Shoddy Prince

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘Thanks – terrible cold, isn’t it?’ Eilleen followed her down the hallway into the kitchen, appraising her surroundings. ‘Will your employer mind me calling like this?’

  Bright was still frowning. ‘No, no, she’s passed away. Only Oriel and I live here now.’

  ‘Ye mean… tis yours?’ Eilleen was agog.

  ‘Twas left to Oriel.’ Slowly, Bright took up the kettle. ‘Ye’ll have a cup o’ tea?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say no.’ Looking self-conscious, Eilleen went to the fire to warm her blue hands. ‘I expect you’re surprised to see me.’

  Bright remained placid. ‘Just a bit.’

  Eilleen gave a nod, then blurted, ‘Tis time this whole business was over! There’s been enough pain in our family. The others can do what they like but if I want to forgive my sister then I will.’ Forgive me, marvelled Bright.

  Now that the ice had been broken Eilleen was calmer, watching the other woman prepare the tea. ‘We’ve both changed, haven’t we? I wanted to come ages ago when I had my first son, but it was difficult ye know.’ Don’t you think it was difficult for me? reflected Bright. But she allowed her sister to talk. ‘I shouldn’t have let it go this long, wasn’t sure if ye’d still be living in the same place – the Sisters told me where ye lived years ago, but well, people move on don’t they? Thank you, that’s lovely.’ With grateful hands she took the cup of tea from her sister, then both sat down at the pine table. ‘Mary’d like to see ye too.’

  Bright smiled and said it would be nice to see her again, knowing that she never would.

  ‘Did ye see about Pat and Eugene?’ asked Eilleen. Her sister delivered a tragic nod. ‘Terrible, terrible – they have five children a-piece ye know. Hey, I’m a grandmother now! You’d think it too, wouldn’t ye?’ Eilleen tapped her grey head and sighed. Bright thought how much like their mother she looked, emaciated and world-weary. ‘My daughter Mary had twin boys last year.’

  Bright said, ‘It must be nice for you, for Mother too.’

  ‘Aye, they’re lovely babies.’ Eilleen looked fond.

  ‘Does she ever talk about me?’

  ‘Who, Mother? No… no.’ The older woman sipped at her tea. ‘She’s taken the boys’ death very hard.’

  ‘I tried to visit her when it happened,’ ventured Bright. ‘I didn’t know the house had gone.’

  ‘Best not,’ whispered Eilleen. ‘She’s only funny.’ She looked up as a young woman entered.

  ‘This is my daughter, Oriel. Oriel, this is your Aunt Eilleen.’

  Eilleen appeared to be embarrassed. ‘Oh, hello.’ She rushed the cup to her mouth, burying her face.

  Oriel, who had just woken from an after dinner nap, was abrupt. ‘Hello.’ She turned to her mother. ‘I’m going for a walk to freshen up. I’ll see you later.’ With a cool goodbye to the visitor, she left.

  Eilleen issued an uncomfortable cough and was about to take another sip of tea but noticed that she had drunk it all.

  ‘More tea?’ Bright smiled at her, though her heart was a well of sadness.

  The visitor accepted and remained for another hour, during which she supplied Bright with all the births, deaths and marriages within the Maguire clan, and in turn listened to Bright’s news. Only when she heard Oriel’s return did she make to leave. ‘Well now, I’d better be off or my family will wonder where I am, tis almost time for blackout.’ She wrapped her shawl around herself in preparation to meet the keen wind.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Bright and visited the dining room, returning with a paper bag. ‘Tis not much, but…’ Her voice trailed away. How could she say that her sister looked as if she needed them more than Bright did.

  Eilleen took a peep inside the wrapping. ‘Oranges – oh, God bless ye!’ Her face wrinkled with pleasure, and she kissed Bright. ‘It’s been lovely to see y’again, darlin’, and to meet your daughter.’ She flung a quick smile at Oriel before hurrying to the door. ‘Keep in touch now, won’t ye?’

  ‘I will.’ Bright gave a last wave to her sister, then closed the door.

  ‘Will you?’ enquired her daughter gravely.

  Her mother gave a brisk shake of the head as she cleared away the cups. They had deserted Bright when she had needed them most, and anyway, she had her own family now in Oriel.

