Lucy Carmichael

by Margaret Kennedy

  Lucy was extremely happy. Her companions were so genial and uncomplicated; they had not begun to grow up. They thought the Club was faultless, ran all her errands for her, and had given her a bottle of noisome scent at Christmas, because they had heard her praise the scent Hump gave to Melissa. They were still enraptured by their own performance in the pantomime. She could not have wished for better skating companions; the wind, the swift movement, the gulls in the sunshine, were enough for them and enough for her.

  Fenswick dropped away behind them, a smoky blur. They came to some flooded and frozen water meadows through which the canal ran, as it ran across the reed-beds, on a levee. The ice was good here and the three of them, tired of skating straight forwards, scrambled down the embankment onto the meadows to cut fancy figures. They tried to do impossible things and frequently fell down. But Cobb and Brett, who had an infantile capacity for never tiring of any amusement, persisted, until Lucy began to fear that they would never get back to Drumby before nightfall. She urged them to come on. At last, climbing up the embankment of the levee, she went on herself.

  Much as she liked Cobb and Brett she enjoyed being alone still more. The light was so beautiful and the emptiness of the landscape so satisfying. Their raucous shouts soon died away on the meadows behind, and she flew on to where the ground rose again. The canal ran through a little spinney of hazels and past a farmyard where a child was feeding chickens.

  Soon it would be spring again, with catkins on the hazels and the first lambs in the fields. And oh, thought Lucy, how beautiful it all is!” How beautiful the earth is still, for thee how full of happiness!”

  Her restlessness was all gone. She loved Lincolnshire. A bliss, an ecstasy, came to her, which she had known constantly in childhood but which she had thought to be lost. It came again, that overpowering joy, from the fields in the yellow winter light it came, from the huge sky, from the hard ice beneath her ringing skates. She wanted nothing more of life than the moment held, and she was sorry when the sheds of Breenho camp came into sight on her left, across some brick-fields, and she knew that she was half-way home. But she did not stay for the others, though she slowed a little and listened, in case they were coming. She could hear nothing except a cow lowing in a field and a train which rattled tranquilly beyond Breenho and paused at the camp halt.

  After the halt the line curved and ran for some way beside the canal. Lucy quickened her pace, determined to see how far she could get before the train overtook and passed her on its way to Drumby. She made a bet with herself that she would first reach a place where a road crossed the canal and the railway line by a high bridge. After that the canal curved away again. She skated on, as fast as she could, and presently heard the train come rumbling up behind her on the slight embankment which raised it above the level of the canal. It caught her up while she was still a long way from the bridge; she must have quite misjudged her pace. And then it passed her, though she still tried hard to race it. The engine passed her, whence the fireman leant out to grin at her, and then several carriages full of schoolboys coming back to their homes down the line from Fenswick Grammar School. Clusters of them hung out of the windows to watch her losing race and wave to her. She wondered to see them there in holiday time, and then remembered that there had been a football match on the Grammar School ground. She waved back, but did not slacken her pace until the whole train was past and she knew that she had lost. On it went, getting smaller, with its plume of smoke above it, towards the bridge which spanned the canal. And then, just before it reached the bridge, it stopped. She remembered that men were working on the line and railed at fortune that they had not been a little nearer to Breenho; an earlier stop might have given her the race.

  It only paused for a few seconds but, in that brief interval, she saw somebody jump out onto the track and scramble down to the canal bank as the train moved on again. He sat on the grass beside the canal. As she came up she saw that he was putting on skating boots. He looked up and smiled at her as she flew past him, a hopeful smile, but not so hopeful as to be impertinent.

  She had not gone many yards before she heard the ring of skates behind her. He shot past, his head thrust forward in a determined way which reminded her of someone, and she heard herself cry out Hump! even before receiving the conviction that this must be Hump. Nobody else would have jumped out of a train quite like that; and, though he was a man, he was also the boy in Melissa’s snapshot.

  He did not turn but checked in one movement and skated backwards till he was level with her.

  “Oh, back-checking!” cried Lucy. “Oh, you are good at it!”

  “Did you call?” he asked politely, falling into line beside her.

  “Yes. You’re Hump.”

  “I know I am. But thank you for telling me.”

  “Does Melissa know you’re coming then?”

  “No, she doesn’t. Who are you?”

  She felt a sudden reluctance to tell him and immediately become poor-Lucy-jilted-at-the-altar. He would inevitably think of her as that. She said:

  “I thought you knew everybody in Drumby.”

  “So did I. But when I saw you from the train I thought — she wasn’t here before when I was here before. But then you waved, so I thought I must know you.”

  “I wasn’t waving to you. I was waving to the boys.”

  “What boys?”

  “The schoolboys coming from the match.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why did you get out of the train?”

  “Wanted to skate.”

  “But what about your luggage? Hadn’t you any?”

