by Jess Foley
Lydia, her tea forgotten, sat looking at him, this little man with the rather fussy manner, the misshapen nose and the slightly crooked smile – a smile that he could not help but turn upon her. Her father had spoken of him as ridiculous. She could think of not a single word to say.
‘I mean every word of it,’ he said. ‘I love you. Which is why I’ve gone to Capinfell in the hope of seeing you some Sunday mornings. Which is why I’ve asked your friend for news of you.’ He shook his head and gave a little sigh of wonder. ‘And I still can hardly believe it: here I’ve been thinking of you so much, and I find you sitting on my own doorstep.’
He fell silent, looking at Lydia as if waiting for her to speak, but still she did not, and hearing nothing from her he took encouragement from her silence and said:
‘I know all the things I’m not,’ he said. ‘I’m not tall, I’m not handsome, I’m not young, and for all I know I might be coming over as a complete fool. Well, fool or not, I’ve energy to work, and I can promise you that you would not want. You’d never have to work again if you did not wish to, though I would love it if your inclination was to work alongside me in the business. The shop is very successful, and it will go on being successful after I’m gone. You’d have a good home. My house is quite large, and you would have help in the running of it.’ He paused. ‘Will you please think about my offer? You would do me the greatest honour if you could bring yourself to say yes.’
Lydia said nothing. She could still hardly believe the words that he had spoken.
‘Will you think about it?’ he said again.
Now she gave a nod and found herself murmuring, ‘Yes.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Thank you. Though as I told you, I don’t want your answer yet. If you give it to me too soon I’m pretty sure I know what it’ll be. No, please be kind and give it to me after you’ve had a little while to think about it.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘And in the meantime I’ll try to work up some courage in case the news is bad.’
‘Mr Canbrook,’ she said, ‘I’ve got to go.’ She started to rise from her seat. ‘I must go for my train while the rain’s holding off. I think if I go now I might still make the earlier one.’ Now she could not wait to leave.
He got up also. ‘I’ve offended you,’ he said, frowning.
‘What? No. No, you haven’t.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure. Truly.’
‘And – and you will – think about it?’
‘Well, I –’
‘Please, Miss Halley.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I will.’
He gave a little smile of satisfaction. ‘I’ll get my umbrella,’ he said, ‘and we’ll go out and find a cab.’
Chapter Fourteen
Monday morning. A wave of nausea hit Lydia just as she was finishing dressing, and she knelt, retching repeatedly until eventually the spasm passed and she could straighten up, her head pounding and the sweat beading on her forehead. She had brought nothing up but a little bile, but there, she had not eaten anything in many hours.
After sitting on the edge of the bed, her breast heaving while she slowly got her breath back, she rose and finished dressing. When she was done she went out onto the landing and down the stairs to the dining room. There she forced herself to utter a cheery ‘Good morning’ to Mrs Obdermann, struggled to eat what she could of the breakfast of fried eggs and buttered bread, and then went off to work.
The same story was repeated on the Tuesday, except this time she seemed to retch even more violently. One thing was certain, she could not face another fried breakfast, and down in the dining room she picked at the food and moved it around on her plate, until she could find the courage to thank Mrs Obdermann and get up from the table. She would be able to eat something at dinnertime at the store, she told herself; she would feel more like it then.
‘You don’t seem to have much appetite lately, Miss Halley,’ Mrs Obdermann said with a little sniff as Lydia turned to go from the room.
‘No, I haven’t, I’m sorry to say,’ Lydia replied. She gave a smile that she was far from feeling. ‘But it’ll come back in a day or two.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Mrs Obdermann said, ‘or you’ll be wasting away to nothing.’
Lydia did manage to eat something at the store in the midday dinner break, but dismayingly a little nauseous feeling came back to plague her again during the afternoon. She fought it off, however, and hoped no one had noticed. The day dragged, as all the days seemed to drag just now, and she waited for the end of the working day to come. Perhaps, she told herself with a mixture of hope and fear, Evie would have written with the woman’s name and address.
