Miss Boston and Miss Hargreaves

by Rachel Malik

  Elsie would have to travel all the way to Winchester for the trial, a long and complicated journey that filled her with dread. Mrs Cuff – Margaret – said they should travel together (she was being called as a witness too) and Elsie had gratefully agreed. She was daunted about spending so much time with anyone other than Rene, but it was less daunting than travelling alone.

  12.

  Letter from Holloway

  Dear Elsie,

  You must not come and visit me, I insist. I am managing here quite well. I read and keep to myself most of the time. We sometimes get to listen to the wireless in the evening, but it is another station and I miss our programmes. But you mustn’t think of coming, Elsie. It is far too far for you to come, even with Margaret, and I know how you feel about London.

  Poor Jugger. His poor flat ears when I was taken – that was what made me cry. He must have known something was wrong. You always said I was too soft with him and I’m sure you’re right, but I bet you’ve kept his basket upstairs all the same. I know he will appreciate your walks – you always were the bigger walker.

  Remember the night we set off to see the White Horse? Such a long way. Such a long time ago but it keeps coming back. The brandy made us silly, didn’t it?

  We cycled for an age with those muffled lights. And then how we walked and walked! I was so worried someone would steal our bikes, but you said I had to trust you. I’m sure you remember that. You said you would find the right path. It was still moonlight and so warm and the land seemed to swirl about us. Oh Elsie, we weren’t young then, but it felt like we were. Do you remember we found that old packet of cigarettes?

  You must thank Margaret for sending me the cigarettes, it’s very kind of her. I’m smoking too much I know, but sometimes the time seems to drag so. The food is dismal, though I promise you faithfully I am eating – you are not to worry. All the tasty things we used to keep in our cupboards! But that was before Ernest came and ate them or broke the jars. He broke a lot of things.

  Elsie, please believe me when I tell you that everything will be all right – I’m sure of it. They’ve made a silly mistake and have to go through with it now but in the end they’ll have to let me go – it’s just too stupid.

  Writing this now I can almost see you, sitting in the kitchen. You’ll have your spectacles out on the table but you won’t have put them on, you never really feel you need them, do you? If you use the bicycle, remember the brake is always stiff. Travel to the court with Margaret – it’s a long journey and it would make her happy, and me.

  A hug for Jugger and look after yourself.

  Your Bert

  At Winchester

  * * *

  13.

  The Eagle Hotel

  At the train station, it was Elsie who bought the tickets, studied the timetable and checked the connections with the sleepy ticket-man. Margaret was surprised. She watched as Elsie strode briskly down the platform and climbed the steps of the passenger bridge – as if her case weighed nothing – she was halfway across the bridge before she looked back. Margaret followed, tripping awkwardly along the platform with her box case banging her shins. This wasn’t the Elsie she knew. But then Margaret couldn’t know the force of what urged her forward, or the journeys Elsie had made, all those journeys, from half-forgotten stations like this, most of them with Rene. SEE YOUR OWN COUNTRY FIRST.

  The train wasn’t busy and they had the compartment to themselves. ‘We can both sit by the window,’ Elsie said – she always sat by the window if she could, ever since that first trip north with Rene. Margaret settled herself down in the other window seat, though there was nothing to see from the window: everything was rubbed out by the rain. Big, hard drops burst heavily on to the glass of the window, over and over. Margaret got out her library book and tried to read, and Elsie got her book out too. ‘What will you talk about on that long journey?’ Miss Penn had asked, and Margaret had smiled and said nothing. Elsie didn’t want to talk; she put her book down and just sat watching the window, watching it like a picture: the rain exploding silently on the glass, over and over.

  Margaret tried to keep her eyes on her book but it couldn’t hold her attention – she was too preoccupied with thoughts of the next few days. Rene’s trial was her main concern of course. But there were far too many other novelties: the long journey that she and Elsie were making to Winchester; the hotel in the town where they would be staying and taking their meals; Elsie’s state of mind. And though she wouldn’t have admitted it to Miss Penn or Mrs Marrack, or even to Belinda, she was concerned about how she and Elsie would manage together for all this time.

