Fragile Blossoms

by Dodie Hamilton

  ‘Nanette Roberts!’ Julia smiled. ‘You are a snob.’

  ‘I’m no snob. I like things to be in a correct order, every man in his rightful sphere, a ‘rich man in his castle and a poor man at his gate,’ so to speak. You dishin’ tea and scones to every Tom Tiddler and his wife it’s not seemly.’

  ‘Seemly or not I’m going to do it. And I shan’t be alone. I have Mrs Mac to help, and Maggie Jeffers, and our new young lady.’

  ‘Maggie Jeffers is a hindrance not a help. As for your young lady she might be young but from what I hear she’s no lady.’

  Nan was cross with Julianna. Her and her dainty ways, what can she know of business? Elderly Irish spinsters pursuing a fancy is one thing but quite another for an English rose to do the same, a bruised rose at that. Julianna Dryden is bruised. A while back, smiling and promising to bring an opera programme, she caught a London train. When she left she was decently clad in a woollen coat and feathered hat. She brought back more than an opera programme! Her shoulders naked and hair loose she brought back a reputation.

  One train journey and the whole of Bakers, Upper, Middle, and Lower, is agog. Seven in the morning looking like that, what was she thinking? And see her now! What’s happened to her fancy clothes? She’s gone from giving away costly scarves to haunted eyes and sending begging telegrams to London.

  Nan is worried how Luke will react. He’s over his head dizzy on the girl and has been from day one. Nan asked him yesterday why he was getting involved. Eyes impenetrable he’d regarded her. ‘I’m involved in nothing.’

  ‘You are! You’re up to your eyes in it! I reckon you should stop workin’ there. Better to step back from a tangle than be drawn in.’

  ‘Don’t talk rubbish! I’m not being drawn into anything.’

  ‘Oh rubbish is it? Everything’s rubbish to you nowadays! No one can get a kindly word from you, not even the little lad you profess to love.’

  Face moody and lips bitten to pieces he’d shrugged. ‘As you said, mother, best not to get drawn in. As for letting go of business you’re piping a new tune. Aren’t you the one always saying there’s no such thing as too much work? ’

  ‘This is different.’

  ‘How is it? One person’s brass is as good as the next. Why turn it down?’

  ‘Because money isn’t the payment you seek. You’re after somethin’ more precious. You’re after her heart.’

  Slam! Another door closed he turned away. A closed door on a locked room is Luke Roberts. He never yells or throws things the more enraged he becomes the more silent. And he doesn’t visit the Nelson now. He used to come every day. Nan said to Albert: ‘Why doesn’t he come of an evening? But for a rabbit left on the table and logs chopped out back you wouldn’t know he was alive.’

  Albert said to leave him alone. He’s a man not a lad. He doesn’t need his Ma pokin’ her nose in. Nan said she wasn’t poking her nose into anything. She was afraid for him.

  Every mother thinks her son handsome. Luke is a right good looking. Muscles of iron and body of an athlete he takes after his father. He has brain too, a mathematician able to count the stars in the sky. Young Matty calls Luke Mister Wolf. That boy will never know how right he is. Luke has the heart and soul of a wolf, an Italian wolf hunting the mountains fierce and dangerous.

  Albert Roberts is not Luke’s father. It was Albert, bless him, who years ago took Nan in when she was two months gone with another man’s child. Back in ’68 Letty Morris, a seven year old mule-gatherer used for scavenging weave under cotton gins fell into the canal. Luke’s father went in after her but both he and Letty got caught up in the suck. Apart from a mangy cat bedded under the sink Letty left none to grieve. Luke’s dad, Lucca Claudio Aldaro, left his lover a peppercorn ring on her finger and a child in her belly.

  Lucca Aldaro was born in the Apennine Mountains: ‘Where the light streams over snow caps, mio caro, Nanette, and where the grey wolf runs free.’

