A Daughter's Shame

by Audrey Reimann

‘In the drawing room,’ Ian said. ‘We thought it best to leave her and my sister to make the introductions.’ He smiled. ‘Rowena might pick up a few hints. ’Fraid we are a bit plainspoken. No English social graces.’

  Magnus said, ‘We’ll go down in a few minutes.’

  ‘How many are here?’ she asked, looking at Ian.

  ‘About two dozen.’ Magnus tugged her arm to get her attention, to make her take notice of him.

  ‘Anyone I know?’

  Magnus recited a string of names. Lily recognised only one or two until he said, ‘And Ray Chancellor.’ He said it like a boast, as if a god from Mount Olympus had come down and accepted his invitation.

  ‘Won’t Ray Chancellor be at the mill party?’

  ‘Heavens, no. Wild horses wouldn’t get Ray to a mill party,’ Magnus said. ‘He’s too grown-up.’

  ‘Too clever by half,’ Ian said.

  ‘Have you met Ray Chancellor?’ she asked Ian.

  ‘He’s in my house at George Watson’s College,’ he said coldly. Lily was full of bubbling happiness. ‘I knew he went to a very famous school. Like Eton.’

  Magnus took hold of her arm, talking quickly and eagerly. ‘George Watson’s is a much better school than Eton, Lily. And Ray … ! You know Ray! Nothing but the best.’

  She laughed. ‘I’ve never even spoken to Ray Chancellor.’

  Magnus took a very firm grip on her arm. ‘Then you are in for a treat. All the girls fall for him.’

  All except me, Lily thought. I’ve already fallen for Ian Mackenzie.

  Ian straightened his face, tightened the knot in his tie and tugged his jacket into line. ‘Let’s go down.’

  He sounded a bit nervous as he went towards the door.

  Magnus whispered, ‘Ian’s afraid that Sylvia will catch Ray’s eye.’

  Suddenly Lily felt small and foolish. It was silly to think she was in love. Why were they talking of flirting and eye-catching and falling for boys and girls? Would she be as far out of her depth here as if she’d been playing postman’s knock at Pilkington Printers?

  Chapter Eight

  Chairs were placed round the walls of the drawing room and dozens of young people – Sylvia’s new friends from the high school, their brothers and sisters – were laughing and chatting easily, as if they did this every day. Lily knew a momentary panic. Did these young people all live in grand houses like Archerfield? Were there other families who provided as the Hammonds did for their children? Were the others used to this? Then Ian’s tall, dark-haired sister Rowena was at her side, smiling as she took Lily round the room to meet the other girls. Lily was not the youngest. Her shyness melted away.

  Opposite the fireplace, on a raised wooden platform, was a three-piece band of piano, violin and bass. There was a master of ceremonies, in tails, exactly like the one at the Majestic Picture House. Bubbles of excitement exploded in Lily when the MC held up his hand for silence and asked, ‘Has everyone been given a programme?’

  To a chorus of ‘Yes, yes!’ and ‘Rather!’, Magnus pushed a folded, deckle-edged, ribbon-slotted card into her hand.

  ‘Before the magician, you will see that we are going to commence with dancing. Please form two circles for the Paul Jones.’ The master of ceremonies signalled to the band and they were off.

  The programme promised dancing, a magician, a dance, supper, a dance, a game of hide and seek and a last dance. Lily looped the programme’s ribbon over her wrist, as the older girls did. Her knees were weak with excitement when the music stopped and Magnus stood in front of her, beaming with pleasure.

  ‘It’s a waltz,’ she said. He put his arm about her skinny waist. ‘That’s a-one-two-three and a-one-two-three, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ She was about to explain waltz time in music but they were whirling across the floor, she going very carefully so as not to knock Magnus’s legs, and he looking proud and grown-up.

  Sylvia, in pink chiffon with silver embroidery, was dancing with a tall, red-haired boy: Ray Chancellor. He had grown up so much since he’d gone away to school, Lily barely recognised him.

  They circled again, and in the next dance, the veleta, she partnered Ray Chancellor. Lily looked at Ray. He was taller and slimmer than his father. He looked like his mother, but he gave the same impression his father did, of energy and strength. He said, ‘What’s your name?’

