by Jess Foley
Long minutes went by. The rain came, driven by a sudden wind. Thunder rolled again and again, but a little more distant now, the storm receding. She looked down and saw that his eyes were closed, and realised that he was sleeping, his mouth slightly open, his sweet breath rising and falling. She looked at the way his fair hair curled from his temples and saw again the tiny crescent mark near his ear. His horse lay in her lap beside him. ‘Yes,’ she breathed into the sound of the rain, ‘you sleep, my darling. You sleep.’
When Mrs Soameson came back into the room some minutes later she put a finger to her lips, as if urging herself to be quiet, and whispered, ‘Ah, look, he was so tired, bless him. And he’s very much afraid of thunder.’ She looked over to the window where the rain fell against the pane, but now less violently. ‘What a storm that was.’ She stepped closer and looked down at the sleeping boy. ‘Look at him, so peaceful now.’ She smiled at Lily. ‘He must like you, Miss Clair.’
Lily had the Sunday off, and soon after breakfast she set out for Sherrell. The rain of the previous day had gone and the early October sun was shining onto the fields, all stripped now of the harvest, leaving the last gleanings to the crows. She reached Rowanleigh just after eleven, and was greeted warmly by Mary and Miss Elsie. Lily made coffee for herself and Miss Elsie and the two of them sat in the drawing room while Lily told of her first ten days in Happerfell.
Miss Elsie listened attentively to her words – which mostly concerned the teaching of Lavinia – then said:
‘And him? What of him?’
Lily did not answer at once. Then she said, ‘Joshua.’
‘You see him, of course.’
‘Yes. The nursery’s just along the landing. I see him several times a day.’
‘And?’ Miss Elsie’s question hung in the air.
Lily hesitated a moment, then said, ‘He – he’s beautiful.’ Miss Elsie’s mouth was touched by a sad little smile. ‘Beautiful. Oh, Lily . . .’
‘He is. He’s a splendid, beautiful little boy. Charming and bright and handsome – and loving.’
Miss Elsie studied Lily’s face. ‘But you know he’ll be going away, eventually. Before Christmas, you said, the whole family will leave for Scotland.’
‘I know, I know.’ Lily spoke quickly, almost as if irritated by the words. Of course she knew. How could she be other than aware of such a fact? ‘I’m aware of that. Of course I am.’
Miss Elsie nodded. ‘Good.’
A little silence fell between them. Then Miss Elsie said, with a little start, rising from her chair, ‘I mustn’t forget – a letter came for you yesterday.’ She crossed to the door and went out into the hall, returning moments later with an envelope which she handed to Lily.
‘Oh – it’s from Tom,’ Lily said. She looked up at Miss Elsie. ‘Do you mind . . .?’
‘Of course not. Go ahead – read it.’
Lily tore open the envelope, took out the folded sheets of cheap notepaper, and read her brother’s words. In pencil he had written:
Corster
28th September 1871
My dear Lil,
I know you’ll have been waiting to hear from me, and I’m sorry I haven’t written before. Oh why is it, Lil, that I always seem to be saying sorry for something or other? Anyway, right now I’m trying to think about my future. It seems to me that there’s not a lot I’m capable of doing, as things are. But then I look at other people who are worse off and think that in some ways I’m lucky. There are old soldiers from the Crimea who have only got one leg, and sits in the streets begging. Well, that’s not for me, Lil. I got my pride, and I’ve got to do something for myself. But this don’t mean being a burden on you. That’s not going to happen. I tell you, I’ve been talking to some fellows, and they reckon that America is the place to go. Would you reckon I was crazy if I said that I’d like to go there? I know I’m hindered now, and there’s a limit to what I can do, but I’m getting better every day at handling things. Learning all the time. And I’m told that in America they appreciate a hard worker, and a hard worker can get on and make something of hisself. So, Lil, that’s what I’d like to do – go to America. They call it the New World, and maybe that’s what it will be for me. You don’t think I’m barmy, do you? Anyway, Lil, I want to ask you for your help for the last time. And I promise it will be the last time. I won’t ask anything of you again. Which brings me to my question: Is it possible for you to lend me some money? I need it for my passage. I’ve been to the docks at Bristol, and after asking around I find there’s a cargo steamer leaving in the middle of October for Philadelphia. The ship’s in dock for repairs right now, but I talked to the first mate and he says he’ll help me get on board. I can work for part of my passage money, but I shall need a bit more. Can you help me, Lil? I promise, I’ll never ask you for anything else again, and in time I’ll pay you back. It might take a while, but I’ll do it, believe me I will. I’ll work hard, and once I’m over there I think I’ll have something to work for. Here there seems to be nothing, and I don’t seem to be going anywhere.
