Molly's Journey

by Sheila Newberry

  She pushed the plate towards him, smiling fondly. She had been shocked and saddened, even felt a little guilty having left him in the lurch, of course, when Frank died so suddenly and unfortunately in his prime, but she thanked God every day for giving her Ernst. His demands were few, both in and out of the bedroom, but his kindly presence was both a comfort and a pleasure. Coming to Australia as she had, full of fears and narrow prejudices, had so unexpectedly turned her life around for the best.

  She thought now much more tolerantly of Molly, who had so irritated her on the journey out; she acknowledged to herself that she had been envious of Molly’s youth and high spirits then, her magnetism for the opposite sex. She had observed the spark, the physical chemistry (although she did not think of it as that) between Molly and Henning Rasmussen, with disapproval at the time. Since her marriage, she was inclined to think that Molly may have really been in love with Henning. All the signs had been there.

  ‘I shall write to Molly,’ she announced. ‘And to Alexa, too, of course. She sent such kind letters after I lost Frank. It was remiss of me not to reply sooner.’

  ‘I believe they will be glad to hear from you, Elfie, particularly Molly; you will be love’s messenger,’ he said, old romantic that he was.

  She surprised herself: ‘I wish that everyone could be as happy as we are. Be with the one they love . . . Another cup of tea, Ernst dear?’

  *

  The circus performers were kept on their toes; there were no less than fourteen theatres and a rival circus in Madrid, besides the Royal Opera House and the theatre in the Retiro Gardens, which was a great tourist attraction in the summer.

  There was not too much time off for exploring the Spanish capital, but Molly’s main impression was of a city of towering statues of kings and eminent soldiers of the War of Independence; great writers like Cervantes and Calderon.

  Many fine new houses had been built recently in the suburbs, and impressive buildings transformed the centre of the city. The railway stations had all been refurbished to resemble the elegant façades of the ones they had travelled from in Paris. She did not wish to visit the Bull Ring built in 1874, although Rory had been quite keen to witness the spectacle, which could accommodate 16,000 eager spectators. Instead, she enjoyed visiting the shops crammed with souvenirs: beautiful shawls, mantillas, mandolins and lace. Quality leather goods, she was interested to discover, were made locally in one of the huge modern factories, despite being misleadingly gold-stamped Paris, London and Vienna: she fingered elegant cigar and card cases, purses and pocket books, wondering if similar items would also sell in the House of Leather back in London. She must write Alexa of her finds.

  Madrid was certainly nothing like London. There was the definite presence of the unsmiling Civil Guards besides the guardias urbanos, the police. Rory, who was fairly fluent in Spanish, attempted to read the local papers, informing her that there was still much unrest in the country, and frequent strikes organised by the many socialists among the workers. ‘One day it will all erupt again,’ he said. ‘Maybe it will spread round the world.’ Meanwhile, they enjoyed the colour, the excitement, the seething warmth of the place.

  *

  The terrible accident, then the letter from Australia, cut short their stay.

  The climax of the trapeze act, on the high wire, was always suspenseful. The whole audience gasped then fell silent; sat motionless, necks craned, staring upwards.

  Hanna’s father and brothers formed a human pyramid: she and her sister Birgit took it in turns to balance in top position. This night, it was Hanna who confidently took her place, hoisted by Birgit, even as the wire buckled and the performers swayed in what seemed to be an eternity of slow motion, then plummeted helplessly downwards. Father and sons bounced in the net; one of the young men struck the side; the girls landed in the ring outside its confines, lying crumpled and still.

  The silence was unbroken for a few seconds, then there was uproar among the audience. The ringmaster appealed valiantly for calm, the band began to play, the clowns rushed on while the sisters were tended by circus staff, trained for just such an emergency, mercifully rare. The injured brother, helped to his feet, stood, dazed and bleeding from a cut to his head, one arm hanging limply at his side. ‘Tell them to go home!’ he moaned, in his own language.

  *

  Hanna had probably broken her pelvis and both legs; that was the conjecture of the doctor who had dashed to their aid from the stalls. He turned to examine her sister while Molly knelt beside her friend, trying to offer comfort. As usual, she had been peeping through the back flap of the canvas so as not to miss the most exciting moments of the show. Rory tried to restrain her, but she broke free and ran into the ring.

