Fragile Blossoms

by Dodie Hamilton

  She nodded. ‘So much blood!’

  The horse trotted on a splash of light from a lamp hanging from the shaft. Julia was trembling. He settled a blanket for her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I brought it special. It’s clean.’

  They turned into the high street every shop and house closed.

  ‘I imagine Bakers End a bit of a change from Cambridge,’ he said.

  ‘Somewhat.’

  ‘Did your husband like Cambridge?’

  ‘He liked the city.’

  ‘What did he teach?’

  ‘He was a Professor of Latin. He taught many things, though none of them really knew Owen.’

  ‘What was he then?’

  ‘An archaeologist, a cleric at heart and a dreamer in his soul.’

  ‘You loved him.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I heard he was killed.’

  ‘An accident in Cairo, he was on an archaeological dig.’

  ‘Fulfilling a dream then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then that’s the right time to die, isn’t it, when you’re fulfilling a dream.’

  ‘If one has a choice,’ said Julia thinking of Karoline and the sanatorium.

  ‘You have plenty choice, Julianna Dryden, and one is sitting next to you.’

  ‘I know,’ she whispered,’ and I am grateful,’

  ‘Grateful be damned!’ he spat. ‘It’s not your gratitude I want. It’s you! Body and soul, now and forever, until death us do part!’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Can’t?’ The horse rearing he snatched the reins. ‘What kind of word is that?’ Brows thunderous he stared. ‘I don’t understand can’t. How can you say such a thing when a man is offering his heart? Won’t I understand as I understand don’t! It’s straightforward, I don’t want you and I won’t love you. They make sense. But can’t makes no sense to me. Does it make sense to you?’

  Julia hunched down in the seat.

  ‘I’m no literary man,’ he continued bitterly. ‘No professor of Latin. I’m an Englishman born in Yorkshire. I know nothing of archaeology but I know a word when it opens a can o’ worms. Can’t implies an obstacle, something or someone stopping you loving me. It suggests a problem, a monster in the attic no one knows about. You got a monster in the attic, Julianna?’

  Julia was saying nothing. She was keeping her mouth tightly shut. This weary and this sad she might say anything.

  Jaw working he bit out the words. ‘You’re going have to explain to me the reasons why you can’t love me because until this day and this moment it never occurred to me you couldn’t only that you didn’t. I was willing to settle for that. I am an everyday man with hands that graft and a heart that beats, why would you love me. But that you can’t love me changes everything.’

  ‘Giddup!’ He shook the reins, the horse trotted on.

  Nothing more was said until depositing her and her bag outside the door when he leaned forward, his handsome face so close she leapt back.

  ‘No need to be afraid, sweetheart,’ he said removing a strand of sheep’s wool from her hat. ‘I am merely relieving you of this. I don’t want you left with unpleasant dreams, no dead sheep on a railway track or monsters in the attic.’

  Doffing his hat he shook back his hair. ‘I’m off now to snatch what sleep is left for me. I bid you a good night and tell you I’m watching you now, Julianna Dryden, seeking out what it is that prevents you loving me. And when I find it,’ he circled the wool about his finger, ‘I shall remove it.’

  Eight

  The Right One

  ‘Open up!’ There was hammering on the Forge door. Luke lifted the bar and Albert pushed by. ‘I want a word with you, my lad.’

  ‘Make it a quick word,’ said Luke. ‘I’m at Wentworth’s this morning fixing their pump and already behind time.’

  ‘Aye, well, it won’t take but a minute.’

  Luke pulled off of his nightshirt and ducking under the pump let water pound his body. Tonight he’ll drop by the Nelson and take a bath but for now this’ll have to do. Awake now he’s pulling on a clean shirt and pants. No time to shave he stuffed boots on his feet, ran his fingers through his hair, and grabbing a hunk of bread began to chew and all the while Albert’s fizzing.

  Ma’s been on at him. Something’s been said and she’s nagged him until he can’t think straight. ‘What’s to do, Pa?’

  Albert blew up. ‘Don’t ask me what’s to do when you know damn well! Where the heck were you last night? You told your mother you’d drop by.’

  ‘Something cropped up.’

  ‘And we all know what! I know, your mother knows, and Pastor Meakins at the chapel knows! The whole bloody world knows.’

