The Keepsake

by Sheelagh Kelly

  She forced her woebegone eyes up to meet his droopy-lidded gaze, her belly performing a somersault as she admitted in a little voice, ‘I do.’

  ‘And what was it attracted you?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Well, the way you –’ She broke off, her pink lips curling in a half-smile of self-mockery.

  ‘The way I look,’ provided Marty, smiling too now as he gave her hand an accusing but playful shake. ‘So it’s not just me that’s guilty, is it?’

  ‘No.’ Under his teasing, Henrietta melted, fighting back the tears.

  ‘I mean, it stands to reason that it’s a person’s physical appearance that first attracts someone, doesn’t it? Though what the devil you see in me is anyone’s guess,’ he added incredulously.

  She rose then. Tapered little fingers stroked him, as did her voice. ‘I’m sorry, Martin, I didn’t mean to sound harsh or arrogant or ungrateful, it’s just that –’

  ‘I know,’ he told her kindly, going so far as to caress her cheek with his knuckle, wanting to go much further and pull the pins from her hair and the clothes from her body, forgetting that he should not even be there at all. ‘It might be the first thing that attracted us but we both know it goes far beyond that, don’t we?’

  She nodded, blinking away the moisture of emotion. Their eyes held each other adoringly for a while, both still reeling from the impact of their meeting, trying to understand what had happened to them but unable to voice it, until the magnetic charge between them became too strong to resist and they finally pressed their lips together, tentatively at first, but quickly yielding to such fierce passion that it terrified them into breaking away, although not completely.

  Marty swallowed, took a deep breath and emitted a delighted laugh. His hands gripping her waist, his eyes unable to tear themselves from hers, he pondered on their glittering depths. ‘So what now, Miss Ibbetson? Or should I say Henrietta?’

  Equally ecstatic, she said, ‘I think you should, especially after that. But call me Etta, I much prefer it.’ Then she sighed and laid her head against his warm chest, leaving it there even though one of his metal buttons hurt her ear. ‘You know, I really do wish you had a caravan, then you could spirit me away.’

  He rubbed his chin atop her head, breathing in her scent and smiling. ‘Ah, now don’t go making rash statements like that or I might.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘You are?’ He pushed her gently away so that he could read her face.

  ‘Completely! Caravan or no, I can’t wait here for Father to get back. I’m desperate to leave…but not without you. I never want to leave you, Martin, ever.’ She squeezed him tightly.

  Marty let out a happy roar. ‘To think when I came to work this morning the only thing I had in mind to tackle was boots! Little did I know I’d be kissing me future wife.’

  ‘And I my future husband!’ Etta laughed emotionally, and they hugged again amorously.

  Marty was on the verge of announcing that he would run away with her there and then, but how could he do this with no funds? He was lucky if he earned nine bob a week. He wondered if she had any money, but was not about to appear so mercenary for that would indeed ruin his case. Still wondering how to broach the subject, he was forestalled by Etta who urged excitedly, ‘Let’s leave this minute!’

  ‘Oh, that’d be really bright, us walking through the hotel lobby together. The manager’d be delighted.’ He grinned to show he was ribbing. ‘Isn’t it enough that you’re about to sacrifice everything, without me losing my job too?’

  ‘There’s nothing for me to sacrifice but wealth, and that means absolutely nothing.’

  ‘It might when you’ve nothing to eat. If I walk out of here I’ve lost my income. How would I support you?’

  ‘You could get another job! I’d help.’

  ‘Etta, I’d love nothing more than to run away with you right now, but one of us has to be sensible. I can’t promise to keep you in the manner to which you’re accustomed but I can at least hang on to the job I have. Now, we must think of a plan. Where are we to go? Where are we to live? I couldn’t raise enough for a month’s rent so quickly, not to mention what it’d cost even to secure the key.’

  ‘But you won’t allow these stumbling blocks to come between us, will you?’ she implored him with little kisses.

  Marty closed his eyes in ecstasy, fighting carnal urges. ‘Do I look as if I’d give up so easily? I’m going to have to enlist help, that’s all.’

  ‘From your parents?’

