Fragile Wings

by Rebecca S. Buck

  Soon, she thought of Edward again, and of his friend Frank, whose letter was safe in her pocket. This was not just a selfish bid for freedom from a life that was too restrictive. This was a duty she had to fulfil, for both of them.

  The countryside slid by the window quickly. At Newton Abbot and Exeter, more passengers joined the train. A man and a woman came into Evelyn’s compartment but seemed to require no more interaction than the polite nod she gave them. She continued to gaze out of the window. Exeter was the furthest she had ever travelled on the train. Leaving that particular station felt truly like the point of no return.

  The train flew through fields, past beaches and sea views, more fields. Evelyn did not really appreciate the scenery, being preoccupied instead with what her family would be doing at that precise moment. Breakfast, dressing, opening the shop, setting a fire in the parlour hearth…

  Evelyn felt drowsy as the train passed through Dorset, as though her body was suggesting sleep as an alternative to anxiety and overwrought emotions. She was asleep before the train left the county. When she opened her eyes, she was just moving out of Reading Station. Her compartment was empty again, though she had not noticed the couple leave. Disorientated, she rubbed her eyes and looked at her wristwatch, unable to believe she’d slept for so long. But sure enough, it was midmorning and she was now very close to London indeed. Excitement rushed through her and almost eradicated the loss of home and the betrayal of family. She was nearly in London! What had seemed so impossible was actually happening.

  The world through the window glass was unfamiliar now. There were houses and fields and small stations, but somehow it had an air of foreignness. She told herself that she was not really so many miles from home and that people who lived close to London were no different to those who lived in West Coombe. Still, she struggled to feel at ease.

  Fields gave way to buildings—buildings of all kinds and far bigger than anything in or around West Coombe. Long, low warehouses, tall brick-built chimneys, factories with rows of shining windows. Areas where the railway passed allotments and closed-in gardens, red-brick villas which were elegant but looked rather crowded together, to Evelyn’s mind. She saw roads with several motor cars and even a red motor bus. London. However many photographs she’d seen, this was nothing like she’d imagined. It managed to be at once unpleasant, crowded, and grimy, and fascinating and full of life and new things to look at. Evelyn could not wait to disembark the train.

  Eventually, the conductor announced the train was reaching its terminus, London, Paddington. Evelyn hurriedly refastened the buttons of her grey winter coat and pulled on her brown leather gloves. She wore her favourite sage-green dress and a hat made of a similar colour felt. She felt rather pleased with herself. Then, as her focus adjusted to the interior of the station, her pleasure faded. All she could see were people, walking quickly, intent on one thing or another. Some had travel cases and trunks, some were obviously businessmen. She watched a man disembark the train and be welcomed by a smartly dressed blonde.

  It was time to get out of the train herself, to actually set foot on the ground in London. While she was still in the train, she was separate from it, a visitor who was not really here. The train still had the air of West Coombe inside it. As soon as she was off the train, she was on her own in London. But that was why she was here, after all.

  Grasping the handle of her small suitcase firmly, Evelyn exited the compartment, walked awkwardly along the narrow corridor, and climbed cautiously down the steps onto the platform. She took a few steps away from the train and then stopped in awe. Above her curved the huge glass roof of the station. Evelyn had never seen such a large building, such a high roof. That such effort had been made to create a spectacular station made her wonder what else London held in store. The great sweep of glass and iron was at once sublime and oppressive, replacing the sky with a man-made triumph. Evelyn lowered her gaze and looked across the station, where more trains steamed gently, more crowds of people crossed her field of vision. She had expected London to be busy, on a different scale to anything she’d know, and yet even the station took her breath away. What would she find once she stepped into the city itself?

  Only thinking of Edward kept her from bolting back to the train, returning home, laughing off her adventure. She was here because Edward had asked her to be; she was here with an important duty. Even if she only stayed for a day or so, she still had a task to complete. The damage was already done at home, so she might as well keep going now.

  Coming back to full awareness, Evelyn spotted a sign which directed her to the station exit and followed the line of passengers heading in that direction. She tried to walk with confidence she did not feel, not wanting to seem an outsider.

  When she reached the exit, Evelyn passed from the inside of the station into the street. A world that was at least vaguely familiar vanished and suddenly she felt overwhelmed and very small. The street was broad and busy. A motor car drove past, followed immediately by another, and a red omnibus. A man in a flat cap guided a horse-drawn dray along the road but looked oddly out of place. People filtered from the station exit behind her, walking quickly to the left and right. Evelyn wondered where they were going, if they all had homes and friends here. Was anyone as alone as she was? Was anyone else as astonished at the grandeur of the buildings, the bustle of the streets?

  She took a deep breath. One of the ways she had occupied herself on the final part of the journey was by committing Lilian Grainger’s address to memory. 15a, Hays Mews. Mayfair. She did not know London, but she knew Mayfair by reputation. Lilian and her family were clearly well off. Evelyn hoped she would not be looked down upon. She knew Paddington was not all that far from Mayfair, except in London she had no familiar landmarks by which to judge distance. But this was only a town, after all, albeit a large one. How far away could anything be? Surely she’d be able to walk, given the right directions?

