The Forget-Me-Not Girl

by Sheila Newberry

  ‘The children must have suffered, too,’ Rebecca observed. She looked pensive suddenly, recalling her years in the workhouse.

  Emma sighed. ‘Yes, but d’you know, they were stronger for it, and TF and his brother both did well in the years after they left home.’

  ‘Would you think of marrying again one day?’

  Emma shook her head. ‘No. My children are my life now.’

  Rebecca said impulsively, ‘Surely you must miss – you know . . .’ She saw Emma’s face flush and added, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘Oh, Becca, of course I miss that side of my marriage. I have so many happy memories of when TF and I first fell in love, but I can’t imagine that with another man.’

  ‘I wish sometimes you would remember you’re still quite young, Emma. And, well, I recall the way you were on the farm. You kept us all going. We owe you so much.’

  ‘Now I feel in your debt because you help me so much and I can only pay you pennies for all your hard work.’

  *

  Emma was worried that she hadn’t heard from her beloved sister Jerusha in London for several weeks. She suspected that she might be unwell, so she decided to write out of turn – she had an excuse, she thought, with the news about Tom’s job. She hoped to persuade her sister and young Ellie to visit them in Beccles for a short holiday. The Traveller’s Rest awaits you! she wrote. This may be town life, but we are surrounded by lovely countryside and the Waveney is cleaner than the old Thames!

  A reply came by return of post, but the envelope was not addressed in Jerusha’s handwriting. Emma opened it in sudden trepidation.

  My dear Emma,

  We were pleased to receive your letter and to know all is well with you. Regretfully, we are unable to accept your kind invitation to visit at this time, as Jerusha has been unwell these past few weeks. She is resting in bed and has a nurse who attends her daily, a kind woman highly recommended by her doctor. She asks that you do not worry too much, but she has been feverish and bronchial.

  Sadly, we had to come to the decision to send young Ellie to her mother to avoid infection. Naturally, we both miss her very much, but Ellie’s mother is now in better health and is living with her elder sister and brother-in-law in the country.

  I hope to be able to give you more encouraging news of Jerusha’s recovery in due course. She sends her fondest love to you all, as do I.

  Chas.

  Emma put the letter down. She was sitting at the breakfast table by herself, Tom having gone to work earlier and the children to school. Immi was washing up the dishes in the kitchen and Frank was playing ball in the yard with the dog. Emma lifted the hem of her apron and buried her face in it, trying to stem her tears.

  Immi touched her shoulder gently: ‘Have you had bad news, Mother?’ she asked tentatively.

  Emma nodded. ‘Read the letter, Immi. I knew something was not right when Ru didn’t write as usual.’

  ‘Aunt Becca has arrived, I can hear her in the kitchen. Shall I show her this?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Emma smoothed her apron down and dabbed her cheeks with her handkerchief. ‘We‘ll make up a parcel for Ru today, things to tempt her appetite.’

  ‘You have another letter here, Mother,’ Immi said, passing it to her. ‘Uncle Chas seems to think things can only get better – Aunt Jerusha has been ill before and recovered, take comfort from that.’

  The second letter was from Frances Summers. The family were now living in Brighton as Mr Summers had finally retired. Frances wrote:

  Papa and I have decided to spend a few days in Great Yarmouth next week while the weather is good, and wonder if you would be able to visit us at the Royal Hotel for lunch? Suggest Tuesday, if convenient to you. It seems so long since we met up.

  ‘Good news this time, Mother?’ Immi asked hopefully.

  ‘Yes, it is indeed! You’ve heard about the Summers family many times, I know, and the happy years I spent in their lovely home in Kensington, before I met your dada, and young Frances whom our dear Anna and I took under our wing? Frances must be in her thirties now and is still at home with her father and two of her aunts. Her Aunt Maria went to be a missionary in China. Oh, I would love to see Frances and her papa again! But I’m not sure I can go. What about the children – young Frank, especially.’

  ‘No excuses, Mother! I’m sure Aunt Becca will help out, and Frank is my shadow anyway!’

