Molly's Journey

by Sheila Newberry

  A woman answered the door, pointed up the stairs. ‘Top floor, love. Heard him come in a few minutes ago.’

  As Nancy raised her hand to knock tentatively on the door it was flung open and she saw Mr Loom, his face so drained of colour that it was as white as his apron, standing there, obviously in shock.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked urgently. When he didn’t reply, she pushed past him and went to see for herself.

  *

  Mr Loom sat, straight-backed, in the sitting room of Alexa’s house. He was still in a state of profound disbelief. It was Nancy who had shut the door on that awful sight, who had alerted the woman downstairs to the tragedy while she ran home to ask Alexa to make the urgent telephone calls for assistance. It was Nancy who’d returned to comfort him, to prompt him gently for details, who had spoken on his behalf, who made strong, sugary tea and guided his trembling hands to his mouth when he attempted to drink from the cup. When the questioning was over and his mother was gone, Nancy took him by the hand and led him away.

  The whole nightmare seemed to go round and round in his head. Natural Causes, the doctor said, but there would have to be a post-mortem. Is there anyone we should call? No, he said. I am the only one left now.

  ‘Will you stay the night here, Leonard?’ Alexa asked, using his given name for the first time. She had been sitting opposite him, looking at him with concern, for some time.

  He shook his head, looked round for Nancy. ‘I – thank you, Mrs Nagel – I appreciate – but—’

  ‘Nancy went back to your flat. She’s tidying up.’

  ‘She’s a wonderful young lady,’ he said slowly.

  ‘Yes, she is. We are very lucky to have her,’ Alexa said, clearing her throat.

  We? Mr Loom thought. Mrs Nagel perhaps didn’t mean it quite like that, but – yes, we are fortunate indeed . . .

  *

  Half-a-dozen hothouse roses, velvety dark red, wrapped in cellophane, lay on Nancy’s desk when she returned from lunch.

  ‘What’s this?’ Art teased as she bent over them. ‘You didn’t tell me you had a secret admirer!’

  Nancy didn’t answer. She took the small card from the envelope:

  WITH GRATEFUL THANKS FOR ALL YOUR KINDNESS. L. LOOM.

  She tucked it in her pocket, unwrapped the roses and looked round for a suitable container.

  ‘Like me to fetch a vase from the showroom?’ Art offered.

  ‘Please, Art.’

  Mr Loom was back at work today after yesterday’s funeral. He had declined further help from Nancy and Alexa after that traumatic evening, saying it would be best if he kept busy. This was the first time they had seen him since then. Nancy had actually felt a little hurt, but Alexa said it was the reaction she would expect from one as private as Mr Loom – they must respect his wishes.

  He had wished the staff good morning, as if nothing had happened, and retired to his sanctum to catch up on outstanding tasks. The roses were a complete surprise. Nancy really didn’t know what to say. Should she, in turn, thank Mr Loom for his kindness?

  She took the vase and the roses to the cloakroom. She was just adding water when she was startled by the clang of the chain, the noisy flushing of the cistern, then the door of the WC opened and Minnie emerged. She seems to know when she can catch me unawares on my own, Nancy thought, flustered.

  Minnie actually smiled. ‘He can please himself now, eh?’

  ‘Why don’t you say what you really mean, Minnie?’ Nancy surprised herself with the retort.

  ‘Heard you discovered the body – gave comfort to Mr Loom?’

  ‘How dare you!’ Nancy picked up the vase with trembling hands, dislodging a stray rose that fell in the basin.

  ‘How d’you dare, more like,’ was the taunt as she walked away.

  Minnie retrieved the rose, snapped off the stalk, and pushed it through her buttonhole. She’d make sure Mr Loom saw her wearing it later: he could draw his own conclusions, as she had.

  *

  Cora was dyeing her hair at the kitchen sink when Molly sought her out for a chat and a five-minute breather from the punishing routine in the barn. Still, it was worth it: the act was slowly taking shape.

  ‘I didn’t realise it was so cold out, we were getting all steamed up in there.’ She held her hands out to the stove, rubbing her blanched fingers.

  ‘You mean, old Thom’s a real martinet, my dear. You must remember to slip your coat on when you come to and fro – it’s November after all. And it’s not as cold as it will be shortly.’ Cora’s voice was muffled as she squeezed the black liquid from her hair. She groped for her towel on the draining board; wound it round her head. ‘There, now you know my secret – but no need to tell my husband!’