  For the moment there seemed little cause for concern; wrapped in her greatcoat, Elsie kept her eyes on the window. After a while she gave up on the rain and pressed her nose to the glass, trying to get a glimpse of what lay beyond. It was a largely wasted effort, but just occasionally there was the shimmer of water and light in a flooded field, a glimmer of movement as if something stirred beneath.

  At twelve, Margaret got out the picnic lunch she had made for them both: very plain, just sandwiches and a slice of cherry cake. They would be getting their main meal in the evening – at the hotel. As usual, Elsie ate slowly, chewing carefully. It had been months since she had shared a meal with anyone, and she thanked Margaret warmly – though she still stumbled to call her by her first name.

  Time passed; the train squealed slowly to a stop in another half-forgotten station, Elsie rubbed at the glass and pressed her nose hard to the pulsing window, trying to catch the name on the sign. She peered again then sat back, quite lost for a moment, then she bit her lip.

  ‘Elsie, are you all right?’ Margaret asked.

  And Elsie turned and nodded briefly. Margaret knew better than to say more.

  What a day.

  The rain did not relent. If anything, it was heavier by the time they reached Winchester. When the taxi arrived at the stand, they could only climb in by taking a big step to cross the gushing stream in the gutter. Elsie managed it easily in her big boots – for once they didn’t seem so out of place; but Margaret faltered and caught a bad splash on her nylons.

  ‘Cathedral crypt’s already flooded,’ the taxi driver told them, but he cheerfully pointed out the town sights: the barracks; the ruin of the Westgate; the famous statue with its sagely pointing finger. Coming into the centre, they got snarled up in the remains of the market-day traffic and were finally stuck on a handsome stone bridge. Through the streaked balustrades Margaret and Elsie watched the water fast and foaming; heard it too, gushing hard beneath.

  The taxi eventually stopped outside the Eagle Hotel, a somewhat shabby Georgian building with a porch of fine black columns. This was where they would be staying during the trial. It had once been a coaching inn; there was still an old tethering point and a cobbled yard to one side. ‘Here we are,’ the driver said, and both women fumbled for their purses. And then it was all a bit awkward as the driver got out to retrieve their luggage and Margaret slipped out of the back seat and Elsie shuffled awkwardly after her. And then they weren’t sure whether to wait for him, and then he strode up the stairs to the door anyway, so they followed him and went clumsily through it and wiped and wiped their feet on the heavy mat. The driver hovered and Elsie tipped him for a second time. But then he was gone, the door closed in a soft heavy hush and the sound of the rain finally stopped. They both felt quite exhausted.

  Margaret recovered first and went over to the reception desk to make the arrangements. Elsie waited gratefully in the empty lobby, trying to catch her breath. She had never been anywhere like this. She had stayed in numerous bed and breakfasts, but this was a proper hotel. It was the warmth she felt first; it came forward like a welcome, touching the tips of her fingers and breathing ever so gently on her nose. Beneath her feet, there was carpet as far as the eye could see. She stretched herself cautiously into the warmth and took in the even spread of the light – how bright it was here, so different from the relentless grey ou
tside.

  The trial was due to start the next day and Elsie and Margaret wouldn’t be called till the end of the second day at the earliest. But nothing could have kept Elsie away. Once she knew the day that the trial was starting, she wanted to be in Winchester. If Rene was going to be here, Elsie wanted to be here too. Unlike Margaret, who could foresee all manner of troubles for the days ahead, Elsie hadn’t thought much yet about the trial. It was the thought and excitement of seeing Rene that preoccupied her, and everything else was a blur. Perhaps she really did lack imagination.

