During the wakeful small hours she suddenly realised that Matthew had not confided in her his plans for Alexa. Did that mean something? Had he given up hope of marrying her?
She couldn’t help feeling chagrin at the thought.
*
‘See, I told you I knew how to drive,’ Molly remarked cheerfully, as the Packard open-top motor car lurched alarmingly and swerved along the unmade track towards the grassy knoll they had once climbed together with Fay. ‘I’ve watched you like a hawk every time we’ve been out.’
‘I must be mad to let you take the wheel,’ Matthew muttered grimly through gritted teeth. The Packard 1904 model was his pride and joy. Another jolt decided it. ‘Let go of the wheel!’ he shouted, unceremoniously shoving her aside. ‘Get in the back – get out of the way – unless you want us to crash.’
It was obvious he meant what he said so Molly tumbled over into the rear seat, banging her head on the folded-back hood. She wasn’t going to say another word, she decided furiously, rubbing her temple, until he apologised. It was so unlike Matthew to be hot-tempered.
They scrambled up the springy turf in silence. A balmy April day, too sunny and peaceful to quarrel. This wasn’t at all what she had had in mind when Matthew suggested that they go for a drive and she had intimated she had something important to impart. Nancy was looking after the children, knowing just what that was.
They had moved with Alexa into her new home, at the beginning of the month, on a temporary basis. ‘You must tell him,’ Nancy urged her. ‘Don’t spring it on him at the last minute, that’s not right.’ Matthew knew Nancy was going to Australia, that was no secret, but Molly had asked them to say nothing of her own plans until she was sure she wanted to make the trip, too.
She almost tripped up in her hurry to get to the familiar resting place. Here, she stretched out, crossed her ankles and closed her eyes. Beast, she thought, I’ll show you. One day I might even pilot an aeroplane. They say that’ll be the way folk will travel in a few years’ time . . . Why do men always think they’re superior? Especially where engines are concerned.
‘Sulking? I can only put up with so much, you know,’ Matthew said furiously, his breath tickling her neck. She put out her hand, and the next thing she knew, she was pinioned by the weight of his body. He was kissing her fiercely, so that she could hardly breathe and she knew he was mad at her and didn’t care at this moment if he hurt her. She beat a tattoo on his back with her fists. He released her abruptly, but she was forced to cling to him as he sat up, the buttons on their jackets being entangled.
‘You’ve made my lip bleed,’ she said, in disbelief.
‘Is that all?’ he asked bitterly, but he sorted out the buttons and set her free. Then he moved away and sat with folded arms, looking at her. He was grim, unsmiling.
‘Aren’t you going to say you’re sorry?’ she cried.
‘No. You’re about to tell me it’s all over, aren’t you, that all the waiting has been for nothing? I thought, when Alexa was settled—’ He broke off, looking at her searchingly. ‘I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, you must know that, Molly.’
‘Oh, Matthew! Actually, you’ve made it easier for me to tell you—’
‘That you’re going away, too? I guessed,’ he said.
‘But I’ll come back, I’ll marry you—’
‘No. Give me time, Molly, to get over you. That’s all I ask.’
‘I’ll miss you.’ She was crying now, but he did not lend his handkerchief, or gather her close as he had always done before.
He rose, brushed himself down. ‘Let’s go, there’s no point in hanging around.’
‘I’m so sorry Matthew, I really am,’ she said, as she followed him back down to where they had left the motor car.
*
Nancy was back in Shoreditch; in the greengrocer’s shop, buying oranges and apples and a small bunch of bloomy black grapes for Art’s mother. Maybe she was just putting off the moment when she would tread those noisy iron stairs to knock on the door of the flat, she thought.
Mrs Gray opened the door, showing surprise when she saw who was waiting there. ‘Why, Nancy, I never thought—’
‘You’d see me again,’ she said simply. ‘Can I come in? These are for you. I hoped I might catch you on your own.’
‘You have, dearie. Not that I’m dressed for visitors.’ Mrs Gray plucked off her apron, then the scarf from her head. ‘But I can soon rustle up a bun or two and the kettle’s singin’. The fruit is lovely, thank you. We usually make do with the bruised and battered bits from the shop at the end of the day.’ She paused, still flustered. ‘Do sit down. You know Art’s in Australia, don’t you?’
