Mr Blunt is certainly in his room. He creaks about up there. His little sounds flit through the bricks in the walls and down the stairs like curls of falling leaves. If he hadn’t come home, I might have gone up for a look at the room, but it would not be the same as when I used to find Hooper there. When Mr Blunt came to see the room, he had the choice of the attic or the one Miss Cankleton now has. I thought the attic was the lesser of the two. It is smaller and the fireplace is poky. I said to him that it had not been much lived in, except by servants. It was even considered to be haunted at one time. I explained this to Mr Blunt and his eyes rather seemed to feast on the picture. He liked the room all the better and was anxious to take it. I thought then that he was an odd one, but I let him have the attic as the other room would be easier to let. I don’t know what he does up there or when he goes out late at night, but he’s a very quiet man and this house has never tolerated much noise.
Once I wanted to be in a house full of life – the Lockes’ home in Kensington was bliss to me with its lively, clever people and magical parties with champagne and lilies and charades – but I was not to have that for myself and now I think there is no greater human virtue than the tendency to be quiet. That makes Miss Cankleton a saint, of course, and I think she might be. She is about forty-five but has the extraordinary talent of being able to look seventy no matter what she wears. She works in the post office. I have seen her there, polished knob of grey hair atop her head, thick spectacles and the habit of leaning towards the customer because she is just a little deaf. I cannot be the only person in the queue who thinks that she resembles a silver teapot pouring forth. She’ll be deep in sleep now, stamping envelopes, or climbing some secret Matterhorn of her own.
Chapter Eighteen
A letter from Locke. I sat beside Hooper in the attic and read it aloud. Locke wanted me to visit her at work so that she could show me around the theatre and catch up on old times. She was now active within the Actresses’ Franchise League, like her mother, organizing public meetings and writing her sketches for performances around the country, sometimes acting in them herself. In the meantime, she did clerical work at her uncle’s theatre in the West End. She also told me that Hester Morgan, our old friend from Candlin, was in prison for smashing shop windows.
Come and see me, Farringdon. These weeks have been terrible. I have been making myself busy, working, writing and campaigning, but the ache never dulls and you are the only person who will understand. I am so sorry that we argued. We mustn’t lose each other because of this. I miss you!
‘I have missed her too, Hooper, but perhaps she is no longer angry and that’s why she has written.’
Indeed, I was almost tearful with relief that I seemed to have my dear old friend back again. We would meet in the afternoon, sit on the floor, and talk long into the evening, sometimes tipping a little more coal onto the fire. We would share old jokes about college people and perhaps even sort out our future lives.
Life flowed up Charing Cross Road, pumped in and out of buildings and the smaller streets. I dodged between carriages, buses and bicycles to cross the street and inhaled a mouthful of dust. I spluttered and wiped my face but I was enjoying it. At Cambridge Circus I stood for a few minutes to catch my breath and let the thundering chaos blast my senses. A weak sun shone through the trees and it felt as though it had always been sunny here while the clouds gathered over the house in Dulwich. I walked a little further, found the theatre and followed an alley to the stage door. A boy let me in and led me to Locke’s office.
The staircase was shabby, high-ceilinged and turned several corners before we reached a small door on the landing. Locke opened it and pulled me inside with a shriek. She seemed to have grown much older in the months since I had seen her last. She wore a blue dress and her dark hair was fastened at the back of her head in its usual elegant roll but she looked careworn.
‘I can’t believe we’ve left it so long. Let me clear these papers so you can sit down.’
The room was poky with a sloping ceiling and small window. Piles of documents and letters covered the desk and part of the floor. There were two chairs, an aspidistra and several framed photographs of scenes from plays. The one nearest me, on the desk, showed a young man in a top hat strangling an older one with his bare hands. Both actors wore frenzied expressions, eyes bulging with ecstasy and pain.
‘What play is it?’
‘I’ve no idea. I just like their intense enjoyment of the murder, you know. When office work gets dull it cheers me up.’
‘Dull?’
I peered out of the window at the busy street and wondered at Locke’s good fortune in having this place to come to every day.
‘I’ve missed our conversations so much, Farringdon. I wish we could see each other more.’
‘So do I.’
We had talked about wanting to talk but neither of us could think what to say next. I fiddled with my gloves.
‘It’s a beautiful office. What do you do here?’
‘Cut out the reviews and make sure that we’re selling enough tickets, that sort of thing. It’s mundane, but it means I can do my work for the AFL when nobody else is about. We’re recruiting new members all the time. It has given me a reason to get on with things after – all the bother. It’s just a matter of time before we get the vote.’
‘And what about Morgan? Is she still in prison?’
‘I think so but, even if they let her out, she’ll be straight back in.’
‘Do you remember having to waltz with her in the picture gallery? I can’t imagine her jumping out of trees and running around to smash things. We should visit her next time.’
‘She won’t see anyone, not even her father. Too proud. She has to wear some coarse, horrible garb and probably has lice.’
Locke pushed a cigarette into a scratched black holder and lit it.
‘Want one?’
‘No thanks.’
