by P. G. Glynn
Alice disagreed. She said that acting was a sin. But how could it be sinful to stand on a stage and play a part that had been written by Charles Dickens? Lucy had a sneaking suspicion that Alice’s opinions were not hers at all. They sounded too much like Mam’s to be Alice’s. Come to that, Alice even sniffed like Mam when Lucy had done something wrong! Gramps said they were two peas in a pod. So perhaps Lucy should decide for herself about acting … and about everything.
How old would she need to be before deciding whether going to chapel twice was going once too often? Fifteen seemed quite old to Lucy but not to Mam, nor Alice, who would soon be nineteen. If only she could talk to Marie! This was the biggest of all Lucy’s wishes. Talking to her would be enlightening because she was living her life outside Gilchrist, so would see things quite differently from how Mam and Alice saw them. Marie was much too famous and too busy, though, to find enough time to come such a distance.
As Lucy put the bag of chicken-feed away in the ramshackle shed due to be demolished and rebuilt once old Charlie Jones got round to it, she tried not to sigh. Chapel wasn’t as bad as all that … and Mam and Alice were always sighing! Besides, there would dawn a day when Marie would find time.
Both the shed and the cottage were sheltered by a row of poplars Pa had planted as a shield against the wind that blew down from the mountains. There were gaps between the tall trees through which Lucy could see the Sugar Loaf, which she could also see from her bedroom window. It was her favourite mountain, where she remembered walking with Pa and Marie when she was small, and she seemed to know its every mood. It often beckoned her, especially when the bracken was beginning to turn, but Mam didn’t understand her need to climb mountains and look from the top to what lay beyond, so kept finding chores to take up Lucy’s time and stop her climbing. Mam said that home was the best place to be and by ‘home’ she meant within this garden’s boundary. Mountains on all sides closed her in but she was not bothered about seeing over them. ‘The grass in this valley,’ she liked to say, ‘is green enough for me’. Lucy had to admit that it was very green, but didn’t Mam feel any curiosity about the grass and the trees and the people in other valleys … and towns … and cities? She did not, apparently, which mystified Lucy. How had Marie ever managed to escape from Mam and make her name on the London stage?
Hearing her mother calling again, she turned away from her mountain and started crossing the wide expanse of lawn in front of the whitewashed stone cottage with its grey slate roof that had been her home ever since she was born here in 1904. As she crossed Lucy heard something sounding like a motor-car. Not that there could possibly be a car stopping outside Beulah. Who did they know who drove? Not a single soul.
All the same, she had heard something. So, risking Mam’s wrath, Lucy ran back to the trees and peeped between them. To her astonishment she saw an enormous motor-car slowing to a standstill right outside her front gate. Where had it come from and why … and who in heaven’s name could be inside?
Lucy suddenly knew who and flew on winged feet across a flower bed and down on to the path that led straight to the gate. She reached it just as Marie did and cried: “I knew that if I kept wishing my wish would come true! But I still can’t believe it’s really you.”
“It really is,” Marie smiled, opening the gate and scooping Lucy up in a big hug, “and I’ve brought some friends from London.”
“Did Mam know you were coming?”
“No, she didn’t. Will she be pleased to see me, do you think?”
Lucy was doubtful, considering how Mam disliked surprise guests. And they were due at chapel! But then Marie wasn’t a guest exactly and any friends of hers were surely friends of the family. “I expect she will,” she said hesitantly.
“Except that we’ll be upsetting her routine and heaven help anyone who does that!” Marie chuckled. “Don’t worry, Lucy – she’s my mother too and I know her quite as well as you do. Oh dear, how remiss of me – I haven’t introduced you! This is my friend Nell … and this is Otto.”
They were all wearing such smart clothes that Lucy felt self-conscious in her gardening smock. Added to which her plaits were probably coming adrift after her activities cleaning out the run and feeding corn to the chickens. But her feeling was short-lived: Marie was here, bringing fine friends with her! And she had been tickled pink by her sister’s reminder. It was somehow comforting to think that Marie was as much Mam’s daughter as Lucy and Alice were … so would not necessarily expect much of a welcome.
