by Mary Mackie
Knowing that Lily was home gave Jess new energy. For the rest of that morning she worked with a will, cleaning the passages, the three bedrooms and the dressing room. She prepared a sago pudding for lunch, though the main courses had to be fetched up from the kitchen.
Nanny spent the mornings amusing Bella but after lunch the old woman needed a rest; then Jess was in charge. If it was fine they might go out into the garden or walk in the park, and then Bella was happy. Less easy were the cold, wet days when they were confined to the schoolroom.
Nanny often said that, one of these days, she ought to give Jess some instruction in reading. Jess would have liked that – she was beginning to see that reading might be a good thing – but somehow the day never came. Her chores kept her busy, and if ever she did have a spare moment Nanny was otherwise occupied, or tired, so Jess didn’t like to remind her of her promise. She did, though, listen when Miss Bella was having her lessons and sometimes borrowed one of the story books with their big print, poring laboriously over the words late at night.
Most afternoons, when Nanny emerged from her nap, she took Bella down to spend half an hour with one or both of her parents – always allowing they hadn’t more important business to attend to. Jess spent that time clearing up; then it was teatime, after which Jess hauled hot water to fill the hip bath and bathe the child before putting her to bed.
There had been no recurrence of the sleep-walking episode but each evening ended in the same way, with Jess feeling bad about slipping the bolt that locked Bella in her room.
Relieved at last from routine duties, Jess found something useful to do with the last few hours of the evening – mending torn linen, darning stockings, or sewing vests and drawers for whoever needed them, while the candle dwindled and Nanny’s snores came loud through the wooden partition.
That April day was like all the rest, except that she spent most of it hoping for word from Lily.
But no word came.
* * *
That Sunday, Nanny Fyncham didn’t feel well enough to attend service, so she sent Jess to sit with Miss Bella in the squire’s box pew, along with both Lady Maud and Sir Richard. There was Lily, only a few yards away, but after a brief meeting of glances she kept her face averted, as if she had no other interest than listening to the long sermon. But the tightness of her pink lips, and the high colour in her cheeks, betrayed her. Jess guessed she was being ignored as a reproach for her desertion; she’d known Lily would take it wrong.
After the service, however, Sir Richard and his wife lingered to speak to one or two people. Since the squire had his daughter by the hand, Jess was obliged to hover nearby. She heard him welcome Lily back to Hewinghall and ask if she had met Bella, introducing them with charming informality before asking after Lily’s prowess at school.
‘I won the elocution prize,’ Lily told him, though her veiled glance kept sliding towards Jess.
‘Indeed?’ His deep voice was both indulgent and amused. ‘And what did you recite?’
‘“The Lady of Shalott”, and a piece by Miss Rossetti – “When I am Dead”. Do you know it?’
Lady Fyncham put in, ‘My husband has more weighty matters on his mind, Miss Clare, than poetry. For myself, I wonder what a young person like yourself is doing reciting dirges about death.’
‘Oh, but it’s not a dirge!’ Lily protested. ‘It’s beautiful. So sad. So romantic. Perhaps you’d like to hear…’
But Lady Maud had already lost interest and was moving away, leaving her husband to make polite farewells.
‘Say “Good morning” to Miss Clare, Bella.’
‘Good morning, Miss Clare,’ Bella repeated, then turned to her father to add in her clear voice, ‘Why are her eyes different colours, Papa?’
A pool of embarrassed silence spread about the little group.
‘Because that is the way God made her,’ Sir Richard said, his patient tone belying the look of apology which he sent to Lily.
She was smiling one of her bright, false smiles. ‘God’s gift? Gracious goodness, yes.’
‘She looks funny,’ said Bella as she was drawn away towards the waiting carriage.
Lily’s odd eyes encountered Jess’s, her pain evident. ‘I hope you’re well,’ she said with a little shrug. ‘And happy at the big house.’
‘Happy enough, thank you, Miss Lily,’ Jess said, dipping a curtsey. ‘But it en’t the same. Please… Miss Bella don’t mean nothin’. She’re allowed to speak her mind too free, that’s all.’
