by Leah Fleming
‘No…peppermint lozenges and a cup of fennel tea will sort it out, thank you.’
Hester knew better than to fuss over her but Essie had lost weight and her cheeks were pinched. Was it fair to burden her with extra work?
Essie had her own ideas when the request was relayed. ‘It’ll be grand to open up the house and put a few more living souls in all these rooms. Maggie and me will manage. We can ask in the village for more help. It’s going to be quite a do. It said in the Gazette that the Prince of Wales may be coming…we’ll never see the like again in our lifetime. Wait till I tell Selma all the news…’
Back and forth over the Atlantic those letters went, full of Shari’s doings in school and Big Jim’s starring role in The Westward Run.
Don’t blink or you’ll miss us in the trading post scene. I’m the one choosing fabric and Shari is skipping outside, the one with pigtails, but it may end up on the cutting-room floor…days of work for nothing but an honest wage.
Essie searched the papers until she found a showing in Keighley so they trekked over there by train to see the film.
Hester had never seen anything so vulgar and garish, and there was no trading post scene. Big Jim hogged the film like a hairy gorilla, making them both want to laugh.
‘He’s not exactly your Rudi Valentino, is he, and all that make-up on his face. I’ll be glad when the talking pictures come in. Voices will make films more exciting, don’t you think?’ said Essie.
Hester had no opinion one way or another. If she never saw another Wild West shoot-out again it would be no sacrifice, but Essie loved taking herself off for a treat on her night off.
The house endured another of Essie’s bottomings out, when Hester was required to put away all her precious bits of porcelain and silver into boxes for safekeeping in the locked cellar.
‘You can’t be too careful these days,’ Essie insisted. ‘You have such beautiful china and glass, I wouldn’t like to see stuff disappear.’
‘But our guests will be people of class,’ Hester said.
‘Top drawer or not, I don’t trust some to help themselves to trinkets. No point in putting temptation in their way, now is there?’
Essie cared about the house as if it were her own. She owned nothing but memories and letters, but polished and cleaned, beat rugs on the washing line as if they were schoolboys in need of punishment. She laid out each bedroom, airing the rooms in turn.
One afternoon Hester found her in Guy’s old room sitting on the bed. ‘I’d like to ask you something.’
‘Fire away,’ Hester said, not expecting what came next.
‘I think it’s time Master Guy was laid to rest, and Angus too. Don’t you think after all these years it’s time to let go of these lifeless things and give them to a good home where they can be used and come back to life again?’
Hester stepped back at the honesty of her appeal and the firm glint in her eyes.‘But they’re all I have to remind me…’
‘Yes, milady, I know, but it’s a damn sight more than I will ever have of my boys. They are just things. What you have in your heart can never be taken away…your memories of good times. You have photograph albums, your letters. Better to shift them now and make use of the rooms? I’m sure it’ll do you good.’
‘Who are you to tell me what to do?’ Hester snapped, cornered by the suddenness of the onslaught.
‘That’s unworthy of you. I’m your friend as well as your servant, I hope. A friend tells the truth, even if it hurts. I just thought this was a good time. I’ll allus be grateful you brought me out of the cottage to a new place when I was in need of support. How can I repay you but by being honest back? You have mourned so long as if it was all your doing…Don’t you think I don’t know that your son wasn’t there for my son when he was in need of him? Don’t you think I know you feel badly for that? But you have made up a hundred times for that omission, giving me a measure of peace and comfort within these walls.’
Hester was winded, flopping down on the bed, trying not to cry. ‘How do you live with your pain?’ she asked. ‘What was done to your son—how do you live with it?’
Essie looked her in the eye and shrugged. ‘One day at a time…just for this day, I ask for courage to see it through without feeling bitter. I try to recall the happier days: the chara trips, Sunday school concerts, picnics. If I dwell on the other…it would have killed me long ago.’
‘You make me feel foolish and ashamed. I still have a boy somewhere in the world who hates me.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because in my possessive love I did a wrong thing and I can’t forgive myself for it,’ she wept.
