Sylvia said, ‘Lilies are not savage. Lilies are pure and beautiful, Mama.’
‘Lily’s coming back. She’s coming to see me again,’ said Magnus, who was becoming upset.
Lily pressed his hand gently. Mam had told Nanna not to be afraid when Mrs Hammond wore her high hat. Mam said that Mrs Hammond was a ‘jumped-up nobody’ with a pretty face who’d set her cap for Mr Hammond. And if Mam said not to be afraid, Lily was not.
At Magnus’s words Mrs Hammond’s expression softened. She glanced at Lily before she let her eyes go to the clock, and said, ‘Is there anything else? Anything I can do for you, Lily?’
A rush of colour came to Lily’s cheeks. Mrs Hammond was asking if she could do anything for her. Maybe she’d been wrong … Lily could scarcely believe her ears. She hesitated and Mrs Hammond repeated, ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’
Lily took a deep breath, let go of Magnus’s hand and said in her best voice, ‘Will you jump over your hat?’
‘Jump?’ Mrs Hammond said. Mr Hammond smiled, then tried to hide it. Lily wanted to see Mrs Hammond go heels-over-cap. ‘Mam says you can set your cap and jump up.’
There was a shocked silence. Mr Hammond began to cough and Lily saw at once, with a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, that she’d said the wrong thing. Blushing hotly, she tried to make matters right. ‘It doesn’t really matter, if you are too old.’
Mrs Hammond’s face was red. Furious, she rounded on Mr Hammond and said, ‘I cannot allow this brat to play with our children, John. Don’t think I’m not sorry for her. I pity her. I would pity any child who had that woman for a mother!’ She drew breath again. ‘There is not a chance in Hades that this girl will make a decent life for herself. She’ll be just as brazen a little hussy as Elsie Stanway was.’
There were cries of ‘No, Mama!’ from Magnus and Sylvia, and ‘Oh, dear!’ from Mr Hammond, but Lily hung her head. Her mouth was dry. She couldn’t utter a word. She only half understood the significance, but Mrs Hammond said that she’d never be decent and that was a lie. She had a bath every Saturday night. Mrs Hammond pitied her. She did not want pity. But what she had said about Mam hurt most. ‘Brazen’, she’d said. Brazen was a bad word. Mrs Hammond had used it of Mam.
The injustice, without Mam here to speak for herself, was more than Lily could bear. She trembled with confusion and panic. She wanted to shout ‘Go to blazes!’ but instead she ran from the room, tripped over the carpet at the door, righted herself clumsily and looked over her shoulder to see them all staring after her, Sylvia and Magnus’s faces pale and fearful.
She would not let them see her cry. Choking back tears, she fled down the long hall, shrugged off the butler’s restraining hand and flung herself against the front door. He opened it and she was out and tearing down the driveway as if devils were snapping at her flying feet. Then, out of sight of the house, and over the stone wall, she flung herself on to the bank beside the tumbling brook, and pressed her face into the sweet, cool grasses.
Nobody followed. It was quiet and she lay for minutes in her misery hearing nothing but the burbling water, until after a little while the feeling that she’d been unfairly treated grew very keen in her. Slowly at first, then with more conviction, there came to life a new emotion – anger – and with the anger came a need for retaliation that in future would spring up at every bad turn she endured.
Magnus started to scream when Lily left. ‘Why do you hate Lily? I hate you, Mama!’ He flung himself at his mama in a rage.
‘Darling. Magnus. Don’t cry!’ His mama took hold of his arms in a panic. ‘What is the matter?’ she said to Sylvia, while she held Magnus as firmly as she could. ‘Run upstairs for Nurse. I’m afraid he’ll throw himself on to the floor and bruise.’
Sylvia gave Magnus one of her bossy looks, and at the top of her voice said, ‘Stop that noise, Magnus! Stupid boy. If you bruise, you will be in bed for weeks. You will not see Lily. Or Rowena and Ian.’
‘I will.’ Magnus tried to pull away from Mama and throw himself on to the floor to make Mama cry. He screamed, ‘Lily’s going to school.’
His mama was weeping and pleading with him. ‘Cousin Ian and Rowena will be here tomorrow. Ray Chancellor’s coming today. Please darling … Please … !’
