The Silversmith's Daughter

by Annie Murray

  ‘It’s certainly changing a lot of things – there are women police now and there was a woman selling the tickets on the tram I came into town on,’ Annie said. In spite of everything she still felt vaguely shocked by this. She seldom travelled by tram. ‘So, they sent you here?’

  ‘Yes – for now. I suspect it won’t be my last billet. I spent a couple of months in Manchester. Of course, most of our work now is being directed into trauma – head and spinal injuries, paralysis and so on.’

  ‘There’ve been the most terrible injuries,’ she said. To her astonishment, for a second she felt she might weep, there and then. The tears swelled in her, memories of some of the lads she had nursed, what had been done to them. She knew that he would understand, would not see this as out of place, and yet she desperately did not want to give in to it. She looked down, finding herself unable to speak.

  ‘You nurses spend more time with them,’ he said gently. ‘Some patients I see repeatedly, of course, try to patch them up the best we can and get to the bottom of their symptoms. But nurses – day after day. I suppose they talk to you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She took another sip of the punishing blackcurrant, trying to gather her emotions. ‘Especially on nights.’

  ‘Is that not very nice?’ He pointed at her glass.

  Annie hesitated. ‘In fact,’ she admitted, wrinkling her nose, ‘it’s really quite unpleasant.’

  ‘Look –’ He leaned over, holding out his glass. Closer to her, she found his physical presence fascinating, enlivening. If he had got up and left, in that moment, the room would have felt dead to her. ‘I’m not a tool of the Devil – why don’t you have a taste?’

  It seemed such a little thing but it cut against everything she had been brought up to believe, as if he really was the very serpent, plotting to lure her out of Eden. He was so seductive, so . . . But oh, my goodness, what was the harm? People were going out getting their limbs shot off and worse and here was she being prissy about taking a sip from a glass! Hadn’t she always believed you must face things, not retreat?

  ‘All right.’ She sat up, very formal, and took the glass, steeling herself.

  Fergus sat back and burst out laughing so merrily that she could only join in. ‘It’s not hemlock, you know! It’s the great drink of my nation – a taste of heaven. But it is strong. Don’t do more than touch your lips to it. Taste and see!’

  Annie leaned her head over the golden ring of liquid. The fumes were bad enough! She tilted the glass and let the whisky burn against her lips and into her mouth.

  ‘Oh!’ She spluttered once she had swallowed. ‘That is horrible! It is the most . . . Ugh!’ She took a quick sip of the blackcurrant which seemed quite benign in comparison. ‘Lord above – how can you drink that?’

  Fergus was laughing wholeheartedly now and their eyes met. How she liked the sound it. It was like something new opening out, filling her with a sense of joy and excitement. And she was gratified that she had made him laugh.

  ‘If that’s heaven,’ she continued emphatically, ‘I’ll happily go to the other place!’

  They travelled back to the hospital together after talking easily all evening, in the bar and then side by side on the tram. Fergus walked with her towards the nurse’s quarters and as they parted, he said, with a bashfulness that moved her, ‘I hope we can do this again, Annie. It’s been a wonderful evening.’

  She looked up at him, unable to remember an evening she had ever enjoyed as much. ‘I’d like that,’ she said.

  Fergus hesitated and then, with a quick look round to check there was no one about, stepped closer.

  ‘May I?’ He laid his hand lightly on her shoulder and stooped to kiss her cheek, almost knocking her hat off so that they ended laughing.

  ‘Goodbye,’ Annie said, going off towards the entrance to her quarters.

  ‘See you soon.’ He stood watching and as she reached the door, she turned and he waved.

  Twenty-Three

  Spring 1916

  Daisy sat in her attic room, propped against the pillow. At her breast, the little one sucked and sucked and Daisy could feel the power of it coursing through her. For a moment she bent her head back and breathed deeply in before letting out a long sigh.

  The baby girl seemed to be the one with all the force for life that she once had herself. Even at birth she had weighed nearly eight pounds and she was hungry for every mouthful.

