In the Bleak Midwinter

by Carol Rivers

  The rest of the room was sparsely furnished. A couch stood under the small window and a wooden highchair, which Birdie guessed had once been James’s, hid in the corner beside two elderly dining chairs. Birdie took care to stifle her gasp of relief as Don lifted the sash and let in the breeze.

  ‘So, dearest, we’ll have a few moments of quiet together,’ Don said in such a sweet voice that Birdie forgot all about Aggie as he took her in his arms and without hesitation kissed her. His hands pressed her close and his lips were so welcoming that Birdie closed her eyes, enjoying the sense of wellbeing.

  ‘You look delightful,’ he whispered admiringly, holding her away, ‘not that I’ve ever seen you looking anything other than topnotch.’

  Birdie blushed unguardedly, desperate to be kissed again, and praying that neither Aggie nor Lydia would appear.

  But with a pat to her cheek, Don darted forward and wrestled one of the chairs free from its clutter. ‘Now, my dear, you must sit and listen to what I have to say, for I know when you get going there’s hardly a gap for me.’ He laughed, brushing aside the stray tendrils of dark brown hair that escaped around her face. Sitting beside her, he took her hand and squeezed it. ‘First my confession!’

  Birdie’s eyes flew wide. ‘Your confession?’ All thoughts now of the police raid were gone from her mind. She didn’t think she had ever heard Don use that word before. It was much more to her Catholic vocabulary than his.

  ‘Indeed, indeed. I have been very remiss in delaying our plans to marry. Very much so.’ He looked so crestfallen that Birdie laughed.

  ‘Oh, but Don, I never doubted you. I never thought—’

  ‘Brigid, dear, let me finish.’

  She put her hand to her mouth, nodding silently and giggling. He was in such an excited mood that she couldn’t help feeling that way too.

  Giving her hand a pat, he continued. ‘You see, Mother and Lydia and I have been giving a great deal of thought to the future. The store is on its feet again, though our losses have been severe with Father and Stephen going.’

  Again Birdie nodded, keeping her lips together with difficulty, as her heart leaped in anticipation.

  ‘And with Mother being bereaved,’ he continued, sitting upright, ‘and Lydia and James to consider, and indeed, the anxiety of my change of career from the railways, my own desires have taken a back seat. But now, at last, we’ve decided that before the rush of summer – which will stretch us to the limits – the Thornes will set aside a day for a certain wedding!’

  ‘Oh, Don!’ she exclaimed, unable to believe her ears. ‘You mean, us? We can be married?’

  ‘With a little conniving, yes.’

  ‘Conniving?’ Birdie repeated, her ecstasy briefly tempered by the word.

  ‘In the world of business every day is as important as the next, and selecting the right time to close the shop has been a difficult task. But we are considering early next year, shortly after Christmas.’

  ‘What, so soon?’ Birdie gasped.

  Don leaned forward. ‘What have you to say to that?’

  ‘Oh, Don, I can’t believe it, I can’t!’ she began deliriously. ‘But won’t it be an awful squeeze to have it booked at church? And there’s me dress,’ she added, thinking of the white satin she’d have to order in, and the veil, and the expense of quality cloth. ‘But I suppose if I went hammer and tongs, it could be made in that time. And there’s me bridesmaids’ dresses. Enid and Emily—’

  ‘Dearest,’ Don interrupted firmly, ‘Mother and I have given consideration to a papal service. But we have attended our church for years. Yes, yes . . .’ he held up his hand at her protest, ‘it will mean compromise, but on reflection, think how painful it will be for me – pews full of your side and none of my own. Now, we can’t have the best of both worlds, agreed? So I’m sure you’ll see it won’t be any sacrifice to be married by licence.’

  Birdie’s scattered thoughts suddenly stopped flying in all directions. ‘By licence?’

  ‘A civil service,’ he murmured so soothingly that for a second Birdie felt no pain at all, ‘so that both families can be represented fairly. Lydia will take care of the details and Mother has consented to arrange a small reception here, though, of course, in the afternoon the shop must open.’

  Birdie felt as if all the wind had been knocked from her sails. She tried to speak, but a mumble came out, so quiet and forlorn, that Don’s smile faded into clear irritation.

