Ruby Chadwick

by Anna King

  Dressed in the pink pinafore and white blouse, her newly-washed auburn hair was tied back from her forehead, leaving the rest of her abundant curls to fall softly around her shoulders. He smiled gently, taking in the loveliness of her. Coming to sit beside her, he asked kindly, ‘Is your leg paining you, Ruby?’ at the same time realising the stupidity of the question.

  ‘It is a bit, Father. Do you think the doctor at the hospital will give me some ointment to put on it, to make it better? I miss running with Bertie and Geo…’ Her words trailed off miserably as she realised she had let the cat out of the bag.

  Bernard watched her face fall, and turned his head away. He knew that the three of them played in the street whenever the opportunity presented itself, with Ruby often dressed in a pair of Bertie’s trousers as she raced up and down the dirty streets. He didn’t approve of their playtime activities, or of their companions, but what could he do? He could hardly forbid them to play outside, even though he was ever fearful of their picking up some dreadful disease from the manure-laden roads or their lice-ridden friends. As Daisy often pointed out when he raised an objection, children needed their playtime, needed to run and shout and let off steam. Oh, yes, he knew the situation full well, but could never openly condone it, nor could he in all fairness forbid them the streets, and so he turned a blind eye, thus preserving his authority. Maybe he should relent and let them attend school. There was nothing the children would like better, and it would ease the burden on Daisy. Slapping his hands on his knees, he stood up, the sudden movement causing Ruby to sway for a moment, her face troubled.

  Bernard saw the look and said, ‘We’ll say no more about your leisure time now. I’ve more important worries to think about at the moment. We’ll talk again at a later date.’

  Walking to his room, he came back with his morning coat draped over his arm, his shiny high hat in his hand. ‘I’ll help you down to the kitchen, and while you’re having your breakfast, I’ll be getting the horses saddled to the carriage.’ Already he was putting his coat on, ready to leave.

  ‘Well now, don’t you look a smart couple?’ Daisy beamed from the doorway, her smile hiding her anxiety. On either side of her stood Bertie and George, both rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Pushing them behind her, she said, ‘Go and have your wash, both of you. I’ve put warm water in your jug, and make a good job of it. I’ll be checking ears and necks after you’re dressed. Get along now.’

  Bertie came into the room, his eyes fixed firmly on Ruby’s face. ‘I want to say goodbye to Ruby,’ he said quietly, walking towards the bed.

  ‘Goodbye? Where do you think she’s going? On her holidays? She’ll be back this evening. Now go on, and get yourselves ready.’ She could hear her voice rising, and struggled to control the fear within her – the fear that was preventing her from accompanying Bernard. It wasn’t fear of meeting her father-in-law. No, it was the fear of walking through the hospital gates with Ruby and coming out without her. Stop it, stop it! she told herself fiercely, but her mind refused to stop working. Down on her knees, she began to button Ruby’s ankle-length black boots, careful not to hurt her, while her mind went back to the past.

  She remembered the Crimean War. Remembered a man who had returned from a place called Sebastopol. She remembered him sitting drinking tea in her mother’s kitchen while he told the story of the charge of the Light Brigade in Balaclava. Her father had sat rapt in silence listening to the man’s tales of heroism. He himself had been declared unfit for service because of his poor eyesight and weak chest, much to her mother’s relief. Daisy couldn’t remember the man’s name, or his face, but she could remember the man’s wooden leg and being chastised by her mother for staring at it.

  The man had laughed loudly, and pulled Daisy to his side, pointing to the artificial limb. Knocking his pipe against it, he had said cheerfully, ‘I’d like a penny for every three-legged table and chair in the country this day! Why, I’d never have to worry about money again.’ At Daisy’s bewildered look, he had explained that the common soldiers coming back from the war with an empty trouser-leg had had to improvise, and what better than a leg from an old table or chair?

  Daisy had fought a mixture of fascination and revulsion as she’d asked timidly, ‘Were you shot, sir?’