  But now, at three months, she had picked up a cold and had been up and down all night, sniffling and wanting to suck for comfort, finding it a struggle because her nose was blocked and crying all over again. Daisy lay in a haze of exhaustion. At last, now morning had come, the child seemed to be able to suck more easily. The room stank of eucalyptus oil which Daisy had dripped on to a hanky.

  ‘You,’ she said, fond, yet close to tears as she looked down at the guzzling infant, ‘will be the death of me. That you will.’

  Pa had greeted her gently when she and Margaret returned to Birmingham. They had chosen to come home on a Sunday afternoon, when there would be fewer prying eyes about. Not even Mrs Flett was around at that time.

  John and Lily ran into the house, delighted to be home. Daisy walked in carrying the baby, feeling utterly raw and strange. First of all she carried the child upstairs to give her a feed. She looked round at her bedroom as if at that of a child. Everything was familiar – the bed, the chest of drawers, the rug and chair unchanged, yet everything felt different, as if she had been away for a hundred years.

  She perched on the edge of the bed suckling, holding her baby close and thinking how it would have been if she had come home without her. Tears spilled down her cheeks until she was sobbing, thinking of how she had almost let her go. Now it seemed utterly impossible.

  Eventually she calmed herself and went shyly down to the back room, where they all drank tea. Daisy knew that Ma had sent a wire to her father to say what had happened so Philip showed no surprise. Lily had hardly been able to take her eyes off the baby and sat beside Daisy, gazing and talking to her. John, however, had soon declared that she was boring and paid her little attention.

  So that now, as they sat together in these hours of privacy, there was a new tenderness in the air. There might be all sorts of trouble to face, but for the time being, Daisy was back home with her baby and both of them were alive and well.

  ‘Well,’ Pa said, also with an air of shyness. Once again Daisy realized she had become something new and more mysterious since having a child. ‘You must have a name for her by now?’

  ‘Yes,’ Daisy said. ‘She’s called Hester.’

  She saw a smile reach her father’s eyes. ‘Ah, Hester Bateman. Well, she was a fine English craftswoman. It’s a good name.’

  ‘Then after Mom – Florence.’ She saw him wince slightly and she felt that stab again. Florence, her mother. The loss she never managed to make up for no matter how hard she tried. ‘And then Margaret.’

  ‘Hester Florence Margaret Tallis.’ He smiled. She could see how hard he was trying. ‘I like that.’

  Margaret quietly poured more tea, looking back and forth between them as if she could hardly believe that things sounded harmonious at last.

  That night, he had actually come up to her room. She heard his tread, his hesitant tap on the door. She had just climbed into bed with Hester, who was already fast asleep after this exhausting day.

  ‘Mind if I come in?’ He stood looking round the door.

  Then he saw her faint smile and came up close.

  ‘Just thought I’d come and say goodnight.’ He was shifting on his feet, bashful, and she could see that he was working up to something, trying to get used to everything. She was moved, still tearful herself.

  Margaret had told Daisy that the night she had given birth, her father had suddenly seemed to fall apart. He wept and wept. Only then did Margaret realize just how frightened he had been all the time Daisy was carrying the baby. He was afraid he would lose her the way he had lost her mother. Se
eing her alive, knowing the child was alive, had undone him.

  And Pa had seen her at her lowest, seen what it had done to her, giving her baby away, no matter that that was what she had thought she wanted. But what trouble she had brought to their door!

  ‘It’s not going to be easy for you, Dais,’ he said. Your moth— Margaret’s got her ideas about how we’re all going to play it. But there’s some’ll guess, I’m sure.’

  ‘I’ll have to take what comes.’ Angrily, she added, ‘It wasn’t all my fault.’

  ‘There’s many’ll say it was.’

  There was a silence. Her father looked distraught, as if he had got off on the wrong foot.

  ‘I’m sorry, Pa,’ she whispered, looking up at him. She couldn’t explain how lost she felt.

