A True Love of Mine

by Margaret Thornton

  Maddy smiled. She wasn’t sure whether her friend was joking or not. It was an interesting idea – she rather liked the sound of it – but she didn’t think her parents would agree. ‘Mmm…perhaps,’ she said, ‘but somehow I don’t think so. My mam and dad’ll want me to do…something else.’

  ‘Have you thought though, really, what you want to do when you leave school?’ asked Jessie. ‘You said that Patrick had to go and work for your father and grandfather. You don’t think you will have to do – you know – what they do, will you?’

  ‘Go into the undertaking business,’ said Maddy, grinning. ‘I know you still think it’s weird, Jessie, but I’ve got used to it, y’see. Patrick didn’t mind; in fact it was what he wanted to do. But my mam has already said that she doesn’t want me to do it, and neither do I. They would never make me do something I didn’t like.’

  ‘What would you like then?’

  ‘Oh…to work in a shop, I think. I could work in our shop. P’r’aps Mam thinks I’ll do that, but the trouble is I don’t like Bella very much.’ She glanced briefly behind her to where Bella, a couple of rows further back, was chatting to her mother and Jessie’s mother.

  ‘No, I didn’t think you did,’ replied Jessie. ‘I’ve noticed.’

  ‘She doesn’t like me much either,’ said Maddy. ‘I don’t know why… Anyway,’ she shrugged, ‘I don’t really bother about it any more. I might learn to be a dressmaker. That’s what my mam did before she was married, and she still makes nice dresses and things when she has time. What about you? Are you still thinking of going to that college where you’ll learn to type an’ all that?’

  ‘I expect so. It’s six more years though for me, before I leave school.’ Jessie sighed. ‘It’s too far off to think about really…’ She broke off as Samuel and Patrick appeared at the side of them.

  ‘Come on and we’ll treat you to an ice-cream,’ said Patrick. ‘Won’t we, Samuel?’

  ‘I think that would be a jolly good idea for all of us,’ agreed Samuel in his usual precise tones. He was smiling though, and Maddy felt that his smile was for her rather than for his sister.

  ‘And us as well,’ Tommy chimed in. ‘Me and Tilly. We’d like an ice-cream, wouldn’t we, Tilly?’

  The twins jumped up, leaving the sand pies they had been making. They had brought their buckets and spades to keep them occupied during the interval.

  ‘Of course we won’t forget you two,’ laughed Patrick. ‘How could we?’

  ‘The trouble is we don’t want to lose our places,’ said Jessie. ‘If we get up somebody might pinch them. Could you fetch the ice-creams for us, please?’

  ‘Oh…all right then,’ said Patrick. ‘Anything to oblige a lovely young lady.’ He winked at Jessie and Maddy noticed that she turned a pretty shade of pink.

  Jessie’s pale freckled skin had not changed colour very much during the weeks they had spent in Scarborough. Unlike Maddy’s, whose arms, bare from the elbows down, were brown and her cheeks ruddy, like rosy apples. Both the girls kept their sun hats on, though, for most of the time, and Maddy noticed that Jessie’s summer frocks, like those of her mother, had long sleeves. She knew that proper ladies – like Mrs Barraclough – tried to preserve their pale complexions by wearing large-brimmed hats and holding a parasol. Her mother had told her so, although Mam didn’t fuss about it too much herself, and she, Maddy, liked to feel the warmth of the sun on her face and arms.

  ‘I think we should swap brothers, don’t you?’ said Maddy, as the two lads went off to the ice-cream cart with the twins dancing along behind them. ‘Patrick’s a lot nicer to you than he is to me. And you said your brother was real stuffy. But I think he’s…quite nice.’

  ‘No, I don’t want to swap,’ replied Jessie decidedly. ‘I think it’s more fun when they’re not brothers…if you see what I mean.’ She turned rather pink again. ‘Anyway, brothers are often horrid to their sisters, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ said Maddy. She hadn’t really meant that she would like to swap. As Jessie said, it was more fun having Samuel as a friend. But it would not be for very much longer. By the time they returned with the ice creams it was almost time for the second half of the show to begin.

