Lakeland Lily

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘By heck, lass, you may well be right. You’re a woman and a half, you really are. Does nothing frighten you?’

  Now her smile widened to a grin, and with the flat of both hands she wiped the rain from her face, pushing back the tendrils of hair that stuck to her rosy cheeks. The gesture seemed sharply to delineate the sculpted beauty of her face. ‘As a matter of fact, there is. I fear for my child - your grandchild - growing up in a hole like this. Becoming one of the half million who die, like my sister Emma.

  ‘If I’m a fighter, it’s for them, for our Emma and others like her.’ Her throat became constricted with sudden pain. Lily glared at the muddy hem of her dress, taking several minutes to bring herself back under control.

  Their silence lasted the whole length of Carter Street as they swished in and out of puddles, then Edward said, ‘If I agree to help you, what would you do for me in return?’

  Nonplussed, Lily stopped to face him, causing a woman walking with her head down against the rain, to bump into her and curse. ‘Like what? What could I do for you?’

  ‘You haven’t exactly been a cooperative daughter-in-law, now have you? You must be well aware you drive Margot to distraction.’

  ‘Is that my fault? She was against me from the start.’

  ‘Do you wonder at it, in view of your elopement?’

  ‘That weren’t my idea,’ Lily said heatedly.

  ‘Wasn’t.’

  Lily flushed at his reminder of her poor grammar while Edward drew deeply on his cigar and blew out two smoke rings. They both watched as the smoke rose slowly in the damp air to be battered apart by raindrops. Then their collective gaze moved on to the sight of a small, half-naked child seated on a doorstep, bare feet splashing in a puddle murky with unknown horrors.

  Edward sighed. ‘I’m not sure how I’m going to find it, but you can have some money to improve your precious Cobbles. Only it’ll be a waste of time. It’ll be as bad as ever the week after you’ve done, see if it isn’t. In return you must make every effort to fit into life at Barwick House, as Bertie’s wife. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘I’ve not been given a chance to fit in.’

  ‘I’m giving you one now. I’ll speak to Margot, as I’m speaking to you. No more dissension. You’re Bertie’s wife and we must accept that. If I’m to do something about this -’ he glanced about him in unconcealed disgust, ‘you will make every effort - every effort,’ he emphasised with a wag of his cigar, ‘to get along with Margot and fit into your new life. Is that agreed?’

  It was amazing, Lily thought, how all her efforts at vengeance always backfired on herself.

  Lily’s first task was to recruit assistance. Bertie readily volunteered, though even at her most courageous Lily dared not defy Margot by taking her recently recovered son back into the den of iniquity whence he had caught his fever, particularly in view of the bargain she’d struck with Edward.

  Dora Ferguson-Walsh, however, was only too ready to stand in his stead, bringing along a group of equally worthy friends to help. Lily also went in search of Rose.

  ‘Aye, I’ll help, but what we can do I can’t imagine. Making any improvement to this place seems bleedin’ well impossible!’

  ‘You’ll be surprised,’ Lily said, with the kind of resolution in her eye that no one could withstand.

  The first thing they did was to issue everyone with carbolic soap, derbac for nits and lice powder. Then there was a medicine, known as ‘the mixture’, which claimed to be a cure-all. Lily and her team administered it to every willing mouth, old and young alike, for whatever conceivable ailment they complained of, from a bad back and sleeplessness, to coughs and colds, sore throats, ring worm and measles. Any suspicious symptoms were reported to the doctor who sent along the fever ambulance. The diphtheria epidemic had largely run its course, but no one was taking any chances.

  Limewash was issued for cleaning walls, disinfectant by the bucketload, something vicious called Klenzit Kleener and yards of sticky fly-papers in an effort to stem the growing invasion of bluebottles.

  ‘You’re right, Rose, it seems little enough, but it’s a start,’ Lily told her friends.