  As a boy he came with his mother to England leaving the sunshine of Italy for the soot of Manchester. A shuttle-maker he was in Murrays Mills, Ancoats, Little Italy as they call it. Nan met him on the banks of the canal. He was fishing. ‘Buon giorno, bella signorina,’ he’d said, dark eyes smiling. Good day beautiful lady is what he said. It turned out to be a special day for Nanette Ramsden. Instant love and misplaced passion she was then. Now that passion is alive in her son. Luke knows nothing of his real father but from the onset treated Albert with the kindness you offer a child. Albert is the only one he does treat kindly. As far as Luke is concerned compassion died alongside his brother, Jacky Roberts.

  Nan blames herself for that death. Her firstborn conceived out of wedlock she sees it as punishment from above. Luke blames himself. ‘I shouldn’t have left him.’ It is pointless saying you can’t watch everything. As Nan mortifies the flesh so does Luke. His passion then was for his brother. His passion now is Anna and as with Jacky will endure forever. He never speaks of her. If Nan mentions her name there’s a clang of a lock. It’s all there, thirty years of the right sun shining on the wrong land. No matter what he’ll hold true to Julianna now until he does as his father did, jump in the deep end and drown.

  *

  Maggie, whose nose is put out by the arrival of a newcomer, but who has seen and heard enough not to complain, knocked on the door.

  ‘Is Susan Dudley to share my room? And the work, madam, are we to share that? Only with a bump in front I can’t see her bendin’ over a stove.’

  Maggie exaggerates. The bump is not so big Susan can’t bend. ’You shall keep your place as kitchen maid and you’ll help Mrs Mac when needed.’

  ‘And what will Susan Dudley do?’

  ‘She’ll do as she’s bid.’

  Julia settled it thus with Mrs Mac. ‘I am happy with the way Matty has taken to you. Are you willing to take on the post of nanny and help in his general welfare? Susan Dudley can take on the role of parlour maid.’ Mrs Mac’s face lengthened until Julia continued. ‘A personal maid is a diminished role. If the tea-shop is to happen I must manage my own makings. Early to bed and earlier to rise I shall need a right-hand man not a maid. I shall need you, Maud.’

  Mrs Mac grabbed Julia’s hand. ‘I’ll do it, madam! I’ll be your right-hand. I’ll be nanny to Master Matthew and I shall cook too. I never said before but I am a good cook. My almond tarts and chocolate éclairs have been called melt-in-mouth. I’ll make a batch. You see! You can taste for yourself.’

  Maud went to bed wreathed in smiles. Julia allowed herself a smile. Kitchen politics be damned! Stefan would be proud of me, as would Owen, and for that matter Luke Roberts. No! That name ringing in her head and a sturdy bolt is shot across her heart. She must not think of him. It hurts too much.

  It is difficult to forget. The impassioned plea, and effect it had, felt like the cutting of a honey-coated knife, sharp and yet so sweet. He makes no attempt to repeat his vow even so it’s difficult seeing him about the house. The refurbishment complete Julia thought she’d no need to employ him but now the kitchen is in need of extra shelves, and the Roberts men are as good as many at their trade and better than most.

  *

  Julia took the linen sheets from the trunk. Mrs Mac shook them out. ‘What do you plan to do with them, madam? They’re too big for beds.’

  ‘I’m going to make table linen. I can get three or four cloths per sheet, a good many napkins, and keep the lace edging for cake stands.’

  ‘Won’t paper frills be better? The linen will get awful sticky.’

  ‘I know it will but starched they will look so much nicer.’

  ‘It’s extra work.’

  ‘Even so we’ll do it. If we are to gain the right reputation we need to do it right, good food, excellent service, starched table linen and the best silver. Did you see the Georgian tea service? Maggie’s made an excellent job polishing.’

  ‘S
he has her uses.’

  ‘How does she get along with Susan?’

  ‘She tried swanking about a bit but Susan soon put a stop to that. She might be little but she’ll not take truck from that quarter.’

  ‘Susan will need to stick up for herself. It’s a harsh world for a mother alone.’

  ‘Do you know anything about her, madam, how she came to be in trouble?’

  ‘No and I won’t ask, and neither shall you! You have been so helpful to me, Maud. I would hate us not to agree on the need for kindliness.’

  Throat working Mrs McLaughlin looked overcome and was a while answering. Then she swallowed. ‘What shall we do when the baby comes?’

  ‘We’ll manage.’

