Shoddy Prince

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Noel jumped from his chair, grabbed another pillow from a spare bed, raised Nat and inserted it behind his head, then laid him back gently and pulled the covers up over him. When he sat down again it was to offer words in Oriel’s defence. ‘There might have been vengeful reason behind her interest before, but she’s genuinely repentant now. She’s trying to look after your business for you until you—’

  ‘I don’t need her help!’ spluttered Nat. ‘Tell her to get out.’

  ‘All right, all right, calm down! I’ll tell her.’

  ‘Just tell me this, Noel – did you know her intentions?’

  ‘No! I swear I didn’t know she even worked for you until the other day when I went to visit you. I had a hell of a shock!’ Noel tried to smooth the rift between father and daughter. ‘She buried Talbot in the garden for you.’

  ‘He’ll make good fertilizer, I suppose.’ The callous reply was to cover his pain and the doctor recognized this.

  ‘She’s done a good job for one so young, and she’s your daughter, Nat, you might as well trust her to carry on.’

  ‘I trust nobody!’

  ‘Not even me?’ Noel affected a look of hurt.

  ‘Least of all you, you bugger.’ But there was a glint in Nat’s eye that was due to old friendship rather than just fever. He was calmer now, though his breathing was obviously painful. ‘How is Bright?’

  ‘She’s fine.’ Noel should at this point have told his friend that he and Bright were not married, but he did not want to incite more anger. Nat would never forgive him and he could not bear that.

  Preferring not to think of the two of them together, Nat changed the subject. ‘Anyway, even if I did trust you, you couldn’t run my business from wherever you’re at. Where is it, by the way?’

  ‘Can’t tell you I’m afraid, old chap. Military secret. The Hun might be listening.’

  ‘Bad, is it?’

  ‘As bad as it can be.’ Noel leaned on his knees and stared at the prison wall. ‘The way things are going, we could all soon be prisoners.’

  * * *

  Noel’s words held great portent, for the situation continued to deteriorate into the coming months both at home and abroad. Whilst in Blighty there was some alleviation of the suffering by the introduction of rationing, so ending the huge queues, there was no such mercy on the Front. The Germans had broken through Allied lines at Ypres, almost half a million men had been lost in three weeks, and as General Haig stated, everyone now had their backs to the wall.

  ‘Maybe the Americans will make a difference.’ Bright tried to cheer up her daughter as they discussed the matter after that Sunday’s lunch. Noel had informed her in his last letter that their new ally had arrived in the British sector. Receiving no answer from Oriel, she remarked, ‘You’re very quiet today.’

  Oriel raised one corner of her mouth but kept her eyes on the table, her fingers absently tweaking the cloth. She had been visited by depression since Nat’s imprisonment; some days were good, some bad. Today was bad. However, as always she gave a different excuse to her mother. ‘This war’s just getting me down, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re not the only one, darling.’ It was a gentle reprimand. ‘Other people have had it a lot worse than us.’ Oriel did not answer. ‘It must be horrible at the Front,’ continued Bright, not really guessing how horrible. ‘I wish there was something more I could do for those poor lads instead of all these piddling little things like knitting socks and balaclavas. I’ve been thinking, I might go down to the Military Hospital and see if I can be of any help there.’ Oriel nodded, still playing with the tablecloth. With this hint Bright had hoped to nudge some sort of life into her daughter, but was now forced to be more direct. ‘I’m worried about you.’ She grasped the fretful hand, preventing it from harassing the cloth. ‘You need more to do to take your mind off things.’

  Oriel laughed but it wasn’t a merry sound. ‘Aren’t three jobs enough?’ Defying her father’s wishes, she continued to run his business, as much for her own ego as out of responsibility. Apart from the secretarial work, she had two voluntary posts.

  ‘Maybe they’re not important enough jobs,’ replied her mother. ‘Why don’t you change your mind about trying for a nursing post again? I’m sure things have changed in the last five years.’

  ‘You mean they’re so desperate they’ll have anyone?’ Oriel was not to be roused.