  The man had thrown back his head and let out another roar of laughter. ‘Why, bless you, child, nothing so grand. I was kicked by a horse!’

  Long after she had waved Bernard and Ruby off in the carriage and returned to the house, the words kept echoing in her mind. Words from long ago. ‘Why, bless you, child, nothing so grand. I was kicked by a horse!’

  ‘Kicked by a horse’

  ‘Kicked by a horse’

  ‘Kicked by a horse’

  Chapter Seven

  Ruby sat upright on the comfortable leather seat, her eyes darting from left to right, taking in the sights around her, the weakness that pervaded her body temporarily forgotten as she entered a different world. The greatest thrill was when they passed over London Bridge. Her mouth hung open as she stared at the huge expanse of the Thames, which seemed to stretch as far as her eyes could see. Soon they were entering Brixton, and again her eyes widened at the sight of the large villas partly obscured by the huge trees that lined the road. Opening her mouth wide, she breathed in the sweet-smelling air, and for the first time understood why her dad was so desperate to leave the East End. She understood, too, his concern about their playing in the dirty streets and mixing with the dirty urchins that hung around the pub waiting for their parents to come through the heavy doors and take them home. And if by chance the parents had a few pennies left and were in a good mood, the children would be sent to the fish-man that stood on the corner in all weathers to purchase a bag of jellied eels for their dinner. All too often the waiting children were rewarded for their diligence by a hard blow to the side of the head that would send them tumbling onto the cobblestones, while the mother or father stumbled off down the road without a backward glance. Ruby had often witnessed such scenes, and had been filled with a deep sadness.

  ‘Nearly there, Ruby. What do you think of Brixton? A far cry from the home I’ve provided for you, isn’t it?’ Unable to keep the bitterness from his voice, Bernard fell silent, not trusting himself to say any more.

  The familiar streets had evoked memories he had thought long buried. Images of himself as a young boy holding David’s hand as their little legs tried valiantly to keep up with their father on the weekly visit to morning service. The delicious roast dinner that had awaited them on their return, cooked by Hannah the housekeeper, who had tried to fill the place of their dead mother. Again the bitterness rose within him. Hannah had died at the grand old age of 81 more than six years ago, and if it had been left to his father or David to impart the news, Bernard would never have found out. It was by chance that a servant from one of the villas in the same road had wandered into the pub and, recognising Bernard, had brought him up to date about the happenings in the house he had once called home. He remembered his sadness at hearing of Hannah’s death, and then the anger at not being informed. Good God! Would it have killed his father or David to have written a short note and sent it by the penny post? He had been only five years old when his mother had died. Dim visions of a tall lady immaculately dressed, smelling of flowers, were the only recollections left to him of the woman who had given him life. Hannah he could remember clearly: a small plump woman with white curly hair kept in place by a sheer fine net. Her face always wearing a kindly smile, her arms ever open to the two small boys, she would pull them onto her ample lap as they buried their heads into her comforting breasts after their father had berated them for some small misdemeanour. The visions of days gone by caused a lump to settle in his throat and he was relieved when he reined in the horses outside 15, Acre Lane.

  Turning his head towards Ruby, seeing the beautiful young face before him, he felt the bitterness seep away, and vowed that whatever it took he would get his family out of the hell-hole in
which they lived. Coming back here, seeing the beauty of the street and the cleanliness that surrounded them, reinforced the goal he had set for them years ago. He no longer cared about a posh public house and hotel – that dream would never materialise – but he could try to get another pub in a nicer area, somewhere decent. Tonight he would talk it over with Daisy. As he looked at the large villa, he wondered if the solution he longed for lay within the house he would soon be entering for the first time in 14 years. Jumping nimbly down from the carriage, he tethered the reins to the iron railings in front of the villa, then walked round to where Ruby was sitting, her eyes still glued in front of her.

  ‘Do you think you can walk, Ruby?’ he enquired, and she replied by putting her arms out. Resting her hands on his shoulders, she then winced as he swung her to the ground, immediately lifting her leg to relieve the pressure on it.