‘It will come right, just as I know it will come right for my boy. He was no coward. I’m going to show you a letter no living soul has seen but me, not even Asa. It would have broken him.’
Hester watched Essie climb the stairs slowly and pause at the turn to catch her breath. She returned with a letter, much worn with rereading, and pushed it into her hand.
Pulling her glasses from her reticule, Hester read each sentence, hardly breathing until she came to the end. ‘Oh, my dear! What a wrong was done. This has to be brought to light…such injustice.’ Then she recalled Martha Holbeck’s words all those years ago. Now I understand what she was talking about, she sighed. Hers was the task of standing up for the Bartley family but first she must repay this trust.
‘I’ll see if I can find some wicker baskets. Will you make a start in the wardrobe while I clear out these drawers? Perhaps the orphanage could make use of these old toys under the bed. Then we can start on the other room tomorrow.’
Essie smiled and nodded. ‘A wise decision.’
Lisa took them both to the great Egyptian palace cinema downtown to see The Jazz Singer with Al Jolson. The musical items were sensational and Selma knew the talkies were here to stay.
Over the past years she’d helped out in prop and costume stores, watching her favourite stars parading onto set. The huge sets held no fear for her now. It was a job like any other and there were always castings to queue for. She was never going to be plucked from obscurity like some of the prettier girls. Her face was too strong and angular, her legs too short and her bust on the flat side, nor did she have that particular allure that the old stars like Vilma Banky and Louise Brooks held.
It was as if they came alive on celluloid, took on a mysterious identity unlike ordinary mortals, which made you believe everything they did on screen. Now even they were cursing the advent of sound, for some of them had squeaky voices with thick accents and some of the men fared even worse. The game had shifted to men with deep husky voices that hinted of seduction, and Big Jim’s Glaswegian accent was hard to understand.
Soon he was back in the saddle in buckskin and black sombrero, taking elocution lessons from an ageing English actress to soften his Scots vowels.
They lived apart now. Selma stayed on at Casa Pinto as concierge. Pearl had picked up another rich lover and they seemed to drift around Europe in search of fun and culture, glad to have her villa occupied all year round.
Jamie tried to muscle in when he was broke but Selma insisted Shari was not to be disturbed in her studies. He must find his own rooms. He’d slammed the phone down in temper. Sometimes he was like a truculent child, other times full of impossible schemes. How had she ever thought she’d loved him? That was a lifetime ago and now she was used to fending for them both. Shari was growing up fast and needed new dresses and shoes, which took every penny.
Selma was busy dusting the empty rooms when the doorbell rang. Habit made her open it, expecting it to be Pearl home unexpectedly, barking her orders in that screechy drawl, but it was a boy with a telegram.
‘Mrs Barr?’
She nodded and snatched it from his hands. What was wrong? Had Jamie had an accident? She tore it open. The message was stark: ‘COME HOME. MOTHER VERY ILL. CANTRELL.’
This was news to Selma. Mam’s letters of late had been very cheery,
full of village gossip and the WI. Why hadn’t she told her? She knew the answer already. Because she’d not want to worry her, being so far away.
It would take weeks to get there, she sighed, but some instinct knew this was not sent lightly. What was she to do? That was when the panic set in. How could she make such an enormous journey? What about Shari? How could she afford it? There was a little set by for her daughter’s education but this was an emergency. Only Lisa would know how to go about it.
Lisa took over all the arrangements, offering to stay with Shari or sneak her into her college. She paid for a flight from San Francisco to New York via Chicago. Then Selma could get the passage back to Southampton and a train back to Yorkshire.
‘Don’t worry, things have changed since we came out. You’ll get back to England in over a week, all being well. Don’t worry about anything here. You stay and see to what you must…’
Perhaps she ought to damn the expense and take Shari, but Shari was far too excited to be rooming with her idol, Lisa, to worry about missing the journey of a lifetime. She hadn’t met her grandmother. She was just a picture in a frame. She’d be fine, but for Selma the thought of leaving her daughter was terrifying, and to be trusting herself to a lump of flying metal even worse. She prayed to every saint under the sun for a safe return. Some of Jamie’s popish habits had rubbed off on her after all.
