by June Francis
Yours, Gabrielle Waters.
‘Has Gran seen this?’ asked Clara.
Mary nodded, gazing at her reflection and turning her head this way and that. ‘This really is a pretty hat. Do you think she’d make me one? I’d pay her, of course.’
‘I can’t say,’ Clara murmured, not wanting to make any promises. ‘She used to be a milliner but she doesn’t work now. When did the postcard come?’
‘Yesterday. Your gran got herself into a stew over it. I think if there had been a fire in the grate she would have burnt it, but I told her that it was addressed to you and she shouldn’t even think of destroying it.’
Clara tapped the card against the palm of her hand. ‘My aunt doesn’t mention her at all, that’s what’s such a blow to her.’
‘I thought it might be something like that,’ said Mary. ‘This hat. Will you ask your cousin’s wife? I don’t expect it to be exactly the same and yellow is more my colour.’
‘Perhaps. I suppose I could write and ask her,’ said Clara, having no intention of doing so at the moment.
‘Thanks,’ said Mary, removing the hat and placing it on the sideboard.
Clara brushed a strand of dark hair from out of her left eye and wondered why she had such a strong feeling that none of the family would get in touch with her again. For the last few days, the main reason for her contacting them had slipped her mind because she had been so engrossed in the affairs of the rest of the family instead of just her aunt. Now she knew what a big problem they had in the gun-wielding Bert. It was possible that they might decide that they did not want her involved.
She sighed and tried to put all that had happened today out of her mind for now. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have a life apart from them. She had her job and her gran to care for, and she even had the company of a lodger now, so it wasn’t as if she was going to be lonely. She glanced down at the postcard and wondered if Gabrielle really meant what she said about them meeting when she returned to England. She supposed it was going to be a matter of just wait and see.
Mary excused herself and left Clara alone. She put on the kettle, thinking to take up a cup of tea to Bernie and have a chat. She was bound to want to know how her visit to Seb’s and Alice’s had gone. Clara wondered if she could even begin to talk about Alice’s obvious difficulty in forgiving her father and of the others in the family who were not about to absolve Bert of his wrong deeds. She was beginning to realise that forgiveness did not come cheap. It came at a cost and sometimes the price was too high. She thought of the war and the millions who had died, including her dad. Her initial anger and pain had faded, but who had she blamed for his death when it happened? The Germans, the British generals, or the Government for being prepared to sacrifice so many men’s lives? Britain certainly hadn’t forgiven Germany, and those involved in settling terms for peace were still wrangling over the price that country would have to pay to absolve itself from what the Government obviously saw as the crime of war.
Clara shook herself. She was getting gloomy. Today was Easter Sunday, when Christians were supposed to celebrate Jesus rising from the dead after dying for the sins of mankind. Father, forgive them for they know not what they do. That was what he had said on the cross. Perhaps she was mistaken, believing that her family across the Mersey were going to cut her off. Only time would tell. With a feeling that was almost relief, she heard the kettle boiling and made a pot of tea.
She carried a tray upstairs and found her grandmother propped up against a couple of pillows and with the curtains closed.
‘Who’s that there?’ wheezed Bernie. ‘Go away all of you. I won’t have it.’
A startled Clara said, ‘It’s me, Gran.’
‘Thank God for that,’ said Bernie, hoisting herself further up in the bed. ‘I’ve been seeing ghosts. Put the gaslight on, girl.’
‘It’s still daylight, Gran. I’ll open the curtains. I’ve brought you a cup of tea.’ Clara placed the cup and saucer on a chair by the bed before going over and pulling back the curtains.
Bernie blinked in the evening light. ‘You’re a good girl. Has the lad gone?’
‘What lad?’
‘That one from the séance. I thought I heard his motorbike. I thought he might have been bringing Mrs Black to see me.’
Clara had forgotten about Bernie wanting to see Mrs Black. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your ears, Gran. Freddie did drop me off but couldn’t stay. Mrs Black’s away at the moment but he’s going to stay at her house with his sister until she returns. She’ll get your message.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. At least he’s doing more for me than me own daughter.’ Bernie sniffed. ‘Did yer read that postcard of hers?’
