Song of Songs

by Beverley Hughesdon

  The steady clip-clop and the familiar jingle of the harness closed my lids; I could scarcely prise them open when at last Nanny lifted us down. We staggered after her and stopped, blinking, in the bright light of a strange hallway. A butler with a long, sad face murmured to Nanny, and I caught the words: ‘He’s sinking fast.’ Who was sinking? Where? And why didn’t someone pull him out? But Nanny was chivvying us on, up the wide staircase, along a corridor, up again, and into a dimly lit passageway - until, finally, we came into a strange, shadowy nursery.

  But our tired legs were not allowed to rest. With hands and faces quickly scrubbed, we were out and down again. A wide door opened; we walked into warm air and Papa came forward. He led us to a high bed, and then I was swinging up and up, and there, sunk into the pillow, was the grey-maned lion - Grandpapa. He was a very tired old lion now, his yellow skin stretched tight across his face, his beard straggling over the counterpane. His weary eyes gazed up into mine, his lips moved and I just caught the muttered: ‘God bless you, my child.’ Papa swung me down and the twins were lifted up in turn. Then we were all hustled out again.

  When I woke next morning I clambered out of the unfamiliar bed and ran through the open door into the day nursery, then stopped, bewildered: Ena sat by the fire threading shiny ribbon through the skirt of my petticoat, just as she did every morning - but today the ribbon was black.

  Nanny told us our Grandpapa had died in the night: ‘Gone straight to heaven my dears.’ Her tone forbade questions - but I wondered how he could have gone to heaven when he had no wings? The dead bird had had wings, but Grandpapa was a dead lion - how did dead lions fly to heaven?

  We all wore black sashes on our frocks now. Then one afternoon Nanny made us sit down in a row with our backs straight while she read to us from the Bible - but it was Thursday, not Sunday. Faintly in the distance we heard the dismal toll of a church bell - on Thursday?

  Nanny was reading the story of the Good Samaritan when Jem came in; she closed her Bible with a snap and took me by the hand. I walked beside her along the passageway and down the endless flights of stairs until we stood outside a high panelled door. The sad-faced butler swung it slowly open and his heavy voice announced: ‘The Lady Helena.’ I stood in the doorway looking for this strange lady with my name, until Nanny tugged me in. Papa led me over to Grandmama; she bent over me - her face a carved ivory mask - and murmured my name, then dismissed me. So I found myself on a window seat, my back against the black menacing glass, with Alice beside me. She flicked back her glossy dark curls. ‘How dull. I wish Juno were here - but Lady Maud came without her.’

  I reached out and touched Alice’s sleeve. ‘Alice, which one is ‘Lady Helena’?

  She brushed my hand away and began to laugh, then hastily converted it to a cough. ‘Really, Hellie, you are so silly -you are Lady Helena.’ I stared at her. ‘You’re Lady Helena, I’m Lady Alice.’ It was clear from her tone that Lady Alice was far superior to Lady Helena. I was still bewildered. Alice went on: ‘Grandpapa’s died, and now he’s buried we’re Ladies - so much nicer than plain Miss Alice, don’t you think? There must be lots of Miss Alices, but I bet there’s only one Lady Alice.’ She looked at me condescendingly. ‘I daresay there’s lots of Lady Helenas though - still, it’s better than Miss Helena, don’t you think?’

  I did not know what to think, but I nodded: I knew Alice liked to be agreed with.

  She turned and exclaimed, ‘Why, there’s Muirkirk, talking to Great-Uncle John - I didn’t see him come in.’

  I followed her gaze. ‘Papa?’ I could not see him, only Guy looking very stiff and strange with his dark hair slicked down either side of his white parting.

  Alice shrugged her shoulders exaggeratedly. ‘Oh Hellie, Papa isn’t Lord Muirkirk any longer - don’t you know anything?’ She sounded impatient, but Alice always did sound impatient. She went on, ‘You must call Guy “Muirkirk” now - he’s Lord Muirkirk.’

  This was too much: my whole world was crumbling. Lady Alice, yes, this seemed only right and proper; Lady Helena - well, I didn’t believe that, I knew I had not changed - but Guy, turning into Papa, that was too much! My lip began to quiver. And suddenly I thought - what of my twins, Eddie and Robbie - my brothers - surely they were not changed? I turned to Alice and whispered, ‘Eddie? Robbie?’ I gazed despairingly up at her.

