He reached for her hand but his did not tremble; his eyes saw her and there was pleasure but not eagerness. He led her to the floor and they danced. The orchestra was raised on a platform edged with palms and played without a break, and his voice was low as he told her of Lady Banyon and her Pekinese which ran amok and bit the Bishop who screamed, Oh God, but it did no good. He leant back and laughed with her and told her how lovely she looked in white and how beautiful he found the embroidery about the neck. And all the time she thought how strange it was to have a man so close, to have his breath on her hair, her cheek, to have his arm around her and his hand holding hers. She was glad of her gloves lying between their two skins as she dipped and whirled. Supper was laid out in the ante-room off the ballroom and Arthur escorted her, though she saw his brother shake his head and nod towards a girl in a pale blue dress.
Hannah hesitated and said, ‘Please, do go, Arthur, I shall be quite all right. I shall find Harry.’
He shook his head. ‘Good Lord, my dear girl. My best friend’s sister and the belle of the ball is entitled to the most handsome man in the room.’
They sat at one of the small tables, set in formal rows, and his arm lay around the back of the gilt chair that he was saving for Harry. A waiter brought pink champagne and it was cool and the bubbles splashed fine spray on her face. She drank it as Arthur laughed and handed her another. Heavy mirrors hung from white walls catching at men and women, reflecting their smiles, their gloss, before releasing them into the room again. Music still played, but quietly now.
The footman brought a silver bucket and pushed a champagne bottle deep into the crushed ice. The candelabra on their table made her hotter still. The music had swollen to fill the room, the murmur of voices crowded too close. She wanted to dip her hands into the ice, gather up crisp, cold, moist crystals and bury her face in it until the heat was gone. But then she felt the weight of her fan. She had forgotten it, its cream satin, its cool ivory, and now she held it so that its cool draught fanned her face, her shoulders, her body, and became the breeze of the moors and the music, the cry of the gulls.
‘Here they are, at last,’ Arthur said and his voice wrenched her back to Harry, to Esther and the room which seemed quieter now, cooler, and she noticed that all the windows had been opened and the long satin drapes were moving in the wind.
‘The heat of the day is turning to rain,’ Harry said as they sat down. ‘Do you remember the storm last summer?’ he said and looked across at Hannah, who nodded, surprised, and more than that, pleased that he had drawn her across to him.
Then Esther laid her hand on his arm, drawing his attention back to her and Hannah’s reply, ‘Yes, I shall never forget it,’ went unnoticed by her brother.
But Arthur was there to lean forward and ask, ‘Quite some storm then, was it, Hannah?’
She was grateful for the ease with which he caught the awkward moment and led her away from Harry’s dismissal. She smiled at him and nodded.
‘A great deal happened that day,’ she murmured and did not respond to his look of enquiry because it was her memory alone, hers and Joe’s and was clutched deep inside her mind.
Footmen brought lobster on silver trays held high above their shoulders until they swooped low to serve their table. Harry and Arthur cracked the claws with heavy silver crushers, leaning over to do so; brushing close so that Esther giggled and leant in, forward, closer still to Harry, whose colour rose and whose hands trembled again. Hannah sat quite still, watching as Arthur’s pale fine hands neatly exerted just enough pressure to break the red glistening shells, but not enough to crush and spoil the white flecked meat. Jagged red now lay against white and Hannah smiled and lifted a segment to her mouth. It was moist and fresh.
‘Brought up yesterday from the coast,’ Arthur said, taking some himself. A piece fell from his fork but he caught it with his other hand before it could reach the table.
‘Well caught, that man,’ called Harry, lifting his champagne glass to his lips and smiling across.
