by Sharon Maas
‘Is Miss Cox, Ma’am!’
Mrs Stewart came bustling out, a wide smile stretched across her face. ‘Winnie! Oh, Winnie, dear! How lovely to see you! Emily will be delighted – she’ll be home for lunch in a minute! Have you come for the weekend?’ She looked around. ‘No luggage? Oh what a pity! Is this just a flying visit, then? But you will stay for luncheon, won’t you?’
‘I-I have a dentist appointment,’ I said. ‘At two. So I just thought I’d drop in and say hello.’
‘And you’re all on your own? Goodness, you are getting grown up! I thought your governess – what’s her name now – ah yes, Miss Wright – usually brought you girls down?’
‘Yes, when we have a check-up. But I had a toothache so I came down by myself, with the chauffeur. I’m quite old enough!’
‘Oh yes, I heard your dear Papa now had a motor car. How exciting for you! But do you mean to say you couldn’t get an emergency appointment right away? How dreadful of the receptionist! These people are really getting so uppity these days – why not try Dr Thompson, he’s our dentist and he’s …’
‘Winnie! Oh, how lovely to see you!’
Emily, a pigtailed girl in the New Amsterdam Girls’ School uniform, came flying into the gallery through the still open front door. I allowed her arms to fold me into a bear hug that was most definitely genuine.
Yes, I thought to myself. I can trust Emily. Definitely. No slyness required here.
‘The thing is,’ I said to Emily once we were alone. ‘The thing is, I’ve got a secret and I need you to know, but you’ve got to promise to keep it.’
We were up in her bedroom, where her mother insisted I change into one of Emily’s dresses; my travelling clothes were already limp with sweat, heat and dust. I should have thought of that and brought a change for town along with me; but one can’t think of everything. Now, though, I was glad I was here, in spite of the delay. It was good to have an ally.
‘Ooh, a secret!’ Emily knocked her knuckles, clenched her shoulders and giggled. ‘Go on! I won’t tell a soul!’
‘Promise?’
‘’Course I promise! Is it a love secret?’
I nodded.
‘Ooh! Really? Who is he? Do I know him? Go on, tell!’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t think you know him. But I can’t tell. Really I can’t. It’s someone Papa would never approve of and – well, that’s why it’s a secret.’
‘Oh, go on! I promise not to tell!’
‘No. It’s for your own protection. See, if you don’t know you don’t have to lie when it comes to the crunch. I don’t want you to lie for me. Lying is horrible! But this way, you can tell them everything you know and I’ll still be safe.’
‘You make it sound like a conspiracy! When it comes to the crunch – whatever do you mean by that?’ Emily had relaxed by now. She took my hands in hers and shuffled closer to me. We sat on her bed, on its edge, just as we were both on edge with the drama of it all. We lowered our voices to a whisper, though there was nobody listening. I leaned in closer yet.
‘I’m running away!’ I declared.
She immediately bounced back, letting go of my hands. ‘No! Not really! How? When?’
‘Today, and you’ve got to help me, cover for me. You know I said I’ve got a dentist’s appointment? Well, I haven’t. At least I have, but I’m not going to keep it. I’m going to take the ferry instead and then the train to Georgetown and I’m going to meet him there.’
‘Winnie! You don’t mean you’re eloping, do you? But you can’t! You’re far too young, you need your Papa’s permission, and there isn’t a Gretna Green in BG! You know that! You …’
‘Ssh! Not so loud!’ I looked around at the door. Emily’s voice had risen in her shock and I didn’t know who might be hovering outside. ‘No, I’m not eloping. But we need to talk, to be near each other, and – I need to tell him something important, and – I need to get away from Promised Land, from Papa. Oh Emily, my life is so topsy-turvy right now and I’ve just got to get away. He’s the only one I want to see, to be with. The only one.’ My voice trembled and rose with emotion, and my determination not to cry.
‘So that’s why you’re here!’ She leapt to her feet, and stood on the carpet facing me. ‘You’re just using me, so you can get to the only one you want to see? Well, thank you very much!’