  ‘Oh, they’re still just Eddie and Robbie,’ she said impatiently. A wave of relief swept through me. ‘Except on envelopes,’ she added, ‘they’ll be ‘Honourables’ on envelopes.’

  Whatever were ‘Honourables’? A sudden picture came before my eyes: Eddie and Robbie, pinned to two enormous white envelopes, transfixed like the butterflies in the glass case in the library at home. At home, when were we going home? Guy was beside us now - I opened my mouth to ask him, but Guy was now Muirkirk – I did not know who he was anymore. I looked up helplessly.

  ‘What’s the matter, Hellie?’ And it was Guy’s concerned eyes which looked down into mine.

  At last I whispered, ‘When are we going home?’

  Alice broke in, ‘You are a baby, Helena - we’re not going home, this is our home now.’

  I looked round at the sombre black-filled room and the tears began to trickle down my cheeks.

  Guy - or Muirkirk - took my hand, led me out of the room and hauled me up the steep stairs, along the gloomy passageways, back to Nanny. I ran across the nursery floor and threw my arms round her and clung as though I would never let go. She dried my tears and told me firmly that we were all going to stay at Hatton: Jem was already here, and Jem’s friends Albert and Frederick would soon be coming with Mr Cooper; Mrs Hill and Cook and the maids would arrive as soon as they had packed; and Mr Jenkins would be bringing all the horses, and especially Bessy, my grey pony. I looked at her, and then away at the strange bare nursery, and asked, ‘Dapple?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve sent for Dapple.’ I breathed a long sigh of relief. Nanny hugged me. ‘Now see how silly you were to get upset, Lady Helena.’ I jumped, but then I lay back again on Nanny’s large warm bosom. If Nanny said I was Lady Helena, then I was Lady Helena - but it would be all right.As long as Nanny was with us nothing could go wrong.

  Chapter Five

  But one evening, Nanny left us.

  Dapple had arrived, and our lead soldiers with the fort; the dolls’ house came, and we arranged its furniture; then we lined up all the animals two by two ready to take refuge with Mr and Mrs Noah in the Ark. Outside, a new young gardener with a friendly brown face took us into the maze, and we raced between the high green hedges with beating hearts, until we reached the little house in the very centre.

  One morning Miss Walker came to the nursery and took me to the schoolroom. I read to her as Alice sat painting, and then she taught me to copy long rows of curving pothooks and beautiful, looping hangers. Every day after that, Ena took me along to the schoolroom. Then Alice announced that she was going all the way to Germany, to Dresden, and she would be taking Miss Walker with her; I was sorry, because I had enjoyed copying pothooks and hangers. But before she left, Miss Walker told me that Mama would find a new governess for me and the twins, and then we would all go along to the schoolroom together, to copy pothooks and hangers.

  But then Nanny left us. She told us we must be good children and do everything Ena and the new governess said until she came back, but her Mama was very poorly and so she must leave us for a while. We nodded, stunned, and did not really believe it until we saw her come out of the night nursery in strange clothes, jamming a long hat pin through a battered brown hat. And then she had gone.

  We were very quiet at first, but Ena let us stay longer in our baths, and tickled the twins until they splashed her apron, and she was not cross like Nanny would have been.

  Jem spent longer in the nursery now, and told us wonderful stories of Fuzzy Wuzzies and assagais; Ena laughed more than ever. One teatime, Jem was crouched by the fire, helping us toast our bread - Nanny only let us toast on Sundays but Ena let us t
oast every day - when the door opened and there was Mama, and a strange lady. Jem jumped up very quickly and dropped his piece of bread inside the fender; he backed away from Mama’s angry frown and disappeared out of the door. Ena, very red, stood waiting for Mama to speak.

  ‘Children, this is Mam’selle Vigot.’ Mamselle’s hat was low on her forehead, her face quite square beneath it; I stared in fascination at the wiry black hairs which sprouted from her chin. Beside me Eddie quivered with excitement:

  ‘Lady with ’tache, Hellie, lady with ’tacheP Mamselle’s lips tightened and a pair of black eyes bored into mine so that I dropped my gaze in confusion to the round dusty toes of her boots.

  Mama ignored us. ‘Mam’selle Vigot will take complete charge of the nursery in Mrs Whitmore’s absence.’ Ena ducked her head. ‘You will sleep with the children, of course, Mam’selle.’

  ‘Of course, my lady.’ Her voice seemed to twist and slither in the air before it reached my ears.