  She confided further, towelling her hair vigorously: ‘Heard from my cousin’s daughter this morning, Molly. They’ve decided to sell the house. We’re welcome to stay here until spring, as planned, but this news made me think. I’ve been away from my real homeland too long, Molly, I don’t belong here anymore. I miss the warmth – the breadth, I suppose – of my adopted country. I must talk it over with Thom and Rory first, of course, but I’d like to return to Australia some time after Christmas. There’s often a white spell here in January. We might settle down near Serena: it’s what she’s hoping for. We’ve got a bit put by, with no young ones to spend it on. The only worry, as I see it, is what about you and Rory?’

  ‘We should be ready by then, I hope, with a double act. Thom could make sure of it!’

  ‘It’s not quite as simple as that. You two working together without me and Thom to back you up, but not married, for one thing. You’ll feel lonely, I imagine. Unless . . . ’ Cora looked at Molly speculatively.

  ‘No,’ she said positively. ‘I’m really fond of Rory but I don’t want to marry him or anyone else at the moment, Cora. I’ve no intention of giving up after all this hard work – you don’t know how much I’m looking forward to the challenge and excitement of performing in the ring, and travelling all over Europe with the circus. We’ll find a solution, though Rory, of course, intends to go home, too, in a year or so. Then, I just know that one day I’ll visit Australia and see you all again.’

  *

  ‘It would be so much easier if we got married,’ Rory said persuasively. They were sitting on the sofa together after Cora and Thom had said goodnight.

  ‘But I don’t want a marriage of convenience, Rory.’

  ‘Why would it have to be that?’

  ‘Because it would,’ she said firmly. Molly uncurled her legs from under her, stretched, and then bent to put on her slippers. His lips were warm on the boyish, bare nape of her neck. She sat up abruptly, ruffled, because he had caught her unawares. Hands firmly on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. ‘I don’t love you in that way,’ she insisted. His grip intensified. Those strong hands and arms in which she put her trust so often while she and Rory worked out. ‘You’re hurting me,’ she reminded him now. He released her immediately.

  ‘Sorry! But your father might insist you give up your circus career before you even begin it.’

  ‘I’ll be twenty soon – that’s ridiculous. I’d rather go back to Alexa and Nancy, work in the House of Leather. But it won’t come to that, Rory. I want to be your partner. It means a great deal to me, being your friend – don’t spoil it. You’ll go back home sooner or later. Cora said once that you’ve never been short of lady friends . . . ’

  He silenced her with a lingering kiss; his clasp light this time. ‘You can’t say you didn’t respond to that now can you?’ he challenged. ‘You didn’t push me away.’ His face was much too close to hers.

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t understand, if I tried to explain . . . ’ I’m obviously ready for a loving relationship, she thought, so why do I feel so confused?

  ‘Think about it,’ he told her as he got to his feet. ‘I won’t rush you into anything, and anyway I made a promise—’

  ‘Who to?’ she asked sharply.

&nbs
p; ‘Mrs Nagel. I said I wouldn’t compromise you.’

  ‘And you haven’t,’ she insisted.

  ‘Ah, but I wanted to.’

  *

  In the end, Nancy said nothing about the roses. The evening ritual, the travelling together, was not resumed. Mr Loom stayed on later at work. He had nothing to go home for now.

  Nancy’s friendship with Art, by contrast, flourished. Alexa appeared to think him a suitable escort. Most Saturday evenings they went out to one of the many music halls, most within a tuppenny tram or bus ride of Whitechapel; to the new picture shows; for a simple meal; sometimes just a bag of hot chestnuts from one of the glowing braziers to be found on street corners. He never presumed to kiss her or put his arm around her in the gallery, but they held hands unselfconsciously as they strolled along past the brightly lit shop displays, marvelling at what they could never afford to buy, and he made Nancy laugh and feel like the nineteen year old she was, instead of the wan waif she had been in New South Wales. Nancy was in love, and it was wonderful. Except . . . She wished that Molly was around, so that she could share her happiness with her. Nancy wasn’t sure whether Mrs Nagel would approve if she realised how fast things were developing. Didn’t want to let her down: she was so grateful for all the kindness she had been shown. She guessed, rightly, that Mrs Nagel relied increasingly on her companionship now that Molly had gone away, and, surprising as it might seem, had come to regard her almost as an adopted daughter.