  ‘I wouldn’t have put it like that. I just mean they’ll be glad of your help.’

  ‘They can go sing for it.’ Oriel rose from the table. ‘I’m going for a walk.’

  ‘It’s not the nursing profession you’re punishing, it’s the soldiers who need you!’ Bright called after her.

  Oriel re-entered the room with her coat and a floppy plum velvet hat, but only to say, ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to work with the wounded!’ retorted Bright as the door closed.

  * * *

  True to her word, she did volunteer at the hospital, though her duties only involved mopping floors and making cups of tea. However, amongst those limbless, mutilated men she got an inkling of what the real war was like, and thanked God that Nat was in prison instead of out there in the muddy, bloody struggle. She wondered how he was coping with his gaol term – badly if her memory served her well. Every month of this war now seemed like a year to Bright, and that’s what it must feel like to him being locked up in there.

  One day Bright felt her mother die. No one had told her, nor was there any mention of it in the press, she just knew, felt something go out of her. It was the saddest feeling.

  Well into the summer more people continued to die at home from the dreaded Spanish influenza that swept the world; every time her daughter so much as sneezed Bright performed an anxious examination of Oriel’s brow to check whether she had a fever. The epidemic created havoc on the Western Front too, and there had been a month long lull in the fighting due to its crippling effects. Now, in July, there was renewed offensive and with the brilliant sunshine came hope that the tide was about to turn.

  When Oriel came home one summer evening her mother was scraping new potatoes; something in their skins made her throat tickle and she would periodically stop to cough. Oriel threw her ration book on the workbench, then felt her mother’s brow. ‘No, no fever.’ Partly due to the glad tidings from the Front and partly from the sunshine, her mood was lighter today, she could attempt a joke.

  ‘That’s not funny!’ Bright flicked water at the culprit. ‘I only do it because I’m worried about you.’

  ‘I know.’ With one arm Oriel gave her mother a hug and went to read the Evening Press before supper; it was the only newspaper they took nowadays. After cheering at the war reports which gave word of a victorious counter-attack that had the enemy on the run, she browsed through the other items, then gave a moan. ‘The demons! Oh, those beautiful girls and that poor little boy – have you seen this?’ Bright asked what it was. ‘Those Bolsheviks have killed the Czar and his family.’ Oriel had seen photographs of the Russian Grand Duchesses and thought they were exquisite.

  ‘Oh well, tis sad, but haven’t we enough to worry about here, darlin’?’ Bright knew how these things could prey on Oriel’s mind for days, and now tried a joke to lighten the impact. ‘The way things are going there’ll be another massacre at the bakery.’ There were no fancy pastries or muffins, even fresh bread was a thing of the past. ‘I’d kill for a teacake.’

  Oriel managed a laugh, then put herself in the murdered Romanovs’ place, screaming with them as they fell under a hail of bullets.

  ‘Just concentrate on the good news,’ urged her mother. ‘It’s surely almost over now.’

  ‘You’re always saying that,’ replied Oriel. Every week her mother went to Mass and prayed for an end to the war.

  ‘Well, I’ll be right in the end won’t I?’ retorted Bright.

  And so she was. Throughout the late summer the newspaper headlines continued to announce great victories
. In September the Allies broke through German lines and with one victory after another, the end was finally in sight.

  To add to both women’s euphoria, Noel came home at the end of October on extended leave, though his appearance deeply shocked them. However he might clown about, parading his souvenirs for their amusement – donning the German helmet and twiddling his moustache to mimic the Kaiser – he could not hide the gaunt cheekbones and dark circles beneath his eyes… those painfilled eyes.

  In the days before peace was officially announced the newspapers carried reports of its coming, whipping up a tide of patriotism that exploded into the streets on the morning that Armistice finally arrived. Churchbells that had been silent since the beginning of the war now pealed and clamoured and rang throughout the city, aeroplanes performed acrobatic stunts above the jubilant streets, Union Jacks fluttered at every turn and the parade ground at Fulford Barracks was a dancing, singing mass of rejoicing. By midday, crowds were flocking along the narrow streets to St Helen’s Square and the Mansion House in the hope of witnessing an historic proclamation from the Lord Mayor. Oriel was amongst those who seethed into town. She had gone to work as normal in the morning, voicing her intention to bring home a souvenir edition of the Evening Press. ‘It’ll have sold out before the paperboys can deliver it to us!’

