Fragile Blossoms

by Dodie Hamilton

  Maggie hurled around the kitchen door. ‘Madam, come quick!’

  ‘What is it?’ Julia set the saucepan aside. Is that it, she thought, looking into the depth of pink goo? Does raspberry conserve look like this?

  ‘Come quick, madam!’ Maggie jumped up and down. ‘There’s such a to-do in the garden, people crowdin’ round and Joe Carmody shoutin’ the odds.’

  ‘Why is he shouting?’

  ‘There’s somethin’ come over the wall.’

  Julia held out the pan. ‘Is this how jam should look? It smells right.’

  Maggie looked. ‘I’ll try it.’

  ‘Get a spoon then and no dipping your finger!’

  Too late! Maggie dipped and licked. ‘Um, maybe a bit more.’

  ‘No, that’ll do.’ Julia untied her apron. ‘Put it to cool over there. Mrs Mac will sort it later. I’ll go see what’s going on.’

  There was a huddle by the wall, people talking, and the stone three-headed Cerberus dogs affixed either side the gate looking world-weary.

  ‘What is it Joe? What’s been taken this time?’

  ‘That’s just it. They’ve left somethin’!’

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘Aye, a tray of plants. None of our stuff though, none of my pinks and other dainty dears they’re forever thievin’. Foreign muck they left!’ Joe kicked the tray. ‘Look at it! Moss and other queer bits of stuff! Things I’ve never seen before and wouldn’t want to see again.’

  ‘It’s not all muck. That’s a clump of Iris. And that’s campanula.’

  Joe was grudging. ‘I suppose there’s somethin’. There’s lily-of-the-valley and a couple of tasty lookin’ rose cuttin’s, but why do they do it, the cheeky buggers. Excuse me, ma’m! Why sneak about in’t middle of the night? Why not walk up to the house and knock on the door like honest folk?’

  ‘I wish I knew.’

  ‘Well I’ve had a bellyful. One of these nights I’ll catch whoever it is and he’ll be sorry.’ A smouldering volcano Joseph grabbed the trug and stomped away. ‘I’ll look through this lot to see it if there’s anythin’ worth keepin’ and if not it’s goin’ back over that perishin’ wall.’

  Julia shared his frustration. She took the lily-of-the-valley to put in water. It was mother’s favourite flower, a symbol of purity. What is it now, an apology for things taken?

  *

  Julia was in the laundry room pressing table cloths. She woke this morning with Schubert’s Quintet, Die Forelle, in her head, a piece known but not especially loved. Why she should think of the Trout she’d no idea but hummed as she worked. Then the air crackled, Luke Roberts was at the door.

  ‘Those dresser shelves?’ his voice was as cold and remote as a star. ‘That’s a weighty dinner-service you want putting up. If the shelves are meant to take all that you’ll need stronger brackets. You don’t want it crashing down.’

  ‘Indeed no. I did think the rose tea-service for the shelves. It’s lighter and I doubt we’ll ever use it. It’s more for decorative purpose.’

  ‘As you say.’ He turned to go and then checked. ‘And while I’m here if you don’t plan on using the pony and trap I’ll be taking it back.’

  ‘Oh please don’t do that!’

  ‘But you’re not using it as you should.’

  ‘I shall. It’s only that I am wary of driving into town.’

  ‘No need. It’s not gonna tip you up. Poppy’s a gentle beast and it’s a well-balanced trap. If it wasn’t I wouldn’t have brought it.’

  ‘I was thinking of taking it to the station tomorrow for the Cambridge train but I’ll be late getting back and so I shan’t. I shall use it, I promise’

  Disinterested he didn’t shrug but might as well. ‘I must be going. I’ve business elsewhere. I’ve left the bill for the conversion on the kitchen table. I think you’ll find it fair. Meet it at your convenience. Good day to you.’

  That was that. He climbed up on the cart, shook up the reins and left. Julia pushed down sadness. So awkward she can’t help wondering why he bothers to come, their positions reversed and she the one denied she couldn’t have breathed the same air.

  Six-thirty Friday morning Julia fastened the catch on the portmanteau.