  Bernard saw the look of pain cross her face and the small beads of perspiration on her forehead, and cursed himself for being such an obstinate fool. If his pride hadn’t prevented him from running to his father’s side as soon as he’d received David’s letter, if he hadn’t been so annoyed at the accident, so preoccupied with playing the big man, he would have taken Ruby to the hospital as soon as he had known about it. Pulling her close, he noticed her flushed face and hoped it was only a cold she was getting. Pray God the delay hadn’t caused any serious damage. Bending his head down, he said kindly, ‘Not long now, Ruby, unless you are feeling unwell. In that case we can drive straight to the hospital. We can always visit your grandfather another time when you’re feeling better.’

  ‘No, Father, I feel fine. Mother says I have a cold; that’s why I feel hot and shaky. I’ll be all right, honest!’

  Tucking her arm into his elbow, Bernard helped her up the path, coming to a stop outside the solid oak door. He lifted the brass handle and banged it down twice. While he waited, he straightened his back, then ran his finger nervously round the top of his tight collar, moving his head from side to side in an effort to calm himself.

  ‘Yes, sir, can I help you?’ The girl who stood in the doorway looked no older than Ruby, while her floor-length dress of dark navy, over which lay a white starched bib and apron, denoted her position as housemaid.

  ‘Mr Bernard Chadwick to see my father,’ Bernard answered in an unnaturally loud voice as he stepped into the hall, handing the girl his hat. Then, divesting Ruby of her thick red coat, he held it out for the girl to take.

  Her coat disposed of, Ruby stared at her surroundings, unable to believe her eyes. The carpet she was standing on was of a deep shade of red and so thick that her boots seemed to be sinking into the pile. The hall was bigger than the whole upstairs of their house, but what impressed her most was the curved stairwell that seemed to curl round and up to the very top of the house. This too was covered in the same rich carpet, and on the white and gold embossed walls hung small pictures in gold frames, the like of which she’d never seen before.

  ‘Bernard, how wonderful to see you!’ A dark-haired man was coming down the thick carpeted stairs, his pudgy hand, heavily laden with gold rings, holding the wooden banister, as he beamed down at them. Even to Ruby, at her tender years, the smile seemed false.

  Bernard moved towards his younger brother, taking the outstretched hand, noting his corpulent frame, and derived a childlike pleasure from the fact that he had run to fat.

  ‘And this must be your daughter? You must be very proud, Bernard. She’s beautiful.’

  Ruby blushed, and averted her gaze from her uncle’s pale, watery blue eyes. Why, he doesn’t look anything like Dad! she thought in surprise, disappointed at the first glimpse of him.

  Bernard fidgeted impatiently. He was eager to see his father and unable to return David’s show of enthusiasm. They had never been close, and he saw no reason for subterfuge at this late date. Clearing his throat, he released his hand, and said, ‘I would like to see Father, David. Where is he?’ Seeing the serious look that passed over David’s face, he felt his stomach lurch painfully. ‘I’m not too late, am I, David? He’s not dead?’ he asked fearfully. To have come this far for nothing would be more than he could bear.

  ‘No! Good heavens, no,’ David replied quickly. ‘But he’s very weak just now; his heart, you know. Dr Benson’s with him now. Good fellow, only the best for Father. But I don’t think he’ll last for much longer, that’s why I wrote to you. He knows, you see, or at least he suspects, and he wants to make his peace with you. Old age seems to have mellowed him, what!’

  Bernard looked with distaste at his brother. He showed not the slightest sadness at the thought of his father dying. In fact, his whole attitude spoke of indifference. He was saved from answering by the sudden appearance of Dr Benson.

  William Benson was a medium-sized man, his posture giving the lie to his 68 years. His silvery-white hair lay smoothly close to his head, and as he came down the stairs, a genuine smile upon seeing them caused his face to dissolve into a morass of wrinkles. But what impressed themselves most on Ruby were the twinkling blue eyes that seemed to laugh at her from behind the gold-rimmed pince-nez perched precariously on his nose.