  ‘Now, Mam’selle, I trust that’s all you need to know.’ Mama frowned. ‘I must leave at once - I’ve already had to delay my departure - it’s been most inconvenient.’ She spoke directly to the subdued Ena: ‘Mam’selle is in complete charge, please remember that.’ She left the nursery with a flick of her skirts.

  Mamselle advanced; her voice barked above my head. I stared up at her, the bark came again, more sharply, and at last I realized that she wanted my name. I was slow to obey, too slow. The boots clumped further forward; now she loomed over me and the strange distorted words attacked my ears, ‘You do not sulk, leetle girl - I do not like children who sulk.’

  Ena was quickly by my side. ‘Tell Mamselle your name, Lady Helena. I expect she didn’t understand you, Mamselle, you’re the first French lady we’ve seen in the nursery.’

  ‘She will have to learn to understand me, quickly.’

  I blurted out: ‘Helena, I’m Helena.’

  ‘Then you will be Helene.’

  I wanted to protest. I was Helena, not this strange,ugly Helene; but Ena’s hand on my shoulder kept me quiet.

  Mamselle bent over the twins; Eddie planted his feet squarely apart. ‘I’m Eddie, he’s Robbie.’

  ‘Eddie, Robbie, what sort of names are these, for boys?’ Her voice sneered.

  Ena said quickly, ‘Master Edwin and Master Robert, Miss, but we’ve always called them by…’ Her voice trailed away in the face of Mamselle’s frown.

  ‘I do not agree with pet names.’ She spat the ‘pet’. ‘It must be Helene, Edwin, Robert - so.’ Her fierce glare crushed us. A finger stabbed out: ‘Which one are you?’

  ‘Robbie.’

  ‘Robert!’ The tip of the finger dug hard into my brother’s shoulder.

  ‘Robert.’ Robbie’s voice was a frightened whisper.

  ‘Lady Helena can tell you which is which, Miss - Mamselle.’ Ena was flustered now.

  Mamselle ignored her. ‘I will have labels - two pins, paper, pencil - at once.’ She stabbed a pin into each starched frock, and my twins stood labelled, like two small bewildered parcels.

  The nursery was safe no longer - it had been invaded by a stranger. A stranger who banished me from the twins’ bath, a stranger who put out the night light and forbade me to sing ‘Goodnight’ to my brothers - ‘I will not leesten to a child caterwauling’ - and then, I could not believe it, as I bent to kiss them a hand pulled me roughly back! As I lay in bed, the tears wet on my cheeks, Nanny’s voice echoed through my head: ‘Now kiss your little brothers goodnight, Lady Helena’, ‘Kiss and make up, Master Eddie, there’s a good boy’ - but Mamselle said kissing was unhygienic!

  Our porridge grew cold in the morning as we became clumsier and clumsier.

  ‘Lift your mug with one hand, Helene.’

  ‘Elbows into your side, Edwin.’

  ‘Spoon in your right hand, Robert, must I tell you again?’ Robbie dropped his spoon with a splash and milk spotted the tablecloth. ‘Clumsy boy, clumsy, clumsy boy - stand over there in the corner, you are not fit even to eat with the pigs!’

  I hated her.

  The schoolroom was bleak and unwelcoming; the newly lit fire crackled and spat. We stood in a huddle by the door, but with brisk tugs Mamselle separated us and chivvied us forward until we sat, feet dangling, round the high battered table.

  My eyes brimmed as Reading Without Tears was thrust in front of me; I longed for Nanny’s comforting lap and slow, patient voice. This voice snapped; it hurt my ears and confused me, but somehow I stumbled through the first pages until the book was snatched from me and thrust under Eddie’s nose.

  Eddie pointed to a word here and another there; I knew he was guessing, but Mamselle was appeased. Now it was Robbie’s turn. His eyes flickered desperately across the page. The fat finger stabbed down. Robbie’s lips moved, but no words came.

  ‘Read, silly leetle boy, read!’

  ‘Robbie can’t read.’ Eddie’s voice was belligerent, but he backed away from the black glare.

  ‘Four years and one half, and you cannot read - not one single word?’

  Robbie shook his head: I saw the glint of tears. Eddie and I sat frozen. Her face came very close over the table.

  ‘Then you will learn, now. If you do not learn five words by the time for tea there will be no jam and no cake.’