Nancy nodded. ‘He sent a card to the House of Leather. I found it hard to believe he’s staying in the very place I come from! I didn’t want to lose touch,’ the words were rushing out now, ‘but, you see, I got married, and I know how much that hurt him, and there was nothing I could say then, that would make him understand why. Then Mr Loom, my husband, died quite suddenly, and of course I was sad about that because he was such a good, kind man, but later I began to hope . . . ’
‘You loved my boy, didn’t you? I could tell, that day he brought you round to meet us all,’ Mrs Gray observed. ‘And he was head-over-heels in love with you, we knew that. What went wrong between you, Nancy? Won’t you tell me? I promise it won’t go no further.’
‘I’m going out there to see him – with or without your blessing – and it might be you’d rather I didn’t. If I say what really happened early in my life—’
‘Try me, dearie. I got broad shoulders, I won’t say a thing till you’ve spilled it all out.’
The kettle hissed clouds of steam on the stove, the tea leaves dried out in the warming pot as Nancy poured her heart out.
*
Matthew was back from seeing the girls off to Australia. ‘They are really looking forward to the journey,’ he told Alexa. Relations had naturally been strained between Molly and himself after the last time they went out alone together, but they had tried hard to conceal this from Alexa.
‘Unchaperoned, eh?’ she said drily. ‘Well, I suppose Nancy, as a young matron, will keep both Molly and Almond in check.’
‘They are counting on seeing you bright and well when they return, Alexa.’
‘We both know, don’t we, Matthew,’ Alexa stated quietly, ‘that can’t be.’
‘My dear—’ Matthew’s voice betrayed his distress.
‘I’m glad I have settled all my affairs; happy to be here with you and Fay. I feel privileged to call you my family. I’m glad I encouraged Molly and Nancy to go away, not to wait with me for the inevitable. I only hope that I am spared to hear good news from Australia.’
Matthew bent and kissed her. ‘Don’t give up, not yet,’ he murmured softly. ‘We need you, you see, just as much as you need us.’
‘Thank you, Matthew, for that.’
*
He awoke suddenly to hear himself groaning. His hands strayed to the spare pillow. It was cold, unflattened. Lucy, the love of his life, had never slept here, in this bed with him. He tried to conjure up her face but instead he saw Molly as they had said goodbye this morning, blinking away the tears from hazel eyes which really were green at that moment, suddenly clutching at him and repeating over and over: ‘Oh, Matthew, I’m sorry, so sorry . . . Will you forgive me for hurting you?’ She was wearing the earrings he had given her, but also the opal ring.
He wanted to say he loved her, that she mustn’t leave him. Instead, he’d hugged her in return and wished her bon voyage.
‘Look after Alexa,’ she’d called yet again after him as he walked away. He’d turned to wave up at them as they leaned on the ship’s rail; Nancy, looking anxious, holding tightly on to Almond’s hand, and Molly clutching at her other arm.
‘I will!’ he’d answered, hoping she could hear. He’d felt an awful sense of despair, wondering if he would ever see her again.
It must have
been the knocking on the inner hall door, which connected the annexe to the house, which had actually woken him.
Mrs Moore stood there, a coat over her nightclothes, hair in curling rags. ‘It’s Mrs Nagel, Mr Dunn. Oh, come quick!’
Alexa lay motionless in her bed. The supporting pillows had been removed at her request. She looked tranquil, at peace with herself, he thought.
‘Forgive me, Matthew, for disturbing you at this hour,’ Alexa said slowly, as if each word were an effort.
He knew instinctively that she was nearing the end.
‘I’ll call the doctor—’
‘No point. Don’t leave me . . . ’
He motioned to Mrs Moore, mouthed urgently, ‘Use the telephone.’ She understood and quietly left the room.
He stroked Alexa’s hand gently and talked to her: told her how glad he was that they had forged a good relationship; that she was here now with him and Fay, much loved by them, by Nancy and Molly and her little daughter.
She did not speak again. Soon she would be reunited with Lucy. Matthew wanted so much to believe that.