  *

  ‘It’s time you had a new frock – what did you wear last time you met your friends?’ Rebecca asked, riffling through Emma’s wardrobe. ‘All this black!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘I wore a mauve silk dress and carried a parasol,’ Emma remembered.

  ‘What happened to the dress?’

  ‘I unpicked it later to make party frocks for my girls.’

  ‘We’ll go down to the market today, Emma, and buy some pretty material – you, Alice and I can make a new outfit for you between us! I’ll bring round my sewing machine. Alice has been wheedling to use it!’

  It was nearing the end of September breezy weather so cotton won the day over silk or georgette. The latest floral prints were the height of fashion, Rebecca assured her sister. ‘You just need a new straw bonnet, with a curvy brim and long gloves, as Alice has decreed elbow-length sleeves. Miss Janet is kindly lending her a pattern.’

  They couldn’t resist the stallholder’s offer of an extra length of the chosen material, as it was the end of the bolt of cloth.

  ‘Immi and Alice will have something new to wear, too!’ Emma said. She also purchased a bright red rubber ball for Frank. ‘Seeing as Puglet has punctured the ball you bounce in the yard.’ She looked round for her small son. As usual, he was petting the stallholder’s donkey – he wasn’t nervous of any animal, even great carthorses; he had an affinity with them.

  *

  Alice cut the dress pieces from the pattern under Miss Janet’s supervision after school that evening, then hurried home to tack them into shape before Rebecca brought the sewing machine the following day.

  There was much discussion of what difference a corset would make worn under the frock, and despite Emma’s protests, her little store of saved pennies diminished when Rebecca accompanied her to the corsetieres in London Road.

  ‘Your bosom is your best feature, madam,’ enthused the assistant. She tightened the lacing to emphasise Emma’s waist, and Emma could hardly believe the transformation she viewed in the long mirror. Her breasts rested in ‘cups’ at the top of the corset and appeared much more prominent. She had begun to think she must resign herself to middle-aged spread, but had to admit the constriction was worth it. She now had a figure to match the illustrations in the ladies’ journals!

  She said faintly, ‘I’m not sure I could wear the corset every day.’

  ‘Keep your head up!’ Alice cried impatiently. She and Rebecca had insisted on accompanying her for the corset-fitting. She demonstrated the action herself. ‘A swan-like neck, see.’

  ‘That makes me look as if I am getting above myself,’ Emma said doubtfully.

  A few days later she was squeezed into the corset and then Alice slipped the dress over her head. ‘Now sit down, Mother, while I do your hair.’

  ‘Nothing fancy,’ Emma hoped.

  Alice was not particularly gentle with the hairbrush. She damped down the irrepressible curls and swept Emma’s hair back into a low knot at the nape of her neck. The style was softened by the fringe at the front, which Rebecca, at Emma’s request, had trimmed. Alice would have cut it shorter, she thought. Then it was time for the hat to be placed on her head.

  ‘I’m off to school now,’ Alice said reluctantly. ‘But I wish I was going with you to Yarmouth. Don’t move from the chair until it’s time for you to leave for the train, will you? I’ll tell Immi the boys can come in now and see how grand you look.’

  Emma hugged them in turn. ‘I’ll bring you back a little surprise,’ she promised.

  Rebecca, Immi and Frank accomp
anied Emma to the station. Richard was hovering on the platform, relieved to see Emma arrive before the train. The sun was shining on a cloudless late September morning, as they waved her off on her journey.

  She sat down carefully, because of the low bustle at the back of her dress, and the rigidity of the corset. Well, she thought, after all I am off to the Royal Hotel. She knew that Charles Dickens had stayed there while he was writing David Copperfield. And that when Lillie Langtry was performing at the Queens Theatre in Great Yarmouth a few years before she had stayed there too. It was rumoured that the Prince of Wales had been with her. Thinking about this, Emma smiled to herself. She doubted very much that she would be greeted by the stationmaster, a guard of honour and a military band when she arrived at the South Town station. Nor would there be church bells pealing, and sightseers climbing on to nearby terrace roofs. But even so, she felt like royalty today!

