A Sense of Duty

by Sheelagh Kelly

  With her impulsive decision, came the urgent need to buy gifts. Fred dropped her off outside Swan and Edgar, where she pondered over the eye-catching window display of foreign dolls and little fir trees amongst artificial snow, before deciding with a hint of nostalgia that all her nieces were too old for these now. Instead, she fought her way through the army of top hats and frock coats, capricious ladies and their parcel-laden servants, and amongst the festoons of brightly coloured decorations she made purchases of silken shawls, lace-edged handkerchiefs, and scented bath salts. Similar frivolous items, including jewellery, were provided for Gwen, Sarah and the rest of the womenfolk, leaving only her brothers and nephews to buy for. These were more difficult, and their purchase was made even more so by the fact that it had begun to snow heavily, though a hectic glance at the sky provided the answer to one of her problems when Kit noticed the opaque globe of a gaslight bearing the word ‘Cigars’, and immediately rushed along to the tobacconist’s to acquire a tin of the dreaded weed. For Probyn and her other nephews she bought boxes of toy soldiers. Only Monty posed a problem. He neither smoked nor drank. With her hat and the shoulders of her overcoat accumulating a layer of snow, Kit hurried back to where she had left the carriage, hoping to find something along the way, but all she managed to buy was some wrapping paper and labels.

  Fred had been sheltering in a shop doorway whilst waiting for his mistress to return, but the poor horse was covered in snow and kept shaking his miserable head to dislodge it. Pitying the animal, Kit threw her large collection of gifts into the carriage and was just about to climb in when she had a burst of inspiration and hurried along the crowded street to a watchmaker’s where she purchased a silver timepiece for her elder brother. All accounted for, she made her happy return to St John’s Wood.

  It continued to snow well into the night. When Valentine left her after their early morning bout of love-play, saying he would be thinking of her whilst they were apart, the thick flakes were still descending. Fearing that this might mean a cancellation in the train service if she left it any longer, Kit wrapped up warmly and set out with her portmanteau and bags full of gifts. Just what sort of reception she would have from the Kilmasters remained to be seen. They were aware of her circumstances, for at the outset she had thought it best to inform them by letter of her whereabouts. Since then she had written regularly to Monty and Sarah and each time had received a reply, though none of their correspondence disclosed any opinions, and were simply designed to keep her up to date with the family news.

  Luckily, the train managed to carry her all the way to Yorkshire without mishap. When she arrived in York six hours later it was evident that the north had received a more severe pummelling from the elements, immense walls of ice in place of hedgerows where the roads had been cleared, leaving Kit in some doubt as to whether she would be able to reach Ralph Royd after all. Instead of going to her own house, she decided instead to visit Amelia first, and hailed a cab.

  Despite the nature of their parting, Amelia was pleased to see her sister and said she too was hoping to make a visit to Ralph Royd for Christmas, if the snow would allow it. They would travel together. She was pleased, also, to receive Kit’s gift, though when any mention was made of London she seemed purposefully to steer the conversation away, as if reluctant to discuss anything that might cast the shadow of Valentine Kitchingham. Realizing it embarrassed her sister, Kit did not mention him either, though it was difficult to relate all her news without his name arising once or twice.

  Later, Kit went to check on the state of her own residence. Finding it secure and in good repair, albeit a little musty through lack of occupancy, she returned to spend the rest of the night with Amelia and Albert.

  * * *

  The next day, Christmas Eve, Albert got out the horse and trap and drove his wife and her sister to the station, joking that he did not mind in the least being left behind to cope with the hard work, so long as his darling wife returned before midnight when he would turn into a pumpkin. Kit smiled at their parting kiss, envying their closeness.

