Later Robert suggested taking the children on the river for the afternoon. There were several steamboats which ran up and down the river to the outlying villages; it might be pleasant, he said, to take them down to Bishopthorpe to see the Palace. But Louisa was alarmed by the prospect of them all being seen together by some mutual acquaintance. On a day like this, she said, such trips were bound to be popular. Disappointed, Robert did not press the matter, and then was astonished when Edward said he might take the boys on his own, if he wished.
Dressed alike in sailor suits and straw boaters, with sturdy knees peeping from beneath short cotton trousers, Liam and Robin waved a cheerful farewell to the others at the garden gate. They linked hands with Robert, Robin skipping delightedly as far as the bridge, when he complained his legs ached and he had to be carried. Liam walked stoically on, like Livingstone seeking the source of the Nile.
There was a long queue of people waiting on King’s Staith for the pleasure steamer; with one look Robert deferred the idea, and almost before it had registered with the boys, hailed a cab and piled them into it. For a moment he considered swearing them to secrecy, sealing the pact with an ice-cream; then it dawned on him that they could hardly be expected to keep secrets at their age, but with the promise of an ice to divert them, might possibly forget a visit to a boring shop. They would not forget the cab ride, however. Bouncing with excitement, the two boys laughed all the way to the Mansion House and were most disappointed at having to alight.
At the top of Stonegate, the thirteenth-century facade of the Minster’s south transept stood white and gleaming in the sun, framed by a deep blue sky and the shadowed narrowness of the street before it.
‘Is that where we’re going?’ asked Liam. ‘To the Minster?’
‘Not today, but we will another time, if you wish.’ Fragments of a conversation about this place, years before, came back to him, and he said whimsically: ‘Imagine, hundreds and hundreds of years ago, Roman soldiers marched up here, where we’re walking now.’
The bright little face turned and looked up at him. ‘Like the ones in the Bible?’
Startled, for he had hardly expected Liam to know who the Romans were, Robert agreed, but when his son asked if they had marched to the Minster, like the ones from the Barracks on Military Sunday, Robert smiled and shook his head. ‘The soldiers we’re talking about were here an awful long time before the Minster was built. No, when they marched up here, they were going into their fort.’
‘I wish it was still here!’ Liam exclaimed. ‘Me and Robin could go and explore it.’
Robert laughed. ‘Well, perhaps it still is there – some of it, at least. But we’ll never see it, little man. It’s buried for ever beneath that great pile of stones!’
‘Someone might dig it up?’
‘I doubt it — they’d have to move the Minster first!’
While they walked, Robert was peering into deep, dark windows, for the names emblazoned on boards and painted on stucco meant nothing to him. The shop he wanted was on a corner a little way up, a deeply-jettied medieval building abutting a neighbour with a straight Georgian face. The boys drew his attention to it, seeing before he did the ship’s figurehead bent beneath the upper story, thrusting the whole building forward, like the prow of a ship, into the street. The female figure tapered like a mermaid into the massive supporting beam.
Fascinated, full of questions, both Liam and Robin demanded to be picked up so they could touch the smooth wooden figure.
A female voice, old and quavery, startled them all. Sharply, the boys withdrew exploring fingers, and for a split-second even Robert thought the figure had spoken. Then came a peal of merry laughter, and a wizened face peered round the jamb of a deeply-shadowed doorway.
‘You want to know about my little mermaid?’ With a twinkle in her eye, the old lady set down her knitting, and, sure of her young audience’s awed attention, she said: ‘She came off a sailing-ship, she did, more than a hundred years ago. She’s crossed the oceans, faced storms and tempests, and been becalmed in the Coral Seas. She’s seen whales and sea-serpents, and defied all the monsters of the deep – she knows more than I’ll ever know, nor you too, young sirs, I shouldn’t wonder!’
Round-eyed, Liam whispered: ‘Is she really a mermaid?’
‘She is that.’
‘But how did she get here?’
For a second the old lady’s eyes widened and she lowered her voice; she seemed suddenly very young. ‘Nobody knows.’