  ‘I’ve left a list, Mrs Mac. The Sweep comes today. Make sure he does all he should including de-coking the range. We can’t have the house filled with smoke. I should’ve looked at it before the ceilings were whitened. As it is they may need redoing.’

  ‘Shall I mention it to Mr Luke?’

  ‘No! He’s busy elsewhere. If it has to be done we’ll employ another. Now the girls are to clean the kitchen and the scullery. They are to scrub the floors, clean the windows and no skimping as they’ll be soot everywhere! And, Maud, keep Matty away! He’ll want to be in on everything.’

  ‘I’ll keep a close eye on him, madam, don’t worry. You can trust me on that.’

  Julia picked up her bag. ‘I do trust you. I am relieved to know you are here. Right then! I shouldn’t be too late.’

  ‘How shall you get from the station?’

  ‘I’ll take a cab.’

  ‘I’ll wait up then.’

  ‘No need. I am seeing a sick friend, having lunch, and coming straight back. You’ll have had a much busier day than me.’

  ‘All that way for a couple of hours, it doesn’t seem like fun to me.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ Julia smoothed her gloves, ‘but it is necessary.’

  Alone in the carriage she gazed out of the window and felt as though she was leaving a part of herself behind, the anxious self who sat at night counting pennies into envelopes, the self that worries about soot-choked chimneys and whether she should go at all. The train gathered pace. It rattled along the tracks. Mile after mile flitted by and with every mile the anxious self diminished to be replaced by a stronger. Flesh settled over flesh, until it seemed another woman gazed out of the window, a woman with a greater claim to the journey and the man at the end of the journey.

  Julia woke this morning aware of a seeding. An idea had been planted in her mind. It prompted a trip to the loft and a change of underwear. Now she wears the scarlet corset next to her skin and like armour it binds body and soul together. Scenery flows by, parsley fields and cows stand motionless. A face is reflected in the glass, a woman who looks like Julia but is a fusion of three, a woman of today, a ghost of yesterday, and a woman neither living nor dead.

  The assembling of this trio began with the unpacking of Meissen china. Julia had thought to leave it until the morning but couldn’t sleep. Like the trunk her mind was packed with precious china. She was aware of Stefan’s wife, the beautiful Karoline Adelmann, a lover of lace patches and white silk stockings. Karoline was everywhere, her perfume and her laughter, until unable to bear it Julia got out of bed, donned a robe and taking a candle unpacked the china piece-by-piece the floor covered with glittering gems. Now she travels to meet Karoline who is confined behind locked doors, a stranger never seen but one who has already made her presence known.

  Stefan and Julia were met at the sanatorium. There was conversation, the doctor giving instructions on how to behave should an alarm be raised. They entered the gates and were led through a series of wards every door locked behind them. ‘It has to be so,’ said Stefan. ‘Those incarcerated here have no notion of where they are. Some are violent. All are confused. They wander about with no care of safety for themselves or others.’

  ‘Incarcerated?’Julia questioned. ‘You think of it as a prison?’

  ‘I do. It is a good place and the director is a good man even so soft blankets on a bed do not mean the absence of bars.’

  They paused outside a door. Stefan took Julia’s hand. ‘I am glad you are here but please don’t expect a happy outcome. As with my visits you may find your presence will not so much as ruffle the waves.’

  The d
oor unlocked Stefan prepared himself. The stench of stale urine assailed his nostrils. A small room and barely furnished it is scoured daily and yet it stinks. As always, alone but not alone, Karoline sits facing the wall. Her robe and cotton slippers are every day replaced. Her hair, Oh God, her lovely hair, white and fine as cotton candy, is freshly washed and tied. Her nails are short and hopefully cleaned of the blood or faeces she collects through scratching. The bed is stripped and remade. Staff here work hard but they can’t avert accidents, when the wits are lost the body soon follows.

  Stefan leaned down. ‘Wie sieht es aus bei dir meine liebe, Karoline? Schau, du hast Besucht, Frau Dryden, eine Bekannt von mir.‘

  His introduction of Julianna as a friend fell on deaf ears Karoline continues to gaze at the same patch of wall. Once out of curiosity he thought to measure her piece of wall and adjudged by her gaze it to be about half a metre long by half a metre wide, a letter box perhaps, or an elongated container the size of a canopic jar.