‘Evidently.’ The mismatched eyes flickered with momentary uncertainty, then Lily stiffened her resolve and lifted her chin. ‘I can’t stay to talk. My papa has invited Mr Dunnock and his mother to luncheon. I must not be late. Goodbye.’
Even as she walked away, Lily regretted her coolness to Jess. She’d hoped to inflict hurt, but the person she was hurting most was herself. She missed having a friend she could really confide in, and she knew Jess wasn’t to blame for being sent away.
Oh, why did she do these things only to repent of them? Lily despaired of herself. She was sorry her recent moods had upset Cousin Oriana and annoyed Papa. After all, Papa might have sent Jess half across the county, had he the mind to upset his daughter. Determined to make amends, she returned to the rectory ready to put on a social face, even though the curate and his mother were tedious company.
Peter Dunnock was nervous, in awe of his superior and shy of Lily. An earnest, no-longer-young man in dark suit and dog-collar, he had a shiny, clean-scrubbed appearance and receding fair hair so thin that his scalp shone through like a yellow dome. His washed-green eyes peered from a frame of sandy lashes, begging for approval – much like Gyp, Lily thought, but far less appealing. Peter Dunnock was attracted to her, that was evident, but all she felt for him was a kind of irritated pity. She took refuge in reticence, replying in monosyllables when directly spoken to, and in consequence the curate’s loquacious mother filled the gaps.
Mrs Dunnock was a small, well-corseted person, somewhat over-dressed for the occasion in a fur hat and stole, which she refused to remove – ‘I have rheumatism in my shoulders. I feel the cold so easily in these great draughty rooms.’ Her speech was punctuated by two recurring refrains: ‘My brother, Canon Hargreaves, always says…’ and ‘When we were in Venice…’
‘I think we’ve heard enough about Venice, Mother,’ her son put in mildly at one point.
She shot him a look that had daggers in it, saying sweetly, ‘Can one ever have enough of Venice, my dear? Or of travel in any form? So broadening, don’t you think? So vital to a complete education. Have you ever been abroad, Miss Clare?’
Lily smiled, softly and regretfully. ‘No.’
‘Oh, but you should! It would be very good for you. Don’t you agree, Rector? I would have thought that the summer after she finishes her schooling was just the time for a young lady to see a little more of the world. If she’s to help with the village school next year—’
What? Lily’s mind yelped, just as her father said, ‘That hasn’t been decided yet.’
‘But I thought you intended to give more time to your writing, Rector? Peter certainly gave me the impression that Miss Clare would be joining him at the school after the summer holiday. Or did I misunderstand?’
The curate’s neck and ears turned beetroot-red. ‘I’m sure, Mama, I didn’t intend to imply anything that might have led you to conclude—’
‘The possibility has been mooted,’ Reverend Clare said, delicately dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. ‘However, it’s only one of several avenues Lily might follow. The principal of the Academy considers she would make an excellent governess if…’
Lily didn’t hear any more. Her ears simply refused to listen to such nonsense. Her real father would be appalled if he came and found her employed as a schoolteacher. And as for being a governess… one of those sad, grey, sexless creatures, belonging nowhere, caught in the void between family and servants? Oh, no! She’d never be able to lift h
er head up again! How Dickon and Clemency would laugh. And Ash – what about Ash? He would never dream of marrying anyone as dreary, as hopelessly insignificant, as a governess!
In a passion of distress, she pushed her chair back and leapt up so violently that she sent the chair crashing over. They all stared at her in astonishment.
‘Lily Victoria—’ her papa began.
‘How can you?’ she threw at him. ‘How can you arrange my life without even consulting me? I don’t want to be a schoolteacher. And I certainly don’t intend to be a governess! You can’t make me. Oh… you’re cruel, Papa. Cruel! My own father would never shame me in this way. Oh, I wish he would come. I hate living with you. I hate it!’
Eleven
As Easter Monday began, Bella was good as gold, not even making complaints when Jess towelled her dry after her morning wash. She was too excited.
‘It’s not raining, is it?’