  Luke led Betty out to harness. Late back and knowing he’d need to be away early he laid the cart last night. A drink of water and an oat bag and the horse is happy. Luke is not. Guessing where this lecture is going his skin is starting to itch. ‘And what exactly is it the whole bloody world knows?’

  ‘As if you need tellin!’

  ‘I do need telling. It’s why I’m here listening to you when I should be gone.’

  ‘Then I’ll be quick. I’m talkin’ about you and that fancy piece.’

  Luke stood still. ‘Don’t call her that.’

  ‘Why when it’s true? I thought she was a gentlewoman but she’s nothing like.’

  ‘Albert!’ He held up a warning finger. ‘Stop right there!’

  ‘Nay, I’ll no stop. You need to listen! It’s one thing her goin’ to London with her fine friends and comin’ back lookin’ like she’d been dragged through a hedge. It’s a sinful city with sinful ways. You expect nothin’ else. But now she’s bringin’ her naughty ways here to Bakers.’

  ‘What naughty ways are those?’

  ‘Her and that German doctor! Did you know his wife’s in a lunatic asylum and your Mrs Dryden gettin’ her furniture? Talk about steppin’ into a dead woman’s shoes. China bein’ delivered in the dead of night? It’s disgustin’!’

  Luke knew about the china, Mrs Mac told him. ‘It’s nothing,’ he turned away from Albert. ‘He brought it to replace the broken stuff.’

  Albert blustered. ‘Alright then but what about this girl he brought, her with a bun in the oven? What’s a doctor doin’ bringin’ her to Bakers? Is she some other chap’s leavings or is it his own dirty business he squirrels away.’

  ‘She needed help. It’s why she’s there.’

  ‘Oh, you know that do you?’

  ‘I do. I spoke to her yesterday. She told me she was saved from a nasty situation and that Anna offered a home when no one else would.’

  ‘Oh, listen to you? You would say that. You’re makin’ excuses for her. So wall-eyed by her pretty face you’d say black is white.’

  ‘I would not and you know it. Why are you doing this? Why listen to gossip when you know better. She’s trying to do someone a good turn.’

  ‘Acceptin’ gifts from a bloke whose wife’s ill is not what I call a good turn. I call that the turn of a whore.

  ‘Albert, please!’ Luke’s face was ashen. ‘I’m begging you! You’re my Pa and I love you but another word and as God is my witness you and me are done.’

  A fish on a hook Albert squirmed. He spread his hands. ‘I’m only tryin’ to help you. I’m tellin’ you what people are sayin’.

  ‘I know what people are saying and I’m telling you what I would tell them, whatever you think you’ve seen or heard about that lady there’s an honest explanation if you’re willing to look.’

  ‘And you’re not bein’ taken for a fool?’

  ‘How am I taken for a fool?’

  ‘How about unpaid driver collectin’ her from the railway station, and what about knocking up shelves makin’ jobs when there ain’t any? Then there’s you constable of
the watch checkin’ her doors late at night! Christ’s sake, what is that if not the actions of a love-sick fool?’

  ‘What I do I do out of care for her safety. I do it because I want to and not because I’m asked, and I shall carry on doing it until she says nay. If that makes me a fool, then I’m a fool.’

  ‘Well you are and it can only lead to harm.’

  ‘Stop this!’ Luke turned away. He loved Albert but hated him laying his small-town thinking on others. ‘Stop treading muck with the rest the herd. Be above them! Don’t let them or you spoil a rare and lovely thing.’

  ‘I’m spoilin’ nothin’. I’m tellin’ you what’s bein’ said about you.’

  ‘About me?’ Luke laughed bitterly. ‘There’s nothing to say about me and Anna Dryden. I wish to God there were! The only connection I have with her is my aching heart and her indifference to it. I tell you if half of what was being said behind closed doors about me and that lady was true, I’d be a happy man.’

  ‘I know!’ Albert shouted. ‘It’s why me and your Mam are scared. We see the fire in you and are afraid.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ Luke barred the Forge door. ‘I’m responsible for my doings, nobody else, and if it goes bad then you can put it down to bad blood.’

  ‘What do you mean bad blood?’