John Hammond raised his voice to be heard over the din. He could not stand this screeching. Exhibitions of temper ought to be kept for the nursery. It was intolerable in the drawing room. ‘Catriona!’ He was horrified to find that he too was shouting. ‘Let Magnus go! He’s old enough to know what he’s doing. You are ruining the boy. You have spoilt the day for poor Lily.’
Catriona ignored him. She crouched, hat discarded, cradling Magnus, murmuring, ‘Sh … Sh darling. There, there!’, rocking him and stroking the blond head. ‘You want to go to school, don’t you?’
‘I want to be with Lily.’
John’s annoyance was dissolving. Catriona was calming the child, crooning to him. ‘You cannot go to school, my darling. Not until you are a much bigger boy.’
A wave of tenderness came over John, making him regret his outburst. His wife’s arms were wrapped protectively about Magnus, her head angled so that she could see her son’s expression. She a tigress when her baby was in danger. Her temper was belied by her looks for she had the cool beauty of Greta Garbo, their favourite actress. He was so lucky that Catriona had come into and taken charge of his life. His wife was his treasured delight.
She calmed Magnus, saying, ‘You will grow out of it, my darling. The least knock and you injure yourself.’
Magnus would never grow out of haemophilia; both he and Catriona knew that. And for all his forbearing, loving nature, John would speak firmly to Catriona later. He would not tolerate histrionics.
The nurse and Sylvia came into the drawing room and the nurse put her hand out for Magnus. ‘Come along, Magnus. Rest time. After that you can go upstairs and visit your grandfather. You too, Sylvia.’
When they left John said, in a reasonable voice, ‘That was a dreadful thing to say to little Lily, Catriona.’
She was dry-eyed. She only cried over Magnus and, surprised that her husband had made any criticism of her, said, ‘I spoke the truth, John. The child will grow up to be exactly like her mother.’
‘Catriona!’
‘I know! You find it impossible to break the connection because your father and Elsie Stanway’s were partners.’
Her eyes were sparking. She was magnificent, strong, outspoken – and utterly lacking in tact. The only person she bowed to was Sarah Chancellor. She merely conceded to her husband. But John would not let her have the last word. Nor would he allow Elsie or her child to be denigrated. So he said, very sternly, ‘That‘s enough. I will not witness another display of temper in my presence. Not from you, or Magnus or anyone else.’ He tried to keep displeasure on his face as he left.
‘John?’ Her voice was soft. ‘Where are you going? I apologise, dear.’
He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob. She was irresistible. With her strong personality, she understood exactly when to appeal, when to ride roughshod over him, but their marriage was a delicate balancing act of power. He would not accept her apology. She could coax him into a better humour later. All the same, a smile softened the fine, chiselled lines of his face. ‘I’m going to see Dad. Afterwards, I will be in my study, if any matter arises,’ he paused, ‘and you, Catriona? What are your plans?’
‘Sarah Chancellor,’ she said. ‘Sarah and Ray are coming to stay for it few days. Had you forgotten?’
He did not like to admit to her that he had indeed forgotten that Sarah was coming to stay – again. When he thought about the one time in his life that he had behaved like a cad, and remembered that it was Sarah with whom he had behaved so badly, it was to her credit that Sarah had any time for him. Yet hardly a week went by but Sarah visited them, acting as if she had a part to play in their lives, behaving like some kind of senior wife … Quickly he dismissed such d
isloyal thoughts and said, ‘Sarah? Good.’ Then, ‘I will see them at tea. Here or in the dining room?’
‘Here, John. Half past four.’
He went slowly, thoughtfully up the fine oak staircase of the house his father had built, ready to found a dynasty. Dad had expected to have more than one son. The corridors were carpeted in red Turkey pattern Axminster, as were the three wide staircases. The eight main bedrooms, painted and papered in different floral themes, had separate dressing rooms. Dad’s suite of two rooms and a newly installed bathroom were at the front of the house, over the entrance hall, far from the room he and Catriona occupied.
He tapped and heard his father’s assertive voice. ‘Come in.’
Dad’s sitting room was sparsely furnished to make easy the passage of the great, wheeled bath-chair in which he was now seated by the window. He could walk only with the help of sticks but he was as shrewd in old age as he had been in his youth. He said in a quick, sharp voice. ‘Not at work, John?’
‘It’s Saturday.’
‘Can we afford to close on Saturdays?’