  The girls lay still on the sawdust, swathed in blankets, for the doctor insisted they must not be moved until the hospital services arrived. The Big Top was slowly emptying all this time.

  ‘I did not break my neck, I think, Molly . . . ’ Hanna murmured faintly. ‘I still breathe – I can move my arm, see – it does not hurt . . . ’ There was a puzzled look on her face.

  ‘Keep her quiet,’ the doctor told Molly, ‘the pain will overwhelm her all too soon; there may be internal injuries, also.’

  Miraculously, as they would learn much later, neither of the sisters had broken her back, but Hanna’s shattered pelvis needed urgent surgery. She drifted in and out of consciousness, now unable to speak.

  Molly’s pleas to accompany her friends to the hospital had gone unheeded.

  ‘You can do nothing,’ Hanna’s father said, not meaning to sound harsh. ‘This is family business. Rory should take you away now, I think.’

  *

  Late that night, Molly lay sobbing on her bed in the boarding house, glad of the semi-darkness, with just a candle puddling in a saucer on the washstand. She was still in the white tights and spangles that she’d worn for the finale. The magic of the circus was for her cruelly dispelled. Her friends would be months in hospital; it was doubtful if they would ever fully recover or perform again. Hanna’s dreams of the double somersault would never be realised.

  Rory tapped on her door, did not wait for a reply but came in, whey-faced and shocked to the core himself. He gripped a crumpled sheet of paper in one hand. ‘Molly – this letter – waiting for me on my table,’ he gabbled.

  She sat up, rubbing her eyes fiercely on the sheet. ‘What is it, Rory? Not more bad news?’ Fear rose like gall in her throat.

  He nodded. ‘I’ll have to go home – to Melbourne, just as soon as it can be arranged. We’ll have to abandon the act. I’m sorry, Molly, but—’ He sat down abruptly on her bedside chair, crushing the day clothes strewn on it; facing her.

  ‘What is it? Tell me? I don’t care about the act! At this moment, I don’t think I could ever go in the ring again.’

  ‘It’s my mother, she’s had a stroke. The letter is from Thom and Cora. It’s bad, Molly, very bad. The rest of the family are there. She could be – gone – before I get there, but I must try . . . ’

  ‘Of course you must!’ Molly cried. She subsided against her damp pillow, held out her arms instinctively, felt the weight of him as he almost fell on her; she cradled him close, despite the discomfort, hardly aware of his quickened breath. They could at least comfort one another, she thought, as friends should; it needn’t lead to anything more. She wanted him to mop her tears, to reassure her that the injured trapeze artistes would certainly recover; in return she would listen while he talked out his fears about his mother.

  She realised belatedly how Rory had interpreted that impulsive hug, when he began to kiss her passionately, to fumble with the silver buttons on her jacket with trembling hands. She was confused but, suddenly, to her own surprise, unafraid. What would it do to him if she rejected him now? In the morning, she thought, we can pretend it was all just another dream.

  ‘Nip the candle out,’ she whispered. It had to be dark, in that shabby airless room, so that they could forget the time and pl
ace, the reason why.

  ‘Oh, Molly, I love you so much.’ His voice was thick with longing.

  ‘I know you do.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  *

  Ten days later she was back in London. Alexa hurried down the steps from the house to pay the cabbie. It was months since they had met. Molly saw Alexa’s eyebrows arch as she took in her careless appearance, her pallor. Would she have welcomed her back if she knew her guilty secret? she wondered.

  ‘It’s very good to have you home,’ Alexa said. She had taken the day off work.

  Molly was shivering despite her warm costume. She had packed her thinner clothes on top of her spangled outfits in the big trunk. She didn’t suppose she would wear those again. Was her career in the circus really over so soon?

  ‘I hope you haven’t caught a chill, my dear.’ Alexa sounded concerned. ‘I’ll put a match to the fire in the sitting room. Nancy will be home in a couple of hours. She was so excited, I doubt she has been much use in the showroom today. Sit down and I’ll ask Mrs Moore to bring us tea – hot buttered crumpets sound good to you?’

