A Different Kind of Love

by A Different Kind of Love (retail) (epub)

  Ice began to encrust her heart.

  We’ve only seen each other a couple of times in the three years we’ve known each other and lovely as your letters are you can’t form a relationship on paper, can you? You’ll want to get married some day and so do I. The fact is, I met someone else a while ago and we’ve been seeing quite a lot of each other …

  It was so unexpected that she was almost tipped from her chair by shock. She stared at the words, unable to believe what she was reading.

  I’m sorry, I had no intention of hurting you or deceiving you and I’ll always regard you with affection but I would beg your understanding on this matter and ask you to release me. I love this girl deeply and with your permission would like to ask her to marry me.

  ‘Well she wasn’t best pleased!’ Eve’s voice intruded as if through a tunnel, Beata too stunned to react as the parlourmaid returned from her mission. ‘What excuse has he got for himself then?’

  Face frozen, Beata stared through her. There seemed little point in lies. ‘He’s asked me to stand aside so he can marry somebody else.’ It felt as if another was speaking the words, as if in some nightmare.

  It was Eve’s turn to be shocked now, though never could it be as acute as the one Beata had suffered. ‘Sorry…’ Hesitant at first, she came to sit down, her tone unusually sympathetic. ‘And are you going to?’

  ‘What?’ Beata looked and sounded dazed.

  ‘Stand aside?’

  The reply was dull. ‘Yes.’

  Eve reared. ‘Well, I know what I’d do if it were me he’d been stringing along!’

  Throbbing now with grief and traumatism, an enormous lump in her throat, Beata tried to focus on something else. ‘What did Mrs Druce have to say to you leaving?’

  ‘Oh, she gave me a right snotty lecture!’ Easily diverted to a more personal topic, Eve launched into a tirade as Beata had hoped she would, allowing the jilted cook to avoid a grilling.

  Slipping the unfinished letter into her pocket, with wooden movements Beata went back to her duties. Yet there could be no real escape not even in work, for throughout that day and for many days to come she was to constantly torture herself over what she might possibly have done to forfeit Tommy’s love.

  28

  Lucy found the news almost as hard to palate as Beata when, a week later, she came to Briar House. Set for an evening in town, she had entered the kitchen full of verve; now she was incensed that her dearest friend had been hurt. After furious denouncement of Tommy, she sat there at the table, deeply pensive.

  ‘Anyway, it’s all over and done with now. Don’t let it put the kibosh on your good news.’ Beata drummed the table, waiting expectantly.

  One arm resting on the chenille cloth, the other propping up her chin, Lucy frowned and rolled a cautious eye. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I could tell by the grin on your face when you came in that you were bursting to tell me summat.’ Speaking cheerfully, Beata marvelled that she could hide her pain so effectively.

  It did not fool Lucy, who wondered how she was ever going to reveal her own glad tidings to this heartbroken girl. ‘Oh, it was summat nor nowt – gone clean out of my head now. Are we going to make tracks? The curtain’ll be going up if we’re not nippy.’ ‘Hang on.’ Beata narrowed her eyes, pinning Lucy with a shrewd expression. ‘You’re getting married, aren’t you?’

  Her friend was amazed. ‘How on earth did you know?’

  ‘It didn’t take much guessing. Aw, I’m right glad for you!’ Smiling fondly, she gripped Lucy’s hand across the table and enthused for several seconds about the wedding before announcing, ‘Well, that’s the second piece of good news I’ve had today: Eve’s leaving tonight and bloody good riddance.’ The parlourmaid was upstairs at the moment so it was safe to malign her. ‘I’ve engineered for Sadie to be hired in her place so at least I’ll have a friend to go out with when you’re up in Scotland.’

  An accusing laugh spilled from Lucy’s red lips. ‘Eh, I haven’t gone yet and you’ve already lined somebody up to take my place!’

  ‘No one could ever take your place, sis. Eh, and I expect to be bridesmaid.’ Eyes twinkling, Beata wagged her finger, her devil-may-care attitude encouraging her friend to make excited plans as they set off for the theatre.

