‘I did not know you were looking,’ Martha said in a tight voice, and her gaze slid across the room to Abby who frowned suddenly.
‘Oh, did you not? Why, yes, that has been our occupation these many weeks — every Monday, you know!’ Amy said airily. ‘And it is so exciting — now we believe we have found some news!’
‘Oh? That sounds very clever of you! Explain yourself, my dear, do!’ Freddy seemed genuinely interested and leaned forwards.
‘Well! We went to the Haymarket Theatre — the stage door, you know, for Felix’s — Dr Laurence’s friend, Mr Wyndham, who knows a lot about the theatre here said that is what we should do — well, anyway, we did. We told him — the stage doorkeeper, of my Papa and that he was named Lucas and did he know of any actor named Lucas? And he said — well! It was so interesting, was it not, Felix?’ And she looked up at him and smiled so trustingly and so happily that Martha felt her chest lurch with resentment as well as an underlying fear about what Amy was about to say.
‘Indeed, he was most interesting. It appeared he had been the stage doorkeeper there for close on fifty years, and before that his Uncle was. It is, you might say, a family occupation —’ Felix said.
‘Like the slicing up of patients is with us,’ Freddy murmured.
‘Oh, Papa —’ Cecily shrilled, and the two smalls boys laughed loudly and fell to pretending to slice each other up with great ferocity, an occupation from which they were separated by their forceful grandmother.
When order had been restored Amy went on with the story. ‘He told us that he knew of no actor called Lucas, and then he said it was as though the name had some meaning for him, but he could not quite collect what it was. And then we had to go away, for the play was about to start and he had work to do. But he said to come back today, for he often works there on Sunday afternoons, and he would see what he could recall. Felix was very wise and gave him some money, and today we went back — and he gave us more news! He was so interesting — real fascinating, all the things he told us! He remembered so much of the old days — even when they used limelights, you know, for the wings! It sounded very romantic!’
‘Did he remember your father?’ Freddy asked, deeply interested, and seemingly unaware of the tension in his mother and aunt.
‘No — but he remembered another Lucas!’ Amy said triumphantly and drank some of her tea, enjoying stretching out her story for as long as possible. She did not see Abby suddenly stiffen and her eyes glaze, nor Martha’s very still face.
‘You must tell us, at once!’ Sarah said, and came rustling across the room to sit eagerly beside Amy. ‘This is beginning to sound most exciting!’
‘Oh, it is! He told us that fifty years ago — imagine, fifty years! — there had come to London from the provinces an actress who was so splendid and so charming that everyone adored her. That she was the best actress in London for many years, and then — oh, such a story as he told us! — that she had just disappeared! Overnight!’
‘Disappeared? How do you mean?’
‘It seems she suffered some injury or other.’ Felix’s voice came coolly, bringing down considerably the tension Amy had so carefully created. He was far from enjoying the relish with which she was telling her story. ‘He was rather vague about it — despite a considerable amount of greasing of his rather dirty palm — but something happened to her in about ‘39 or ‘40 —’
‘Nearly twenty-five years ago! Imagine that!’ Amy said breathlessly, as though the period of time had been aeons instead of merely decades, and Abby looked at her and bit her lip. Fifty-three was no age, dammit!
‘And thereafter he remembered nothing. In spite of ample grease. However —’
‘However, he did recall her name. She was — Lilith Lucas! Imagine that! Now, she could have had a son, could she not? I worked it out — according to my Papa’s age, it could have been —’
‘All this sounds very much a matter of surmise,’ Abby’s voice came sharply to cut across Amy’s excitement. ‘Really, my dear, you make too much of this, I suspect. You will need far more to show that this woman — whoever she was — had any connection with you. Lucas is, in all honesty, a common enough name. I daresay there are several brace of actors called Lucas in London alone — I would make no more of this, if J were you. Felix, my dear, do tell me. Have you seen Mrs Braham lately? She tells me that she goes to meetings of a committee at the Middlesex Hospital, and I daresay that you will —’
‘Oh, but it is not surmise, indeed it is not!’ Amy said heatedly. ‘I do assure you —’
Abby looked at her, one eyebrow slightly raised, and the chill could be felt by all of them and not just by Amy. But impulsively she jumped to her feet, and her face was red with excitement as she almost shouted the words.
