‘When shall we go home, Mama?’ she asked again, and Mama shook her head.
‘Not yet, Poppy. We have come to visit people and we must go and see them. Now we are here. We didn’t come out just to ride in the omnibus and walk. I have too much baking to do to spare time for that. I only wish I could – I will be losing a good deal of money today and annoying some of my regular customers as it is. I worked half of last night and shall again tonight, I dare say-so please, Poppy, don’t fuss about going home just yet –’
‘I’m sorry, Mama,’ Poppy said, but Mama just held her hand tightly and said no more.
They turned away from the big road after a while and into a smaller one, though the houses were still as large and then, as Poppy became even more worried, because Mama was holding her hand so tightly and that meant that she was worried, they stopped in front of one of them. And Mama walked up the steps and rang the bell.
It was strange inside the house. It was dark and large and it smelled, but not of lemon or coconut cakes or plum duffs. It was a thicker harder smell which Poppy did not like at all, and she moved closer to her Mama as the man who had opened the front door walked ahead of them into the dimness towards a door on the other side of the big hall which looked to Poppy to be at least as big as the front of Gamage’s where they had bought her hat and muff.
‘Is that my uncle, Mama?’ she whispered, tugging on Mama’s skirt, but she just turned and frowned and set a finger to her lips, looking very annoyed, so that was that. No more talking at all after that, Poppy well knew and she bit her lip and put her hands back in her muff and followed Mama into the dangerous darkness.
It was not so dangerous after all. Another big room but not so big that it was frightening, and full of furniture – tables and chairs, sofas and bureaux – and, it seemed to Poppy, people. A lady was sitting on a velvet sofa and some men were standing about or sitting on chairs and Poppy stood beside Mama when she herself stopped walking, right beside the sofa where the lady sat, and tried to pretend she wasn’t there.
‘Well, Mildred,’ the lady on the sofa said and her voice was high and thin and made Poppy think of the sort of sound the kettle made sometimes when it whined to itself that it hadn’t quite boiled yet. ‘Well, this is indeed a surprise. Basil said you would come but I did not think you would. So I was glad of your note. It gave me time to consider and to arrange – it is better that he be from home, after all –’ The lady stopped talking as though it was just too much effort to go on, and Poppy stared at her, fascinated, for she seemed a very odd-looking lady to her. Her hair was a pale yellow and was piled high on her head in many curls, but they looked so very odd, as though they were made of cotton from Mama’s sewing box, that Poppy wanted to laugh. The lady’s face was strange too, being full of lines and rather soft and it reminded Poppy of the doll she had once had that she had left, forgotten, on the doorstep when it was very hot, and when she came back to find it, its face had melted.
‘Good afternoon, Mama,’ Mildred said and Poppy felt her head lift as though someone had pulled her hair from behind, and she stared at Mama and tried to understand. Mama calling someone Mama? It was so silly that suddenly she laughed aloud.
‘And this is —?’ the thin kettle voice said and the lady looked at Poppy and Poppy looked back, still fascinated. Someone had painted round pink patches on her cheeks, just as had been painted on the face of the doll that had melted.
‘This is my daughter, Mama,’ Mama said – and Poppy could still not understand that. ‘This is Poppy.’
‘Poppy? How quaint,’ the lady said and lifted her hand towards Poppy as though she were going to touch her. But she did not, and stopped looking at her and said to one of the men, ‘Basil, my dear, fetch a book or a toy from the nursery for – er – to entertain our – er –’ and again her voice died away as the kettle’s did when the fire fell low in the grate.
‘Poppy, this is your Uncle Basil,’ Mama said and put her hand onto Poppy’s back so that she had to walk towards the men. ‘And this is your Uncle Claude. How are you, my dear?’ And Mama leaned forwards and kissed the cheek of one of the men and Poppy watched and marvelled. Would this remarkable week never cease to amaze her?
‘And this – it cannot be Wilfred, can it?’ The other man, Poppy decided, was the nicest of them all, for he was smiling and jolly and had rumpled hair rather than the smooth sort the others had, and he looked at Poppy and said cheerfully, ‘Hello!’ which no one else had done.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Are you an uncle too?’
