Elizabeth and Lily

by Hilary Bailey

  ‘Why can’t he do something else then?’ demanded Elizabeth.

  ‘He may have no choice. A child cannot understand the grown-up world, where men have to do what they can, not what they might want to do. In any case, he is probably hardened to the way his workers live. He probably thinks little of it.’

  Now Elizabeth looked up from her plate. ‘He wants to keep people as slaves,’ she stated.

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ her friend told her. ‘Men have many responsibilities, and sometimes they feel the only way they can fulfil them is by discipline, which sometimes seems like harshness.’

  Elizabeth, taking a sip of milk, looked at her shrewdly. ‘So you think he’s harsh?’ she demanded.

  Mrs Macfarlane was torn. If she said falsely that she regarded Robert Warren as a good man, she would only confirm Elizabeth in her view that she, Elizabeth, was mad, bad and ungrateful to rebel against her uncle. ‘Even adults make mistakes,’ was her cautious response. Elizabeth looked at her a little suspiciously and picked up her knife and fork.

  Too much more of life at the Warrens’ would damage her beyond redemption, Mrs Macfarlane thought. The best of natures could be ruined by a constant diet of bullying, reproach, pettiness and anger. She resolved instantly to ask the Warrens if Elizabeth could come and live with her, but suspected they would refuse. If Elizabeth were living across the road from her own family, the neighbourhood might suspect there had been disagreement in the home. The Warrens would never permit this. They liked to hold their heads up among their neighbours. Robert Warren had ambitions. Still, she thought, she could try. In the meantime, she was uncertain what to do next. While she didn’t want to send the child home to a certain beating, she couldn’t leave Bella anxiously wondering where her daughter was. In the end, Elizabeth solved the dilemma herself by rising and confessing that she had procured a door key from the hall table as she’d crept out. She would try to get in unobserved and go back to her room. In the hall, she kissed Mrs Macfarlane and said, ‘Thank you.’

  Mrs Macfarlane watched anxiously from behind her curtains as Elizabeth slipped in through the front door opposite. She could not tell if Elizabeth’s return had been detected or not until the girl appeared at the landing window on the first floor, lifted the curtain a little and waved at her invisible figure behind her own curtains, then rapidly disappeared.

  Mrs Macfarlane bided her time for a few days, then sent her servant across the road with a note asking for an interview, on a serious matter, with Mr Warren and Mrs Armitage. She would have preferred to speak to Bella Armitage alone, but she was only Elizabeth’s mother, while Robert Warren was undoubtedly her legal guardian. He would be annoyed if left out of any discussion of her future, and as guardian, he had the power to decide her fate.

  They met after supper at eight, at the Warrens’ house. The girls were sent upstairs to bed, Elizabeth leaving the room with a very doubtful look at Mrs Macfarlane, suspecting betrayal. Mrs Macfarlane again reflected how easy it was permanently to destroy trust in a young person.

  Harriet and Robert smiled and were hospitable. Bella took her cue and offered Madeira. Mrs Macfarlane, who followed her late husband’s principle that a tot of whisky – though only one – before a difficult encounter was often a good idea, refused the sticky wine. An almost imperceptible relief greeted this announcement. She concluded that the family was either poorer, or meaner, than she’d thought, and took heart. Whether through poverty or meanness they might be keen to relieve themselves of the expense of a growing girl. She put her proposal plainly, but with tact, saying that, as the family knew, she was very fond of Elizabeth, always enjoyed her company. She herself was getting older, and it would be very pleasant for her to have near her a young woman she greatly liked, to ease her loneliness and help her a little as time went by. Would Mr and Mrs Warren and Mrs Armitage be kind enough to let Elizabeth live with her? It might seem a rather startling suggestion, but, after all, she lived very near, and the family relationship would easily be maintained. Needless to say, if the arrangement proved unsatisfactory, it need not continue.

  As she spoke, Bella Armitage’s face brightened, fell into doubt, brightened again. She could barely restrain herself from interrupting Mrs Macfarlane as she spoke. The moment she had finished, Bella clasped her hands together and, perhaps to the surprise of both Warrens, declared enthusiastically, ‘Oh yes. What a wonderful thought. How kind. How kind you are, Mrs Macfarlane.’