  Her hosts were waiting to escort her to the hotel. Mr Summers no longer sported Dundreary whiskers, but a neat grey beard, which matched his hair. He wore a Norfolk jacket, correct country wear, and carried a silver-knobbed stick.

  ‘My dear Emma.’ He raised her gloved hand to his lips. ‘It is good to see you after so long.’

  Frances was plumper, but she really didn’t look much older, Emma thought. She must have given the same impression herself, thanks to Alice and Rebecca, as Frances exclaimed, ‘Oh, Emma, what a delightful gown! You are just the same as you always were!’ She linked arms with her friend. ‘We have so much news to catch up on, haven’t we?’

  The Royal Hotel was very grand indeed. It had been called The Victoria at the end of the eighteenth century, Frances told Emma, and she confirmed that Charles Dickens had stayed there with his friend Mark Lemon, who founded the popular satirical magazine Punch. ‘He wrote to his wife that Yarmouth was the most wondrous sight I have ever beheld,’ she said. ‘And characters in David Copperfield are said to be based on local folk.’

  They sat at a table by the window, with views of the seascape beyond, and the menu was perused. The choice was unanimous: asparagus soup, followed by chicken breasts wrapped in strips of bacon, with roast and boiled potatoes, onion gravy and buttered parsnips. For dessert there was ice cream and fresh fruit for the ladies, and cheese and biscuits for Mr Summers. Bitter coffee with cream was served in tiny cups.

  Later they strolled along the golden sands, where the sea rolled back with the tide, and talked of old times. ‘You young ladies go ahead,’ Mr Summers said after a time. ‘I’ll make for the nearest seat and read the paper. I’m sure you have a lot to say to one another.’

  ‘Papa has rheumatic knees,’ Frances confided as they walked on. ‘He is feeling his age, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, I am wishing I could dispose of the wretched corset my sister and youngest daughter persuaded me I needed today!’ Emma replied ruefully.

  ‘Oh, Emma, I was thinking how lucky you were to possess such a splendid figure after having all your children!’

  ‘Well, I imagine you feel a good deal more comfortable than I do!’

  ‘Yes, but I am unlikely to marry and sometimes I feel as old as my aunts,’ Frances said. She looked at Emma. ‘You know I used to pray that Papa would ask you to marry him, Emma.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have been – seemly,’ Emma said quietly. ‘But you have always been like a younger sister to me, Frances. Don’t give up hope, the right man could still come along, perhaps when you least expect it.’

  Frances squeezed her arm. ‘Thank you, Emma. We’d better turn around now, I think. Time to go back to the hotel for tea and cakes before you have to catch the train home to your family.’

  ‘Can we call at that little gift shop along the parade? I promised the children some small surprises.’

  ‘I should like to help you choose those,’ Frances said.

  *

  When she returned home, the family crowded round Emma to receive their gifts and to hear about her day. Although there were things she kept to herself. She wasn’t sure why she had felt a pang or two when she saw Mr Summers looking elderly and not so sprightly, but then, she realised, he must also have noticed the difference in her. It made her realise that now she had been able to put aside the way TF looked in his final years, she had the comfort of recalling him as he was in his prime. He will be forever young, while I will not. But, she said to herself, age is all in the mind, I must be content with how I am, except I really must do something about those grey hairs I noticed.

  TWENTY-NINE

  1884

  Emma opened the small envelope, knowing what it must contain. It was a few days after her forty-fourth birthday, which was on 23 January. There had been no family celebrations this year, for they were waiting anxiously for news from London. They were aware that the end was near for Jerusha. The family curse had struck yet again – she had succumbed to phthisis and bronchitis.

  The card was black bordered, the message simple but poignant.

  In Affectionate Remembrance of

  JERUSHA,

  The Dearly Beloved Wife of

  CHARLES HOLMES

  Who departed this life January 27th, 1884

  Interred in Lower Norwood Cemetery

  .........................

  ‘Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.’

  Later, they would learn that Jerusha had requested a simple, private burial, and ‘no mourning, please’. She was laid to rest near the Crystal Palace, which had a special place in her affections, as it was where she had first acknowledged her feelings for Chas.