  ‘Oh come on! Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. I’m not calling you a hypocrite but earlier when you slighted Anna for taking in Susan Dudley you came close to spitting in your own beer. Another man’s leavings is what you said. How can you say that when thinking of your own life?’

  Albert stuck out his chin. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘It’s alright. I know you’re not my Pa. I’ve always known. I’m not pointing a finger at you or Ma. You did what you had to. I’m no different. I love Anna Dryden and I’m doing what I have to.’ He climbed onto the cart. ‘It is said we are masters of our own fate. If that’s true then I’m master of mine, she’s mistress of hers, and there’s nothing else to say.’

  Even though he’s late Luke went the long way round to Wentworth’s Farm taking the route that led beside Pleasant Cottage.

  It was Justine Newman who told him about his real father. A quarter of a century ago it happened and yet it as clear as yesterday.

  ‘Come here, child,’ she’d said. Though scared of both sisters, witches the kids thought them with cooking pots and spells, Luke went to her.

  ‘You mended that rein?’ she’d said, her voice a rusty song

  ‘Yes, ma’m.’ Hand at his waist he’d bobbed a bow.

  ‘And did it speedily and tightly?’

  ‘I did, ma’m, tight as tight.’

  ‘And how much do we owe for this service?’

  ‘Nowt.’

  ‘Nowt! Is that what your Mama told you to say?’

  ‘No, ma’m. She said to say sixpence.’

  ‘I see. Come close so I might pay as your mother is owed.’ A witch in glossy furs, her face a whirl of spider’s webs, she whispered a spell: ‘Your mother sees in pounds and pence. It’s how she was bred. Your Papa saw sunshine and sin and that in his stead. Take of your mother’s kin but only as you need. The rest seek of your homeland, signor, and you’ll be content indeed.’

  Then she kissed his cheek and spoke in Italian and gave him a silver sixpence. He didn’t know it was Italian until he was told. Knowledge of another heritage was leaked to him drop-by-drop, the first from Miss Justine when he was seven the next when he was seventeen. It was when they had the Beehive at Coddleston. Luke was in the cellar tying off barrels for the incoming victualler. A pedlar came looking to sharpen knives. The pedlar spoke and time shifted. It was the voice. A bottle of beer and tools to sharpen and Luke relayed Miss Justine’s message: ‘E la tua Patria! La tua eredita!’

  The pedlar had smiled. ‘You are a stranger here, signor.’

  ‘Don’t be daft!’ Luke had laughed. ‘I’m an Englishman born and bred.’

  The pedlar had gestured. ‘You are a stranger here as am I. You are of my country, mia bella Italia. I see it in your eyes and I hear it in your voice.’

  That day the Roberts were moving to Bakers End to take over the Nelson. The Inn was in bad shape. It needed a hard-working victualler and a determined spouse. You won’t get more hard-working than Albert and more determination than in Nanette Roberts nee Ramsden. Nan’s father was Gordon Ramsden the champion brew master. What he didn’t know about beer couldn’t be known. That his only child was female didn’t stop him passing on the knowledge, which is fortunate since he liked to sample the beer as well as experiment and died when he fell in a vat of Piper’s Best.

  Drowning is this family’s curse. It took Grandfather Ramsden. It took little Jacky Roberts, and as Luke was to learn it took his real father, Lucca Aldaro, card-maker at Murrays Cotton Mill, Ancoats in Manchester.

  Moved by nostalgia the pedlar talked of his own life. He said he was on his way to Manchester and that Little Italy, Ancoats, was an awful place, ‘male, del diavolo,’ but if Luke wanted information that was the place to go.

  Not wishing to be disloyal to Ma Luke stayed away. Then Jacky drowned in the quarry, a boy so good and so dear God couldn’t be without him. That’s when Luke made the trip to Manchester. It didn’t take long to learn the truth. A chap drowned trying to save a child, an Italian by name of Lucca, second name Claudio, who lived on the brewery doorstep and known to be sweet on the brewer’s daughter, Nanette, such events stay in the public memory.

  Luke Claude Roberts returned to Bakers with a secret. Some secrets are best left alone, but as with all things hidden in darkness it grew fingers and sought the light.