‘Was it magic?’ whispered Liam, while his little brother stared in open-mouthed wonder.
‘Sure to be,’ she nodded.
Then she smiled at Robert and winked, and her face creased into a thousand tiny wrinkles. He coughed to hide his amusement; ordering a garden seat after that was something of an anti-climax.
There were samples of the wire-workers’ trade everywhere, but the old lady showed him the chair on which she had been sitting in the doorway, insisting he try it for comfort and strength. It looked too light and fragile, but it bore his weight easily. Impressed, Robert decided the size he wanted, placed his order, and gave the address to which it was to be delivered.
He was almost sure his sons were still too impressed to notice the purchase; once outside, his suspicions were confirmed.
‘Was she a witch?’ Liam asked in hollow tones.
‘Of course not – just an old lady.’
‘I think she’s a witch.’
‘Yes,’ Robin confirmed. ‘A witch.’
Afraid they might have nightmares, Robert relented. ‘Well, all right then, but a nice witch. A good witch, not a bad one.’
Satisfied with that, the two boys were ready for the boat trip and their promised ices.
Thirteen
Robert had dinner with them the next day, leaving to catch the late afternoon train for London. He would be spending the rest of the week at Headquarters in Hounslow, he said, before rejoining the main body of the regiment for field exercises on Salisbury Plain. Despite political uncertainty, summer’s manoeuvres promised to be too intense to allow for much leave of absence; but he would see them again as soon as he could.
Louisa’s eyes were troubled as she watched his tall figure receding beneath the trees. ‘Do you think it will come to anything?’ she asked Edward.
‘Who knows? According to the papers, the government seems to be trying to play the situation down. But this Kruger fellow sounds such a hot-head, I don’t think he wants to listen.’ Edward squeezed her hand reassuringly. ‘If he does provoke a war, I can’t see it lasting long. A handful of farmers against a well-trained army? He doesn’t stand a chance!’
With a short, nervous laugh, Louisa agreed. ‘And our people out there have to be protected, I suppose. But still,’ she reflected, with a sudden shiver, ‘they were only farmers last time, weren’t they? Where was that place they beat us before?’
‘Majuba Hill,’ he said quietly, ‘but that must be twenty years ago.’ Trying to lighten the atmosphere, he forced a smile. ‘How on earth do you remember that? You were no more than a child.’
‘I was fourteen. And I do remember it.’ Hoisting the baby onto her hip, she turned and went into the house.
Torn between a need to reassure her and the desire to have Robert firmly occupied elsewhere and for a considerable time, Edward followed more slowly. But this visit had gone much better than the last, he thought; and amongst the Bainbridge anecdotes had emerged a nugget of first-hand information which explained much regarding the failure of Tempest’s as a business.
Edward had heard the gossip, of course, but, true to his principles, had refused to believe it; in this case however, sad though it was, ‘common knowledge’ was right: Arthur Bainbridge was a gambler, a heavy and compulsive one by Robert’s reckoning, and he must have seen enough of them to judge. So, thought Edward, either Arthur was spending the profits, or Rachel was honouring his debts; whichever way it was, no fortune was vast enough and no business strong enough to wi
thstand that particular vice for long. They were heading for bankruptcy, that much was certain, and, judging by his own increase in orders over the last few weeks, the word was out already.
‘I’ll make a point of seeing Dick tomorrow,’ he said to Louisa. ‘If things are as bad as they seem at Tempest’s, I don’t think he’ll hesitate over my offer.’
‘I should think he’ll be very relieved,’ she replied. ‘Jobs are not so plentiful these days.’
‘Nor are good workers,’ Edward grinned. ‘I’ll be getting a bargain if he agrees. And what’s more, I like him, we work well together. You can never be sure with a stranger.’
Louisa strolled out into the garden and sank thankfully into one of the recently-vacated chairs. Although the sun was well past the meridian, it was very close and hot, even in the shade. She let Tisha struggle down from her knee, and smiled as the child immediately held up her arms to Edward.