  William arrived to offer comfort to his sisters. His and Sarah’s youngest son, Jeremiah, was about to be married to his long-time sweetheart Emily in Wymondham in February. ‘Chas wrote to me just last week that Jerusha wished the young couple to carry on with their plans. She was so happy to hear Jeremiah was taking over Browick Bottom Farm too.’

  ‘I’m glad she knew that,’ Emma said. ‘This is thanks to all you and Sarah have done to make that possible, Will.’

  ‘I will be helping out on the farm – I hev turned my business and big house over to our other two boys, and Sarah and I will soon be living over the shop. ’Twill be a slower pace of life, but us do look forward to it.’

  ‘Do the rest of the family know about Jerusha?’ Rebecca asked.

  ‘Chas hev written to Martha, Lizzie, Keturah and Jonathan – I am to let Sophie know,’ William said. ‘I make sure to keep in touch with her and her life in Norwich. She hev her troubles, poor gal, her little lad hev become deaf after he took a fever. ’Tis how this news affects young Ellie, worries us.’

  Emma said tremulously, ‘We feel the same. I hope she is happy with her mother, but she hardly knew her, after all. She was Jerusha’s little girl.’

  Later, after William had departed, Rebecca confided a secret to Emma. ‘You know the saying, Emma, as one goes, another comes into the world. Well, I have told no one yet, apart from Richard, of course, but I am expecting again in August.’

  Emma hugged her sister. ‘Dear Becca, I hope you have a little son this time.’

  ‘So do I. But it means as time goes on, I won’t be able to help you as much. Also, now Richard’s mother is gone, his father will need us more.’

  ‘Don’t worry about us! I have been wondering if there something I could do, other than running a boarding house! The older children are not so dependent on me now; it’s the two youngest boys I have to consider. Ernie is impatient to leave school and to begin training for a job. The boarders are both engaged to be married and will be leaving here soon; the travellers by coach are becoming less frequent, since most people now take the train. Alice is set on getting an apprenticeship later this year and Immi needs more in her life than drudgery. Her cousin Izzy in Amble is teaching at elementary school now, despite having the same disability.’

  ‘I’m sure Immi doesn’t think of it like that, Emma. After all, we were employed in the same way at her age, and before that, you were housekeeping o
n the farm.’

  ‘At least I escaped the workhouse, unlike you, Becca.’

  ‘I put that behind me when I wed my Richard, but Keturah took it very hard.’

  ‘Our young brothers did, too.’

  ‘One never grew up, and the other . . .’ Rebecca sighed. ‘It has tortured him ever since.’

  ‘We should write to Reverend Eden, he will say prayers for Jerusha at the Abbey.’

  *

  Back in Wymondham, the weather was milder than was usual in February, which was perfect for the wedding. The family were reunited with some members they had not seen for years, including Martha and Lizzie. However, Keturah was unable to come from Jarrow, which disappointed her sisters. Chas, too, was not present because of his bereavement, and Jonathan did not acknowledge his invitation.

  It was a shock to Emma when she realised that the grey-haired, thin woman who followed her tall, elegant half-sister Lizzie into the church was her sister Martha.

  Lizzie had no trace of a Norfolk accent – she had lived in London for many years and achieved success through hard work. She was housekeeper in a foreign embassy, but she kept in touch with her extended family and offered help in hard times.

  Martha’s six children were not in evidence. They were older than Emma’s, and Elijah, whom her family considered a restless spirit as he changed jobs and uprooted his family so often, had not accompanied his wife. To Emma, Martha looked sad and unwell. I should have written to her more often, even though she rarely replies to my letters. She has never said, but I don’t imagine she has had much love or luck in her life, she thought.

  Emma was proud to show off her family, minus Tom, who had to work that Saturday. She and Immi sat either end of the pew, with the three boys, warned to be on their best behaviour, and Alice in between.

  Rebecca was not the only expectant mother there, for the bridegroom had ‘jumped the gun’, as William put it, and there would be the blessing of a new baby that September at Browick Bottom Farm. The bride was unaware that the congregation knew this fact, but none were censorious, it was a very natural state of affairs after all. Emily was a smiling bride, with her little sisters following her down the aisle.