The man nodded, glumly. ‘Miss, can you think of anything else you think might help?’ His tone was now deferential.
‘She had a daughter called Margaret, I believe. She’ll be a grown woman now, though.’
‘Ahh!’ Comprehension dawned in his faded grey eyes. ‘You could be talking about Lillian Davies. Husband was a decent sort – owned a barber’s shop. Their daughter, cute little thing, she was called Margaret. We used to invite them in for a sherry at Christmas when our children were small.’
Etty nodded in encouragement.
‘They live further along over the road.’ He pointed with his stick. ‘The brown door with the red step.’
Etty smiled appreciatively. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr…’
‘Pearson,’ he said. ‘Captain Pearson.’
As Etty rapped the doorknocker of the brown door, she noticed the net curtain in the bay window twitch. A moment passed, and then the door opened and a woman stood there. If this was Aunt Lillian, Etty had no recollection of her, but she looked the right age.
‘Can I help?’ the woman asked, a dazzling smile splitting her face. Mature, with rust-coloured hair, peppered with grey, she had a dishevelled appearance. The buttons on her floral overall were done up the wrong way and a white petticoat hung beneath the hem of the skirt.
Her grin wide and infectious, Etty smiled back, ‘I’m here to see––’
‘Lillian.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Everyone wants to see Lillian… and to attend her meetings. What she did with her time before the war and meetings, I’m sure I don’t know.’ In the silence, the woman gazed expectantly at Etty as if she knew the answer. When none was forthcoming, she went on. ‘How do you do, by the way. I’m Rose, Lillian’s sister-in-law. I expect you’ve come about the troops’ comforts.’
‘I’m afraid––’
‘Do come in… you’re the first to arrive.’
The woman disappeared along the hallway, and with nothing else for it, Etty closed the door behind her and followed inside. The house, dark and chilly, reeked repellently of dog and, after the brightness outside, it took Etty a moment to adjust her eyes. The narrow hallway was decorated with cornices and an archway, and led to a flight of steep stairs, covered with a red, threadbare carpet.
‘In here,’ the woman said, gesturing to a doorway on her right.
‘I must tell you,’ Etty felt compelled to say. ‘I’m not here for the troops’ meeting. I’m not even sure if I’ve got the right house.’
Rose looked amused. ‘Which house do you hope we are?’
‘I’m looking for my mother’s cousin, Lillian Stanton. At least that was her name before she married.’
‘Then you’ve come to the right place.’
Etty’s heart skipped a beat.
Lillian Davies stood at the fireplace, an arm resting on the mantelpiece. She wore a box jacket with a matching tweed skirt, pleated at the centre front. Stout, with pale skin, her hair a subdued brown, she looked as if at one time she may have been a fiery redhead.
‘Lillian…’ Rose said, ‘This is––’
‘I heard… Eleanor’s daughter.’
At the mention of her mother’s name, Etty blanched. This was someone who knew Mam – and her life history.
‘The Eleanor?’ Rose pulled an intrigued face. ‘The one that caused a rumpus at the time of your wedding, Lillian?’
‘The same.’ Aunt Lillian, removing her arm from the mantelpiece, locked both hands behind her lower back.
‘Such a to-do,’ Rose grinned, wickedly.
‘Why? What did Mam do?’
‘Skipped the wedding,’ Rose said, gleefully, ‘so she could meet with a forbidden beau, who became your father. Has she never told you? She must giggle about it nowadays. I know I would.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’ Etty looked directly at Aunt Lillian. ‘I’ve haven’t seen her since I was little.’
Rose gave a sharp intake of breath but Aunt Lillian didn’t bat an eyelid.
‘You poor thing,’ Rose looked uncertainly at her sister-in-law and then back at Etty. ‘Why ever not?’
‘I’m rather hoping Aunt Lillian will tell me.’
‘You will, won’t you, Lillian? Tell the child what she wants to know.’
Rose plumped up a cushion on a very sorry-looking couch. Removing the clutter – an open novel, sewing box and newspapers – she patted the seat next to her and Etty sat down.
‘This was before my time.’ She turned to Lillian. ‘You never told me Eleanor left her children.’