  Summoning her confidence, Evelyn looked around. Leaning against the wall, close to the station entrance, was a man who appeared to be about her age. He wore a brown flat cap and was in his shirtsleeves, despite the cold. He was cupping his hands to protect the cigarette he was trying to light from the wind but did not seem to be so busy that Evelyn worried about interrupting him. She made for where he leaned, smiling and trying not to appear nervous.

  “Excuse me?”

  The man looked up. His expression registered surprise at being spoken to, but no hostility. “Can I help you, miss?” His voice sounded very different to the voices Evelyn was used to. Of course, she knew of the Cockney accent, but she had never heard it spoken.

  “Er, maybe. I hope so. I’m visiting a…friend. I think she lives near here, but I’m not sure how to get there. I wonder if you could give me directions, please.”

  The man was looking at her in an inquisitive fashion. “Not from around here, then?”

  “No, that’s why I’m asking for directions.” Evelyn hoped she did not sound impatient but was rather taken aback to be questioned.

  “I meant your accent. I reckon you’re from the West Country. Let me guess…Somerset?”

  “No, Devon. A town called West Coombe.” Which suddenly seemed so very far away, like a place in a dream.

  “Ah, well, I wasn’t that far off. I like to guess at accents. So, where does this friend of yours live?”

  Relieved that he was going to help after all, Evelyn smiled tentatively and told him the address.

  “Ah, Mayfair is it?” He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his eyes sneaking a fast glance over her appearance. “Quite a fancy place that, from what I know of it.”

  Evelyn was a little dismayed, as though the man was judging her. “I don’t know, myself. Like you said, I’m not from here. I’ve never visited before. Is it easy to get to?”

  “Yes, miss, don’t worry, it is near here. Mind you, it’d take half an hour, maybe more, to walk.” Evelyn tried not to look surprised. You could walk from one end of West Coombe to the
other in less than half an hour. “You go down here, across the corner of Hyde Park, cross over Park Lane, then you’ve got a few options. Myself, I’d go right onto Rex Place, left on South Street, and then right again down Chesterfield Hill. Then you’re more or less there.” The man paused and clearly realised how bewildered Evelyn was by his directions. “However, if you can afford it, miss, I recommend getting in a cab. They’ll take you straight along the Bayswater Road and Park Lane and you’ll be there before you know it. I reckon about ten minutes in a cab.”

  Evelyn felt a little brighter at the idea of not walking and entrusting the route to a driver. “I can afford it. Thank you. Can you tell me how I get a cab?”

  “Suppose they don’t have much of that kind of thing in Devon, eh?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’ll get one for you. Wait there.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Not a problem, miss.”

  Evelyn watched the man walk over to an area near the station, where a few similar motor cars were parked, and lean into the cab of the one at the front of the row. Although she was used to the sight of cars travelling through West Coombe, she’d only travelled in one once before. The sight of these cars all in a row was something novel. The cars matched each other exactly. Their wheels were white, the shiny body of the car black. The number plates were above the screened-in driver. Next to him was a wide step, which a passenger had to climb before turning to their right to open the door and enter the passenger compartment. No more than two people would fit in the back of such a car.

  The man was walking back towards her with a friendly smile. “That Jixi cab will take you, miss. He knows where you want to go. Just climb in. Like I said, it’s only ten minutes, if that, from here.”

  “Thank you so much.” Evelyn’s gratitude was intense. She could have probably worked out how to hire a taxi, but to have been saved the trouble and to have met with a friendly, helpful person as her first interaction in London helped convince her that this was indeed the right path. Soon she would be at her destination and, hopefully, not entirely alone. “Can I give you something for your trouble?”

  “It’s no trouble, miss, a smile is enough. What’s your name?”

  “Evelyn Hopkins,” she said, smiling easily at his tone.

  “I’m Sam Williams. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand and Evelyn shook it, still smiling. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Hopkins. I hope you enjoy your stay in London. If you’re near Paddington again, keep an eye out for me.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Williams. And I will do.” Evelyn gave him a final smile and headed towards the waiting cab, almost sorry to have to leave him behind. She turned and realised he was watching her go, so she waved a hand. He waved in return, then strolled back towards the station building. Evelyn wondered if he worked on the railways.

  “Afternoon, miss. Hays Mews, yes?”

  “Yes, please.” Evelyn climbed awkwardly into the back of the cab. The driver started the engine, the vibration travelling through Evelyn’s body. It was an odd sensation, being in a motor car. The car started moving and Evelyn watched the pavement slide by outside the window. Before long she saw railings with a green expanse behind them. It had to be Hyde Park! The simple fact she was divided only by a thin piece of glass from such a famous location made her stare, as though she’d never seen a park before.

  All too soon, the cab turned from the broad road at the perimeter of the park into a narrower road, with tall buildings on both sides. Cream stone gave way to red brick; there were steps and doorways and every style of construction from the last century. Evelyn thought there were probably more buildings on this one small street than in the whole of West Coombe.