Evie had. On returning to the house in Little Marsh Street Lydia let herself in with her latchkey and saw the letter waiting for her on the hall table. She took it up and went to her room. Inside, behind the closed door, she tore open the envelope. Evie had written:
Dear Lyddy,
As soon as I got back home I set about finding the information you wanted. I’m not allowed to tell you where it comes from, but I can tell you the name and address of the woman you need to see in Merinville. She is Mrs Hoggins, and she lives at 34 Gilham Street. She’s a midwife. I’m told the street is near the paint works. I don’t know exactly how much she charges. I think it’s in the region of ten shillings, but this was a while back. Anyway, obviously you must be prepared. Also, I’m advised that you’d best not eat before you go.
I hope this is a help to you. I wish I could do something else. Please let me know how you are, whatever you decide to do.
Evie
Lydia read the letter over again, then pulled her boots off and lay back on the bed. The letter made it all so much more real. It was time now for commitment. She had made up her mind; she would go and see the woman. She would go tomorrow, tomorrow morning. She could not waste time. Every day that passed made her situation more difficult.
She was glad that the supper served by Mrs Obdermann that night was a simple one. She ate what she could of it, thankful that for the moment at least the nausea was not present. Bearing in mind what Evie had said to her about not eating before going to see the woman in Merinville, it was on the tip of her tongue to tell Mrs Obdermann that she would require no breakfast, but somehow she could not bring herself to do so, and in the end said nothing.
The next morning when she was dressed and ready, she went down to the dining room, where she found the table already laid. As she sat down, Mrs Obdermann came into the room carrying a tray bearing a teapot and milk jug. Lydia wished her a good morning, and the landlady returned the greeting and asked her what she would like to eat: oatmeal, or pancakes, or some eggs? Lydia thanked her, but said she wanted nothing except a cup of tea.
‘You only want tea?’ Mrs Obdermann set down the teapot and jug and stood there beside the table. ‘That’s all? Just tea?’
‘Yes, that’s all, thank you. ‘I’m not – I’m not hungry.’
Mrs Obdermann gazed at her for a moment in silence. ‘Aren’t you feeling well, Miss Halley?’
Lydia felt her cheeks burning under the other woman’s gaze. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said.
‘Well, you’re not eating properly, and I heard you being sick again this morning.’
Lydia did not know where to look, but forced herself to hold the landlady’s glance. ‘I’m a little – out of sorts,’ she said, ‘but it will pass.’
‘A little out of sorts. Well, let’s hope it’s nothing more serious than that. Anyway, drink your tea.’ The woman looked steadily at Lydia for another moment, then started towards the door. She did not leave, however. She got as far as the doorway, stood in silence with her lips pursed, then turned back into the room, coming to a stop a yard from the table at which Lydia sat.
‘Miss Halley,’ she said, ‘I may as well say what’s on my mind now. There’s no point in putting it off.’ She was still holding the tray in her hands and now she set it down on the tablecloth. Her mouth was such a t
ight, thin little line that all trace of her lips had vanished.
‘I’ve watched you pick at your food in the mornings for days now,’ she said, ‘and I’m tired of throwing good food away. We don’t keep a pig, like some people do, so all food not eaten gets wasted. And why? Because you’ve got no appetite, you tell me. Yes, very likely.’ She took in a deep breath. ‘You tell me you’re a little out of sorts. Well, if anyone asked my opinion, I’d say it appears to me to be a little more than that.’ She spoke sharply, rapidly. Her face had gone pale; she was almost white around her mouth. ‘I’ve heard you for days now, up in your room, heaving away as if you might bring up your very heart, and you’re telling me that that’s just being a little out of sorts, and it’ll pass. Yes, I think it could well pass, but it might take nine months to do so.’ Her pale blue eyes were wide with anger and horrified disapproval. She stood with her arms folded across her ample bosom. After a few moments she said, pushing her head forward a little: ‘Well, have you anything to say, miss?’
