by Jess Foley
She stopped at the other end of the table, facing him. ‘Hello, Father.’ A tentative smile. ‘As you see, I’m back.’
He nodded. ‘So I see.’
She had not known what to expect, but she had not really expected more. After a moment’s hesitation she set down her bag and went to him, bent, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. It was an awkward gesture but brief, and then she turned away and took off her hat and jacket. ‘How is your cold?’ she asked.
He sniffed, and briefly put a hand to his forehead. ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache and a stuffy nose, but I’ll survive. It’s not enough to keep me from my work.’
From her bag Lydia took out the package of meat she had brought. ‘I got us a nice little cut of mutton,’ she said. ‘We’ll have it for dinner tomorrow.’
After putting the meat away she donned her apron and put the kettle on to boil. When the tea was made she and her father sat drinking it at the table.
‘I hope Mrs Harbutt’s looking after you,’ Lydia said. ‘Has she been coming in to get your dinner?’
‘Oh, yes, she’s been coming in.’
‘And did you tell her that I was coming back this weekend?’
‘Yes, I told her she wouldn’t be needed.’
An hour later Lydia prepared a meal for the two of them, serving some cold ham that she found in the larder. It was followed with plums and cold custard, the latter having been made by Mrs Harbutt.
Later, Lydia told him about seeing Ryllis the previous weekend in Redbury, but she made no mention of Ryllis’s friend Thomas Bissett. Her father asked how Ryllis was, and also asked whether she seemed any more settled in her employment with the Lucases. Lydia said she couldn’t tell, but added that Ryllis had made no complaint at their meeting. Her father replied dryly that this made a change if nothing else.
‘Well, Father,’ Lydia said after a while, ‘aren’t you going to ask me how I’m getting on at the store?’
He was silent for a moment, then said, ‘And how are you getting on?’
‘I’m getting on all right,’ she said. ‘The work keeps me very busy, but I’m enjoying it.’
This was not exactly what he wanted to hear, she thought, and then wondered whether he might ask about the particular work she did, but he did not. The thought then crossed her mind that he might ask how she spent her evenings. What would she say? She could not tell him about Guy. She would never dare.
‘There’s a young man doing your job at Cremson’s now,’ he said. ‘It didn’t take them long to find a replacement. No one’s irreplaceable.’
She had to ignore this, almost, and merely said, ‘Oh,’ and then asked, ‘What about you? What about your preaching? Have you been busy with it?’
‘Of course,’ he said, frowning. ‘It would take a lot to stop that. People need meaning in their lives.’
A little later, as Lydia stood in the scullery washing the dishes, he came to her and said he had to be going to Hurstleigh on business. He would be back about ten, he added.
Left alone in the house, Lydia finished the washing up, then sat down to darn a couple of her father’s socks. At ten o’clock she went upstairs. A while later, as she lay in bed, she heard her father’s footsteps on the cobbles and not long afterwards the sound of his footfalls on the stairs as he came up to bed.
She accompanied her father to church on Sunday morning. On her arrival there as they waited for the service to begin, she looked around for Evie, but there was no sign of her. After the service, outside in the sun, Lydia said to her father, ‘Father, you start on back. I’ll catch you up. I just want to have a look at Mother’s grave.’
‘Shall I come with you?’ he asked, but she was silent while she searched for a reply and he gave a nod and said, ‘No, you go on your own. I’ll start home.’
She left him and made her way down the little slope of the churchyard to where her mother’s grave lay close to the shade of a large yew tree. There was no one else close by. Bending over the grave she said softly, ‘Hello, Mother. I’ve come back to see you. I think about you every day.’ The stone’s surface was pale and gleaming in the bright morning sunlight, the crisply-cut letters read:
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF
EMMA MARY HALLEY 1845–1890
‘I’m sorry I can’t come as often to see you now, Mother,’ Lydia whispered, ‘but I’ll get here when I can, and soon I’ll bring a nice flower to plant for you. Perhaps a pretty little tea rose.’ She kissed the tips of her fingers and gently touched them to the top of the stone. Then, picking up her skirts, she made her way up the slope and on to the church gate.