  ‘Very good, thank you, Alexa.’

  ‘Just say, are you back for a brief visit or—’

  ‘If you’ll have me, I’m here to stay. I’m hoping you’ll take me back at Nagel’s. Any job will do, but I must earn my own living! I had to help Rory out with his fare, you see.’

  ‘Of course you did. We’ll talk it all over when you feel like it. But I guess Nancy will be the one you really want to confide in.’

  Molly leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. Rory had begged her to go with him, in view of what had happened that night.

  ‘No, Rory,’ she’d insisted. ‘Maybe one day we’ll meet again. It would only complicate matters right now. I do love you, and I don’t regret anything, honestly – I won’t forget you, I promise, and I know you won’t forget me.’

  ‘How could I, after that?’ he said, and she was aware that she had hurt him.

  ‘Give Serena my love, and say to get well soon – and my best to Thom and Cora, too. There’ll be a nice Australian girl for you one day, with an Irish name, no doubt, and you’ll know I was right to say goodbye to you when I did, dear Rory Kelly.’

  SEVEN

  ‘It doesn’t seem right, Molly, me being, well, superior to you,’ Nancy worried on Molly’s first day back at the shop.

  ‘I’m not bothered and nor should you be,’ she returned, smiling, as they stood for a moment together in the showroom, before Molly went upstairs to the office she had once shared with Art, and her old job. Fortunately, Alexa had prepared her for what would otherwise have been quite a shock: Minnie had requested a transfer to the accounts department as assistant clerk following Art’s departure and the engaging of his successor, an educated but nervous lady who had not lasted long. ‘Probably because of her,’ Nancy whispered in Molly’s ear. Minnie, working very hard on her own for several weeks, had earned the right to her promotion, recommended by Mr Loom. Since knowing Nancy, Alexa was much more open-minded regarding the aspirations of other members of her staff.

  Molly certainly did not relish being under Minnie’s thumb, recalling her treatment of Nancy in the workroom in the early days, but she told herself sternly that she was lucky to have a job to go to at all and that she would just have to develop a thick skin against Minnie’s acid jibes.

  Minnie, naturally, was already at her desk. Now she was no longer shrouded in a serviceable apron, her spare figure was better served by a long black shiny skirt, a severe white blouse with full sleeves and a cameo brooch at the throat. She had even toned down her high colour with face powder, Molly suspected, being herself now au fait with the art of makeup. Seeing her own pale reflection in the mirror first thing, she had rubbed a little rouge on her cheeks.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Sparkes,’ Minnie said, with a tight little smile. ‘I have left some work ready for you on your desk. Please deal immediately with those accounts marked URGENT.’ She had added her signature, M Gage (Mrs), so that Molly would realise how she expected to be addressed from now on. Then she stabbed away energetically at her typewriter keys, to prove that she had been practising assiduously, could use all her fingers and strike the correct letters.

  Bet she gave up a good many lunch hours to achieve that standard, Molly thought ruefully. No visits to the pud shop for old Minnie; no yawning all afternoon. Art, where are you? Do you remember how you jerked me back into action when you took aim with a paper dart? How many hours before lunch when Nancy and I can enjoy a good old giggle together while we stroll along doing a spot of window shopping? What really went wrong between you and Nancy, I wonder . . .

  ‘Urgent, I said, remember,’ Minnie chided, without turning round or pausing in her tapping.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Gage.’ Having to concentrate on all this paperwork would stop her thinking, well, the unthinkable . . .

  *

  ‘I hadn’t realised you had got so thin, Molly,’ Nancy exclaimed, when she clutched at her friend’s arm to prevent her from stepping out absentmindedly in front of one of the new motor buses along New Broad Street.

  ‘All that exercise. I suppose,’ Molly said lightly, snapping to attention. ‘Want to feel my muscles?’ she joked.

  ‘Molly, I keep waiting for you to tell me what’s up when we’re on our own. I just know there’s something troubling you, but—’

  ‘Well, I can’t help worrying and wondering about Hanna and her sister – the girls on the trapeze who had that terrible accident. And how Rory won’t yet have arrived in Australia, and what he might find there,’ Molly gabbled.

