by Jess Foley
‘It’s a baby rook,’ she said to him, and added, ‘It gave me a bit of a start. It fell down right beside me as I was walking along.’
The young man stooped, looking at the bird. It lay on its back, its half-feathered wings trembling.
‘It’s been chucked out of the nest,’ he said.
‘But why?’
‘The parent birds will do this to their young – if there’s something wrong with’ em.’
She had heard of such things but had never been close to it before. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘it seems too cruel.’
‘Well, that’s nature’s way. What’s the point of the parent birds spending all their energy getting food for a chick if it’s not going to live? So that’s what they do. I guess they can tell right enough if there’s something really wrong – and they get rid of it. Push it out. All the food has to go on the ones that are healthy. Makes sense, really, if you think about it.’
Ryllis nodded. ‘Yes – but at the same time it does seem very cruel.’
‘Like I said, it’s nature’s way.’ He bent closer still to the bird. ‘Look at it, its legs are all deformed.’
Ryllis stooped, bending closer, and now she could see clearly what the young man indicated. The chick’s legs were twisted up to its body, its claws clenched in tight little knots.
‘That would never survive a day,’ the young man said, ‘even if it got so far as getting out of the nest.’
‘No – I suppose not.’ She frowned. ‘So there’s no way of – of saving it, is there?’
‘Not a chance.’ He shook his head. ‘For a start you wouldn’t know what to feed it on. They don’t eat just any old thing, you know. They have special foods at different times in their rearing. The parents know what to bring’ em, but you don’t and I don’t. No, you can’t save this little creature. It’ll die whatever you try to do for it.’
‘Oh, but – can’t we do anything at all? I hate to see it just lying there. Trembling like that.’
He said without hesitation, ‘Best thing to do would be to put it out of its misery. Put an end to its suffering.’
‘We should – kill it?’ she said.
‘It’d be the best thing, the kindest thing.’
She shook her head, giving a little shudder. ‘I couldn’t do it. Oh, I couldn’t do it.’
‘I’ll do it, don’t worry.’
She stood there then, while he stepped away, bending over the ground, and watched as he selected a large stone. He came back to her side and stood over the stricken bird.
‘You don’t have to look,’ he said.
‘No.’ She had already turned her face away.
She closed her eyes tightly and then heard a slight thud as the stone struck.
‘It’s all right,’ she heard him say. ‘It’s done.’
Still she could not open her eyes.
‘It’s all right,’ he said again. ‘It’s dead.’
May gave way to June, and the summer months came blazing in. During the days Lydia saw little of her father, for at Cremson’s he was down on the factory floor while she was in the office with her two male colleagues, surrounded by ledgers, receipts and bills and other paperwork. In the evenings, however, it was a different matter. Unless she was visiting Evie, or he was out in connection with his preaching, they were thrown together.
Lydia washed and cooked for the two of them, but as they sat over the meals she prepared she could barely think of words to keep a conversation going. They had never had a lot to say to one another, and now, with the loss of her mother, Lydia became more and more aware of her restlessness and the need in her to change her scene.
It could not last, and as she sat with Evie in her little kitchen one Sunday afternoon she confided that she had taken steps to change her situation.
‘I’ve written off to Seager’s,’ Lydia said. ‘I posted the letter yesterday afternoon.’
‘Well,’ Evie said, ‘you threatened to, and that was before you lost your mam.’
In their conversation the two young women were keeping their voices low, for Hennie lay curled up on the sofa, sleeping under the cover of a small rug. Evie sat beside her.
‘Yes, well, now I’m even more determined to go,’ Lydia said. ‘I need to get away, and now that Mother’s gone there’s no reason for me to stay on.’
‘But why d’you have to move out of the village? Surely you could find something close by.’
‘I have to move away. I just don’t want to stay here.’
‘Have you told your dad?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘When will you tell him?’
‘I don’t know, but he has to know soon.’
A letter came from Seager’s a week later, arriving on a Friday, and was waiting for Lydia when she got in from work that evening. Her father, who was working late at the factory, knew nothing of it.
Lydia sat in the kitchen and read it through. A brief letter, it thanked her for her application and invited her for an interview.
At once she got pen and ink and paper, and sat down to write back that she would be pleased to be there at the appointed time. After that she wrote a letter to her sister:
The Whitehouse
13th June 1890
My dear Ryllis,
Thank you for yours of the 9th. I’m glad to know you’re continuing well. This is just a quick note – no time to write more – to tell you that I am to be in Redbury on the morning of Saturday, 21st of June. I have secured an appointment at Seager’s the department store at twelve o’clock. I know that you sometimes visit Redbury on a Saturday on errands for Mrs Lucas, so I’m wondering if you might be coming into town on that day and, if so, whether we can meet and have some tea or coffee. It would be lovely to see you. If you can, then I suggest we meet in the little teashop beside Peacock’s tobacconist in Regency Street. I’ll make sure of being there at one-thirty, by which time my interview should be long over. Please write back at once and let me know if you can manage it. And even if you’re not sure as yet whether you can get into Redbury on that day, I’ll still go to the teashop in the hope of seeing you.