  Mrs Macfarlane smiled, but thought, Bella – you’re a goose. Can’t you see that if any thought pleasing to you is uttered, it will be suspected instantly by your brother and sister-in-law?

  Harriet’s face remained still. As Mrs Macfarlane had spoken she had glanced often at her husband. He, an expression of polite attention on his face – Mrs Macfarlane thought it boded no good – heard her out, heard out Bella’s explosion ofjoy, allowed Bella’s face to turn to him, hoping that he would approve, fearing he would not; then looked at his sister gravely, turned his eyes to Mrs Macfarlane, and addressed her in a sober, measured tone, under which Mrs Macfarlane instantly caught an underlying note of triumph.

  ‘I am more grateful than I can say for your expressions of regard for my niece, and for your very kind offer, but, regrettably, we already have plans for Elizabeth.’

  ‘You plan to send her away to school,’ said Mrs Macfarlane flatly. This must be the reason for Bella’s enthusiasm about the idea of Elizabeth living across the road.

  Robert Warren could not prevent a resentful look at her, but hid it quickly and replied in the same cordial tone, ‘We do indeed. Elizabeth is a clever girl and of course will need to earn her own living. Mrs Hamilton’s school is an excellent place, but perhaps more suited to educating girls who expect to lead a more – how can I put it? – a more female existence. That is to say, girls who require graces rather than professional or practical skills.’

  Mrs Macfarlane looked at Bella, whose excitement had faded. But she had no choice but to say, ‘Well then, I’m sorry, for my own sake, that that’s your decision. But I’m sure the plan will be excellent for Elizabeth.’

  ‘It will be. We’re convinced of it,’ Harriet said. ‘But I wonder, would you be good enough not to mention your plan to Elizabeth? It could be most unsettling. Hers is such a difficult age for a girl, don’t you agree?’

  Mrs Macfarlane agreed. She looked at Bella, quiet and despondent; at Robert Warren, smiling; at Harriet, a plump pigeon with a worm. She left after a few minutes, worried, angry and baffled. As she walked back to her own house, she raged: so they’re packing Elizabeth off to get her out of the way, breaking her mother’s heart. They must be very angry with her to be prepared to go to the expense of sending her to school. She did not know – nor did Elizabeth, nor had anyone reminded Bella – that Henry Armitage had, when Elizabeth was born, insured his life in her favour. Moreover, Amy Warren had left money to her daughter and granddaughter. These sums were administered and controlled by Robert Warren. The money for Elizabeth’s fees came from this source. Mountview Grange, up on the west side of the Pennines, was not, after all, a particularly expensive school.

  Chapter Ten

  Harriet Warren was the only person at Euston to see Elizabeth off. Bella, prostrated with tears, was, it had been declared, too unwell to come to the station. The Warrens feared a public scene. Frannie and Cora had already gone back to Ferndene Hall after the holidays

  In the hansom cab they took from Linden Grove to the station, Harriet had chatted pleasantly. ‘The company of the other girls will be so nice,’ she had said. ‘You’ll soon settle in and begin to enjoy yourself.’ And, ‘Just think, Christmas is only four months away.’

  To all this Elizabeth said only, ‘Yes, Aunt Harriet, I expect so.’ And, ‘Yes, Aunt Harriet.’

  She knew quite well that the place so rapidly secured for her at Mountview Grange was a punishment. She was being sent to a girls’ prison for criticising her uncle. She felt, now, very guilty about her mother.
Bella had been dreadfully upset about her going. Apart from her natural affection, Elizabeth knew, without precisely defining it to herself, that she was Bella’s only ally in the household. Without her Bella would sink further into the position of a near-servant, a poor relative, about whom no one cared. Elizabeth was filled with guilt: she had, after all, precipitated this crisis. She was also apprehensive about the place she was going to. She barely heard Harriet. In any case, over the years she had learned to block out her aunt’s soft words, a liberal stream of honey often poured out to make sour facts seem more acceptable. When Harriet’s conversation took on this tone Elizabeth often felt a little sick and had to stop listening.

  ‘And you’ll learn so much which will be of value to you. I envy you in some ways – you’re going to become a really useful woman.’