Clara sat on the bed. ‘You can’t write much on one of them,’ she said diplomatically.
Bernie slurped her tea. ‘I don’t know why yer take her side. She’s done nuthin’ for yer.’
Clara protested, ‘I’m not doing anything of the sort. I’m just speaking the truth.’
‘But is Gertie?’ asked Bernie, her rheumy eyes sad. ‘She might write about meeting yer, but will she really come?’
Clara decided to be positive. ‘Why say it if she doesn’t mean it? Anyway, it’s not about to happen overnight. Let’s think of something else… Now the weather’s improving, perhaps you should get out and about again, Gran. With the Palladium opening up once more you could watch films for free. Matinée or evening! Why don’t you come?’
‘Free, yer say?’ muttered Bernie.
Clara nodded.
‘Perhaps in a few days, when I’m feeling more meself,’ said Bernie. ‘Now, tell me how yer got on caring for that great-grandson of mine. And what was the baptism like?’
Clara made herself more comfortable on the bed and told her about her time there. Of course, she did not tell Bernie everything. No mention was made of kidnap and guns and her almost getting shot. Now she was home, Clara felt almost as if the incident had happened in a dream or a film. Thinking of films reminded her of what Mary had said about Mr Bennett visiting and asking about her aunt. At least when she saw him tomorrow, she would be able to tell him about the postcard and the possibility of her aunt getting in touch with her.
* * *
Clara gazed up at the long stone-faced frontage of the Palladium and the ground-level windows that showed two posters advertising coming films. She sighed with pleasure as she noticed that Mary Pickford in Johanna Enlists would be showing at the end of the week. The following Monday, Charlie Chaplin would be starring.
Posters for today’s film were displayed above the steeply roofed metal veranda and round the other side of the main entrance. It was The Cook, with Fatty Arbuckle and Buster Keaton, which was also showing on Tuesday and Wednesday. The main doors were closed and so she entered the building by a side door. No sooner was she inside than the sound of music filled her ears and she almost skipped towards one of the doors that led into the auditorium.
She gazed at the rows and rows of empty seats and imagined them full of people enjoying the music and the film. Then she noticed two of the usherettes and Mr and Mrs Walsh in a huddle near the front stalls. They were talking but she could not hear what they were saying because of the music. She looked for Mr Bennett and spotted him playing his clarinet, but knew she would have to wait a while before she could speak to him. Then she realised that Mrs Walsh had seen her and was signalling for her to come and join them. Clara did so, expecting to be asked how she was feeling and to be given her orders for the day.
Several hours later, Clara was sitting in the pay box, taking money and issuing tickets. There was quite a queue despite it being a bank holiday and the weather fair. She guessed there were always those who would rather sit and be entertained than be active outdoors and was glad of it because it was really the audience that paid her wages. The day passed pleasantly and she had a chance to watch part of the film but, due to the performances being continuous, she had little opportunity to speak to Mr Bennett. She had
to wait until after the last performance, when he appeared just as she was about to leave.
‘Hello, Clara,’ he said in his rather deep, pleasant voice. ‘Sorry I haven’t had time to speak to you until now.’ He looked genuinely contrite.
‘Can’t be helped,’ she said. ‘I’ve been busy, too. But I have to leave now or Gran might start worrying about me.’
He placed a homburg hat on his silver hair and said, ‘I’ll walk along with you, if I may?’
‘Of course.’
They left the picture house, saying goodnight to the doorman on the way. The main road was still busy at that hour, so he took her elbow as they crossed to the other side. As they passed St Michael’s church he asked, with old-fashioned courtesy, if she minded if he smoked. She shook her head and he lit a cigarette. She waited patiently for him to get to the point and he did, eventually, as they rounded the corner into Boundary Lane.
‘I had a letter from a musician friend of mine in New York. He told me that your aunt is searching for me. Do you have any idea why?’ he asked without preamble.
