Til Morning Comes

by Lisa Ann Harper

  “Very well, my Lady,” she announced decisively: “This is the plan.”

  Deep down Mallory knew she wanted to have this girl with her. She was not like anything she could possibly have imagined, but she troubled her profoundly. Yes, she knew herself to be a capable person on the physical level, but emotionally her existence was in precarious balance, still battling that black dog. She knew it was being selfish, but her need was as great as Nigella’s, only in a different way. It seemed there was no future here for either of them. Could there be a life together in Birmingham? She wanted this. Nigella made her feel complete; not a lost soul adrift on a timeless sea. Her appeal for support and guidance anchored her and provided her, not only with direction, but with constancy too. Her need for protection gave her a purpose which transcended the gigantic loss of all she had held dear. Nigella would mean she was no longer unattached, unconnected to this world which was still strange and mysterious. She had tasted the rancidness of abandonment and did not want to suffer its bitterness again. I would like it if Nigella never found her independence. The sigh was heavy. You are such a selfish person Mal. Always asking too much.

  Her companion sat quietly waiting, attentive to the chase of expression crossing that sensitive face, ending in the wistful sigh. So much going on … so little said.

  “I shall be leaving at sparrow’s fart to walk to Redditch to catch the Oxford train to Birmingham.” Her voice was sharp, her manner abrupt.

  “What is this ‘sparrow’s fart’?”

  Try to remember your words Mal: “First thing in the morning, just before dawn. It’s a long walk; you will have to wear good, serviceable clothes … and sensible shoes. Have your case packed and ready because if you’re not here when it’s time … I shall leave without you.” She looked sternly at the anxious, but eager face before her.

  “You can walk that far?” Misgivings were beginning to form. It could all end in big trouble, the Lady Nigella a hindrance not a help. Shit a brick … what am I getting myself into? Why did I say yes?

  Nigella was not sure of her walking ability. It had never really been tested, but at this stage she would say anything to be included. “Oh yes. I’ve got sturdy legs.”

  “Just pack essentials, you know … keep it simple, right?” Her eyes narrowed in doubt.

  She nodded, unsure of this ‘simple’ part, but she would get by. She could look through her closet and pick out the most serviceable clothes. It would be better if she had Millie’s help, but she would have to get used to doing things for herself. I might as well start now.

  “Good. Meet me at the carriage house at four o’clock. I’ll be waiting there. I’ll take you back to the Big House now. We’ll go quietly, no talking,” she cautioned, forgetting to be deferential. “The night watchman will be on his rounds and we can’t afford to have him find us.” She pulled on her black leather jacket against the night’s chill and black peaked cap to cover her fair head and took Nigella’s hand. Together they stole silently down the stairs and out into the inky blackness. They passed lightly over the rough stones the moonless sky in their favour, their comings and goings undetected.

  Despite the warmth of the hand holding and guiding her, Nigella could hear her heart pounding in her ears and feel her throat dry with tension. Never in her life had she done anything like this. Excitement coursed through her like a frenzied tide. It was almost more than she could contain. She held on tighter to his hand. They were almost there.

  * * *

  Mallory was early, unable to sleep. She had packed her case with personal toiletries underwear and new possessions, but had left the liveries in the wardrobe. Once again she was in her chambray shirt and corduroys, but she would wear the gaiters to protect her pants from spatter and the tan willows, they were so sturdy and well made. This could be a long hike.

  She had made space for her sac suit even though the jacket was bulky. She figured it would be better to present herself in the serge suit on her job-seeking exploits; first impressions! When she hefted the bag its weight surprised her. She shrugged: my shoulders are broad.

  Waiting for Nigella, eventually she heard the faint rustle of skirts before she could discern the shape. It was now a little after four o’clock. She was pleased to see she had taken her advice being dressed in a plain blouse and straight walking skirt. Her button boots were sensible too, only a moderate heel. Then she saw the portmanteau. Although of medium size it was too big for the girl to go any distance. If they swapped and she took it then the leather case would still be too heavy. Crikey! We haven’t even left the Park yet.

  “I’m not late, am I?” Nigella enquired, out of breath. She had been hurrying and added to that, her bag had been so awkward. On her head was a high crowned hat, fortunately with only a small brim, which supported a bunch of feathers on one side. Already it was slightly askew. She wore her Russian cardigan over the blouse and was carrying her top coat over her arm. She looked majorly over-burdened.

  Mallory started a re-think. This was no good. There would have to be a change of plan. She did not answer Nigella, but insisted she not move and ran lightly back up to her room. She had decided to take the De Dion Bouton. There was a spare, two gallon can she could grab, but she had no intention of keeping the vehicle with the risk of being tracked down by the number plate. Just to get them away, before the house stirred and they were missed. She gave thanks for its Daimler motor; they would need all the power she could get.

  The plan would be to ditch the Runabout on the outskirts of the city, then take the train somewhere up north. Manchester, Liverpool? Anyway, it was clear they could not stay in Birmingham. All this was going through her head as she swiftly sought everything she needed.