‘I keep having this idea,’ said Locke. ‘It’s foolish but, look, imagine this. We get the climbing ropes from Parr and then we scale some building or tower, get ourselves in the news. With a newspaper or sign, Votes for Women. Like Fanny Bullock Workman did in the Karakoram, but we’d do it in the city instead.’
‘And we could have Parr climbing up behind us with a sign saying: No Votes for Women at All, Under any Circumstances. So Pull Yourselves Together.’
Locke giggled. ‘Do you think she’s changed her position? I feel sure that she must have by now but she’d be too haughty to admit it.’
‘I think she’ll be sailing to South America soon. She’s going to be a great mountaineer and nothing will get in her way.’
Locke blew a thin wire of smoke from her mouth. It curved away behind her ear.
‘No. Nothing will stop her. It never does.’
‘I meant—’
‘Sometimes I forget that I can’t just write a letter to Hooper. I kept some of her sketches, ones she did in Wales. I don’t even know why I had them in the first place. I should probably return them to her family. Mosses, petals, leaves. Pretty things.’
‘Her family must have plenty. I’m sure they wouldn’t begrudge you a few sketches.’
She nodded. ‘Will you climb again? I shan’t but I hope you will.’
‘I don’t think so.’
I heard myself say this and did not like the way it sounded. It seemed sad and hopeless and made me want to change my mind, though I was not sure that I could.
‘I’m not going to forgive her.’
‘Parr? We can’t blame her for everything.’
Locke gave a short, irritated sigh and adjusted a hairpin.
‘You may think so. But I’ve started to write my play.’
Locke was annoyed with me, but her self-righteous manner and refusal to see any other point of view were tiresome and I wanted her to see that I was irritated too.
‘Why do you think it will help people to know that Hooper was miserable and ill before she died? And that th
ere may have been a mistake with the rope. Isn’t it better left as it is?’
‘No, because it isn’t the truth. She need not have died.’
‘But the truth won’t do any good now.’
‘Let’s not argue again.’
Locke leaned on her elbow, rubbed her forehead and said nothing. Feet clattered up and down the stairs and we heard the boy shouting at somebody then laughing.
‘All right,’ I said.
‘Let’s talk about something different,’ she said eventually. ‘Everything and anything except mountains.’
I knew one topic that always made Locke cheerful.
‘Have you met any nice gentlemen recently? Do you still see Horace?’
‘Ah, indeed. Guess what. Horace got married to a singing teacher so I don’t see him any more, but I’ve been having an affair with my uncle’s friend and it has been very helpful while there is so much grief about. He’s separated from his wife but not divorced, so I really shouldn’t, but I was lonely and he does make me feel nice.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘He doesn’t want too much, so I can do my campaigning without worrying about him. It suits us both, for now. By the way, speaking of affairs, your friend, Mr Black, has been making himself rather well known, I hear.’ She smiled and it was as though we were back in her college room again, judges and conspirators. ‘The chap we met in Wales, that’s him, isn’t it? A certain Millicent Granger-Dawes fell in love with him – and the neighbours saw him coming and going over the back wall – but her husband got the gun out and put a stop to it all.’
‘Good heavens. I’d heard some of it, but nothing quite so dramatic.’
‘It’s probably been exaggerated.’
‘I’ve seen him and am inclined to think that it did not come to guns. He is still alive, at any rate.’
Locke’s eyes roamed across my face and she drew so hard on her cigarette that I could see her struggling not to cough. I told her more of Frank’s visit and she was impressed.
‘I’m sure you’re much better for him than Mrs Granger-Dawes. If I were you, I’d fall properly in love with him. It’s what you need.’
‘Perhaps.’
We talked a little more like this and then, soon, we had nothing to say. I wanted to get out of the theatre and back to my room in the attic with all my things. The business of Parr and the rope would always come between Locke and me. Every mouthful of air I took in that room was soured with it.
Locke saw me down to the street. It was still daylight. Cars, horses, buses and bicycles sped and trundled around us as we hugged and promised to meet again soon but did not mean it.
I could hear them from the street. Mother and Catherine were in an argument. Catherine had locked herself in her room and refused to come out when Mother called for her medicine. Mother heard Catherine dragging furniture about the room, the wardrobe doors banging. She rapped on the door but Catherine would not let her in, nor would she make tea or fetch the medicine. Mother’s hair hung in grey-blonde strings down her back. Her nightgown was crumpled and coming unstitched down the sides. She pressed her cheek to the door and shouted, ‘Dr Sowerby will put you in the asylum if you carry on like this. What are you doing in there? I don’t know what this family’s coming to. Grace, thank goodness you’re back. Help me to my room. My legs are bad today and she doesn’t care.’
I took Mother’s arm and steered her away from Catherine’s door.
‘If you shout, she’ll only stay in there. She’s trying to escape from you.’
Mother put her hand to her neck and muttered, ‘And now my throat hurts from shouting at her. Really, she is testing me. You can’t go out for whole days any more, Grace. It’s impossible for me to manage by myself. You’ll have to stay indoors so I know where you are.’
‘But I’ll be finding a job soon. I won’t be able to stay indoors and you must get used to it.’
‘No. No, I don’t want you to go out. I’m getting worse. I won’t survive without you here.’