‘Set fair to sunset, if you ask me,’ said Jess, throwing the curtains wide to let the child see the morning sun lighting the park. ‘There was a red sky last night. “Red sky at night…”’
‘“Sailors’ delight”,’ Bella replied, jumping up and down for sheer joy. ‘Then we shall go, shan’t we? Nanny said so long as it wasn’t cold or wet… I want to ride on the box with Abbot.’
‘You’ll ride inside with Nanny,’ Jess replied firmly. ‘Oh, do keep still, Miss Bella! I can’t fasten your buttons.’
Bella ceased her jumping, but looked over her shoulder with shining eyes. ‘I’m going to buy a leaping pole when we get to the beach. Papa said I could have a leaping pole.’
‘Then I expect you shall. Long as you behave.’
A day in Hunstanton hadn’t seemed the sort of thing Nanny would enjoy; Jess half expected the trip to be called off, but when she took Bella through for breakfast, there was the old woman, up and ready. She seemed determined to carry through her plan, though she grumbled all the while.
Jess couldn’t decide whether she herself was looking forward to the day or not. Part of her relished the idea of going to the seaside for the first holiday of the year, but the rest of her was reluctant to face the crowds – some of them would, inevitably, come from Lynn; someone might recognise her, point her out, shout ‘Murderess!’…
No! Don’t even think it.
The coachman had prepared the yellow phaeton for the journey, with its hood up to shelter Nanny and Bella while Jess and the picnic hamper rode in the smaller railed back seat behind the bulge of the great yellow hood. Not that Jess minded: the seat was high enough for her to see over most of the hedges, with wide views over rolling farmland down to the lines of white foam-horses dashing on the edge of the sea a mile away.
By mid-morning they were in New Hunstanton, along with several hundred other people coming in by road and rail, some on the new-fangled bicycles, which made Bella stare and point. The town green, set on a slope above the sea, was merry with stalls and sideshows. Jess kept her new straw boater well down, but no one took notice of the phaeton as it went clopping down the hill.
Soon they were queuing to pay their toll to the uniformed pier-master and mingling with the crowds along boards that stretched hundreds of feet into the Wash, protected by wrought-iron railings. Jess had been to Hunstanton ten years before, on an outing with her family, but she hadn’t been on the pier – Mother and Dad hadn’t the money to pay for them all to go, so they’d settled for the beach, which was free.
Nanny Fyncham planted herself and the picnic hamper on the first vacant bench, while Bella dragged Jess off to explore the pier. It was lined with seats, and refreshment kiosks with bunting fluttering in the mild sea breeze. They went to the very end, where steamers from Lynn dropped their passengers. Green waves were breaking against the iron piles below. One or two hardy souls were emerging from the bathing machines, stripped down to blue serge bathing costumes as they ventured into the cold water. The sight made Jess shudder.
‘I want to swim!’ Bella cried.
‘No, not today,’ Jess said. ‘That’s much too cold for you, Miss Bella. But we’ll go on the beach later.’
The sea was going out, leaving great stretches of sand and patches of rock where people wandered, some of them using long poles to help them jump across puddles or from rock to rock.
The sight made Bella cry: ‘Let’s go down to the beach, Jess. I want to go now! I want a leaping pole.’
‘So you shall,’ Jess said, keeping tight hold of the small hand. ‘But behave you like a young lady and don’t shout. Walk nice, like Nanny’s always telling you.’
As they turned back along the pier the town on its cliff spread its wonders before them. At the highest point, half a mile off, Jess could see the white building that housed the light. An excursion train was pulling in to the station behind the Sandringham Hotel with much puffing and whistling and gouts of steam.
Having purchased a leaping pole from the nearest emporium, Bella’s only desire was to return to the beach. The receding tide left shallow rock pools and runnels of water, over which Bella practised her leaping while an anxious Jess followed, trying to ensure the child didn’t get too wet; Jess didn’t want to get blamed for her falling sick.
Bella, however, fell in with a group of children all showing off their prowess and trying to outdo one another. Though she was one of the youngest, she could leap as well as most, much to her delight. Shouts of laughter, jeers and dares filled the air, joining the cries of gulls and the sound of a barrel organ from the fair.
‘Jess…’
The soft voice made Jess spin round to see Lily standing a few yards away, dressed in a bright blue that exactly matched her blue eye. She looked strikingly lovely, but pale and uncertain – sad, perhaps.
