Her Heart's Desire

by Vivienne Dockerty

  It would be something that she might mention later at their family dinner: ‘Local man made good’. “Well, it’s seasonal. Most of my vegetable harvesting occurs in the autumn, so that is when I need to find people to labour for me.” He didn’t say that most of them were itinerant, the Irish, the Romany’s or holidaymakers down on their luck. “I get by with the aid of a few local men most of the year to harvest my other crops of oats or barley, as my role in the business is to market my products to the people of Mull, the town of Oban and sometimes to the smaller islands such as Barra and Uist.”

  “It all sounds fascinating.” Lily surreptitiously wiped her tongue with a handkerchief that she carried in her reticule; the cream in the butterfly cake had left a sour taste in her mouth. “However, much as I would like to stay a little longer, I notice that the street lamps are beginning to glow and I must be away to prepare dinner for the family.” She stood up, noticing as she did so that crumbs fell to the floor from her coat, as the establishment had not provided a table napkin.

  “Thank you so much for inviting me to listen to your account of very fascinating travels. I would have loved to hear more, but I must away.”

  “May I escort you back to Rosemount Terrace?” Charlie leapt at the chance of being in her company a little longer, as this might be his only shot at asking if she would allow him to see her again. He was sure that Jessie would allow him a few more days upon her sofa and what a start to 1904, if Lily agreed to meet him again. “That footpath to your home will be quite treacherous after darkness, especially from the mud after the recent rainfall.”

  “Of course you may.” Lily was quite relieved that he had made his offer. A solid man to cling to along the unlit path was just the ticket at this time of year. “I would imagine you are used to darker climes if you are living in the wilds of Scotland. I have heard it goes dusk a lot earlier than here.” She linked his arm as they trod carefully around the puddles that lay in the potholed track.

  It felt good and natural, her closeness like balm to his soul. It spurred him on. “Would there be a possibility of you and I walking out together, Lily, now that we have lost our respective partners and are alone again in life?” His words sounded trite, but he felt all of a jumble in his mind and was grasping the opportunity like a drowning man. “I could come and speak to your father if it would help.”

  Lily considered. Charlie Wilson; Lily Wilson. Not as grand as Lily De Crosland, but what had she got from that sham of a marriage? A name that might have opened doors for her gentrified husband, but nothing for a commoner with only her looks. No wedded warmth, no adoration, no look of love like the look of love that she had seen today in Charlie’s eyes and it wasn’t as if he was penniless; he had a thriving business in the Hebridean Isles. “I’d like to walk out with you Charlie,” she said softly, suddenly remembering that look of hurt on his face when she had sent him packing all those years ago. “And I’m sure that my father will agree with me that you and I will do.”

  If truth was told, Mannion Griffith felt quite relieved when Lily announced after dinner that evening that there was a possibility that she would be seeing a young gentleman, a business man who had a thriving enterprise on the Isle of Mull, an island that was part of the Inner Hebrides. Not that Mannion knew where the island was, but it was somewhere up there in bonny Scotland. He had seen his profits fall quite dramatically since the use of gas had been introduced for fuelling the new free standing cookers that were beginning to take up residence in many of the mid to upper class kitchens. Combined with the falling off of lucrative contracts from the town hall now that various legislations at government level had brought new rules in, he was seriously thinking of cutting his losses and retiring from his stressed out life.

  The queen had died, God bless her, and with her death came sweeping changes, as the Victorian values of self help and parish care were being replaced with a raft of social services. Children, part of the workforce on farms in outlying districts, were forced under the education act to attend a school. In the pipeline was the pensions act and the national insurance act, in readiness to alleviate the unemployed and poor. When Grand-mama had died, the instructions in her will were that her two daughters should sell the house on Rosemount Terrace and split the proceeds equally. Patricia, the eldest, who lived in grandeur out at Montgomery Hall, had no need of a monetary legacy given that her husband had pots of the stuff and was persuaded by Mannion to relinquish her claim upon the property.