  ‘Whoah, Betty.’ It was quiet on the road most folks still abed. A light showed in the top attic where that silly maid Maggie Jeffers bides. She’s the one behind the tattling, so ahead of herself with gossip you’d think her fey.

  Fey is what Ma says about Luke. ‘How do you know that?’ she’ll say when he offers an opinion. ‘Is it something you see? Are you fey?’ Usually he laughs. ‘It’s commonsense, a thing you’re sadly lacking.’ To Luke the things he sees are commonsense like not asking sixpence of Justine Newman who, if mother had kept quiet, would’ve given a shilling. Maggie Jeffers is trouble and says troublesome things. The other day she upset little Matty, some rubbish about black crows, how if you see one a person you love will die.

  If anybody’s fey it’s Matty. The things he says have Luke wishing he could screw a bolt over his mouth. Last week in his croaky pantomime voice he says, ‘You are to be my next Papa.’ Luke nearly fell over. ‘You mustn’t say things like that!’ Matty went quiet and Luke, ever hopeful in his secret heart, asked who put the idea in his head. ‘My real Papa,’ says Matty. Needless to say the door was slammed on that conversation but that damn silly wench Maggie overheard and smiling says, ‘is that right you’re to wed the mistress?’

  A bad day when she wheedled her way into Julianna’s employ. Ma was glad to be rid of her. Yesterday she was fooling about with the Sweep and the night before with the potboy at the Nelson who works odd times at the Big House. It’s Maggie who leaves the cottage door unlocked, nipping out when her mistress is not looking, and that’s not good with blokes like Sherwood about.

  Nate Sherwood is a brute. He is responsible for Jacky’s death. It was said Sherwood pushed him but Luke could never prove it. Five minutes was all it took to kill Jacky, five minutes of idle chat. The thought of it sucks the marrow from the day. ‘If you must swim in the quarry,’ mother had said, ‘keep an eye on Jacky. You know what he’s like. If someone says he can’t do it he’ll do it.’

  ‘I dare you to walk through the graveyard at midnight.’ That was the first big dare. Luke was ten and Jacky five. Coddleston church is across from the Beehive even so you don’t dare your baby brother to go there. They both did it. When they sneaked back, legs stinging from running through nettl
es, it was Luke pants that were damp round the arse not Jacky’s.

  How can you not love a kid who stares you in the face, swears black is blue he didn’t ride Tatty Barn’s goat, and is missing two front teeth from trying.

  Five minutes, that’s all! They were down by the quarry. Luke was chatting to a girl, Jessie by name, a draper’s daughter, pretty with a trilling laugh. Hand in hand with her friend she was coming down the lane. A flash monkey in his new neckerchief Luke went to meet them. Laughing he was though a bit set-back because close up she wasn’t pretty and her laugh was like a peacock shrieking on the Squire’s lawn. Nate Sherwood and his diddicoy friends were standing about and pointing and grinning. Five minutes. Then somebody yelled, ‘your Jacky fallen into the quarry and he ain’t come up yet!’

  Shelving that memory Luke pulls his hat down low over his eyes. It doesn’t pay to dwell on the past when you’ve a living to make. He has a plan and the plan takes money. Until Julianna arrived in Bakers the Forge was a flophouse. A bed, a pump, a plate and a pillow, it was enough. If comfort was needed there was always a steak pie and soak in a bath at the Nelson. Then Julianna moved into the cottage and nothing now is good enough for a man who builds other folk’s houses but has none of his own. Luke is good at what he does. Give him a wreck of a house his mind will push the roof up and the walls out and his hands will make it happen. There’s hot water on tap in the Nelson and flushing lavs, Luke put them there. It’s why folk pay top whack to bide there. It was he who a couple of years ago when mother moaned about spending said, ‘you’re to be another Savoy Hotel, a bath with every room. No more living in the dark ages, Mrs Roberts.’ Now he understands if he wants to offer the name Roberts to another he’d better have more to offer than a name.

  Saturday morning he bid for the house on Fairy Common. He’d seen a pamphlet pushed through Wentworth’s door and heard Mrs Wentworth say that Fairy Common up for sale. It took every penny he had. Ma’s heard about it. It’s why she sent Albert today. She’s always been on about Luke putting money aside for the future, now she’s suspects that future has Anna’s name carved across the lintel.