by Adele Geras
“Often,” said Uncle William. “Sometimes the dreams are so bad I’m frightened of going to sleep. So I stay awake too long and then I’m tired and cross during the day. Your cousins think I’m a very bad-tempered sort of chap, and that’s true, I suppose, but it’s only because of the pain. I still have pains in my head. Miss Nightingale couldn’t do anything for those, alas, though I don’t get them as often as I used to. I must hope that I will mend entirely one of these days.”
“Oh, I hope so most sincerely, Uncle William,” said Lizzie.
Uncle William smiled at her. It was as though the sun had come out from behind the darkest of clouds. She realized that she had never seen her uncle smile before, not once. The sight warmed her.
“Your father’s death…that was a blow to me, Lizzie,” Uncle William continued. “Percy is a good man, but John was my favourite brother. And your mama…well, I always thought of her as a jewel among women. When you said you were worried about her, why, I found it impossible not to be worried myself. I would hate any harm to come to Cecily.”
They had left London far behind them now, and both of them fell silent. Lizzie hadn’t noticed the time going by, but she saw that they must have travelled quite a long way. The trees, some of them with all their leaves gone, were bending in the strong wind. Heavy, grey clouds covered the sky and the chill in the air meant that winter was truly upon them. Uncle William had tucked a rug around Lizzie’s legs before they set off, but still she felt stiff and cold. She began to worry about Mama. What if she was lying ill in bed and didn’t recognize her daughter? What then? Perhaps, though, all would be well. She thought longingly of firesides and the warmth that awaited them in the cottage.
As they drove at last into the village, Lizzie’s spirits rose. Now that they were passing the Huntsman’s Inn, now that they were coming up the lane to the cottage, her heart began to beat faster and faster. She was longing to see Mama and hold her and kiss her…
“Are you feeling brave, young Lizzie?” Uncle William asked. “I’m sure all will be well, but we’ll be prepared, will we not? Into the mouth of Hell, like the six hundred, don’t you know! Ready for anything.”
Lizzie nodded, unable to speak. She had noticed that no smoke rose from the chimney of the cottage. Surely no one would neglect to light a fire in this weather. The carriage drew to a halt and Uncle William helped her to climb down. She didn’t feel as if she were ready for anything. She stood beside her uncle as he lifted the brass knocker and let it drop onto the wooden front door. There was no answer, so Uncle William knocked again. Lizzie was just about to suggest that they went round to the back of the house when the door opened and there was Eli Bright, dressed, as always, in black from head to toe. He regarded Lizzie without smiling and then lifted his gaze to Uncle William.
“Good day to you, sir,” Uncle William said. “I am William Frazer and I’ve brought my niece to visit her mother.”
“I suppose you must come in, then,” said Eli Bright, without so much as a single word of welcome or greeting. “I shall tell her you’re here to see her.”
He stepped into the dark interior of the cottage and Lizzie and Uncle William followed him. Lizzie was trembling. What would they find?
Chapter Nine
In which Lizzie and her mother are reunited
The interior of the cottage was so dark that Lizzie found it hard to make out the familiar furnishings and features of her old home. But there they were: the shabby armchairs next to the empty grate. Why had no fire been lit to take the chill off the room? The table still stood beside the window. It was covered by the plush cloth that Lizzie knew was almost as old as she was. The mantelshelf over the fire had nothing more decorative on it than a clock.
“To what do we owe this unexpected visit?” Mr. Bright enquired, looking as though the visit was far from a pleasure.
“Young Lizzie here was worried about her mama. She has not written for some time, and knowing that she is in a delicate condition, we were concerned for her welfare.” Uncle William looked around the dark, chilly room and stared at Mr. Bright out of his one good eye. Lizzie, meanwhile, was edging towards the stairs. She could no longer keep silent. Her eagerness to be reunited with her mama was almost overwhelming.
“Is Mama upstairs?” she asked. “May I go up? And where is Annie?”