  “A boy in my carriage said he’d put it out at Drumby.”

  “You made up your mind very quickly.”

  “He said we might stop at the bridge, so I was all ready. We’d been discussing it ever since we saw people skating on the canal.”

  “People? Did you see two men?”

  “Yes. Do they belong to you?”

  “Well, they started with me.”

  “They looked like chicken chemists but they’re new since my time. Who are they?”

  “They’re called Cobb and Brett.”

  “Cobb and Brett?”

  Hump remembered these names in connection with the Lincolnshire Handicap and inferred that this must be bossy Lucy. He reeled with surprise. But why would she not own to it? Because, he surmised, she’s afraid I shall remember that stupid business of the wedding; she probably thinks that’s all I know about her. How boring that must be for the girl!

  “I wish you’d been here last night,” said Lucy. “We had a very good party at your Club.”

  “Admirably organised, I’m sure,” suggested Hump.

  “Oh …” said Lucy, blushing slightly.

  Hump smiled, stretched out his hands, and took hers crosswise. They skated on.

  “Melissa will shriek for joy,” said Lucy.

  “Melissa does not shriek.”

  “She will today. She thought she wouldn’t see you before you went to Africa.”

  “Oh … Africa is off.”

  “No! What happened?”

  “They found they could manage without me.”

  This was not entirely unexpected. Melissa had been right. He had been summoned to Paris to have his brains picked and the African job had gone to the colleague who picked them.

  Lucy, indignant, gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze.

  “Thank you,” said Hump complacently.

  “I know so much about you,” explained Lucy in some confusion. “I can’t feel I’ve only just met you. But oh … I’m afraid Melissa will be very unhappy about this.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. I’ve got another job. I’m going to Texas.”

  “What? In America?”

  “Umhm! Heidenstrasse Research Foundation. Fellow there who read my report on the work in the Dandawa. Gruber he’s called; working on cattle diseases; knows an awful lot and wants me to go out there for two years to work with him on ichneumon paras
ites. We’ve been corresponding for some time; he’s first rate, and the Foundation will pay me a screw. I couldn’t want anything I’d like better.”

  “But how lovely to go to Texas!”

  “Why? Have you been there?”

  “No, never. I was never out of England. But I always wanted to go to Texas because of its name. The Lone Star State.”

  “Oh, but that’s because …”

  “I know that. Don’t start ‘that’s becausing’. It is a perfectly lovely name.”

  “Fair as a star when only one is shining in the sky?”

  “Yes. Do you like Wordsworth?”

  “Sure. Read him from cover to cover.”

  “Melissa never told me that.”

  “She couldn’t tell you everything about me.”

  “No. But she’s told me an awful lot.”

  “Same here. I think we’d better wash out what she’s told us and start clean, or we shall get muddled.”

  “I’m glad you like Wordsworth.”

  “Yes, but you know I always think that ‘fair as a star’ business is rather a doubtful compliment. Now if I was to write a poem about a girl I’d say what a performance she gives when all the stars are shining in the sky. That would show I had some standard of comparison.”

  “It sounds like a poem about yourself and what a good judge you are. When do you go to Texas?”

  “In three weeks.”

  “Oh! … That’s not very long.”

  “No. It’s not.”

  It was a very short time, if he was to take this mettlesome creature with him to the Lone Star State. She would need a passport, and an American visa … and a wedding ring.

  Why on earth did I think I shouldn’t like him? wondered Lucy. I like his voice. It’s much quieter than I expected. Why did I imagine him always shouting and ordering people about like a film director with a megaphone?

  “Are you sailing,” she asked, “or flying?”

  “Sailing. I’ve got a berth in a cabin with three other men,” he said thoughtfully.

  Which was another complication. No end of things had to be done in these three weeks. Normally, thought Hump, I’d have allowed three weeks to educate the girl up to the idea of marrying me. But I can’t stay here longer than a week. I’ve got to get busy. If Melissa had only told me …

  Melissa had told him, again and again. It was not Melissa’s fault that no man ever believes a woman when she tells him that another woman is charming. It was not Melissa’s fault that she had never been able to convey to him the particular enchantment of Lucy’s eyes, her mouth, her young energy and her quick, soft voice. He had to see all this for himself before he could overlook the chilling fact that he already respected Lucy like anything. Having seen it he felt not a second’s hesitation.

  He began to skate very fast indeed, for he was in a hurry to get to Drumby where the speediest piece of work that he had ever undertaken lay before him.

  Lucy liked the pace at first, though she could never have made it alone. But after a while she grew dizzy and had to protest.

  “Oh, please … I can’t go so fast.”

  “Sorry,” said Hump, slowing.

  “You go on. You must be dying to see Melissa.”