  The further the cab took her, the grander the buildings seemed. At a recently built Georgian-style mansion they turned, only to be surrounded by taller, red-brick, authentically Georgian buildings. They drove past doorway after doorway. At first, Evelyn tried to imagine what was behind each door, who lived in such a place. But after a minute or two, she found it dizzying to watch the street and turned her attention to the way ahead, peering past the driver and out of the windscreen.

  Eventually, the driver slowed the cab as they turned into a narrower street. The buildings were still several storeys high but appeared narrower, not quite as spectacular. They were still graceful, with a type of elegance Evelyn had never before seen. But this looked like a street where people could actually live, rather than the stage-set grandeur of the previous thoroughfares.

  A moment later, the cab stopped and the driver turned. “Here you are then, miss. Hays Mews. Number 15a wasn’t it? That’s the yellow brick one there, with the steps up to the front door.”

  “Thank you.” Evelyn peered in the direction he pointed, nervous again now she was actually here.

  “Welcome, miss.”

  Evelyn paid the driver with some of Edward’s money she’d kept out of the suitcase in case of need. She watched the cab drive away and found herself alone again. A few steps along the road and she was outside the door of 15a. She paused, looking at the polished brass numbers on the gloss-black painted door. Then she tilted her head to look up at the building. Neat sash windows formed two rows over four storeys. There was an upper floor with smaller windows, just below the roof. The building was beige-yellow bricks except for cream-coloured columns on the facade at street level and a Greek-style portico over the front door. Three steps led to the door, and next to the door, a button for the bell.

  Evelyn contemplated the bell for a moment. The idea of ringing it, of bringing out a complete stranger from this rather grand house and trying to explain her purpose, all seemed very daunting. How did she even know that Lilian Grainger still lived here? If the woman had moved, what would she do then? Be on the next train back to West Coombe, most likely. She could hardly stay in London alone. It began to dawn on her just how little she wanted to return to West Coombe. Despite everything, London seemed exciting, a place she wanted to get to know better. The first step towards that, towards fulfilling her promise to Edward, was to ring the doorbell.

  As she pushed the brass button, Evelyn listened for the sound of the bell inside the house. She did not hear it but the door looked heavy and as though it would block sound from within. She tried to smile and waited expectantly. After a few minutes, she began to grow tense once again. If no one was home, how long did she stand on the doorstep before giving up? Or it was possible that someone was home but did not want to be disturbed. She was reluctant to keep ringing the bell and discover she’d simply irritated whoever was in the house. Still, the letter she had to deliver was important. Important enough to risk ringing the bell again.

  Evelyn listened for the sound of the bell again, and again heard nothing. After waiting a final minute, she tried the brass knocker on the door, hearing that sound echoing in the hallway within. She knocked three times and waited, almost holding her breath. Moments later, she was sure she heard movement. She bit her lip and tried to set her expression to friendly, but not too friendly.

  The door opened and Evelyn found herself looking into a round pink dimpled face with bright green eyes, surrounded by cropped red hair which curled around the jawline and sat in a straight line just above the eyebrows. A woman, who looked a little older than herself. The woman wore a blue silk housecoat with an Egyptian pattern embroidered onto the fabric. Her feet were bare. Evelyn drew breath and found herself lost for words.

  “Oh, hello there!” The woman spoke loudly and cheerfully. She did not have an accent like the people Evelyn had heard in London so far. Rather her voice was clipped and proper. Clearly this was an educated and wealthy woman. Still, her smile was open and warm. “Did you ring the bell? Oh no, you haven’t been waiting there for ages, have you? I’ve told James we have to get someone to fix it, but somehow neither of us ever gets around to it! Simply ridiculous of us really. Sorry.”

  “I wasn’t here very long before I knocked,” Evelyn responded, rather
taken aback at the robust manner of this woman and her flow of words, all delivered at quite a pace.

  “Oh good, good, that’s all right, then. Now, how can I help?”

  Evelyn had rehearsed her explanation several times on the train, but now she was here her planned words evaporated from her mind. “Well, I’m looking for a Miss Lilian Grainger. I was given this address for her.”

  “You’ve found her then,” the woman said, now beginning to look curious. “I’m Lilian. Who are you?”

  “My name’s Evelyn Hopkins.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Evelyn. I can call you Evelyn, can’t I? You can call me Lilian. I can’t stand all of the formalities, we’re just two people after all.”

  “Yes, of course.” Evelyn felt herself being blown further and further off course by Lilian’s breezy personality and seeming inability to stop talking.

  “So why are you looking for me, Evelyn? Is it to do with my singing?”

  “No, it’s nothing to do with singing. It’s, well, it’s about your brother.”

  “So it’s really James you’re looking for?”

  “No, I’m looking for you. It’s not James. It’s your other brother.”

  Lilian’s smile faded. “I’ve not had another brother for a long time now,” she replied. Some of her friendly demeanour had diminished. “He was killed in the war.”

  “I know,” Evelyn said. She could see the pain in Lilian’s eyes and feared making the other woman angry.

  “What do you mean? What do you know about Frank?” Lilian demanded.