  Bright would have loved to join the revelry too, but her fear of crowds prevented it and anyway Noel turned up, so they enjoyed their own celebration at home. They sat quietly together in the back room, with glasses of sherry, talking over old times, which inevitably drew someone else’s name into the conversation. She had not spoken of Nat to the doctor for a long time, guessing how it must hurt to hear his rival’s name from her lips. Yet now it was he who spoke of their mutual friend.

  ‘Poor Nat, I don’t suppose he has much to celebrate where he is.’ Brown eyes and a freckled nose peeped at him over the edge of the crystal as Bright took a sip of sherry. ‘You know about that, then? I never liked to mention it.’

  Noel admitted that he had heard, but did not reveal his source. ‘I went to visit him the last time I was here. I thought he might refuse to see me, but he seemed quite glad. I suppose he’s desperate for visitors. I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want to upset you either.’ He smiled. ‘You know, the way we both try to spare each other’s feelings it’s a crying shame we’re not married.’

  She saw that he was teasing, laughed and rested the glass in her lap. ‘You’re very determined, Noel.’ Then she returned to the subject of Nat’s imprisonment. ‘How did he look?’

  ‘Not too bad, considering. Not as bad as I do, I suspect.’ Noel had felt physically ill for some days, completely exhausted. He supposed it was as a result of all those months trying to alleviate the most terrible wounds under constant bombardment. Obviously that degree of stress would leave its own kind of wound. However, he did not mention to Bright just how bad he felt, but continued on the subject of Nat. ‘He’s still got his looks – mind you, I never had any in the first place.’ Bright cut in here to say how handsome Noel was. ‘Oh, it’s no use trying to get on my good side now, you’ve had your chance.’ They shared a fond laugh, then Noel added, ‘I’ve written to him once or twice, but he doesn’t reply. I suppose he doesn’t have much news stuck in there.’ Bright thought the reason was more likely to be that Nat was not very good at spelling and did not want to look a fool. ‘Ah well, I would guess he’s only another week or so before he’s out.’

  Bright was wrong. In an act of mercy Nat, and several other prisoners who were due to be let out soon, had been granted early release. At that moment, Nat was on a train to York with the intention of ploughing through the mound of business that would have accumulated in his absence – if indeed he had a business left at all.

  The year in prison told in his looks. Unable to maintain his normally scrupulous hygiene under the barbaric conditions he felt filthy and very strange as he arrived back to such jubilation, recalling the last time he had arrived back here in 1900 to similar flag-waving – though not on such a huge scale. Every citizen of York must be out on those streets. Desperate to escape the crowds the pale, dark-haired man fought his way home on foot, for there were no cabs available, and collapsed in relief as he slammed his front door upon the world.

  As he had anticipated, the house was like a mortuary. But how odd, as he opened the door of the front room the glint of coals provided warmer welcome, and the house was spotless. His cleaning woman had obviously continued her chores – but why, when she would have received no pay? An idle flick through the pages of one of the neatly stacked ledgers provided immediate answer to his question: Oriel had been paying the woman’s wages. Whether Noel had not passed on his instructions or she had simply defied them, Nat neither knew nor cared. Compressing his lips he rippled the pages of one ledger after another, discovering that not only had she paid all his staff but also had taken on his entire business operation. She had dealt with banking, invoicing, rents, mortgages – everything. This young girl had worked a miracle… but Nat was furious. If he could have got his hands on her now then he would have strangled her.

  Banging the ledger shut, he spun away from the desk and went to lean on the white marble mantelpiece, the anger on his face accentuated by the glow of the embers. The fire… she must have been here today. Would she come back? That was doubtful, with all the celebrating going on out there; she was probably enjoying her own festivities.