  ‘Brigid, this isn’t like you,’ he coaxed. ‘Isn’t it the fairest, most agreeable decision to be married in the presence of both our families?’

  ‘But . . .’ she began, ‘it’s different for Catholics. It’s a sacrament, see? A holy thing. I was to walk down the aisle with me two little bridesmaids, with the priest waiting and the organ playing—’

  ‘I’ve never agreed fully to that,’ Don stated firmly. ‘And we’ve less than two months, remember.’

  ‘But why then?’ Birdie asked. ‘We could wait until spring or summer even.’

  ‘I thought you were eager to marry.’ He let go of her hand.

  ‘I am. But—’

  ‘Come, my dear, I think you’re suffering a little shock at the excitement of it all. Think of our future and our life together here at the store. We can build on two generations of Thornes, and our children will inherit a business to be proud of.’

  ‘Me dad won’t care for that.’

  ‘Your father isn’t getting married,’ Don answered sharply. ‘It’s you and me, Brigid, who count.’

  ‘Oh, Don, I’m all confused.’

  ‘Don’t be, my love,’ he murmured with an encouraging smile. ‘Mother and I have talked this over, seeing it as the very best way. And there is yet more good news. Lydia has consented to move with James to the premises next door. She has generously agreed to give up her rooms here. We can rent the new place very reasonably and, knowing our reliability, the landlord has offered us the lease at a nominal sum. The move, of course, will be a little unsettling, so Mother and I will value your help and friendship to Lydia.’

  Birdie saw all her dreams vanishing. What was she to do? The store dictated the Thornes’ lives, to the day a person got married. And it wouldn’t even be a day, as Don had said the shop would reopen in the afternoon. She’d had her heart set on marrying in church. What would Dad say?

  ‘You’ll soon see the sense in it.’ Don drew her to her feet and planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘I’ll call Lydia down now. Please, my dear, try your best with her. I know she has seemed distant, but becoming a widow has been a great distress. With a little coaxing on your side, you’ll find her very good company.’

  ‘Don, don’t call Lydia yet.’ Birdie caught his sleeve. ‘I’ve something to tell you.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The police came yesterday.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘They searched the house, not leaving an inch unturned.’

  ‘Did anyone see?’ His jaw dropped.

  ‘A constable was made to stand outside Harry’s too. All day it was, till he came home.’

  ‘You mean the whole neighbourhood saw?’ he gasped, as though he hadn’t understood what she’d said. ‘Everyone knows your brother – the escapee – is still at large?’

  She lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘I thought you’d want to know immediately. That’s why I came to tell you.’

  ‘But this is dreadful!’ he exclaimed, startling Birdie, so that she let go of his sleeve. ‘Why are the authorities not acting? Why do they allow such a thing?’

  Birdie felt desperate. Any brief hope that she’d had that Don might not be upset now disappeared as patches of red fury sprang to his cheeks.

  Chapter 9

  ‘Don’t you see what this means?’ Don demanded, hardly able to speak. ‘It will be all round Poplar that the offender – with an undoubted connection to us, and to the business – is still at large.’

  ‘But it’s not as if Frank is dangerous—’ Birdie began, only to draw
a gasp of astonishment from Don.

  ‘Of course your wretched brother is dangerous!’ he spluttered. ‘He’s broken the law and put the authorities to shame! A man on the loose who will go to any lengths to secure his freedom!’

  ‘But Frank wouldn’t,’ she insisted, knowing how Don hated to hear a word in defence of Frank, and yet how could she keep silent? ‘He’s a kind man, a gentle soul who wouldn’t harm a fly . ’

  ‘Then you’re clearly deceived,’ he returned with a look of disdain on his face. ‘That man is a rascal, a ne’er -do-well.’

  Birdie was hurt to the quick. ‘Don, I won’t have you say such things about me brother. You’ve no reason to make such a judgement, even if he was sent away.’

  ‘You see?’ he accused, pointing a finger. ‘You’re blind to the truth!’

  ‘He’s family, Don, that’s what he is,’ Birdie defended, a terrible sinking sensation inside of her as she struggled to defend Frank from the man who was to be her husband.