  Today he did as he does every visit he wipes her hands and face with a scented cloth and then places a bib about her neck. He then feeds her two tiny figs and a portion of apple-torte. She chews, opens her mouth, and disgorges the contents onto the bib, the bib then dropped into a bucket.

  Today being her birthday he opens a bottle of champagne pouring a measure into a cup. She sips, once, twice, then dribbles all back into the cup.

  Julianna was silent throughout the entire ritual. He’s grateful. He couldn’t bear her to question why he does it, that it is a waste of time, and that Karoline doesn’t know him. He needs no telling. He knows and has known for years.

  Stefan talked to Karoline, he told his news, of the seasons changing and of her garden in Dresden. There was no response, he expected none. Concious of Julianna pressed for time he turned to the sink to wash his hands. As he did so Karoline stood up. She grasped Julianna’s hand. Head on one side and eyes bright with intelligence she began to speak, softly pleading, as though continuing a conversation. ‘Ich muss gehen, Julianna. Dieses Leben ist mir den Meinen zu toten. Hil mir, nehmen Sie diese Last von mir, und ich werde dich fur immer segnen.

  The iron gates clanged shut. The carriage pulled away. Today Stefan is at the reins. After visiting Karoline he prefers to drive, concentrating on the road and the traffic stops him from screaming. Julianna was silent all sympathy for his wife’s plight pulsing through her hand on his thigh. ‘I’m so very sorry,’ was all she said. She didn’t ask what Karoline said and he having heard it so many times didn’t tell. After all what does she ask other than to be set free? ‘Help me, Julianna. This life is killing me and mine. Take this burden and I shall bless you forever.’

  Stefan knows the words. They are burned into his brain. The first time she said them she held a razor to her throat. The second time Karoline stood at an open window spiked railings below. The last time she was being pulled from the lake at their home, clothes dripping wet and pockets weighted with stones. Her words are not meant for Julianna nor are they for physicians or nurses. They are meant for Stefan, an invitation to join her in hell. This time she begged a stranger. Her answer was a kiss. Julianna drew the suffering bag of bones into her arms and pressed sorrow and care into perfumed lace.

  ‘Stefan?’ Julianna turned to him. ‘I think you have a house nearby.’

  ‘Yes. I keep it should I need to stay overnight.’

  ‘I’d like to see your house.’

  Her hand was on his thigh. He kept his eyes on the lead horse. He didn’t want to look at her hand nor acknowledge the warmth seeping into his skin. If he looked too long she might misconstrue his glance and think badly of him.

  ‘Would you not prefer to take lunch? This travelling you must be weary.’

  ‘No. I am not tired nor am I hungry.’

  ‘So what then, Julianna?’

  ‘I would like to visit your house.’

  This time Stefan did look at her hand, he could look nowhere else, and she knowing him looking removed her glove, and her hand, stripped bare, no rings, or covering, returned to his thigh. ‘I should like to keep you company for an hour or two,’ she said. ‘We can be lonely together.’

  *

  It was gone nine when they got to the railway station.

  The train was also late. Julianna settled in the seat.

  Stefan passed a magazine and box of comfits through the window. ‘Is there anything else I can get for you?’

  ‘This is fine. All being well I should be in Bakers by ten.’

  ‘You will write to me?’ Reluctant to let her go he held the door.

  ‘Of course. And with regard to Matty I shall look into your idea of a tutor. Mrs McLaughlin is good but you’re right he needs a stronger hand.’

  ‘Things are the same with Matthew?’

  ‘He struggles to speak and yet I believe him happier than he’s ever been.’

  ‘Why is that do you think?’

  An image of Luke Roberts rose unbidden in Julia’s head. ‘New people, I suppose, and involvements. And the dog! He’s made a difference.’

  ‘Keep me informed of his progress. I should like to be involved.’

  ‘You are involved. But for you we would both be in difficulties.’

  ‘And the tea-shop? What of that?’

  ‘I think the beginning of August might see it up and running.’

  ‘You know you do not have to do this. I would willingly give all the support needed you decided it was too much.’