John gave the disarming look that would soothe ruffled feathers and remove the querulous expression that he saw upon Dad’s clever face. ‘All the mills close at twelve on Saturdays. It’s overtime after that.’
‘Overtime? Never heard of it!’
‘Yes, you have.’
‘We should have kept to hand-loom weaving on the putting-out system. Nobody told those old weavers when they could work. There was no talk of “overtime” in the old days.’ He paused, frowned and shook his head slowly as he pretended a sigh of bafflement. ‘When Charlie Stanway and I started, a hand-loom weaver working in his own home could earn three pounds a week. That would be a fortune today. He paid and housed his apprentice out of it, mind.’
John was in for an hour at least of his father‘s reminiscing.
‘… We started employing hand-loom weavers, putting-out, Charlie and I. Went on to get our own premises. Variety of woven goods. That’s why we were successful. Handkerchiefs, ties, silk twill, chenille and crepe de Chine. Never took out more money than we needed. Unstable and hazardous, is silk. We took a big chance when we went in for buying the raw silk, spinning and weaving.’ Here the old man had to stop for breath. He coughed before wheezing on, ‘We kept track of every penny. You must keep the weavers working to be a success.’
‘We are a success. Hammond Silks is very much in business. Many of the old mills aren’t.’ John lied. The mill was barely ticking over. In 1889 Hammond Silks had had a turnover of forty thousand pounds and showed a profit of three thousand. This year, with twice the turnover, they would make a loss. It would improve. In the meantime he’d ride out the downturn, and dip into his own money rather than sack workers. He said, ‘It’s my birthday on Monday.’
‘How old?’
‘Thirty-five. Catriona is giving a little dinner for me. Her brother, Kenneth, and his children are arriving tomorrow.’
‘The doctor? Will he have a look at Magnus?’ Dad said.
‘No. It’s the usual family gathering. Magnus has been all right for months. He’s looking forward to playing with his cousins.’ Catriona‘s brother was an Edinburgh doctor who had brought up his two children alone since their mother died, and had made a spectacular job of it. Ian and Rowena were intelligent, outgoing children. It was always a treat for Sylvia and Magnus, having their cousins to stay.
Dad said, ‘Where is Magnus?’
‘Resting. He’ll be along.’ The old man liked to see Magnus every day.
‘Is the doctor going to see to the lad’s legs?’
John shook his head. ‘There is nothing to be done, Dad. We hope that one day they will find a cure.’ The great shadow hanging over his and Catriona’s lives was that Magnus would never be a fit, healthy boy. They had asked a dozen medical opinions and the diagnosis was always haemophilia. And the outlook? ‘No cure. Wait and see. He may get to adulthood without being crippled from bleeding into joints and body cavities. Nobody knows. Keep him safe. A scratch or minor injury could prove fatal.’
A black Singer motor car came rumbling up the gravel drive and both men leaned forward to watch. ‘Who is it?’ the old man asked.
‘Sarah Chancellor and her son.’
‘Used to be Pilkington? Drives her own motor?’ Dad was offended at the idea. ‘How’s the printworks doing then?’
John could barely keep his face straight. ‘Very well, I believe.’
‘You know the man she married?’
‘Yes, of course I know Frank Chancellor,’ John said. ‘So do you. His father was a tenant farmer at Archerfield. The Chancellor brothers have their own holdings now.’
‘I remember Frank Chancellor. Cocky fellow. Struck me as a feckless sort. Has he ever done a day‘s work?’ Dad had a crafty look. He was talking this way just to provoke.
John said, ‘He’s exceptional. He practically runs the printworks. Must have saved them a fortune.’
Dad sighed. ‘I once made an offer to Pilkington. Wanted to buy him out. Offered a partnership. Hammond and Pilkington! We would have been the biggest employer in Macclesfield. We could have done anything.’ He gave John a sharp, knowing look. ‘She was after you, son. You could have married her. You could have had a printworks and half a dozen healthy sons.’
‘Dad! You brought Catriona and me together. I was very lucky she took me on,’ John said.
Dad had been match-making when he invited Catriona and the Mackenzies to Archerfield just before John was called into the army. Catriona was a distant relative of his late mother. She had been invited to Archerfield only a week after Elsie turned him down.
‘She wanted you badly enough.’ Dad was reminiscing.
