‘Your employers must have been fond of you, to be so kind – look at me!’ Jerusha said ruefully. ‘I was given my mistress’s cast-offs! I felt I had to wear this outfit today to please her – but now I am going to change into something more comfortable!’ She noticed the cot-bed in the corner. ‘Oh, does Gussie sleep in this – it will be nice to have her company!’
Emma said, ‘She may start the night off here, but she always ends up in bed with us!’
‘You need your sleep – you must try not to worry so much about her – your poor husband will feel neglected. I have come to help, in any way I can, Emma.’
Emma shifted the baby to her other hip, and thought, Everything will be better now Jerusha is here!
Later, as she prepared a special supper, which would be shared with TF when he came home, Emma glanced at her baby crawling on the blanket Jerusha had spread on the floor and smiled to hear her sister talking to Gussie as she knelt beside her, encouraging her to play with a multi-coloured woolly ball that she had made for her. It was so good, she thought, to have both hands free for a change, so she could concentrate on her cooking. Tom would be pleased.
‘You always had a wonderful way with babies – wouldn’t you like to be married and have one of your own?’, she said to Jerusha, then bit her lip, realising that that was a little tactless.
Jerusha smiled at her. ‘Oh, I don’t think that will ever happen somehow. Gussie is very special, Em. Mother and Father said I was a poor doer, d’you remember? I don’t suppose I’ll make old bones, but I’ve held down my job since I was fifteen, despite the asthma, and have a warm reference to take to Sydenham.’
‘I’m glad you don’t intend to stay in London, the air is not good here – though you won’t be far away from me any more, but on the edge of the countryside.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Jerusha said, ‘we’ll wheel Gussie out in the perambulator to the nearest park. Now she’s sitting up, she can see all the flowers, green grass and ducks on the pond.’
*
The summer months rolled by and suddenly it was the end of August and Jerusha was leaving for Sydenham. Emma was more relaxed, her old sunny self, despite being, as she said ruefully, ‘As big as a barge!’ The baby was due in early October.
Chas had offered to escort Jerusha to her new place and it was obvious to Emma and TF that he was smitten with her, but it seemed that Jerusha was determined to think of him as just a good friend.
‘As you are not expected until the late afternoon, we could leave your luggage to be collected at the station as your employer instructed, and spend the day at the Crystal Palace – would you like that?’ Chas asked her diffidently.
‘Well, I don’t suppose I’ll get much time for jaunts after the nursery is occupied,’ she replied. ‘I’d like that very much.’ She’d wondered why he was all dressed up for a train journey and was glad she was wearing her best dress and not the stuffy costume she’d arrived in!
The sun beat down on their heads through the dome above and showed up the dusty streaks on the glass panels. They were moving with the crowd through the tropical greenhouses. Glancing up Jerusha exclaimed, ‘Oh look, Chas, a beautiful blue butterfly!’ They paused for a moment to watch it fluttering among the exotic plants, though Chas had his eyes on his companion, like a butterfly herself, he fancied, in her cream voile dress, the skirt of which seemed to float around her neat ankles.
He dabbed his forehead with his pocket handkerchief. He was sweating and wished he could remove his jacket, but it would not do to be in a public place in shirtsleeves. He couldn’t help noticing that although most of the visitors were smartly dressed, there was an unpleasant odour emanating from some of them. Maybe it was the clothing, for best clothes were worn on special occasions only, and were often not of washable material. No wonder the ladies carried small vials of perfume or vinaigrettes in their bags and strong-smelling salts which, when sniffed, brought tears to the eyes.
They were now passing through the display areas. Some of the exhibits had been in the original Crystal Palace before its move to its present location, and there were marvellous examples of craftwork from all over the globe. Jerusha was particularly impressed by a huge plaster reproduction of an Egyptian sphinx. Although scratched and dented by past visitors, it remained aloof, she thought.
The sideshows were becoming seedier as they walked through, with traders’ intent on persuading folk to buy their goods by outdoing one another with their strident shouting. ‘Look, my luv, fancy some crown jools?’
