‘Can I help? I could carry our tray upstairs.’ Sybil’s voice made Hilda start.
‘What are you doing up this early?’ she demanded.
‘I . . . we couldn’t sleep. Too much to think about,’ Sybil said. ‘This has to be a modest wedding, and fortunately that’s what Mattie and Griff prefer, but I want everything to be perfect. It’s not fair to expect you to take on all the extra work, so Mattie’s mother and I will help wherever we can. Mind you, I’m aware that Mrs Rowley is more capable than me. That wonderful wedding cake she produced from her hat box . . .’
‘I don’t suppose she’ll swan about like you in her night attire! Well, food’s one thing we don’t have to worry about – all the leavings from the poor old emporium food hall, eh? That pongy cheddar’ll be served up as macaroni cheese for lunch today!’
‘Scrambled eggs for breakfast?’
‘I’ll see to those if you like.’ Griff now joined them. He picked up one of the trays. ‘I’ll deliver this to Mattie and Evie.’
Hilda said primly, ‘I’m not sure that’s proper, Master Griff.’
Griff winked. ‘Sybil doesn’t disapprove.’
‘Take your cup too,’ was all Sybil said.
Evie gave a little shriek and disappeared under the bedclothes when Griff poked his head round the door. Mattie, however, was already sitting on the side of the bed.
‘I was just thinking about going downstairs to help Hilda. You beat me to it!’
Evie came up for air. ‘You startled me!’ she said defensively.
‘Weren’t you thinking of joining Mother and Dad for morning tea?’ Mattie had a glint in her eye. ‘It’s our chance to talk in private,’ she added quickly.
‘I’ll pour your tea out,’ Griff offered, grinning.
‘I know when I’m not wanted,’ was Evie’s parting shot.
‘Shall I bolt the door?’ Griff suggested.
‘Certainly not! I don’t know what you’re thinking of, Griffith Parry, but—’
‘A chaste kiss – or two . . .’ he said.
‘What’s this?’ Rufus was amused to see Sybil with a pinafore over her négligé.
‘I’m helping Hilda with the chores!’
‘You ought to get dressed first, I think.’
‘I’m waiting for my turn in the bathroom.’
‘Griff was in there earlier. He had the audacity to tell me Mattie was next in line. You might just as well drink your tea in bed like me . . .’
‘I wonder where we’ll be sleeping a couple of weeks from now?’
He made a face, placed his cup and saucer on the bedside table. ‘I forgot to use the strainer: got a mouthful of tea leaves. Sybil, isn’t it time you visited your parents?’
‘A reconciliation, you mean? I suspect Sophia gives them news of me. When I left home without their approval my dad said “You’ll be back, eating humble pie, before long.” My mother said nothing, just turned away. That made me determined that I would do no such thing. It’s fifteen years since I saw them.’
‘False pride,’ Rufus said slowly, ‘is something we have in common.’
‘The last time I wrote home was when we married. We had a card wishing us well, remember? If I make contact now, they might think I want something from them . . .’
‘You do. Not money, we must make that clear, because we won’t be exactly penniless, but aren’t family the ones you turn to, in times of trouble?’
‘You had to make your own way in life. I didn’t realise how fortunate I was.’
‘Think about it. Life’s too short for family feuds. Look at all the time we wasted.’
‘We’re making up for that now, aren’t we? And despite losing all you worked so hard for, we can build a new life, I know it,’ Sybil said. She looked at her watch. ‘Not even six o’clock yet!’
Back at the Plough Ronnie was still in bed, as he had the day off from work. No need to rise and shine yet, he thought, the Jacksons having requested breakfast at 8.30. He became aware of movement inside the cot, which he had moved into a corner of his room while his parents were away, followed by a hungry yell. Robbie pulled himself up and rattled the top bar of the cot. He was obviously intent on letting his father know it was time for his early morning sustenance.
Ronnie yawned. ‘Be with you in a few minutes. I’m enjoying a lie-in.’