  There was a gnawing in his gut. To still the flow of acid Nat sought food, but the pantry was bare except for a few condiments and a caddy of tea which was useless without milk. Oriel’s efficiency had not extended to buying food for her father’s return – but then she would not know he was out of prison. That was good, meant he held the winning hand. Taken by storm, that uppity little madam would not have time to summon the eloquence with which to condemn him.

  He did not go into the back parlour for there he would find only reminders of his dead friend; even here in the hall was the odd stray white hair embedded in the patterned runner. The house that had been such a refuge ten minutes ago now seemed like a prison. Braving the crowds, he fought his way back into town with the purpose of going to Fulford and confronting her. However, the smell of food detoured his feet to a restaurant where he remained for half an hour, forming a plan of attack.

  After a tasteless but filling concoction and a well-rehearsed speech he felt somewhat more equipped to cope with his task. Still, the crowds annoyed him as he barged his way through, waving Union Jacks under his nose. A woman grabbed his arm and tried to pull him into an embrace, but he held her at bay. He escaped… only to bump into someone who had an old score to settle.

  Violet’s face remained joyful, but her words were laced with malice. ‘Oh, still not in uniform, I see!’ She swayed with the crowd as it moved and eddied around her like a wave, but managed to stand her ground, determined to repay Nat for the hurt he had caused her. They had not met since the break-up.

  Nat had had enough of vengeful women and cupped his hand to her arm. ‘Excuse me, Violet.’

  The well-dressed young woman with the Marcel Wave would not budge. ‘Aren’t you even going to ask how I am?’

  He stopped trying to get past her and played along. ‘How are you?’ It lacked sincerity but Violet seemed intent only on her own response.

  ‘I’m very well, thank you!’ Indeed, she looked blooming, even if at this moment her radiance was marred by spite. ‘In fact I’ve just got married – to a hero – he got a medal at Buckingham Palace. Yes, so you see what a favour you did me! He’s an Australian. I’m setting off to join him over there next week, and it’ll be goodbye to all this cold weather. It’s always summer there, they say.’

  ‘Well, that’s nice for you.’ Nat gave a tight smile and now began to ease himself past her. Their bodies squashed together, yet neither found anything erotic in the movement. ‘I wish you good luck.’

  ‘And I wish you good riddance!’ Violet hoisted her Union Jack
aloft and fluttered it tauntingly as he departed.

  Not bothering to reply to her spiteful riposte, Nat pressed on towards Fulford, but not until he reached Fishergate did he manage to escape the crowds. Given time to think now, he pondered on what Violet had said: Australia – what better direction could one choose than the other side of the world, the farthest place from here? He laughed to himself; if Violet only knew that she had done him a favour. Yes, he would take her example and head for the sunshine… but first there was to be a showdown.

  Bright almost fainted when she opened the door, clutching the jamb for support.

  ‘I’ve come to see Oriel,’ announced Nat.

  ‘She – isn’t here.’ Her mind was swimming. Oh, look at his face, his eyes…

  Nat brushed past her and marched along the hall, looking first in the front room, then going on to the kitchen. He did not show surprise at seeing Noel. ‘Where is she?’

  Bright had come after him, hands clasped over breast. ‘I told you, she isn’t here. She’s at work.’

  ‘Huh! No, she bloody isn’t, otherwise I would’ve seen her. It doesn’t matter, you’ll just have to do!’ Nat turned on her. The keen breeze had put more colour into the prison pallor. ‘You’re probably the one I should be blaming anyway.’ The expression in his blue eyes was a mixture of anger and incomprehension. The first words he had uttered to her in twenty-two years emerged as accusation. ‘I can understand you being mad at me – even though I was young it was wrong of me to run off like that – but how, how in God’s name, if there is a bloody God, could you bring her up to hate her own father?’

  ‘Nat…’ Bright’s mind was in turmoil. She pressed a hand to her thumping brow. ‘I don’t know what…’

  ‘How could you let her try to ruin me?’ he flung at her.

  ‘Now, just a minute.’ Noel, who had until now remained dumb, sprang from his chair.