Inherit the Skies

by Janet Tanner

  For a moment there was complete silence at the breakfast table. Even the inscrutable Evans appeared to falter, the silver service hovering briefly over the chafing dish before continuing smoothly as before and Gilbert saw Blanche’s green eyes widen with shock. It was Lawrence, however, who broke the silence.

  ‘I say, Father, that’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’ Gilbert reached for the condiments, liberally salting his eggs and kidneys. ‘Richard Hartley is an excellent tutor – that is what I pay him for – but his talents are hardly used to capacity at present. And Leo will soon be going away to preparatory school and on to public school as you boys did. That means he will have only Alicia and James to occupy him. Sarah seems to me to be an exceptionally able girl who would benefit from a good education and I’d like to see she gets the opportunity.’

  ‘But why, Father?’ Lawrence persisted. ‘I mean, what’s the point? She’s just a girl …’

  ‘I thought you were conversant with my views on the education of girls, Lawrence,’ Gilbert said a trifle tartly. ‘I realise it is generally considered quite unnecessary but I fail to see why a girl should not receive at least a good enough education to fit her to be able to carry on an intelligent conversation with her husband and be mistress in her own house. There are women’s colleges at both Oxford and Cambridge now, and have been for the last twenty years, to fit women to be teachers and governesses. It could be that Sarah could aspire to something like that given the opportunity. Besides I happen to think that we shall soon see some changes in attitudes to women generally. Women’s suffrage is very much on the menu nowadays. It may be a long while yet before these free thinkers make any impression on the old order but I believe it will come. And when it does then all kinds of things will be open to women that people of my generation would never have believed possible. That is why I have ensured Alicia has received at least as good a grounding as you boys; why I might consider Cheltenham Ladies’ College for her even.’

  ‘But this Sarah isn’t just a girl – she’s a village girl,’ Hugh put in. ‘That’s what you mean, isn’t it, Lawrence? Her mother was a seamstress. You can’t compare her with Alicia.’

  Gilbert’s mouth hardened.

  ‘Obviously you have never listened very carefully to my views either, Hugh, I don’t believe an accident of birth should make anyone unworthy. That should depend entirely on their abilities. And ability, unless nurtured, can never be given a fair chance.’

  ‘An accident of birth!’ Blanche repeated softly, unable to keep the scorn out of her voice. ‘Really, Gilbert – you and your revolutionary views! It’s bad enough that you support Campbell Bannerman and the Liberals when in your position it would only make sense for you to be a Conservative. But from the way you are talking you will be joining Keir Hardy and his group of cloth-capped upstarts next!’

  Gilbert smiled. When Keir Hardy, the Scottish miners’ leader, had been elected to Parliament nine years earlier he had caused a great stir by arriving at the House wearing a cloth hat instead of the traditional ‘ topper’ and now, with Ramsay Macdonald, he was set on forming a distinct group in Parliament to represent the interests of the unions and the working classes generally. Gilbert was himself a fair employer but he had long sympathised with the millions of men who worked in unspeakable conditions for a pittance below subsistence level and he thought the new rallying of the underdogs was no bad thing.

  ‘I doubt I shall go quite that far, Blanche,’ he said, beginning on his eggs. ‘But I don’t feel this is the moment for a discussion on my political views. This is no great matter of laws to change the course of history. All I am proposing is a small social experiment.’

  ‘One which may well have a detrimental effect on your own children. You cannot seriously expect Alicia to share her lessons with a child of Sarah’s upbringing,’ Blanche said. Tiny high spots of colour had appeared in her pale cheeks and her eggs lay untouched on the plate in front of her.

  ‘I see no reason why not,’ Gilbert replied levelly. ‘Alicia has a good many privileges. I don’t believe it is too much to ask her to be generous with some of them. Besides, as the only girl in the family she is very much one on her own. A little female company in the schoolroom could only be beneficial to her.’

  ‘I don’t want female company,’ Alicia said. It was the first time she had spoken since her father had made his outrageous suggestion and her voice, though quiet, had the ringing tones of conviction.