‘Tell yer fortune for sixpence, lidy?’ ‘Granny’s toffee – have some stick jaw!’ Chas steered Jerusha skilfully through the crowds surrounding each booth.
With sighs of relief they ventured through an exit into the gardens, discovered a shady spot and a table and Chas went to buy refreshments from the outside traders.
Jerusha sat there dreaming – her new boots were feeling tight, and it was good to be out in the fresh air. Wouldn’t it be lovely, she thought, to attend a concert in the great hall here and listen to the music? However, there were still the gardens to explore and the dinosaurs to marvel at.
After sandwiches and a pot of tea, they walked to the tidal lake, which, their guide informed them, sometimes flooded and eclipsed some of the vast stone sculptures. ‘Cleans them off, I suppose,’ Chas said. Some of the towering strange creatures looked a trifle weatherworn; they had been very popular in the original Crystal Palace in Hyde Park when they were displayed in groups on raised platforms. Now, it seemed to Jerusha and Chas, they had been scattered here and there and did not have the same effect on visitors. Small children were inclined to try to climb on them and were not overawed by their strangeness. Not so long ago, their authenticity had been questioned, especially after Darwin published his findings on evolution.
They were walking slowly, hand in hand, when Chas turned to Jerusha and asked, ‘May I continue to see you sometimes, Jerusha? I know you will be busy when the new baby arrives in the nursery, but I do so enjoy your company, and hope you feel the same about me?’
‘You know I do! Emma and TF obviously consider you to be one of the family, and so do I.’
‘I would,’ he began, ‘hope for something more . . .’
‘Shush. Don’t spoil what we have now, Chas. I have my reasons for holding back.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘My health for one. The doctor says I have chronic asthma, no cure for that.’
‘You know I would care for you. If you change your mind.’
‘You will be the first to know,’ she assured him. Then she smiled and squeezed his hand. ‘There is no one else, I promise you. We had better think about leaving now, I think.’
After bidding her goodbye on the doorstep of her new abode, a handshake because they had spotted the front curtains twitching, he walked to the station and waited some time for the London train, thinking how much he would miss her.
*
Emma missed her sister too. Little Gussie was deteriorating, a spell of wet, cold weather had resulted in what the doctor diagnosed, as usual, as bronchitis, and she seemed to lose her ability to crawl and play. Emma tucked her up in the perambulator and wheeled her about indoors. The rattling of the baby’s small chest alarmed her, but she obeyed instructions to keep the little girl warm both day and night, when they would also have a steaming kettle on the trivet of the bedroom fire.
Emma had not had time to worry about what might happen in labour this time. She was thankful when it was obvious this would not be a premature birth. The midwife suggested that the monthly nurse, who would attend Emma and the baby, might be able to help with the sick child until she was needed for maternity duties.
Gussie was moved back to her own room and the other bedroom was cleaned thoroughly in readiness for the new arrival. TF decided that he would sleep in the single bed next to Gussie’s cot when he was home at nights. Their coal allowance from the brigade was increased and his deputy, Chas, was ready to take over his duties in an emergency. The briga
de looked after its own.
The baby did not arrive until 17 October, almost two weeks after the expected date. The midwife eventually advised Emma to drink a wineglass of castor oil. It was a real struggle for her to swallow this foul liquid, but it worked. Even as she lay in her bed in the early afternoon, with the midwife in attendance, she could hear the comings and goings in the other bedroom. ‘Your husband asked the doctor to call,’ the nurse said. ‘You mustn’t worry my dear, concentrate on getting this baby born.’
‘He said nothing before he went to work this morning, before the pains started,’ Emma said faintly. She offered up a silent but fervent prayer that all would be well.
As the baby gave its first indignant cry, she thought she heard the front door slam. Had TF come home?
He had actually been back for some time and received grave news from the doctor, ‘I’m afraid we are going to lose your little girl. There is a slight chance, if I can take her to hospital.’