Aunt Lillian pursed her lips and didn’t reply.
As though she was used to rebuffs, Rose turned to Etty. ‘I expect you’re wondering,’ she prattled, ‘what I’m doing here. You see, when my husband Arthur died, Lillian and George – Arthur’s brother – kindly invited me to live with them. The two men were in business together, a barber shop, then the business went broke… such a terrible affair that left us all without any––’
‘I don’t think, Rose,’ Aunt Lillian interrupted, ‘the girl has come to hear about our affairs.’ She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Isn’t it time you were off to work?’
‘Gracious, is that the time?’ Rose leapt from the couch. She shook her head ruefully, ‘Such a pity,’ she told Etty, ‘I was enjoying myself getting to know you. We must do it again some time when I haven’t to rush to work.’
‘What do you do?’ Etty enquired. She liked this rather potty woman and wished she could stay.
‘I help run a nursery in the local church hall… It allows mothers to go out and do their bit for the war. And if I don’t buck up they’ll wonder where I am.’ Rose stood and made for the door. ‘I look forward to next time we meet… toodle-pip.’
After Rose left, a resounding silence followed. Aunt Lillian made a pretence of straightening a picture on the wall – a ruse, Etty presumed, to delay the moment of truth.
Her gaze wandered around the room. It had a jaded appearance; faded burgundy wallpaper covered the walls, while matching coloured drapes hung listlessly in the bay. The furniture – two fireside chairs and a heavy mahogany sideboard littered with bric-a-brac – had seen better days.
She became aware of Aunt Lillian watching her.
‘You’re Esther,’ she said.
‘How did you guess?’
‘Your auburn hair. And you always resembled Eleanor.’
A thrill ran through Etty, which she quickly dispelled. She didn’t want to look like Mam.
‘Why exactly did you come?’
‘To ask you if you knew…’ Etty could barely breathe for tension. ‘Mam’s whereabouts after she left us at the orphanage?’
‘How should I know?’ Aunt Lillian looked taken aback. ‘You all simply vanished. I didn’t know Eleanor took you to an orphanage. Though nothing that woman did would surprise me.’
‘You didn’t know?’
‘When she couldn’t manage, I begged your mother to let George and me look after you. But would she listen? I can’t believe she would rather put you into an orphanage.’
‘Why couldn’t she manage?’
‘Huh! Made on she was frail. She was ruined at home. Didn’t do a hard day’s work before she met Harry… your father. After he died, the shop ran into debt. She was penniless but she still had airs and graces.’
‘You wanted Dorothy and me to live with you?’
‘No, just you. We wanted company for Margaret. George wouldn’t allow me to go through childbirth again.’ She shuddered. ‘I told Eleanor she’d find it easier with only one mouth to feed.’
What a nerve the woman had. ‘What did Mam say to that?’
‘She wouldn’t hear tell of it. We fell out. I never visited again after that.’
Hurrah for Mam, Etty wanted to shout. ‘How did you find out we’d gone?’
‘I didn’t. That woman… the butcher’s wife… Olga Gruber… she came to seek me out. How she found our address, I’ll never know. She said your mother had shut up shop and vanished witho
ut trace. She wanted to know your whereabouts. I told the woman we were just as bewildered as her.’ Aunt Lillian pulled an affronted expression. ‘Fancy not telling us – her family – her intention… but George reminded me we weren’t Eleanor’s keepers, and I decided he was right. Shortly afterwards Margaret took ill with scarlet fever and everything else was driven from my mind.’
In simple terms, Aunt Lillian had washed her hands of the situation.
Etty’s gaze fell on a framed photograph of an attractive young girl dressed in a uniform, on the sideboard.
‘Is that Margaret?’ she asked.
Scenes from childhood played in her mind’s eye. A child who wore the prettiest frocks, and had flaxen pigtails bound at the end with colourful ribbons, and who, in Etty’s childish mind, lived the life of a princess.
‘It is…’ Aunt Lillian’s face radiated a rare smile. ‘She’s doing well for herself. She’s in the air force and has recently been posted to RAF Gravesend as a radio operator.’
Bully for Margaret, Etty thought and then felt mean because she would be the same way about any achievement of Norma’s.