  She’s ambitious for me, Nancy thought ruefully. She wants me to make a success of my life. I can’t tell her that I actually enjoyed the sewing and repairing in the workroom much more than I do the endless filing in the office, the stamping of receipts, the sometimes puzzling paperwork. If it hadn’t been for Minnie, I might have asked to stay on in that room upstairs. But I do have the lunch hours with Art, and the pleasure of being with him all day, even if we’re too busy to talk much then!

  She realised that he was getting really serious when he said one Friday evening as they were about to go home from work: ‘Would you care to have tea at my place tomorrow afternoon, Nancy? Mum is looking forward to meeting you, she says.’ He made a little joke when he saw her startled expression. ‘I can show you off now I’ve fattened you up with all those meat puds, eh?’ For the first time he daringly put his arm round her, squeezed her still-slender waist.

  Her instinct was to pull away, to stiffen, but that would hurt him, maybe involve explanations. She said, breathlessly: ‘Thank your mother for asking me, Art. I’d be very pleased to come. Now, don’t want to miss my bus.’

  Instantly, he let her go, gave her a teasing push towards the door where she came face to face with Mr Loom. He must have heard and seen all that, she thought, blushing deeply.

  ‘Good evening, Miss Atkins,’ he said politely. ‘Excuse me, I’d just like a quick word with Mr Gray before he leaves.’

  FIVE

  It was high tea in the Gray’s third-floor flat over a greengrocer’s in Shoreditch: liver, bacon, mounds of onions and a great pile of mashed potato. Nancy worried that she might drip gravy down her front, like Art sometimes did on his tie in the pud shop. It would have been easier to deal with little cakes and biscuits, she thought. The family grouped tightly round the table, watched her every mouthful, smiling encouragement. There was Art’s mum and his dad, who said very little, and his three younger sisters, Bet, Josie and Ann.

  It was obvious that they were proud of Art who had stayed on at school to the grand old age of sixteen: ‘the first office worker in the family.’ Mrs Gray beamed.

  As I am, in mine, Nancy mused ruefully. When she put her knife and fork together on the plate, the rest clattered theirs down in unison.

  ‘Tea, Nancy?’ Mrs Gray asked quickly. Her eyes were all twinkly like her son’s.

  ‘Yes, please.’ Nancy’s fears had been realised but even as she glanced down helplessly at the brown spots on her cream blouse, Mrs Gray was dabbing at them with a spittle-wetted corner of her own handkerchief. ‘There! They should wash out all right, dearie.’ Her head, wound round with thick brown hair like Art’s, was very close to Nancy’s bosom, her thumping heart. Now she knows how nervous I am, the girl thought.

  *

  ‘Your mother’s nice – they all are,’ she said to Art on her doorstep later.

  ‘They like you, too,’ he said happily. The street light illuminated her face, gave her a little halo, as he dared to lean towards her and tentatively kiss her. She pressed her back against the door, shut her eyes.

  If he was disappointed at her compressed lips, her passive acceptance, he did not show it. He followed the kiss with a quick hug. ‘There! Now I guess, we’re really walking out together, Nancy.’ He stepped aside, gave her a little salute. ‘Goodnight, sweet dreams!’

  Alexa opened the door even as Nancy fished for her key in her bag. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked perceptively. Then put her arms around her as the girl began to sob. ‘Want to tell me about it? I’ve put the kettle on,’ she added.

  Nancy pulled herself together, managed a smile. ‘I’m not sure I could drink another cup of tea – Art’s mum kept on filling up my cup! And goodness knows where the WC was!’

  *

  Rory wasn’t giving up. When he caught Molly after one of her daring acrobatic tumbles he held her longer than necessary before he set her down, hands still spanning her slight body. She broke away, stuck out her tongue at him. ‘Stop teasing, Rory!’

  Thom cleared his throat, aware of the tension between them. ‘In the trinka, boy, get those feet rolling the balls. You should practise your juggling, Molly, on the bouncing rope.’

  ‘I still need the balancing pole,’ she reminded him.

  ‘You’ll give that up before Christmas, if I have anything to do with it.’

