Daughter of the House

by Rosie Thomas

  Arthur threw aside the dishcloth. ‘Come on. Let’s all go out for a drink. Neelie, what do you say?’

  Cornelius was sitting with a book. His feet were planted flat on the floor, his elbows glued to the arms of the chair.

  ‘No. You two go.’

  He spoke evenly, but Nancy saw his fear.

  The crisis of Eliza’s illness had brought him out of his room and given his days a point. It was weeks now since he had suffered a proper bout of weeping, and he seemed able to distinguish the present from the past so long as he kept a close focus on the daily work of the house. He didn’t do the work particularly well, and that didn’t matter in the least. But he never went out, and she knew that it was because he was afraid to. He didn’t like loud noises or strangers, or any sequence of events that threatened to develop beyond his control.

  Arthur said, ‘Shall we, Nancy?’

  She was relieved that he didn’t try to force Cornelius to come with them. They went upstairs to say goodnight to Eliza. Her earlier animation had drained away and she was in bed, wrapped up her shabby old red robe. When she was a little girl Nancy used to think the robe was the finest garment in the world because it had a fire-breathing fanged Chinese dragon embroidered on the back.

  ‘We’re going to the pub, Ma. Neelie’s downstairs. Will you be all right for an hour?’

  ‘Of course I will.’ She lay back and closed her eyes. Her eyelids seemed almost translucent.

  Without conferring, Nancy and Arthur turned away from the local places where they might be known and walked south towards the city. The picked a large establishment on the corner of a busy street and pushed past etched-glass panels into the saloon bar. There was ornamental plasterwork with mahogany fittings, a billow of companionable smoke and a hum of talk. Out of sight in the public bar someone was thumping on a piano. Nancy’s spirits rose.

  ‘What’ll it be?’ he asked.

  ‘Scotch. A large one, if you can afford it.’

  ‘Good girl.’

  She found a table while Arthur went to the bar. An enormous woman winked at her.

  ‘Got your sweetheart home, darling? You’re the lucky one.’

  ‘He’s my brother.’

  The woman’s gaze followed him, her cushiony red lips pursed. ‘I see. Has he got a girl?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I should ask him, shouldn’t I?’

  Another wink and a broad smile. ‘If you don’t, I will.’

  Arthur put down their drinks and settled himself so his khaki shoulders blocked the woman’s view. After a long draught from his pint he took out his case and lit two cigarettes. Brother and sister studied each other through the smoke.

  ‘Now then. Why don’t you start with Neelie?’ Arthur said.

  It was such a relief to talk. She didn’t try to censor her words, for once. He listened and nodded and at the end he said, ‘What he has been through is almost beyond imagining. It would unbalance any man.’

  The pub’s smell of stale beer and smoke and old clothes swirled powerfully around them. Through the brown linoleum floor Nancy glimpsed a flash of white sky and shattered trees.

  ‘Nancy? Are you all right?’

  She took a slug of whisky. ‘Yes. Isn’t it the same for you?’

  Arthur knuckled beer froth from his moustache. His neatness, his air of cheerful authority, even his physical mannerisms, seemed too mature for a man of only twenty. Although he said almost nothing about it she knew what his daily work entailed. Slain men lifted from amongst the debris and live shells, and the final consignment of their bodies to graves in the French fields.

  ‘Those poor soldiers are all dead. There’s no suffering any more, not like in the dugouts and field hospitals Neelie was seeing. Anyway I’m not a complicated sort of person, am I? I’m a decent soldier and a solid batsman, and that’s about it. I don’t have nightmares. Not too many, at any rate. I’d be a block of wood if some things didn’t get to me, but Neelie’s a different person. There are specialist doctors who are helping some of our chaps through the worst. I suppose we could try to get him to one of those, if you and Ma and Pa agree? My own hope after seeing him today is that he’ll recover, given time, in his own way.’

  They both understood that Cornelius’s way was not the same as theirs, and was never likely to be.