Back at the house she put the mutton into the oven and set about preparing the rest of the dinner. When it was ready, she and her father ate in near silence, speaking only desultorily, and of mundane subjects that were safe from dissension. Afterwards, Lydia washed up the dishes and the pans and then announced that she was going to see Evie for half an hour.
When Lydia called at Evie’s cottage door a short while later she found her sitting on the sofa alone, sewing a little shift for Hennie. Hennie was upstairs asleep, Evie said, and her mother was out delivering some clean washing.
‘Do you want some tea?’ she asked as Lydia sat down. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
Lydia thanked her, but declined. ‘I shall be having some with Father as soon as I get back indoors,’ she said. From her bag, she brought out a paper bag, and took from it a little storybook with bright pictures. ‘I brought this for Hennie,’ she said. ‘I bought it in the store.’
‘Ah . . .’ Evie took the book into her hands. ‘Hansel and Gretel. Oh, she’ll love it. Oh, thank you, Lyddy. I shan’t get any peace once she’s heard this, I can tell you.’ She leafed through the book, glancing at the colourful pictures, and then put it carefully back in the bag. ‘I’ll give it to her as soon as she gets up,’ she said.
As Evie put the book aside, Lydia said, ‘I looked out for you at church this morning.’
‘Oh, I decided not to go,’ Evie said. ‘Hennie was being especially good, and it give me a chance for a lie-in. You went with your father, did you?’
‘Oh, yes. I wouldn’t dare not to.’
‘How did you find him? Is he well?’
‘He’s got a bit of a cold, but other than that he’s all right.’
‘I expect he was very glad to see you back.’
‘I suppose so.’ Lydia nodded. ‘He doesn’t give much away.’
A thought occurred to Evie, and she said, ‘Oh, I saw your friend the other day. Your admirer.’
‘My what?’ Lydia said.
‘Mr Canbrook. I went into Merinville and popped into his shop to get some cotton thread. He recognised me as your friend and asked me where you were. “Where’s your friend today?” he asked. “Where’s Miss Halley?” I told him that you’d gone to Redbury to live and work. He looked quite put out about it.’ She waited a moment for Lydia’s reaction, then added, on a more solemn note, ‘He mentioned your mother, too. He said how sorry he had been to hear about her – her passing.’
‘That was nice of him. I heard from him when Mother died. I told you that. He wrote a letter of condolence. Just a brief note, but it was nice that he took the trouble.’
A few moments went by, then Evie said, looking at Lydia judiciously, ‘I suppose you find quite a few differences now you’re living and working in Redbury. I don’t suppose you miss Cremson’s at all, do you?’
‘Cremson’s?’ Lydia shook her head. ‘No, not a bit. I haven’t got time to miss it. You’ve never seen such a busy office as the one I work in, and the store itself . . . I know I’ve told you before, but – oh, there’s nothing it doesn’t sell. Why, they even have a lending library. I work in the department dealing with the orders that come in by post – and you should see the value of some of those orders! You would think some people had so much money it was no object.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘But sometimes some of the ladies change their minds, and won’t accept the goods when
the van tries to deliver them. They get their maids and butlers to say they’re out.’
Evie laughed at this. They spoke of various matters and people known to them both, and then Evie asked after Ryllis, and Lydia told how she had seen her the previous Sunday, and that they had had tea together.
‘I didn’t tell you,’ Lydia said, ‘but she’s met someone. He came into Redbury to meet us in the teashop.’
‘Oh – well, how nice. I hope you approve of him.’
Lydia said after a moment’s hesitation, ‘Well, as a matter of fact, I just found him to be sometimes – disagreeable, and he wasn’t as pleasant to Ryllis as I would have liked him to be. Too much finding fault for my liking, though Ryllis forgave him everything, it seemed.’ She shook her head. ‘But I mustn’t say anything else against him. Ryllis said he was suffering from the toothache, so I’ve probably misjudged him. I won’t say any more.’
‘What about you?’ Evie said.