  The warmth and the carpet – a dry, dusty green – extended into the lift and along the second-floor corridor where they had their rooms. Margaret insisted that Elsie have the better room – larger by a fraction and with a nice view of the square. It was agreed that Elsie would knock on Margaret’s door at a quarter to six to go downstairs to the dining room, and they parted with mild relief on both sides.

  Alone in her room, Elsie switched the light on and off a few times and took off her coat. She was thankful to have her own room – she wouldn’t have wanted to share with anyone apart from Rene.

  It was a big bed with all manner of complicated coverings and four rather floppy pillows. Nib would have been on them in a minute, looking for a niche. There were pictures on the walls – engravings of the town – and over by the bay window were a big armchair and a little round table and a lamp; she switched this on too. Unable to settle, she unpacked her clothes and put them in the wardrobe. She did this slowly, unfolding everything, hanging what she could and pressing everything else carefully into the drawers, on top of the pretty daisy-knotted paper. Then she hung her damp coat from the top of the wardrobe, put her neat navy bag (borrowed, like a number of items for this trip, from Margaret) under the bed, and placed her book – a detective – on the bedside table. She looked around the room again as if to assess her impact. The window and the armchair beckoned, but she was still too fidgety so she opened the heavy door of her room and went down the corridor to explore the bathroom.

  If anything, the bathroom impressed her more than anything: the great white bath and sink; the tall, shining taps; the thin rectangles of pale soap. There was also a basket of bath cubes, each individually wrapped in blue and gold paper and smelling, she quickly discovered, eye-prickingly exotic. There was a radiator, blazing hot, and along the wall a bank of gleaming copper pipes. These were part of the new plumbing system, but, to Elsie, they were, along with the bath cubes and the hot radiator, just more magic. She turned on the hot tap of the bath experimentally. The water came immediately; no cough, no splutter. It gushed hot within moments. She turned the tap off and then on again. It had been a long time since she’d seen a real bath in a real bathroom, far longer since she’d used one. She had certainly never seen a bathroom like this. Just for a moment, she thought that she’d have a bath, then and there, even if it was the middle of the afternoon. There was no one else about after all. She would powder one of the cubes into the hot gushing water and pop back to her room to get the towels and the dressing gown that Margaret had found her and … But the plan died as she thought it – she was just too shy. What if she saw somebody as she came out of the bathroom with her hair all wet? Passing people in the corridor in a dressing gown in the early morning or the evening might be all right – but three o’clock was a funny time to take a bath, even if the water was hot. She decided she would wait.

  The bathroom and bedroom door both had the same notice: IN THE EVENT OF FIRE, MAKE YOUR WAY OUTSIDE USING THE MAIN STAIRCASE. DO NOT USE THE LIFT.

  Back in the bedroom, she moved the armchair closer to the window and pulled the nets back carefully so she could look out. Finally, she sat down.

  Her window looked out on a pretty little square of comfortable if shabby houses; there was a garden of some kind in the centre. Most of the houses had outside lamps, which shone a feeble yellow light in the wet winter afternoon. The houses looked very tall and thin to Elsie, and forlorn with their empty plant pots. But she didn’t find the scene as a whole so. She was too excited about seeing Rene. She breathed experimentally on the window, blurring the view, then wiping it clear. Soon, in just three days, maybe two; perhaps Rene was here already. The thought of seeing Rene was everything; it made her happy, just the thought of it. Beyond that the trial was a blank, a blur. The only other thing she could see was she and Rene travelling home to Wheal Rock. For Rene would soon be free, she was sure of it, and then she and Rene would travel back together, and Mrs Cuff – Margaret – would come with them too; she had been so kind, so helpful, from the first.

  Outside in the square the light was beginning to fade, though she could still see the rain. In the garden, the branches of the birches reached up like a plea of ancient hands. There was ivy everywhere; it gloved the trees’ long fingers, leaving just the tips bare. She blew again on the window, blurred out the picture, rubbed it clear. She felt oddly comfortable. It was not just the warmth and the light and the carpet, or even the thought of Rene, who must soon be close by. Wheal Rock had been lonely without Rene, and when Rene had been transferred to London, so far away, quite out of reach.