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Janet had called Lucy twice already yet would have to call her again. The girl was a dreamer, not a doer, and dreams were all very well in their place but Sundays were Sundays and it was too bad of her to drift along and make everybody late. Alice, needless to say, was indoors with her hands washed and her hair tidied. She never needed telling twice. But then they were as different as chalk and cheese and no prizes for guessing whom Lucy was like. Janet must see to it – without Howard here to interfere – that, unlike Mary, Lucy learned to toe the line. “Where are you?” she shouted, stepping out into the back garden and starting briskly round the house. “I’ve a good mind to whack you for not coming for your tea on time!”
“What – all of us?” asked a voice seemingly from within the laurel hedge separating the back and front gardens. “Will you have enough whacks to go round?”
She was hearing things. She must be. The voice could not possibly be Mary’s! Next minute Janet saw that it was … and that, horror of horrors, her daughter had brought company. “Goodness!” she exclaimed, thinking she must be seeing things as well as hearing them and wishing she had not spoken to Lucy quite so sharply. “Where did you spring from?”
“I’m the proverbial bad penny, aren’t I, Mam – arriving when least expected and making Lucy late for tea? Don’t blame her for her lateness. Blame me.”
“You should know me better, Mary, than to believe I’d ever apportion blame,” Janet said stiffly. “You aren’t alone, I see.”
“No. I’ve mentioned Nell in my letters … and this is Otto Berger, who brought us all here.”
After acknowledging Nell’s presence Janet turned her attention to the tall, finely dressed gentleman. To her amazement, after saying that he had long wanted to meet Marie’s mother, he took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. Flustered, she said to him: “Honoured, I’m sure! How did you … do the bringing?”
“By motor-car,” Lucy chipped in. “It’s outside … and it’s such a size!”
“That’s nice,” observed Janet, immediately making a connection between the mention in Gwen’s letter and this strangely named gentleman. Well at least Mary was chaperoned, even if she was showing her ankles. Perhaps she had an ounce more sense than Janet had credited her with. “Dear, dear, why are we all standing out here? I’ve only laid for three, as you weren’t expected, but that can soon be remedied. Come on in, do – and welcome, Mr Berger, to Beulah.”
Pa had named the cottage after the Land of Peace described by John Bunyan in PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. Because Mam lived here Marie considered this a misnomer. Mam was simply not a peaceful person and there could be no peace in her presence, though the cottage itself, here in the heart of Gilchrist, was a kind of oasis after the hurly-burly of London. It was also home and she found that she was expecting the door to open and Pa to emerge, his face lighting up at the sight of her. Pa and Beulah belonged together and it was hard to see one without the other. It was hard, too, to sit at Pa’s table with Mam, Alice and Lucy knowing that earlier on she had gone to have an abortion. Would that be more or less of a sin in Mam’s eyes than giving birth to an illegitimate child? Hard to tell, but whichever the greater sin she was certainly a sinner, unlike her sisters who were both innocents compared with her. Perhaps Mam was right to protect them from the world. At least under her protection they could not stray as Marie had strayed, risking shame and disgrace. She shouldn’t assume that Pa’s expression - were he here - would register pleasure on see
ing her today. Maybe it was as well that he was not here to feel ashamed of his first-born.
“What a feast!” Otto commented, hinting at never having eaten as well as at Janet’s tea table. “Are you certain, Mrs Jenkins, that you weren’t expecting us?”
“I like to keep a good table,” she simpered, pouring more tea into dainty cups. “There’s plenty spare in the kitchen should we find that food meant for three doesn’t stretch to six. It’s all home-made and fresh today.”
“Then you are to be congratulated,” he told her, marvelling that she was Marie’s mother. With her sharp features and even sharper tongue there was no family resemblance, either in looks or manner. Alice was very like Janet, while there were also marked similarities between Marie and Lucy. Those two must take after their father’s side of the family. “I must congratulate you too on having three such lovely daughters. They are a credit to you.”