  ‘I hope so too,’ Nancy said. There was no money for specialist doctors, she knew that much.

  ‘Another one?’ The piano was louder and someone was singing. She drained her glass and handed it over.

  ‘Next one’ll be on me,’ she promised.

  ‘Nancy Wix. What did you learn at those suffragette meetings?’

  ‘Cheek. I’m much older than you.’

  ‘A whole year and three months.’

  His next question was, ‘What about Ma?’

  ‘She was better today. Almost as if someone had waved a healing wand. That would be you, of course.’

  ‘I really wish you had told me earlier about the flu. I should have been here. You can’t manage everything yourself, Nance.’

  Whisky disarmed her. She said humbly, ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’ll try not to try to in future.’

  She might have said that the tradition of sheltering Arthur was their parents’ legacy and she and Cornelius carried it on, but that would only be pointing out what must be obvious to him too. Arthur was older than his years, and perceptive in ways she hadn’t given him credit for.

  After a small silence he said in a low voice, ‘If it’s not Neelie or Ma, what else is up?’

  ‘I lost my job today.’

  Arthur’s face clouded. ‘Bugger. What happened?’

  ‘The big boss’s son came back. Everyone else moved down one rung on the ladder and I fell off the bottom.’

  There was no need to say more; the same was happening everywhere.

  He covered her hand with his. ‘Bad luck. I know you liked the print. Don’t worry, you’ll find another job in no time.’

  ‘Of course I will.’ She took a deep breath. In the public bar they were bawling a chorus. ‘It had better be soon. The Palmyra’s closed down.’

  He stared. ‘Closed?’

  ‘I was there this morning. I wanted to see Pa, you know, after I was sacked.’

  She described the scene.

  As they talked they acknowledged that the theatre and its fluctuating fortunes, with its equally mercurial cast of magicians and tenors and sylph-like dancers, had been the shimmering backdrop to their entire lives. Neither of them could properly comprehend that it now lay dark and silent.

  ‘He sat at home with us all afternoon and never gave the tiniest hint,’ Arthur marvelled. ‘The old chap’s a better actor than I realised.’

  This struck them as funny. Nancy coughed into her whisky and with the release of tension they began laughing so hard that the fat woman leaned over to see if she could join in the joke. Nancy went to the bar to buy the next round and while she waited she peered past the glass screens to catch sight of the revelry in the adjoining room. The bar was a sea of red faces and swaying bodies and she envied so many people who were clearly having a good time. She leaned over her brother’s shoulder.

  ‘C’mon. Let’s forget our troubles and go next door for a bit.’

  He seized their drinks and led the way. The heat and noise rolled over them as they edged into the room. The singing was too loud for talk so they joined in the next chorus instead.

  ‘If he’s not asking you’d better dance with me,’ a man roared at her. Nancy let herself be drawn into the jigging crowd just as a girl grabbed Arthur and hung off his arm. Over her head Arthur winked.

  ‘That’s it darling,’ Nancy’s partner shouted in her ear. ‘Why worry, eh?’

  A second pair of hands seized hers. These belonged to a boy who knew how to steer and she let herself go with him and the music until the room whirled. It was a relief not to think. Finally Arthur came to reclaim her and as they linked arms she remembered that the last time they danced togethe
r had been at Bavaria, as Devil always called the Shaws’ house, on the night before Arthur went away to Harrow. Now her little brother was a handsome officer who was being given the eye by every girl in the pub. She smiled, and her previous partner saw it and blew her an imploring kiss.

  ‘Last orders, ladies and gents, please.’

  ‘One more?’ Arthur mouthed.

  Amidst protests from their new friends they retreated to the quieter bar.

  ‘You were appreciated, Nancy.’

  ‘Me? What about you?’

  ‘They only see the uniform.’

  That wasn’t the case, but it was true that although the war itself was becoming an unpopular memory the men who had fought it were admired everywhere. She felt a tick of fear for Arthur.