Aunt Lillian didn’t enquire about Dorothy, or how the sisters had fared in the orphanage or, indeed, what they were doing with their lives now. Wrapped up in her own life, she didn’t give a damn about others. Etty didn’t blame Mam for falling out with her cousin.
But she’d promised Dorothy and was obliged to ask. ‘So nobody knows what happened to Mam?’
‘Did I say that?’ said Aunt Lillian, stony-faced. ‘Some weeks later,’ her manner was impatient, ‘after the Gruber woman came to see us, I received a letter from Martha explaining that Eleanor had returned to Rookdale. Her hometown.’
Etty’s mind reeled. None of this made sense.
‘Who’s Martha?’
Aunt Lillian gave an intolerant sigh. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t know Eleanor had a sister.’
‘Why should I?’ Etty’s tone was equally sharp.
‘I suppose I’m not surprised. The pair of them never got on. When Eleanor returned to Shields for the second time––’
‘Second time?’ Events were going too fast for Etty to follow.
‘If you’d kindly let me finish.’ Aunt Lillian clicked her tongue and when she spoke, she punctuated each word as if speaking to an idiot. ‘Your mother came to South Shields to attend my wedding when she met up with Harry…’ Her eyes unfocused, she appeared to look down the years. Something vexed her because her face contorted with bitterness. She shook her head before continuing with her narrative. ‘Your mother spoiled my wedding when she didn’t turn up at the ceremony – she was supposed to be my bridesmaid.’
‘Where was she?’
‘Your grandfather found her with Harry – a young man he’d never met. He was furious, especially as the man in question was not of our social class. Your grandfather made arrangements to travel home with Eleanor the same day.’
Crikey, Etty could imagine the uproar Mam had caused.
Aunt Lillian continued, ‘The second time Eleanor came to South Shields, she’d run away from home to be with Harry – against your grandfather’s wishes.’ A look of annoyance crossed her face. ‘It was to my father’s house she returned, and he took her in even though…’ whatever Aunt Lillian was about to say, she thought better of it. She rose to her full height. ‘My father, you see, was a fair man and didn’t agree with his brother, Elroy’s, strict code of behaviour. He could never see through Eleanor that she brought things on herself.’
‘What did Grandfather do?’
‘It’s ancient history. Suffice to say, Elroy didn’t approve of your mother and father’s union and so he, effectively, disowned her.’
Her lips compressed into a thin line. Apparently, that was all she was prepared to say on the subject.
Etty couldn’t let the matter rest. ‘Surely, after Dad died, Grandfather relented? After all, we were poverty stricken.’ Although she rather hoped Mam had had too much pride, and had told her father what he could do with his money.
Aunt Lillian gave a mocking smile. ‘I would assume he never knew about you two girls. Your grandfather, you see, though a man of the cloth, was the most insufferable tyrant and would never tolerate the thought of your mother having a child by Harry. Your mother knew this and, wisely, she wouldn’t tell her father about you two girls.’
So, that’s why Mam rid herself of her daughters, Etty thought. She couldn’t manage without a man and wanted to go back to the luxury of her former life, dumping her kiddies at an orphanage. The sheer heartlessness of Mam’s actions left Etty cold.
A knock came at the front door.
‘That’ll be my company.’ Aunt Lillian, bristling with importance made for the door.
Then she paused. She hovered as if deciding upon something and then moved to the bookcase. Her eyes travelled the books and she took a slim, battered one from the middle shelf.
She thrust the small tome into Etty’s hands. ‘This belonged to your father. You may as well have the book as it will only get thrown out.’
Etty, flicking the pages, discovered a volume of poems. She spied a handwritten dedication on a page but she daren’t read it in front of Lillian.
‘Thank you,’ she said, overwhelmed. ‘One thing more before I go. Did Martha’s letter say why, after Grandfather disowned Mam, he took her back in?’
Aunt Lillian’s expression became livid. ‘Your mother could wrap men around her little finger… my father included. Supposedly, she’d been ill and went home a semi-invalid. There was a tearful reunion and Elroy fell for it. Your mother, you see, was a spoiled, pampered brat, and one of those women men fall over themselves to protect.’
