Through Glass Eyes

by Margaret Muir

Lucy smiled, as she laid the breakfast cloth on the table. ‘I didn’t know you had a way with children.’

  ‘And I didn’t know you still had that old doll. I remember it vaguely from Loftholme Street. I seem to recollect you were fond of it.’

  ‘Yes! And you and Sam Swales were going to use it for Guy Fawkes.’

  ‘Was I really going to do that?’ James asked.

  Still stirring the porridge, Lucy smiled at her son.

  ‘After breakfast I’ll ride down to the police station. Sergeant Wilkey may have some news.’

  ‘Good news, I hope.’

  Alice wasn’t listening, she was brushing the tufts of brown hair bristling from the doll’s crown.

  ‘When I come back, I will find something to fix that,’ James said.

  The girl looked up at him expectantly, her large brown eyes following his every move. When he donned his coat and hat, she slid off the sofa. ‘Can I come with you, James?’ she begged, her tone faintly anxious.

  ‘No, you must stay here and look after Constance,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘Sergeant Wilkey said there have been no reports of missing persons. But he thought, because the accident happened on the moors’ road, it’s possible the pair were not from around these parts.’

  Lucy sighed. ‘So what will happen to Alice?’

  ‘The sergeant asked if she could stay with us a little longer. He said we might get a visit from the Welfare Board, but it’s just routine and you’re not to worry.’ James looked at his mother. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Just a little tired. I suppose I am missing Edward. I wish he was here now.’

  ‘Cheer up. Let me show you what I have,’ he said, pulling a small animal skin from his pocket. ‘It’s from a kid goat,’ he said.

  Lucy turned it over in her hands. The skin had been tanned and was soft and pliable, one surface was roughened like suede, the other covered in tight black curls.

  ‘I’ll cut a piece to fit the doll’s crown,’ James said, ‘then I’ll glue it on and it will give the doll a fine head of hair.’

  When Alice woke the following morning the doll, she had named Constance, was lying beside her. The sight of its new curly wig sent her dashing outside to find James to show him. But James had left for school already.

  Though Lucy spent the whole day talking with Alice and playing games, the girl was not content until James returned home. After dinner that evening, Lucy watched from the garden, as James led one of the horses around the meadow with Alice mounted on its back. She was sitting astride the big mare, a hunk of mane grasped in one hand and Constance gripped securely in the other.

  It was Thursday afternoon when the knock came at the door. Sergeant Wilkey was on the doorstep with a primly dressed lady of middle age.

  ‘Mrs Oldfield,’ the sergeant said. ‘This is Alice’s great-aunt, Miss Pugh.’

  Lucy knew the call was inevitable. As she ushered the visitors into the living room, she tried to smile.

  ‘Miss Pugh is from Ilkley,’ Sergeant Wilkey said. ‘She is the aunt of Alice’s father, the man who died on the moors.’

  Lucy expressed her sympathy and listened while the woman explained that she had been caring for Alice’s mother who had been heavily pregnant and poorly too.

  ‘Yellow skin and swelled ankles,’ said Miss Pugh, the stern expression on her face never faltering when she spoke. ‘Not well at all. Doctor recommended bed rest until the baby was born. Least I could do for my nephew was to look after his wife. I knew he couldn’t manage to see to her, what with work and the little one to mind, and her not being well and all.’

  Miss Pugh said her nephew rented a house in Horsforth, not far from Lucy. She also said she knew he’d planned to drive to Ilkley the weekend of the accident, but when he’d failed to arrive, she blamed it on the rain. Knowing he only had the open wagon, she presumed he’d decided to postpone the visit until the following week.

  ‘Never gave it a thought that anything might be wrong,’ the woman said.

  The sergeant added that when he spoke to Mr Pugh’s neighbours, they also hadn’t thought anything was amiss. They’d seen him leave in the wagon, but when he never got home that night, they thought he’d decided to stay with his sick wife.

  ‘Don’t know what would have become of the little lass if your boy hadn’t found her that afternoon,’ the sergeant said.