  ‘Bernard, my dear fellow, it’s good to see you again,’ he exclaimed loudly, putting his hand out.

  ‘Dr Benson,’ Bernard answered stiffly, still unsure of himself. ‘I’m pleased that my father is receiving such good medical attention.’

  Dr Benson stood back as though to see him more clearly. His eyes flickered briefly to where David stood nervously behind Bernard, and noted the fact that he looked uncomfortable. ‘And well he might,’ he thought grimly. It was hard to believe he had been in attendance at the births of both these men. He suddenly felt very old. Turning back to Bernard, he pumped his hand vigorously. ‘I would very much like you to drop the title and call me “William”, Bernard. Yes, I’d like that very much indeed.’

  At the warmth of his tone, Bernard began to relax, a smile coming to his lips for the first time that day. Behind him, David stiffened, a dark hue spreading over his face. Clenching his fists by his sides he thought savagely, ‘Damn him!’

  Once, many years ago, fortified by port, he had made the mistake of crossing the borders of familiarity. Upon hearing David address him by his Christian name, Dr Benson had rebuked him sharply, and now here he was asking Bernard, whom he hadn’t seen for well over 14 years, to call him ‘William’. ‘Damn him to hell!’ That the affront had been deliberate, David had no doubt. It was yet another attempt to put him in his place. He was looking forward to the day when he would have the authority to boot him from the house, and that day wouldn’t be long now.

  ‘I’d like to see my father, Doctor, I mean William,’ Bernard said quietly.

  ‘Of course, of course, although I must warn you that you will find a marked change in him. But I supposed you will be expecting that.’ Extending his arm, Dr Benson gestured towards the stairs, his head slightly bowed.

  Straightening his shoulders, Bernard pulled at the front of his coat before walking forward, his steps steady as he mounted the stairs. As Ruby made to follow, she felt her arm grasped gently, and turning slightly, looked in surprise at the doctor standing by her side.

  ‘I think it would be best, Bernard, if you were to see your father alone. He is very ill, so I don’t want him upset or agitated in any way.’

  Bernard nodded curtly. Now he was here, he no longer felt the need for moral support. Anxious to see his father, he continued up the stairs, acutely aware of a sense of urgency. When he reached the landing, he stopped for a moment to collect his thoughts. Looking down, he saw Dr Benson leading Ruby towards the library, while of David there was no sign. Taking a deep breath, he knocked once on his father’s bedroom door, then, grasping the knob firmly, he opened it.

  He didn’t know what he had expected to see, but certainly not a frail old man propped up on a mountain of pillows. Bernard’s breath caught in his throat. He had never seen his father in bed before. All memories of him had been of a
proud stern man going about his business, always smartly dressed, his clothes immaculate. He had taken a great pride in his appearance.

  ‘Who is it? Is that you, William?’ the voice said querulously.

  Moving forward into the dimly-lit room, Bernard approached the four-poster bed and took a chair beside it. ‘It’s me, Father – Bernard,’ he answered, his voice husky with emotion.

  ‘Bernard?’ The name came out as a question. Then, in a stronger tone, he added, ‘You came, then. I didn’t think you would.’

  Bernard felt his earlier uneasiness return, and sitting upright, he said stiffly, ‘I can always go if I’m not welcome.’

  The sudden laugh made him jump.

  Pushing himself up on his pillows, Charles Chadwick studied his elder son. ‘Still on your high horse, eh, Bernard? You always were a stiff bugger.’ Seeing Bernard’s eyes widen in surprise, he went on, ‘Surprised at my language, are you? Well, things have changed since you saw me last, and no, I don’t want you to leave. I need to talk to you. But first open those blasted curtains. It’s like a tomb in here. I’m not dead yet.’

  Bernard rose hurriedly to do his father’s bidding. Pulling back the heavy velvet to let in the morning light, he took a moment to take in the situation. According to David’s letter and Dr Benson’s words, his father was supposedly at death’s door, but the last few minutes had given the lie to that. Turning from the window, he faced his father once more.