  Once tagged on to the end of the queue, though, they spoke more discreetly, sparing a thought for the group of unemployed men who chorused to avoid starvation. There had been many such destitute souls along the way, collecting pennies in their greasy, ragged caps, and it was a relief when the queue finally started moving.

  Grinning enthusiastically at Lucy to show she was unaffected by the recent rejection, Beata wriggled her bottom into the velvet seat and fixed her eyes on the stage as the lights went down and the curtain up. Once it was dark, however, she allowed her façade to drop.

  An air of anticipation settled on the audience. Women had been urged to see this play, Journey’s End, for it showed what life had really been like at the front. Recalling a distant night when a little girl had sat at the foot of the stairs eavesdropping, Beata was already familiar with what her father and his comrades had endured, but was none the less moved by the poetry of a generation’s suffering as depicted here, the skill of the actors making that artificial dugout seem all too convincing. Others too were overcome, the auditorium haunted by tearful sniffing and blowing of noses.

  This being so, it seemed safe enough now to allow a tear to slide down her own cheek without fear of exposing the true reason for her misery.

  * * *

  There was no need to keep up the act in front of Gus, who knew all too well what it was like to have her dream snatched away. But the pouring out of her heart after Mass did little to ease Beata’s wound and there was the added embarrassment of having to admit she had been jilted a second time.

  ‘Perhaps I’m not cut out for marriage.’ The eyes were dry but the voice hopeless.

  ‘What a defeatist!’

  ‘Well, you can talk.’

  ‘You know why I turned Vincent down!’ Gussie sounded hurt. ‘I couldn’t bring children into the world knowing I might infect them with this awful disease I’m carrying.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Beata hung her head.

  Her sister forgave her. ‘But there’s no good reason why you can’t marry. The right man might be just around the bend.’

  Beata forced a chuckle. ‘He’d have to be round the bend if he took up with me.’

  ‘Stop running yourself down,’ scolded Gussie. ‘I’m trying to tell you something. Aunt Kit was jilted twice before she met Uncle Worthy.’

  ‘Really?’ Despite her melancholy, Beata showed interest.

  ‘Yes! Aunt Ethel told me. So don’t go writing yourself off before you’re even twenty-one. In the meantime you can take your mind off it by coming and helping me look after people less fortunate than yourself. I think Aunty Lizzie’s losing her marbles and the Melody clan’s in a right state. Those poor bairns without a mother…’

  ‘Go on then. I’ve a bit of time to spare before I have to get the veg on.’ And, hoping this act of altruism would deaden the pain, though without much confidence, Beata went across the road with her sister to offer her help to the Melodys.

  Their knock brought a neglected little boy to the door, his hair overgrown and full of knots, his mouth smeared with dried food. Carrying Gussie’s message to his father, he returned to bid the visitors come in.

  Mr Melody did not greet their entry, did not even smile, just kept looking into the fire and smoking his pipe. It was left to Mary to offer them a cup of tea, she having recognized Beata from their schooldays. Due to their father’s enforced absence for the greater part of the war, there was a large gap in the ages of his children; whilst some were as old as Beata others were still at primary school.

  ‘We just came to say we were very sorry to hear about your loss and to see if there’s anything we can do to help,’ explained Gussie.

  She and Beata eyed the gathe
ring, not daring to look at each other for fear of revealing their horror and insulting their host. The house stank of rotten apples, signifying bugs, and whilst the older offspring had retained some semblance of grooming, the youngsters looked crumpled and rather wild.

  ‘Can ye get me a job?’ Mick had been on the dole for months. The young women shook their heads apologetically. ‘Then there’s nothing ye can do,’ he said in his quiet brogue.

  Beata wondered how to tell him he was neglecting his children.

  Augusta found the necessary diplomacy. ‘I remember how hard it was when Mother died. I was younger than Mary, of course, but it was a difficult job. I’m sure you could do with a hand looking after the little ones, couldn’t you?’ She glanced at the eldest, who consulted her father.

  Mick gave a sad shrug, unaware that he addressed Probyn’s daughters when he said, ‘If you’ve nothing better to do who am I to stop yese.’