  The only good news from the whole wretched affair was that Miss Pugh had helped deliver a baby boy on the previous Tuesday. The infant was small and frail but the doctor thought he would survive. Unfortunately, Pansy, her niece was still far from well and the loss of her husband had been a setback to her recovery. Miss Pugh insisted the young mother and baby stay with her in Ilkley until they were fit enough to return home. But, for now, she was here with Sergeant Wilkey to collect her great-niece and take her back to Ilkley with her.

  Saying goodbye was not only difficult for Lucy, it was confusing for Alice. The little girl was fearful of the sergeant who spoke in a gruff voice and was extremely tall, even without his helmet. She was also wary of her great-aunt who carried herself stiffly, never smiled, and had a strange vacant look in her eyes.

  Not understanding what was happening or where she was to be taken, Alice clung to Lucy’s skirt. Her plaintive pleas upset Lucy. She had enjoyed having the little girl in the house but it was obvious that Alice must now return to her mother. ‘Take Constance with you,’ Lucy said. ‘You can look after her now.’

  Miss Pugh declined rather abruptly. ‘You’ve done enough already.’

  But Alice had the doll firmly secured in her arms and was not going to be parted from it.

  ‘Take it!’ Lucy insisted kindly. ‘The doll is yours now.’ Bobbing down beside Alice, Lucy whispered in her ear. ‘When you are back home and your mother is well, I will come and visit you.’

  ‘Can James come too?’ Alice asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  Sergeant Wilkey helped Miss Pugh into the trap and lifted Alice onto the seat beside her. As the rig rolled away, the little girl looked back and waved. She had the doll seated on her lap and her right arm was tightly clasped firmly around its waist.

  The house was quiet when James came home and for two days he said very little. In the evenings he would go riding for two or three hours, not returning until after dark. Though he never said it, Lucy knew he was missing Alice. But she was missing Alice also. And Edward. And now James, too.

  Edward’s letter was postmarked Bombay, India, 17 July 1911. It had taken two months to arrive. James read it aloud:

  My dear Lucy and James

  By the time this letter reaches you I hope to be at sea. Wainwright and Lydia have decided to return to England and I will be travelling with them. Currently I am attending to the legal matters regarding the sale of their Bombay house. As I know from experience it is not easy to sell property in India as fewer Britons are investing in substantial houses in this region. However, the house will be sold and as soon as soon as everything is settled we will book our passage.

  Although Lydia is slightly improved from when I first arrived, her general condition is poor and I feel her health is continuing to decline. She shakes constantly and is unable to hold her head or hands still and is now finding it difficult to eat.

  Wainwright is hoping to find a physician in England who will be able to help her and although the passage will be a strain, he feels it best to bring her home. Though I have not spoken at great length of my fears, his decision to leave India concerns me. They have lived in the tropics for most of their lives and I fear my brother-in-law has forgotten how cold English winters can be. However, he has taken my advice to live in the south. When we return, I will endeavour to find a house for them in Tunbridge Wells or on the coast. By that means they will be relatively close to the London hospitals and away from the cold of the north of England.

  I will contact you again briefly to advise the date of sailing but the next time you
will hear from me proper will be when we disembark in Southampton. Do not expect me back in Yorkshire immediately. I feel it is my duty to assist Wainwright and Lydia in purchasing a house and in attending to the legal matters for them. Wainwright was a fine officer, but I’m afraid he lacks a business brain. They have been good to me in the past and it is the least I can do.

  I miss the cottage and the countryside of England and, of course, I miss you, Lucy and James. I was intrigued to hear about the girl Alice, and the way she entered your lives. I trust a friendship will develop between the two families.

  If all goes well, Lydia and Wainwright will be settled by December but in any event, I intend, God willing, to be home in Horsforth to share Christmas with you.