  It was getting too dark to see the other’s face. Moving to the window she pulled the blackout curtains together making sure there was no chink of light, then turned on the gaslamps. ‘I wonder what sort of Christmas Noel’s having?’ she said, then buried her face in her hands. ‘God, I wish this blessed war was over!’

  * * *

  A few days later, in early January 1917, Bright received a sign that her wish might soon be granted, though it came without any official seal. At first, when Oriel rushed in from a night-time visit to the closet and issued the excited summons – ‘Mother, come and look! Something’s happening in the sky!’ – Bright was impaled by fear.

  ‘Oh my God, another zeppelin!’ She was in her dressing gown, ready for bed. ‘I didn’t hear any sirens – and shut that door, you’ll have us arrested!’ Light was streaming into the garden.

  ‘It’s not a zepp!’ Oriel snatched the cocoa cups from her mother and dragged her into the night. Bright objected that it was freezing, setting up an exaggerated clatter with her teeth. ‘Just stand there and watch!’ commanded Oriel and, grasping her mother’s shoulders, turned her forcibly to the northern sky. ‘I’ll fetch your coat. It’s the Aurora Borealis!’ She dashed inside but was soon out again, unwilling to miss a second of the glorious display.

  ‘Oh my!’ Bright was an instant captive, eyes glued to the heavens while Oriel helped her into her coat. Then words were lost. Cuddled together for warmth, they watched, entrancement on their faces, as slowly but perceptibly an evening rainbow was born into an azure sky. At first it was the glow from a distant fire, but then the mass of colour shimmered and gyrated with the breeze, now a heavenly halo, now a vast luminous arc that stretched from horizon to horizon, and from this mass of cloud exploded rays of the most delightful hue and delicacy, violet and indigo and dazzling white, some with the transience of lightning, others constant like the beam of a searchlight that moved across the heavens.

  Neither spoke until the magnificent entertainment was over, even then unable to tear their eyes away from the sky.

  ‘Glory be to God,’ whispered Bright, squeezing her daughter’s hand. ‘He surely must be telling us that the war will soon be over.’

  Sadly, Bright’s words of faith were granted no credence. The war bled on for another year. Whilst food became scarcer, queues grew longer, as did the lists of casualties, their numbers increased by this month’s especial German atrocity, the torpedoing of a British hospital ship. The only piece of good news was that the Americans had joined the war.

  People were dying on the homefront too, not only by German hand but from a deadly outbreak of influenza. ‘As if there isn’t enough to worry about!’ moaned Bright as she draped countless religious tokens and medals around her daughter’s neck in order to fight the dreaded scourge. ‘If it’s Spanish influenza why can’t it stay in bloody Spain?’

  ‘Mother, I’ll never be able to walk with all this on,’ objected Oriel, jingling the collection of chains and medals. ‘I’ll sound like Marley’s Ghost.’

  ‘Shut up and do as you’re told! There’s thirty have died in Yorkshire, I’m taking no chances.’

  ‘Could there possibly be some saint you might have forgotten?’

  Bright delivered a light slap. ‘Behave, or you won’t get a birthday party.’ Oriel had today come of age.

  ‘Some party it’ll be! What are we having, cardboard food?’ It was not of course a real party, just the two of them as usual, but Oriel and her mother knew how to have fun.

  ‘Be off to work! While I slave away trying to make a feast out of powdered egg, rice and saccharin.’

  Her daughter laughed and pedalled off into the hot June sunshine.

  * * *<
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  ‘You look very fresh and summery today, Oriel!’ exclaimed Nat, when she arrived for work. His examination of her was more than was correct for an employer, blue eyes flitting from bosom to waist to hip to ankle. She had on a white pin-tucked blouse – under which was the collection of religious tokens – and a white button-through skirt.

  Oriel peeled off her white gossamer gloves, dropped them into the crown of her hat and laid this on the hallstand. ‘It’s very gracious of you to say that to someone who feels a year older than yesterday.’

  ‘Ah, your birthday, is it?’

  ‘My coming-of-age.’

  Nat looked askance. My God, was it that long? But he soon recovered enough to offer congratulations. ‘Then may I wish you many happy returns – I would’ve given you the day off if I’d known beforehand.’