  ‘I’m tired – I can’t wait to go back to London for Christmas, even if you’re only giving me a few days off – and my back aches,’ she sighed.

  ‘Try the splits, that’ll soon ease it,’ he replied unfeelingly.

  However, later, she overheard him telling Cora: ‘The girl’s doing well, she’s a natural. Kelly and Sparkes, that’s the new act. Shame we’re not going to stay around to see the first performance.’

  ‘You’ll see it in your mind’s eye,’ Cora said, ‘having rehearsed them in every single move so many times, Thom.’

  *

  Nancy and Alexa overwhelmed Molly with their welcome, even though Alexa scolded her a bit about her hair: she was pleased to hear that Fay and her father were joining them that evening and staying until Boxing Day, which meant that she and Nancy were sharing a room and there would be plenty of opportunities for sharing delicious secrets.

  Fay wound her arms tightly round Molly’s neck and whispered in her ear: ‘Me and Matthew have made you some fudge for Christmas!’ He looked down at Molly from his great height and said he was glad to see her again, and thanks for the cards she’d sent them with all her news.

  ‘She’s grown – I can hardly believe how much!’ Molly exclaimed. ‘It’s obvious, Matthew, that you are really happy together.’

  ‘Just one thing missing,’ he said quietly. ‘But you’re right, and I’m glad I took up the challenge of bringing her up on my own.’

  *

  It was Christmas Eve and, like Fay, the girls hung up their pillowcases, but talked so long into the night that it was a rather grumpy Alexa who eventually deposited their gifts. ‘Get to sleep now!’ she admonished, just as if they were children. When she had departed, they continued their chattering.

  ‘He keeps asking me to marry him and I really don’t understand myself why I keep saying no, Nancy.’

  ‘You can’t forget Henny, I reckon,’ she said wisely.

  ‘But I’ve got to! I’ll never see him again. I know that. Dear Nancy, what about you? You and Art were made for each other.’

  ‘No, I’m not the girl for him; or for anyone. It wouldn’t be right. But I can’t help thinking that maybe, if I wasn
’t actually in love with someone . . . ’

  ‘Whatever d’you mean?’ Molly was obviously baffled by this.

  ‘Oh, I can’t explain. All I’m sure of is, I can’t marry Art,’ Nancy insisted.

  ‘Just as I know that I’ll never be Mrs Rory Kelly!’

  ‘Well, I reckon there’s another as has his eye on you.’ Nancy seized the chance to change the direction of their conversation.

  ‘Whoever do you mean?’ Molly demanded.

  ‘Shush! Matthew. Every time we visit them he asks about you, you know, and your postcards to Fay are lined up along the mantelpiece.’

  ‘Oh, I hope Matthew and I will always be good pals, because of Fay, but he made it plain when I stayed with them in Kent that week that he has no intention of marrying again.’ Molly dismissed the very idea, adding positively: ‘No one can ever live up to Lucy in his eyes.’

  *

  Easter Monday, 1908, and Jangles circus was on the road, stopping for a week in Great Yarmouth, that busy seaside town with its soft golden sands, recuperative air, flourishing fishing industry, new public recreation grounds – ideal for the circus and summer fairs – and Missions for Seamen. It was an easy transition for Molly and Rory, after wintering in Suffolk, to cross the border to Norfolk, but they were both eager to go much further afield.

  They travelled and lived together in one caravan on their new employers’ rather disinterested assumption, for there was a big turnover in acts each season, that they were two young men from the same family, despite their differing accents and surnames.

  It was Molly’s idea, of course, to act as Monty out of the ring as well as in. She was as glad to be rid of the newly fashionable hobble skirts – as she said, just try to do a high kick in them – as she was to keep her hair short. At Cora’s suggestion she frequently rinsed it with an infusion of camomile flowers to gently lift the colour so it matched Rory’s sand-gold mop and their heads gleamed the same colour under the bright lights. The slight curves of her body were easily concealed beneath baggy shirts and trousers suspended from gaudy, eye-catching braces. She had to hide something else: the flashing opal ring was now threaded on a silver chain round her neck, and tucked away under her shirt. She fitted easily into the persona of the young lad she purported to be in the act, with her light voice and smooth face, although her real age was no secret from the Jangles. Odd characters were part and parcel of circus life. It made sense for Rory and her to share their accommodation, but their sleeping quarters were strictly segregated.