  ‘Be careful you don’t spill your ice cream,’ said Jessie to the twins. ‘And wipe your hands when you’ve finished. You’ve got your hankies, haven’t you?’ Tommy and Tilly nodded and perched on the end of the form to watch the rest of the performance.

  It was more interesting to them than the first half had been. Nancy came on with her performing dogs, then the tap-dancing men, Barney and Benjy, and the funny man who always made Tommy laugh so much. They fidgeted a little when the man called Charlie came on although the rest of the audience clapped and cheered like mad. He had already entertained them with his monologues, ‘Drake’s Drum’ and ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’. But this time he was dressed in the bright red uniform of a Chelsea pensioner.

  ‘We’re the soldiers of the Queen, mi lads,

  Who’ve been, mi lads, who’ve seen, mi lads…’

  he sang in his loud, but not very tuneful, voice. Then followed a recital telling of his days as a soldier, fighting for his Queen and Country. Several of the grown-ups were wiping their eyes as he came to the end of his last song, with the audience joining in.

  ‘…Steady and strong, marching along,

  With the boys of the old brigade.’

  All the Pierrots came in and joined in the singing as a fitting end to the performance, and then Percy Morgan spoke glowingly about Charlie, wishing him well in the future and saying how much he would be missed. He was presented with a large bouquet of flowers which he handed to his wife, who was seated on the front row of chairs, as well as several parcels from members of the audience. It was known, of course, that the proceeds of the show would be given to Charlie, and it was believed that folks would be generous. He was a popular member of the troupe.

  ‘That was a most delicious meal,’ said Faith, when they had all eaten their fill of the magnificent spread put on by Clara. Sausage rolls, meat pies, all kinds of sandwiches and mixed pickles; fruit cake, almond tarts, and iced buns (specially for Tommy and Tilly), and a large trifle in a cut-glass bowl, decorated with cherries and tiny silver balls. ‘It was very kind of you to invite us, and we all want to say thank you, don’t we, to Mrs Moon?’

  She glanced at each of her children who all smiled and said their thank yous.

  ‘We have been pleased to get to know you all,’ said Clara. ‘It’s a pity you’ll be going back soon, but all good things have to come to an end, as they say. And we do hope we will see you again next year.’

  Maddy and Jessie, in particular, were looking rather downcast as they glanced at one another. Faith looked at them and smiled. ‘Don’t look so glum, you two,’ she said. ‘Actually… I have a surprise for you. I have decided we can stay another week!’

  ‘Can we really, Mummy?’ said Jessie. She looked at Maddy and they both grinned with delight. ‘Why have you changed your mind?’

  ‘You and Samuel don’t go back to school until the week after next, do you?’ said Faith. ‘And I decided…well…there’s nothing much to rush back for. Your father is out on business most of the time…’ Her voice petered out and she looked pensive for a moment.

  ‘So we’ll have another week together, Maddy,’ said Jessie.

  ‘Ye-es…only part of the time though,’ replied Maddy. ‘I go back to school next Monday, earlier than you do. I ’spect it’s because you go to – you know – a sort of posh school, don’t you, you and Samuel?’

  Faith laughed and Samuel, too, gave a wry smile. ‘I expect school is school, whatever sort of an academy it is. Anyway, thanks very much, Mother. Lots more time for fishing.’

  ‘You and your fishing!’ said Jessie. ‘Never mind; we’ve got the rest of this week, haven’t we, Maddy? And perhaps one day next week you could come round for tea at our place, when you finish school, couldn’t she, Mum
my?’

  ‘Most certainly,’ said Faith. ‘I’m pleased you two have become such very good friends.’

  ‘And a week next Friday,’ said William, ‘it will be the final performance of the Pierrots for this year. It’s usually quite a grand occasion. They wear evening dress instead of their usual costumes. Clara and I are thinking of going, aren’t we, love? We went last year and it was real grand. Perhaps you would like to come with us, Faith? It’d be a nice ending to your holiday.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, William,’ said Faith, ‘and you, too, Clara. Yes, I would love to come.’ She did not dare to glance at Bella Randall, but she was aware that the woman had suddenly gone very quiet. She hoped fervently that Bella would not be included in this proposed outing, and somehow she felt that she would not be invited.