  He sobered. ‘Ah, no, I certainly couldn’t take you home just like that.’ Nor could he allow her to think this was some jolly jape. ‘It might be that your father’s not the only one who doesn’t take kindly to this. I don’t mean any insult, I’m sure Ma and Da’ll be fine once they get used to the idea of me marrying a lady – if the shock doesn’t kill them first – but I can’t just spring it on them. Besides, what kind of a man would I be if I expected my parents to look after us? No, but I have quite a few friends I can turn to.’

  ‘I knew you’d be popular!’ She hugged him.

  ‘Thanks, but nobody’s that popular when he’s asking for cash.’ He tried to clear his mind but it was difficult with her pressed so close. His eye caught the carriage clock on the bedside table. ‘God in heaven, I’ve been in here almost an hour!’ How the time had flown. ‘I’ll have to get this key back. Now, sweetheart, nice as it is we’ve got to stop all this cuddling and be practical. How long before himself returns?’

  ‘I should think at least another hour.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to make a start on our relief fund.’ He attempted to disentangle himself.

  ‘I have a few coins hidden!’ An adoring Etta made a grab for her portmanteau, hurling clothes right, left and centre before pressing the money into his hand. ‘Sorry there’s so little but I spent the rest on my last escapade.’

  Marty accepted the few shillings with grace. ‘Never mind, this’ll be a big help, though we’ll need just a bit more.’ He gave her a quick kiss. ‘So let me go about getting it, and the moment I do I’ll be back to whisk you away.’

  Overjoyed, she clung to him all the way to the door. ‘Oh, surely I must be dreaming!’

  ‘And I must be crazy!’ Loath to drag himself away, Marty kissed her heartily, dealt her one last adoring look, then, peeking into the corridor to check that it was clear, rushed back to his proper quarters.

  On the way down, however, he encountered the pageboy, whom he knew received plenty of tips, and, without preamble, demanded excitedly, ‘Joe, me old mucker, lend us some cash. I’ll pay it back soon as I can.’

  The trusting youngster fished a couple of silver threepences out of his trouser pocket. ‘No rush.’

  ‘Thanks, but I meant a bit more than this.’ Needing to shout it from the rooftops, Marty grinned and in an excited whisper revealed his intentions. ‘You’ll never believe this. You know the stunner? She wants me to run away with her!’

  Joe gave an impassive nod and made to move on. ‘Right…sorry, Bootsie, can’t stop, that lady in room one-two-five’s just rang down to ask if I’ll go slip her a length. She can’t get enough of –’

  ‘I’m not codding ye!’ Marty pressed a delaying hand to his friend’s chest, hissing with bright-eyed enthusiasm, ‘We’ve really clicked. Her dad locked her in and –’

  ‘Oh aye, Joanna’s just been ranting on about that!’ Joe rolled his eyes in amused exasperation. ‘Proper disgruntled she was.’

  ‘Will you stop bloody wittering on!’ Marty displayed urgency. ‘I have to think of a way to get her out o’ here before he comes back.’

  Joe laughed aloud then. ‘You soft article! A lady like her’s not really interested in the likes of us. She only spun you a line to get you to unlock the door. Joanna told u—’

  ‘Ach, I haven’t time to sod about!’ Marty rushed away, muttering that he had to get some money together.

  Watching the other retreat, the little pageboy shook his head know
ingly, dismissing Marty’s outpouring as fantasy. ‘She’ll be vanished by the time you get back!’ he called after him.

  ‘Don’t bet on it!’

  But down in the basement Marty was to be shown equal disrespect. Having been reliably informed by Joanna, everyone was of the opinion that he had taken leave of his senses.

  ‘I know she’s lovely,’ said a motherly chambermaid, ‘because she asked me to do up her corsets and gave me sixpence for my troubles –’

  ‘Blimey, I’d’ve done ’em for nowt,’ interjected one of the boys.

  ‘– but I rather think she’s teasing you, dear,’ finished the maid.

  ‘Aye, she’s having you for a mug, Bootsie,’ sneered a waiter.

  ‘But will you lend us something, please, please?’ Clutching his cap to his breast, Marty dropped to his knees, shuffling in this fashion around the workers and making them all laugh.

  ‘Here you are then, I’m happy to bet on a certainty.’ Casually, one of the porters dropped a florin into the outstretched cap.

