The Forget-Me-Not Girl

by Sheila Newberry

  They turned into a side road and Emma saw a row of identical villas facing the common. These were new houses, no basements, but useful attic rooms and were specially designed for families with one or two servants. They opened the gate and walked up the path to the front door, with its small round window of stained glass, and a plaque proclaiming The Summers House.

  ‘We have a lovely garden at the back,’ Frances said, opening the door with a key taken from her purse. ‘Aunt Adelaide has taken up gardening and has great plans for planting – and if I stay, Papa has agreed I can have a little dog – he suggests a King Charles spaniel. We had to leave Dizzy behind at Kensington, you know. He was too old to disturb from his routine. The new owners took him on.’

  Maria came hurrying along the hall to greet Emma. She wore a plain grey frock and her hair was drawn back in a bun. Gone were the extravagant trappings, the expensive clothes and ringlets. ‘Emma – I am all in a whirl! I knew nothing of all these arrangements, you know – and you are the first guest to arrive. Nan has made a big pot of tea, and when you are ready we must go into the garden and have a long overdue chat! Mr Summers has taken the afternoon off from his office in town and is looking forward to meeting you again, too.’

  Mr Summers was pushing a wheelbarrow full of grass cuttings along the side of the kitchen garden, where he tipped the contents into a compost bin. He dusted his hands on a green apron, which he untied before shaking Emma’s hand warmly. ‘Ah, Emma, you see I was put to work directly I arrived home! It is very good to see you again. How are the family?’

  ‘Both my husband and our little daughter are well, thank you, Mr Summers.’

  Nan arrived then with the pot of tea and a tray of cups and saucers. She placed these on a garden table, one of several with matching cast iron chairs. She looked just the same, Emma thought fondly, a wisp of a girl, but one confident in her role. The cockney inflection was still there, but she had mastered the aitches in her speech. ‘The ladies will join you in a minute, Emma, they are greeting some guests.’ She indicated the long trestle table on the lawn with its contents concealed by a snowy linen cloth. ‘I will see you later, I have something ready to come out of the oven,’ she added.

  Mr Summers had joined them for the welcome tea. He mopped his brow with his handkerchief, then replaced his straw boater ‘A real summer’s day – please forgive the pun.’

  ‘It is lovely here,’ Emma said. ‘It reminds me somehow of when we were at Brighton.’

  ‘Except there is not a pebble in sight and no sea breeze, eh?’ He smiled.

  ‘Yes, but a wonderful scent from the roses.’

  ‘You must take a selection of those home with you,’ Maria said. ‘I intend to press one of the dark red blooms in my bible, to remember this happy occasion.’

  Then the French doors to the garden opened wide and others came across the grass to join them. Emma recognised Mrs Love, who had come out of retirement, and looked overheated in her best black satin, followed by Rosalie, pale, but pretty in pink, accompanied by Adelaide and Anna, then Frances with the curate and his wife from their old parish and the vicar from their present church, with two ladies from the overseas mission committee. Last came a young man who was introduced as a newly qualified barrister who was lodging with the family at present. ‘He is working with Mr Summers for a few months,’ Maria informed the company.

  Rosalie told Emma, ‘I’m afraid old Joseph is no more, and other good friends were unable to come from London, but all have sent their good wishes to dear Maria.’

  Anna greeted Emma with a kiss. ‘We don’t see enough of each other these days!’ she whispered. Close to, Emma was startled to notice the little wrinkles around her eyes. Anna, she realised, was now over forty, like the Misses Summers. I am twenty-seven, and Mr Summers must be fifty, she thought. How time goes by.

  Mr Summers had risen to escort the visitors to sit at the table. Frances removed the covering and there were murmurs of appreciation at the spread. Plates of several kinds of sandwiches, with the crusts removed, including cucumber, ham and smoked salmon; bowls of salad; fresh mayonnaise; cheese tartlets; small pork pies; and dishes of pickle. There were also freshly baked hot rolls, curls of butter and a selection of cheese. However, it was a modest repast compared with the old days in Kensington, Emma thought. No wine, for she soon gathered that this was now a temperate household, when Nan reappeared with jugs of iced lemonade.