I reckon to be here in Corster at the end of next week. Say Friday, the sixth. Can you meet me in front of the museum? Say at six o’clock. If you can bring me anything to help me out I shall pay you back as soon as I can. And who knows, Lil, one day, when I’ve become successful in America you can come out and stay with me, and live with me. There’s space out there, you know. It’s not like Corster or London where people have got to live so close together with no room to breathe.
You’ll be glad to know that my arm has healed very well and gives me no trouble. I haven’t got any address right now, so you can’t write back, but if you’re not there on Friday I’ll understand that you can’t meet me. And if you can’t I’ll write to you again. I know you won’t let me down, though, will you?
Till Friday, and always
Your loving and faithful brother
Thomas
She sat with the letter in her hand.
‘Well, Lily?’ Miss Elsie said, ‘What does he have to say?’
For a moment Lily was unable to speak. Then a sob burst from her throat and she leant forward, shaking her head in despair. ‘He’s living in a dream. He’s just – living in a dream.’
‘Tell me. What does he say?’
‘He wants to go to America,’ Lily said. ‘He says he’s arranged passage on a ship, and of course he needs money to help pay his fare. I can see it now – some unconscionable man selling him a dream – taking him for anything he can get. And how’s he going to live in America once he gets there? How will he work?’
Miss Elsie said, ‘But – if it’s what he wants . . .’
‘I know. It’s like when he went off to London – he thinks life will be different. And it won’t be. But I can’t tell him that. I can’t destroy what little hope he might have left.’ She paused. ‘And of course – if he goes I’ll never see him again.’
A moment of silence, then Miss Elsie said, ‘Have you got some money to give him?’
Lily gave a deep sigh. ‘Only the little I managed to save up while working in Little Patten. But – he’s welcome to it all.’
‘If you need more . . .’
‘Oh, ma’am.’ Lily was greatly touched by the woman’s kindness. ‘Thank you so much, but I couldn’t take anything else from you.’
‘It’s not a time to be proud, Lily,’ Miss Elsie said. ‘If the young man needs it, then he must have it.’
‘Thank you. Thank you.’
‘I have some cash here in the house.’
‘Thank you. I shall pay you back. You know I’ll pay you back.’
Miss Elsie nodded. ‘Whenever. It’s not important.’
When Lily returned to The Gables in Happerfell, Lizzie met her in the hall with a grave expression and a lowered voice. Lily frowned, aware at once that something was amiss. ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What’s the matter?’
Lizzie glanced quickly around, then murmured: ‘It’s the master’s fath
er, miss – old Mr Soameson. A telegraph come, so Mrs Lemmon says. I’m afraid he’s died. Went in the night.’
After the maid had gone, Mrs Soameson came into the hall. ‘Ah, there you are, Miss Clair,’ she said. ‘I thought I heard you come in. Did you have nice day in Sherrell?’
‘Yes, thank you, ma’am.’
‘That’s good.’ Mrs Soameson’s expression grew a little grave. ‘I’m afraid we had some bad news while you were gone. Mr Soameson’s father has passed away. We received a telegraph this morning.’ She sighed, shaking her head. ‘We knew he wasn’t strong, but it’s still come as a great shock. There’s nothing for it but Mr Soameson must go up to Scotland, of course, and arrange the funeral. He’s leaving first thing tomorrow. A dreadfully long journey, but there you are, it has to be done.’ Another deep sigh. ‘I think it will mean our moving back to Edinburgh sooner than we’d anticipated.’