Arthur bowed and Hannah laughed, the warmth of her gratitude still present, hearing, as though from a distance, the thud of willow on leather, seeing Harry on the school green so many years ago now. Had Arthur been there too, his whites sharp against the grounds, his hands pale against the red of the leather? She looked at him again as he sat back, beckoning the footman, asking for cherries to add to the champagne. There were beads of sweat on his forehead and the starch of his collar was not as stiff as it had been. And she felt a warmth rising in her body at his beauty. They ate strawberries with their cherries and champagne and she saw red against yellow; the yellow of the straw, the red of Joe’s strawberries. Arthur picked one up in his fingers and ate it, and then there was red against white. The music was gentle now but the curtains were billowing in the wind and the candles were flickering and it was too cool for her fan which she now laid down on the table and its cream was the colour of Arthur’s skin.
They danced again when they had poured the last of the champagne and the ice in the bucket was clouding and melting. Round and round they spun under the lights from the chandeliers, under the white and gold of the ceiling, past candelabras which wept white wax in streams against the silver. They passed mirrors and were caught together, white against black and she felt his leg against hers as he turned her and her hands were white against his for her gloves were on the table together with her fan, and her skin was against his, her dampness mingling with his, her laugh full and her body loose because this friend of Harry’s was so beautiful, so kind, so easy. It was as though the sun had found him and never left and Hannah wanted to stay here for ever, whirling round in the light and the music and the laughter which left no room for fear, or struggle, or pain, and which reminded her of something. But what? A white dress and blue bow hovered and was gone.
Harry stood on the steps as the carriage drew away, taking Esther from him and he waved again as her gloved hand disappeared. The storm was high now but he still stood under the portico, watching until he could no longer see the outline of the landau or hear the horses as they clattered out into the main thoroughfare. Arthur stood with him, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, the smoke snatched away by the wind, the tip glowing and burning fast, unaffected by the rain which could not reach them here but had caused the gutters to overrun and the cobbles to be lost under a film of water.
It was gone now, the carriage taking his love away, and he took the cigarette which Arthur offered from his gold case. He drew smoke deep into his lungs, feeling its heat before exhaling.
‘Hannah is …’ Arthur paused, dropping his cigarette and grinding it under his heel, his patent pumps gleaming in the light which still spilled from the wide glass doors. ‘Interesting,’ he continued. ‘You are lucky to have a sister like that. A girl who is quiet but laughs. A girl who thinks before she speaks. One who looks as though she would leave a fellow to live his own life; not interfere in his pleasures.’
Harry looked at him. Yes, his sister seemed to be all those things and had indeed laughed, though not with him, and he was relieved to think that in accepting her true role in life, as his father had written in his monthly letter, Hannah was happier. He wished now that he had spoken to her, listened to her, but with Esther so close nothing else had mattered. He looked in the direction that the carriage had taken and thought of Hannah in her white dress, slim and elegant, and remembered the blue sash of that other one, so long ago. Blue on white remembered so clearly from a time which seemed a thousand years ago. How very strange that the memory still refused to go. His cigarette was finished and he tossed it into the rain, watching as the glow died under the weight of the rain, and then, as he turned, he heard her laugh as she whirled on the rope beneath the horse-chestnut tree and saw her head hang back and her hair fall about her face.
‘Esther’s a beauty, Harry,’ Arthur said and Harry looked at him and nodded.
When he was with her there was warmth and laughter and excitement and he knew he cou
ld not bear to think of losing her too.
Arthur took his arm. ‘Let’s move back inside, shall we? We have to be back at school tomorrow, old boy.’
Harry nodded. ‘You’re lucky to be so bloody rich, Arthur, to be someone of consequence.’
They moved through the hall and climbed the sweeping stairs. Arthur punched him lightly on the arm. ‘Gets a bit repressive though, you know. It’s my parents, you see. They expect exemplary behaviour at all times and I’m not like that, as you know. How can a fellow sow wild oats or throw a few dice with them watching and hauling me in all the time? What I need is some sensible girl who’ll leave me to run with the hounds, as it were, but who will be there for the parents to approve of as a steadying influence. Someone who doesn’t care too much about me for I will never be able to put all my affections in just one area. D’you get my drift, old fellow?’ Harry nodded, though he was not really listening. He was still thinking of money and how it made things possible. ‘You’re still lucky,’ he insisted, ‘to have all of this around you and something to come your way in the end.’