‘Oh, Jess!’ Lily had planned to be a little cool – at first, anyway, just to show her displeasure at being deserted – but now she found herself flying to meet her friend, arms open to embrace her. ‘Oh, Jess. Oh, Jess! I thought I’d lost you.’
Laughing, a mite embarrassed, Jess extricated herself from the hug. ‘You don’t get rid o’ me that easy, Miss Lily. Hold you hard, though.’ Straightening her hat, she glanced about her, checking that Bella was still safely playing. ‘What’ll folk think?’
‘Why – they’ll think we’re glad to see each other.’
‘Mebbe so. But you’re the rector’s daughter, and me… I’m on’y the nurserymaid from the big house.’
Lily blinked her strange, beautiful eyes. ‘What difference does that make? You’re my friend, Jess, the only real friend I have.’
‘Oh, that’s—’
‘It is so! I’m discovering it more and more. Everyone else… even Clemency…’ She stopped herself, eyes moist with distress. ‘Oh, gracious goodness, there’s so much I want to tell you! Let’s try to get away on our own for a little. Nanny Fyncham says you’re to bring Bella back to the pier – she says she’ll get over-heated if she keeps jumping about like that. Bella must sit still and have a drink.’
Jess glanced up at the pier, unable to distinguish Nanny among the crowds lining the rails and benches. ‘She sent you?’
‘I offered to bring the message,’ Lily amended. ‘I left Cousin Oriana with her – they’re old acquaintances. Both of them come from the West Country. In fact,’ she added, ‘if it wasn’t such an absurd notion I might have thought they’d planned to meet today. Nanny Fyncham seemed almost to be expecting us—’
A scream from one of the children made Jess turn to see a youth swinging his leaping pole like a club, threatening the group of smaller children who were all backing away, forming a rough circle round him. Bella was standing wide-eyed, too astonished to move. Any minute now, that flailing pole was going to hit her.
Jess didn’t stop to think, she went running into the circle and grabbed the pole, tearing it out of the boy’s grasp. Before he could even protest, she had hurled the pole far out of reach, grasped Bella’s hand and was hurrying her away. Behind her, the boy shouted something ru
de and went after his pole, while the others scattered back to their families.
‘Gracious goodness!’ Lily said. ‘That was brave. You were like an avenging fury. Jess! Jess, wait!’
Jess strode on, pulling Bella along with her, the trailing leaping pole making a furrow in the sand behind them. She daren’t look back. She’d suddenly realised that she knew the boy whose pole she had thrown away. He was nephew to Butcher Bone, at whose house Jess had once been maid-of-all-work. And if Freddie Bone was in Hunstanton then other folk from Fisher’s End might be here, too. No, she daren’t look back.
‘Jess!’ Lily complained, struggling after her across the yielding, slipping sand. ‘Jess, stop!’
Bella too was complaining, hanging back, dragging on Jess’s hand. As she reached the top of the steps that led up to the esplanade, Jess did stop. ‘Now, come you on, Miss Bella,’ she said crossly, stroking the child’s tumbled hair back from her flushed face and resetting the straw hat that had fallen behind her shoulders on its elastic. ‘Nanny says you’re to have a rest. Look at you, all of a muck-sweat. That’s no way for a nice young lady to be. We’ll go back to the beach later, maybe.’
By that time Lily had caught up with them, out of breath. ‘Goodness! What a race! We were supposed to help Bella cool down, not get her even more heated!’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Lily,’ Jess said, a swift glance telling her that the boy Bone had merged into the throng. No one was following her. No one had even noticed the small disturbance. ‘I just thought it best to get Miss Bella right away. I shouldn’t’ve let her play with them ruffians in the first place.’
‘Why not? She appeared to be enjoying herself.’
Before Jess could reply, Bella pointed at Lily, piping, ‘What is she doing here?’
‘And who’s “she”?’ Jess demanded. ‘The cat’s auntie? Hen’t you got no manners, Miss Bella? Why, your papa introduced you to Miss Clare only yesterday, at church. Have you forgot? I ’spect she’ve come to Huns’ton same as us – to enjoy the sea air.’