  Gilbert flicked her a glance of annoyance.

  ‘When I want your opinion, Miss, I’ll ask for it.’

  ‘But that’s not fair!’ Alicia protested. ‘ I’m the one who has to have lessons with this – this Sarah.’ She had been on the point of saying ‘slut’ but the expression on her father’s face made her think better of it.

  ‘That is true, Alicia,’ he said firmly. ‘And it will do you no harm at all.’

  ‘But I don’t want …’

  ‘What you want, Miss, is not at issue. You have had things far too much your own way and it is beginning to show. Your brothers spoil you and I must confess that although I was determined it would not happen I have spoiled you too. It stems from your being the only girl, I expect.’

  ‘It isn’t spoiling me to force me to have my lessons with a common village girl,’ Alicia said defiantly.

  ‘That will do, Alicia,’ Gilbert said coldly. ‘My mind is quite made up. And if this morning’s performance is anything to go by I think you will learn as much from this experiment as Sarah will.’

  She stared at him defiantly for a moment, her eyes holding his, her mouth puckered into a tight hard pout. Then she clattered her knife and fork onto her plate of scarcely touched egg, scraped back her chair and leaped to her feet.

  ‘Alicia …’ Blanche began warningly but Alicia ignored her.

  ‘I won’t!’ she spat furiously. ‘I won’t have my lessons with her. Why should I? And if you make me I … I won’t learn a thing!’

  She pushed the heavy Victorian chair aside and flounced across the room.

  ‘Come back here this minute!’ Gilbert thundered.

  She checked momentarily, twisting her head to look at him. He saw the quick flash of fear in her eyes then her jaw set and her mouth hardened again. ‘Make me!’ that look seemed to say and with a flash of insight Gilbert knew that he was facing a will as indomitable as his own. How ironic, he was to think later. None of his sons had ever openly defied him and although, for all his liberal and forward-looking views his authority where his family was concerned was very important to him, yet strangely their acquiescence and continual eagerness to please had disappointed him in a way he could scarcely understand. Somewhere inside him a boy should have the spark to make him rebel, his own individuality should occasionally surface as insurrection; as in nature the young buck should sometimes test his strength and make his play for the position of leader of the herd. Yet the boys did not do this. Lawrence was too anxious to be thought of as responsible by his elders, Hugh, for all his military aspirations, was too lightweight to care – not for him the family responsibilities that would come hand in hand with superiority. And James – James had no spine and no spirit, Gilbert decided, and wondered idly if young John, his third son, had lived if he would have had that dominance which was so lacking in the others. But John had died of whooping cough when he was just fourteen months old and the secrets of his character had gone with him to the tiny grave beneath the outstretched wings of the stone angel in Chewton Leigh Cemetery. No, Gilbert had sometimes thought, none of his sons showed the spirit he would have hoped for in them. And now, unexpectedly, there it was in the eyes of his daughter.

  The challenge was brief and shocking yet for all his anger it excited him, firing some deeply hidden ambition for the continuity of family traits founded in the dark ages and for a future which might be even greater than the past.

  Lawrence had half risen from his chair.

  ‘Shall I fetch
her back, Father?’

  ‘No!’ Gilbert spoke sharply, then regained his control. ‘No, let her go, Lawrence. I shall speak to her later. This meal has already been interrupted quite enough.’ He looked around at each of them in turn. ‘Has anyone else anything to say on the subject or can we consider it closed?’

  ‘It seems,’ Blanche said evenly, ‘as though you have made up your mind.’ Her expression said that there was more she would have liked to discuss but she was too wise to do so and he took her words at their spoken value.

  ‘Yes.’ He lifted his fork and popped a piece of succulent kidney into his mouth. ‘ Yes, Blanche, I believe I have. Now I suggest we all forget Alicia’s unpardonable behaviour and enjoy our breakfast.’