  Back together, she briefly explained the changes to the scheme as she unlocked the heavy oak doors, then stowed their luggage and the over-coat behind the upholstered bench. Nigella was relieved. Walking just that short distance with the portmanteau had given her second thoughts regarding her legs. She liked this idea much better. She went round to the passenger side, but Mallory stopped her.

  “No! To get away quietly, I need you to steer while I push.”

  She was taken by surprise at this imperious form of address, but believed now was not the time to exert her position. Well, she could speak to him later. Possibly he has a lot on his mind? She felt it right not to be too judgemental.

  “What would I have to do … if I steer?” She was not so sure about this new idea and perhaps he should know it.

  Bloody hell! This isn’t getting any better. Mallory was forced to clamp down on a growing feeling of frustration. “When you turn the wheel right, it will go to the right. When you turn it to the left, it will go to the left.” She tried not to let her voice sound patronising. Patience Mal! “Do you think you can do that … my Lady?”

  Nigella was fast losing confidence, her reply coming slowly. “I can … try …”

  “I won’t light the lamps until we’re on the road so you’ll have to keep alert not to hit anything.” She could not hold back the smile twitching at her lips despite all these set-backs. “We mustn’t make a sound. If I push too fast you can say ‘STOP’ all right?” She settled for a nod and went to sit on the driver’s side. This was getting worse.

  Mallory released the hand brake and went round to the back. She pushed only gently while Nigella was getting used to her task and to be sure that at least they got past the carriage house doors. Fortunately, they could take the side pathway to the main drive. This meant Nigella would not have to negotiate the ornamental fountain. She did not do too badly – considering, but Mallory quickly discovered she was over turning so stopped pushing and came round to tell her to keep the wheel straight. “Only turn it if you need to.”

  “Yes I know.” she replied edgily.

  They started off again, but then Nigella had to whisper: “stop”, but it was not loud enough and the car was still moving. She panicked and shouted louder. Mallory dropped her arms and came round to the fr
ont again.

  “For God’s sake, l told you to keep your voice down,” she hissed.

  Nigella paused before speaking, marshalling her words for an appropriate response. “Mr. Mason, I am doing the best I can,” she delivered haughtily. Despite the darkness, Mallory could not mistake the gleam in those emerald eyes as a flash of very impatient anger. They both needed to take a deep breath.

  “Sorry, my Lady, we do have to get ourselves out of here without raising an alarm … that’s all.” It was back to their respective assignments. They managed to put more distance between themselves and the house, then she had to stop before they dove into the shrubbery. By this stage, Nigella was very shaky. She wanted out, but had to keep going. They joined the main drive not far from the Park’s entrance, at which point Mallory took over the steering and pushed them around the bend and into the straight. Nigella resumed her seat with only slightly more confidence. At least now she knew what to expect. Mallory stopped pushing when it was time to open the gates. The night was still black as pitch, so she opened them well wide to be sure of an adequate berth. There was a slight creaking resistance from the hinges. Once through she quickly closed them. They were far enough away to start the engine, but not light the head-lamps. With Nigella waiting for her on the passenger side, she pulled out the starting handle and gave two quick, sharp sweeps to get the engine turning. She jumped in. Advancing the ignition lever gently she set the throttle to a steady chug and the Runabout proceeded slowly into the dark night. Only the sounds of their own making could be heard. No irate shouts; no barking dogs.

  The lane was narrow so she drove cautiously, although the hedges were high and would prevent them from being detected. Once they were on the road, she judged she could go at full speed. She stopped at the T-junction to see to the lights and opened the catch holding the front lens on the Lucas lamps which allowed for easier access to the wick. She turned the wick adjuster up a fraction before applying the flame. Despite a gusting breeze, the strong flare from the extra-long motor match held steady and did the trick. She noticed only three remained in the box after lighting the second lamp. Hopefully they would not be needed since dawn could not be too long in coming. She turned the wicks down to give a bright, steady light and got back in to open up the throttle some more. They were on their way at last. She began to relax. The more distance between them and Guilfoyle Park the better. Nigella had settled down and looked sleepy. She slowed for a left turn and chugged to a stop.

  “Damn it to hell!”

  Nigella started. “What’s the matter?” Fortunately she had not caught the words.

  “I wanted to get further away, quicker than this. If we keep stopping they’ll be upon us and we’ll be stuffed.” She got the Runabout going again and once round the corner onto the highway, advanced the ignition lever forward and accelerated as fast as she dared. Yeah Baby! Oh for the open road.

  Dawn was beginning to lighten the eastern sky with an aqua wash as they steadily ate up the miles on their journey northward.

  “What now?” The near-side lamp had blown out. She did not want to stop again and reckoned she could manage for a while longer. Visibility was steadily improving and it would not be long before there was full daylight. Speed and time were of the essence. She must concentrate. Her confidence rose as they barrelled along. The de Dion was a pleasure to drive. No wonder this model was so popular.