  ‘But he’s been sentenced as a deserter!’ Don exclaimed, intent on having the last word and pronouncing Frank not only guilty, but a danger to all mankind.

  ‘Then they got it wrong,’ Birdie answered quietly but resolutely. ‘And I’m as certain of his innocence as you are of his guilt.’

  This had such an alarming effect that Birdie felt quite threatened. Don stuck his chin out aggressively and with clenched hands, demanded, ‘You would put him before us? Before our forthcoming marriage? Our future?’

  But Birdie stood firm. ‘You’re twisting my words.’

  ‘Indeed I’m not,’ he argued fiercely. ‘And if you want us to be married, Brigid, there is only one course of action for you to take. You must disown him. Put him out of your life. Dismiss these fanciful notions from your head.’

  To Birdie, these words felt like physical blows. Don was giving her a choice, an impossible one. In her heart of hearts Birdie knew something about all this was wrong, so wrong. But before she could speak, the finger pointed again.

  ‘I’ve said all there is to be said,’ he ended. ‘Now you must decide which one of us means the most to you. I thought he would be recaptured in just a few days, and we should have no more of this humiliating affair. It was enough when he was tried and sent to prison. Mother and Lydia had to suffer great embarrassment. But for your sake, we made allowances. To hear you now, defending him, as I’ve always suspected you might in your heart – well, it just won’t do. Give me your word that you’re done with him. And should he dare to contact you, you must give him up to the police.’

  Birdie felt sick inside. She would never disown Frank, not even if he had deserted, which he hadn’t. Did Don really mean what he was saying?

  ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Your answer, please.’

  ‘You know I love you, Don,’ she answered truthfully. ‘I want us to be married. But I can’t disown Frank.’

  Birdie wasn’t certain what she expected next, for she had hoped all along that a quarrel of such bitterness might somehow end in a loving reunion. But as he looked coldly down on her, his mouth as tight as Aggie’s had been when they’d walked in the shop, Birdie knew she’d gone too far in defending Frank. In silence they faced one another and though she longed to fling her arms round him, to end this silly dispute, she knew that was impossible.

  Just then, a light footstep could be heard on the back stairs. The door opened and Lydia entered. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ she apologized, her skin very white against her long, dark hair taken up at the back and pinned neatly above her white working collar. ‘I thought I heard shouting – is something amiss?’

  ‘Nothing at all, Lydia,’ Don snapped, moving towards her tall figure dressed in grey, her head held high, accentuating her handsome cheekbones. ‘Come in, we’ve kept you from your work long enough.’

  ‘Hello, Lydia,’ Birdie said in embarrassment as Don made no attempt to disguise their quarrel.

  ‘Good morning, Brigid.’ Lydia offered her a curt nod.

  ‘I’ll see you out,’ Don said briskly, taking Birdie’s arm with such force that she knew all hope of resolving their differences was gone.

  Propelling her down the passage and into the shop, he called across to Aggie, ‘Mother, Brigid is leaving.’ The little group of women surrounding Aggie all turned to stare at them. Birdie read their expressions and knew at once that she, or rather the Connors, was the topic of their conversation.

  Aggie didn’t even have time to call goodbye before Don had hustled Birdie out on the street. ‘I’ll bid you good morning,’ he muttered in a gruff whisper, careful to keep his voice low as people passed them on the pavement. ‘Though I can hardly say that anything much good has come out of it.’

  ‘Don, please reconsider,’ Birdie responded, hardly able to speak for the lump in her throat. ‘You can’t really mean to make me chose between you and Frank?’

  ‘Why do you hesitate, Brigid? I have just asked you to marry me.’

  ‘You didn’t ask,’ Birdie pointed out tearfully. ‘You referred me to Lydia to make the arrangements.’

  ‘Now you are being silly.’

  Birdie swallowed back her sob. Her pride and feelings hurt beyond measure. ‘Silly, is it,’ she blustered, ‘to make the effort to come over here and neglect me dad in order to put your feelings first? Silly that a minute or two ago, I was ready to give up me standards by not marrying in church?’