‘I am quite convinced of it! I really, really am, and you cannot say it is all surmise when you did not speak to the man or —’
‘My dear child, you go too far!’ Abby said icily and turned to Gideon who was looking very set about the jaw, and at once Martha moved forwards, her face wreathed in a bright smile.
‘Now, my dear, we shall have a cosy little prose about this later, I am sure. But at present, will you not have some more tea and —’
‘No — I will not have more tea! And I will not be treated as a child, as though I am imagining this. I tell you I am sure — quite, quite sure. This Lilith Lucas — she must have been a connection! I believe she must have been my grandmother and —’
‘Lilith Lucas —’ It was Oliver’s voice which cut across now and Amy turned and looked at him eagerly.
‘Do you remember her, Mr Lackland? Do you? It was almost fifty years ago that she came to London first, and was the toast of the town, the man said, for many years — do you remember her? Can you tell me about her?’
Oliver reddened suddenly and took his glasses off to wipe them. ‘I am not quite so old as you may think, Miss Amy,’ he said stiffly, and the pain in his voice was plain to all of them except, perhaps, Amy. ‘No, it was just that —’ he looked at his sister, blinking a little without his spectacles. ‘Do you know, Phoebe, I am wondering if that could be our Mamma’s —’
‘Nothing of the sort!’ Abby said loudly. ‘Really, Oliver, how absurd all this is! As if you could recall any such tiresome nonsense as the name of some cheap actress of all those years ago! Quite, quite absurd! Martha, my dear, I really must speak with you for a moment before we leave — about the meeting of your committee next Friday. I think that I could manage to —’
Once again Amy acted impulsively, and ran across the room to Oliver. ‘I am sorry — of course you cannot remember — I did not mean to be so foolish — but you said that your Mamma — do you recall her speaking of Lilith Lucas when you were a child? Is that what you were going to say?’
‘Oh, can we have an end of this!’ Abby’s voice came ringing across the room and Amy turned as though she had been struck. ‘You go too far, Miss Lucas, indeed you do! None of us are in the least interested in this tiresome matter, none of us, do you understand? Do, for the sake of peace, hold your tongue! I am appalled that a young lady with any — with any pretensions to good manners should prattle on so and bore her company with —’
Everyone seemed to speak at once; Gideon stepped forwards and set his hand on his wife’s arm with a low, ‘My dear!’ and Phoebe began to chatter loudly to her brother in an attempt to cover up her aunt’s surprising outburst, while Freddy said urgently, ‘Mamma — my dear —’
But it made no difference. Abby was now in a towering rage, and her face was suffused with it. She looked magnificent standing there with her head up and her tall handsome husband behind her, and Amy thought suddenly, ‘I shall never forget this moment. It is an important one — a dreadfully important one —’
‘I am sick and tired of it all!’ Abby stormed. ‘Do you hear me? Sick and tired! Lilith Lucas, Lilith Lucas, Lilith Lucas — that hateful woman has done more than enough damage to this family, more than enough! Leave
it be, I tell you!’
‘Abby, be quiet at once!’ It was Martha who spoke then with her voice very low and it affected Abby as no other remonstrance had. She turned and looked at her sister, and after a moment shook her head and turned to stare up at Gideon who put his arm about her protectively, and lifted his chin imperiously to Sarah and Daniel who, silent and amazed and in some awe at this display of emotion by their elders, came to his side.
‘We must go, Martha. Thank you for a most pleasant afternoon,’ he said formally, and Amy could have laughed, staring at him, if she had not been so thunderstruck. Why had Abby spoken so? What was it about Lilith Lucas, whoever she had been, to cause this uproar in the usually placid and gentle Abby? It was all quite bewildering, and she turned to look for Felix for support and comfort, but he was now standing beside Martha as she made her polite farewells to her family, kissing the children and smiling with a forced bonhomie that was almost painful to watch.