  There had been a collusion all those years ago, when Mabel had been sent back from her summer holiday at Patricia’s house, under some sort of a cloud that he hadn’t been privy to. It was a woman problem, according to Grand-mama, and she should be allowed to deal with it, sending the poor girl off to heaven’s knew where, down in the south of the country. Of course, Mannion had his suspicions that something was seriously amiss, finding it rather strange that Bertie, his brother-in-law, had never made an appearance at Rosemount Terrace again, but in time Mabel had come back, rather subdued it had to be said and the matter was closed, whatever it was. To say that Patricia was easily persuaded to give up any claim was an understatement and the large, rambling, Victorian house was soon put in Mannion’s name, with him as head of the household, and put up for sale as Grand-mama had wished.

  “You’d like Mull,” said Charlie, when, on he and Lily’s first real trip out together in celebration of the turn of the century, they had decided to ride on the top deck of the ferry boat to Liverpool. They were warmly dressed, given that the temperature had plummeted to below zero and Charlie was glad that he had visited a gents’ outfitter on Borough Road in order to buy an extra warm coat. “Mull and the island of Iona are steeped in history dating back to Saint Columba and there are signs that the Celts and the Norse people lived there long ago. I’ve been there for many years now and there are still a lot of places where I haven’t set foot.”

  “I should imagine that it would be a very nice place for a holiday, Charlie, but the countryside is not for me. Having lived at Brookvale for so many years, miles away from any civilization, I would prefer to spend the rest of my life within striking distance of a town or city.”

  “I see.” Charlie hadn’t thought of that. The dream of settling down in his neat little croft with their baby tucked up in a handmade wooden cradle, Lily in a homespun dress filling willow baskets to the brim in his potato field and him catching salmon from the gurgling river that ran through the length of his property, suddenly disappeared into thin air.

  “Besides, Father is being very fair when you consider that he has sanctioned our walking out together. I don’t think he would be very pleased if I suddenly disappeared to the wilds of Scotland.”

  “Yes, I can see that, but it is how I make my living, Lily. If I came back here to be with you, I would have nothing to support you with.”

  “Then it’s up to you. I cannot tell you what to do, Charlie, but if your destiny is to be with me and you want me to be your heart’s desire, you’ll have to be the one to make the changes.”

  He was saved from answering her and was glad of it, when the boat hit the side of the bulwark and they were thrown together whilst trying to gain their footing. Her body trembled in his arms, whether it was from the cold or a passionate desire for them to be together, but it felt so natural standing there and Charlie knew then that they should never be parted.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It took ten long weeks for Charlie to settle his affairs in Scotland and once a week he would take his letter of love to Lily along to the quayside, where a kindly fisherman took it for posting on the mainland. He had struggled with his feelings on that day when he had returned to his bit of the world, where he had tilled his soil, grown his crops, felt times of despair when a hailstorm or lashing rain had knocked his precious plants over, felt satisfaction at the size of his turnips or the sprouts that he had grown in a makeshift shelter and had sighed with relief when his winter brassicas had survived destructive squalls.
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br />   It would break his heart to leave it all, this green grassy island of sparkling lochs and he knew he never would if it hadn’t have been for meeting his beloved Lily again. His feelings for her were a far greater emotion, though he’d miss the sandy beach where he took his daily walks. For a time he tried to forget about the fog that could sweep in from the Mersey on a damp November morning, the shoddily built back to back houses of Birkenhead, the poor and the needy of the smut ridden town, the diseases that were rife in an ill fed community. On that fair Isle of Mull, children thrived on a diet of freshly picked greens, fish from the ocean and beef from the cattle that grazed on lush fields.

  It was meant to be, he thought, when a local farmer, having recently surveyed the rows of shoots that were beginning to show themselves in an early spring and had been assured by the landlord that Charlie had paid his rent for the next six months, decided to take over Charlie’s small enterprise. It ensured the man had the rest of the crop that Charlie had planted, with access to a ready market too. However, he baulked at the price that Charlie was asking and knocked him down as only a canny Scotsman could. It wasn’t a lot, it had to be said, but enough money to set Charlie up with another small enterprise back in Birkenhead. It was all he could do if he wanted to be with his beloved, that and rent a stall in the market to sell his produce from. It didn’t go down very well.