I stood up too, took her hand, and drew her back to the bed. She let it happen but slipped her hand from mine. I was losing her.
‘Oh Emily, don’t be so silly! I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean I’m in love. You’ve been in love, a million times. You know what it’s like!’
‘Yes, but I didn’t ever run away to be with the boy!’
‘You didn’t have to because they were always in the compound in the school hols, and if he did go away, you knew he’d be back in the next hols.’
‘Wait a minute, it hasn’t been that often! There was just Edward McDonald, and – and Andrew Clark …’
‘And Percy Whippet, and …’
I held up my hand to count them off on my fingers. Emily fell in love every two or three weeks of the summer holidays, and each time it was forever. This had been going on since she was thirteen. Sometimes, her loves lasted a whole year, while the boy in question was at school in England. They would write each other fevered letters. Then he would return for the summer and she would fall in love with someone else.
‘Oh, all right! But even if they weren’t I would never run away. I never would. When I marry I want to do it properly with a big wedding and – oh Winnie! You’re not going to do it, are you?’
‘Yes, of course I am! I’ll be off to the ferry right after lunch!’
‘No, No.’ Giggling, through raised palms, she whispered: ‘It!’
‘What, it? Oh, you mean that. Well, no, of course not – don’t be silly!’
‘Oh.’ She sounded disappointed. ‘Well I suppose you don’t want a bairn yet.’
‘Goodness, Emily, just because I have to run away it doesn’t mean I’ve lost all my morals! I just need to run away because otherwise I won’t be able to see him again ever, and I haven’t told him I love him yet, and he needs to know; he thinks I don’t, so I just want to tell him.’
‘But has he told you he loves you?’
‘Yes! He loves me desperately! And I him! And I’m not like you, Emily. I won’t be over it in a few weeks and loving someone else. I’ve never loved anyone before. You know that. And when I do love it will be forever. Just one, and it’s him. For always!’
‘Oh Winnie! That’s so romantic!’
She clasped my hands again, closed her eyes. ‘So you’ll wait for each other? But what will you do in Georgetown? Why can’t you just tell him you love him, promise to wait for him, and he’ll promise too, and then go back home? Nobody will know the difference and then you can have a proper wedding and everything. I’ll help you run away but you’ve got to promise to come back.’
‘No. No, I can’t. It’s someone Papa would never approve of. Not ever.’
‘I wish you’d tell me who! Just give me a hint. Or let me guess. Someone your Papa wouldn’t approve of – but where did you meet him, then? Go on – just give me a little hint. A tiny hint. Where did you meet him?’
I thought for a moment, and decided to lay her a red herring. I couldn’t tell her about George. Not yet. She’d be far too shocked. But I had to stop her pestering me for clues. ‘At – at one of the big houses.’
‘Ah! Thank you. That’s a great help. So let me guess. You don’t have to say you told me because you didn’t, so I won’t have to lie but now it makes sense. He’s a Booker! Am I right? No, don’t answer because that would mean you told me. But how exciting! You, marrying a Booker! Your Papa will have a fit! I do understand now. If you marry a Booker that will be the end of Promised Land, won’t it? It will get swallowed up and won’t be in your family anymore and everyone knows how your Papa feels about that.’
‘Do they?’ Emily had be
en successfully diverted, and I wanted to keep it that way. Her believing George was a Booker would help keep the truth hidden – even if she did ever let it slip, it wouldn’t matter. So I let her talk, and guess around which Booker boy it might be – there were several to choose from, as he might not be a Booker in name but only from a Booker plantation – and kept my lips sealed from then on. No more lies were necessary. But before we went down to lunch I wrote a few lines of explanation to Miss Wright. I folded the letter, put it in an envelope, and handed it to Emily.
‘Give that to Poole when he comes to collect me on Sunday.’
After an excruciating lunch through which I struggled to keep up the small talk and an innocent face with Mrs Stewart, it was time for Emily to return to school and for me to catch the ferry. We left together, collecting my suitcase from the bushes on the way out.