‘We too, I think, Aunt Martha,’ Phoebe murmured, and with much rustling and fussing with the three children the Caspar family left, Freddy casting one last worried look over his shoulder as he went after his mother, now downstairs in the hall.
And then only Oliver and Martha and Felix were left for Amy to stare at and there was a silence that seemed to Amy to ring in her ears with its intensity.
‘I do not understand,’ she said at last as the silence lengthened and became threatening, and she suddenly felt close to tears. ‘I do not understand. Why was — why was Mrs Henriques so distressed? I do not understand.’
‘Then I had better explain, I suppose,’ Martha said heavily, and sat down.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
At first, Martha’s explanation was slow and faltering, even stilted, but as she warmed to her theme her words came more easily and, listening, Amy felt the weight of years of this family’s history pressing down on her.
She heard the story of a small boy, a gutter boy who had dragged himself out of the horrors of the slums of Seven Dials almost seventy years ago and set out on the road that was to make him one of London’s greatest surgeons. Martha’s description of that ragged child tallied not at all with the memory Amy had of the old man she had seen in the casualty room at Queen Eleanor’s Hospital on the day of Fenton’s accident. He had been harsh, imperious, anything but pathetic. It seemed impossible that he could have started life as the sad child of whom Martha was talking. But that, it seemed, was how it had been, and Amy listened enthralled as Martha told her how the child had met a girl as ragged and poor as himself, and loved her. How the girl had gone away. That there was some mystery there, about where she had gone and why she had gone, was obvious, but Martha was able to explain none of that. Instead she went on to tell how eventually the little girl, now full grown and very lovely, had come back into the ragged boy’s life, a boy himself now full grown and filled with ambition. How the girl had become an actress, and succeeded in making herself a great draw, a superbly popular performer. And how the boy had loved her still.
At this point Martha stopped, sitting looking down at her hands on her lap, and Amy leaned forwards and said breathless, ‘Yes? And then what happened?’
‘Hmm?’ Martha looked up, and her eyes seemed glazed, as though she were far away; and then they cleared and she shrugged and said, ‘It is hard to know where to go on from here. Let me just say that this girl — and she was this Lilith Lucas of whom you have been told — refused my father. He was sadly hurt by this — and even many years later, long after he had married my Mamma, he refused to allow any of us to enter a theatre or to speak of matters theatrical. He had been so deeply hurt, you see. And so it has always been — the enmity has continued.’
Amy leaned back, her brow furrowed, staring at Martha in disbelief. ‘But I do not understand! You are saying that Mrs Henriques became so — so angry and distressed simply because I spoke about a lady who had refused her Papa’s proposal so many years ago? Oh, come, Miss Lackland, that cannot be so! There must be more to it than that!’
Martha shrugged again, trying to look unconcerned, but her gaze slid away from Amy’s direct stare. ‘Oh, as to that, there were of course other — episodes. But they really do not need to concern us now, for they all happened so many years ago. It is all water under the bridge, surely! Can you not accept that for us this woman has been — that because of our father, we find it disagreeable to talk of her? After all, Miss Lucas, there is no reason why we should explain more than this to you! We offered you hospitality to a degree that I venture to suggest is beyond the ordinary! My nephew Freddy is a compassionate man, and he asked us to have a care of you and your brother. We have done so, I am sure you would agree, to the best of our ability —’
She looked over Amy’s shoulder at Oliver, standing silent in his window embrasure. ‘My nephew Oliver here has provided you with employment, Freddy I know sought out lodgings for you — is it so much to ask that you respect our wish — my sister’s wish — that we should not be reminded of matters which cause us pain?’
Stubbornly Amy shook her head. ‘But it cannot cause you pain — it cannot! It was not you or Mrs Henriques who were refused! It was your father! How can you now think it reasonable of me to show no interest in my own grandmother when —’
‘Amy, my dear, you have no proof that this lady was your grandmother,’ Felix’s voice came from behind her, all cool reasonableness, and Amy whirled on him, her face suddenly white and pinched.