  “A market stall!” Lily had squeaked, when one afternoon in the middle of March, after his return, she and Charlie sat in a small pavilion in the park, reunited in a bubble of love.

  Well, that was how Charlie saw it, as he had been waiting for this moment since the beginning of the year. He had bought a ring; a small diamond set in a claw of nine carat gold, nestled in a jeweler’s box and tucked away from sight in his overcoat pocket. Today, he was going to pop the question to his love.

  “What happened to that thriving business you owned back in Scotland?”

  “I sold it, dearest, but when word gets around that you are to leave the area, people are inclined to pay as little as they can.”

  “But you made some money?”

  “Of course, but that will be needed for me to pay the rent on a desirable property. I can’t stay with Jessica Parsons indefinitely.”

  “And you want to rent a market stall.”

  “Well yes, I have no other option but to ask the council for permission to work an allotment. What else is there for me to do?”

  “You could go back to the shipyard, seeing that really you’re not cut out to be a businessman. I mean, after building up your thriving enterprise, you’re settling for a market stall.”

  Lily’s face hardened and Charlie glimpsed a side of her that he hadn’t seen before. “I have heard that Lairds are desperate for workers, I heard my father saying so. Seeing as you served your apprenticeship there, they’ll take you back with open arms.”

  “Mmm.” It was something he hadn’t thought of; he wouldn’t want to work there if he didn’t have to. “I suppose I could inquire…” If you don’t it will be the finish of your courtship, a small voice inside his head jibed.

  “Yes do inquire Charlie, then you will be able to propose to me and settle a date for us to be wed.”

  It turned out that there was a need for skilled electrical fitters, preferably with experience in submersibles. Of course it was right up Charlie’s street and he had an even deeper feeling that all that had been happening was meant to be. Was it his mother directing him from the spiritual world, or was there a divine presence hovering that kept him from falling from a righteous path? He didn’t know, but returning to worship in the Wesleyan church, had given him a certain peace in his bewildered soul.

  Mr Hammond had retired from his role as office manager, but Mr O’Neill, who had worked his way up from apprentice to draftsman in a similar way that Charlie had, was pleased to welcome back an ex-employee who was conversant with the job. It appeared that the British government had ordered five submarines a few years earlier for use by the navy and each one needed checking over before they took delivery. It was a piece of cake for Charlie, who only needed a little on the job training and the wages paid were excellent, allowing him to rent a three bedroom villa overlooking Mersey Park. Though it had to be said, he wasn’t looking forward to the future sea trials, as having spent so many years in the fresh air of Scotland, burial beneath the muddy waters of the Mersey wasn’t that appealing.

  Arrangements were well ahead for their marriage, according to Lily. Not at St. Peters, as unfortunately her father thought a second wedding there would be inappropriate, seeing as she’d had lavish nuptials all those years before to a man of note, and local people had long memories. This time it was to be in Charlie’s Wesleyan church and she was to wear her dress of guipure lace. It was more suitable for a simple ceremony, as only members of the family were to be invited and the reception would be held in the adjoining church hall.

  It had to be said that this time, Lily felt like a poor relation. She knew that her father was facing some financial difficulties, it was the only topic of conversation whilst the sale of the house on Rosemount Terrace was going through, but this time her marriage was a love match, wasn’t it? She loved Charlie – well, she thought she did – and he was much more attentive towards her than Roland ever was, but there was nothing romantic about being married in a tin roofed building, which was Charlie’s church. St. Peters was built in 1842 and with its steeple, mellowed stone, and stained glass windows it was every girl’s ideal venue, but Mannion stuck to his guns. She had done all that before and it wasn’t as if she was a blushing bride this time.