“I hope so. One never knows,” Janet said darkly, looking across at Marie, who was seated between Nell and Lucy, “especially when one of them is living so far from home. How long have you known Mary?”
“Mary?” he questioned.
“Marie,” Janet amended. “She was baptised Mary, mind.”
“‘Marie’ looks most impressive in lights,” he told her mildly. “In answer to your question, we’ve known each other ever since meeting on a boat to Kew, when Cupid fired his arrow.”
“Cupid?” she queried before saying quickly: “Oh, you mean … you and she …?”
“Mam!” protested Marie. “That isn’t what he means.”
“It isn’t?” Janet asked Otto, making a mental note to ask Mary later what was wrong with the bandaged wrist.
“I fell in love with your daughter the first moment I saw her. Marie, though, is taking longer to see the inevitability of loving me.”
Thinking Mary could do a lot worse than marry a man with a big motor-car, Janet asked: “Would you by any chance be the same gentleman I first heard about from my sister-in-law?”
“I am not sure whether I’ve had the honour of a mention in a letter from Marie’s aunt. I trust that if she mentioned me she did so kindly?”
“Oh, very kindly!” Janet said reassuringly, searching her mind for the best question to ask next. “So you do not work with Marie in the theatre?”
“I haven’t the talent, I have to admit. Your daughter is exceptionally talented. Even the illustrious Charles Brodie can’t hold a candle to Marie.”
“Can’t he?”
“No, indeed. Incidentally, to see them together on-stage, one could be forgiven for thinking that they … ” Reacting to a kick on the shin from Marie he smiled, saying: “But I’m digressing! You asked me whether I worked in the theatre and the fact of the matter is that I am not a worker.”
“You are not? But you must be. I mean … ” Janet was speaking while trying to decide why he had stopped in mid-sentence earlier. He couldn’t have been hinting at illicit carryings-on between Mary and Mr Brodie, could he? “Forgive me. My head’s in a spin for some reason. You surely can’t be saying that you don’t … do anything?”
“I’m afraid I can,” he said apologetically. “The fact is, my wealth’s inherited.”
“It is?” Janet had no idea how to deal with this. “Where did you say you lived?”
“My home is a castle in Czechoslovakia.” He watched as her eyes registered her surprise and paused a fraction before adding: “As to my income – the Berger linen factory, bleach works and brewery keep me comfortably.”
As well as having a motor-car, he lived in a castle! This was quite incredible, although where on earth was Czechoslovakia? She would not show herself up by asking. And if there was a linen factory and such in his family she could probably overlook the brewery. “Fancy,” Janet said, “just fancy!”
“So you don’t disapprove of me?”
“On the contrary! Would you care for another cup of tea?” As he proffered his cup for her to pour, Janet saw from the grandfather clock in the corner that time was short before chapel. She asked him: “You are a Baptist?”
“As a matter of fact I’m a Catholic. I trust that won’t make me unfit in your view to do the right thing by your beautiful daughter?”
Had he been doing the wrong thing by Mary? Janet looked across the table sharply. Come to think of it, she did look bold-eyed, as if she knew more than she should about … life. What had she been up to altogether, in those evil cities? Swansea and Bath were bad enough but the Lord alone knew what went on in London. Still, with chapel imminent and a castle as a prize it might be wise to turn a blind eye for the time being. “We’ll discuss this after worship,” she told him. “As a Catholic you have no objection to worshipping with us?”
“None.”
18
Marie sat in the chapel of her childhood thinking back over the conversation at tea. Otto had not been about to tell tales, had he? If he had, there was no knowing where he would have stopped. She had known him to be a rotter but had not thought him to be that rotten. He seemed to live by different rules from everyone else, being foreign. Oh, he was despicable … and now Mam was looking at Marie as if seeing that she had lost her virtue! Logically, this was impossible. How could anyone see that someone had been bedded? An unwelcome memory swam into Marie’s head. Pa and Mam had been talking about a girl in the village who had ‘fallen’ - a term Marie had not understood back then. She supposed it was only because she didn’t understand that they had spoken in front of her … unless their words had taken the form of a warning. Pa had observed it was a girl’s eyes that always gave the game away. Eyes never lied. They told without fail whether the girl was still virtuous.