Lydia sat as if paralysed. Hearing Mrs Obdermann’s dreadful words, and seeing her standing before her, her face thrust forward so belligerently, she could think of not a single word to say. She sat there, her hands tightly clenched, raised half way up to her chin.
‘Well, I see you’re not denying anything,’ Mrs Obdermann said, ‘and that’s answer enough for me.’ She drew her receding chin back into her neck so that it all but disappeared. ‘And I have to tell you something else, miss, and that is, that this is a respectable house. I’ve always kept a respectable house, and I intend to continue doing so. Oh, yes, I must confess I did at times wonder where you were when you were rushing out all those evenings the other week, but it was no business of mine, I told myself. But then there comes a time when it is my business. This is my house, and I’m not having it made a laughing stock, or the cause of sneers and disrespect. My neighbours have got eyes as well as I have, and it won’t be too long before your apron is hanging high. What will they think then? What kind of house will they think I’m keeping? Well, my dear young lady, they’re not getting the chance to ask the question, I can tell you that.’
She remained standing there, her arms folded. She was breathing heavily, her wide eyes glaring down at Lydia, who still sat in silence, unable to say a word, the tears stinging her eyes.
Mrs Obdermann was not moved by the sight of the tears shining in Lydia’s eyes.
‘I’m a fair woman,’ she said abruptly. ‘No one can ever accuse me of not being fair, and I’m going to be fair with you. And I’m going to be generous with you. Other landladies would have thrown you out days ago, but I’m not like that. Perhaps I’m foolish not to be like it, but that’s the way it is, the way I am. So I’m telling you now, I’m giving you a chance to find somewhere else to live. I don’t know who’d take you in for long in your condition, but that’s your problem. All I want to say to you is that you’ve got two weeks, and at the end of two weeks I want you out. You must find somewhere else to live. Wherever you take your problem, and what you do about it is up to you, but I want it to be no longer any concern of mine.’
She stood there for a moment or two longer, lips tightly compressed, breath coming loudly, and then turned about and left the room.
Lydia remained sitting there, her hands still clenched before her, gazing down unseeing at the white tablecloth. It was as if she could not move. A little sob escaped her, and she raised her hands and pressed them over her lips.
After a few seconds she lowered her hands, took a deep breath and got up from the table. Now, more than ever, she knew what she must do.
Up in her room she sat on the side of the bed for what seemed ages. Yes, she knew. She no longer had any choice. It was quite obvious to her now that she was not likely to hear from Guy, and also it was beyond consideration that Mrs Anderson might have changed her mind and forwarded the letter on to him. At last she got up and put on her jacket and her bonnet and gathered her reticule to her. In it she put Evie’s letter and the little money she had; she just hoped it would be enough. From the drawer of her chest she took out the cheque that Mrs Anderson had given here, and for a few moments stood with it in her hand. Perhaps a situation such as this was what Mrs Anderson had had in mind, she thought. But no. She would make her own way in whatever she was going to do. After a moment she carefully tore the cheque across and across, and dropped the pieces into the waste basket. She was ready to go.
Mrs Obdermann was nowhere in sight as Lydia went down, but she could hear her at work in the kitchen. As Lydia passed through the hall the small clock on the bureau gave the time of five past ten. Outside the house she set off for the railway station.
It was well after eleven by the time she reached Merinville, and after asking directions of the ticket collector she eventually found herself in Gilham Street. It was situated towards the edge of the town, two facing rows of mean-looking, narrow terraced houses, at the end of which reared up the high grey walls of the paint factory. Number 34 was halfway along on the left. Most of the street was unmade, the footways on either side being laid with cinders.
In front of the house, as with all the houses in the street, was a small yard, roughly paved for the most part, with a few tired-looking flowers growing in the centre and along the sides. It would have been going too far to call it a garden. The gate was almost off its hinges and hung drunkenly, one edge of it scraping the ground. Lydia stood outside and looked along the short path to the front door. Her heart was pumping against her ribs and she could feel her palms damp. Taking a deep breath, she drew herself up, pushed the gate open the rest of the way and stepped through.