  He brought out in Lily the very feeling his father did, that she wanted him to notice and like her. She wondered if he would look down on her if he knew she was Elsie Stanway’s daughter – that they were poor, that his father owned their house and gave them cloth at cost. She was ashamed at herself for her thoughts, but all the same she just answered, ‘Lily.’

  ‘I’m Ray Chancellor.’ He cast his eyes about the room. He would hardly want to get into conversation with her, but seeing Magnus looking over, asked, ‘Are you the girl – the Lily – Magnus talks about?’

  ‘Probably.’ It was like Magnus to talk about her.

  He said, smiling down at her from his great height, ‘Magnus says that you are going to be another “it” girl when you grow up.’ Everyone was saying ‘She’s Got It’ about Clara Bow.

  ‘Is that a compliment?’ she said. Magnus never went to the cinema. His mama was afraid he’d be bitten by fleas.

  Afterwards Sylvia and she demonstrated the Black Bottom while the others stood round, watching. Next a magician came on to the floor. The lights were dimmed and they sat on mats and tried to see through the tricks but they were all convinced of his magical powers when finally he produced Magnus’s wristwatch from Ian’s pocket. Then everyone came back on to the floor for the progressive barn dance, and Lily danced with Ian four times. It was a marvellous party.

  They were served a delicious supper of three courses, waited on by maids, sitting around the big oval dining table where candles in silver holders flickered.

  After the meal there was more dancing, a game of charades and then, it being dark outside and all the curtains having been pulled, the master of ceremonies announced, ‘The last game of the evening, before the last dance. Hide and seek.’

  It was to be played in an exciting way. They were to leave the room one at a time every two minutes and could hide anywhere. ‘Hide yourselves singly, anywhere a light is burning,’ was the rule. Magnus and Sylvia were to remain until everyone had gone and then they were to search, each trying to find more players than the other. A box of stationery was the prize for the last person to be found. Lily determined to win it.

  She was the fifth to leave the drawing room. Nobody was about and she went fast along the lighted hallway, past the dining room, butler’s pantry and flower room until she came to Mr Hammond’s study. Normally it was locked but today a light was burning, and in she went.

  She’d never been in the study before. It was spoken of by Sylvia as Father’s holy of holies, since nobody – staff, cleaners or even Mrs Hammond – was allowed in. He must have relented this evening, for there was a lamp upon a huge mahogany desk. Around three walls were bookshelves. A small fire burned in the grate on the wall where a door, slightly ajar, led into a second room. The second room was dimly lit but she had to go in; there was no hiding place in the study.

  It was a tiny, windowless box-room, where the facing wall was lined with shelves above a long working ledge. From the shelves, hanging by metal clips, were photographs and negatives, all of Sylvia and Magnus. It was Mr Hammond’s darkroom. There was a high stool in a wide space under the ledge and in that space a deep shelf where a stack of photographs lay. Lily pulled the stool forward and ducked under the ledge, crouching, facing the shelf. No one would find her.

  Once she had settled, she found that she could hear a murmur of voices through the wall. Lily worked out the plan of the house and realised that only the panelling separated the box-room from the place where Mrs Hammond spoke to the housekeeper and the governess.

  Her eyes alighted on the photographs and, lifting them carefully so as not to leave any trace,
she began to look through them.

  There were views of Archerfield taken from White Nancy, and views of the pretty little hill villages of Rainow and Pott Shrigley; photographs of Hammond Silks with the date and name inked in a spidery, copperplate handwriting that had elaborately inscribed flourishes on the capital letters and the tails of the g’s and the y’s.

  Feet were running in the corridor. The study door was flung wide. ‘Don’t go in there!’ Magnus called. ‘Father’s study is out of bounds. Nobody will go in.’ She heard his footsteps – she could not mistake Magnus’s tread – crossing the floor to extinguish the lamp.

  Only then did she realise she should not be here, and now she was afraid that Magnus would see the band of light under the door. But his footsteps faded. The door closed. She would go once it was quiet. Her heart thumped. She felt like a criminal. She wanted to run from the darkroom but could hear the others, in the corridor and up and down the stairs, running and laughing. She must wait for five minutes.