“I have dismissed Annie. Her wages were a drain upon the household. And besides, she was growing quite old and infirm. It was a kindness to her.”
“But,” Lizzie was almost speechless with distress. “Why did Mama not tell me? How could you send Annie away before I could bid her goodbye? And how can Mama manage all on her own? I want to see her. Is she in her bedroom? I must see her!”
“Your mother is resting. She is asleep, I’ve no doubt. Perhaps you would wait while I go and see.”
“Nonsense, man!” Uncle William burst out. “Can’t you see that Cecily would much rather be woken by her daughter than by anyone else in the world? How can you be so cruel as to make her wait after such a long journey? And you can see how distressed she is. Go on, Lizzie. He’s not going to stop you.”
Lizzie could see that Mr. Bright was taken aback by being spoken to in this manner. He took a step backwards and let his mouth fall open in amazement. She decided to leave him to Uncle William, who would doubtless know how to deal with him. She tiptoed upstairs as quickly as she could, and knocked on her mother’s bedroom door. There was no answer.
Lizzie stood outside on the little landing in some confusion. She hesitated to wake her mama, if indeed she was asleep, because everyone knew that when you were expecting a baby, you grew very tired and needed rest above all things. But Mama would certainly want to see her. Surely she’s missing me, Lizzie thought, as much as I’m missing her? She decided to knock once more and go in.
The sight that met her eyes when she opened the door nearly made her cry. Her mother was indeed asleep, but her room was so bare and unwelcoming; the linen on the bed so sparse and shabby; the curtains at the windows so grubby and thin that as far as Lizzie could see, anyone who slept here would close their eyes the second they got into bed to avoid looking around them. Was it, she wondered, that the room was always like this and she was only noticing it for the first time because she had grown used to the comfort and luxury of the house in Chelsea? Or had matters changed since her departure? She had only been gone a few weeks. Could such alterations happen in so short a time?
And her mama! Cecily’s light-brown curls were in disarray and looked as though they hadn’t been brushed for a long time. Her mother’s face was pale, too, and her lips, in the dim light of the room, had lost all colour. If Lizzie hadn’t known she was expecting a baby, she would have thought she was looking down at an invalid.
“Mama?” she whispered, touching her mother’s shoulder gently. “Mama, wake up. It’s me. It’s Lizzie, come to see you.”
Her mother stirred and opened her eyes. For a moment, she was silent, staring at her daughter, then she struggled to sit up.
“Lizzie! Lizzie, my dear! You’re real! Oh, you’re here. You’re really here, my precious child. I thought you must be just another fragment of my dream. I dream about you so often…are you real?”
“Yes, of course I’m real, Mama.” Lizzie flung herself onto the bed, and put her arms around her mother’s neck and kissed her. The familiar smell, the smell of her mother’s skin that she had known since childhood, was there, but overlaid with a kind of sourness, as though her mother had been perspiring under the bedclothes, or as though…could it be true?…she hadn’t bathed lately.
As if she had been reading Lizzie’s thoughts, Cecily said, “Oh, I must smell dreadful. It’s such a business, heating up the water for a bath. And I am too weak to make the effort.”
“But why?” Lizzie asked. “Why are you in bed the whole day? Is it because Annie is no longer here to take care of you? Oh, Mr. Bright is most wicked to send her away! Are you ill? If you are, we must call the doctor.”
> “No, no, not ill at all. Just the normal aches and pains of someone in my condition. And I stay in bed to save heating the parlour. We do not have a great deal of money. Dismissing Annie has saved us a little. But don’t let’s talk about that now. It’s so wonderful to see you. How does it come that you’re here? Is something amiss in London?”
“Uncle William brought me in the carriage. I was worried about you. You haven’t written for such a long time.”
“I’m so sorry, my darling,” said Cecily. “Eli persuaded me that too much letter-writing would tire me out, and only permits me to write to you once a week.”