  ‘And us,’ chimed in Maddy. ‘What about me and Jessie?’

  ‘Oh…it’s rather too late for you, I’m afraid,’ smiled Clara. ‘It doesn’t start until half past ten at night. It’s just for grown-ups, you see, and it gives the local landladies a chance to see the show, as well as the holidaymakers.’

  ‘I reckon I shall be holding the fort here,’ said Isaac. ‘Many’s the time I would have been there meself, on t’ front row an’ all, but I’ll give it a miss this time. I’ll take care of Maddy and Patrick.’

  ‘I don’t need taking care of, Grandad, thanks all the same,’ said Patrick. ‘But I’ll stay behind and look after my dear little sister.’ He laughed out loud as Maddy stuck her tongue out at him.

  ‘And I will take charge of Jessica and the twins, Mother,’ said Samuel. ‘You go and enjoy yourself. But I was wondering, Patrick…would you like to come fishing with me, perhaps on Sunday afternoon?’

  ‘Yes, why not?’ said Patrick with his usual cheerful grin. ‘Ta very much. I’m ready to try anything once.’

  Chalk and cheese, thought Maddy. Wasn’t that what grown-ups said about people who were absolutely different in every way? But who could tell? Perhaps the two young men would come to be good friends, just as she and Jessie were. The two girls had already promised to write to one another and vowed they would be best friends for ever.

  William, Clara and Faith also promised that they would keep in touch, although the two women guessed that it would be up to them to do the letter writing. Faith had invited them back to her lodgings after the evening Pierrot show which ended soon after half past eleven. William held out both his arms to assist Clara and Faith up the steep cliffside path. Faith showed no embarrassment; they had been so attentive towards her all evening, making her feel that they were pleased to have her company. But she could not help but feel a pang of…not exactly jealousy, but certainly sorrow that her marriage was so different from their own.

  The performance had been a happy occasion, but nostalgic too, as the Pierrots said their goodbyes in comedy, dance and song. They had chosen some specially plaintive songs; ‘The Last Rose of Summer, and ‘Will ye no come back again?’. But the last chorus of,

  ‘Goodbye-ee, don’t cry-ee,

  Wipe the tear, baby dear, from your eye-ee…’

  had everyone laughing again. Fortunately it was a still, fine night. The moon shone brightly and the stage was lit by oil lamps which cast a radiant yellowish light on the men in evening suits and the ladies in dresses of shimmering satin.

  Back at Faith’s lodgings all was silent as the children, including Samuel, surprisingly, had all retired to bed. Faith poured pale golden sherry into glasses of crystal and handed them to her friends. ‘Thank you both,’ she said, ‘for helping to make our stay here so enjoyable.’

  ‘And here’s to our friendship,’ said William raising his glass. ‘Long may it continue. We are very pleased to have met you all. And – God willing – may we all meet again next year. Here’s to the future…’

  ‘To the future…’ echoed Clara and Faith as they lifted their glasses, all smiling happily at one another.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Queen Victoria died on the evening of 22nd January, 1901, at her beloved holiday home, Osborne, on the Isle of Wight. She was eighty-one years of age.

  She had been a distant, shadowy figure to most of her subjects. After the death of her beloved husband, Prince Albert, in 1861, she had become a recluse for many years, shutting herself away in her Highland retreat at Balmoral. People’s sympathy at her bereavement had soon turned to impatience and resentment that, even now, she would not allow her son, the Prince of Wales – Prince Teddy – to take over some of the responsibilities of monarchy. Instead, she remained hidden away, swathed in the deepest black, which she wore for the rest of her life, gazing sorrowfully, it was said, at the bust of her dear Albert.

  However, by the time of her Golden Jubilee in 1887 she had emerged from her retreat. Ten years later, at the celebration of her Diamond Jubilee, she had been gratified by the cheers of the vast crowds as she was driven through the streets of London to St Paul’s Cathedral.