  The countryside was a blanket of unrelenting white, but, with the line remaining clear of snow, the sisters arrived in Ralph Royd by late morning. The mining village was somewhat prettified today, though the well-trodden snow on the footpaths was made grey from the ubiquitous layer of coal dust. As anticipated, there were no decorations in her brother’s residence. Yet, Kit was somewhat taken aback by the disparity between this and the house in which she herself resided. Even whilst working at stately mansions she had not noticed quite so drastic a contrast, for to her it had just been home. But now, after a year’s absence, and the months of gracious living, it came as quite a shock to see how she had formerly existed. That which she had once considered normal appeared most poverty-stricken. Kit thanked goodness for the blazing heat of the Yorkshire range, coal being one thing that was never skimped on, and went straight to it, presenting her hands to its radiance, the much shorter Amelia coming to hover alongside.

  Unexpectedly, Gwen’s barrel-like figure was seated in a fireside chair, though apart from Sarah she was the only occupant, everyone else at work or out playing in the snow. There was no great drama attached to Kit’s homecoming, each treating her as if they had only met last week.

  ‘Give us your hat and coat,’ ordered Amelia, still playing the mother to her younger sister.

  After handing over her garb, Kit continued to rub her body as if to induce some warmth.

  ‘You shouldn’t be cold with all that fat on ’ee,’ said Gwen.

  Such remarks had always irritated Kit. ‘Well, I am!’ She sat down and began to sort through her bag of gifts.

  ‘What’s she rooting about at in there?’ asked Sarah, busy rolling out pastry for mince pies.

  ‘I’m trying to find Gwen’s present,’ Kit’s face remained hidden as she continued to rummage through the bag. ‘Though heaven knows why,’ came the private mutter.

  ‘Presents?’ barked Sarah. ‘Well, you needn’t expect anything in return. We haven’t got the money you have.’

  ‘We don’t need to ask where it comes from, neither.’ Fat arms crossed beneath her even fatter bosom, Gwen’s exaggerated pose resembled a malevolent Toby jug.

  Kit ignored both slights. ‘Ah, here it is!’ She handed it over. ‘Gwen, you might as well have yours today as you won’t be here tomorrow. The rest of you will have to wait till the proper time to get yours. A shame Charity and Flora aren’t here, but I’ll nip over and see them before I go back, weather permitting.’ She perched on the edge of the chair in confident expectation, her face still pink from the wintry journey.

  Sour-faced, Gwen had ripped the paper and now examined the extravagant gift inside, holding the paisley shawl by its hem as if it were contaminated.

  Kit’s smile faltered, ‘If you don’t like it …’

  Gwen was tart. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the shawl. I just don’t think it’s right you coming here flaunting the proceeds of your wanton behaviour – and if I accept it, then that makes me as bad as you are.’

  Amelia turned red.

  Kit was deeply hurt that her gift had not been accepted in the spirit that it had been given. She might have known it would be Gwen who voiced what the rest of them were thinking. Not knowing what to say, she said naught for fear of crying. Her offering rejected, she suffered rejection too. For, starved of physical affection in her childhood, this was the only way she knew how to show she cared.

  ‘Still…’ Gwen had noticed the glimmer of tears and now draped the shawl round her shoulders, examining her reflection in the mirror over the hearth – ‘seeing as you’ve brought it …’

  But her change of attitude was too late for Kit, who swore to herself that this was the last time she would tramp about getting sore feet just to have the gift thrown back at her. From now on she would only buy for the children. Averting her face, she looked at the wall, and was immediately assailed by that awful portrait of Beata.

  ‘I suppo
se you’ll be staying with that other fancy man o’ yours while you’re here,’ opined Gwen, folding up the shawl.

  Kit tried to avoid looking at the portrait but it was impossible to look away with its eyes boring into her. Why, why had she come? ‘If you mean my friend Mr Popplewell, yes I had intended to. In fact, I’ll go there now and tell him to expect me.’ Anxious to escape, she jumped up and put on her coat, leaving before she had even fastened it.

  ‘Well, it’s good to see she ain’t lost all sense of shame,’ announced Gwen as her youngest sister exited with a chastened expression. ‘There’s chance yet she might be redeemed.’

  Kit found to her great disappointment that Mr Popplewell was not there, his missing clothes telling her that he had gone away for Christmas. But she remained in the cottage for a couple of hours until she saw Gwen pass the window on her way home, accompanied by Amelia. Only then did she return to Savile Row. What a miserable Christmas this was going to be.