The suddenness of her departure, the rush to get her papers in order and tickets and a suitcase of winter clothes together overrode all her terror of flying.
In the end it all went smoothly, and to watch the land change from desert to mountain, to plains, to lakes and to sea was a wondrous experience for her. The ship home was enormous and she was in the cheapest berth. The sea was rough but bearable, and then she was stood on Southampton Dock, watching soldiers lined up to embark. It was like old times. She telegraphed ahead to Waterloo to let them know she was on her way.
Only as the train chugged north did she realise that she’d be staying in Waterloo House; the very place where everything had begun with Guy and Frank. A vision of the fierce Lady Cantrell rose up but no longer terrified her. You’ve been across the world, forged your life. You’re as good as her any day. The old order is gone now, she mused, trying to bolster her fears.
How would she find her mother? She must be very ill to call for her like this. In her heart she sensed it was very serious. Oh, why did the train take such an age? She changed at Leeds for the local train and stepped out onto Sowerthwaite station. A flood of memories hit her like a wave, all those farewells made here. Nothing had changed. It still smelled of soot and coal fires, damp leaves, farmyard manure and home. The ten past four bus still ran from the Market Square, and she walked up the hill from West Sharland with trembling legs.
After many time zones and an ocean voyage, she was utterly exhausted. It felt like a dream to be back in England. If only Shari could have come too. She walked up to the main entrance, deliberately making a gesture to her own independence. I’m nobody’s servant here, she thought, pulling the bell rope. Then a gaunt figure in black stood assessing her.
‘Mrs Barr, at last, you’ve made it!’
There were no maids hovering. Selma was ushered into the drawing room.
‘You’re only just in time. Sit down.Your mother is upstairs in bed. Of course, I’d better warn you she’s not as you will remember her. I think she’s been waiting for your coming. Dr Mackenzie says she’s clung on. We’re so pleased to see you’ve made the journey.’
Was this the same dragon she recalled as a child? She was softer, older and almost gentle. What had happened?
‘What’s wrong with my mother?’ she asked.
‘She has a growth in her stomach and it’s spread. It’s painful so she has to be given painkillers to ease her suffering. She’s a very brave woman and took to her bed when I insisted. We have a nurse for her at night. I thought it best to tell you the truth. She pretends it’s going to get better but it’s just a game we play. It won’t be long now. I’m sorry to drag you so far, but I knew you’d want to see her one last time.’
‘I’ll go up now, if you’ll show me.’ Selma wanted to face the worst straight away.
‘Maggie will put your case in the guest room. You must be exhausted. She will run you a bath, if you wish. Your mother is on the top floor. I wanted to bring her down but she insisted she stayed put. She can be very stubborn. I shall miss her terribly.’
Selma raced up to the attic floor. A fire burned in the bedroom grate and in the middle of a brass-railed bed a little creature peered out with cloudy eyes.
Selma recoiled in shock. Where was her mother? How could this stranger be her? This old lady was all bones and yellowy skin scraped over her sunken cheeks like tissue paper. How could she be her mam?
‘Is that you, Selma? You’ve come…I knew you would!’
She rushed to the bed in tears. ‘Oh, why didn’t you tell me how sick you were? I’d have come sooner.’
‘You’re here now and that’s all that matters…still my bonny lass with a face the colour of walnut oil. Let me look at you.’
They sat holding hands, not speaking. Mam had said her piece and lay back exhausted. Lady Hester sent Maggie up with tea and fresh scones. She hadn’t tasted real English tea and home baking for years. Mam didn’t eat but had a sip of her sleeping juice.
‘This will see me into kingdom come and I’ll be glad of it. You can have enough of bellyache,’ she whispered.