  She put the photographs back and in doing so saw another dusty envelope, hidden in the darkest corner of the shelf. She pulled it out, opened the flap and drew out two photographs about twelve inches square. They were covered in semi-transparent paper such as were placed over illustrations in expensive books. She peeled back the top one, and her mouth opened in astonishment. It was Mam.

  Just the head and shoulders. Mam with her hair down, tumbling about her bare neck and arms, holding a piece of chiffon, which went about the tops of her arms and dipped in front, out of sight. Mam was beautiful. Her expression had an alluring quality. That was the way to describe the set of her head, the heavy-lidded eyes and the parted lips that were inviting but not smiling. She had been even more beautiful then than now. Under her picture was the date: 1914.

  Lily replaced the transparent paper cover on the photograph and peeled back the one over the second picture. Then her stomach turned over. It was Mam again. Mam, wearing only a skirt and naked from the waist up. Lily closed her eyes. Fright and shock made the blood drain from her face. Her mouth was numb as she forced herself to look again. It was sickening, seeing Mam posed like that, leaning backwards against a table, thrusting forward the heavy breasts that were the focal point of the picture. Mam’s head was back, mouth open to show her teeth, eyes half closed; ecstatic. It was bold and it was brazen.

  Shame and sick fear swept over Lily. No wonder Mrs Hammond hated Mam. There came back to Lily all the little half-forgotten remarks Mam had made – that Mrs Hammond had scooped up the prizes, swept Mr Hammond off his feet. Had Mrs Hammond seen the disgusting photographs?

  She could not stay another second. There was no sound in the corridor, no servants about so she went, softly, to open the door and creep on tiptoe from the study and into the lighted hallway, all the time telling herself not to think about the photographs; telling herself to put them from her mind for ever. When she reached the drawing room she let her shoes clatter as she ran, forcing a smile. ‘You couldn’t find me!’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Never mind. Where’s my prize?’

  There was laughter. Magnus handed over the box of stationery, urging her to write to him when he went to Edinburgh. She made a supreme effort, using the chapel trick, the mesmerising trick to split her mind so that one half told the other to blot out the memory of all she’d seen and heard.

  ‘It should have been the last dance, Lily.’ Magnus was saying. ‘But the band’s gone to the kitchens for supper before the grown-ups’ party.’

  ‘Are we to go home, then?’

  ‘No. Ian’s going to play the piano.’

  Everyone gathered about the grand piano where Ian was seated and being plied with requests to play this and that. Without responding, without another look at anyone, he stared at the far wall, half smiling as he played the popular ballads and the old folk songs they could join in and sing. He played part songs and modern romantic tunes, and as he played Lily felt her worries dispersing, melting away. Music could change her mood. Piano-playing was her way of expressing feelings. It must be the same for Ian.

  Ian led the singing in a fine tenor voice. Lily was calming down, refusing to let her thoughts dwell on anything but what she was doing at that moment; joining in with the singing and chorusing. Then Ian stopped. There was a shocked moment’s silence before, with a faraway expression on his face, he went back to the keys and began to play the cleverest, fastest jazz she had ever heard. He was possessed. It was magic. Everyone held their breath. Nobody clapped. Nobody hummed or tapped their feet or made any sound. Ian’s right hand was skimming the keys, his touch fast and light, the runs crisp and sharp, and all the time the boogie-woogie beat of the left hand kept the music afloat. It never seemed to touch the ground. The notes were jumping, rippling and cascading all about the room. The very air was throbbing, dancing and singing for joy.

  It was jazz such as Lily had heard once or twice on a gramophone. She had seen the first talkie last year. Ragtime was nothing like this. She had tried to play ‘The Charleston’, practising syncopation. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that jazz could sound this way – inspired, inventive. Ian’s hair had fallen across his face. His brow was glowing with beads of perspiration. A crowd of adults now gathered around the piano as well, and at the open door a group of maids stood. Then, just as everyone was being carried away with it all, Ian crashed down his hands in four final emphatic chords, got to his feet and gave a quick bow.