  Others gasped at the munificent gesture. ‘Bloody hell, I’ll have some if you’re chucking it about!’

  The contributor’s face creased in mockery. ‘Nah – I’ll be getting it back in ten minutes when Bootsie finds out she’s done a flit!’

  Ignoring the ridicule, Marty lauded his benefactor. And as others good-naturedly followed suit he blessed these too, even knowing it was done out of jest, for they would soon be laughing on the other side of their faces.

  ‘Eh, we’ll look daft if he runs off to Timbuktu with her,’ joked one of the boys, nudging his neighbour.

  ‘We won’t be running that far.’ Marty got to his feet, looking smug.

  ‘She might not be but you will! When her dad comes back you’ll find yourself travelling to Timbuktu on the end of his foot.’

  Marty remained smiling and chinked the coins now in his hand. ‘Mock if you will! But Etta and myself will be using this for a deposit on a home.’

  Alas, this drew more than raucous guffaws.

  ‘What’s this infernal racket? Boots!’ Marty jumped and shoved the coins in his pocket as his superior appeared and everyone hurried about their work. ‘I might have known you’d be at the centre of it!’

  ‘Sorry, Mr Wilkinson.’

  ‘You will be! The gentleman in room one-twenty has made a complaint that his dirty shoes are still in the corridor.’

  Marty retreated quickly with an apologetic bow. ‘I must have missed them, sir. I’ll go fetch them now.’

  ‘Jump to it, boy – and return those whilst you’re at it!’ Wilkinson pointed to a lone pair of ladies’ shoes, which Marty quickly seized.

  ‘Yes, sir, I’ll see to it immediately!’ The errand gave him just the excuse he needed to go upstairs again.

  On the way his luck increased, for not only was he able to replace the key but he met Joe struggling under the weight of two cases and whispered urgently to him, ‘When you’ve done that will you keep watch for me? I need to know if that Ibbetson gadger comes back – he hasn’t been past already, has he?’

  Joe said not that he knew of, adding that he would act as lookout so long as he was not needed. ‘You’ll get me hung, you will!’

  ‘Hanged!’ corrected Marty with a grin, and, thanking him, he galloped off to Etta’s room.

  Yet at the point of entering he stalled – not simply because her father might be there but more because he feared his friends could be right. Had he indeed been fooling himself, caught up in the moment? What could a ravishing, wealthy young lady like her see in him? Moreover, how could he be idiot enough to expect her to give it all up?

  But the doubt was transitory. Once inside, everything was all right again. More than all right. In her relief Etta threw herself at him, sparking off a feverish bout of kissing.

  Reinvigorated, Marty said cheerfully, ‘Right, get your hat on, missus! We’re off.’

  Giggling and giddy with happiness, she ran to where the hat still lay on the carpet. It was whilst she was picking it up that her father’s voice intruded, startling the elopers.

  ‘What the deuce are you doing in here?’ It emerged as through a megaphone.

  Wheeling to face the imposing presence, Marty blanched – the wretch must have passed Joe on the way. Under threat, he thought quickly, seizing and brandishing the kid slippers that he had thrown aside on entry. ‘Just returning the lady’s shoes, sir!’ He hoped the father did not recognize the lie.

  But ownership of the shoes was of no concern to Ibbetson. ‘The door was locked – you must have let yourself in!’ Stick raised, the man advanced upon the slender youth.

  Alarmed that her newfound romance was to be spoiled before it had chance to flourish, Etta butted in whilst trying to appear calm. ‘There’s nothing untoward, Father, he was passing the room and I commanded him to fetch me something to drink, which involved him also fetching a key. It was stifling in here, I almost passed out.’

  Marty chipped in to endorse this. ‘I didn’t think you’d want me to ignore the lady’s discomfort, sir.’

  ‘You are impudent, boy! I shall have you dismissed!’

  ‘For saving me?’ Head erect, Etta glided forward, desperate to run but knowing that would ruin everything. As things stood, all was not completely lost. ‘I should rather imagine the hotel owner would thank his employee for such quick thinking. He wasn’t the one who locked me in.’