  ‘Don’t get hurt, will you?’ she begged, made vocal by the whisky. Arthur didn’t respond directly.

  ‘Do you remember that night at Aunt Faith’s, before I went to school?’

  ‘I was just thinking about it.’

  ‘Were you really? Rowland and Edwin are so often in my mind.’ Abbreviated young lives were familiar to Arthur and he moved smoothly on. ‘And the Schools Match, too.’

  His dream of playing at Lord’s had never been realised. There had been no Eton and Harrow match for the duration of the war, and half the schoolboys who had played in Fowler’s great game were now dead. Instead of reassuring her that of course he would be safe, he remarked, ‘You saved me from drowning.’

  Nancy flushed. ‘I did nothing of the kind. The fishermen in the rowing boat were right beside us.’

  ‘Yes, you did. The Queen Mab was our brush with it, you know. We didn’t survive that, all of us, only for me to step on a shell, or for Cornelius to be blown up in his ambulance, or Ma or you or Devil to fall victim to Spanish flu. Here we are, and here we’ll stay. That’s what I believe.’

  Simple, she thought. And as reasonable a belief to adhere to as any other.

  ‘Arthur, I’m so glad you are home.’

  He touched her hand. ‘I’m happy to be. Tomorrow we’ll have a quiet word with Pa, but I think we should perhaps not say anything yet to Eliza and Neelie. Are you ready to go?’

  She laughed. ‘If I can walk.’

  He took her by the arm and they made their unsteady way into the sooty night.

  The next morning Devil left home very early and Nancy and Arthur went down to the Palmyra in the certainty that they would find him there. It would be better in any case, they agreed, to talk about the business away from Islington and Eliza.

  Arthur put his shoulder to the stage door but it yielded easily and he almost fell inside. They stepped in from the alley and secured the door behind them. They groped their way in semi-darkness through the labyrinth of passages to the door of Devil’s office. It stood open and the light was on, revealing his old desk mounded with papers and folders. Nancy listened to the silence, feeling its physical pressure on her eardrums.

  ‘Where is he?’

  Arthur coolly glanced through some of his father’s papers and clicked his tongue at what he saw.

  They made their way on towards the stage. Through the slips they saw that a single bulb burned overhead, throwing a dingy wash of light over the boards.

  Nancy looked out into the auditorium over the empty rows of seats. The gilded fronts of the double tier of boxes faintly glowed. Slowly she tilted her head to gaze into the little cupola. At the back of the gallery a creaking seat made her jump.

  ‘Centre stage suits you,’ her father’s voice remarked.

  She squinted upwards. Arthur came out on to the stage to join her.

  ‘Pa?’

  ‘You too, Arthur. You ought to be in the films.’

  ‘Come down, Pa. Come and tell us what has happened.’

  When he appeared he was dishevelled and his eyes were bloodshot. Nancy tried to embrace him but he held her at a little distance and she knew at once that he had been drinking.

  ‘Why are you here?’ he asked.

  She told him, ‘I came down yesterday because I got the sack and I wanted to see you. I found everywhere locked up. Arthur came with me this morning.’

  ‘I see. I’m sorry.’

  He turned aside and waved at the green-and-gilt interior. ‘It’s only temporary. Flow of cash, you know, artists being intransigent and refusing to go on without pay. A small crisis, but we’ve weathered plenty of those, eh? I intend to sort out some temporary funding and we’ll soon be on our way again.’

  Arthur considered this but Nancy burst out, ‘What about the rest of the company? Anthony Ellis? Miss Aynscoe?’

  These were the people who had worked for her father for many years.

  ‘Anthony found a job at the Duke of York’s and I advised him to take it. It’s not well paid, but better than the princely sum of nothing, which is all he’s been getting here lately. And as for Miss Aynscoe –’ Devil turned aside, patting his coat pocket where the bottle lay concealed. In a lower voice he said, ‘Sylvia offered me her savings. That was what convinced me to close up. Just temporarily, you know. I’ll borrow from someone who can afford to lend.’