He laughed loudly and threw back his head in a way Poppy thought very beguiling. ‘An uncle! Oh, blow my buttons, that’s a ripe ’un! I suppose I am, if you’re Mildred’s – I say, Mildred, it is good to see you! Oh, I used to lead you such a dance, didn’t I? I remember it well! I missed you when you went, and that wretched man Freddy started to get so tiresome – you were always so good at dealing with those sticky situations! It is good to see you – and I do like your little sprig here! Very charming and all that.’
‘Thank you, Wilfred,’ Mama said and put her hand onto Poppy’s back again and directed her to a chair beside the large fireplace, and obediently Poppy went and sat in it, though she would much rather have sat beside the man with the rumpled hair and talked to him. He seemed to be a nice person, much nicer than any of the others who were all behaving as though she weren’t there. It was strange to have people do that and Poppy fiddled her fingers inside her muff to remind herself that she was very much there, sitting in a hard chair beside a hot fire in a big rich room with more furniture in it than she had ever seen anywhere, and listening to rather dull grown-up talk. Sometimes such talk was interesting; it always was when Auntie Jessie was about. But these grown-ups weren’t nearly as nice as she was, and Poppy yawned.
‘Well, Mama, have you been keeping well? I hope so,’ Mama said, and Poppy decided to stop listening altogether. She would think about one of her stories, instead, she decided and she bent her head and looked down at her muff and started to think about being a Princess. It was easy to think of that when she was looking at such lovely white fur and sitting in such a big rich room.
‘I’ve been very poorly,’ the lady on the sofa said. ‘Not that anyone in this house cares. No one cares. I thought you did, until you went and left me – though I know you had your reasons, of course, but all the same, to leave me alone with no female to support me – it was very selfish of you, Mildred!’
‘Was it, Mama?’ Mildred said and looked at Wilfred who winked at her. Both Basil and Claude had repaired to the back of the room and were standing by the window staring out woodenly, patently not joining in the conversation.
‘Everyone is so selfish nowadays,’ Mama complained loudly and wriggled on her sofa. ‘When I was a girl I would never have dared to treat my parents so, to be so cruel and unfeeling –’ And she began to weep. Mildred looked at her, feeling the old sense of helpless irritation rise in her and glanced swiftly at Poppy, but she was sitting there in her chair, her booted ankles crossed beneath her serge coat and dress and leaning back with her eyes closed. Thank heavens, the child’s fallen asleep in this warm room, she thought.
‘I am sure no one is meaning to be cruel, Mama,’ Mildred said. ‘It is not always possible for people to do as their parents would wish, of course –’ She stopped as Wilfred suddenly guffawed.
‘Indeed it is not,’ he said loudly. ‘I keep telling Mama that. What sort of milk-and-water son does she want, I ask her? Does she want a great ninny to sit and whine at her feet and never set foot in the world? She would have something to cry about then, I tell her, but as it is, all I can say is that at this time, when my country needs me, I must do what all good mothers must want their sons to do, and that is to be a soldier for my country –’
‘Rubbish!’ Basil said loudly from the window embrasure. ‘You want just to get away from any restraint and kick up your heels in foreign parts. You have as much patriotic spirit as – as a flea and will j
ump as hard and as fast if any danger ever comes near you –’
‘You, of course, are going to South Africa out of a great spirit of duty and self sacrifice,’ Wilfred said and his voice drawled now. ‘Such a hero you are, that you give no thought at all to the fun of it and the adventure – For my part, I am more honest. I am indeed seeking adventure and if at the same time I can be of use to Queen and country, why, so much the better. And you, Mama, should be glad I am made of such stuff –’
‘Well, I am not,’ the wail came from the depths of the sofa cushions into which Maud had now buried herself. ‘I want my boys safe and sound at home at my side. I cannot prevent Basil and Claude, of course, for I am just their stepmother, but you are my own dear boy and so young –’ and the wail grew louder.
‘It’s all my eye and Betty Martin, you know, Mildred,’ Wilfred said cheerfully above the din. ‘She knows I shall go no matter what she says or does. Papa says it is a good idea – well, he would, for it will save him money to have me in the army, I dare say – so there is nothing Mama can do. Basil said you could make me change my mind and quieten her that way, but I’ll lay old Kruger’s boots to a penny candle you won’t.’