  With her father’s wrath successfully deflected from Martin, immediately she became humble, though it was against her nature. ‘I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean that to sound in any way defiant. I’m merely trying to explain that the young man was simply doing as he was bidden. Please, Father, you’ve never been unfair to our own servants.’ Etta laid a steadying hand upon his arm, trying not to reveal her true anxiety. How were they to get away now?

  Marty was thinking the same thing. Wisely, in the face of Ibbetson’s fury he dropped his gaze to the carpet and stood meekly awaiting his fate, though under the surface his mind whirred like clockwork for a solution.

  After what seemed like aeons, though his colour remained high, Ibbetson grudgingly decided, ‘Very well, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. You may keep your job – but only because we shall shortly be gone and I shan’t have to encounter your detestable face again. Now get out and send a porter to transport our bags immediately to the platform!’

  With the man gesticulating for him to leave, Marty gave hasty thanks and obeyed. Henrietta’s heart sank into despair as he dealt her not so much as a glance.

  By now, though, thoroughly infatuated, Marty had no intention of abandoning his prize. Cursing his laxity at not seeking her precise address, he raced downstairs, and, after bewailing his luck to his colleagues and submitting to their friendly teasing, he threw himself on their mercy yet again. Scribbling on a crumpled bit of paper and electing the chambermaid as his go-between, he begged her, ‘Jo, do us a favour! Slip her this message before she lea—’

  ‘He must think I’m barmy!’ Open-mouthed, she advertised her scorn to the laughing assembly.

  ‘Ah, go on!’ Fraught with desperation, he tried to cup her face. ‘Please! I have to get her address or she’s lost to me forever!’

  She craned her head out of reach. ‘And you expect me to care?’ Was he really so insensitive? Could he not tell how much she wanted him herself?

  ‘I thought you were a pal?’ he beseeched her, but she just pushed him bad-temperedly out of her way and left.

  No one else seemed keen to take the risk, laughing off his frantic attempts as pure whimsy. After an infuriated pause there came a brainwave. Swearing and rummaging through a drawer he finally came up with a piece of chalk. Then, grabbing a tray he scrawled something on the underside and rushed from the side exit. Swearing and dodging his way through a collection of laundry hampers that were being off-loaded, he bounded around to the hotel’s main lobby which opened onto the station platform, heading for a spot that Etta would have to pass.
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  But she was already well on her way, albeit unwillingly, being half dragged by her father after the porter who carried their bags. Hovering anxiously with his tray, Marty silently urged her to turn around, but Etta marched onwards stiffbacked to the waiting train. Panic rose. He couldn’t lose her, he couldn’t! Almost at the point of risking everything, he was about to yell out for her not to leave, when, miracle of miracles, she turned crossly to take issue with her father for manhandling her into the carriage and at last spotted Marty. In this same instant he tilted the tray to reveal the chalked entreaty underneath: IF YOU WANT ME TELL ME WHERE YOU LIVE.

  A joyous recognition came to her eyes, igniting a spark of optimism that regrettably was not to last, for at this same time her father spun round too and Marty was compelled to vanish. When he dared to poke his head out again, Etta was in the carriage, out of sight. He wondered miserably, as the train chugged away, if she had deciphered his message or if he would ever see her again.

  Ignorant as to the extent of his agony, his colleagues told him mildly, ‘Forget about her, Bootsie. The likes of her won’t fret about thee – oh, and we’ll have our money back if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Aw, don’t be mean!’ Now that the rival had been disposed of, Joanna allowed her compassionate nature to shine through and she gripped his arm. ‘Cheer up, Bootsie, me and my friend are off to the theatre tonight, you can come with us if you like.’

  Normally Marty would have accepted, but he was just too devastated and did not even acknowledge the invitation, much to his admirer’s hurt. He emptied his pockets but, though glum, his tone showed he was not beaten. ‘I wonder if her address is in the register.’

  ‘Eh, don’t let Wilko hear you!’ They grouped round to recover their contributions.

  Marty remained pensive. ‘She mentioned her dad’s a farmer…’

  There was a cackle from the porter. ‘Aye, but not just some clod-hopping smallholder! Haven’t you heard of him, you dummy? He owns half the Yorkshire Wolds!’