In your letter you hinted at having some good news for me. Well, I hope it is, and that when we meet you’ll be able to tell me more.
I can say nothing further now, as I want to take this to the post. I am, as always
Your loving sister
Lyddy
Ryllis replied almost by return to say that it wasn’t possible for her to plan ahead as regards going into Redbury, for Mrs Lucas never let her know more than a day before whether she would be required to go. However, she wrote, if she should be sent into the town she would do her very best to be there at the teashop at one-thirty as Lydia suggested.
On the day Ryllis’s letter arrived, Mr Halley had gone straight from the Merinville coach into the village on an errand, and Lydia had reached home before him and found Ryllis’s letter lying on the mat in the hall. As she sat reading it in the window seat rain began to fall. Minutes later her father came hurrying past the window and turned in at the back door.
As he came up the step from the scullery there was a flash of lightning and then the growling of thunder sounded in the distance. The rain teemed down, bouncing up off the cobbles in the yard.
‘There you are.’ He came into the kitchen and found Lydia still sitting at the window. ‘You were lucky. You got in before the rain started.’ He took off his hat, shook the water from it and laid it down on the table. The pitting of the rain sounded heavy on the window pane.
‘I see you’ve got a letter,’ he said, nodding towards the letter and envelope in Lydia’s hands.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s from Ryllis.’
‘Oh, yes? And how is she?’
‘She’s well.’ A moment of hesitation, then she added, ‘I’m hoping to see her in Redbury on Saturday.’
He said nothing to this for a moment, but just looked at her from where he stood beside the table. Then he said, a falsely casu
al tone in his voice, ‘Mr McCabe mentioned to me that you’re not going into work on Saturday morning. Says you’ve asked for the day off.’
‘Yes, that’s so.’
An awkward little smile touched his mouth. ‘Something’s come up that must be very important, I should think – for you to take time off and lose the pay.’ He gave a short chuckle. ‘Unless you just want a holiday and can afford to forfeit the money.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I can ill afford to lose the money, as you well know, but I have to have the day off work.’
She volunteered nothing further, and he stood there, waiting, as if it were only a matter of time before she explained herself. He said at last, ‘So – is it something vital – or is it something to do with your sister? Is she in some kind of trouble?’
‘No, it’s nothing to do with Amaryllis. She’s not in any trouble.’
‘Well, that’s something, then. That girl could exercise the patience of a saint.’ He began to take off his jacket. Frowning, he said, ‘Lydia, there’s something up. What is it? What is it you’re not telling me?’
‘It’s not a secret, Father,’ she said. Then, taking a breath she plunged in. ‘I’m going after another situation.’
‘What?’ His brow creased in puzzlement, as if he had misheard her.
‘I’m going after another post. Away from Cremson’s.’
‘Away from Cremson’s.’ He repeated the words flatly; it was not a question. ‘But where will you go? What else is there in Merinville?’
‘I’m not thinking of Merinville.’
He frowned. ‘Where, then? Hurstleigh? Go too far and you’ll spend all your time travelling – and if you’re travelling for hours every day it’ll mean we’ll have to get someone in to cook and clean for us, won’t it? It’s not going to be like Merinville and back every day, and you’ll soon get tired of it, mark my words.’
‘I don’t plan to do that.’ She had been skirting the subject all the time. Now she said, ‘Father, I’m going away. To live.’
‘Away? To live?’ There was incredulity in his voice, and he looked at her with his mouth slightly open. ‘What are you talking about? How can you go away? This is your home.’
‘I’ve applied for a post at Seager’s in Redbury.’
He looked stunned, frowning, standing there facing her while the rain lashed down behind her.
‘So it’s not definite you’re going, then,’ he said after a moment. ‘I mean, you haven’t got the job yet?’
‘No, but if I don’t get one at Seager’s I shall go after something else.’
He was staring at her, his mouth slightly open. In a tight, stilted voice he said, ‘You’re going away from home. You’re leaving home.’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’ She could hear the rain on the window. When she looked at his hands she could see that the knuckles were pale.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said.
‘I shall be back to see you very frequently. You can depend on that.’
‘I see.’ His tone was different now. ‘I don’t want any kindnesses from you. I don’t want to have my daughter patronise me.’
‘I wasn’t. Oh, please, Father, I wasn’t.’
Silence again, then he said gruffly, ‘Why are you going? That’s what I’d like to know. Are you so desperate to get away?’
She could not answer.
‘It’s because of your mother,’ he said. ‘Losing your mother like that, so suddenly. It must affect a daughter. You’re not thinking straight.’
Lydia said after a moment, ‘Well, whatever it is, Father, I just know I have to go.’
He nodded. ‘Well, you go ahead, then. You’ll soon find out that the city streets are full of failures who’ve gone there to better themselves, and you’ll be one of them, you’ll see.’
‘I sincerely hope not, Father.’
‘I still don’t understand it,’ he said. ‘Why you need to go.’