‘Do you know what became of them all?’
‘No.’ Aunt Lillian stomped to the door. ‘And I don’t want to know. Martha never wrote back after that.’
As she stood outside the door, gathering her wits, Etty had one thought. What should she tell Dorothy?
Retracing her steps, Etty looked up at Queen Victoria’s blurry face.
Somewhere out there, she inwardly told Her Majesty, Mam exists and lives a lie. With the knowledge came heartache almost too hard to bear. Etty shook her head in disbelief. What kind of person could live, carrying such a weighty burden? Perhaps she didn’t. Maybe she was a heartless person, without feeling.
Part of her, Etty realised, had wanted to find some justification for Mam leaving them, but that hope crushed, she felt sick with rage. She hated her mother with a vengeance and wouldn’t spend another precious moment thinking about her.
She worried about Dorothy, unable to bear the hope fading in her sister’s eyes. What if the shock proved too much and affected the baby? Mam had ruined their childhood and Etty was damned if she’d let her ruin the future.
Her mind searched for a way to soften the blow.
As she traipsed up Westoe Road, weighed down by her discovery, a squad of Home Guard men marched by in the road, row upon row, looking proud and unified. Looking at them, an idea formed in Etty’s mind. She knew exactly what she must do. She wavered – could she go through with it? Sometimes in life, she told herself, you didn’t do what was right, but what was best for those concerned.
She gave a wry laugh and wondered if that’s what Mam had told herself when she’d abandoned the sisters at Blakely.
23
‘What kind of book?’ Dorothy wanted to know.
It was dinner time by the time Etty arrived home, but the meaty smell of stew permeating in the kitchen did nothing to lift her spirit. Nor did seeing Norma, who looked adorable as she played with a little wooden boat that sailed in a basinful of water on the table.
After admitting she had indeed found Aunt Lillian, Etty procrastinated by telling her sister about the book.
‘Poems from the Great War,’ she said, handing the shabby black book over.
‘Why would Dad give Aunt Lillian a volume of poems?’ Dorothy’s brow creased in puzzlement.
With less than two months to go, her bump, Etty noticed, strained the material of the maternity smock she wore.
‘Look at the dedication,’ Etty told her.
Dorothy flicked to the page.
‘To darling Lily. From Harry.’
Dorothy’s eyes widened. ‘D’you think that’s Aunt Lillian? And if so, why would our dad dedicate poems to her?’
‘Look at the date.’
Dorothy’s eyes travelled back to the book.
‘Why, it’s autumn 1918. The Great War.’
‘If I’ve done my sums correctly,’ Etty told her, ‘this was before he met Mam. And that’s probably why Aunt Lillian was so hostile towards her.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘According to the dates, Mam must have met our father after the war.’
‘Maybe it was love at first sight and Dad had to break it off with Aunt Lillian,’ Dorothy’s eyes held fervour as if she were writing a romance novel. ‘And she’s been a woman scorned, ever since.’
‘Soppy romantic,’ Etty laughed.
‘Why d’you think Aunt Lillian gave us the book?’
‘Who knows? Probably, she just wanted rid of it and forgot about the dedication, but guess what?’ Etty had been longing to share this piece of information. ‘There’s some of Dad’s poems scribbled in the back leaf of the book.’
Dorothy turned the pages till she found loose pages of poems written in pencil.
Her eyes shining, she looked up and beamed. ‘Oh, Etty, it brings our parents to life, when they were younger, doesn’t it? Poor Dad, though… just a young man, stuck in that rotten war and getting gassed. I feel as if I know him a little better now.’ Her expression changed and became one of wonder. ‘I’ve just realised… if Mam met him after the war, he would have been an invalid. She must have been very much in love.’ She fanned her face with a hand. ‘I’m so touched… it makes me want to cry.’
Etty didn’t know what to say.
Dorothy’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears. ‘Like me, she lost the love of her life. I wonder how she coped with the grief.’
‘Like so many things,’ Etty kept her tone emotionless, ‘that’s something else we’ll never know.’
The Orphan Sisters: An Utterly Heartbreaking and Gripping World War 2 Historical Novel Page 26