  Each evening she would go back to Barwick House where she’d wear one of her new gowns and sit at table eating beautifully cooked food from best china plates. Her heart wasn’t in it but Lily knew she’d little choice in the matter. She became two people, living in two worlds. Lily Thorpe of The Cobbles, and Lily Clermont-Read of the fancy lakeside mansion. There was a strange unreality about it all, yet she couldn’t deny that her life with Bertie was pleasant. They would walk in the garden together of an evening, enjoy the delectable food at Margot’s tea-parties, picnics and dinners. And make love in the big brass bed. Best of all Lily played with her darling daughter, watching her grow safe and strong, and beautiful. The ease and comfort of it all grew upon Lily, little by little; insidious, seductive, adding to her sense of guilt.

  Each morning as she returned to The Cobbles, she knew that half her eagerness to get there early derived from a desire to catch a glimpse of a certain figure. Nathan Monroe had volunteered his services from the start, but, tipping her nose in the air, Lily had stubbornly told him that his assistance would not be needed.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve far important matters to attend to,’ she’d told him. ‘Like bullying your way to the top on the backs of the poor you so outrageously overcharge on that steamship of yours.’

  ‘It’s not my steamship. Yet.’

  ‘There you are then. Exactly my point,’ she said, rather confused, and flounced off, cursing herself for becoming embroiled in yet another dispute with him, for didn’t it only unsettle her?

  Lily really had no wish for Nathan Monroe to help her at all. That would mean seeing him every day, working alongside him, feeling his closeness. No, that was the last thing she needed. Yet still she looked for him, felt nothing but misery if he didn’t appear for a few days. She pretended that this was because he irritated her so much, refusing to recognise the way her cheeks bloomed whenever he came near, the way her breathing grew shallow and her heartbeat quickened at the mere sound of his voice.

  To compensate for these inconsistencies in herself, Lily stepped up her quest and squeezed yet more money out of Edward. He scowled and protested but finally agreed to make more funds available.

  ‘Don’t forget our agreement,’ he reminded her. ‘You’ll be expected to attend Margot’s ball at the end of the season. I’ve spoken to her about it and she’s agreed to have you fitted for a new gown.’

  It almost burned Lily’s throat to agree, but fortunately Margot chose not to be present at the dress-fitting session, though Selene enjoyed the experience enormously.

  ‘Dear heaven, it’s like turning a mule into a mare. What sensible square hands you do have, Lily, and quite ruined by all this work you do, of course.’

  ‘All in a good cause,’ she said in a tight little voice, struggling to hold on to her temper, as promised.

  If she was not the socially acceptable wife for Bertie that Margot would have wished, what did it matter? Lily had the extra money she needed for her plan for The Cobbles. She didn’t care a jot about Margot’s ball, or her agreement with Edward. Her aim was to take him for every penny he was worth, wasn’t it? In payment for Dick, for Emma, and for her poor mother who still fought for her every breath in the sanatorium.

  Throughout that summer Lily made regular visits to Hannah, though she was only permitted to wave to her from a distance. She lay in a high iron bed that, like a dozen or so others, stood in a regimented line along a veranda that had one glass wall which could be thrown open to the weather. Though freezing cold much of the year it was considered health-giving, the only palliative for consumption. It seemed to do Hannah no harm. Lily was delighted to find her making progress.

  She sorely missed her mother’s companionship, and when the work got too tough one day, turned away from The Cobbles and all its associated problems and walked instead u
p the steep hill to the sanatorium. At last acknowledging her obsession with Nathan Monroe, Lily decided that she was in dire need of Hannah’s counsel. She needed to get her life in order, to subdue all thoughts and desires for a man not her own husband. Lily wondered what her mother’s reaction would be if she dared ask for such help?

  For once she was actually allowed into the day ward, and found Hannah seated in a cane chair, smiling and looking almost her old self. Lily would have liked to run to her but this was not permitted. Instead, mother and daughter both wept, at last able to share the grief that still haunted them both. Thankful to be together again.

  They could have talked for hours instead of the permitted twenty minutes, Lily telling Hannah about her efforts to clean up The Cobbles, Hannah more interested in family. She asked after Arnie, Liza and Kitty. ‘And your own wee bairn?’