At this Arthur laughed. ‘You’ll beat all of us, Harry, once you get out to the Rand. There’ll be diamonds and gold coming out of your ears, old boy, before you know where you are.’
Harry nodded, looking at the oil paintings as they passed, knowing that in order to keep Esther he would have to supply her with all this.
‘I just hope you’re right, Arthur,’ he replied.
Hannah and Esther spoke in whispers in the landau. Aunt Camilla was asleep, her head moving in tune with the carriage as it rolled round corners and bounced on rough, mud-heaped roads.
‘Such wealth, Hannah,’ Esther said, her eyes bright, her hair flattened by the cloak which Harry had pulled up to protect her from the rain.
Hannah nodded, thinking of the music, the feel of Arthur so close to her, the strangeness of it all, the light, the glitter, the laughter.
‘It’s all from mining and railways, you know,’ Esther continued. ‘And property of course. Big landowners too. We must try and arrange an invitation to the family seat.’ She gripped Hannah’s arm. ‘That is something you must encourage and I will organise Harry to do the same.’
Hannah sighed at the intrusion into her thoughts, then laughed. ‘For heaven’s sake, Esther, I might not see him again.’
‘Oh yes you will.’ Esther’s voice was determined and Hannah looked at her, seeing the tilt of her chin and the set of her mouth.
‘For my sake or for yours?’ she asked, watching her friend carefully. ‘If it’s that important why not chase him yourself?’ She felt the stirring of anger suddenly and wondered where it had leapt from and why.
Esther slumped back against the seat. ‘I don’t want to marry a second son, darling. There’s no future in that.’
Hannah laughed, relieved that Esther was merely joking, for she was, wasn’t she? Camilla stirred.
‘Well, I’m not sure that Father would have much to leave Harry,’ Hannah said, her eyes intent.
Esther looked round at her, her eyebrows raised. ‘Arthur said Harry will do very well in South Africa. He introduced us to his neighbour, the gold mine owner. He has more money than Arthur’s family will ever have.’ And though she was smiling Hannah saw that the blue wide eyes were, for a moment, devoid of humour and a silence hung between them, disturbed only as the carriage turned into her crescent and lurched on mud, the horses losing their nerve and shying, throwing Hannah on to Esther and causing Camilla to wake and shout at the driver to be more careful, foolish man.
Hannah looked from the window and saw that the lights were on throughout her house. She could not understand why and turned to Esther and then back again to the house and now she saw the black of the doctor’s trap standing stark outside the house, and there was nothing in her head now but her mother.
She leapt from the carriage before it had stopped; tearing from Camilla’s hands, which tried to hold her back; running in through the door, which was unlocked, and up the stairs, her skirt grasped in her hand so that she could take two at a time. There was no one there at the top of the stairs and she was shouting now. ‘Mother, Mother.’ And the noise was so loud that she wondered if she would ever stop hearing it inside her head.
Across the landing it was dark and she rushed to her mother’s door but it would not open. She turned the handle, hearing Camilla come up the stairs now, feeling her hands on her arms, pulling her back.
‘Mother,’ she called again and now the door opened and Beaky pushed her back and Hannah fought free from Camilla, hearing but not listening as she soothed and stroked, but Beaky still stood in front of the door, large and black and sour, saying nothing.
‘Get away from that door,’ Hannah said, suddenly quiet. ‘Get away from that door at once.’
Beaky did not move.
‘I said, get away from my mother’s door.’ And now she was not quiet but shouting.
‘Stop that noise, you silly child,’ Beaky said, her voice whiplike in its whisper.
But Hannah was tired of not shouting. ‘I will shout until you open that door.’ And her throat was sore and her hands were gripped into fists which beat the air. ‘I want to be with my mother.’ She would not ask if the baby was dead, if her mother was dead. She could not stand that pain. But now Beaky moved to one side and stood large with her arms crossed.