  Arthur spoke for the first time.

  ‘Shall we not stand here amongst all the ghosts? Let’s go somewhere else where we can talk.’

  He put his hand to his father’s sleeve.

  Ghosts. Nancy thought it was a surprising word for her brother to choose. It was on this stage that their father’s old partner Carlo had bled to death after the Bullet trick. Devil was staring out into the wings as if he too saw troubling sights.

  ‘Come on, Pa,’ she repeated, and between them they steered him off the stage.

  The Corner House across the Strand wasn’t crowded. Devil was able to flirt with the nippy as they took a table next to the window and by the time the girl returned with her tray he was apparently recovering himself. He smoothed back his hair and settled the knot of his tie so that he looked spruce and almost sober again.

  ‘It has been a setback, I won’t pretend otherwise. To have my performers turn against me and to have to let my trusted employees go to work elsewhere.’

  He had to assume a stage persona, Nancy thought, even to sit down in a teahouse. He was rouged and pomaded under the lights, reprising his famous role of rakish theatre manager and magician for an audience of two people. She wanted to shake him and say Stop it. Be natural. It’s us, your children. Too often these days she felt that she was the parent and Devil the contrary child.

  He grinned at them. ‘Of course I should have said something, and I would have done when the moment was right. I’m an old hand, you know. I have successfully managed quite a few of these – ah – episodes before.’

  ‘Have there been other episodes in which your acts walked out because they haven’t been paid and your wardrobe manageress felt she had to offer you her savings to keep the theatre open?’

  ‘Zenobia? You attack your father when he’s down?’ Devil started back in exaggerated dismay. Arthur minutely shook his head, but Nancy’s irritation got the better of her. Even in his protests Devil was still acting. He had been playing his rogue’s role for so long that he was unable to separate himself from it.

  ‘Rather than borrowing even more money, why don’t you just sell the Palmyra?’

  This time Devil’s smile bared his teeth.

  ‘I’d sell our house first.’

  He looks like a wolf, Nancy thought. The absolute devotion she had felt for him in her childhood had shifted into a more critical adult knowledge, but her father was still close to the centre of her existence and it was painful to glimpse how his vulnerability was coupled with guile. She remembered the bank manager or shopkeeper fathers of her envied school friends, and wasn’t sure even now that to have such a figure wouldn’t have been preferable.

  ‘What will happen to Ma and Cornelius if you do that?’

  Devil pounced. ‘Exactly. Your mother has been too ill for me to consult her and my first concern is to care for her. Co
rnelius needs a safe home and I will do anything to preserve it for him. To shield them both from anxiety, I battle on against the financial tide. You two are different, and if you are genuinely concerned I can tell you that I am about to talk to an influential person. I think this person will be eager to help me through a temporary crisis. We’ll be Wix and Sons after all. The Wix family,’ he amended, with a glance at his daughter.

  Devil made a pass with his hands as if he was about to conjure a bouquet of hothouse flowers from the coffee pot. He checked the room as he did so, seeming to invite applause from a wider audience. It was the manner of a man who was used to being watched and admired, mostly by women. He didn’t see that those few who did turn in their direction were interested not in the grey-haired father but in his son – even though Arthur was a civilian today, in a soft-collared shirt and his old tweed coat from before the war.

  Nancy’s heart turned over with sadness, for themselves and what seemed to be the wider pain of life.

  ‘Who is this person?’ Arthur wanted to know.

  Devil was pleased to tell him. ‘He is an actor in the moving pictures.’

  Even before Arthur asked him to elaborate, Nancy was able to work out what must have happened. In her fever Eliza had remembered Mr Jake Jones, and she herself had innocently reminded Devil of his one-time protégé. Assuming that success was lucrative, Devil must have seized on the idea of touching Mr Jones for a loan. Or quite possibly had already done so. Nancy felt the familiar pang of embarrassment. She listened miserably to Devil explaining to Arthur how he had given the actor a wonderful start and thereafter taught him everything he knew.