Swimming Home

by Mary-Rose MacColl

  ‘All right,’ Catherine said.

  When Catherine left, Louisa turned her eyes to Yardsley but she didn’t even need to speak.

  ‘I know your clinic does such excellent work for those less fortunate than the rest of us,’ he said. ‘And so, with this in mind, I have decided to donate once again.’

  ‘Oh, Lord Yardsley, if only you knew what a difference your support makes.’

  He held up a hand to stop Louisa saying any more.

  ‘I haven’t yet spoken with Lady Yardsley about a further contribution,’ he said. ‘So best not mention it. Last year, we were able to give a hundred pounds, I believe. This year, we are able to double that amount because of our good fortune.’

  ‘That will go towards a much-needed X-ray machine. If you were able to see your way clear to another two hundred, making the total four hundred pounds, you’ve no idea the help we could offer to those less fortunate than yourself.’

  He agreed so quickly Louisa wondered if she should have asked for more.

  The Yardsleys left soon after dessert, declining port, for which Louisa was thankful. Nellie had retired, as Louisa suggested, and Catherine had done an adequate job of serving the lemon delicious, although the portions might have been more suited to dock workers.

  When Louisa returned to the kitchen after seeing the visitors off, Catherine was waiting for her. ‘You stay here,’ Louisa said. ‘I just want to check on Nellie.’

  She went upstairs quietly, stood at the door of the room and heard sobbing. She went in. The lamp was out and Nellie was lying on her cot, her face turned to the wall. She must have heard Louisa come in, though, because she said in a voice thick with tears, ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Whatever for, Nellie?’

  ‘I brought shame to your house.’

  ‘Oh, goodness me, you never did,’ Louisa said. She sat on the bed. ‘Turn around now and look at me.’

  Nellie half turned and sneaked a glance at Louisa before turning back.

  ‘Oh, Nellie, he’s the one who brought shame, not you. You mustn’t worry. I don’t. Please.’

  But the poor girl wouldn’t be consoled. Louisa talked a while more and then offered her a sedative to help her sleep, which she accepted. Once she was settled, Louisa went back downstairs.

  Catherine had been tidying in her absence. She was still angry. ‘He’d been to visit Nellie,’ she said accusingly.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Why didn’t you confront him then?’

  ‘To what end?’ Louisa said flatly, looking at her niece.

  ‘Louisa, Nellie’s our friend. He’d … taken advantage of her.’

  ‘Well, she can go to school next year with his money.’ Louisa felt proud of Catherine then, that the girl saw Nellie as someone they should defend. It showed her strength of character.

  ‘I thought you needed the money for the X-ray machine,’ Catherine said.

  ‘Well, of course we do. But you judge me harshly, Catherine. Nellie must go to school or she’ll be back where she was if anything happens to me.’ And he’s given us enough to help with both the X-ray machine and Nellie’s education, Louisa didn’t say.

  ‘Is that true for me too?’ Catherine said. ‘If I don’t go to school.’

  Louisa nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s crucial to have an education, Catherine. It’s the key to the door.’

  ‘The door to where?’

  ‘Freedom,’ Louisa said.

  13

  IT WASN’T UNTIL CATHERINE HAD GONE TO BED THAT Louisa remembered the mail she’d collected in the morning. She was relieved to have some cash for the clinic but she also knew she’d need more money if the inspector required them to meet the new standards. But the extra money Yardsley offered must go to Nellie. Alexander paid Catherine’s fees, but he wouldn’t pay Nellie’s, Louisa knew. He’d see it as a waste. Lord Yardsley, himself the father of daughters, surely wouldn’t object to his money being used for this purpose. Louisa only hoped that seeing Nellie in another context might make him realise the harm his sex did. But then again, nothing seemed to stop the demand for women, the younger the better.

  Louisa poured herself a scotch and from her satchel took the newspaper she’d bought on her way home. As she did, the letter that the postman had delivered for Catherine came out with it. Louisa had the strangest urge to open it. Perhaps, Louisa thought, there would be information in the letter from Australia that might help her to understand Catherine. Perhaps if she was careful she could open the envelope and then reseal it so that Catherine would be none the wiser. This was wrong, Louisa knew, but she also knew she was responsible for Catherine and her niece had now been expelled. It would be a small wrong in service of a larger good, Louisa told herself.