“That is the most dreadful thing I ever heard!” said Lizzie. “How does he dare to tell you when you can and can’t write?” She did not dare to say so, but she thought that Mama might at least have written to tell her about Mr. Bright’s decision, in order to stop her from worrying. She thought that this was easily the most wicked thing he’d ever done.
Tears stood in her mother’s eyes, and Lizzie was contrite at once.
“I’m so sorry for shouting at you, Mama. I didn’t mean it, really. And perhaps you are too weak to write to me. It doesn’t matter about the letters. I will do without them if only I know you are well.”
“You’re a kinder daughter than I deserve, Lizzie. And I will write in future, I promise. I will tell Eli that I will, yes. But now I must get up and greet your uncle.”
Cecily pushed back the bedclothes and struggled out of bed. She said to Lizzie, “Go downstairs and wait for me there. I will dress and come down. You and Uncle William must take some refreshment with us. I’m sure we have enough to share, however humble it may be.”
“I don’t think you ought to cook, Mama. You don’t look strong enough.”
“You go down, dear. Tell Eli and Uncle William that I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I’d rather stay and help you to dress, Mama. Will you allow me to do that? I could arrange your hair.”
“No, my dear, I’ll be quicker on my own. You go downstairs, there’s a good girl.”
Lizzie went down to the parlour feeling quite powerless. Her heart was heavy when she considered how little she could do to help her mother.
Chapter Ten
In which Uncle William takes action
Lizzie did as she was told. Down in the parlour, Uncle William was standing at the window, staring out at the small back garden, and Mr. Bright was seated at the table. Had they spoken at all while she was upstairs? It was hard to tell. She turned to Mr. Bright.
“Mama will be down in a moment. She says we’re to take some refreshment with you.”
“Indeed?” He didn’t go on and Lizzie wondered whether “indeed” meant that he was pleased or displeased at the idea of company for luncheon. That was the thing that had most angered her about Mr. Bright. You never knew what he thought. His words were all of a piece: dull and flat and the very opposite of lively, whatever he wanted to say. She was wondering whether she had the courage to ask directly, when she heard her mother coming downstairs and stepping into the room.
“Cecily!” said Uncle William and he caught her up in a bear hug, lifting her off the floor and whirling her around as though she were nothing more than a child.
“William! How wonderful to see you! And in such good spirits, too. How do you do?”
“Please,” said Mr. Bright, frowning. “My wife is in a delicate condition. Your display of feeling is most unsuitable at such a time.”
“Nonsense,” said Uncle William. “Nothing I’ve done will harm either Cecily or her child.” He turned back to Cecily. “I do very well, I’m sure,” he went on. He held Lizzie’s mother at arm’s length and looked very carefully at her. “Which is more than can be said for you, dear Cecily. You’re pale, and you weigh not much more than Lizzie here, I’ll be bound. Do you eat? Do you drink milk? Are you resting?”
“Yes, yes,” said Cecily. “I do very well.”
“That’s not what it looks like to me,” said Uncle William. “What do you think, Lizzie?”
Lizzie was dismayed. Her mother’s dress, when she compared it with the clothes that Aunt Victoria wore every day, was almost worn out. She remembered it from before she left the cottage, but at that time she hadn’t realized that there were other dresses, other fabrics in the world which didn’t have the weight and substance of a rag. Perhaps Mama was saving her good clothes until after the baby was born. She had arranged her hair and washed her face, but she was still just as pale and there were deep purple shadows under her eyes.
“You don’t look like yourself, Mama,” Lizzie said finally, not wanting to alarm her mother.
“Your daughter was concerned, Cecily,” Uncle William added. “She wondered why you stopped writing to her.”
“I’ve explained to Lizzie,” said Cecily. “Mr. Bright has said that a letter once a week would be sufficient.”
“Indeed, I did,” said Mr. Bright. “Writing once a day is far too onerous for one in your condition. No one needs to write every day, I feel sure.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” said Uncle William. “Although I can see that you have decided many things in this house.”
“Cecily is my wife,” said Mr. Bright. “I have a right to make decisions concerning her health and welfare.”