TF gently lifted Gussie and wrapped her in a blanket. ‘Dada,’ she murmured feebly. They were the last words she would utter. She was so frail, so vulnerable, and so precious. He had to make the decision alone, because Emma was not in a fit state at this moment to do so. He passed the little bundle to the kindly old doctor.
Shortly afterwards he was summoned to his wife’s bedside. ‘A fine, healthy girl,’ the midwife announced proudly. ‘The image of her mother!’
He knelt by the bed, and with tears in his eyes, he agreed. ‘She’s beautiful, like you, Emma.’
Emma was smiling, stroking the small dark head. ‘My dear father would have said bootiful.’
‘What shall we call her?’ he asked.
‘Isabella Mary, after your mother and sister. Would you like that?’
‘I would!’ He swallowed hard. ‘I have to tell you that Gussie has been taken to the hospital—’
‘All is not lost?’ she cried.
‘She is in the right place, Emma.’
‘She hasn’t yet been baptised, Tom – we said we’d have the two babies baptised together—’
‘The padre at the hospital will attend to that. The doctor asked me about it.’
‘Your wife should rest, try to sleep,’ the midwife advised quietly. She took Isabella Mary from her mother and placed her in the crib.
On 14 November Gussie passed peacefully away. Isabella Mary (Immi) was baptised two days before this in All Souls Church, Langham Place, together with Marianne, the infant daughter of the wharf inspector at the London Salvage Corps, Edwin Goodchild and his wife Fanny. Immi would always be extra special to her parents after the loss of the sister she never knew. ‘She gave us strength to carry on,’ Emma said.
SIXTEEN
Southwark, 1866
Emma and TF decided to move from a place with too many sad memories. The LFEE had become the Metropolitan Fire Brigade, responsible for ‘all life and fire’ in a 120-mile radius. TF, together with Chas, applied to the London Salvage Corps, a new brigade in London. After receiving a glowing testimonial from Captain Shaw, which he treasured all his life, TF was offered a post as a full foreman, a well-paid position which provided the family with excellent housing in Southwark Bridge Road, and other good benefits. Chas was to be his deputy, as before.
Emma, TF and little Immi shared their new accommodation in Southwark Bridge Road with the Goodchild family. Fanny was always willing to listen to Emma when she felt low, and Edwin similarly supported TF through the grieving period. Their two small girls, who were baptised together, would grow up to be firm friends.
The houses were large and well-designed with three storeys. Emma appreciated the extra space and airiness of the rooms – there were no damp patches on the walls here. Chas found lodgings with other single colleagues opposite the fire station. This had originally been a slum area, which had been cleared and regenerated as a decent place to live.
Later, Chas would tell Emma about the Evelina Hospital for Sick Children built in 1869 on the site of the demolished South Sea Court, also once a slum. The hospital was endowed by Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild as a memorial to his wife, who had been involved in a train accident and gone into premature labour, when both she and her baby died.
The hospital was a cheerful place with its light, airy rooms, cosy cots and special nurses, there was a playroom for convalescent children, and although there was heartbreak because of the nature of some of the illnesses, all were handled with compassion and kindness. The staff was willing to listen to parents who called in for advice. After losing Gussie, this hospital would be where Emma would turn for reassurance.
Emma also attended St George’s Church in the Old Mint area of Southwark Bridge Road. Old Mint was a place of narrow courts, winding alleys, and large, lofty dwellings, often roofless, but some of the lower floors were inhabited. It was not, TF counselled Emma, a place to venture to after dark. Historically, St George’s had a close connection with Charles Dickens and his novel, Little Dorrit. A relic of the Marshalsea prison was part of the church boundary. Although Emma still read the worthy magazines of her youth, including Mrs Beeton, and of course, her bible, she had been introduced to the novels of Dickens by her friend Fanny, and these were given to her by TF at her request on her birthday and at Christmas. She found Little Dorrit a sad and disturbing tale, but a compelling read none the less.