‘Me? What about me?’
Evie smiled. ‘Have you met anyone? Now you’re living in the city. What about in your office? Or in the store? There must be so many good-looking young men around.’
Lydia gave a little shrug. ‘Oh, yes, I suppose there are.’
‘You suppose there are?’ Evie’s tone and expression were arch. ‘I felt sure you’d get back and tell me you’ve met someone. Haven’t you made some friends in the store? Surely you have.’
‘Oh, well, they’re all friendly enough,’ Lydia replied, ‘but everyone seems to be too busy for much in the way of casual chatter. The supervisor’s there all the time, so everyone generally gets on with the work. It’s only during our tea break and dinner break that there’s any chance to chat.’
‘Well, that’s a start. A good enough opportunity to meet some nice young fellow.’
‘Oh, not really. The men and the women tend to keep apart at those times.’
‘Oh, that’s a pity,’ Evie said dolefully. ‘Then what about people outside the store?’
‘What d’you mean?’
Evie gave a little groan. ‘Oh, Lyddy, you’re such a disappointment. I could have bet a shillin’ that you’d get back and tell me you’d met someone special.’
Lydia did not answer, but feeling Evie’s eyes upon her, looked away.
‘Ah, so you have, have you?’ Evie said, moving her head to try and peer into Lydia’s face. ‘So now we’re getting near the truth.’ She gave a nod. ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it, and I’m glad you haven’t wasted any time.’
‘Oh, don’t,’ Lydia said. ‘Don’t say that. Not like that.’
‘I’m teasing you,’ Evie said, ‘but tell me, please. I’ve got to know everything. Is he nice looking?’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, he is.’
‘And what’s his name? How old is he?’
‘His name is Guy. Guy Anderson. He’s twenty-five, and he’s just come out of the army after several years abroad.’
‘And what does he do? What work does he do?’
Lydia gave a sigh and looked away. ‘Oh, Evie – that’s just the trouble. I look at his background and – well, how can I fit into it? It just doesn’t seem possible.’
‘What about his background?’
‘His parents are well off. Very well off. I mean, for goodness’ sake, they own a newspaper – and a business in Italy.’
‘Oh – sounds very grand!’
‘Quite,’ Lydia replied. ‘And look at me. I’ve got nothing. My father works in a factory and I’m a clerk in a department store.’
‘But if he really cares for you . . .’ Evie said. ‘I mean – at twenty-five he’s old enough to know what he wants.’ She reached out and pressed Lydia’s wrist. ‘How does he feel about you?’ she asked.
‘Well, he – I’ve only known him a week.’
Evie nodded. ‘It’s not long, is it?’
‘Mind you,’ Lydia said, sighing, ‘it’s been the most wonderful week. We’ve met several times. I’ve even been to the theatre.’
‘The theatre!’
‘Yes! Oh, it was so exciting.’ Lydia gave a breathy, nervous little laugh. ‘The whole evening. I didn’t want it to end.’
Evie said after a moment’s silence, ‘Do you – feel deeply for him, Lyddy?’
Lydia lowered her head, avoiding Evie’s gaze. ‘Yes, I do,’ she said. ‘Do you think I’m foolish?’ She raised her head again, looking earnestly into her friend’s eyes. ‘Oh, Evie, I know it’s only been a week – but I never thought it would be possible to feel this way.’
Back at home Lydia put on the kettle for tea, and when it was made she served it with some cake that Mrs Harbutt had left in the pantry.
‘It’s good,’ she said. ‘Mrs Harbutt’s fruit cake – it’s very nice.’
‘It’ll do,’ he said. ‘It’s not like your mother’s, but you’ve got to make the best of what you’ve got. She doesn’t iron my shirts properly either. Not the way your mother did, nor the way you did. Nor Ryllis, for that matter.’
Lydia said nothing. There had been no change in her father in the two weeks she had been away, but somehow her brief absence allowed her to look at him more closely. She took in the cold eyes behind the spectacles’ lenses, and the thin mouth, and thought how unhappy and disapproving he looked. The lowness of spirits brought on by his cold did not help. She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and pushed aside her empty cup. ‘I think it’s time I was going,’ she said. ‘I’ll wash up and then go off to get the coach.’