  ‘I hope so, Aunt Harriet,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘You must work hard,’ her aunt told her, ‘to repay your uncle for what he is spending.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Harriet,’ responded Elizabeth

  At Euston the porter was told to put Elizabeth’s trunk on the Carlisle train, while Harriet found out which platform the train was going from and detected, from a grave air and black coat, skirt and felt hat, a possible teacher.

  ‘Miss Berisford?’ she enquired.

  ‘Mrs Armitage,’ the woman confirmed.

  Harriet explained briskly that she was not Elizabeth’s mother, who was an invalid, one of the reasons why she was being sent away to school. Elizabeth meanwhile took in the two girls in green uniform standing next to Miss Berisford. One was short, with a great deal of cropped, curly hair under her school hat; the other taller, with a melancholy expression. She wore her dark hair in a long plait.

  Miss Berisford smiled a somewhat shy smile at Harriet. ‘We will do our best to take care of your niece,’ she said reassuringly.

  Harriet, in no need of reassurance, answered, ‘But of course you will.’ Then, kissing Elizabeth, she said rapidly, ‘Write to your mother, now. Do not forget.’ And explaining to Miss Berisford that, owing to family commitments, she could not stay to see Elizabeth off, she departed.

  Elizabeth was mortified by her aunt’s brusque and condescending manner towards Miss Berisford. She thought the other girls would note this and despise her. Nor did she want to start off on the wrong footing with a teacher at the school. However, Miss Berisford showed no sign of offence and said merely, ‘Welcome, Elizabeth. This young lady is Diana Wynn-Roberts, and this monkey’ – and she pushed the short-haired girl’s hat further down on her head – ‘is Emily Preston. We have half an hour before the train leaves, so I suggest we go to the buffet for some refreshment before the journey. We will have lunch on the train.’

  In the station buffet the girls were shy in the presence of a teacher. Elizabeth, in particular, was not keen to speak until spoken to. The two girls, who evidently knew the routine, asked for buns and milk; Elizabeth, to be like the others, asked for the same thing. Miss Berisford had a pot of coffee.

  ‘Did you enjoy your holidays, girls?’ asked Miss Berisford. ‘I think you said you were going to Wales, Diana?’

  ‘We went to stay with my grandmother, near Camarthen,’ Diana said. ‘It was most enjoyable.’ She added, with some trepidation, ‘Did you enjoy your own holiday, Miss Berisford?’

  ‘I spent much of it at the school,’ Miss Berisford said, ‘preparing for the coming term, but managed a short walking holiday in Switzerland with an old friend from college.’

  ‘More mountains,’ said Emily, rather daringly. ‘I should think after Mountview you might have seen enough snowy peaks.’

  Miss Berisford smiled. ‘Really, Emily, Elizabeth will think the school is perpetually snow-bound. But I admit I’m very much in favour of mountain air. It’s pure and healthy, good for body and soul alike. For myself,’ she said, looking round the crowded restaurant, ‘I can hardly wait to leave London.’

  Elizabeth felt the reverse, but said nothing.

  ‘And where did you go, Emily?’ asked Miss Berisford.

  ‘I was going to spend the holiday with my parents,’ Emily said. ‘But my father has been so busy they couldn’t get here in time. So I stayed with my aunt in Guildford instead.’ She spoke without enthusiasm.

  ‘What a pity. And you, Elizabeth. Did you go anywhere interesting?’

  Elizabeth shook her head, pushing away the memory of the factory in Cork Street, though she could not help wondering what had happened to the girl who had stood on the workbench. She wanted to reply, but could think of nothing to say.

  ‘Well,’ Miss Berisford said encouragingly, ‘living in London is a holiday in itself. There’s so much to see and do in a large city.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Elizabeth. Again, she could think of no further comment to make. However, fearing Miss Berisford and the other girls would think she was a fool, she forced herself to say, ‘Yes, there are theatres and museums – and things.’ Then she stopped.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Miss Berisford said. Mercifully she glanced at her watch. ‘Well, I expect we should go to the train now.’