  Typical! Oriel’s frothiness evaporated. He doesn’t even know my date of birth! But she remained civil. ‘There’s no need. It’s just a day like any other.’ She went to her desk and opened a ledger.

  You stupid bugger! Nat cursed himself for his thoughtless remark, for by now he had come to believe that his hunch about Oriel was correct: she did know who he was. That was obviously why she had not mentioned anything to him about her inheritance nor revealed the identity of her employer to Noel; she knew he was her father and wanted to be close to him without her mother knowing, for Bright would surely be angry. Quite why Oriel had still not confronted him about her paternity he had no idea. Perhaps she was just too much like him. Nat had lived too long with the habit of stifling his emotions; he would only speak about their relationship if she broached the matter first. He had suffered enough hurt and rejection in his life to risk exposing himself to more at his daughter’s hands. Thus, they continued to play out their roles.

  He left her with some mundane utterance and made as if to go about his work, but towards the end of the day he approached the subject of her birthday again. ‘I’d like you to accept this.’ He was holding out a black velvet box.

  Taken aback, Oriel was slow to accept and when she eventually opened the box she gave immediate protest. ‘I couldn’t possibly!’ A bright, golden locket shone out against the black velvet.

  ‘I understand it’s not the sort of thing a man usually gives to his employee…’ Maybe now she would speak out. ‘But you’ve done so much for me, so much good work, please take it.’

  ‘You’re most kind.’ Oriel admired at the locket for a moment before closing the lid. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to try it on?’ Nat frowned as she seemed about to put the box into the pocket of her skirt. He had expected more fuss than this; it was after all an expensive gift. ‘Here, let me.’ Foregoing all protest he removed the locket from its case and with trembling fingers attempted to fasten it around her neck. ‘Sorry, I’m all fingers and thumbs! I don’t think I can…’ He nipped his tongue between his teeth, fiddling a while with the clasp, then announced, ‘Got it! There, go and look in the mirror.’

  ‘It’s very nice.’ Oriel straightened the chain, poised this way and that before the mirror, then unhooked the clasp herself and replaced the locket in its box.

  Plunged into disappointment, Nat replied, ‘Well, I won’t delay you any longer, I know you must want to get home. Having a party, are you?’

  ‘Just myself and Mother.’ Oriel went to fetch her flower-strewn hat from the hall and stood before the mirror to put this on and then her gloves.

  Nat felt sorry for her. ‘Haven’t you got any friends to invite?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve plenty.’ Though this was an exaggeration Oriel did still occasionally meet the girls from her old college. ‘I’ll be having a separate celebration with them on Saturday. We’re all so busy through the week. Good night, Mr Prince. Thank you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Collecting her bicycle from the garden she left by the rear exit and emerged into a lane. Once alone, she propped the cycle against the wall and took out the gold locket for closer inspection, torn between throwing the wretched item as far away as possible or wearing it around her neck. It was the first, the only gift her father had ever given her. She felt an intense urge to sport it against her blouse and say to everyone, to anyone, look what my father bought for me! But how could she? How could she feel this way about a man she had sworn to hate? Troubled, she replaced the locket in its velvet box and cycled home, wondering how she could possibly hide it from her mother. In the end the only place she could think of was the cellar, where it lay in a dark corner untouched, but often in her thoughts.

  * * *

  By mid-July conditions were getting worse on the Front. The enemy had forced the Allies back over recently won ground and was now threatening Paris. The Army was growing desperate in its recruitment; men old enough to be grandfathers were being called up to reinforce the decimated ranks.

  Throughout the year things went steadily downhill. Out on the chilly October streets, selling flags to boost VAD coffers, Bright made a comment to her fellow helper. ‘I never realized what a lot of old people we have in York, did you?’ Almost everyone she had approached was over sixty.

  ‘It’s not that we’ve got any more than any other town,’ replied her colleague. ‘Just that they look more plentiful because all the youngsters have gone to the Front. There’s only the old folk left, and the children – and us. I wish I could do more, don’t you?’ They wandered along Parliament Street to where a screen gave the latest war news. ‘Is your husband out there?’