  Her mind had gone fleetingly to Lawrence, as her father went on about romantic notions that soon disappeared once the nuptials were over. Lawrence had put on weight now, grown a heavy beard and was known to tongue lash his family now that he wielded power on a ship; he wasn’t the dashing, clean-shaven, young sea captain that he used to be. Roland, then; no she must not think of Roland. He could have been her heart’s desire if he had been the man she had wanted him to be. Charlie, dear Charlie, who loved her right down to her fingertips, but who would never make her heart beat madly or turn her legs to jelly at the sight of him. But he was kind, considerate, tried to get along with his fellowman, brought her flowers and would make an excellent husband when all was said and done.

  Mabel was to be her only bridesmaid. Still she was reluctant to tell her secret to Lily who, with her nosy nature, had tried on several occasions over the years to get to the bottom of whatever troubled her sister. She had managed to find out on that occasion, when she was asking if Mabel would stand for her, that it hadn’t been an academy that Mabel had gone to when she had been sent away, but to a sanatorium! An establishment where distressed gentlewomen could find peace amongst the nuns that ran the place and where she had learnt that she had a skill in floral design. Anything more than that she wouldn’t reveal, but had said she thought that from what Lily had told her about her prospective husband, she was making the right decision by marrying someone like Charlie.

  He had only been to Rosemount Terrace on one occasion – two, if you counted the time when he took the flowers all those years ago. Mannion, a little more relaxed with life now he had given up the reins of his company and passed it on to another male member of the Patterson family, was more than willing to meet the man that Lily had chosen. This man, it seemed, had a bit more stuffing in him, given that he’d had a thriving business he understood in Scotland, and could take some of the financial burden of a daughter from him.

  The air was warm considering it was an April afternoon and Charlie had left his heavy overcoat behind at his new abode on Mersey Mount. He was dressed in a three-piece suit of striped navy twill, a black bowler hat and patent leather shoes, looking every inch a business man invited for afternoon tea. In fact, when Mannion answered the front door to his knock, he was rather taken aback by Charlie’s appearance: he certainly looked the part.

  He was shown into the drawing room, which was what
the Griffith’s liked to call their high ceiling front room, decorated with white turtle doves on a green background wallpaper and tastefully furnished with only a few good pieces of furniture from Grand-mama’s sitting room. Charlie soon found he was the subject of his prospective father-in-law’s scrutiny. Had he the means to support his daughter, now that he had returned from owning a seemingly lucrative business in Scotland, in the pursuit of love? Personally, Mannion thought that the man must be an idiot to have thrown it all away just for the love of a woman, even if that woman was his daughter. It was a bit of a come down to work at Cammel Lairds as an employee, like before.

  Charlie, ever the peacemaker and not wanting to cause estrangement, stayed unabashed by Mannion’s questioning, though he thought at the time that it was undeserved, given that he was thirty one, a widower and his finances should not be up for discussion. He was grateful when Lily appeared, carrying a tray of scones and sandwiches, followed by Hannah with a tray laden with cups and saucers and a pot of tea, or he might have felt inclined to tell his inquisitor where to go.

  Lily had appeared satisfied with the rented villa on Mersey Mount that Charlie had decided would be their marital home. He took her to see it, after persuading the landlord to employ a man to give the white, distempered plastered walls another coat. It was a sunny day and she was much taken with the way the front room lit up with bright sunshine, though complained that their rugs and furnishing may fade if they forgot to draw the drapes. She exclaimed at the unglazed tiles on the hallway floor, far more suitable than the red quarry tiles at Rosemount, which were apt to crack with their rigidity. She seemed satisfied with the cast iron kitchen range, which had a boiler at the back to heat the water and a Belfast sink in the scullery. There was a pantry fitted with marble shelves that would enable their food to stay chilled on warm summer days and upstairs, where three bedrooms of a good size and a separate lavatory from the bathroom resided, she was happy with the view of the garden, as a previous tenant had made a pretty rose trailing bower where she could sit.