  ‘Oh, Amy’s fine. She’s walking now, and into everything.’ Lily was happy enough to talk about her lovely daughter, how she was growing out of babyhood and into a proper little person of her own now, and with her father’s colouring and her mother’s hazel eyes. But when Hannah enquired if she was being a good wife to Bertie, Lily grew confused with feelings of guilt over the thoughts which filled her head day and night. Memories of cosy suppers with Nathan and Bertie; of Nathan’s touch upon her skin; of the intimate way he used to smile at her, as if they were two people sharing a secret her husband knew nothing of. How just to be aware of being in the same street as him set her nerves jangling.

  Her decision to ask for advice set aside in this confusion, Lily changed the subject back to her work in The Cobbles. ‘Everyone’s pitching in. It’s wonderful what’s being achieved. And it’s costing Edward a small fortune.’

  ‘It’ll not last. He’ll grow bored and refuse any more, as others have done before him,’ Hannah said. ‘Anyway, I thought you wanted out of that place?’

  ‘I am out.’

  ‘So why go begging folk for help?’

  Lily felt a surge of irritation with her mother. Why couldn’t she see? Why couldn’t she understand that you had to fight for what you wanted in this world? ‘I did. I do. But why shouldn’t we ask for help? The Clermont-Reads owe it to us, owe it to everyone who lives there. They make enough profit out of us. You should see the money they spend on their tea-parties and picnics. One such would keep all of Mallard Street in grub for a week. Anyroad, I’m not doing this for their benefit, or mine for that matter.’

  ‘Aren’t you? This isn’t about that accident then? About Dick?’ The blunt question silenced Lily. Hannah had always been too sharp when it came to reading her daughter’s mind. As always it made her feel vulnerable to be understood so well. Lily fixed her gaze on her hands as she clasped and unclasped them in her lap, in case Hannah should read other thoughts in her eyes.

  ‘What if you lose that lovely husband of yours through spending too much time worrying over the state of summat you can’t do aught to change?’

  ‘But we are changing it, and Bertie’s in favour.’

  ‘And Edward Clermont-Read?’

  Lily couldn’t help but smile. ‘Growing poorer by the minute.’

  Hannah, ever wise, raised her eyebrows in an unspoken query. ‘He’s not a bad man. Thoughtless happen. A bit put upon by that wife of his, and too trusting with his agent, but he means well. The Clermont-Reads won’t thank you for wasting their money in this way.’

  ‘If The Cobbles had been a decent place, happen our Emma would still be alive today.’

  ‘That was God’s will. If she was called, what could we do to save her?’

  ‘We can at least make The Cobbles a clean place for her sisters to live in, then they won’t be called too.’

  Seeing her mother’s wince of pain, Lily wanted to offer comfort but Hannah had as quickly gone all tight-lipped again. In her opinion bemoaning one’s lot was a sign of weakness and only made matters worse.

  Lily made her excuses and left fairly soon after that, but as she swung down the hill away from the sanatorium she harboured no regrets for her campaign. Nor could she feel any sympathy for Hannah’s grim acceptance of whatever life brought. To see the Clermont-Reads suffer as Dick, Emma and everyone else in The Cobbles had suffered, and, yes, as Hannah herself had suffered as a result of poverty, wasn’t that what she wanted? Sweet revenge? Justice? Surely it was worth any price?

  The price, however, proved more than even Lily had bargained for.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mrs Greenholme met her at the door. This was so unusual that Lily knew at once something was wrong. Had Bertie suffered the much-dreaded relapse? She broke into a run and flew up the steps. ‘What is it?’ Tell me.’

  The kindly cook took hold of Lily’s hands and led her with tender care, not to Bertie’s room as expected, but to Amy’s.

  Lily gazed with dawning horror upon the tiny figure of her daughter lying so still in bed, a maid sponging the frail body with cool water. ‘She took sick this morning, just after you’d gone.’

  ‘Why didn’t you send for me?’ There seemed to be a roaring in her ears and Lily fell to her knees beside the bed, her world collapsing about her.

  Mrs Greenholme’s voice seemed to come from some far distant place, hushed and respectful, filled with the same fear that held Lily now in its cruel grip. ‘Betty was the only one willing to go to The Cobbles, but she couldn’t find you. We sent for the doctor. He says we’re to get down the fever, fast as we can. That’s what we’ve been about all day. He says the epidemic might be largely over, but there are still one or two outbreaks.’