  Bright gave a wistful smile. ‘I don’t have a husband – my brothers were killed last year though and I’ve a friend who’s out there. I haven’t heard anything from him for a few months and he usually writes quite regularly. I hope he’s all right.’

  The woman was not very reassuring. ‘Maybe he’s been taken prisoner, like my husband.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t know.’ Bright shivered and tugged her fur collar under her chin. ‘I don’t think my friend would’ve been captured though, he’s not in the thick of it. He’s a doctor.’

  ‘That wouldn’t stop the Hun,’ came the bitter retort. ‘If they’ll torpedo innocent women and children they’ll shoot anyone. Come on, let’s walk, my feet are absolutely freezing.’

  Due to the rationing of coal it was not much warmer at home. With only one fire lighted, the house with its spacious rooms and high ceilings became like an ice-box and Bright and her daughter spent a good half an hour pressed close to the kitchen hearth before rushing up to bed with hot water bottles. Driven from the top floor by the bitter winds that shook the house, they now shared the lower bedroom, cuddling up together for warmth.

  ‘If I’d known the war was going to last this long I would’ve stocked up the coal cellar and the pantry, hoarding or not,’ grumbled Bright, head tucked under the covers. ‘My God, I thought we had it bad enough last Christmas. What sort of time are we going to have this year with no coal, no meat, no blasted bananas, bacon, buggering cheese…’

  Oriel’s silent giggles shook the mattress.

  ‘And I’m sick to death of that blasted rice – it’s like eating cotton wool! I know tis awful to say, but I almost don’t care who wins, so long as it stops.’

  ‘Don’t let the neighbours hear you say that,’ Oriel managed to laugh despite the cramp that was attacking her feet, ‘or you can add broken windows to your list of complaints. I wonder if Noel will be home this Christmas?’

  ‘Oh, don’t have me worrying about him on top of everything else – I’ll have nothing to feed him on! Not to mention that he’ll probably think we’re trying to get rid of him by not lighting the fires.’

  It was just as cold when they woke. As usual, Bright was first out of bed and rushed down to lay a fire, the coal mixed with yesterday’s cinders, which it had become an offence to waste.

  ‘Have ye got your medals on?’ she demanded as Oriel went off to work.

  ‘Yes, all thirty-three of them.’ The girl picked up her lunchbox.

  ‘Don’t be
cheeky or tis bread and water for tea – oh sorry, bread’s a luxury now isn’t it?’

  ‘Sarcasm!’ Oriel, wrapped up like a mummy, went to collect her bicycle from the shed, dropped her lunchbox into the basket and pedalled off to work.

  * * *

  ‘Good morning, Mr Prince!’ Receiving no answer, Oriel poked her head into the back room where she usually found Nat eating his breakfast at this hour.

  ‘What? Oh sorry… good morning, Oriel.’ Nat turned his eyes on her just long enough to see that her nose and cheeks were pink from her exhilarating ride, then folded the letter over which he had just been pondering and carried his breakfast pots to the kitchen. Oriel moved out of his way, noting that a rasher of bacon was untouched. In these frugal times such wastefulness was reprehensible. There had to be something pretty important in the letter to put him off his favourite meal. Interest whetted – this might just be the time to get her own back on him – she waited for Nat to leave, watched him through the window until he reached the scrapyard, then rushed into the back parlour and read the letter, which was from the Military: Mr Prince was required to present himself for re-examination. No wonder he looked worried! No one in their right mind was queueing up to volunteer so readily now that mutilated veterans had brought the reality of the war home. Replacing the letter, Oriel went back to her desk, but remained pensive for a while. Maybe the Army was about to save her the trouble of revenge. If he was called up for duty there was a more than likely chance he would be killed. The dark-haired girl nibbled her cheek. No, she would not like to see him dead – just hurt enough to make him see what it felt like.

  * * *

  The day of the appointment arrived. There was no way that Nat could avoid the medical, but he hoped that his lungs would once again preclude him from battle. As, however, with growing unease he watched decrepit men with flaccid breasts and huge beer guts being pronounced fit, he guessed what the result of his own medical examination would be. Apparently this time he was the epitomy of British manhood; the lungs so scarred by disease had miraculously healed. His file was stamped A1 and he was told to present himself at a local school on Monday where he would be supplied with kit – Next!