Up in her room Lily took off her coat and hat and stood at the window looking down over the rear garden. She had only just arrived at the house and now suddenly there was talk of the family leaving so much sooner than planned. And Edinburgh – it was a world away.
Chapter Thirty
On Monday morning, Lily asked Mrs Soameson if on the coming Friday she might finish her lessons a little early and go to meet her brother in Corster. Mrs Soameson made no objection, and when the day and the hour came, Lily made ready and left the house.
She arrived in Corster just after five-thirty, and at once went to the little paved yard at the entrance to the Victoria Gardens. There, facing the corn exchange and the museum, she sat on a bench in the overcast light of the pale sun. The air was cool, with a chill breeze blowing. As usual at this hour, there were many in the streets who were going to their homes after their day’s work, and they moved past Lily with purpose. She kept her eye on the corn exchange clock, watching the minutes pass until Tom should arrive. In addition to the money she carried in her bag, she had some other items: on the way from the railway station she had bought a bar of his favourite chocolate, and also, from a street-vendor, two ripe pears.
Six o’clock came and went and she scanned the vista about her, not knowing from which direction he would appear. There were not many others in the little paved garden. An elderly man sat on one the benches, his old dog, tethered by a lead, resting at his feet. On another bench sat a middle-aged man in rags, with his belongings packed into a straw basket and two hessian sacks.
The minutes passed, and there was still no sign of Tom. She thought of that other time when she had waited for him in vain, sitting on this very bench, not knowing that he was lying unconscious in Grassinghill Infirmary.
Six-thirty. From the nearby bench the old man got to his feet, and the dog rose with him. As the man passed Lily by he raised his hand and touched it to the brim of his hat and gave her a smile. She smiled back, and he walked slowly away and out of her sight.
Then, suddenly, Tom was there, coming around the corner of the museum at a fast pace, almost running. He saw her at once, and headed straight for her, and in moments was coming to a halt, reaching out to her. As she got up and stepped forward, his arms came up and wrapped her round.
‘Ah, Lil – Lil, you’re here, you’re here.’ He sounded a little out of breath.
‘Of course I’m here.’ She drew back a little from him and gave the whisper of a gentle laugh, part relief, part joy, part grief. His one good hand stayed on her upper arm, while his mutilated arm fell back to his side. The stump of it was hidden, the sleeve of his jacket pinned back, shielding it from view.
‘Oh, Lil,’ he said, ‘I’m so glad to see you. I’m so glad you could get away.’
‘I’m glad to see you,’ she said. ‘Come, sit down on the bench with me.’
‘No.’ The word came out sharply, and he took a step back and half turned, looking about him.
‘What’s the matter?’ she said. He looked so ill at ease, so tense. ‘Is something wrong?’
He turned again, still looking anxiously. ‘Have we got to stay out ’ere? Let’s go inside somewhere.’ He gestured across the street. ‘Let’s go into the museum.’ Even as he spoke he was starting away.
She joined him, and together they went across the cobbles, he moving at a sharp pace so that she had to hurry to keep up with him. She could not understand why he seemed to be in such a hurry. In moments they came to the museum’s entrance. All was quiet as they went in, and as they crossed the foyer the bespectacled curator at the desk merely glanced up and registered their presence. Together they climbed the stairs, the worn, polished treads under their feet giving out the occasional creak. They passed two other visitors coming in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. Soon they arrived on the top floor and moved along the landing past the battered Greek and Roman statues, and the display cases with their old pottery and other ancient artefacts, to the room where they had sat before.
Inside, they moved to the old polished-wood bench that stood beneath the tall window that overlooked the cobbled square below. While Lily sat on the bench, Tom moved closer to the window and looked down. Glancing up at him, Lily thought again how tense he appeared. He was like a rabbit, alert and ready to run, or like a coiled watch-spring, ready to snap.