‘The baby died. Your mother is still alive, but only just. You were not here.’ With that she turned, walked to the chair under the high small window and sat, dark and brooding.
Camilla dropped her hands because Hannah stood still now and Esther, who was waiting at the head of the stairs, moved towards her, but she brushed her away and walked slowly into the room.
The nurse and the doctor were standing either side of the bed, not moving but just looking at the still form, which, in the lowered light of the oil lamp, was pale again, as pale as the sheets which were drawn up tight across her shoulders.
Hannah pushed past the white-draped cradle, knowing it was empty, ignoring the rocking which she had set in motion. It was heavy with heat in the room, heavy with the scent of lilac and illness. The curtains were drawn across the window, the fire was raging in the grate, the blankets were heavy on her mother’s body. She undid her cloak with one hand and let it fall to the floor behind her.
She did not acknowledge the doctor as he stepped back to allow her passage, but looked only at her mother, taking her hot limp hand, talking all the time, gently, quietly.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I shall never leave you again.’ The words kept coming, the same each time but there was no answer, no movement at all, only beads of sweat on her mother’s white forehead and Hannah threw to the floor the beaded net which covered the jug of water on the bedside table and tore strips off the white linen sheet, so immaculate, so orderly, pushing aside the doctor’s protests, tipping water over the linen which she now held, jagged with loose thread hanging.
As she placed it on her mother’s forehead she turned. ‘Open that window immediately.’
Neither nurse nor doctor moved. ‘Open that window immediately. I am responsible now that my mother is ill. Open it at once.’ She was not shouting. She would not shout in this room where her mother lay.
‘If you value the custom of this road, of Uncle Thomas, of any of this neighbourhood you will open that window.’
She was stripping back the blankets now, hurling them to the floor, and the doctor looked at her with eyes narrowed in affront. Hannah lifted the cloth from her mother’s forehead. The coolness was gone from it. She poured more water from the jug, too much this time so that it soaked her gloves, fell on to the bed. She sponged her mother’s hair, her neck, gently unbuttoning the heavy cotton bodice to the waist, sponging her breasts which were full and blue-veined with milk that would not be needed. There could be milk fever. She must keep them cool. And all the time she talked and soothed and nodded as she heard the curtains draw back.
‘Now open th
at window and leave it open until I tell you to close it.’ And the nurse looked at her, then at the doctor, who nodded. Hannah could hear the wind and the rain now, could feel the air dampen down the heat, and suck the lilac out into the dark night.
‘I shall be speaking to your father, Miss Hannah.’ The doctor’s voice was crisp and hard.
She did not turn, her eyes too busy with her mother. ‘No doubt you will but he is not here now, is he? At his club, is he? Away from all unpleasantness, all failure?’
She heard the gasp of the nurse, the rustle of offended cloth as the doctor turned sharply towards the door.
‘I will be waiting outside,’ he said, his voice cold.
‘Yes. I think that would be best.’ Hannah looked up, but not at him, at the nurse. ‘And would you please go and fetch cool water from the scullery and thank my aunt and cousin. Tell them that I am grateful for their kindness but that I will send to their house if I need them.’
As the nurse turned, she called her back. ‘And you are to allow the fire to die down, to go out. Do I make myself clear?’ She smiled now, as the nurse nodded. ‘And then perhaps you should sit in the chair over by the dresser and get some rest. There will be much for you to do tomorrow.’
For her mother was not going to die. She would not let that happen, would not allow all this love to be wasted. It couldn’t be allowed to just disappear.
The night was long. The storm reached its height before dawn, the thunder cracking and slashing and then her mother moved her lips and Hannah squeezed water from a clean cloth and watched it trickle into that parched mouth. She watched the pale lids open and her mother turn her head slightly, looking first at the hand which held hers and then up into Hannah’s face.
A Time for Courage Page 16