  The truth is Mrs Mac is fast becoming a jewel in the projected crown. ‘Madam, I’ve been thinking about supplies and reckon Joe Lyons must buy in. They have to. They can’t feed everyone with food cooked on the premises. They haven’t time. We can bake cakes and the like, and, we could buy from local wives. It would be good for business and sure to get them rallying round.’

  ‘I was hoping local wives would be our customers.’

  ‘Oh no! No use depending on them as customers. There’ll be a few that will like the occasional outing especially at the beginning but housewives won’t fill the coffers, they don’t have the money. The big trade is what we must aim for, them that like to sit about and spend.’

  ‘And where will we find those?’

  ‘Out there.’

  ‘Out where?’

  ‘There!’ Mrs Mac’s finger pointed to a steady stream of carriages winding up the Rise to Greenfields.

  ‘Oh my word!’ Julia rushed to the window. So wrapped in her own concerns she hadn’t considered the Lansdowne place. Judging the activity, footmen and other attendants bustling in and out, the house was At Home to the world.

  Mrs Mac was popping with excitement. ‘Who do you suppose lives there?

  ‘I don’t know. Rags to riches it could be anybody. But don’t worry. Bakers End has its own telegraph system. Give it a day and we’ll know.’

  How true was that statement! The next day a jubilant Nan tapped on the window. ‘Yankees have moved into Greenfield House!’

  ‘Yankees?’

  ‘Americans.’

  ‘And is that good news?’

  ‘It’s the best! The word is it’s a family with bags of money. The difference this will make to Bakers. It will open the village right up. I’m so cheered with the news l feel like gettin’ down on my knees and givin’ thanks.’

  ‘Good heavens!’

  ‘Aye, good heavens! This is not a newly minted English Lord who doesn’t know how to be happy. This is a mining millionaire or rather his widow. I heard she’s planning to stop and has a dozen carriages and servants all over the shop.’

  ‘That sounds like good news for the Nelson.’

  ‘And for you, Anna! Think about it, traffic climbing that Rise. They’ll come from everywhere. There’ll be those for the Big House and then others on the way to Sandringham. And they’ll all have dusty throats. The gents will want beer and a nice steak pie, which of course the Nelson will be supply, and the ladies will be lookin’ for a quaint old English town to drink quaint old English tea.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I know so. It’s a certainty they’ll stay at the Nelson. They can’t all bide at the Big House. Then when they do come I’ll tell them of the N and N and their hostess, the beautiful Mrs Dryden.’

  The sheets cut into squares Julia sat sewing. It is excellent cloth and easy to manage and as with playing the piano sewing gave a sense of peace. The back parlour is comfortable. In honour of the Newman Sisters Julia hung two of the silhouettes she found in the bureau. Copper and etched with gold there were four in total, three females in left profile and a male in right. No one in Bakers having memory enough to know who was who Julia hung them on the wall without knowing who. Then Luke Roberts saw them.

  ‘That one is Miss Justine.’

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘I’m willing to swear it. She was old when I saw her but still beautiful. It’s in the tilt of the head and the eyes.’

  ‘But you can’t see the eyes.’

  ‘Believe me I can. They are unmistakeable.’

  ‘Then the other must be Clarissa. What of this girl, and the man?’

  The two silhouettes were of a man in a neat periwig and a young girl.

  ‘I’ve no idea who he is but he’s military. See the epaulettes!’ This was said leaning close to Julia. Every sense screaming she’d breathed him in

  That was last week. It was a memorable moment but again locked away. Julia cannot serve two masters. Her life with Matty and her business partner Stefan must take precedence over any lure of the heart.

  The house is quiet, Mrs Mac gone with Matty to post a letter. A prolific letter writer she puts Julia to shame. It’s a week since Julia wrote to her sisters. Charlotte and May married and with children there’s rarely word from Bentham. When it does come it is short and to the point. ‘I wish Aunt had left us another hundred,’ Charlotte writes. ‘I said to James it’s a pity there are no Charlottes in his ancestry a name carries such weight. So Dear Julianna, if you marry again oblige your impoverished sisters and try for a man with a May or a Charlotte in tow, that way we’ll all benefit. All love to you and Matty. May sends hers and begs to be excused a letter she’s busy in the raspberry canes.’