  When she thought about it, the letters from Australia, one every week, had always unsettled Catherine. Perhaps Florence was putting pressure on the girl to return to the island. Perhaps she was voicing opinions about Catherine’s new life. Perhaps there would even be something to shed light on what had gone on in that house on the island, why Harry and Florence had been so strange with one another when Louisa visited. By her second scotch, Louisa had convinced herself that opening the letter was not only an acceptable thing to do, it was imperative.

  She set her glass down on the table and focused on the task. The envelope was difficult, glued seemingly by the number of miles it had travelled. She coaxed with her nail. She picked with her thumb. After a few minutes, she tore the envelope open in frustration. She felt the shock of what she’d done then, didn’t immediately unfold the page inside. She could remedy this, she thought; she could tell Catherine she’d opened the envelope in error and that she hadn’t read the letter. But she would read the letter. She knew she would.

  It was from the boy, Michael, not his mother, which surprised Louisa. She’d noticed they were close but she hadn’t known they were writing to one another; Catherine had certainly never mentioned it. She always took the letters from Australia straight up to her room and read them there. Whenever Louisa asked, she said things were fine. Florence and the family were still in the house, and Florence was housekeeper for the harbourmaster for whom the government had leased the house—Alex had wanted to sell the house when Louisa brought Catherine back to London, but Louisa had said they should leave it for now. They’d leased it. Louisa could dispose of it later.

  Catherine had only ever mentioned letters from Florence, never from the boy Michael.

  Waapi, he wrote. He had a lovely hand, Louisa thought.

  I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your last letter. I have not forgotten you and I’m sorry that my last words were angry ones. I see you in every place on the island we’ve been, which is everywhere. I am hating school and hating home and hating swimming, all because of missing you. I was so glad to have another letter from you, and I won’t stop writing again, I promise. Mum says I’m a bad friend and it’s a wonder you even bother with me. But you know I will never let you down, Waapi. We are promised, we wrote it together with our bodies.

  I worry what will happen. Come home. I love you.

  From,

  Bid

  Louisa looked at the letter again. We are promised, we wrote it together with our bodies. If a person had promised with his body, it had to be sexual, surely. What else could it mean? The boy had reached puberty, and Catherine was clearly in the throes of what Dr Hall had called the adolescence. Louisa thought of them running down to the sea together. She’d admonished herself for being concerned about propriety, but perhaps her concern was justified. Had they crossed that line into an adult relationship? Oh, poor dear Catherine.

  How dare he? Louisa thought. How dare he take advantage of the girl? And then another thought crossed Louisa’s mind. Had Catherine and the boy made life promises to one another? Had the housekeeper, Florence, known? Had she let it happen? Catherine was too young. Oh, what a mess Harry had left. It hadn’t been his intention to die, of course, but he’d left Louisa with awful choices.


  Louisa felt a shiver, although there was no draft. What was she to do? She must give her niece the letter. That was the correct thing. But was it? Maybe she should hold the letter back. With Nellie’s help, she could stop Catherine’s letters from going forward, and collect the mail each day to make sure Catherine didn’t receive anything. If she took Mr Black’s proposal seriously, she could go to America and take Catherine, as he suggested. Perhaps that would help too. More than ever now, Louisa wanted Catherine to forget the island. While she was receiving letters from them, it would pull the girl back to that old life, a life in which she might be imperilled, Louisa thought now.

  She took the letter upstairs to her room, opened the drawer where she kept her private papers and slipped it under the pile.

  Closing the drawer, she sat down heavily on her bed. She thought of Yardsley and poor Nellie, the boy Michael, who might have taken advantage of Catherine. Were they all like this? Louisa wondered. Surely not. Surely there were good men too in the world.