She was aware of each pace she took along the path, each one moving her forward to the brown-painted front door and the single step at its foot. She lifted the knocker and rapped on the door. It was opened in a few seconds by a short, slightly-built woman of about fifty years of age. She had dark, greying hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, and spectacles. She wore a stained apron over a faded blue dress.
‘Mrs Hoggins?’
‘Yes?’ the woman said, frowning, peering at the stranger’s face.
‘I – I was given your name,’ Lydia said. ‘I asked –’
She got no further, for the woman suddenly leaned forward, grasped Lydia’s left wrist and pulled at her, urging her over the threshold and into the narrow hallway.
‘That’s it, dear.’ The woman closed the door. ‘We don’t want all the neighbours knowing our business, do we? Now, then . . .’ She squinted up at Lydia’s face, and then looked her up and down. ‘Do I take it dear that you’re’ ere looking for a little’ elp?’
Lydia hesitated then gave a nod. She was vaguely aware of the drab, scuffed paper on the walls, the worn linoleum under her feet, the stale smell of fried bacon.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Mrs Hoggins said, ‘and I’ll wager that someone you know ‘as got herself into a bit of a pickle, is that it?’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Someone not too far from where I’m standin’, I’d reckon. Yes?’
Lydia did not know how to answer, and the woman put her head on one side almost coyly, and said, ‘You don’t need to be shy with me, dear, and you don’t need to be nervous neither. There’s nothin’ to be shy nor nervous about. If you’ve come to Minnie Hoggins you’ve come to the right person.’ She smiled suddenly, revealing overly pink gums and long, brown-stained teeth. ‘Can I ask who sent you, dear?’
‘Well,’ Lydia said, ‘it – it came in a roundabout way, and I don’t know who it really came from – your name and address. I was just – just told that you could – could help me.’
‘And indeed I can’ elp you, my dear. That’s what I’m’ ere for.’ She paused. ‘And I s’pose you wanted it today, did you?’
‘Well . . .’ Lydia gave a nod. ‘Y-yes.’
‘Yes, these problems don’t do with’ angin’ about, do they? It’s not a thing you can put off, is it? Though I ‘ave to tell you it’s not really convenient right at the mo
ment.’
Lydia gave a little groan. She couldn’t be asked to go away and come another day. ‘Please,’ she said.
‘Well, all right, dear. Though you’ve caught me at a bad time, I ‘ave to say. Still, we’ll manage. Now, I tell you what.’ She smiled suddenly again, stretching her lips back over her long teeth. ‘You go and make yourself scarce for a bit, will you? I’ve got to go out and call on one of my expectant mothers, but it’s not very far, and I shall be back in an hour. Can you wait until then, dearie?’
‘Yes.’ Lydia nodded.
‘That’s fine.’ The woman gestured with her thumb, jabbing towards the right. ‘There’s the park, up the road a bit and to the left, then turn left at the ironmonger’s and you’ll see it in front of you. You could sit in there for a while, in the park, if you wouldn’t mind. It’s only five minutes’ walk. Or there’s the public on the corner. Same direction. The Running Hind. You could get a cup of tea there – but don’t ‘ave any milk with it, and don’t ‘ave anything to eat, all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then come back in an hour and we’ll see what we can do for you.’ The woman stepped to the door, opened it and stood aside as Lydia went through and onto the path. ‘All right, dear,’ Mrs Hoggins said, ‘I’ll see you in an hour.’
With the front door closed behind her, Lydia walked up the path and onto the cinder footway. Turning right, she walked along the street until she saw an ironmonger’s shop on one corner, and on the opposite corner the public house that Mrs Hoggins had spoken of. Ahead of her, when she turned to the left, she saw the entrance to a park, with its greensward stretching away behind iron railings. She would have liked to go into the inn and have some tea – she had drunk nothing all day – but she could not bring herself to go alone into such a place.