‘I’m twenty-one years old,’ she said, ‘and I know it isn’t much of a change just to go to Redbury, but it’s a change of sorts, and perhaps it will enable me to discover what I want to do with myself, with my life. Because at present I’ve got no idea at all.
‘And if you don’t – discover what you want to do?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know – but I’ve got to try.’
Chapter Five
Lydia was up early on the morning of the 21st and leaving the house to catch the coach to Merinville. She wore her grey dress, with a dark flannel mantle that she had finished making just a few days earlier. In recognition of her continuing mourning for her mother, she had put a little black crêpe on her dress and also on her black straw hat.
On the previous day she had heard from Ryllis, who still had no idea whether or not she would be required to go shopping into the town on the Saturday morning, but was still in hopes that it would happen.
Mr Halley, up very early as usual, had barely spoken to Lydia over breakfast. He knew where she was going, but he remained silent on the subject. Lydia had said to him the previous evening that she was hoping to meet Ryllis while in Redbury, and left the statement open, inviting him to say something, but he had ignored the words. She could not be sure of the reason for his silence. Was he sulking or was he just deeply hurt? She had tried several times to instigate a conversation but he would have none of it, answering her merely with monosyllables or brief sentences that closed any avenues that might have led to an opening between them. Later, when she had left the house to walk to the Rising Sun, from where she was to take the coach, he had barely responded to her brief words of goodbye.
Sitting on the coach, she tried to put all negative thoughts out of her head. He would probably come round, though there was no guarantee of it. She had observed him for enough years to know that he was totally unpredictable where some things were concerned. Still, that was something that only time would deal with, and now she must concentrate on the matter in hand, that of her forthcoming interview with Mr Donovan, the employment manager whom she was to see at twelve o’clock.
She got to Merinville just before ten, and from the station took the train to Redbury, arriving well before eleven. There in the crowded, busy town she passed a little time in a small coffee shop and then made her way to Seager’s. She was still early, so she spent a while wandering through the store. She had never realised quite how vast it was. Set on three floors, it seemed to offer everything that one could possibly need in life, and she moved from department to department looking around her in continuing amazement at the variety of goods on display.
Eventually, though, the time approached for her interview, and after making enquiries she left the shop proper and made her way to the top floor, where the offices were situated. Here there were low ceilinged-rooms, and the atmosphere of the place was busy in quite a different way.
Stepping out of the lift, she came to a small office in a foyer, and was directed along a corridor with offices on either side. Some of the doors were open and inside she could see people at desks, writing with pens or at typewriting machines.
At the end of the corridor she stopped outside a closed door and knocked. It was answered almost at once by a tall young man in a grey suit.
‘Miss Halley?’ he said, smiling at her.
Lydia nodded, ‘Yes,’ and smiled nervously back at him.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he said, ‘but Mr Donovan’s been called away on an urgent matter. We had no way of letting you know, I’m afraid. I do apologise.’
Lydia didn’t know what to say, and merely nodded again.
‘Your appointment was at twelve,’ the young man continued. ‘Mr Donovan asks whether it’s possible for you to come back at one o’clock. Or if that’s not convenient perhaps you’d prefer to come back another day.’
‘Oh, no. No, I don’t want to leave it for another day,’ Lydia said at once. ‘No – I’ll come back at one.’
‘Mr Donovan’s terribly sorry about it. Are you sure it’s all
right?’
‘Yes, perfectly. I’ll come back later.’
‘If you’d prefer to stay here,’ he said, ‘there’s a small waiting room along the corridor.’ He gestured with his hand.
‘No, that’s all right, thank you. I’ll go for a walk and come back at one.’
He thanked her, and she thanked him, and she turned and made her way along the corridor. As she rode down in the lift, she wondered what she should do about Ryllis, who might well be on her way from Barford now, and before too long she would be making her way to the teashop, expecting Lydia to join her. At that time, if all went as planned, Lydia could be just about finished with her interview. With luck, she thought, she could get to the teashop without keeping Ryllis waiting too long.
Now, with almost another hour to kill, she wandered around the store again and then had a cup of coffee that she did not want in the small coffee shop on one of the upper floors. Then, when it was time, she got the lift back to the top floor. There, after letting the young man know that she had returned, she moved along to the waiting area indicated by him and sat down with a magazine.
One o’clock came and went and still she was not called for her interview, but then at last she heard footsteps approaching, and the young man was coming towards her with an apologetic expression on his face.
‘Miss Halley,’ he said, ‘oh, I’m so sorry. Mr Donovan was delayed longer than he’d foreseen. He’s only just got back into the office. If you’d like to come along now he’ll be very happy to see you.’
Lydia, much relieved, thanked him, rose, and picked up her basket and bag.
‘This way, please.’ He led the way, and Lydia followed him back into the corridor to the door which she had earlier knocked upon. She followed him inside and he showed her to an imposing desk behind which sat a middle-aged man with grey hair.
‘This is Miss Halley,’ the young man said, and the older man got to his feet, shook Lydia’s hand and invited her to sit.