  She’d said, Yes, I’d love you to walk me home. That was forward of her, she thought later. She shouldn’t have used that word, love, I’d love you to walk me home. She shouldn’t have been curious. Alexander had said that. You led him on, Louisa. Did she? Is that what had happened? It was hard now to understand how saying I’d love you to walk me home could lead where it did. But there you are.

  When they reached her door and he’d said he would come in, she’d let him. That was her second mistake. None of the other doctors who shared the little flat near the hospital were home. She’d known they weren’t. So you were curious? Alexander had asked accusingly. Curiosity, too, would hurt you, she learned that night.

  ‘Where did you study medicine?’ Jonathan asked. He was in her sitting room.

  She’d started at the University of London, finished at the School of Medicine for Women.

  ‘Did you take lovers in medical school?’ he asked.

  It was an impertinent question, she knew. She wanted to meet his audacity with her own.

  ‘I would try to impress suitors with my wit,’ she said. ‘But wit is not such an impressive quality in a woman, as it turns out.’

  ‘It impresses me,’ he said.

  There was a silence.

  ‘Then you, Jonathan, are easily impressed,’ she said, attempting to laugh off his comment.

  ‘On the contrary,’ he said, moving towards her.

  Later she would tell Ruth Luxton, ‘I let him kiss me. I know I did wrong. I let him kiss me but then I told him to go and he would not. And he …’ She could not bring herself to finish.

  He told Louisa he wanted her. She was shocked, said something stupid like, ‘I beg your pardon?’

  He leaned in and kissed her and she could smell rich tobacco and feel the scratch of his beard on her cheeks. She responded without thinking, her arms around him before she knew what was happening. He was not a tall man but he was broadly built and strong. He held her in his arms and for a moment she forgot herself. But then she pulled back from him. ‘Dr Pyne,’ she said. ‘I don’t think …’

  ‘You must indulge me,’ he said, his voice rough. He was pulling at his collar. ‘I cannot bear it any longer.’ He moved towards her then and Louisa found herself afraid. It was still fun, in a way, a game of cat and mouse, she told herself, but panic was rising like bile in her throat now, and despite her attempts to reassure herself she could feel underneath the fear.

  Louisa was twenty-five, a good doctor, but totally inexperienced with men. The truth was she’d taken no lovers in medical school. There had been no one, not ever.

  He advanced towards her and she retreated, until suddenly the wall was at her back. Still he kept coming. She was afraid now; a hard, relentless fear that made her breath come in short gasps and her vision blur. It was the expression on his face, the same expression she’d seen just before he began to cut a patient.

  14

  CATHERINE WAS SITTING AT THE TABLE IN THE DINING room writing a letter to Miss Anderson—this had been Louisa’s suggestion—when she heard the doorbell. She knew not to answer it—Nellie had scolded her before. Catherine was supposed to understand that Nellie was the help, whereas Catherine was the mistress. ‘Well, if I’m the mistress, why is it you don’t ever do as I say?’ Catherine had said to Nellie once.

  ‘That’s another matter altogether,’ Nellie said. ‘But you have to start acting your station, girl, or you’ll never be like your aunt.’ This was Nellie’s trump card. For while she knew that Catherine was unhappy in London, she also knew Catherine admired Louisa. The thing that upset Catherine most about what had happened at the school was that she knew she’d failed Louisa, although her aunt seemed less worried now. That morning, when she’d reminded Catherine to write the letter to Miss Anderson, she also said Catherine mustn’t worry herself. We’ll find somewhere to go, dear girl, Louisa had said, almost gaily. She’d even sat at breakfast in the kitchen with Nellie and Catherine, sipping coffee and talking about the days ahead. She thought perhaps Catherine could come to visit the clinic while they were sorting out what to do next. Would you like that? she’d said. Catherine said she would, unsure with this new Louisa who seemed more relaxed than the old one but not quite real yet.

  I did not mean to cause harm, Catherine had written, which was the truth. She hadn’t meant to cause harm. I only wanted to show that I could achieve the swim which Darcy had told me I could not achieve. Catherine felt tears threatening. Oh, she longed to be doing something other than this.