As she stirred in her seat, about to rise, he said: ‘You don’t care a fig about me, do you?’ There was a sad bitterness in his voice, and Lydia was halted in her movement.
‘Don’t – don’t care about you?’ she said. ‘Of course I care about you. How can you say such a thing?’
‘But you’re going.’
‘Well – well, I have to. I’ve got to get back.’ She paused. ‘Father, please – don’t,’ she said. ‘Don’t do this.’
‘I’m being foolish,’ he said. ‘I somehow convinced myself that you might come home for good. I had the idea that two weeks away from home, living in lodgings and eating whatever’s put before you might have been enough. I thought, the girl’s bound to see the light eventually, and she’ll get fed up and want to come home. I know things have been difficult here – what with your mother’s going . . . but things settle down and life goes on.’ He looked away from her. ‘I’d like you to come home,’ he said gruffly. ‘I wish you’d come home.’
‘Father –’ she began, but he cut her off, saying, ‘You don’t have to go back to Cremson’s, you can find another job – and if you don’t, what does that matter? It’s not important. We don’t need a lot, just the two of us. I earn decent money. Not a fortune, but enough. We could manage all right.’
She could see it before her, so clearly. A life of days moving into weeks, into months, into years. Her youth slipping away into middle age, while her father grew old. She had seen it happen. The women were never taken seriously after a time; they were regarded with varying degrees of pity as they grew older, and became more seemingly eccentric with the passing years. And what had they to show for it – those spinsters who, in the end, were always left alone?
‘Supposing I asked you,’ he said, briefly stifling his pride, ‘Suppose I asked you to reconsider? You could go back and give in your notice. Supposing I asked you . . .?’
Now Lydia got to her feet. ‘Oh, Father, I can’t do it. I’m sorry if it upsets you, but I just can’t. Please don’t ask me.’ She felt tears springing to her eyes, and quickly with her fingers she wiped them away. ‘But I’ll come and see you when I can,’ she said, ‘and Ryllis will too. You’ve got two of us, you know.’
‘Yes, I know all about that.’ He did not look at her as he spoke. After a moment he waved a dismissive hand and said, ‘You’d best get off, then, or you’ll miss your coach.’
A little while later, without an embrace, without a kind word of goodbye from him, she left the house.
There was an unexpected delay at the Rising Sun inn when one of the coach horses had to be changed, which meant Lydia was late getting into Merinville. Missing her intended train to Redbury, she was forced to kick her heels on the platform for a further thirty minutes, waiting for the next one. When it came she got in with relief, glad to be finally on her way again. She felt strangely alone, and the miserable scene with her father had left her depressed and unhappy. She would not be seeing Guy until after work tomorrow. The rest of Sunday evening stretched before her.
At Redbury she got out of the train and made her way along the platform to where the ticket collector stood at his post. Beyond him, on the other side of the barrier, she saw the familiar tall figure of Guy.
He came towards her as she passed through, and reached out and took her hand.
‘Lydia,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d never come.’
‘I missed my connection at Merinville.’ She could scarcely believe that he was standing before her. ‘I had to wait for the next train, and then –’ She broke off and gave a nervous little chuckle. ‘What – what are you doing here?’
‘I had to see you,’ he said. His voice and face had an earnestness that she had not seen before, but she was thrilled to see him, thrilled that he had come to meet her train. Smiling, she said, ‘Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?’
‘I can’t see you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Something’s happened. Something’s come up.’
‘What? What’s happened?’
‘I’ve got the trap outside,’ he said. ‘Can you ride with me for a while?’
‘Well – yes, if you wish.’
‘Oh, yes – please.’ He took her arm and led her out on to the street to where the mare and the carriage were waiting.
Chapter Ten
They were moving away from the town centre, Lydia saw at once. ‘Where are we going?’ she said.
‘We’ll drive out a little, into the country,’ Guy said. ‘Do you mind?’