  Had Beata known Mick in his youth she would have asked herself what had happened to such a kind and amiable, creative man. But, upon departure from the Melody household some ten minutes later, all she could picture was a human wreck who was going to use her sister as a workhorse, given half the chance.

  ‘It’s very sad but don’t let them abuse your charity,’ she sought to warn Gussie before setting off for Fulford.

  ‘Of course I won’t. But Mary’s at college. She’s really academic, you can’t expect—’

  ‘College or no, she’s the same age as me.’ Beata was firm. ‘She’s not incapable – and neither is her other sister.’

  ‘Eh, you’re so aggressive! Just because we never had a chance doesn’t mean they should be denied it. I’ll just be giving them a bit of help, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, make sure it is.’ Beata pointed a finger, but had no further time to tarry for there was the Sunday dinner to cook.

  Once on her own again, her thoughts were overwhelmed by images of Tommy.

  * * *

  Not the sort to wallow, over the following months she tried very hard to put him out of her mind, especially on the day of her best friend’s wedding. But skilled though she was at conjuring a sunny smile for the photographs, she feared she would never get over such loss. Despite what Gussie said, Beata had the feeling that there would be no more chance of matrimony for her, for she had already met Mr Right; even if someone else were to come along she could not envisage such strength of feeling as she had for that dear man. Besides, there was very little time for meeting anyone, other than on holiday, for she was kept very busy and only had one afternoon off a week, and with Lucy married there would be no one with whom to go on holiday now. An approach to Sadie had been unfruitful, the parlourmaid handing most of her wages to her mother and only able to afford the occasional evening out.

  So, life drifted on in the same routine. Another Christmas, another festive meal to cook. Sweating over its preparation, Beata listened to the radio that Mrs Druce had kindly installed for her, an Empire-wide round-up, bringing messages from people in all walks of life from as remote corners of the globe as it was possible to imagine. At one time keen to travel, today the distant, foreign voices only served to emphasize Beata’s own sense of isolation.

  The next year looked like being much the same too, 1931 getting off to an unpromising start with the death of Uncle Horace. But on a personal front things began to perk up when it turned out that Beata was to get a holiday after all, Lucy inviting her to come to stay with her and Harry in Scotland.

  It was marvellous to see her friend again, especially given the news that she would be expected to play godmother later in the year. As ever, the time simply flew by and it was soon back to hard work, but before she left, arrangements were made for Beata’s coming-of-age, Lucy promising that she and Harry would come down to York and treat their dear friend to a birthday meal at a posh restaurant and a trip to the theatre. ‘Unless you’d rather spend it with family of course,’ she added.

  Beata laughingly refused, saying that a posh restaurant was preferable to a fish and chip supper, besides which, ‘Probably none of them will remember anyway.’

  It looked as if she would be right in part, for when, some weeks later, the mail arrived on the day of her twenty-first birthday none of the envelopes was for her. Though slightly hurt, she did not let it affect her work. It didn’t really matter anyway for there was this evening’s celebration to look forward to, Lucy having confirmed days ago upon arrival in York that the restaurant and theatre tickets were all in hand. In actuality, there had been a nice surprise the night before when Maddie had turned up bearing a card and a tin of shortbread biscuits with nursery rhyme characters depicted on both tin and contents. The fact that none of her other siblings appeared to have remembered this special date made this exceptionally welcome and she smiled now at the brightly coloured tin in passing.

  She was still looking happy when Sadie returned from taking breakfast to the dining room, her otherwise empty tray bearing a brown envelope, which she handed to Beata.

  ‘I hope this isn’t going to spoil your day. Sorry, I took it up assuming it was for Colonel Druce, but it’s got your name on.’

  Beata groaned at the thought of what officialdom it might contain, handling the missive with apprehension.

  But upon opening it she gave an exclamation of delight. ‘Eh, it’s a cheque for eight quid!’

  ‘Struth!’ Downing her tray, Sadie rushed over, hovering eagerly to find out the contents of the letter that the cook was now reading.

  ‘If I understand this correctly,’ frowned Beata, ‘it’s army pension that accrued after I ran away from home. Apparently if you leave before you’re sixteen they stop paying it to your guardian, save it up and give it you when you’re twenty-one.’ She looked up, excitement written all over her face. ‘I must have nearly two years’ worth. Flamin’ Nora, I’ve never been so rich!’