  Nellie was at the door. ‘You’ve a messenger.’

  ‘What sort of messenger?’

  ‘One that has a message, I’d warrant. Quick sticks. Get your pinnie off and out you go. Plum in his mouth, said he must see Miss Quick and I wouldn’t do. Come on now. I haven’t got all day.’

  Catherine rose, pulled her pinafore over her head and draped it over the chair. As she was walking towards the kitchen, Nellie said quietly, ‘Parlour, dear.’

  Catherine turned and went to the little sitting room at the front of the house.

  On the sofa was a young man dressed in a dark brown suit, his long legs crossed at the ankles. He had a hat in his lap, which he held in his hand as he stood. ‘Miss Quick, it’s so kind of you …’ Something went wrong as he moved towards Catherine and he fell forward. Catherine caught him just as he was going over, holding him up under the arms.

  ‘Goodness,’ Catherine said.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ the young man said as he righted himself. ‘Are you all right?’ He had an accent, which was not quite English.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Are you?’

  He was at least a head taller than Catherine, willowy with very fair skin and black hair. He smiled. ‘Yes. I must have caught my foot in the rug, I think.’ He smoothed his jacket and looked behind him at the tiger. He had a high forehead and soft dark eyes. A lick of hair had fallen forward and he pushed it back. He smiled nervously and looked at the rug again. ‘That’s a tiger,’ he said. He seemed a little flustered now. ‘I come on behalf of Mr Manfred Lear Black, whom you may have heard of.’

  Catherine shook her head. ‘I haven’t,’ she said.

  ‘He’s American, staying here for the summer.’

  ‘Oh, the mad American,’ Catherine said without thinking.

  ‘Quite. The journalists are fond of calling him that.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Mr Black enjoys our English press immensely.’

  ‘Let’s sit down,’ Catherine said, taking a seat herself on the chair, ‘if you feel that might be safe now, Mr … ?’

  ‘Oh God, Mackintosh, Andrew Mackintosh. Lovely to meet you, Miss Quick. I’m sorry. The tiger has quite done me in. Mr Black is my employer. That is, I am his confidential secretary. And so.’ He returned to the sofa and then, as if suddenly remembering what he was there for, took from inside his suit pocket an envelope and handed it to Catherine. It was addressed to Dr
Louisa Quick and Miss Catherine Quick.

  ‘Should I open it?’ Catherine said.

  ‘Perhaps wait for your aunt. But I can tell you its contents. Mr Black would be delighted if you could attend a little party on his yacht, the Aloha, Saturday coming, to celebrate the marvellous Captain Bone, who brought Mr Black safely to our shores from the great state of Maryland, the United States of America.’ This last was said with an accent that perhaps was supposed to be American, Catherine wasn’t sure.

  ‘The Aloha.’

  ‘Yes, that’s Mr Black’s yacht. It’s moored in the Thames.’

  ‘Captain Bone?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Does Mr Black know my aunt?’

  ‘I believe he does, and I understand you are intimately acquainted with the Thames.’ He smiled gently, a sparkle in his eyes now.

  ‘Yes.’ Catherine found herself blushing.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Is swimming a taboo subject?’

  ‘A little,’ she said. ‘I got into trouble at school.’

  ‘I bet,’ he said. ‘But The Times says you’re a champion.’

  ‘Are you a swimmer?’ she said.

  He laughed. ‘I like the bath,’ he said. ‘And at Eton, I fell in the pond and a master had to fish me out. No, I’m not fond of water. But I saw you in the newspaper, Miss Quick. Mr Black says it was a fine swim and he is a swimmer.’

  ‘Really,’ she said. She stood up. ‘Well, I’ll give the invitation to my aunt.’

  ‘Good then,’ he said, standing when Catherine did. ‘Delightful. In fact, I’ll very much look forward to seeing you again, if that’s all right.’ He put out his hand to shake hers. ‘I’m quite safe when standing still,’ he said.

  ‘That’s a relief,’ she said, taking the offered hand. ‘And it’s been lovely to meet you, Mr Mackintosh.’