FOUR
Melbourne, June 1912
The journey to Australia had been uneventful, very different from that of six years ago, except for the dreaded seasickness early on. Molly actually wished that Elfie were there to share her pungent smelling salts. She missed Wally, the original purser, no doubt retired, and the stewardess was also unfamiliar. Only the sick-pan lady with her mop and bucket was the same.
There was no giddy dancing, deck games or late nights. Molly and Nancy took turns at keeping a very necessary weather-eye on Almond, amusing her whenever she demanded attention. The one off-duty lounged gratefully on deck and read of romance, when she was not catching up on her sleep . . .
So here they were, back in Melbourne in blustery winter weather. They were taken to lodgings by a rather recklessly driven motor cab; it was a case of ‘Stop! This one will do!’ Such cabs were, of course, a common sight back in dear old London, and the Melbourne ones had caused the same rumpus and resentment amid the older forms of transport. Rain and wind, the glistening roads and roof tops reminiscent of home in December but not so cold: they didn’t mind the lack of sun for it was a time to take a deep breath in readiness for what lay ahead.
That first evening, in their shared room, which they had decided to take by the night in case they came across anything more salubrious, Nancy looked searchingly at Molly. ‘Tomorrow?’ she queried. ‘Don’t put it off, Molly, will you? We won’t be here long, unless—’
‘Unless I decide to stay for a while, but I think that’s unlikely, don’t you? I must consider Rory’s wife,’ Molly said, sitting at the washstand with a mirror propped against the jug – no bathroom here – tidying her soft hair which dipped to her shoulders now. She tucked wayward strands behind her ears, displaying her earrings. She hoped that she had put things right between Matthew and herself when they’d said goodbye. Still, it seemed he had also said farewell to the idea of marrying her eventually. She couldn’t expect him to wait around indefinitely.
She involuntarily twisted and touched the opal ring on her right hand, as if seeking reassurance. ‘I can’t help wondering, now we’re actually here, if I should spring such a surprise on Serena without warning,’ she added. They had mutually decided not to write ahead to Australia, but at the last minute Nancy had posted a letter to Elfie and Ernst, asking if they could stay. ‘Cowardly,’ she’d said ruefully. ‘They can’t write back and say, “Art doesn’t want you to see you again”.’
‘As if he would ever say that!’ Molly had told her firmly.
Now, Nancy advised: ‘Go on your own first, break the news gently. Almond and I can go shopping, ride on a tram, maybe go round the museum, I’ve heard it’s wonderful – though I’m not sure if she’s too boisterous for such a place, I hope everything’s under glass.’
‘Oh, Nancy, you’re right! I’ll go tomorrow afternoon. I’m hoping Thom and Cora will be there – it would be lovely to see them again, too, and it could make it easier for me.’
*
Molly’s favourite blue costume, which she had first worn at Hanna’s wedding, was protected by a waterproof cape, but she needed her umbrella up as she hurried along the path to Serena’s front door. The house had obviously been recently painted, there were different curtains at the windows and the thought suddenly struck her that Serena might no longer live here – anything could have happened in the years since they had last been in touch. She hesitated a moment, then the drips from the spokes of the umbrella running down her neck made her seize the knocker.
Light footsteps came along the hall; the door swung open and a girl of her own age stood there. She had an unruly mass of wavy dark hair and striking blue eyes, blacklashed. She was hastily drying her hands on her white apron. She wore a serviceable grey frock, with misshapen linen buttons that had obviously been through the mangle, and a frayed collar; her sleeves were rolled well up, revealing muscular arms. She was full-bosomed, narrow-waisted with generous hips: an Irish beauty even in her working clothes.
Molly instantly felt small and insignificant; over-dressed, too, as she realised that this must be Sarah, Rory’s wife. She lowered the umbrella, shook it away from the step to play for time; then she seemed to hear her own voice coming from a distance: ‘Good afternoon. I am Molly—’
‘Oh, I guessed that. And I am Sarah. I knew we would meet eventually – although I had no idea it would be today. Do come in out of the wet,’ Sarah said pleasantly, ushering her into the hall. Startled, Molly saw that there were now framed pictures along the whitewashed walls: Circus posters, studio portraits of Thom and Cora in costume, Cora with her dogs on parade, the Kellys and Orlas on the slack rope – and the laughing, grimy faces of Kelly and Sparkes as they leaned nonchalantly, Rory’s arm affectionately around her shoulders, against the fake gum tree. Sarah must have recognised her from that amateur snapshot, taken by a fellow circus performer with Molly’s camera.