After Otto’s remark about Marie and Charles Mam had looked across the table in a different way to previously. And she had been looking right into Marie’s eyes. Since then Marie had felt somewhat like a child awaiting punishment for wrongdoing. It was not helping to be here in chapel, with the Reverend Clifford Lloyd reading from the scriptures just as he did when she was still in the Band of Hope, attending services twice each Sunday and hearing Mam speak as if God had nothing better to do than wreak vengeance on wrongdoers. Mam had taught that He was a God to be feared and that His wrath must be avoided at all costs. Marie had since come to see God differently and certainly as a more kindly Deity. But was she wrong in her vision … and Mam, perhaps, right?
“‘And it came to pass in those days, when there was no king in Israel, that there was a certain Levite sojourning on the side of mount Ephraim, who took to him a concubine out of Bethlehem-Judah. And his concubine played the whore against him, and went away from him unto her father’s house to Bethlehem-Judah, and was there four whole months. The man took his concubine and brought her forth unto the Gibeathites and they knew her, and abused her all the night until the morning; and when the day began to spring they let her go. And when he was come into his house, he took a knife and laid hold on his concubine, and divided her, together with her bones, into twelve pieces, and sent her into all the coasts of Israel.’”
The Minister closed the Holy Book saying from the pulpit in resonant Welsh tones: “Today we will consider sin and its consequences … ”
Marie felt from the first as if he were speaking directly to her. He was talking as if he knew where she had been this morning. Was it only this morning that she had gone to Mrs Purfitt’s to get rid of Charles’s baby? With all that had happened since and the distance she had travelled, it seemed much longer ago. Were time and distance related and had the crossing of miles somehow lengthened the day? It could easily be a week since she went to Raven Hill and saw that hateful knitting needle.
How close she had come to letting the abortionist use it! But for the needle sighting, her child’s life would by now have ended. Yet she had been brought up acknowledging that life was sacred. The Lord gave and the Lord taketh away … Yes, knowing that God alone had the right to take a life, Marie had almost opposed Him and was now sitting here in chapel with her
family as if nothing had happened. She might have changed her mind in the nick of time but had still committed a cardinal sin. Better to be punished than live weighed down with guilt. Marie cringed as Mr Lloyd spoke of those who had joined the ranks of the wicked and should be repenting. He had seen into her soul, hadn’t he, and now saw her as no better than the biblical concubine? She had, after all, lain with a man who was pledged in marriage: one who had vowed before God to love and honour a woman other than Marie. God had heard his vows and then, because He was all-seeing as well as all-hearing, had subsequently seen Marie help Charles break these. It was deeply shaming to think of Him seeing what she and Charles did to make the baby she now carried. Marie was so ashamed that her hands crossed on her stomach as if thus to shield it from Mam.
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Janet, who had sat on one side of Marie in chapel with Mr Berger on the other side, had seen the hand-movement and drawn certain conclusions. With Mr Clifford holding forth about fallen women and Marie looking more and more as if she had something to hide, it wouldn’t need a Sherlock Holmes to work out what she’d been up to in London – and what the result was. Hadn’t Janet warned of this from the beginning?
Of course she had, but had anyone listened? Not a bit of it. Now, unless she acted swiftly, her little family would be the butt of whispers and fingers pointing in the village.
Howard should never have let Marie lodge with John. That was a big error of judgement: one which would not have taken place had Janet had her way. It was so typical of others to do wilful things and then leave her to sort out the mess they landed in. Not that Howard had had much choice about leaving, but Janet could have done with him here now to shoulder his full share of the blame.