What Selma witnessed next was no mere bellyache. It was a gut-wrenching twisting pain that had Essie curled up thrashing about until it subsided. For all she looked so tiny, her belly was blown up as if there was a huge feather cushion inside.
‘Come closer, tell me all your doings. What is my granddaughter up to now?’
Selma brought out the photographs, and some of her in costume, ones taken on the beach and the family posing outside Casa Pinto. ‘What a fancy spread…How’s that husband of yours?’
‘Busy as ever, on his horse in the desert. He loves his little girl,’ she lied.
You didn’t tell your dying mother that you were living apart and that it had never been much of a marriage from the start. Better to keep such things unsaid.
Her mother kept reaching out for her with a hand that was like a bird’s claw in Selma’s palm and she wanted to weep. ‘You’ve been treated well, then?’ she asked.
‘Lady Hester’s been a good friend to me. It’s been a privilege to work here. Sorrow has softened her. She’s made her mistakes, had her hopes dashed. We’ve rubbed along nicely…chalk and cheese like Ruth and me. You will go and stay with her when I’m gone?’
‘When you’re better we’ll both go,’ Selma said.
‘None of that nonsense! Hester likes to play that game. I’m done for. You can’t fight this ugly thing. It’ll see me out, and when I’m gone take what you want…There’s a bit of money put by. I was saving to come and visit you but I didn’t quite make it, did I?’
‘You rest now. I’ll have a nap. My head’s all over the show…It’s a different time over there. I’m still on Los Angeles time. I feel I’ve not slept for days.’
‘It’s grand to have you home. Go and see your dad. I’ll be joining him soon enough.’
‘Oh, Mam!’
‘My body might be rotting but I’ve still got all my chairs under the table. I know the score and I can go more peaceful knowing you’ll be laying me out. It’s all ready in the top drawer: a clean nightie, the pennies for my eyes and the chin bandage, towels. You know what to do and in what order—I’ve shown you enough times. Now go and get your shuteye. Hester will bring supper. She wants to know about your new life. Her son never writes. I fear he’s dead. He did have those terrible fits.’
‘I’d forgotten about that.’ She’d not thought about Angus Cantrell for years.
‘Hester knows all the arrangements when I pass over. Under all that stiff and starch, she’s a good egg. If you’ve got any questions she’ll
answer them.’
‘Questions about what?’
‘Just questions. Now go and get some rest.’
‘I didn’t come here to rest. I came to see you,’ Selma protested.
‘I know you did, but I need my beauty sleep too and once the juice fades, you’ll be wishing you weren’t in the same room as me.’
‘Not before I thank you for letting me leave when you did all those years ago.’
‘I don’t need thanking. You’ve been the best of girls to me. That saying is right, you know. “A man’s a son till he gets a wife, a daughter’s your daughter all her life.” You’re a good lass, and if Shari is a chip off the old block, she’ll not go wrong in life. Oh, and I must tell you before I ramble off, if you walk up the High Road, look out for our Frank. I’ve seen him a time or two walking up the lane. He doesn’t speak but I think he knows I’m there. His spirit has kept me going, just knowing he’s back home where he belongs, but he needs putting to rest, poor lad.’
Poor Mam was rambling in her sleep, Selma mused. Frank on the road to Sowerthwaite? Whatever next? Dad in the forge? Newton at the Foss? They were all dead. Why should Frank be roaming around?
Selma smiled and nodded and tiptoed out of the room. Lady Hester was hovering at the bottom of the stairs, looking anxious. ‘How is she?’
‘Sleeping, rambling on about Frank on the High Road. I’m so glad you contacted me. How long will she suffer like this? Is there anything the doctor can do?’
‘He’s doing all he can to ease her pain. That will shorten things, I’m sure. Now go and get some rest while you can.’
Essie tossed and turned to find a comfortable spot, unable to duck the hurricane of pain that swept through her body, curling her into a ball, holding her breath for it to pass. Tonight the sleeping juice couldn’t dull the agony. These were not birth pangs thrusting out the new but death throes, cutting the ropes of life, casting her adrift onto a lake of dreams.