  Chapter Eight

  The schoolroom in Chewton Leigh House was situated on the first floor, a pleasantly sunny room which overlooked the open parkland to the side of the house. Alicia and James were the second generation of Morses who had sat there at the square, comfortably worn table to learn their lessons. Well away from the main living rooms, it provided the peaceful atmosphere necessary to do sums and grammar and learn the conjugation of Latin verbs. The walls were panelled in wood and hung with delicate watercolours depicting the various components of wild flowers and the curtains of dusky pink velvet had been altered to fit this room by Sarah’s mother, Rachel, when new ones had been purchased for the drawing-room.

  Sitting at the table one day in September, flanked by Alicia and Leo and under the eagle eye of Richard Hartley, the tutor, Sarah found herself looking at the curtains as the one friendly item in this alien place. She had come to the house with her mother when Rachel had been sewing them; she remembered the bright flush of colour they had made in the small bare sewing room and the way her mother’s fingers had flown nimbly over the hems. She had been bored at the time, having quickly grown tired of the piece of needlework Rachel had given her to occupy herself, for Sarah had not inherited her mother’s talent with a needle, but now looking back it conjured up for her a time when she had known nothing but warmth and happiness, carefree days forever lost in a barren desert of hostility.

  It was bad enough at Home Farm, Sarah thought, for Bertha Pugh’s temper had not improved with the passage of the weeks. If anything practice had put sharp barbs on her tongue and she demanded more, not less, from Sarah by way of assistance with the daily chores. But here at Chewton Leigh House it was infinitely worse.

  From the moment Gilbert had brought her here Sarah had been aware of the resentment the family felt for her. Gilbert was kind enough, it was true, but even he was different here at the house, a total stranger displaying none of the warmth she had felt when he had first rescued her-at-the time of her mother’s death. Lawrence and Hugh, who had been distant but not unfriendly, were now back at their boarding school. Only little James seemed not to object to her presence – and he was too young to count. A wraith of a child with none of Billy Stickland’s rumbustious sense of fun and mischief, he spent most of his time with his Nanny, only entering the schoolroom for a few hours a day and Sarah was almost unaware of his existence.

  ‘Sarah! Perhaps you would like to read the next passage for us.’ The tutor’s voice ended Sarah’s reverie and she looked up to see his eyes, oblique behind his thick spectacles, on her.

  ‘I – I’m sorry …’ she faltered. The Old Curiosity Shop was open in front of her but what the next passage was she had no idea.

  ‘Pay attention, Sarah, please,’ he reproved gently. It was not in Richard Hartley’s nature to bully or scold; the gentle and scholarly son of a parson, he believed firmly that encouragement was far more efficacious than compulsion and the carrot worked a great deal better than the whip. But he was well aware that Sarah’s village school education had left her far behind both Alicia and Leo and even allowing for the difference in their ages he would have to work hard to raise her to a standard which would satisfy Gilbert Morse. Still, she was an able child – if only he could bring her to keep her mind on her work! At the moment she seemed to spend most of her time in a world of her own.

  With a tremendous effort Sarah tried to concentrate on the pages in front of her. She had always enjoyed reading but many of the words in The Old Curiosity Shop were unfamiliar to her. Aware of Alicia and Leo’s scorn she stumbled through the passage Richard had asked her to read, manfully deciphering the words though she had no real understanding of the sense of the piece.

  ‘Is it too difficult for you, Sarah?’ he asked, not unkindly.

  Her flush deepened. She would never admit to failure – not in front of her young tormentors. ‘No.’

  ‘I think you are struggling,’ he said. ‘But there’s no need to be ashamed of that. You are not as old as the others, remember.’ He drew his fob watch out of his pocket and glanced at it. ‘I think it is time we were finishing now, anyway. Your tea will be ready,’ he said to the two Morse children, ‘but if you can spare a little longer, Sarah, we will have another look at what we’ve been doing together. Perhaps if I explain the story and some of the vocabulary you will find it easier to follow next time.’

  Leo sniggered but Alicia packed her books together without looking at him. At least there seemed to be no love lost between the two of them, Sarah thought. It was one point in her favour. Had they provided a united front lessons with them would have been unbearable. But she sensed a barely veiled antagonism between them, heard them vie with one another day by day, saw the cold arrogance Alicia displayed and noticed his reciprocal dislike.