  ‘It’s something else as well, isn’t it?’ Nancy insisted, linking her arm firmly in Molly’s, steering her past a little group of people, standing chatting on the pavement, which was dark and slippery due to recent rain. There was the ever-present threat of fog by going-home time: that acrid tinge to the air they breathed.

  ‘Nancy dear, I will talk to you, and soon.’ I have to tell someone, she thought, and Nancy can keep a secret. ‘What a lark,’ she added lightly, ‘old Minnie and Loom going out to lunch together. She’s definitely out to catch him, I think.’

  Nancy surprised her with a vehement reply. ‘Oh, no, he’s far too nice for her! He was obviously ruled by his mother, he doesn’t want another—’

  ‘Martinet?’

  ‘If that means what I want to say – yes! He doesn’t deserve another of those in his life.’

  ‘Why, Nancy, I do believe you’ve got a soft spot for him!’

  She quickened her step, urging Molly to do the same.

  ‘We’ll be late back if we don’t hurry – and that wouldn’t do on your first day, would it? I’ve got real respect for Mr Loom, that’s all. Don’t you dare start making more of that, Molly Sparkes!’

  *

  It was the beginning of December, the House of Leather was enjoying a seasonal rush, and Molly had been back in the old routine for what seemed like forever, but was really only six weeks. Alexa had gone to the theatre this Saturday evening, but the girls had opted to stay at home, to have their baths and wash their hair then toast their toes by the fire, as Molly said.

  She rubbed Nancy’s long locks for her, as her friend, on the footstool, leaned back against her knees. Molly’s own short mop was already dry. They were cosy and comfortable in warm nightgowns, loose wrappers and slippers. Now’s my chance, Molly thought. Best to come straight out with it; shades of the old, impulsive, honest Molly.

  ‘Nancy, I think I’m pregnant . . . ’

  She flicked back her damp hair and swivelled round to look at her friend, shocked. This was obviously not what she had expected to hear. ‘Oh, Molly! Are you sure? Did you—’

  ‘Yes, I did. Only once but I didn’t think that—’

  ‘Once is enough,’ Nancy stated simply. ‘It was Rory, of course?’ She hoped fervently that this was the case. He was in love with Molly, he wouldn’t hurt h
er, force her against her will. The trouble was, he was in Australia now and Molly was here.

  ‘Don’t blame him. He kept asking me to marry him, and he didn’t – start it. We were just, well, holding on to each other after the shocking events that night in the circus, and the sad news of Serena – it just happened, Nancy. I’m not ashamed, strangely enough. It seemed so natural – inevitable, I suppose.’ The relief of telling Nancy caused the tears to flow, and Nancy knelt up on the stool and enfolded her in her arms, rocking her soothingly just as she had Fay when she was in pain, cutting teeth.

  ‘There, Molly. Let it all out. You’ll feel better for it. It’s not the end of the world.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Molly managed a wry smile. ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘You must tell Alexa, tonight. She’ll advise you.’

  ‘She’ll be disappointed in me, angry with Rory.’

  ‘Wait and see. She learned a lot, too late, she says; she’s still sad that she didn’t listen to her daughter. She’ll want to take care of you, help you, for Lucy’s sake, I think.’

  *

  Alexa was certainly upset, but not with Molly. ‘He promised me . . . how could he? Does he know?’

  ‘I’m not going to tell him, Alexa, and nor are you! Anyway, he’s not here. He’s got enough trouble to deal with, I won’t add to it. I don’t want him to come back for me, to do the decent thing! I do care for him, else I wouldn’t have done what I did, but I’m not ready for marriage – I’m not ready to be a mother either, but I can’t help that – and I won’t listen if you try to persuade me otherwise.

  ‘In a way, it’s a relief that we are so far apart: it makes it easier. He already knows I don’t want to carry on with the circus. I was thinking of trying my luck as a dancer on the halls, like my mother, but I can’t do that now, I suppose. I’ll be twenty-one and responsible for my own actions in May, before – before – it arrives. I can manage, I know I can.’ Was she making sense, babbling away?