‘I have no intention of trying,’ Mildred said calmly, at which another wail went up from the sofa. ‘It is no business of mine, so how could I? I cannot pretend I fully understand what all the fuss is about anyway. Why must we fight in South Africa at all? What harm do the Boers ever do us? But if you want to go, then there’s an end of it. You’ll come back a sorrier man than you went, I’ve no doubt.’
‘If he comes back at all!’ Maud raised her flushed face from her sofa cushions. ‘Oh, Mildred, tell him how wicked and selfish he is! He might be injured or even killed and what should I do then?’
‘The question is, Mama, what should I do then?’ Wilfred said. ‘Tend hell fires or work as an imp, do you suppose? Or do all soldiers killed in battle go straight to heaven to play their harps? I doubt I should enjoy that. All the most interesting people I know are very devilish, especially the ladies.’ And again he winked at Mildred.
‘Oh, Mildred, what shall I do?’ Maud cried again and Mildred got to her feet.
‘Mama, I came here not to argue with you or Wilfred, but to introduce my daughter. Whatever happened – whatever I chose to do, she is after all, your step-granddaughter. And you –’ She looked at the three men. ‘You are her uncles. I thought it only right that she should know you. But you have showed no interest in her at all. Except perhaps you, Wilfred –’ and she smiled briefly at her half-brother. ‘For which I thank you. Happily she is too young to know she has been snubbed, but I know it. And I tell you honestly, I think it unkind, indeed, wicked of you to treat her so. Whatever sin I may have committed, she is a child, and deserves better at your hands –’
She stood there in the middle of the room, her chin up, and in the chair by the fire, Poppy, who was now only half asleep, stirred.
‘Dammit, I’m sorry,’ Basil burst out and he came across the room towards her. ‘I meant no harm, but what do I know of small girls? If you wish me to play with her, say so, but I cannot say that I really know what else I can do. I never had much to do with these –’ and he jerked his head towards Wilfred, ‘– when they were little, so why do you expect me to know how to deal with infants now? They are a mystery to me. I am glad you came. I wanted you to come, to help Mama to understand that – to persuade Wilfred – oh, what’s the use!’ And he flung himself out of the room, leaving the door swinging behind him.
But almost at once he returned, moving absurdly, ludicrously, backwards, and Mildred felt rather than heard what happened there behind her and she stood with her shoulders rigid and her back to the door as once again it swung open.
‘What the devil d’you mean by rushing out like that?’ the voice growled and at the sound of it Poppy woke up and sat up in her big chair, staring in terror at the source. ‘Can’t a man come into his own house and find peace and decent quiet in it? What goes on here? What the devil –’
Mildred turned and stood with her chin up. ‘Good afternoon, Papa,’ she said and Poppy, at the sound of her voice, scrambled down and came across the thick carpet to stand at Mildred’s side, and clutched for her hand, and found only skirt to which she could cling.
‘God be damned, what goes on here?’ The man who stood there staring at them was, Poppy decided, the biggest and ugliest she had ever seen, for he had a vast belly and above it a face so red and so whiskered that his eyes seemed not to be there, though there were slits for them. He smelled ugly too, pungent and harsh, like the pubs past which Mama always made her hurry when they went out.
‘I have come to visit, Papa,’ Mama said and she put her hand on Poppy’s shoulder. Her voice was very flat and odd but quite loud. ‘And I brought my daughter to meet her relations. This is Poppy, Papa.’ And she set her hand behind Poppy’s shoulders yet again and urged her gently forwards so that she was standing almost in the shade of the big man’s belly.
‘This is what? Do you dare to bring this gutter creature, this by-blow, here? I found out those lies, and never think I was ever beguiled by them – widowed, indeed! You are a slut and this object here is a slut’s brat. And what the devil is it bedecked in? Take it away and yourself with it. There is no place for you or the creature here, so don’t come whining your troubles to me. You made your bed, so you get out and go and lie on it!’ And he turned and went stamping out of the room, shouting for the man to open the front door and see these people off the premises at once, leaving them all in silence behind him.