  My good wishes to you both

  Your dear friend

  Edward

  Chapter 8

  Pansy

  When Lucy first visited Pansy at the house she rented in the village, she was appalled. It was a cold, damp and dingy building backing onto the railway line. Pansy was still far from well and, in Lucy’s opinion, she had returned from Ilkley and Miss Pugh’s care far too soon.

  Pansy was an anaemic-looking woman at the best of times, fine-boned with a sallow complexion and lank mouse-brown hair. She was softly spoken and sensitive and the loss of her husband in the accident had deeply affected her. Apart from being emotionally vulnerable, she was also very gullible, believing whatever stories were told to her. But despite the traumas she had suffered, she was a devoted mother with infinite patience with her two children. The Pughs were not locals and though they had lived in Horsforth for some years, it appeared to Lucy, that the young family had few friends.

  Lucy visited every day for six weeks, helping with the chores and minding Alice and the baby when Pansy needed to sleep. When Pansy’s health eventually improved, Lucy invited her to visit Honeysuckle Cottages, insisting that not only would the fresh air and exercise be good for her, but that the Sunday roast would ensure they all ate a good wholesome meal.

  After the first visit, the weekend outing became a regular event. Pansy would arrive at ten, exhausted after walking up the hill pushing the baby cart. Ten-year-old, Alice, however, was always full of life, excited to see James and looking forward to being taken for a ride on the horse.

  If the sun was out, while the pair was riding in the meadow, Pansy would perch on the back wall and gaze across to the far trees decked in autumn gold, or wander beneath the broad boughs of the chestnut tree to slide her feet through the piles of fallen leaves. Sometimes she would walk to the woods searching for mushrooms and Alice would race up the hill after her. When she caught up to her mother she would take her by the hand and lead her back to the cottage. Sinking exhausted into a chair, Pansy would quickly fall asleep, a contented smile on her face.

  James looked forward to the Pughs’ weekly visits. By November he didn’t ride during the week, because it was too dark by the time he got home from school. But on Sundays he would enjoy leading the horses around the meadow with Alice astride one of them. And when it was time for the family to leave, he would walk beside Pansy, carrying the baby in one arm and leading Goldie, with Alice perched proudly in the saddle. After seeing them safely home, he would ride back up the hill and out to the moors and not return until after the sun had gone down.

  Never once did Alice visit the cottages without the doll hooked tightly in the crook of her arm. Pansy said she could never discover why her daughter had called it, Constance, as the family knew no one of that name. By now Alice and the doll were inseparable.

  ‘She won’t let it out of her sight,’ she said. ‘She loved her father very much and used to go everywhere with him, but since the accident she has never mentioned him once. Now it’s the doll she clings to.’

  It promised to be a real family Christmas. Edward was coming home and Pansy and the two children had accepted the invitation to stay at the cottages until New Year’s Day. Getting everything ready for Christmas reminded Lucy of the preparations at Heaton Hall. Decorations to be made, cooking to be done, and everything cleaned and polished until it shone. She remembered the sounds of the carriages, the chatter of house guests, children’s parties and sumptuous banquets. Those were the good times before Miss Beatrice became sick.

  It was at the Hall that Lucy had learned how to weave holly into wreaths and now every year she collected a bundle of branches to make three wreaths, one for each of the cottage doors. This year had been a good season and the plump ripe berries glowed warmly against the waxy green foliage. The fruits on the mistletoe looked dull in comparison, but Lucy was happy, the sprig fastened over the front door would serve its purpose.

  James and Alice spent the Sunday before Christmas sitting on the floor amidst pages of Edward’s old newspapers, cutting lengths and gluing the pieces into paper chains. With Alice’s direction, James strung them around the walls, and hung them from one corner of the room to the other. Lucy picked fresh ivy and laid it in swirls on the mantelshelf. Despite the frosts it bore fresh shoots and green leaves. James potted a small fir tree in a square tin and stood it near the window and Lucy trimmed it with small ornaments and paper decorations.