  Later, after they had finished off the meal with fresh fruit, including sliced pineapple, Frances and Nan brought out the coffee pots and cups and saucers, and a tray of home-made fudge. It was time for the farewell and good luck speeches.

  Mr Summers rose from the table. He caught Emma’s eye as she was sitting opposite, and smiled. ‘Thank you, all of you, for coming along today to wish Maria all the best in the future. We are extremely proud of her, but we shall, of course, miss her. When I lost my wife, ah, and was left with three young children, I wondered how I could carry on. Maria and her sisters rescued me from my depression and have been supportive ever since. Maria, wherever she is in the world in the future, will be in our thoughts, and still an important part of this family.’

  Others expressed their appreciation of her community work and pledged support, before Maria spoke. ‘I’ll keep it simple, because, well, if I say too much I will cry. Thank you, every single one of you, for the splendid send-off.’

  At 3 p.m. all the visitors departed, except for Emma who was to spend the hour until she had to catch the train home with Anna and Nan in the latter’s comfortable bed-sitting room off the hall, which was convenient for the kitchen. She would talk again with Frances when she walked with her to the station.

  There were a couple of comfortable chairs for Emma and Anna to sit on while Nan went off to brew tea for the family, and for the three of them. Meantime the young maid tackled the washing up with a friend she had recruited to help that afternoon.

  ‘I saw Mr Summers’ face light up when he saw you, Emma,’ Anna observed.

  ‘I was pleased to see him – and all the family – too,’ Emma returned.

  ‘I think, you know, he thought you were irreplaceable . . .’

  ‘I never . . .’ Emma paused. ‘But, as you know, Tom is my first – and last – love.’

  ‘Of course I know, and I’m glad! I could guess what Mr Summers was thinking, but I also knew he was too much of a gentleman to do anything about it.’ She sighed. ‘I’m glad he didn’t know how much I admired him – in the past.’

  ‘Oh, Anna, I never realised!’ Emma said softly.

  ‘Now, don’t be sorry for me, because the whole family has been so kind to me over the years. However, when I heard about Miss Maria’s new venture – she has given up her worldly assets, you know, to fund her work, hence the changes here, for she has been most generous over the years, helping Mr Summers pay for everything, the children’s education included. When I learned that, I began to think I needed to change my comfortable life too and do good for others.’

  ‘Then I hope you will find what you are seeking and Tom, for I know I can speak for him, and I will support and encourage you as much as we can.’

  ‘You two look very serious,’ Nan said, coming in with a teapot covered in a knitted cosy. ‘Here’s some news! That young law man has asked Frances to go with him to a performance by Charles Dickens. She is all of a flutter!’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Emma sounded wistful. ‘I’d love to go to one of those readings, but Tom is unlikely to be able to take me, as evenings are always busy for the fire brigade.’

  Later, as she said goodbye to the family, Mr Summers shook her hand and then raised it briefly to his lips. ‘Don’t leave it so long before you visit us again, Emma,’ he said.

  *

  TF was working late that evening when Emma collected Immi and thanked Fanny for having her.

  ‘She was no trouble at all,’ Fanny said. ‘How did your day go?’

  Emma had divided the big bunch of ros
es, and now presented Fanny with her share. ‘We had lunch in a lovely garden, and I watched a bumble bee on these same roses. It was just like being back in the country, only Bromley is a thriving town with lots of shops. The Summers live by the Common.’

  ‘The roses smell beautiful, thank you, Emma. Do you still miss Wymondham?’

  ‘Oh, I do! I will return there one day, I know it.’ For a fleeting moment Emma recalled the old traveller they called the Donkey Man who had stayed the night in the orchard on the farm back home. William had said that everyone was drawn back to where they came from.

  ‘That’s how I feel about Scotland, too,’ Fanny said nostalgically.

  SEVENTEEN

  1868

  Emma’s nickname ‘the duchess’ carried on from Marylebone Terrace. Later, her children would refer to her affectionately in the same terms. For three years there was just Immi, who grew into a delightful child, loving and kind who, having heard stories from her mother about the animals on the farm, especially Emma’s dog, Fly, asked, ‘Please can I have a little dog of mine own?’