25
All the way home Mama sat in the omnibus in silence, staring ahead of her but, Poppy knew, looking at nothing at all. Her eyes looked too dull for her to be actually seeing, and that made Poppy shiver and sit as close to Mama as she could. But she didn’t feel really frightened any more, the way she had when she had been at the rich house. Some of the things they had all talked about had been difficult to understand, even when it was about herself, and that had made her feel cold and shaky inside – or had until Mama had spoken so loudly and said such surprising things. Poppy stared at the shops and houses outside the omnibus as it went swaying down Oxford Street towards home and the safe warm kitchen and remembered Mama’s voice, high and strong, telling them all how stupid and wrong they all were to behave so to her daughter; and that is me, Poppy thought, and deep inside her warmth rose and swelled and made her feel good.
‘Mama,’ she said and tugged on her sleeve. ‘Mama, I’m ever so glad we’re going home. May we have a boiled egg at tea time? I like boiled eggs. Just you and me and boiled eggs by the fire?’
Mama looked down at her and then suddenly set her arm about Poppy’s shoulders and hugged her. ‘An egg by the fire, just you and me –’ she repeated. ‘Oh, yes, Poppy, we shall have just that. And hot toast and some seed cake and we shall sit there and be cosy and just be us. No one else at all. Just us. We don’t need anyone else, do we?’
‘No, Mama,’ Poppy said fervently. ‘No horrid uncles or –’
‘No,’ Mama said and then hugged Poppy again. ‘Though I would not wish you to think they are all bad. They aren’t, you know. Basil and Claude – they are very foolish, I dare say, but they are so frightened of him, that’s the trouble. They’re all so frightened of him.
I used to be, too, so I can’t cast stones –’ She was talking to herself now, and not to Poppy at all. ‘As for poor Mama – she has been destroyed by it. To see the way she ran after him and grovelled – faugh! It made me sick!’
‘It made me sick too,’ Poppy said at once, wanting to please Mama, glad to see her so awake again and with her eyes looking bright instead of dull.
‘Now, Poppy, you must not speak of matters you do not understand.’ Mama seemed to shake herself a little. ‘And I dare say I was wrong to let you hear such – I should have realized it would happen so – oh, well, anyway, no more talk of this. We shall just go home and have boiled eggs for our tea and forget
all about this afternoon. Now hush –’ And she tweaked Poppy’s hat into position, for it had been set awry by her hugging, and made room for some people who had just got on the omnibus to interrupt them, for they had been the only passengers until now.
‘That man didn’t like my hat,’ Poppy said after a while, in a whisper. Even though Mama had said to be quiet, she had to talk about that. ‘He said I was bedecked. That’s a nasty thing to say isn’t it? I’m not bedecked. I’m wearing my hat and my muff and they’re beautiful.’
‘They’re very beautiful,’ Mama said. ‘But now, Poppy, just sit quietly and –’
But Poppy was not ready to sit quietly yet. ‘Nellie from the corner, she’s got a grandfather and he doesn’t say she’s bedecked even when she’s wearing her torn ordinary things to come to work for you, Mama, so why did that man say it to me? Is he really my grandfather?’
‘I’m afraid he is – but you need never see him again.’ Mama was whispering too. ‘But we shall not speak of it now. You must not disturb the other passengers. No more chatter, now, do you hear me? Wait till we reach home –’
And Poppy subsided, knowing she must, but determined to talk again about the horrible man when they did reach home. Because anyone who said nasty things about her hat and muff had to be a very bad man indeed, and she wanted to say so.
But when they reached home Auntie Jessie was there, sitting in the kitchen waiting for them.
‘I couldn’t wait,’ she said without ceremony as they came in. ‘I told Joe at the factory, Joe I said, I got important business so I ain’t working this afternoon, and you can put that in your pipe and lump it, and I came straight over an’ got the key from Nellie. Brought a bit of schmalz herring for our tea, a little treat, an’ you can tell me all about it. I knew you wouldn’t stay there for your teas. They don’t do that up West, do they? Ask visitors to stay an’ eat. Got to have proper invites there. I know all about it. Better here, eh, Poppela? Our sort of people, when someone comes, they have to eat, be family – better that way, hmm?’ And she opened her arms and Poppy ran to her and was hugged till she could hardly breathe.
Jubilee (Book 1 of The Poppy Chronicles) Page 27