  As they continued to make good time, Mallory had the freedom to play over in her mind the previous events. A window of awareness opened a chink allowing for a more dispassionate perspective on her actions. Thoughts raced and chased each other revolving around responsibility and reliability; accountability and betrayal, then ended with love and obsession. Should she really be taking Nigella away with her? How dearly she wanted her by her side, but morally – was this a right thing to do? If anyone ever found out how the Honourable Lady Nigella had disappeared without a trace, would they not be justified in accusing her of child abduction? And for what reason: Because I don’t want to face the world alone, because I am obsessed by her? She was the mature adult in this duo. It was for her to behave honourably and exercise the ethics of restraint. Don’t go off half-cocked Mal, in a moment of madness. She moved the ignition advance lever back slightly. Was she being hair-brained? Rushing head-long into the night; trying to escape detection and the law, this lovely young creature by her side? Yes, it was insanity.

  As the sun broke free of the horizon, casting long shadows across the highway, its rays gilding the trees in a roseate glow, Mallory came to her senses. A great cloud of self-censorship descended upon her. She was a serious and compassionate person. This was not her – it was not right. She could not do this. She slowed down to look for a suitable width in which to make a U-turn. No reverse turns here, the car might stop. Having made up her mind, it was imperative she get this girl back to her room before discovery. The change in speed disturbed Nigella.

  “What’s happened? Where are we?” Groggy from sleep she sat up straighter, blinking her eyes and rubbing them with her knuckles.

  “I’m taking you back,” Mallory responded tersely.

  “No, this is not the plan.” She was fully alert now, looking about. “You must go on,” she insisted as she lifted one shoulder in a gesture of contradiction. “We agreed to catch the train.” Her voice rose hysterically and finished on a wail. “You promised.”

  “I know we had a plan, but I never made a promise,” Mallory asserted forcefully. She completed her turn, Nigella hanging on to whatever she could find as the tires screeched in resistance. She continued to protest, but Mallory only went faster. Eventually, still meeting with an immutable silence she gave up.

  What has made him change his mind?

  “Why are you doing this?” Her tired eyes regarded him calmly now. She had almost resigned herself to this new fate, but she needed some answers.

  “My Lady, the plan was wild folly. I cannot take you away with me. We have nowhere to live. No means of support.” She looked at her passenger. “I’m sorry, Nigella,” she added softly, heavy of heart as a wave of sadness washed over her.

  Encompassed by surprise at such familiarity, she looked at him attentively. This was the first time he had ever called her by name, except when they had been out in the meadows, but that had been a mistake. The expression she caught revealed the weight of an onerous burden, sombre with worry. She did not know what to say.

  “Nigella, I would dearly love to have you with me. I will tell you truthfully although I know it’s not my place to speak to you with such familiarity …” the smile bespoke collaboration: “… but tonight we have been through so much isn’t that right?” Mutely she inclined her head. “Then perhaps you will permit me to speak freely?” The eyes that fleetingly turned towards Nigella, burned with fatigue and tension, but there was no slackening of speed.

  “Yes,” uttered barely above a whisper.

  “Please don’t take offence, but I must tell you … something.” Her voice faltered.

  “Nigella, you are the most important person in my world. You have no idea how much I really do wish for us to be together … but it’s not right.” Now the voice was deep with regret. “You deserve a life better than I can give you.” Again she turned quickly to see how the girl was taking this. She was shaking her head as if to deny the truth of the words, but did not appear to be affronted.

  Far from it; she could not hold back as her heartbeat quickened and she cried out vehemently: “I would rather a life of penury with you than all the opulence my position can give me … without you.” Eyes, hot with unshed tears and a faint colour washing up her cheeks, she could feel her pulse tumultuous from such unaccustomed passion.

  In the silence that followed this devastating candour, the words reverberated between them like an electric arc sparking their senses. Suddenly, she was reminded of her ride with Patchy. Memories started to press in on her. Was it this that had upset him that day? What a child she had been. She recalled the bi
tterness in his eyes when they sat together on the boulder, looking out over their great estate. Ah yes, there must be someone special in his life.

  Now it was her turn to look at him, wonderment in her eyes as they observed how the morning glow highlighted his cheekbones and brows. His eyes were in shadow, but the muscles in his neck stood out as he hung on to the wheel. There was a quality in this face that had always disturbed her, remaining in her mind’s eye, long after they had been together. Soon they would have to part and all she would have would be these pictorial memories. He would be leaving her for good. She would never see him again.

  She must give up her dreams, be brave and deal with the inescapable reality of what was expected of her. She would have to conform and live the life of an aristocrat. Isn’t that what Patchy had said? ‘Abide by one’s obligations’? She felt as if fate, indurate and malevolent, had closed the door on a hope that had promised so much; a heavy, metal-studded door, crossed with an iron bar. An oppressive aura encircled her; there was nothing she could do. Would time help? Unburden her of these amazing and tormenting experiences?