  Now the grand old lady was dead, and she was mourned by her loyal subjects throughout the land. Clara Moon, like thousands of others, read in the newspapers of her death and then of her elaborate funeral. It was said that she ‘died peacefully’ with the members of her family at her bedside. ‘In the arms of her grandson, the German Kaiser…’ said some reports; and another said that her last word was ‘Bertie…’ uttered to her eldest son who was, at long last, to become king.

  ‘Poor old lady,’ said Clara, one evening in early February, as she read of the prolonged ceremonials which followed the death of the queen. ‘It’s strange we should feel so saddened by her passing. I mean to say, it isn’t as if we knew her, but she’s always been there, hasn’t she, for as long as we can remember?’ Most of her subjects, however, knew her only as a corpulent, frumpish and somewhat grumpy old lady, judging from the photographs which appeared from time to time in the newspapers.

  ‘Aye, that goes for me an’ all,’ said Isaac. ‘It’s the end of an era, all right. Victorians, we called ourselves, didn’t we? Now we’ll have to get used to summat else. Edwardians; I reckon that’s what we’ll be called. It was King William the Fourth – Silly Billy, they used to call him – when I was born. Not that I remember owt about him. I’d be about five years old when Victoria came to t’ throne. Aye, she’ll be missed, will the old girl.’

  ‘When you come to think of it, she’s done a lot for our business,’ said William. He gave a wry grin. ‘I don’t want to sound disrespectful, like, but I’m thinking of our shop, Moon’s Mourning Modes. It was the queen who started the mourning cult, wasn’t it, after Prince Albert died? And you could say that we’ve cashed in on it. Folks wanted to follow her example with black clothing and all the paraphernalia. Aye, she’s certainly not done us any harm, God bless her.’

  ‘Perhaps King Edward will have a different outlook,’ said Clara. ‘But I’ve tried to steer away from too much black in the shop, as you know. Actually, I’m wondering if it’s time we had a change of name. ‘Mourning Modes’ sounds so terribly depressing.’

  ‘Happen so,’ replied William, ‘though I don’t know what else you’d call it.’

  He glanced anxiously at Clara before returning his eyes to the book he was reading, one of the latest of the adventures of Sherlock Holmes. His wife continued with the perusal of the morning newspaper. William was concerned about her. Apart from the fact that she had been singularly moved by the death of the queen, she was not herself at all. She had had a succession of colds during the winter months and now she seemed to be developing a nasty cough. Clara was not one for consulting the doctor with every little ache and pain, but William decided that very soon he would have to insist that she did so.

  Clara felt her eyes watering, and she blew again into her handkerchief. If she were truthful she felt quite unwell, but they had been busy recently – it was always the same in January and February – and she had wanted to help William as much as she could. Not only was her head aching and her throat a little sore, but she felt low
in spirits as well. The death of the queen, of course, had not helped. It had cast a dark pall over the nation, but maybe now that she had finally been laid to rest they could all get back to normal. And maybe she, Clara, would begin to feel a little brighter.

  It was only now, two full weeks after her death, that the queen’s body had at last been laid alongside that of Prince Albert in the mausoleum at Frogmore; whilst, it was reported, ‘the snow fell softly outside’. The newspaper that Clara was reading gave a detailed account of the funeral. After the lying-in-state at Osborne House the coffin had been moved to the royal yacht, Alberta, for its journey to the mainland, and then by train to Victoria Station. Black drapes over the coffin had been replaced by white and gold ones as Queen Victoria’s last public journey was made through packed, silent streets, escorted by troops from around her vast empire. All along the route people stood bare-headed, many of them in tears. A gun carriage took the coffin to Paddington Station for its second train journey to Windsor. A salute of eighty-one guns was fired from the park, one for each year of the queen’s life. After a brief service in St George’s Chapel at Windsor there was a second lying-in-state in the Albert Memorial Chapel. And then, at last, on the 4th of February, the queen was laid to rest beside Prince Albert.

  ‘God bless her,’ Clara said quietly to herself. ‘And God bless King Edward too.’ He could not know what lay in store for him at the start of his reign any more than she, Clara Moon, did.

  ‘You’re not at all well, are you, dear?’ said Clara’s old friend, Louisa Montague, when she came to visit her the following morning. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so you look very peaky; and tired, too. I think you need a jolly good rest.’