  His smile was disdainful. ‘For what you would gain, your inconvenience amounts to nothing,’ he dismissed.

  ‘What!’ she gasped, barely able to breathe.

  ‘Security, a fine home,’ he intoned, as if he was reading out a list. ‘Not many women are given the opportunity of such good fortune.’ Before Birdie could splutter out a word he continued, ‘And don’t expect me to give you a second chance, Brigid, when the scene turns ugly and it becomes clear to you how right I am.’

  Bracing his shoulders and leaving her open-mouthed, he turned, paused politely to allow a customer entry to the shop and followed her in without a backward glance.

  Birdie stood on the pavement staring at the empty space. So painful was the lump in her throat that she failed to board a bus at the top of East India Road and instead, turned towards Cubitt Town, and the long walk home to March Street.

  Chapter 10

  Harry stoked the fire, turning the red coals over and adding several large lumps of timber that he’d brought home with him. The blaze gave a burst of heat that caused Wilfred to sigh appreciatively from his chair.

  ‘That’s nice, lad. You’ve got a good flame going there.’

  ‘This old wood from the building site burns well when it’s dry,’ Harry smiled, easing himself up and stretching his legs. ‘Now, what do you say to a bite to eat? I’m a dab hand at the bread and dripping, if I say it meself. A couple of good slices will settle you for the rest of the day.’ He nodded encouragingly, but Wilfred looked disinterested.

  ‘Can’t work up much of an appetite. But I wouldn’t say no to a brew and a fag.’

  Harry sighed dejectedly, taking the bottle of Collis Browne from the mantel, not that the medicine had resulted in much. Wilfred’s bark had grown noisier through the morning. He’d lit up any number of times, choking on the cigarette and giving himself a struggle to breathe. A fit hadn’t come on, but Harry had watched him carefully, though his presence hadn’t altogether been welcomed.

  ‘Don’t need company,’ Wilfred had objected when Birdie had gone. ‘You can go off to your work,’ he’d muttered as though he’d been insulted, but Harry had made light of it, saying he could do with a breather from his labours, and for an hour he’d managed to interest Wilfred in a round of dominoes. Now, however, Harry was caught in the jaws of a dilemma. He feared Wilfred was restless and intent on making his way to the Quarry and his customary pint, though Harry felt Birdie would have something to say on the matter. But how could he restrain him? He had no authority to do so.

  As he put on the kettle, he glanced at the mante
l clock and saw it was midday. Birdie’s visit to the Thornes must have taken more time than she’d expected. Not that he minded for himself. Although his crew would be wondering where their boss had gone, they were reliable and would know he’d not be absent from the graft himself unless he’d been urgently called upon.

  Harry smiled in satisfaction at the thought of his small, but expanding business. He was beginning to see the hard work and long hours he’d put in since last summer might make him a decent living – he’d dared not put it into words – that he might be successful. When, in the conflict, he’d seen men falling like flies around him and gunned down without mercy, the thought that had kept him going was that he hadn’t been born a bastard for nothing. He’d come through the loveless, exacting life of the orphanage and years of travel, to experience how other men lived and many were worse off than himself.

  The kettle boiled noisily on the range, bringing Harry out of his reveries. Having taken the pot and warmed it, he poured in a spoonful of tea, noticing the caddy was very light. He’d bring a few ounces home and slip the leaves in unnoticed. Birdie was too proud to take it without argument. He smiled again. But this time with affection.

  ‘Ah, so you’re making the tea, are you?’

  Birdie’s voice startled him and he almost dropped the pot. ‘Birdie – you’re home.’

  ‘That I am, Harry. And sorry I am for the delay.’ She picked off her gloves, each finger loosened daintily and then her hat, leaving her pretty waves to fall free, all brown and soft around her face. But he saw something else too: a sadness in her eyes in the quick moment she glanced at him, and the smile she gave didn’t fool him for a minute. ‘The buses were all late,’ she rattled off. ‘A fine thing it is when you pay for your ticket and need to be prompt. It would have taken me less time to walk . . .’ Her coat went briskly on the peg behind the door as if she couldn’t bring herself to stand still for an instant.