*
Emma had been at Southwark Bridge Road for some two years when she received an unexpected invitation. She had heard from Anna that the Summers family had moved from South Kensington into the suburbs, to Bromley, where Mr Summers now had his practice. Anna had gone with them, as companion and ladies’ maid, with Nan, who had been promoted to cook. The only other member of staff was a local maid of all work, it being a smaller establishment now that the Summers’ sons and daughter were no longer much at home. Frances was boarding at a College for Young Ladies, William junior, having qualified as a solicitor like his father, was spending a few months travelling abroad before joining the family firm and Henry had recently become a student of theology in Shropshire.
Bromley Kent.
Dear Mrs Meehan (Emma),
The Misses Rosalind and Adelaide Summers invite you to an informal luncheon in honour of our dear sister Maria, who is leaving for the mission field. We have planned a surprise reunion for her with friends and former staff who have provided valuable assistance in the past.
Please say you will come! It is an easy journey by train, and you would be met and escorted from the local station. Luncheon will be at 1 p.m.
We do look forward to seeing you again after all this time.
Sincerely, etc.
‘Of course you must go, I’m sure Fanny would look after Immi for you,’ TF said immediately, when she read this communication to him over breakfast.
‘What could I wear?’ Emma wondered.
‘I don’t suppose it is a dress parade! Just go as yourself!’
She sighed. ‘I wish you had been invited too.’
‘I’d be a fish out of water among all the ladies, and anyway I can’t take time off.’
Fanny was more helpful. ‘Of course Immi can come to me! What about the new frock you are making for the warmer weather?’
‘I haven’t nearly finished that.’
‘I’ll help you; we’ll have a sewing session here this afternoon!’
‘You are a friend indeed!’ Emma said fervently. They were not alike in looks, for Fanny was tall and well-built, with a rosy complexion and fair hair, but they were very compatible. Fanny was of Scottish descent and had enjoyed a private education. Fanny knew about Emma’s family struggles and she was the only one, apart from her husband and Anna, to whom Emma had revealed the painful facts about the workhouse.
*
A week later, Emma boarded the train for Bromley South wearing her new mauve silk frock with frilled overskirt, fitted bodice with pearly buttons, a small matching hat and a cobweb-fine wool shawl lent by Fanny, round her shoulders. She carried a parasol,
for she had learned from Anna that if it was a fine day, lunch would be served in the garden.
At first, she didn’t recognise the young woman who had been sent to meet her. Then, ‘Frances!’ she exclaimed, beaming. Frances had been a schoolgirl last time they met – shy and awkward – but now she had blossomed, Emma thought. That was the only word for it. She had grown taller and her mass of brown hair was attractively styled – Anna must have had a hand in that, she guessed. Frances wore small, round, gold-rimmed spectacles and no hat, but looked cool in a cream frock in fine tussore material with a jaunty blue-spotted bow at the neck. There was just a glimpse above her ankles of blue stockings, which had long been worn by those who could not afford the silk variety but were now adopted by women who were at last receiving higher education.
‘I am home for the summer,’ Frances said, as they linked arms, ‘I hope you feel like a walk. It’s not far.’
Emma confided, as they walked along towards the Common, ‘I felt nostalgic when I knew you had moved from Kensington. It was such a lovely house, and surely you must all miss being there?’
‘The family decided to move out of London after Aunt Rosalie suffered from bronchitis most of last winter. Papa was afraid we would lose her, like my mama. The doctor told us it would be an excellent idea to come here. Did you know that Anna looks after my aunt and is her companion now?’
Emma nodded. ‘You will note other changes too. Aunt Maria said she thought the three of them had led a privileged life – that they ought to leave all that behind and work to help others in a more positive fashion.’
‘But Frances, they were so good – think of all the sewing parties and the bazaars . . .’
‘It was not enough, Aunt Maria said. That’s when she decided to become a missionary. Prepare yourself to see a new woman! I may decide not to return to college – I was studying classics, but I could continue my course by correspondence. My aunts tell me I am old enough now to run a smaller household and I know it would make Papa happy to have me at home.’
The Forget-Me-Not Girl Page 14