She burst into tears and limped to her room. I brought her medicine and sat with her. I hoped that we might discuss the sort of job I would take, but she rolled over and pretended to sleep.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Grace, you must be Captain Scott.’
‘I never liked him as much. Father was always Scott. Why can’t I be Amundsen?’
‘Because he is Norwegian and we are British. Anyway, he’s not there any more and Scott is. Shhh. I’ll be Evans.’
‘I ought to find the map and dice.’
‘But you’re beautiful, Captain Scott. Come here. No, come on. Don’t look worried, my dear. They won’t hear anything from out there, or upstairs. There are no creaky floorboards at the South Pole. You’re pretty in the firelight.’
‘Ah, Evans. Your hands are cold.’
Oh, Frank.
We loved to fool around like this in the drawing room. His visits were weekly now. Our expeditions became more adventurous but we never left the space by the fireplace. It was our tent, or hut, cosy even when the fire was not lit. We kept our voices low so that no one but Sarah would know Frank was here. My relationship with him was now far beyond what Mother and Catherine could ever have approved of. We held each other, skimmed the ice and seas, crashed through mountain huts and ships’ cabins, and we never left our safe place.
Sarah let him in through the kitchen door when Catherine was locked in her room. All I had to do was to tell Sarah that Frank and I were having private discussions in the drawing room and must not be disturbed. Sarah would nod, give me a clever, sympathetic look and close the door behind her.
‘I love you, Grace.’
‘Shhh.’
Frank squeezed my ankle, ran a finger along my calf.
‘Your muscles. They’re very tough, and smooth. You remind me of a seal, or what I imagine a seal might feel like.’ He laughed at himself.
‘They’re not so bad, are they?’
‘They’re rather good. Did you knit these stockings yourself? They look as though you stole them from Captain Scott.’
I had taken to wearing my mountain stockings every day because the house was chilly and we were trying to use less coal.
‘Anyway – ’ I guided his hand away from the stocking and onto the floor.
‘You must be hot now. Why don’t I just remove—’
‘Shh. Catherine might come out of her room.’ I pushed him away – reluctantly, I admit – and lifted myself onto the settee.
Frank threw the die hard against the fireplace. It bounced then quivered to a stop on the hearth.
‘I’m sorry for Catherine, but what can we do about it? How much longer do we have to hide ourselves?’
‘We could go away.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You could come to my flat but people would talk. Everybody knew about Millicent when we thought it was a secret. I don’t want to do that to you.’
‘You didn’t mind when it was her.’
‘I regret the whole affair. All I wanted was to give her some happiness. She has a stupid, dull husband who does not show love or even seem to know her. I encouraged her to escape a bit and do some of the things you do.’ He nodded and pointed his finger. ‘And now she has taken up golf. She is just like you.’
‘I don’t play golf. I’ve never even thought of playing golf.’ I loved Frank but sometimes he was a fool.
‘It’s the same sort of thing. And do you want to hear the truth?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I was always telling her about you.’
‘Oh.’
‘As an example of what she could do, if she were brave enough. And she pointed out that I seemed to be in love with you, which was true, of course, but no consolation to either of us.’
‘I didn’t know.’
‘That was two months ago and we haven’t seen each other since. It’s you I want, Grace.’
‘I thought that the incide
nt with her husband’s shotgun precipitated the end of your affair, not I.’
‘It was you. The gun business – it has been much exaggerated.’
My nose tingled and I found myself blinking back tears. I pretended to cough.
‘But if we want to be together and I can’t come to your flat—’
‘You don’t want us to get married, do you? It’s a prison for women. Millicent says—’
‘I don’t know about any of that. I just want not to be here.’
‘We’ll think of something, Grace. I do love you. Now, if I throw a six, can I make it to the opposite coast?’
‘It’s not your turn. And you have just thrown a three anyway. Frank, did you say that you love me?’
‘Yes.’ His face softened and he ran his hand over my hair, stroked the side of my neck. ‘Of course I do. Look, one day we’ll go to Switzerland and I’ll climb an Alp or two with you. I’ll don the garb and follow you to the top. If I turn out to be any good at it, why, we may attempt Everest together. They call it the Third Pole so I think we should. First I must sort out my work, though, get a secure income.’
I laughed. When Frank spoke of the mountains, they were not hostile or cruel, just places for a few larks and a bit of an adventure.
‘We’ll race against Cicely Parr to the most devilish peaks and we’ll set up our own Antarctic expedition. Why not? I’ll do it for you, Grace. We’ll pay for a nurse – the best we can find – to look after your mother. If we hired an older woman, they might become friends. It would be much better for her than having you here, miserable and all cut off.’
I shook my head. ‘She’d never agree.’
‘She will.’ He kissed me.
I tilted my head so that his cheek rested on mine. His hair smelled of cloves and tobacco. I buried my head in his neck to inhale the scent, kissed the soft skin.
‘If you came into the wilds with me, you’d end up with a beard and whiskers, you know. Your skin would get as tough as old boots and your artist friends might find you a little – weather-worn.’
‘But I’m willing to undergo all necessary hardship, you see.’
When Nights Were Cold Page 18