  The garden in the centre of the square was bounded by iron railings; Elsie could see the padlocked gate quite clearly from her window. Inside the circle of trees floated a green lawn surrounded by a fringy shore of gravel. Among the thin, stretching trees, she picked out an old, wizened apple – it seemed left over, forgotten. If the rain kept up like this, the roots would surely rot.

  When Margaret opened her door to Elsie at quarter to six, she was relieved to see that Elsie had followed her advice on clothing. She was wearing Rene’s smart leather ankle boots – nearly new and only a little small – and a soft, navy sweater that Margaret had lent her. There was nothing to be done about the slacks, thought Margaret, but the sweater and the neat brown boots did something to bring Elsie closer to the ordinary.

  They were first into the dining room and that helped too: there was no one to observe them as they were shown to their table, or hear their shoes on the shining wooden floor. The elderly waiter settled them gently at a table between two windows and padded back to the kitchen. The pause gave them a chance to get their breath, for they were both daunted by the room. It was a very grand room, large and high-ceilinged. The tables were dressed in long, heavy linen and gleamed with glassware and silver cutlery. Each table had a vase of pale, crêpey daffodils, quite wilted in the heat, but even the half-dead flowers added something to the grandeur. There were pictures on the walls, as neatly spaced as the tables, more engravings of the town. The waiter returned with the menus then padded away again, his soft-shoed feet quite silent on the floor. It was very quiet, dauntingly so. It made you think of breaking things, Margaret thought. Occasionally, very occasionally, a brief swell of laughter came in from the bar.

  Elsie and Margaret studied the menu cards in front of them carefully, keeping the quiet. When the waiter returned, Margaret asked for tomato soup and roast chicken, but Elsie paused for what seemed like an age before blushing deeply and ordering curried prawns and salmon mornay. She kept her eyes firmly on the menu card as she spoke, but her voice was clear enough.

  ‘Gosh, Elsie, are you sure?’ Margaret asked, when she was certain the waiter was out of earshot.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Elsie said. ‘Quite sure.’

  And she was. She ate everything, slowly and thoughtfully, with interest. Rene wouldn’t have been surprised, not even if Elsie had ordered French snails (which weren’t on the menu), but Margaret was a little taken aback. They both ordered the trifle from the trolley to finish though, and this seemed to make things easier. They even made a little small-talk, and though it was mainly Margaret talking about Belinda and the shop, it did well enough for the purpose.

  Other diners came in as they ate: most were men and none were young; a few brought drinks with them from the bar, but any noise was left behind at the entrance, like an overcoat or a pair of gloves. No one seemed very interested in anyon
e else, and Margaret didn’t feel they caught any awkward attention. It had all gone better than she could have hoped.

  They were just finishing their tea when a large group of men came in, laden with drinks from the bar. One of them, unsteady on his feet, grabbed hold of the wooden menu stand for balance and nearly toppled it over. A very thin young man with long hair jumped forward and grabbed the stand just in time. A couple of the others whistled and applauded. They were a big group, ten or twelve of them; they didn’t wait to be asked but settled themselves at two tables close to the entrance, pulling them together with a good deal of noise and some laughter at the expense of someone called Colin. His name carried across the room. They were directly in Margaret’s line of vision and she couldn’t avoid looking at them, couldn’t avoid listening.

  They quietened down and were polite enough when one of the elderly waiters came to take their orders, but they burst out laughing as soon as he had turned away; a man sitting alone at a table tutted disapprovingly. Margaret didn’t care for the look of them and she didn’t want to walk past them, certainly not with Elsie. There was something tricky and unpredictable to them. The man who had nearly fallen over was now talking in a very animated way to nobody in particular, and nobody in particular seemed to be listening. They were all brushed up with drink and a buzzing, fizzing energy, their eyes darting this way and that.

  ‘Shall we go now?’ Elsie asked.