A tap on the door. The handle turned, and in crept Fanny, wearing Mattie’s old dressing-gown over her petticoat. She didn’t possess a nightdress. She glanced over at the bed, illuminated by the night light. Ronnie appeared to be asleep.
Fanny went over to the cot, lifted the little boy out and sat down on the low nursing-chair. She loosened the dressing-gown cord so that the baby could snuggle against the warm softness of her breasts. She was following the advice of her wise mother. ‘He may have lost his mummy, but you can give him that comfort.’
She murmured, ‘Ready for your bottle, young man? I’ll change you after, and then you must have another nap, your daddy deserves his rest after working hard all week.’
The baby was expert in emptying the bottle in a few minutes nowadays.
‘What about you, Fanny?’ Ronnie’s loud whisper startled her. ‘You’ve been working hard all week too, and now through the weekend, too. Shall I brew the tea?’
‘That’s all right, I’ll do it. Just let me see to this nappy. There . . . he’s nodding off already,’ she said with satisfaction.
‘You’ll make a lovely mother when you have a baby of your own.’
‘I think of Robbie like that. I know it will be hard for me to let him go when you decide to marry again and he has a new mother,’ Fanny said in a rush.
‘Is that what you think I should do?’
‘When you find the right young lady.’
‘Fanny, what about you?’ There, he’d said what he’d been thinking for months.
‘Me?’ Fanny was glad he couldn’t see her blushes in the half-light.
‘Yes. We get on well together, don’t we?’
‘That’s not enough for me,’ she said, moving to leave the room.
He was out of bed in an instant, catching her round the waist before she reached the door. ‘Will you marry me, Fanny?’
‘D’you mean that?’
‘I mean it. I know I’m not exactly a catch, but, like Robbie, I need a good woman to take me on. You’re so kind and thoughtful – I believe love would follow.’
‘I fell for you when you came home from the war, but Ena was the one you saw first. I would never have told you . . .’
‘I’m glad you have,’ he said simply.
Fanny was facing him now. ‘Do you want to kiss me?’
He caught his breath. ‘Oh, I do!’ With his hands he tentatively brushed back her hair, crimped from the tight daily plaiting, from her flushed face. He kissed her parted mouth then, unable to resist, pressed his lips to her pulsing throat, revealed by the skimpy petticoat.
‘Well?’ she whispered, hugging him. She thought, he needs this, like the baby.
‘I think you’re a wonderful girl! I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.’
She said reluctantly, ‘I must go. We mustn’t get carried away. Your parents trust me, you see.’
‘Let’s get wed just as soon as we can. I know they’ll approve! I should say, we’ll have to continue living here for a while . . .’
‘I shan’t mind that!’ she said softly. ‘I’m a family person, after all.’
Mattie, Griff and Evie were on the Hoe. They’d arranged to meet Christabel, who was to be a bridesmaid with Evie. Dolly had made their matching frocks.
Evie found the sea breezes exhilarating. She felt like turning a cartwheel, but managed to restrain the impulse, reminding herself that now she was fourteen she must be more ladylike. She was due to leave school this summer, but she hoped her parents would eventually agree to Miss Jackson’s suggestion that she might, if she passed the test, be allowed to continue
her studies at the grammar school. As Walter commented, in his most recent letter, ‘You must seize this opportunity! Now I am working and earning a salary at long last, I know all that studying was the key to success. Mother is happy to see me in a white collar and suit!’ Evie was unaware that in fact Walter had taken the only job on offer, as a door-to-door insurance salesman.
Mattie and Griff strolled along, with his arm round her waist, oblivious, it seemed, to the brief shower of light rain or to the sights on the Hoe. Christabel steered Evie to a seat. ‘You can see a long way from here! No Armada today though.’
‘They’ll wonder where we are!’
‘Nonsense. They’ve only got eyes for each other,’ Christabel said. She giggled: ‘Why am I always the bridesmaid, never the blushing bride?’ she sang.
‘Well, I’m blushing now, because people are looking at us!’ Evie hesitated, then: ‘I’m surprised you haven’t got a young man, Christabel.’
‘What about you?’ Christabel countered, jokingly.
