused. ‘Well – goodnight now.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  As soon as Lily awoke early the next morning she went to look in on Miss Balfour.

  The nightlight had burned out and the room was lit only by the pale daylight that crept in between the curtains. It was enough, however, for her to see that a change had ensued. As she crossed the room towards the bed she was aware of movement and then she heard Miss Balfour’s voice.

  ‘Is that you, Lily?’ The voice sounded a little rusty and unused, but to Lily’s ears it was the most welcome sound.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Lily said, coming to a halt at the foot of the bed. ‘Oh – what a relief – to hear you speaking again, to see you awake. Oh, ma’am, it’s wonderful.’

  Miss Balfour lay on her back with her eyes open. ‘Help me to sit up, will you?’ she said.

  At once Lily moved to her side and helped her up, settling her against the pillows. Miss Balfour, obviously weak, breathed a sigh of thanks. ‘I’m so thirsty,’ she said. ‘My mouth is so dry. Is there some water?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Lily poured a glass and lifted it to the woman’s lips, helping her to hold it as she drank. Miss Balfour took several swallows and then nodded, indicating that she had had enough. As Lily put the glass back on the side table, Miss Balfour said with a frown, ‘What day is it? I’ve lost track.’