‘I thought it important that Rory should remember his roots,’ Sarah observed. ‘Serena is having her after-lunch nap. She has her bed in what was the dining room, her not being able to manage the stairs, though she can walk with my help. She’ll be delighted to see you, I know, in a while. Here, let me take your cape, it’s not too damp for the hallstand; your umbrella kept off the worst of the rain. Rory isn’t here, I’m afraid. Have you come to stay?’ She looked round as if for luggage.
‘Oh, no! Just the usual break,’ Molly floundered, ‘before we go on to Sydney. I am – with someone, you see.’
‘Ah, you are married?’ Sarah led the way to the big kitchen where she had obviously been in the process of clearing the table.
‘No. Nancy is another old friend,’ Molly said. She must be wondering why on earth I am here, she thought. I imagine she’s relieved that Rory is away. I hope she doesn’t feel threatened by my coming, I certainly didn’t intend that.
‘Would you care for anything to eat?’ Sarah was certainly hospitable. ‘Or a cup of tea?’ She was obviously a new Australian, her Irish lilt very strong.
‘I have eaten, thank you,’ Molly lied. She had been too churned up inside to worry about a midday meal. ‘Tea would be good.’
They made polite conversation while they drank this, sitting at the table, with the remains of the recent meal pushed aside. The child’s chair that Fay had used stood in a corner. No cushions; it appeared not to be in daily use. The meal that had been partaken of had obviously been simpler than Serena’s generous pies and puddings, Molly mused. There were depleted bowls of fresh fruit, of salad; a loaf of bread, a dish of cottage cheese, and empty soup cups on the draining board. Young Mrs Kelly was obviously in charge of things now. Nice as she was, she was making it clear to her unexpected visitor that she was the hostess.
‘Thom and Cora?’ Molly enquired belatedly.
‘They became tired of being retired, you could say: likewise the dogs, they couldn’t settle to the house. Co
ra is training a young poodle to join them. They jumped at an offer to tour again with the circus. They tried to persuade Rory to join them, but he is absorbed in his gem-hunting nowadays . . . I expect they are resting up for the winter months right now, somewhere more sunny, I guess. They will be sorry to have missed you.’ Sarah listened. ‘Ah, Serena’s awake – rattling her stick to say, who’s come? and more than ready for a cup of tea, to be sure.’
‘How is she, Sarah?’
‘Ah, she’s the easiest patient I’ve ever had – she makes the most of her life, and thanks God she’s not so disabled as she was in the beginning. Will you excuse me while I go and prepare her for seeing you?’
Sarah’s still the nurse here, then, Molly thought. Obviously no children – yet, anyway. She and Rory must have been married three years, because I heard from him that last time when Almond was born. Will that make it easier, or harder, when they know about Rory’s daughter?
It was a slimmer Serena, with a happy beam on her face, who came slowly into the room, supported by Sarah, and cried: ‘I’m real pleased to see you, my darlin’! You don’t look so different – yet there’s something about you . . . Come and give old Serena Kelly a hug and tell me all your news. I won’t scold you for neglecting me so disgracefully all this time, for you must have had good reason.’
Molly, holding her close, couldn’t stop herself from letting it all spill out: ‘I did, Serena. Oh, I did. I haven’t married, but I have a lovely little girl. She’s called Almond, for my mother. I do so want you to meet her but I thought one surprise was enough for today, eh?’ There, she’d said it, even if she had avoided the most important issue of all. It was obvious from her suddenly wary expression that Sarah had taken it all in.
‘Nothing surprises me, darlin’, not anymore. You’ll come again, with your friend and the child. Stay a day or two, won’t you? I’m sure Sarah won’t mind, for doesn’t she see to the paying guests now? It’s still our bread and butter, you see. Molly, our little Molly, with a baby – that’s hard to believe, but I’d so love to cuddle her up—’
Molly's Journey Page 22