‘She’s tired.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ he said, ‘in this heat.’ Slipping off his linen jacket, Edward loosened his tie and sat down next to Louisa. He lifted the little girl onto his knee, quite unperturbed by the tiny fingers which explored his face as thoroughly as they did his waistcoat pockets. He let her listen to the ticking of his watch, secure in its silver casing; but, afraid the child might stab herself, removed his tiepin and handed it to Louisa.
‘Poor Rachel,’ she said musingly, her eyes on Tisha.
‘You can sympathize?’
‘Oh, yes. She was always so demanding, so much the child, you see. It was the moon she wanted, Edward – and sixpence to go with it. Money, clothes, romance – that’s what she thought she was getting when she ran off with poor Arthur. I don’t know who got the worst of the bargain though.’
The depth of compassion in her voice touched him. Rachel had been no friend to either of them, and he was sure her propensity for malice had blackened Louisa’s name in quarters which might otherwise have remained ignorant. In the present situation Louisa could have been forgiven for gloating; since Albert Tempest’s demise, however, that root of fear and loathing had withered and died, and her own suffering seemed to have killed any latent desire for revenge.
The exploration of his pockets had ceased. He glanced down at the golden head nodding against his chest; with thumb in mouth, Tisha was falling asleep. Easing her more comfortably against his arm, Edward leaned back, regarding Louisa through half-closed lids. After the inevitable tension of the last two days she looked tired but relaxed, lazily wafting the heavy air with a painted paper fan. With a faint sigh she unbuttoned the high neck of her broderie anglaise blouse and slowly pushed back the sleeves, revealing skin pale gold and freckled from hours spent gardening under an afternoon sun. Beautiful like a rose, Edward thought, seeing soft pink lips and cheeks and the damp little tendrils which framed her face like curling bronze leaves. He was suddenly flooded with love and contentment, felt he could have extended that moment for ever: the warmth of the sun and the child in his arms, scents of earth and grass and growing things, the boys’ light voices in the orchard, and Louisa, beautiful, embodying all of it.
As though she read his mind she looked at him, reached out her hand and touched his own. With a wistful smile she said, ‘I’m so glad I’ve got you.’
The next morning Edward sent a note round to his old apprentice and met him by arrangement in the saloon bar of a public house just off Walmgate. It was a rambling place full of tiny, low-ceilinged rooms, darkened like the varnish on paintings centuries old by decades of tobacco smoke and jostling shoulders. The food, like the beer, was good and reasonably priced, and Edward often took his midday meal in the dining room behind the main bar. After a glass of light ale, he stood Dick a hearty portion of the landlady’s speciality, smiling with benign satisfaction as he watched his young companion tucking into a steaming steak and kidney pudding.
Dick’s gratitude at the offer of a job was effusive, his sense of relief quite patent; he had, he said, been looking for another place for a while.
‘I’ve been thinking for weeks that it couldn’t last much longer — my job, at any rate. I mean, we’re running out of everything, and no fresh supplies coming in — we used the last of the gold-leaf a fortnight since.
I’ve just been waiting for Mrs B. to tell me that’s it. Every time she comes down, I think she’s going to say something, and she’s down nearly every day lately. Still,’ he shrugged, ‘the printing side seems all right — ticking over, at least.’
‘Yes, I think she’s clinging on to that,’ Edward agreed. ‘Although she’d have done better to let it all go — sell it – a year back.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry – it’s sad to see an old-established firm going to the wall. And I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you anything sooner, Dick. But I had my own affairs to straighten out, and I needed to be sure my business would stand another man’s wages.’
‘I’m glad you decided it could, Mr Elliott – I really am.’
Edward smiled. ‘Oh, yes, I’m certain now. The thing is – when can you start?’
‘I wish I could say tomorrow,’ the lad grinned, mopping up the last of his gravy with a thick slice of bread, ‘but it’ll have to be next week. I’ll have to give notice.’
‘Yes, of course. Do it right.’