  ‘Ooh, what’re you going to buy with it?’ Sadie appeared as excited as the recipient.

  ‘Well, I’ve always wanted a piano,’ mused Beata. ‘But I shan’t blow it all on that. They’ve got some reconditioned ones on easy terms at Jays, no deposit and five bob a week. I doubt Mrs Druce will let me have it here, though, I’ll have to store it at Aunt Lizzie’s – Oh, I shall have to buy her something, and my sisters of course.’ Whilst she and Sadie were still enthusing a knock came at the side door and the latter went to answer it. ‘Here’s one of your sisters now, Cook.’

  ‘How do, birthday girl!’ A smiling, but rather tired-looking Gussie handed over a card. ‘I thought I’d save on a stamp.’

  ‘Aw, thanks, Gus!’ Sorry for having doubted her, Beata opened the envelope and, after reading the card, placed it on the mantel next to Maddie’s. ‘That’s lovely. You’re early. Have you been at Mass?’

  ‘Nay, I’ve just finished work.’

  Prompted by the smell of ale that emanated from her sister’s clothing, Beata remembered then. ‘Oh, you got that cleaning job at the Tower Brewery?’

  Gussie nodded. ‘Anyway, many happy returns.’

  Beata thanked her again and invited her to sit down whilst she made a pot of tea. ‘Can I get you some toast?’

  ‘I don’t want to hold you up…’

  ‘It’s all right, the family’s eating breakfast and they like to take their time.’

  ‘I’ll see to things, Cook,’ offered Sadie. ‘It’s your birthday; you have a chat with your sister, tell her about your good luck.’

  Beata wasted no time in doing so. Gussie was amazed at such an amount of money. ‘Eh, we’ll have to start calling her Van Der Bilt,’ she joked to Sadie.

  Beata grinned and told her about the piano, then, eyeing her sister’s shabby garment, said, ‘You must come into town with me one day and I’ll treat you to a new coat.’

  Though grateful, Gussie scolded her. ‘Nay, don’t be flinging it around. It’ll be gone before you know it. I’m sorry I couldn’t afford to buy you a present, Beat.’

  ‘A card’s quite suffici
ent.’ Toasting bread over the fire, Beata glanced up as the bell in the dining room tinkled.

  Sadie went off to answer it.

  Gussie pulled something from her coat pocket. ‘Anyway, I thought I’d lend you this to wear on your night out.’ It was the silver watch she had been given by their father.

  Touched, Beata said she would hand it back on Sunday.

  After chatting for only a short time Gussie was soon forced to go. ‘I daren’t leave Aunt Lizzie too long, poor old lass is so forgetful she might have t’house burned down.’

  Thanking her sister again, Beata saw her to the door, then stood admiring the watch on her wrist for a while and flourished it at Sadie when the maid returned.

  ‘Oh, that’s gorgeous!’ Sadie drooled over such an item, holding Beata’s wrist to extend her admiration of it.

  ‘She’s a heart of gold, has our Gus,’ smiled Beata. ‘I’m going to wear it tonight.’

  Just at this point Mrs Druce came in. The girls broke apart and made as if to return to work but their mistress smiled. ‘What was that you were admiring?’

  ‘It’s my sister’s watch, madam. She very kindly lent me it.’ Small blue eyes twinkling, Beata displayed the timepiece on her wrist.

  Mrs Druce praised it too, smiling for a good few moments before saying, ‘Well, I won’t disturb you too long, Beata. I just need to discuss the menu for tonight’s dinner party.’

  Seeing the shock on Beata’s face, she asked, ‘Is anything the matter?’

  Beata glanced at Sadie, then explained hesitantly, ‘Well, you see, madam, I’d arranged to go out tonight for my birthday. I didn’t realize you’d have guests.’

  ‘But your evening off was Wednesday,’ replied Mrs Druce.

  ‘It should have been but I thought I’d have tonight off instead.’ The mistress had never objected to this practice before, so long as there was one servant on duty.