  Charlotte sounds sharp yet is the kindest of women. Wives to busy farmers they have much to do. Dependent on the good health of beasts and moderate climate their lives are never their own. Julia is fortunate. She has a roof over her head and a chance to make it safe. As for obligation she was in debt to Stefan long before the tea-shop. The life of a child is an eternal obligation. Only God can repay that debt.

  Yesterday Julia wrote to Stefan saying she plans to be in Cambridge next Friday and it being Karoline’s birthday might they visit the sanatorium.

  It was a few lines, no more, and yet every word took an age, pen pressing into vellum, nib scratching and blue-black ink sliding down to fill the letters. Julia sighed and a woman sighed with her. There was such satisfaction to be found in writing that note, the d in Dear and the S in Stefan causing the heart to pound. Julia leaned into the candlelight to read the note and a shadow leaned with her. She sealed the envelope and the shadow smiled.

  *

  ‘Shall we open this one first?’ Conspirators Julia and Mrs Mac knelt at the trunks that had stood silent and brooding for days, Maggie dropping hints. ‘You haven’t opened them yet. Are you never going to open ‘em?’

  The lid of the first trunk was lifted and a layer of wool folded back.

  Gold-leaf flashed in Mrs Mac’s eyes. ‘Oh madam!’ The first trunk was filled with exquisite china. Julia picked up a tea-cup. So delicate and fragile, the lamplight shining through, she might’ve been touching a dead woman’s bones.

  ‘No!’ Julia closed the lid. ‘I can’t do it,’ she said, whispering as though loud would shatter the precious cargo. ‘We worked hard today and are weary. I don’t trust my hands to do it right. We’ll be fresher in the morning.’

  Mrs Mac nodded. ‘Yes, madam, I think so too.’

  Alone, Julia read the accompanying letter.

  ‘I swore I would never give these away. I promised to keep her trousseau safe as I have kept her safe. Lately Karoline speaks of letting go of the past. Not to me, never to me, to some sympathetic soul only she can see.

  Before she was taken by this vile illness my wife was the wisest of women. I believe that beneath the pain her wisdom continues. And so in regard of letting go of the past, and though it hurts me to do it, I have begun to dismantle our home in Dresden. I start from the inside out. This tea-service and the other articles were her mother’s. They have been packed away these many years. I believ
e Karo wishes them to again see the light and in the home of one who gives help to those less able to fend for themselves.

  I heard of your broken china and knew you were meant to have this. Karoline would want it! Please accept them with our love. Do not be afraid to use them. If they fall and break it is of no consequence. We must all fall and all break. They are gifted to you as Karoline was gifted to me.

  Julia was woken by Maggie scratching on the bedroom door. ‘Susan’s cryin’ and keepin’ me awake. I ask what’s wrong and she’s says nothin’.’

  ‘Go down, Maggie, and make a hot drink.’ Julia tapped on the door. Susan was huddled at the end of the bed. ‘What’s wrong? Are you ill?’

  ‘No, madam.’

  ‘Is it the baby?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why are you crying? Are you not happy here?’

  ‘I like it well enough. It’s better than the other place.’

  Stefan said he found her in a lodging house. He said it was noisy and foul-smelling and there were half-naked children everywhere and no one to care.

  Susan sighed. ‘I miss my feller.’

  ‘Does he live in London?’

  ‘He lives close by.’ Susan produced a book mark from under the pillow. ‘He gave me this. He said it belonged to his mother.’

  ‘I see. Maggie has gone down to make a drink. Would you like one?

  ‘I’m not thirsty. I wanted to talk about him to someone.’

  ‘Now you have talked do you think you can sleep?’

  ‘Yes.’ Susan pushed under the covers. ‘I can sleep and dream of him.’

  It was a long time then before Julia could sleep. Her ear was tuned to the window and a scattering of stones on glass and a man standing beneath, moonlight making raven wings of his hair. Once she even went to the window thinking he was there. There was no one, only an echo.

  ‘I love you, Anna, beautiful girl. Come down, my heart beats for you.’

  Seven

  The Nuance