  While Emma hesitated, thinking of the havoc a boisterous pup might cause in her nice new home, TF came home with a kitten, one of a litter from a stray cat that had been adopted by the firemen at the station. The kitten was black, with blue eyes, which would turn gold within a few weeks. ‘His name is Tip,’ Immi pronounced, noting the white tip on his tail. ‘And I like him cos he’s got black hair like me.’

  Emma’s worries about having another unhealthy child were fading and she felt ready to grant another of Immi’s wishes for ‘a little brother to play with me’. To the delight of parents and sister, Thomas Frederick the second arrived in 1868. He too favoured Emma in colouring, and he was a strong, healthy baby. By the time he was toddling, Tommy and Immi were inseparable.

  Emma now had help in the home, at TF’s insistence. She enjoyed the company of a young woman not unlike Nan, who was just as willing to learn how to cook and clean. When the children took their nap after lunch, and Tillie was cheerfully washing up in the kitchen, Emma followed TF’s suggestion that she should also rest while she had the chance. Some days she read, and once a week she wrote letters to her family, and to a newer correspondent, Rob’s wife Margaret in Amble. Rob, who gained his Masters and Mates Certificate in 1871, was often away from home as he trawled coal up and down the coast and to London, but Margaret had the support of her unmarried sister Jane, who was seven years her senior and lived with the family. Jane was a dressmaker. Margaret wrote, My dear sister brought me up when our mother died, I could not leave her behind when I married. As Margaret had a small daughter, Lizzie, the same age as Tommy, and was expecting a second child, she and Emma had a lot in common. They hoped to ‘meet one of these days’. Amble sounded a good place for a family holiday, and TF mentioned that he and Rob had not seen each other since they left home, when both boys felt guilty at leaving their young sister Mary with their father. However, it was proving difficult for the brothers to take leave from work at the same time.

  Perhaps Emma was too busy with her growing family at first to notice that Immi had begun to have short ‘absences’ when she would sit staring into space and seemed not to hear what was going on around her. The first couple of times this happened Emma thought Immi had been daydreaming. She was due to start school after Christmas, and TF said reassuringly, ‘Don’t worry, Emma, she’ll soon be told by her teacher to pay attention!’ After an episode she would suddenly come to and behave as if nothing had happened. Then it could be weeks before the problem reoccurred. Otherwise Immi was bright and happy, and had already learned to read.

  Emma decided to consult the Evelina Hospital before enrolling Immi at school. The sister listened patiently to Emma’s concerns about her daughter’s health and asked a few questions.

  ‘Isabella is generally in good health?’

  ‘Oh, yes! She doesn’t seem any different after this happens.’

  ‘The name for this condition is petit mal, a milder form of epilepsy, often seen in childhood. Isabella has not suffered any rigours?’

  ‘Fits? No, nothing like that.’

  ‘Please don’t upset yourself, Mrs Meehan. She may well grow out of it. Do you know of any other instances of this malady in your family or your husband’s?’

  ‘I haven’t heard of anything on either side,’ Emma said, which was true.

  ‘You must return here if you have any further concerns, but carry on as you are. Isabella should not be treated as an invalid, however be watchful for her welfare. Goodbye, Isabella, I am very pleased to have met you.’

  ‘I would like to be a nurse like you when I grow up,’ the child said shyly.

  ‘Thank you for your reassurance, sister,’ Emma said.

  That evening, she talked about what she had learned at the hospital to TF. ‘I can’t help thinking of what the future holds, Tom. Our lovely daughter. I would like to teach her myself at home at present – maybe she can attend school when Tommy is ready to go, too. I hope you agree?’

  TF hugged her to him. ‘Dear Emma, of course I do.’

  *

  By this time, they were leading a comfortable life in Southwark Bridge Road and TF, as senior foreman with the LSC, had seen his salary increase the previous year from £130 p.a. to £155, plus clothing, rent and coal allowance. Chas, as deputy foreman, had an increase from £98 p.a. to £114, plus clothing and rent allowance, which was good for an unmarried man.