Emily, still excited at being part of the conspiracy, skipped and danced along beside me as we made our way to the town centre; Pope Street was a leafy, shady boulevard not far from the town centre, and it was only a few minutes’ walk to the bustling main street; there, our ways parted. Emily pointed out the way to the ferry. We hugged.
‘Take care!’ she said. ‘And good luck.’
‘Thanks. I’ll need it. And Emily …’
‘Yes?’
‘Thanks so much. I’m so grateful for your help. I can’t even begin …’
‘It’s all right! I’m so glad you turned to me! I’ll keep your secret – and now we can be real friends, can’t we?’
I nodded. ‘Yes. We are. I’ll write to you as soon as I can.’
We hugged again, and parted. I stood for a while watching her she walked away. I was on my own. And not at all sure I was ready. For a brief moment I wanted to call out: ‘Come back! Take me with you! I can’t do this!’
But I didn’t. I pushed away the lump of panic rising through my being and strode off towards the wharf.
Mama’s Diary: Plantation Promised Land, British Guiana, 1895
Liebes Tagebuch,
I have developed what the English call a Stiff Upper Lip. Not literally of course, my lips are far too curved for that! But I am stalwart and stoic; Archie once called me his backbone, and that is how I define my role. I am the backbone of our life here. It is nothing but my faith that keeps me going, and I have faith because I love my husband and my daughters. All are thriving. I am thriving too, in my own way. If I am the backbone of the family, well then, music is my backbone, my strength! The house resonates with the sound of music! Alive with the sound of music! What joy I derive from music! I am determined to spread that joy, to place joy at the heart of my family. That is my role in this godforsaken place. I will NOT let it pull me down!
The children are well; Kathleen is beginning to talk and Winifred – we call her Winnie – to crawl.
But behind the music, life goes on, as monotonous as ever. I look forward for months to our visits to Georgetown, even though I am still not well accepted. It’s the same when we are invited to the neighbouring plantations, Dieu Merci and Glasgow. I am a misfit in this country. But I am strong, if silent; I am the backbone! I will conjure happiness into my family! As ever, I fill the house with music. The children love it! Winnie, though she is so small, definitely has a musical vein – she keeps the beat with her little waving hands! So sweet!
The only drop of wormwood is that Mr McInnes. I loathe him more than ever. I have the distinct impression he is poisoning my husband. Not literally, of course, but poisoning his mind. Archie is changing right under my nose. Sometimes I don’t understand him at all. He is becoming more and more like his mother. Where is that kindness and gallantry I so loved in him! But never mind. I love HIM, and he loves me, and I will fill this house with love and gaiety if it’s the last thing I do!
Chapter Fifteen
I had not imagined the crowds. In the past, whenever we had taken the ferry I had been with the family and one of the servants had bought the tickets for us and we had made our way with ease past the bustling, jostling horde making its way to the wharf – the hoi-polloi, as Papa called it. Market women with bundles on their heads, long men bent double under bulging sacks on their backs, families with bawling babies and everyone, it seemed, calling to each other at the tops of their voices. I asked an older woman, a plump darkie with a full-to-bursting bag in each hand, the way to the ticket office. She stared at me for a moment as in wonderment, and pointed with her chin.
‘That buildin’ over there!’ she said.
I joined what seemed to be a straggling queue four or five people wide. Everyone turned to stare as I came; then, as if waking from a trance, quickly looked away again. And, it soon became clear that they edged away at my coming. It was as if I had a contagious disease: me with my little suitcase in a bubble of air, melting the crowd as I came amongst them. Over the next half-hour I slowly inched forward with it. I turned left and right and tried to speak to people, but they only muttered a few words and turned away.
I approached one of the women standing nearby. ‘What time is the next ferry?’ I asked.
She shrugged and pointed to a blackboard on the building, on which some numbers were scribbled in chalk. ‘Two o’clock,’ she said. She wore a scarf brightly coloured in reds and yellows tied under her chin, and a blue dress with a faded flowery pattern. In her arms was a toddler of about two, and clinging to her hand a little girl who stared up at me unabashedly. Two suitcases stood at her feet. The woman stood to one side as if waiting for something or someone; and I was right, for almost as soon as she had spoken a man walked up, tickets fanned in his hand.