John listened fondly as the old man went on, ‘She begged me to ask her to Archerfield, to all the parties and balls.’
John smiled and teased, ‘Who? Catriona?’
‘No. Sarah Pilkington. The religious one. Mind, she always struck me as a fanatic – a desperate girl, capable of anything. Always asking to come here. I told you.’
‘Your memory is going, Dad.’
He remembered the parties and balls – the evenings when he’d have given the earth to have Elsie at his side instead of the simpering girls Dad invited. Sarah was always there. They moved in the same circles and he saw Sarah everywhere he went; the tense, wet-eyed Sarah who was so plain and always ready to listen to his tales of woe. She used to say she would pray for him. Thinking this way, he shuddered again, remembering his behaviour when, tipsy and despairing, sleepless and at his lowest ebb, he had climbed into Sarah’s bed and raped her. She could have accused him of rape. She could have found herself with child. She’d been engaged to Frank Chancellor all along.
He remembered, with a blush, how he had once, a few years ago, said to Sarah, ‘Ray’s a fine boy. I feel so drawn to him. You must be very proud …’ She’d had that intense, strange look on her face and, seeing it, all at once he had had a treacherous thought. He’d said, ‘He’s – he’s not mine, is he, Sarah?’
Then he’d wished he could have cut out his tongue for she’d flushed a deep blood red, almost exploding with outrage at the suggestion. She replied in a fierce, hissing voice, ‘No. How dare you ask me … ?’ and he’d known that she, too, wanted to forget that anything had ever happened between them.
Downstairs, Sarah and Ray were shown into the drawing room where Catriona waited. She kissed Sarah on the cheek and ignored Ray.
Sarah said to Ray, ‘Run upstairs, darling. Sylvia and Magnus will be waiting for you.’ She looked, enquiring, at Catriona. ‘I take it they are in the nursery?’
‘Yes. Off you go, Ray,’ Catriona dismissed him.
Ray was a much more advanced child than either Sylvia or Magnus, and Sarah recognised his obstinate look. His bottom lip was jutting out. He said, ‘I want to play at the pond. Not in the nursery.’
Sarah glanced from Ray to Catriona. ‘Why not? Is that all right?’
&nbs
p; ‘Unaccompanied children are forbidden to play by the pond,’ Catriona said.
‘Oh, Mother!’ Ray’s voice rose petulantly.
Sarah put a hand on his shoulder. ‘He’s perfectly safe.’
‘Yes. I’m sure he is. But the fish won’t be.’ Catriona pointed imperiously towards the door. ‘Off you go, Ray. Up to the nursery.’
To Sarah’s relief, for her darling adventurous boy could be just the tiniest bit difficult, Ray obeyed. Catriona closed the door behind him and said, ‘So glad to have you to confide in, Sarah. John and I have had words.’
‘Oh, dear!’ Sarah was happy to be Catriona’s confidante. ‘You have upset John. How?’
‘I spoke the truth, Sarah.’
‘You always do, dear. What did you say?’ Sarah gave Catriona a look of encouragement. She was Catriona’s indispensable friend.
‘I said that Elsie Stanway’s child will grow up to be a brazen hussy like her mother,’ Catriona told her.
‘Elsie Stanway?’ Sarah did not have any sympathy with Catriona on this. She said, ‘What on earth made you say that?’
Catriona went to the window and looked out over the lawn for a few moments. Then, quietly, ‘John wanted to marry her. He proposed to her, before he met me.’
Sarah tried to look as if this were news to her. She walked over to the window and took Catriona’s arm. ‘But he changed his mind when he set eyes on you, Catriona. Don’t forget that I met John long before you. He took one look at you my dear – and proposed to you.’
Catriona did not at first reply, then, as if she were confessing, said, ‘It was I who proposed.’
‘You proposed? To a man you had only known for a week? I can’t believe my ears.’
Catriona said, ‘I knew I’d been asked to Archerfield so that John could look me over. The old man had given John an ultimatum. John wanted to volunteer for the army. An heir was wanted. John was told to marry or the mill would be sold.’
Sarah said, ‘Did John tell you this?’
‘No. He did nothing but talk about the girl who had turned him down. It was crass and impolite. I told him so.’ Catriona was working herself up into high old dudgeon. ‘John introduced me to Elsie Stanway. I saw how it was.’
A Daughter's Shame Page 7