‘Me? I’m a schoolgirl!’
‘And I’m already on the shelf, eh?’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘I have been in love, you know, though it wasn’t returned.’
‘Unrequited, isn’t that the expression?’ Evie asked.
‘Yes, and don’t you dare ask who the young man was!’
Evie gave her new friend’s hand a squeeze. ‘I think I can guess . . .’
‘You’ll keep in touch with me I hope, because those two dear people have a busy time ahead – but they’ll have to write home, eh? You can pass on the news!’ She added: ‘I start my new job on Tuesday. I’m not exactly looking forward to it.’
‘What is it?’
‘Working in a factory canteen – peeling endless buckets of spuds, I reckon, and endless dirty dishes to wash up. My mum is relieved I won’t be stuck at a machine all day doing a repetitive task, and the hours are quite good, if the pay is poor.’
‘Oh, Christabel, you deserve better than that!’
‘Jobs are like gold dust nowadays. I get a free meal which will help our budget.’ She looked at Evie. ‘You and me, we’ve a lot in common, I think. Both ambitious, but both aware of our responsibilities at home. I don’t imagine I’ll marry. My mum is the most important person in my life.’
‘Is she able to come to the church on Monday? I’d like to meet her and to thank her for making my frock. It’s quite à la mode! My mother makes most of my clothes, but she imagines I still like puff sleeves and sashes!’
‘I chose the pattern so I’m glad you think we did well! I’m afraid Mum won’t be able to attend the wedding, but we can pose for the photographer. I’m sure you and I will end up in a frame on the mantelpiece! Come on, now we’ll catch up with the love birds.’
Mattie almost waltzed down the aisle on her father’s arm on Easter Monday morning. She wore a costume in pale pink linen with a circlet of silk rosebuds on her hair, coiffured by Hilda. She carried a posy of expensive hot-house roses and fern. The bridesmaids, in cream silk frocks with layered skirts walked demurely behind, swaying to the music.
Their footsteps echoed as they passed the empty polished pews in the lofty city church. Brass plaques on the whitewashed walls glinted in shafts of sunlight streaming through stained-glass windows. The bridal decorations were confined to the two front pews on either side of the aisle; white ribbons were tied to the lamp standards and there were more of the pink roses in the altar vases. There was no organ music today, but a familiar figure sat at the piano near the lectern. Miss Teazel had offered her services for the special occasion. She had chosen the music. The Blue Danube was her favourite.
Rufus, having volunteered to be best man, stood beside his stepson. They both wore smart grey suits with plum-coloured waistcoats. They turned to see Mattie’s smiling face as she arrived at the altar steps, while Will and the bridesmaids joined Sophia in the front pew. Sybil sat opposite, with Hilda. It was indeed a modest wedding.
They were unaware of the presence of a little church mouse in the choir stalls, who was concealed in a nest fashioned from shredded hymn sheets. This was just as well, as far as Evie was concerned. She would certainly have reacted to any sighting.
The clergyman was elderly and stooped, with a quavering voice. When they knelt for the prayers, Mattie observed that he was wearing carpet-slippers and she had to tell herself sternly not to giggle.
The solemn vows and rings were exchanged; the clergyman’s homily was cut short by a bout of coughing. Miss Teazel fetched him a cup of water before playing the final hymn. It was not the one on the order of service, but the stirring Rock of Ages. It was a virtuoso performance by the pianist. The congregation sang with gusto. Pleased, Miss Teazel obliged with an encore. Voices trailed off. Which verse were they to sing?
In the church porch, Griff looked quizzically at Mattie. ‘Not quite the wedding we planned, eh?’ he whispered.
‘I enjoyed every minute of it!’ She wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes.
They lined up obediently for the photographer. The pictures would naturally be in black-and-white, but would be tastefully tinted back at the studio. Sophia’s floral dress would prove quite a challenge.
The bride’s bouquet missed the outstretched hands of the bridesmaids and was caught by a surprised Hilda.
‘Well,’ Christabel said ruefully to Evie, ‘maybe it will work for her . . .’