Clara stared at him in surprise. ‘I don’t see why you should think I would know. I’ve never met Aunt Gabrielle. I wrote to her a few months ago because Gran wants to see her before she dies. I didn’t even realise there was a connection between the two of you until I went in search of her. I was told by a person close to her that she’d once been married to a musician called Bennett, who left her penniless in America.’
Mr Bennett almost dropped his cigarette and looked dismayed. ‘That’s not true. I had the chance of work along with a couple of other musicians but she wasn’t included in the deal because they didn’t need a female singer. My accepting the job meant my leaving her for a short while, but I gave her money and told her to stay where she was and I’d come back for her. Trouble was, when I did, she wasn’t there… had disappeared without a trace.’
Clara thought he sounded like he was telling the truth, but was he? ‘Perhaps she believed you had deserted her, so she had to do something herself to survive,’ she suggested.
He frowned. ‘Gertie wasn’t penniless, but she was ambitious. I’d known her since she was a kid. My dad heard her singing in a pub. He and Mother were music teachers and he said that, with a bit of training, she could make good. Trouble was, Gertie was impatient and thought she could get to the top without any hard work.’
Clara found this all very interesting but had to ask, ‘Are you worried about her looking for you? If it’s because you think you’re still married to her you can forget it. She divorced you for desertion a few years back, so she could marry someone else.’
He did not appear shocked but did not answer her immediately, instead he drew smoke deep into his lungs before blowing out a smoke ring. ‘I’m surprised at your mention of her divorcing me. She used to go on about not feeling properly married because we tied the knot aboard ship. Gertie, being Catholic, would have liked a church do but we were young and wanted to be together.’
Clara could understand their feelings but was curious as to why her aunt should be searching for him after all these years. ‘I received a postcard from her. It was from New Orleans. Did your musician friend not tell her that you’d returned to Liverpool?’
He shook his head and looked thoughtful. ‘When you’re in a band like I was in America, performing at nightclubs and music halls, you get hangers-on who can be a nuisance. He thought she might be one of them because I was doing very well over there at one time. So he told her that I’d moved on years ago and suggested she try a place in New Orleans.’
‘So she doesn’t know you’re here?’
‘Nope.’ His eyes glinted in the light of a lamp. ‘But I’d still like to know why she’s looking for me. I did wonder whether there was a kid.’
‘She does have a son who happens to have your surname but I was told he wasn’t yours.’
Mr Bennett looked disappointed. ‘Shame. I was always too busy working or moving on to marry again. What’s Gertie’s boy like?’
Clara told him a little about Seb and his war injuries and found Mr Bennett sympathetic. ‘It’s a darn shame.’ They had reached her front door and he held out his hand. ‘It’s been interesting talking to you, Clara. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She smiled. ‘I’ve enjoyed talking to you, too. I wonder, if Aunt Gertie does get in touch with me, would you want me to let her know where you are?’
He said easily, ‘Let me think about it. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since Gertie and I last saw each other. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight,’ she echoed and went inside.
As Clara undressed and climbed into bed, she thought about the two young lovers who had been Gertie and Robbie. What would their lives have been like if they had stayed together? Seb wouldn’t be here, that was for sure, and so perhaps it was meant for them to part. She sighed, thinking now of Freddie. Would she see him again? At least if he was staying at Mrs Black’s then he would be seeing little of Tilly. Would he or Joy remember to give her gran’s message to Mrs Black? If they did, would she respond by coming to visit her?
* * *
It had been a long train journey from Scotland and then another from Liverpool, but Eudora Black was finally home. She gazed at the gatehouse as the taxi approached the gateposts. Despite it being a damp, cold evening at the end of April, there was no smoke coming from the chimney. She wondered if Malcolm was working in the garden, although it was surely rather late in the day for him to be doing so.
The vehicle motored up the drive and came to a halt in front of her house. She waited for the driver to get out and open the door for her. He carried her luggage to the porch and then she paid him and bid him a good evening. For a moment she stood there, gazing at the sweep of lawns and flower-beds of wallflowers and tulips, and felt a sense of peace descend upon her. So different from the place she had visited up north.