  She tried to drag her hands away, but he held them firmly and said that he was not in all that hurry. Drumby, its red brick strangely lit by the setting sun, was cropping up on the horizon. He realised that he was in no hurry at all. He did not want to get to Drumby. He began to skate at a snail’s pace.

  “I think Cobb and Brett are catching us up,” said Lucy.

  “Oh, are they? Do you want them to?”

  “No.”

  The pace became brisker.

  “I’m enjoying this very much,” suggested Hump.

  “Oh, so am I,” said Lucy. “Just before the train came I wished I could go on for ever.”

  A sudden pang of compassion assailed Hump — almost of guilt. She had been perfectly happy by herself. He had seen that in his first glimpse of her. All alone and perfectly happy, flying through the wintry fields. And now he had come tumbling down the bank, wanting to shatter this solitude, wanting her never to be happy again unless he was there. It was, he felt, rather tough to be planning to sweep her off her feet in a week. It was hardly fair to a girl who could manage to be happy, all alone, in spite of so much sorrow, defeat and humiliation. I must never forget it, he told himself. If she comes, I must never forget what she gave up for me.

  Unconsciously he began to skate very fast again and Lucy gasped:

  “Please …”

  “So sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

  “You were thinking of something you mean to do next week.”

  “Yes, I was. How did you know?”

  “It’s what I always do. If I think of something in the future I begin to run. The only way to do anything the right pace is to concentrate entirely on the moment.”

  He took a quick look at her and decided that her mind, anyway, was on the moment. She seemed to be intent upon skating. And so she was. She was sure that she liked Hump very much and felt as easy with him as though he had been an old friend. Since he did not, obviously, think of her as poor Lucy, she did not much mind what he thought of her. He must like her or he would have taken the opportunity she offered to go on ahead.

  “Is this right?” he asked.

  “Rather too slow. I like going fast, as fast as ever I can. Faster than I can, if possible. With you I can go much faster than I did alone.”

  He concentrated upon a pace which should carry Lucy without alarming her, and presently hit on the right momentum. Freeing his left hand, he stretched an arm behind her shoulders, in a rigid bar, so that she could not fall back. Drumby, burnished, its windows glittering in the sunset, rushed towards them.

  “Oh!” cried Lucy, in manifest ecstasy, “this … is … simply glorious. I never enjoyed anything so much in my life!”

  Wonderful how far you can get, thought Hump, if you concentrate on the moment. So far as she’s concerned I’m merely an auxiliary motor, but she’s taking a trial canter down the course, though she doesn’t know it.

  A tawny blob was trotting along the tow-path and a solitary skater emerged from a cluster of cottages on the edge of the town.

  “Here’s John and Collins,” said Lucy.

  “Is that Collins? Poor little brute!”

  “Oh, he’s not a poor little brute. Melissa’s quite softheaded about him.”

  “Yes. But his nose is going to be put out of joint.”

  “Is it? Oh…”

  John came skating carefully towards them; with the setting sun full in his eyes he did not see who they were until they all met, when he was so much surprised that he skated into the bank and fell down. Hump and Lucy broke the outboard motor formation and helped him to his feet.

  “Yes,” said Hump, “me! I hope you’ve got a bottle of my father’s pop left.”

  “Yes,” said John. “We’ve got one out….”

  And then he began to hoot with laughter.

  “Joke?” suggested Hump.

  “Melissa’s on the bridge by the Club,” cackled John. “She … she’s looking for Lucy. She’s expecting to see her come from Brattle!”

  “But who’d go to Brattle with the wind in the west?” cried Lucy.

  “Wrong at the start,” agreed Hump.

  They all three went on, Lucy crossed-hands between John and Hump, and Collins bucketing along the tow-path. As they shot past the cottages the sun set, and a bloomy, frosty twilight advanced from the sea.

  Melissa was on the high hoop of the canal bridge, just beyond the Club, where steps led down to the ice. But her back was turned. She was looking anxiously in the opposite direction, hoping to see Lucy come from Brattle in quite other company. They shouted, but she did not turn.

  Lucy remembered a favourite story of Mr. Meeker’s and how he had stood once in Slane forest, looking the wrong way, till he heard his friend come singing
up the hill. She lifted her voice and sang in the rosy dusk:

  “Go fetch to me a pint of wine

  And fill it in a silver tassie;

  That I may drink before I go,

  A service to my bonny lassie.”

  Collins barked. Melissa turned. Melissa shrieked as the three who shared her heart checked their swift flight, slowed down and came to rest at the bridge.

  THE END

  Copyright

  This ebook edition first published in 2011

  by Faber and Faber Ltd

  Bloomsbury House

  74–77 Great Russell Street

  London WC1B 3DA

  All rights reserved

  © The Estate of Margaret Kennedy, 1951

  The right of Margaret Kennedy to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly

  ISBN 978–0–571–27900–5