  Keturah visited at this time, hoping to find employment in London, having left the household where she had been in service since the age of fourteen when she left Wicklewood. ‘They were kind folk but there was no prospect of a better position – I was the only servant,’ she confided to Emma. Even in humbler abodes, if the husband was in work, there might be a general maid, usually known as ‘the girl’. Keturah had grown into an attractive young woman, but she had never been as confident as her soul mate, Rebecca. Shortly, as she and Keturah grew closer again, Emma learned the reason behind Keturah’s sudden decision to come to London.

  Emma enjoyed her company and, after discussing it with TF, asked Keturah if she would like to stay on help her with the children. However, Keturah confided that she was hoping to be married shortly to Harry Barnes, a ships’ carpenter whom she had met in Yarmouth. ‘He was born and brought up there and is from a large family like ours. Harry doesn’t want us to be apart, and I miss him too,’ she said. ‘He works hard and says he can support a wife! I’m not sure I am suited to work in London; I only wanted to earn and save more for our wedding. Emma, d’you think I could be married here in Southwark? TF could give me away, and you could be my matron of honour!’

  Emma smiled. ‘Oh, Keturah – why don’t you ask Rebecca if she will be your attendant? You two have always been so close. But there is one thing I could do. I am willing to lend you my own wedding gown. It is perfect for a winter wedding, which I presume you are about to decide on?’

  ‘Yes! I don’t think Rebecca will be able to come; her present employer is about to have another baby. She is not one for travelling on the train either because she says the motion makes her feel sick. She will have to get over that, I imagine, for her future husband works as a porter on the railway! Wymondham is as far as Becca will go to see the family.’

  ‘That’s a shame, but I’m sure Jerusha will be here on your big day!’ Perhaps, Emma thought, Jerusha would think again about marriage herself – Chas had been so patient, and never lost hope she would change her mind.

  ‘Martha and Elijah have moved yet again, he really has a roving spirit!’ Keturah said. ‘She would have come, I know, if she could. D’you know, after you left for London to work, Martha wrote to Rebecca and me every week, as you did?’

  ‘I didn’t know.’ Emma felt a pang of regret. She and Martha had never been close and she felt now that she could have made more of an effort to please her elder sister when Martha was in charge of the family. She hoped she was happy in her marriage.

  Whe
n Keturah tried on the red velvet gown, it only needed a small alteration, to let down the generous hem on the skirt, as Keturah was an inch or two taller than her sister. ‘Are you sure you want me to borrow it?’ she asked Emma.

  ‘I’m sure,’ Emma said ruefully. ‘I don’t think I will be as slender as that again.’

  The banns were called in Southwark during the first three weeks of December 1869, when Keturah was described as ‘Spinster of this Parish’.

  Harry Barnes arrived in London with his friend, who would stand as best man. Emma and TF were impressed by their future brother-in-law. He was a few years older than Keturah, who was twenty-three, and he reminded Emma of her beloved brother William, with his broad Norfolk accent. He loved his woodcraft and was ambitious for the future. He had already rented a cottage in Royal Road, Yarmouth, which Keturah would run as a lodging house. ‘In a year or so we hope to move to Jarrow, where there is plenty of work for skilled carpenters in the shipping industry – they have been recruiting already in Great Yarmouth,’ Harry said in his thoughtful way.’ I promise to take great care of Keturah for I know how hard her life has been at times.’

  The wedding was on Boxing Day and despite the inclement weather, the bride, looking very like Emma on her special day, walked proudly, holding TF’s arm, to meet Harry at the altar. She wore her mother Sophia’s wedding shawl round her shoulders, ‘in memory of our dear parents’. In the front pew, little Immi gave an excited clap of her hands, while Tommy, a wriggling one year old, wiped his pudgy hand which clasped a soggy rusk, on Chas’s trouser leg, and Emma and Jerusha wiped away a sentimental tear or two.

  After a special meal cooked by Emma, the young couple departed for Great Yarmouth where shortly they would have their union blessed in their local church so that those who could not come to London might share in their joy. They then spent a brief honeymoon settling into their new home.