  There was no jam and no cake for Robbie. And no jam and no cake for Eddie, because he had tried to whisper the words to Robbie. My jam tasted sour on my tongue and I shook my head at the plate of currant cake, but Mamselle hissed, ‘Eat it Helene, eat your cake,’ and her black eyes bored into mine as I chewed and chewed and tried to swallow over the lump in my throat. I could not meet my brothers’ eyes.

  Next day her fat fingers swiftly traced a line of pothooks, then thrust the pencil at Eddie. He took it and slowly began to copy. Another line of pothooks for Robbie, then the pencil was thrown down in front of him.

  ‘Pick it up, Robert.’

  Slowly he reached out, with his left hand. We jumped as the pencil was knocked from his grasp.

  ‘Right hand, Robert, right hand.’ Robbie cowered back. The pencil was thrust at him again. ‘Right hand.’ The hiss came a third time, but I knew he could not tell his right from his left. Eddie and I held our breaths, but it was the shaking left hand which came forward again. Robbie yelped as the ruler sliced down. Mamselle’s eyes bulged. ‘Every time you use the wrong hand I will hit you.’ Robbie began to cry. ‘You are a leetle coward, do you know that, a coward.’ Robbie’s tears were flowing faster now.

  It was too much for Eddie. As the ruler was raised before his frightened brother he suddenly flung himself forwards, wrenched it from Mamselle’s grip and threw it across the table. Her face flamed red and all at once we were very frightened. She moved slowly towards Eddie; his cheeks whitened. Her voice was flat and harsh. ‘You will regret that.’

  We were mesmerized by the round bulging eyes. I breathed fear. Her hand flashed out once, twice. Two red weals stood out on Eddie’s cheeks, but he did not move. Then she tossed her head. ‘Back to your work.’ There was a small smile on her face. We bent our heads, and knew we were defeated.

  At last Robbie did hold the pencil with his right hand, but his pothooks wavered and shuddered across the sodden page.

  ‘Again, Robert, again.’ She bent over him. ‘I go to my room now, if you have not done better by the time I come back you will stay here all day - and all night, on your own - and the goblins will come for you.’ She swung through the door.

  Robbie began to sob - huge, gulping sobs. We both ran to him, but he sobbed on. We looked at each other helplessly, then I picked up the pencil and began carefully copying the hated pothooks.

  When Mamselle came back she studied them with narrowed eyes. ‘Helene, did Robert copy these himself?’ Her eyes swivelled - now they bored into mine - but the ruler hung poised over Robbie’s hand.

  I cried out desperately, ‘yes - he did, he did!’

  ‘Then I think you are a liar, Helene, a liar
.’ I crumpled before her. ‘Do you know what happens to leetle girls who tell lies?’

  I stared back dumbly. At last I whispered. ‘They go to hell.’

  She laughed. Her large yellow teeth were inches from my face. ‘Yes, they do, leetle girl, they do - but first you must be punished on earth.’

  I braced myself for the stinging slap, but instead a large sheet of white card was thrust in front of me, and I watched, horrified, as she swiftly traced in high, wide capitals the legend:

  I AM A

  LIAR

  ‘Just this once, Helene, I will allow you to use your paints; a nice bright green, I think.’

  I felt sick; but I was a liar. I dipped my brush into the pot of water, licked the tip into a fine point, and began to paint. A second piece of card was produced, a second legend traced - and put before my brothers.

  ‘You will paint a placard too, like good, loving brothers - in red, I think, scarlet.’

  HELÈNE

  TELLS LIES

  She was smiling now. Eddie had opened his mouth to protest, but at her smile he closed it again. His eyes met mine, then slid away. He reached for his brush and began to paint. For a moment I hated him.

  At eleven o’clock we went back to the nursery to dress for our walk. As soon as Ena had buttoned my coat Mamselle beckoned me to her. ‘Come here, Helene.’

  I stood mute before her as the green legend was tied to my chest, and the red to my back. ‘There, now the whole world will know you are a liar.’

  Ena spoke angrily. ‘Lady Helena does not tell lies’.

  ‘But she did, Ena, she will tell you.’

  Ena looked beseechingly at me. ‘You didn’t, Lady Helena, did you?’

  The hot shame dyed my face. I muttered, ‘Yes, I did,’ and walked stiff-legged out of the nursery.

  I wore my badge of shame all week, until it was time to visit Grandmama; then she took it off. I sang to Grandmama that afternoon, but my voice felt rusty and strange.