  They went crazy, applauding and begging for more, but Ian caught Rowena’s eye and nodded to her before acknowledging the acclaim. Rowena went from the room quickly and returned with a piano-accordion, which she handed to him. Ian put up his right hand for a moment’s silence. ‘Scottish dancing,’ he announced as he strapped the bulky instrument about his body and slipped his arms through the straps, before wheezing the great instrument in and out.

  When he had it set he called, ‘Can anyone play the piano?’

  ‘Father!’ Magnus shouted.

  Mr Hammond, who had been standing at the back, shook his head. ‘Afraid not. I don’t play by ear. Have to practise everything.’

  Magnus said, ‘What about you, Lily?’

  Ian grinned. ‘Can you vamp a bit? If I give you the melody?’

  ‘I can try,’ she answered shyly. She had no idea if she could do it, but she was going to have a go. She went to the piano and sat down, as Ian began a reel and called across. ‘Key of G.’

  It was bewitching. It was all she had been taught, all she knew and more. The music and the excitement struck the pit of her stomach, but her mind was sharp and receptive. Ian nodded after a few bars, to bring her in – and she was doing it – playing as if they’d played duets for years. Ian, head thrown back, laughed in enjoyment, gave her a few bars to take the melody, then grabbed it back.

  Everyone was clapping. Rowena was in her element, calling the steps, ordering everyone to form two lines for Strip the Willow. Her voice carried over the heads in the room. ‘It’s danced with abandon at every children’s party and every eight-to-eighty gathering in Scotland!’ she called. ‘Form two lines. Boys one side. Girls the other.’

  She nodded over her shoulder for them to play, then, ‘Top couple, swing your partner. One, two-three, four. Girl swing the first boy. Right arms linked … then your partner. Left arms linked … then the next boy. Down the line …’

  All the time Lily’s fingers flew up and down the keys and she bit her lip in concentration. Ian’s face was wreathed in smiles as Rowena banged her feet and yelled. Everyone on the floor was red in the face with laughter and the effort of not putting a foot wrong.

  Rowena called them out into eights for the Eightsome Reel and sixes for Dashing White Sergeant. Then she let them slow down to a gentler pace for the last three dances, until the very last, when the whole party, adults and all, joined hands for ‘Auld Lang Syne’.

  Lily knew this one. They sang, ‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min
d …’ She could span the octaves easily. Both she and Ian did a little improvising on the tune while everyone swung their arms and moved into the centre of the circle. Then Ian’s father, in a rich baritone, sang the second verse: ‘And here’s a hand, My trusty friend, And here’s a hand o’mine …’ and Ian and Lily played it, better than most of them could ever have heard it before.

  The party was over. The young ones went to the door, chattering and laughing, as Lily reluctantly put the piano lid down. Ian unfastened the accordion and put it on the piano stool. ‘You play very well,’ he said. ‘It’s the hardest thing of all, accompanying a piano-accordion.’

  She beamed with pleasure. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Next time I come to Archerfield we must have an hour together,’ he said. ‘Making music.’

  Magnus was holding out her cape and Ian, laughing, said, ‘Magnus! I refuse to play here again without my wee accompanist.’

  Then everyone was going to the big front door, saying goodbye, climbing into motor cars, waving and disappearing down the drive. Lily walked back to the Lodge, holding Grandpa’s hand, under a half-melon moon that hung low in the sky ahead of them, as happy as if she’d been crowned Queen. She had no cares, no worries. It was the best day of her life. She could put from her mind the awful things she had learned about Mam. Tonight her head was ringing with happiness and music and song – and the knowledge that she had made a friend of the boy she loved, Ian Mackenzie.

  Two years had passed since Magnus left home for Edinburgh. He was fitter, healthier, stronger here from all the exercise he took, for exercise was a requirement in the Mackenzie family. Magnus had learned to swim, and now his shoulders were broader with his developed biceps and deltoid muscles. He had hopes of swimming for his house. He was very fast over two lengths.

  Every day he walked, first from school to the tram at the crossroads, where churches stood on the four corners, or else to the station at Craiglockhart. Then again from the tram stop on Princes Street to Uncle Mack’s house in Charlotte Square.