  On the long journey north, matters improved a little. Diana Wynn-Roberts knitted a coat for her sister’s coming baby. The girls chatted, Miss Berisford read. Elizabeth found out – little had been told her at home – that there were two hundred pupils at Mountview School, though only about half of them were boarders, the rest being girls who came in from surrounding areas. Half the boarders went home at weekends. The school had begun as a farmhouse, been rebuilt in the eighteenth century, extended in the nineteenth and then become a school. There were four dormitories, a dining room, six classrooms and a room specially for the teaching of needlework and cookery. The school prided itself, Miss Berisford said, on turning out girls both educated and capable of running their own homes properly.

  When Miss Berisford went out of the carriage, Emily said to Elizabeth, ‘You’ll probably be with me in the Green dorm. It’s the coldest dormitory at Mountview, and that’s saying something, let me tell you. I hope you’ve brought thick combinations.’ Diana Wynn-Roberts looked a little shocked at this mention of underwear.

  Elizabeth said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Prepare to wear two pairs at the same time,’ advised Emily. ‘You’re not allowed, but we do.’

  The journey took seven hours. By the time they descended in the brisk air at Lancaster station, Miss Berisford had lost some of her vigour, Diana had fallen silent, and only Emily still seemed fresh. Elizabeth, who had lain awake almost all night, her trunk ready in the hall, her new uniform laid out on the chest of drawers ready for the morning, was very tired. In the cab which met them at Lancaster she was quite dazed. The journey seemed to go on for hours, up hill and down dale, the sun setting over fields and woods turning gold and brown as they travelled. Her eyes had in fact shut when Emily nudged her in the ribs and said, ‘Home and dry.’

  She opened her eyes. They were going down a narrow road, into the setting sun. Ahead lay a vast range of long slopes, dotted with sheep, covered with outcrops of white rock. These slopes rose up to the vast ridges of mountains. On either side of the road were bumpy fields. ‘Sheep and stones,’ Emily pointed out. ‘You’ll see a lot of them.’

  ‘I sometimes feel,’ said Miss Berisford, ‘that this must be one of the most beautiful parts of England. Wild, perhaps, but beautiful.’

  The air coming through the windows of the cab was fresh and chill. Shadows lay over the slopes of the mountains. Elizabeth stared, and a little hope began to mingle with the apprehension she had lived with ever since she had been told she was going away to school. Perhaps this new life was not going to be quite as bad as she had imagined.

  The land to one side of the carriage was rising steeply. Elizabeth saw through the window a darkening landscape of hills covered in long, tufted grass. One more bend and the carriage went through a gate, down a short driveway with a garden to the left, and drew up in front of what looked like a very large house, with lighted windows. The f
ront door immediately opened. The headmistress, Miss Josephine Tully, a short, plump woman in her fifties with a grey bun, came towards the carriage. Meanwhile, Miss Berisford had opened the door and stepped out. They stood together, tall, thin Miss Berisford, and short, plump Miss Tully, as the girls got out. Diana and Emily dropped curtseys to the headmistress, who barely acknowledged them. Her small, sharp eyes were on Elizabeth. ‘Welcome to Mountview, Elizabeth,’ she said. ‘I hope you will be happy here.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Cunningham’s Music Rooms was actually a wooden structure some thirty feet long which Jack Cunningham, the landlord, had had built on the back of the Rose and Crown, in what had formerly been the yard. There was a small stage, curtains which had to be pulled by hand and, in front, tables and chairs for the customers. Other houses backed on to this entertainment hall, and there were further houses on either side. The neighbours frequently complained about the laughter, the singing and occasionally the shouts emanating from Cunningham’s at night, but no one could do anything about it. Music rooms attached to pubs had begun to lose popularity as the large theatres were built, but they still existed. Jack Cunningham’s was one, and it remained profitable. It was to this wooden-floored room, bare but for the tables, hot and smelling of beer, that Lily ran with a clatter of boots. She found Cunningham standing on a chair, renewing the glass of a gas mantle. She pulled up short.

  Cunningham, over six feet tall, was a powerfully built man with jet-black hair and a big black moustache. He wore size thirteen shoes. He enhanced his imposing appearance with flashy waistcoats, across which always stretched a heavy gold watchchain. His wife, as she was known, was a small woman, harshly treated by Cunningham, always very plainly dressed and a devout Baptist. They had one son. It was said, though not in jack’s hearing, that the authentic Mrs Jack Cunningham was alive, well and rearing his three other children in Devonport.