  * * *

  But there was to be more pleasant reception to her kindness the next day when the girls and Probyn came down on Christmas morning to find that a gift accompanied the usual bequest of fruit and nuts. Having witnessed Kit’s distress at Gwen’s belittlement yesterday, Sarah had decided to display a more Christian attitude – yet even so she was astounded to receive a brooch studded with tiny rubies.

  ‘That’s real gold – and real jewels, if I’m not mistaken!’ Her exclamation drew forth a cough and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand, staring at the gift in astonishment.

  Kit explained. ‘Well, you always said there was no point in having jewellery if it wasn’t genuine.’

  ‘It must have cost a fortune!’

  ‘I bought it out of my own savings,’ said Kit. Please, please don’t you throw it back at me too.

  But Sarah was already pinning it on to her clothes, her Welsh voice lilting up and down in excitement. ‘Look, Monty! Look, girls! Isn’t it lovely? Oh, pity you didn’t bring me a new dress too, Kit! It makes this one look really shabby. Thank you very much.’

  Vastly relieved, Kit laughingly promised to bring one next time.

  The young women were similarly pleased with their gifts. Upon receipt of his own, Probyn yelled his delight and taking each of the metal soldiers from their box proceeded to set out his miniature army on the hearth, setting a tiny bayonet at a leaden throat, making crashing and whooshing noises to simulate the sounds of battle. ‘Eh, Father! Look at this – look! Dad, you’re not looking!’

  A thoughtful Monty broke off from examining his watch to nod benignly. ‘Yes, yes, I can see – Probe, keep the noise down, will ’ee? War’s not really a fitting thing for Christmas Day.’

  ‘Eh, Dad! I’m going to be a soldier when I’m old enough.’

  Monty grew annoyed then and shoved the watch in his pocket. ‘You’re not, you know! You think Mr Latimer lets you live in one of his houses out o’ kindness? You’re off down the pit like your father.’

  ‘But me mam said if I work hard at school I’ll get a better job!’

  ‘A better job, yes!’ Sarah shared her husband’s aversion. ‘The army’s for riffraff who can’t get anything else.’

  ‘Now, put those blessed things away, ’tis time for chapel,’ Monty told the sulking child, and ordered everyone else to get ready.

  ‘I haven’t time to breathe, let alone go to chapel,’ said Sarah, and began to set out the things she would need for their Christmas dinner.

  Though unused to domestic routine now, Kit said she would help, her offer echoed by others. Sarah said she didn’t need everyone and it was only their excuse to avoid chapel. Appointing Ethel, who had been allowed time off from her job as prison wardress, to help her too, she packed the rest off to chapel. She and Kit got on with preparation, their chores lightened by Ethel’s exciting anecdotes about the criminals in her care.

  In the afternoon, after a plain but delicious meal, Kit walked with the others to Owen’s house where they had tea. Her gifts receiving similar gratitude in this household and, no mention made of her way of life, she was able to return to London a few days later in much better spirits than she had arrived.

  * * *

  The contrast she had experienced at her brother’s house assailed her once again on her arrival home. Feeling a tinge of guilt that those she had left behind could not experience similar pampering, Kit handed over her filthy shoes for Fred to clean, then ordered Cara to set a hot bath in front of the fire in her bedroom, and when it came, she sank her shoulders beneath the steaming surface, extremities tingling as her circulation was gradually restored, and lay there luxuriating in the perfumed water, wondering when she would see Val again.

  But the thought was in no way melancholy, for until their reunion she would have Angela and Frances and others to keep her company. In their role as mistresses, they had become a sort of family, and Kit could exchange far more intimate secrets than with her own sisters, knowing they would never condemn, would always welcome her honesty.

  In this confidence, the following morning, she decided to call upon Angela and invite her back for luncheon. Even with her friend only living streets away, Kit gave orders for Fred to hitch up the carriage, for the snow had turned to slush and a wintry mist hung over the streets, making them appear as if coated in brown soup. The hem of her skirts would be filthy within seconds if she went on foot.