  ‘Oh, Daisy.’ He softened and sank down on to her bed. ‘Other than your mother dying the way she did, there’s nothing in my life I’ve ever wished away like I have this. But . . .’ He eyed the dark-haired little creature lying in the crook of her arm. Dark hair very like that of her father, of whom no one now ever spoke a word. ‘Now she’s here . . .’ He lowered his head and she was moved to see that he was close to weeping again. ‘It brings back when you were a little one.’

  And his kindness after all this time made her cry herself. She seemed to be one long blart during those days.

  She had had to take up her work at Vittoria Street again, feeling she could not stay away any longer when they were so short-staffed. She knew she could just about manage a couple of hours away from Hester, in the afternoon. Her first day back, walking nervously into the school, still sore, still bleeding and so self-conscious it felt as if all the world was accusing her, almost the first person she met that afternoon was the head of the school, Arthur Gaskin.

  ‘Ah, Miss Tallis!’ His tone was fatherly and held genuine pleasure at seeing her. ‘How delighted we are to have you back!’ He came closer and Daisy flinched inwardly. Was it all over her – could he smell her? Her own physical experiences of Hester were so intense that it felt to her as if everyone could see into her, what she had done, the state of her body. As Mr Gaskin looked into her eyes, she felt the aching tingle as milk let down into her breasts and she blushed painfully, praying that she had padded her clothes enough to soak it up. ‘Are you well recovered now, my dear?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mr Gaskin,’ she muttered, all confusion. She stared at the buttons on her boots. They all thought she had been suffering from a bad chest.

  ‘I can tell you it’s a godsend you’re taking back these two classes. Of course, with the war going the way it is, we can see change coming – we may have to take on war work very soon – but classes are battling on more or less as usual at the moment, even though we have lost more staff . . . Mr Carson on the silversmithing side, of course . . .’

  Even the mention of his name made Daisy feel that he must have guessed. But he could not know, could he? Things could not go on like this: she had to take hold of the situation. She looked up and into Arthur Gaskin’s kindly eyes.

  ‘Is there any news of Mr Carson?’ she said coolly.

  ‘I believe he was sent to one of the local battalions,’ he said rather vaguely. It suddenly dawned on Daisy that Mr Gaskin did not have much time for Mr Carson either. For some reason this made her feel slightly better. ‘I imagine he might have been posted to France by now, but I am not, as they say, in the know.’ He smiled faintly and she managed to smile back.

  Once she was in the classroom, she got on reasonably well. In one way she was more relaxed now than before, when she had been in a constant state of anxiety about someone noticing her condition, even though they were all young lads and girls who would not have had much idea of these things. But by the end of the class all she could hear in her head was Hester’s hungry screams.

  By the time she got home, her breasts were aching and she felt one sticky, horrible mess of milk and blood. She was close to tears. I can’t do this! she thought. How can I go on like this? But go on she had to – unless she wanted to give up everything, lose everything she had had in her life before. Because she knew she had to hold on to the threads of that life, of the old Daisy Tallis, whoever she had been, who wanted to make her pa proud – and her mother. Somehow, she still had to live up to Florence Tallis and not disappoint everyone.

  When she was alone, going to Vittoria Street or about the place, things were, outwardly, much as before. When she, or she and Margaret, took Hester out in the perambulator, everyone gave the appearance of assuming that the baby belonged to her stepmother and if they were whispering behind their hands, at least no one said anything to their faces.

  Within the house it was a different matter. It was entirely obvious to most of the staff in the business and Muriel Allen had given her some hard looks, the dry old stick. Edith Taylor, however, although she didn’t make any comment, had been extra kind to her.

  ‘Oh!’ she cried when she first saw Daisy holding Hester – for Daisy had said she would not spend her time hiding upstairs. ‘Isn’t she a little love?’

  Edith came and bent over Hester, her already sweet face softening even more. She looked up at Daisy and all her confusion showed for an instant. All those questions and comments – Where did this baby come from? Who is the father? This is shameful, awful – showed in her face in those seconds. But she swallowed them down and smiled again.