  It was an exciting week. Edward arrived back in Leeds on the Monday and a piano arrived the following day. It was an upright, made in Germany, which had belonged to his sister Lydia. As her health had worsened and she had realized she would never play again, she had given it to Edward. It had travelled a long distance, from India to Southampton then on to Tunbridge Wells. From there it went by goods-train to Leeds where Edward met it and transported it home on the wagon he borrowed from Mr Fothergill, the local dairy farmer. When it eventually arrived at Honeysuckle Cottages, Edward announced the piano was to be installed in Lucy’s front room. Though she argued against it, he insisted. The piano was soon to become the centre of attraction.

  Edward proved he could play a little but his repertoire was limited. But whenever he played, Alice would stand beside him following his fingers. It was Edward’s hope that James would take lessons and with that in mind presented him with a box of sheet music which he had bought for sixpence at a market stall in Tunbridge Wells.

  It was after he had been playing on Christmas Eve, that Edward asked Alice to address him as Uncle Edward. He also insisted James call him, Edward or Ted, saying he had always hated being called Mr Carrington.

  Perhaps, Lucy thought, it made him feel old. When she looked at him closely she could see he had aged visibly in the twelve months he had been away. There were lines on his brow which had not been there before, and though he appeared relaxed and happy, he seemed constantly tired. Occasionally she noticed him looking pensive and attributed it to the worry over his sister’s health. She hoped his wearied look would pass when he had been home for a while.

  Apart from the joy Edward derived from watching the children, he also enjoyed the company of the two women. He teased them about the latest events happening in London telling them what damage ‘those wild independent women’, were causing. He spoke of speeches and protest rallies and placard-waving suffragettes marching through the streets. Lucy found his conversation exciting but Pansy appeared embarrassed by the actions of those bold females, preferring to talk about the seeds she had planted, or the lavender bags she had been making to sell at a local shop. Though she had only earned a few shillings from her enterprise, she was proud of her efforts and said the extra money helped.

  Squeezing everyone around the table for Christmas dinner was not easy. Edward carved the turkey and opened a bottle of wine which he had brought with him from the south. After lunch there were presents – a copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles for James, and for Lucy an embossed leather volume with blank pages to use as a diary. There was a teddy bear for little Timothy, a bar of scented soap for Pansy and an Indian doll dressed in a silk sari for Alice. The costume was exquisite – the gold threads running though the cloth glistened. It made the brown tunic which Lucy had made for Constance, look decidedly du
ll. Alice was delighted with Edward’s gift, but the old doll always retained its pride of place.

  After the presents had been passed around, the two families played charades, excusing Edward when he fell asleep. In the evening, they sang carols and no one noticed that the piano was slightly out of tune. It was one of the best Christmases Lucy could remember.

  Next morning, Alice asked Edward to play the piano for her and show her a few simple exercises. Her attentiveness surprised him. James, however, was less enthusiastic to learn. He was content to sit and watch. When he eventually became bored, he suggested they give the horses some exercise. Edward agreed it was a splendid idea.

  The weather was fine when they left the cottages, even a little sunshine filtering between the clouds, but before they returned home an icy wind, peppered with sleet, had blown up. Despite being warmly dressed, Edward suffered from the cold and when they got home he was stiff and sore. That was the last time James and Edward rode together.

  Because Pansy and the two children were staying with Lucy, Edward never broached his question about marriage. At times, Lucy wondered if she should say something to him about it, but decided it could wait until later.

  A telegram, delivered on the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, put a dampener on what would have otherwise been a happy evening. A freak spell of freezing weather had deposited a blanket of snow across the south of England. Edward’s brother-in-law, Wainwright, had slipped on the step and broken his hip, and his sister, Lydia, was suffering from regular bouts of severe depression. They needed his help urgently. Edward tried to hide his concern but Lucy knew he would not refuse their request for assistance. He regarded it as his duty.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘How long will you be gone?’

  ‘I cannot say.’

  Edward packed one bag and left on the midweek night-train to London. He said he had business to conduct in the City and intended to travel on to Tunbridge Wells two days later.