  Now they thanked their tutor politely and left but in the corridor outside Sarah heard the beginnings of an argument between them.

  ‘Why should she have longer than us?’ That was Leo, whining.

  ‘Be quiet and think yourself lucky he didn’t keep us, too.’

  ‘But it’s your father who is paying the tutor. She doesn’t contribute at all.’

  ‘It’s my father who is paying for your education too.’

  Their voices faded away. Sarah’s cheeks were pink. She glanced apprehensively at the tutor and he smiled at her encouragingly.

  ‘Now then, Sarah, let’s begin at the beginning,’ he suggested. ‘You tell me what you understand of the story and what you find difficult. Then perhaps I can help you make sense of it.’

  They worked together for half an hour and without the critical presence of the older children Sarah found herself enjoying her lesson. At last the tutor was satisfied they had done enough. He smiled at her kindly.

  ‘You are a bright girl, Sarah. Don’t be intimidated by the others. You have just as much ability as they have – more if I’m not mistaken – and you will catch them up in no time. Now pack up your things and run along home. You might as well make the most of what is left of the day.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said demurely but she was thinking: home! The Pughs’ farmhouse! Longing for the cottage at Starvault and for her mother overwhelmed her and with a sharp pang she realised that never again would she run down the lane to find Rachel waiting for her. Bitter tears stung her throat and she bent her head over her books so that he should not see them.

  She left the schoolroom and walked along the dim corridor past the white-painted closed doors. At the end one stood open. The nursery. Her footsteps slowed and in spite of herself she peeped inside. There was no-one there; clearly tea was over and James and his Nanny must have gone outside to take advantage of the September sunshine. Sarah hesitated, drawn by overwhelming curiosity.

  During the weeks she had been coming to Chewton Leigh House she had never once been inside the nursery. The very name held a fascination for her, a word which epitomised a world in which she had no place, a world of privilege and security undreamed of by ordinary folk. She glanced quickly around. The corridor was deserted, the schoolroom door still firmly closed. She took a step into the nursery and stopped, her fascination turning to wonder.

  The maid had not yet been in to clear the tea things; they still littered the table – sandwiches, da
intily cut, not the great doorsteps Mrs Pugh made, some bread and butter interleaved on a plate, a pot of honey and a dish of iced fairy cakes. Sarah looked around furtively once more and unable to resist the temptation reached out for one. It seemed to melt in her mouth. With relish she licked her fingers and continued her exploration.

  Behind the door was a screen covered with bright pictures and scraps – perhaps Alicia had made it, Sarah thought. Although she disliked Alicia for her unpleasantness yet at the same time she was fascinated by her and longed to be able to emulate her. In front of the window stood an enormous rocking horse with a mane and tail of real hair; as Sarah touched him he swayed gently on his stand. Growing bolder she went further into the room and there she saw the dolls sitting straight backed in a row on a shoulder-high shelf – beautiful dolls, more beautiful than any she had ever seen, in her life before, dainty dolls with delicate china faces dressed in silk and lace. Shocked by her own daring yet quite unable to stop herself Sarah picked one up, stroking the fine hair and lifting the cream silk dress to reveal a pair of matching lace-edged drawers.

  ‘Oh – you are beautiful!’ she whispered. ‘ What is your name? Emily? Florence?’ They were the grandest names she could think of yet they were still not grand enough for this perfect aristocratic doll. Then she remembered the name of Mr Morse’s first wife. ‘Perhaps you are called Rose,’ she said.

  She had not heard the footsteps approaching in the corridor and when the voice came, shrill with outrage, she almost dropped the doll in shock.

  ‘What do you think you are doing? You have no right in here!’

  She spun round to see Alicia in the doorway. Her face was dark with anger, her eyes blazing fire.

  ‘Are these dolls yours?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Yes, they are mine. How dare you touch them!’ Alicia advanced towards Sarah snatching furiously for the doll and clutching it to her.

  Sarah quaked but stood her ground.