  Lily struggled to take in the woman’s words, as if they came from a long way off. One thought dominated all else in her brain. Why did Amy have to be one? She hadn’t even been near the place. But I have, the relentless voice continued.

  The roaring came again, seeming to paralyse every part of her body. Lily could not move a muscle, could barely speak or think. Dear God, what had she done? Had her crusade for revenge led her to put her own child in danger?

  She must make Amy better, that was the answer. Not stand here doing nothing. Amy didn’t live in The Cobbles, did she? She lived here, safe and warm in a rich man’s house. As a strange unearthly calm descended upon her, Lily called for ice, and blankets to be brought up, though this had already been done. She took the cold cloths from Betty and started work on her precious child. But her efforts were to no avail. The nightmare was over frighteningly quickly. By midnight Amy’s temperature soared. By dawn she was dead and Lily inconsolable.

  She did not weep or shed a single tear. The tears she’d wept for Emma, and for Dick could not help her now. They failed to break through the pain that held her heart like an iron vice.

  How could she go on living without her child? It wasn’t possible. What right had the sun to shine, the world to keep on turning? Lily walked to her room and carefully closed the door. She washed her face and cleaned her teeth, put on her cotton nightdress and climbed into bed as if everything were perfectly normal.

  She would wake tomorrow and find Amy asleep as usual in the make-shift cradle at the foot of her bed, soft pink mouth puffed out gently in sleep. But in the night when she woke, disturbed as she often was by Amy’s cry, she found the cradle empty, a silent rebuke to her failure as a mother to protect her child. Then, giving a terrible guttural cry, she smashed it to pieces and with her bare hands ripped the fine linen sheets to shreds.

  Lily sat in her room for days, emerging only to walk behind the tiny coffin and see her child put to her final rest. Still no tears fell. Even in the depths of her devastation, Lily took sanctuary in anger, not sorrow. It was the only emotion that could keep her free from the emotional abyss waiting to swallow her up. She did not seek sympathy or pity. She wanted none, knowing they would unhinge her.

  Not that either was offered to her at Barwick House.

  Margot considered it inappropriate to mourn for a child who might or might not have been her granddaughter. She told her grieving son quite b
luntly where he should lay the blame: with the child’s mother.

  He believed Margot when she told him Lily had taken Amy to The Cobbles, and for the first time in their married life Bertie turned away from her.

  He wept, a man broken by grief. Lily could hardly bear to watch him, for how could she deny her responsibility? Neither Bertie nor Selene would ever have set foot in The Cobbles if it hadn’t been for her, nor been ill as a result.

  Her penance now was that she’d lost the person who’d mattered most to her in all the world. Amy had paid the ultimate price for Lily’s own folly.

  And all because of her quest for revenge.

  Days after the funeral, grim-faced and against all advice, Lily returned to The Cobbles. Proving, in Margot’s eyes, that she was indeed an unfeeling mother.

  Builders, joiners and plumbers had been sent in by the dozen and Lily worked beside them like a mad woman. She mixed cement, installed guttering, laid water pipes and sewers for the taps and lavatories that sprang up in every back yard, even carried blocks of stone. No one dared deny her the right to help or she would turn on them in spitting fury, fierce as a tiger. Nor did she allow the men much time to rest.

  ‘Why are you taking a tea break? Work harder. It must be finished by winter,’ she stormed every time they stopped for a breather. Rose steadfastly struggled to keep everyone’s spirits high. ‘Give ‘em a chance. They’re only human, for God’s sake. At least now we won’t have to trek miles in search of a privy, with our legs crossed and our bums frozen stiff.’

  Once, Lily might have giggled at the crude but wondrous picture this conjured up. Now she had lost any ability to smile. Amy would never laugh again, so how could she?

  The task was enormous, could take months, and they didn’t have months. Other babies might fall sick and die. Even Edward no longer protested that she was leading him to the brink of bankruptcy but silently handed over whatever money she demanded.