  The drive lasted but two minutes. Kit alighted, giving orders to Fred to wait there. Then, skirts hoisted, she picked her way over a carpet of greasy leaves up to Angela’s front door. A sharp rap on the brass knocker produced a maid, who gave apologies but said that her mistress was indisposed and could see no one. Slightly disconcerted, Kit left her best wishes, hoping that her friend would soon be recovered, then returned along the slimy pathway to her carriage.

  Undeterred, she decided to call upon Frances who lived slightly further away, hoping that it would not be a wasted journey.

  Thankfully, at this residence, she received invitation to enter and was soon graced by Frances’s benevolent smile. Kit exchanged kisses – something she would never have contemplated within her own family but which seemed normal down here. Besides, in a strange sort of way Frances reminded Kit a little of Beata, not in looks, but in the overall warmth of her smile. Perhaps that was why she had become so attached.

  Upon hearing that Kit had been turned away from Angela’s, Frances looked grave. ‘Oh, the things that have happened in the short time you’ve been away, Kit. Poor Angela, she discovered she was enceinte and when she —’

  Kit interrupted to ask for translation of this foreign word.

  ‘What a girl fears most!’ said an agitated Frances. ‘You know – oh, Kit, she was having a child, for heaven’s sake! And she’s been so careful to avoid it.’

  Kit’s lower jaw descended in shock.

  ‘The poor girl – I mean, George was very good about it, gave her the money and everything, but it was still such an ordeal to go through. I went with her yesterday. Oh, it was horrible!’ Frances put her palms to the sides of her head as if to shut out the memory. ‘She was screaming so loudly I thought the police would surely come …’ She broke off her anguished chatter at Kit’s look of total incomprehension, and was forced to explain.

  When this finally sank in, Kit felt a wave of nausea rush to her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘You mean, she’s killed her baby?’

  At the accusing tone, Frances became defensive. ‘Kit, you’d do just the same.’

  ‘No, I would not!’ Oh, the dreadful injustice, raged Kit, that she can murder a child so callously when I, who would love it, can never hope to bear one.

  ‘And just see how long your friends would stick by you with a bastard in tow,’ said Frances, peeved at the lack of support for their friend.

  Still Kit shook her head in torment. Even the idea was totally abhorrent. ‘But I’d have stood by Angela, if only she’d told me – and so would you.’

  ‘Yes, but we are not th
e ones who support her financially, nor socially. She would be utterly destroyed.’

  In whose eyes? Kit wanted to ask. But it was pointless to argue the point further. However horrible, what was done was done.

  ‘I said I would wait until later this afternoon before going to see how she is,’ added Frances. ‘You can come with me if you wish.’

  There was a challenge in the request. Though Angela had plummeted in Kit’s estimation, she fought her personal revulsion of the act and agreed to accompany Frances after luncheon. Remembering that she had left poor Fred out in the cold, she made hurried invitation for Frances to dine with her, and the pair left for St John’s Wood.

  * * *

  Later in the afternoon the two women, dressed against the cold in fur-trimmed paletots, took the short journey to Angela’s house where, Frances being expected, they were admitted and shown up to the invalid’s room.

  Prepared to offer coolness, Kit was totally shocked at Angela’s pallor. The last time she had seen a complexion as grey as this had been that of her beloved niece not long before her death. Whilst Frances donned a tentative smile and took the invalid’s hand, making silly litde noises of reassurance, Kit overcame her natural repugnance of Angela’s deed to come straight to the point.

  ‘This lass needs a doctor!’

  Too frail to respond, Angela made weak movement of her head, but had to rely on Frances to put her argument. ‘We can’t do that. He’d call the police!’

  Kit dragged Frances aside and spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I’m telling you, she needs a doctor! Look at the colour of her!’

  Though wringing her hands with worry, Frances decided, ‘Let’s just wait a while and see how she is when we get some beef tea into her.’ So saying, she went to haul on the bell pull. ‘That’ll put the colour back in her cheeks. It’s obvious the maid hasn’t been looking after her.’