  ‘Oh, Daisy, she’s lovely. I’m longing for the time I can rock my own baby in my arms. May I have a hold?’

  Warmed by this, Daisy handed Hester over and, placid child that she was, she looked up wonderingly at Edith. They had always got on well, but from then on Daisy felt that Edith was her firm ally, however shocked she might secretly be about the sudden appearance of this baby.

  Of course she knew the staff must be whispering behind her back, and might be talking outside as well, but Daisy found she did not much care. She knew her father’s staff had liked her before and now there was nothing she – or they – could do about any of it. Any trouble from them and they all knew they could be out of a job. The same applied next door at number twenty-six.

  The only person who spoke to her directly about it was Mrs Flett. Daisy had carried Hester down to the kitchen after her feed the first morning, much in need of a cup of tea herself. Her heart pounded hard when she saw Mrs Flett – a stooped, bespectacled figure now, in her apron, stirring something on the range – and she could feel herself blushing.

  She came over without a word and looked at Hester. There was that same softening in her old face on seeing the infant and she looked up at Daisy with a smile – though a sad and complicated one.

  ‘I’ll say this now, Daisy and get it off my chest. I’d never’ve expected you to come home shamed in this fashion with no ring on yer finger, for all you’ve always been headstrong. But I do know I’m not party to the full story and it’s always the woman takes the blame. Your stepmother’s a fine person and ’er’s stood by yer as many wouldn’t. And I know I’m only a servant, but I’ve grown to be as fond of you as my own. So – I may not like it, but you won’t ’ave no trouble from me. I’d’ve done anything for your mother and I’d do the same for you bab.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Flett,’ Daisy said emotionally.

  ‘If you need help, I’m here.’ Mrs Flett’s eyes filled as well and they both had a little weep. ‘She’s a bonny babe though, I’ll say that,’ Mrs Flett added. ‘’Ere – you sit down and I’ll brew some tea.’

  Sitting in bed now, after this very broken night, she thought wearily of the day ahead. Apart from her teaching at the Jewellery School on three afternoons, when Margaret looked after Hester, she was helping out where she could in the Tallis business. But life had become so difficult! Even though she knew she was lucky beyond words to be protected, not to be thrown out in complete disgrace, oh, how frustrating life was! How could she ever do anything of her own work again?

  Even though she had seen John and Lily as babies, she had not fully taken in what any
of it meant. She had still somehow thought that you could just put infants down and carry on with your life as before. But even when Hester was asleep in her cradle she found it hard to separate her mind from her. And so often these days she did not have her hands free! Except for later in the day when John and Lily came home from school and Lily could not get enough of holding Hester.

  Daisy loved Hester with a tiger-like devotion. Of course she did! But inside, she felt she would never be the same again. Never could she find that sailing confidence she had had before. She had been brought low, in disgrace, and broken open by another young life coming in to compete with her own. Daisy Tallis felt lost these days, and as though she was nobody very much.

  She climbed stiffly out of bed, changed Hester’s napkin and quickly dressed before carrying her downstairs.

  Margaret was in the kitchen with Mrs Flett, who was peeling parsnips.

  ‘You look a bit weary, dear,’ Mrs Flett said.

  ‘Bad night again?’ Margaret asked, rather distractedly. John and Lily already seemed to have gone to school but she had plenty of other things to do. She came over and looked at Hester, laying two fingers along her forehead.

  ‘She’s a bit warm, isn’t she? She’ll settle. Just give her lots to drink.’

  ‘Oh, she’s getting plenty of that,’ Daisy said, pouring a cup of tea. The lonely despair she had felt pacing up and down with Hester in the small hours of the night melted away now, hearing Margaret talking of all this as if it was quite normal. To her it had felt like the end of the world.

  She was carrying the tea into their living room when there was a rumpus at the front door.

  Margaret hurried to answer, calling, ‘I’ll go!’ into the office. Opening up, she cried, ‘Oh – Aunt Hatt! What’s the matter?’