The door opened and she heard Joy’s voice. ‘You’re later than I thought you would be. Was it a bad journey?’
Eudora turned and smiled into her housekeeper’s welcoming face. ‘Hello, Joy dear. The journey was foul and it’s a relief to be home. I hope you’ve something tasty in for supper and we’re not out of sherry.’
‘I’ll soon whip something up for you. I made a simnel cake because although you weren’t here for Easter, I know how partial you are to marzipan.’
‘Good for you,’ said Eudora, wiping her feet on the coconut mat. ‘How have things been here?’
‘A lot’s been happening.’ Joy hesitated. ‘Mr Moran’s in hospital.’
Eudora’s mouth fell open and she watched silently as Joy carried in her suitcase. She was even more surprised when Freddie appeared from the direction of the kitchen. ‘Will I carry your suitcase up to your room for you?’ he asked.
Eudora closed her mouth and began to ease off a pale lilac kid glove. ‘What are you doing here, Freddie? And why is Malcolm in hospital?’
‘I’ll pour you a sherry, shall I?’ said Joy. ‘You’ll need it.’
‘Then I’ll have it in the drawing room.’
Her high heels clicked on the parquet floor as she headed in that direction, removing her mauve feather-bedecked lilac felt hat while on the move. Once inside the drawing room, she flung her purple jacket on the back of the sofa and sat down, hoping that anything she had done in Scotland was not to blame for Malcolm being in hospital.
She waited until Joy had produced a plate with a slice of simnel cake and Freddie had handed her a glass of sherry before saying, ‘So why is Malcolm in hospital?’
‘He was shot,’ said Freddie, his expression sympathetic.
Eudora’s cheeks blanched. ‘Shot? Was there an attempted break-in here while I was away? Is that why you’re here?’
‘No! It happened in Chester and we think it was our brother, Bert, who was responsible,’ said Freddie.
Eudora blinked. ‘I don’t understand! Joy told me he was killed in France.’
‘That�
�s what we believed, but Emma saw a picture of demobbed soldiers in a newspaper and he was one of them. We reckon he switched identity with a dead soldier,’ said Freddie.
Eudora gulped down the sherry and asked for a refill. ‘My dears, what a terrible shock for you. Sit down, both of you.’ She waved them to the sofa. ‘Tell me the whole story and how Malcolm was involved. Is his life in danger?’
Joy shook her head. ‘He lost a lot of blood, so he’s weak. I went with him in the ambulance. The doctor managed to dig the bullet out from his shoulder. They reckon it was from a revolver issued to soldiers during the war. The police are investigating.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘The day of the twins’ christening,’ said Freddie. ‘I’d best tell you the whole story, as I was there.’
‘Yes. You do, while Joy whips me up something savoury.’ Eudora smiled at her. ‘An omelette will do, dear, with some smoked salmon and cheese, if we have any.’
‘I made sure I had some in ready,’ said Joy, as she left the room.
Freddie proceeded to tell Eudora about the attempted kidnap. After finishing his tale, he sat back and watched the differing expressions flitter across her face, wondering what she made of it all.
‘So Malcolm went against my advice,’ she said crossly. ‘I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me. He has shown great interest in Tilly and his grandchildren over the years. I must go and see him. He’s in Chester Infirmary?’
Freddie nodded. ‘You weren’t thinking of going this evening? Visiting hours are over and I doubt they’d let you in.’
‘No, it would be foolish. I’ll wait until tomorrow as his life is not in danger. How did you get here?’
‘By motorbike.’ He hesitated, ‘If you were thinking of my giving you a lift to the station tomorrow…’ He stared at the smartly dressed middle-aged woman sitting opposite him.
She threw back her head and laughed. ‘You think I’m game for that? No, Freddie dear, I’ve reached that age when I like my comfort. I have a better idea. You can return to Chester and hire an automobile for me as you’ve done in the past. It could be that I’ll be going backwards and forwards to Chester several times during the coming week and I can’t be bothered with train travel after the journey I’ve had today.’