Rufus had laid on a taxi service to take them back to the house. The splendid wedding cake was cut and sampled, and the wine flowed freely.
‘Make the most of it,’ Rufus told Griff. ‘Prohibition in Canada, like the USA!’
Their wedding night was spent at a modest hotel. In the morning they would return to the house because Mattie wanted to spend a precious hour or two with her family before they boarded the train for home. None of them said, but they were all aware that it could be some years before they were together again.
‘We’ll have a proper honeymoon in Canada,’ Griff assured Mattie.
Sensing that she might have reservations about undressing in his presence, he decided to make himself scarce in the bathroom.
Mattie hung her wedding outfit in the wardrobe. She folded her new underwear neatly, rolled down her stockings and hung them over the back of a chair. She looked solemnly at her naked reflection in the cheval mirror, then pulled the silk nightdress over her head. It fell in sensuous folds to just below her knees. She adjusted the straps slightly to a more decorous level. She unpinned her hair, gave it a brisk brushing, pinched her cheeks to give her face some colour, then slipped into bed.
As if on cue, Griff appeared, in his pyjamas. He smelled of Eau de Cologne, and she realised that he had shaved for the second time that day.
‘Light on, or off?’ he queried.
‘Off, I think. I’m tired,’ she answered. She realised what she had said. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean . . .’ she floundered.
He put his arms around her. ‘It might have helped if we had, you know, before . . .’
‘I’m sorry I made such a fuss about it,’ she admitted.
‘Well, let’s just get used to sharing a bed, shall we? We don’t want to force things: we’ve a lifetime ahead of us, after all.’
‘A kiss and a cuddle,’ she murmured, ‘would be good. Thanks for being so patient, Griff.’
‘Glad to oblige,’ he said gallantly. He thought, that could lead to other things, and I certainly hope it does!
Some time later Mattie whispered: ‘Griff?’
‘Mmm?’
‘If you still want to . . .’
‘Shush . . . you don’t need to say any more,’ he said tenderly.
TEN
SOUTHAMPTON. EMBARKATION DAY
‘We’re on our way,’ Mattie whispered tremulously to Griff. They were among a vast crowd on the lower deck. As the distance lengthened between them and their families on shore, waving goodbye, the gathering fell silent. Most of th
em realised that this could be a final parting.
The Empress of Scotland was an imposing sight, despite her decline in status, but she was once more headline news. Built in 1905 by Vulkan Shipyards of Stettin she had been the largest passenger steamship in the world, until superseded two years later by the ill-fated Lusitania. Europa, her original appellation, was the pride of the Hamburg-America line. She had been launched by the Empress of Germany and renamed in her honour, Kaiserin Augusta Victoria. Her maiden voyage had been to New York, with stop-overs at Dover and Cherbourg. Her passengers were predominantly the affluent and famous, who appreciated the lavish fittings and onboard entertainments, despite the fact that her slightly top-heavy design caused her to roll in rough waters. Her restaurant had been inspired by the Ritz Hotel.
During the war she had been commandeered as a military vessel, but remained in dock in Hamburg. In March, 1919, she was surrendered to Great Britain. In May, 1921, she was sold to Canadian Pacific, who renamed her yet again and refitted her to carry 459 passengers first class, and 960 second and third class. She was also converted to oil fuel.
This was only her second trip from Southampton via Cherbourg to Quebec.
Conditions were vastly superior to the insanitary, overcrowded steerage quarters on the pre-war immigrant ships. Of that category still in service, facilities had improved, with provision of rest rooms and basic meals. Now, though, there were lengthy forms to complete and immigrants must prove that they were financially solvent, or sponsored with jobs to go to.
The newly weds were determined to conserve their nest-egg as much as possible, and so had decided to travel second class. At least, Mattie thought, they had a cramped cabin to themselves and were not forced into segregated dormitories each night. So many fretful children and tired mothers! Not much chance of sleep there.
Griff’s arm hugged her shoulders. ‘Cheer up! This may not be the fastest ship, and she’s not like she was in her heyday, but we’ll be in Quebec within five days.’
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