“Health and welfare!” Uncle William was roaring by now. “How can even the meanest of creatures find health and welfare in a hovel such as this? When my brother was alive, this was a place of comfort and ease and you have turned it into a kind of prison for Cecily. In fact, I have seen prisons that are more luxuriously appointed than this.”
Lizzie watched her mother as Uncle William spoke. She was sitting down now, on one of the two armchairs beside the grate and had covered her mouth with her hand. Mr. Bright was shocked into silence. Uncle William had just got into his stride, however. He marched into the tiny pantry, and called out over his shoulder, “Food! There is not enough food here to satisfy the mice! How dare you offer us refreshment when you know the state of your larder? Three eggs and the stale heel of a loaf of bread. Is this an adequate sufficiency for anyone? Anyone at all?”
“Today is market day,” said Mr. Bright. “We will be going to buy our provisions later this afternoon. After your departure.”
“Then you had best prepare yourself to go alone. Cecily, I am taking you to London with me. My brother’s ghost would come and haunt my bedside if I left you here. Please go upstairs with Lizzie now and put a few necessities into a valise. We will be leaving shortly. We will lunch at the Huntsman’s Inn.”
“But…” Mr. Bright’s composure was deserting him. He was opening his mouth to object when Uncle William growled, “I will strike you, sir, if you prevent me. If you wish to see your wife and child restored to you at any time in the future, I advise you to permit this short…holiday, let us call it…and raise no further objections.”
“On the contrary,” said Mr. Bright. “I feel Cecily will greatly enjoy a short stay with her relations in London. Her absence will allow me to save enough funds, perhaps, to make her life easier when she returns. We are, you see, very short of funds.”
“Hmm,” said Uncle William. “It may be that you are, but I cannot believe that you do not make enough money to keep you clothed and fed, at least. There’s a great difference between abject poverty and meanness. I know that my brother left enough money to provide for his wife and child. Have you spent all that?”
“Certainly not. My wife’s inheritance is safely in the bank. I was brought up to believe that one did not squander one’s capital. There is such a thing as saving money.”
“There is also such a thing as being a miser and a skinflint!” said Uncle William. “Go, Cecily. Go and pack your suitcase. You are coming with me and Lizzie.”
The carriage was approaching London as dusk fell. The violet sky was studded with bright stars on this frosty night and, all over the city, lamps were lit and shining behind drawn curtains. Lizzie, who had fallen as
leep for a little while after their good lunch of beef and roast potatoes at the Huntsman’s Inn, woke up and looked at her mother. Already, even after such a short while away from Mr. Bright, Cecily was looking happier, although she was still pale, and getting ready for the journey had tired her greatly. Lizzie felt content. All would be well, now that her mother was in London with her. They could forget about the chilly, comfortless cottage and the chilly, comfortless person who remained there by himself.
As the carriage drew up in front of the house, Lizzie said to Uncle William, “What will Uncle Percy say when he sees Mama?”
“Yes, William,” said Mama. “It won’t perhaps be convenient to have yet another person thrust upon the household.”
“Look at this house, Cecily! Look at the size of it! Why, you could fit your cottage into it three times over and have room to spare. Percy and Victoria will be delighted. As for my mother, well, she likes nothing better than visitors and is forever complaining that we do not see enough company. Come, we will surprise them all.”
He helped Cecily out of the carriage and Lizzie followed them up the steps. Now that they were at the house, she wondered whether indeed everyone would be as delighted as Uncle William said they’d be at the prospect of another mouth to feed and another body to accommodate.
Chapter Eleven
In which Lizzie’s mama receives a letter
Lizzie was right. She couldn’t say so to anyone, but she could see that when Uncle William turned up with Mama in the carriage, the family was somewhat surprised. Of course, they were all most welcoming and the house was certainly big enough to accommodate Cecily, but still, Lizzie knew that her arrival would mean something of an upheaval and, of course, there would soon be a baby and a nursery maid would have to be hired.