‘Tom, you’re making me nervous,’ she said into the quiet. ‘Please – come and sit down. Come away from the window.’
‘This window,’ he said, still gazing down, ‘reminds me of Wentworth, except there’s no bars.’
‘I know. You told me.’
‘I’ll never go back there. Never.’
‘Well, of course you won’t. You’ll never have any reason to.’ She paused. ‘Come and sit down.’
After a moment he turned from the window and sat beside her.
‘How is it now?’ she said, lifting a hand towards his damaged arm. ‘Does it hurt you at all?’
He touched his left arm with his right. ‘No, it don’t ’urt. Though it feels a bit – nervy at times – like the nerves are on edge. It’s queer. And often it feels like it’s still there, my ’and. Like I feel I could move it, move the fingers. It’s weird.’ He gave a little nod of resignation, then said, changing the subject, ‘So where are you staying now, Lil? I ’ad to write to you at Miss Balfour’s. Are you back there now?’
She felt that he was speaking not out of genuine interest but merely for the sake of talking, and even though he had moved to sit beside her, she could feel in him that strange tension and agitation.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I have that position in Happerfell – the one I told you about. I started just over a fortnight ago. A well-to-do Scotsman and his family. I’m governess to a little girl there. It was supposed to be for three months before they all go off to Scotland, but now I don’t know. It could be a lot sooner.’
‘So your work with them’ll come to an end.’
‘I’m afraid so.’ She shrugged. ‘But something will turn up.’
‘Yeh, it will.’ The sound of distraction in his voice was hardly hidden. He forced a smile. ‘Good for you, our Lil.’
She smiled. ‘Oh, Tommo, I’m so glad to see you again. I’ve been thinking about you, and worrying about you.’
He nodded. ‘Ah, I reckoned you would be. I’m sorry I put you through all that: going off from the infirmary before you got back to see me. I told you, though – I couldn’t do nothin’ else.’ He sighed. ‘I been a drain on you long enough.’
‘Please – don’t talk like that.’
‘It’s true. I always seem to be askin’ for something. And this time’s no different, is it?’ As he spoke there came a noise from the direction of the stairs and he turned his head sharply and looked towards the door. When no further sound came, he relaxed slightly once more. Turning back to Lily, he said solemnly, ‘Yeh, I always seem to be askin’ for something, but it won’t continue, Lil, I promise.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I love you. Anything I’ve got you can have.’
‘Oh, Lily, what a sister yo
u are. You’re champion, you are.’ He gave a little wondering shake of his head. ‘You been so good to me. Ever since I can remember.’
She put a hand up to his face, gently, briefly touching his cheek. ‘Nonsense. I haven’t done anything special – only what any sister would do.’ She took him in as he sat beside her. She did not know what she had expected to find, but she was distressed to see him look so unkempt, so dishevelled. His angelic face was as beautiful as ever, but he was in need of a shave, and his ragged, uncombed hair looked dirty. When he lifted his hand to scratch at his scalp she saw that his fingernails were rimmed black. He wore the same clothes that she had last seen him in, though now there was no collar to his shirt, and one of the knees of his corduroy trousers had been torn. His boots were dusty, with crusted mud around the soles. ‘Tom,’ she said, ‘I think you’ve lost weight. Are you getting enough to eat?’
‘I’m all right. I’m getting along.’
‘I brought you some chocolate,’ she said, ‘and a couple of pears.’
A slow smile touched his solemn mouth. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say no to a nice pear and a bit o’ chocolate.’
She brought out the bar of chocolate, and the paper bag with the pears. He took them from her and placed them on the bench. Then he took a pear from the bag and bit into it. As he did so the juice ran down his chin and he wiped at it with the sleeve of his stunted arm. ‘Boy, that’s good,’ he said. ‘That’s very good.’
He finished the pear, core and all. ‘I’ll keep the other for later,’ he said, and worked the wrapping off the chocolate bar. The chocolate was gone in a couple of minutes, and Lily took its paper and put it into her bag. As she did so he got up from the seat and looked from the window.