‘Come leh we go,’ he said, slipping the tickets into the breast pocket of his shirt. He bent to pick up the suitcases, then followed the woman’s gaze and saw me. He frowned.
‘Wha’ you want?’ he asked brusquely, and walked away, gesturing to his wife to follow. She flung me a half-smile and walked off behind him, dragging the little girl behind her, twisted backwards as she continued to stare at me.
After about twenty minutes I was at the ticket-office cage.
‘A ticket to Rosignol,’ I said with as much confidence as I could muster.
‘Single or return?’ The voice was listless, bored.
‘Single.’
‘First class?’
‘No! No.’
‘Second?’
‘No – do you have third? The cheapest. If not, second.’
‘One shillin’, Miss.’
I laid my suitcase on the ground, opened it, and removed the bag of coins swollen and heavy with ha’penny and penny bits. I stood up with the bag and emptied a handful of coins on to the counter.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I need to count a bit.’
‘Miss, you holdin’ up the line!’ said the cashier. ‘Why you don’t go ‘way and count out the fare and come back.’
‘Oh, please, please, no! I’m sorry – I didn’t think! It’s only twelve pence – I’ll be quick.’
I counted out six pennies and twelve ha’pennies, pushed them over to him. He handed me a ticket. I thanked him and took it. I slipped it into my skirt pocket and then moved away to let the next person forward. I crouched down to put the coin bag back in the suitcase, closed it, and then stood up. The people in the haphazard queue were staring at me with some distaste. I smiled at them, but no one smiled back.
‘I looked around. People were milling about everywhere. There was a donkey and a net full of chickens, and piles of plantains and coconuts, which men were packing into sacks. Chaos and noise, dust and heat. My head began to swirl. What was the time now? Would I make the two o’clock ferry? Again, panic rose in me. I couldn’t miss the ferry! According to the timetable the next boat after that was at four. If I took that boat I wouldn’t get a train till five, probably, and not arrive in Georgetown till seven. It would be dark. I’d have to go straight to the Park Hotel; but how would that look, a young girl, even one of my standing, arriving so late? I had to get to the ferry.
Hurrying forward, I finally arrived at the pale wooden planks of the wharf and to my great relief there stood the ferry. People were crossing the gangplank that led to its deck. I joined the queue and before long I found myself on board.
I had made the crossing many times before with the family, and always first class. I knew where the first-class lounge was but that was no use to me. I followed the line of people who had boarded with me and they took me to a large open area filled with wooden benches. The benches were crammed full. Indeed, there was no sitting space anywhere so I placed my suitcase on the ground and sat on that.
A few minutes later the steam engines began to rumble and the crew and wharf workers began to shout and the boat moved away from the dock. I ought to have been feeling elation, joy, relief by this time; not this nibbling anxiety! I had escaped! I was leaving the Courantyne! Crossing the Berbice River into the County of Demerara, and on my own! There was no going back! I was well and truly on my way to George.
I used the time spent crossing the river counting my coins into shillings and tying the little piles up into the corners of my cotton shawl. I did not want to repeat the embarrassment of counting ha’pennies before a crowd of impatient passengers at the train station. It was bad enough, when the time came, that the ticket seller had to re-count the heap of coins I shoved at him for the fare to Georgetown, but at last I had my ticket in my hand. I passed the turnstile, handed the conductor my ticket, and boarded the train.
Once again, all my previous journeys had been in the first-class compartment and once again, the third class was filled to bursting, with all the wooden benches occupied. But this time it was different. For a reason I could not explain, the two men sitting on the foremost carriage bench both stood up and offered me their seat. I looked from one to the other, not sure which one to accept, and finally chose the older of the two. I sat down. But instead of sitting down again, the other man remained standing.
‘Do sit down!’ I said to him, and pointed to the empty seat. He shook his head, mumbled something undecipherable, and moved away down the aisle. A fat woman with a bundle under her arms entered the carriage. I smiled at her and pointed to the empty seat. She looked at me and frowned, seemed to consider my offer, and reluctantly sat down next to me. She was so fat I was pushed against the window.