As their plates were cleared, Edward glanced at his watch, asking whether Dick had time to see his workshop; after a moment’s hesitation he nodded, and the two men left by the pub’s back door, threading their way through the maze of alleys which led into Piccadilly.
‘I’d like to move,’ Edward confessed, ‘get a place more central to town. This place is cheap to rent, and handy for me living at Clementhorpe, but it’s out of the way for people who like to call in person. Not many will venture through this little lot,’ he laughed, indicating the squalid tenements and warehouses which backed onto the Foss. ‘Most come the long way round by the Castle – and it’s too far for some. But, who knows, perhaps the two of us can build things up, and maybe next year we’ll talk about a workshop in town.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Dick promised as the alley widened out into a cobbled street. ‘You can count on me, Mr Elliott.’
‘I’m sure I can, Dick,’ Edward murmured, the words falling away as he spotted Louisa waiting for him outside the workshop. She was rocking Tisha in the pram, while Robin was sitting on the step, drumming his heels in the dust.
Instantly he knew something was wrong; in his alarm he hastened his steps, forgetting the young man by his side.
‘Have you been waiting long?’ he asked, unlocking the door. ‘Yes, darling, hello,’ he said to Tisha, waving her arms and demanding his attention.
‘I’m afraid your father’s ill,’ Louisa said gently as they went inside. She handed him the telegraph message. ‘I thought I’d better open it — just in case...’
‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘Yes, you did quite right.’ He sat down, reading and rereading the few words sent from the vicarage by his father’s elderly housekeeper. A strange woman, he thought, and found himself ridiculously moved by her unexpected kindness in sending for him. ‘So she does know,’ he said, voicing the thought out loud. ‘I often wondered whether she did.’
‘What does she know?’ Louisa asked.
‘Who I am.’ He smiled.
Faced with the problem of having to leave his work and go to Lincolnshire, Edward was momentarily at a loss; it was Louisa who solved the problem for him. Calling Dick inside, she put the situation to him, and asked whether he could possibly take over there and then.
‘No, of course he can’t,’ Edward said.
Chewing his lip, the young man shook his head. ‘But there’s so little work for me to do at the moment,’ he offered, ‘I’m sure I could ask to do half time. I can’t see Mrs B. objecting to that — she won’t have to pay me so much. And I could start work here as soon as I finish there.’
‘And I could be here for a few hours each day,’ Louisa added. ‘To see to any en
quiries and do the paperwork. If you could show us the ropes, Edward — me this afternoon, and Dick this evening — you could get off to Lincoln in the morning.’
‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Dick said. ‘Show us both now. It’s not going to make much difference whether I go back to work this afternoon or not.’
Within a couple of hours, Louisa had grasped most of what she would be able to do, and, with a list of notes and instructions pinned above Edward’s desk for reference, she prepared to leave. Robin relinquished his paper and glue with a great show of reluctance, and Tisha cried piteously as Edward handed her back to her mother.
‘I’ll have your things all ready for you,’ Louisa said as they parted, ‘and a meal on the table at eight. Try not to be late. You’ll need a good night’s sleep.’
‘I’ll be home at eight,’ he promised with a smile. ‘Thanks, love.’
He watched them down the street and then went back inside. Dick was working steadily, as though he had been there for years; as he glanced round at Edward, however, there was a quirky little smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
‘Do you know something, Mr Elliott? I’d no idea you were a family man — no idea at all!’
‘Oh, yes,’ Edward said, after a slight hesitation. ‘I have been for a long time.’
Since his first visit to the vicarage six years before, Edward had returned several times as a guest. Each time he feared calls by wealthy parishioners or members of his father’s family; and try as he might, although they were also his own kin, Edward could never quite see it that way.
Without doubt, they were unaware of his existence, and every instinct warned Edward that should they meet, he would not be welcomed, either as relative or friend. So far his visits had been unmarred by any such embarrassment, but with his father as ill as he evidently was, the situation was ripe for change. He dreaded it, dreaded having to introduce himself, having to explain his presence in the house, or — God forbid! — at the bedside of a dying man.
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