‘She is — she is! I know she is. I feel it — here,’ and she clasped both her hands to her breasts with a gesture that was supremely theatrical and yet was quite unstudied and full of real feeling. Her eyes were bright now with unshed tears and she stared up at him and said in a tight little voice, ‘You must understand — you must, Felix! You think me shallow and — and posturing — yes, you do, I know that is so, and with you I have learned to be more — more myself, to feel safe even when I am not acting. Well, I am not acting now! It is very important to me to find my family — my Papa’s family. My mother’s family are cold and dry and have no muscle in them. But me — I am full of, oh so much! I want so much, I need so much, and I have to know that this feeling that is in me is in other people as well. I have to know what made me as I am. That is why it is so important that I find my Papa’s family! He was like me. He had this — this whatever it is — inside him, and I have to find others who belong to me who are the same. And I know, truly know, that this Lilith Lucas was one of them. Mine! You shall not say she is not, and you shall not stop me speaking of her or looking for her or —’
Felix was standing beside her now and he put one hand on her shoulder, looking down at her with his face very still and his gaze steady, and as the torrent of words faltered and at last stopped he said quietly, ‘I think I do understand, you know. I too have feelings in me that derive from my forebears. I too know what it is like to miss a father. But all the same, Amy, you must not, you really must not, be so passionate about it all. You will distort the truth you are seeking. That is something you must understand.’
There was a brief silence and she turned back again to Martha who was staring at Felix with a sort of despair on her face. ‘Tell me more,’ she said tightly. ‘Miss Lackland? You must tell me more. Please?’
Martha looked down at her hands again and shook her head. ‘There is no more I can tell you,’ she said dully. ‘My father felt great enmity to this lady, and we do also.’
‘All of you? Every one of you? It is absurd—’ Amy said and turned then to look at Oliver. ‘You too? This — all this that your aunt speaks of. Is it so with you?’
Oliver was sitting now, looking out of the window and he did not turn his head to speak to her. ‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘It is so with me, also.’
He stood up then and came across the room, moving heavily. ‘I think, Aunt Martha, that you should explain a little further.’
He came to stand between Martha and Amy and with his familiar mechanical gesture took off his s
pectacles to polish them, blinking down at his busy hands as he did so.
‘Lilith Lucas was in fact a relation of mine, Miss Amy,’ he said after a moment and she stared up at him with her mouth half open in surprise.
‘A relation?’ she said, and shook her head. ‘I do not understand! You said — Miss Lackland, did you not say that she was a person your father had — how can your nephew be a relation in that case?’
Oliver spoke in a very precise voice, as coolly as though he were directing a rehearsal. ‘It is not so difficult to understand. My father — Aunt Martha’s older brother Jonah — was married to Lilith Lucas’s daughter Celia.’
He turned and looked at Amy then, hooking his spectacles back over his ears. ‘If you are right, Miss Lucas, and you derive your name and talent from this lady, we are first cousins. It is droll, is it not, how matters fall out?’
‘Droll?’ Amy said and shook her head again. ‘Droll? I cannot — it is — I do not understand.’
Martha got up now and began to move about the room restlessly. ‘It is not so difficult, for heaven’s sake!’ she said sharply. ‘As Oliver says, there was a marriage which, much to my father’s distress, linked our family with this Lucas woman. It caused much grief all round — and no, I will not tell you of it! It is none of your affair, Miss, and there’s an end of it! I find this whole matter becoming very tedious. Let us talk of other things! I try to have agreeable Sunday afternoon family occasions, and here we are, all in a great turmoil and a pother over matters long since forgotten, and better so! Let us have an end of it, and speak of other things. Oliver, my dear, give me news of the Supper Rooms. How are matters there? Are attendances good? Is the show pleasing you, or will there be any new numbers put in? I must come to see for myself —’
‘Oh — oh, you are — you are too unkind to be borne!’ Amy was on her feet, and her eyes were blazing with frustration and disappointment. ‘I thought you were my friends. I really thought you were all my friends, and now when I find news of a person who means much to me all you can do is — is insult her and —’
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