  ‘I need to do it. However unreal, or ersartz, my idea of independence I mean to honour the terms of our partnership.’

  ‘However ersartz, Julianna?’ Smiling he raised his eyebrows. ‘Wollen Sie Deutsch mit mir ueben, mein liebe? You would practice on me? ‘

  She returned his smile. ‘Not practice, Stefan, so much as try to please.’

  ‘Try to please?’Hand on his heart he bowed. ‘I can’t tell what pleasure you gave today. I do not have words only that I thank you from the bottom of my heart. ‘

  The train pulled away from the station, Stefan, hat raised, a lonely figure.

  Julia looked at the magazine, read the words and gazed at pictures but could make no sense of it, other words and images required more understanding.

  Stefan’s life is very drear. There is more life and colour in this railway carriage than in that house in Bradbury. ‘In Knightsbridge I keep a man servant,’ he was apologetic, ‘ but I am so rarely here I need only a daily help.’

  No colour and no life, but then after a visit to the sanatorium sleep is probably all he can manage.

  What a strange day and what silly ideas she has! She thought to comfort him. Comfort was not what he sought. It was passion, the strength of his arms and depth of his kisses said so. Before when thinking of Stefan she’d mentally append the word poor; ‘poor Stefan, the big man in a fur coat, the teddy bear with soft whiskers.’ Coat and whiskers are real but that’s where the imagery ends. The body beneath the fur is hard and the grip firm, any fancy she had, any pity, quickly removed. An image reflected in the chesterfield mirror will be a permanent reminder of this day, Julianna, naked and pinioned to a pristine bed, her arms outstretched and her body on fire, and above her Stefan, his eyes bright with unshed tears. In that moment she’d known the thrill that made her cry out was not meant for her. Every moment, every twist of his body and every fiery blast, was meant for ‘Mein liebling, my wife, my Karoline.’

  She dozed and woke with a jolt the train lurching to a halt. She peered out of the window. Such a commotion outside, men shouting, the darkness punctured by flickering lamps and great of gulps of hissing steam.

  A guard tapped on the door. ‘We’re delayed, madam, sheep on the line.’

  ‘Where are we exactly?’

  ‘Just outside of Thetford. We can’t move yet. A couple of ‘em got smacked about and the rest are running scared.’

/>   The noise was dreadful, the shouting and cries of terrified animals. Men walked by the window with bloodied hands. It was cold. Shivering she pulled her coat closer. She couldn’t wait to get home and removed this damned corset, the ribbons irritating her skin. What a ridiculous thing, an embarrassment. Glimpsed in the mirror of a gentleman’s oak chesterfield it looked exactly what it was, a tart’s apparel. Why in God’s name did she wear it? Whose ardour was it meant to inflame?

  Before leaving the sanatorium Stefan knelt at Karoline’s feet removing her slippers, whereupon she as though blessing a stranger stroked his head.

  Julia feels so ashamed. Love isn’t gaudy ribbons and scarlet garters. Nor is it the need to titillate. In this instance fine feathers did not make a fine bird, they merely disguised the shabby

  It was a while before the train started up. When it did finally pull away Julia was again aware of alteration, of worries settling on her shoulders, the woman who’d looked toward the journey to Cambridge cast down by one who worries about chimneys sweeps, and kitchen maids, and who was foolish enough to believe she could lift a man’s sorrow when she can’t lift her own.

  When the train pulled into the station she was so weary she could hardly walk. She looked for a porter but gone midnight the platform was deserted. Sighing, she reached down her bag. It weighed so heavy. God knows why, there is nothing added since this morning unless it is a heavy heart.

  She stepped down onto the platform.

  ‘I’ve got it.’ Luke Roberts came out of the shadows and took her bag.

  ‘You came to meet me?’

  ‘I was passing. Come! My wagon’s outside.’

  Hurrying after him she stumbled.

  ‘Careful!’ He took her arm. ‘The steps are greasy.’

  Head down she followed. ‘This is very good of you.’

  ‘It’s late.’ He handed her aboard. ‘Nobody should be out this time of night.’

  ‘There was a hold-up at Thetford, sheep on the line.’

  ‘I heard.’ He glanced sideways. ‘Shook you up some I imagine.’