by Valerie Wood
He put his hand to his eyes to quell his tears, and his mother took him by the arm and led him into the study which had been his father’s. ‘Stay here a moment, James, until you have recovered,’ she said quietly. ‘Then, when you feel able, come into the sitting-room. The doctor is here, and the undertaker. The funeral service has been arranged for tomorrow.’
‘And Gilbert? Where is he?’ Surely, he thought, Gilbert should be here making arrangements, not Mother!
‘Gilbert has been here most of the day, he came as soon as he received my message. He sent off a telegram to your lodgings this morning, and has been busy notifying everyone who needed to know. He has only just gone home, you have missed him by only half an hour.’
‘Gone home?’ He looked at her with dull eyes. ‘But this is his home.’
She put a nervous hand to her throat. ‘Not any more. He and Harriet are married.’
He stared at her. ‘Married?’ Anger took place of sorrow and he raised his voice. ‘Without telling me? Am I so unimportant that I wasn’t told?’
‘It was a lapse on Gilbert’s part that you were not told,’ his mother admitted. ‘Your father was very angry with him, but it was because of your father’s illness and all the extra work that Gilbert had to do, that he forgot to mention his marriage in his letter to you.’
‘Some marriage!’ James said bitterly. ‘If Gilbert forgot about it. It doesn’t bode well for it.’
‘I’m sorry, James.’ His mother was contrite and it occurred to him that she didn’t normally apologize. ‘You are right to be upset. Gilbert can’t forgive himself for the lapse.’
And nor can I, James resolved. But at least I know now exactly where I stand. When my father is safely put to rest I shall leave this house and never return.
It was stiflingly hot in the town, even though it was only just ten o’clock in the morning. At Gilbert’s decree, Masterson and Rayner had closed their office for the day out of respect for his father. A large gathering of shipping magnates and business people, as well as employees, were expected at the service at St Andrew’s Church in the parish of Kirk Ella, where the parishioners of Anlaby worshipped.
Billy dressed and ate breakfast and walked into the town to meet his parents’ carriage at the appointed time. He was early, so he cut across The Land of Green Ginger where the banks were just opening their doors, and crossed the junction of Silver Street and Whitefriargate.
A group of women and children from the workhouse were standing around in random fashion outside the Custom House, and two uniformed policemen were bearing down on them in a high-handed manner, which could only mean, Billy thought, that they would be moved on. He gave a quick glance at their situation and continued on down Trinity House Lane towards the church of The Holy Trinity and the cellars.
He put his fingers inside his high collar and eased it a little. It was so hot; he wrinkled his nostrils, the air was close and muggy, permeated with the smell of blubber and fish oil.
Jenny was sitting at the top of the cellar steps, she had an old frayed blanket around her shoulders and her feet were bare. ‘’Morning, Master Billy.’ Her face was pale and she seemed to have lost her normal cheerful manner. ‘You’re about early,’ she commented. ‘I’d have thought tha’d be in thy nice office at this time of day.’
‘I would be normally, Jenny, but I’m going to a funeral and the office is closed today.’
She pursed her lips in sympathy and nodded.
‘Are you not well, Jenny? You look pale. Paler than usual, I mean.’ Though what a fatuous remark, he thought. How can anyone look well, living down in that rat hole?
‘I’m all right. It’s just that I’m so tired I could sleep for a fortnight. I’ve been up all night, you see. One of ’bairns down there was sick. He was vomiting all night and I couldn’t stand ’stink any longer, so I came up to ’street and thought I’d kip out here.’ She shook her head in disapproval. ‘But I was bothered all night long. Allus some fellow nudging me with his boot. I got quite ratty in the end. I told ’em straight – get off to Leadenhall Square, I told ’em, plenty of willing girls there, and don’t be bothering decent women. By,’ she said, an impish grin lighting up her face, ‘I could have made a packet o’ money, Master Billy, if I’d been willing.’
He froze in disbelief. Jenny didn’t seem to realize that she had been lucky. Sooner or later some man would come along who wouldn’t take no for an answer and would force himself upon her, regardless of her wishes.
‘Jenny?’ How could he couch the question?
She looked up at him and smiled. Her eyes were shadowed beneath the lids, but so bright and trusting.
He swallowed. ‘Jenny? Erm – have you … have you ever been with a man? Has a man ever—’
‘Taken me, does tha mean, Master Billy?’ she asked candidly. ‘No. I’ve managed to dodge them up to now, though I’ve had a few narrow squeaks. Mark you,’ she folded her arms about her thin chest, ‘it can’t be all that bad. I heard tell of a friend, she’s a bit older than me, about fourteen, and she’s got herself fixed up regular. And she’s got a room to share with only a couple of others; ’windows are broken and roof leaks, but she’s got money for food, and a nice frock to wear for her customers.’
‘Jenny!’ He spoke on impulse. ‘Would you like to move away from here if I could manage it?’
She gazed at him suspiciously. ‘Where to?’
‘Perhaps as a kitchen maid in my mother’s house?’
‘She’d never take me!’ she said, a touch of derision in her voice. ‘Why should she?’
He didn’t know why she should, But I’ll ask, he thought. Or at least I’ll ask Sammi first and see what she thinks.
‘Anyway,’ Jenny eyed him questioningly, ‘what about ’other bairns who are here? They rely on me. How can I go and leave ’em?’
‘You’d have to, Jenny.’ What a caring girl she was, in spite of the life she was leading. ‘You’d have to think about yourself for once. Surely the others would understand?’
‘Would I ride in that little carriage?’ Her face was brightening with expectancy.
‘Possibly.’ He grinned as the idea took hold. ‘But think about it and I’ll speak to my family about it.’
‘All right,’ she beamed. ‘I’ll think about it and ask other ’bairns what they think I should do. They probably wouldn’t mind, they’d be glad for me. Some of ’em, anyway.’ Her face clouded again. ‘Some of ’em are too sick to care one way or other.’
‘What’s the matter with them?’ he asked. ‘What sort of sickness have they got?’
She shrugged. ‘Vomiting and sweaty – some is worse than others. Must have ate something disagreeable,’ she said dryly. ‘Too much rich food, Master Billy!’
He set off back, walking along the Old Harbour side where there was a slight breeze blowing, and towards the North Bridge where he had arranged to meet the carriage. It was waiting for him already and he started to run. ‘Sorry, Ma, Father. I’ve just had a meeting with someone. I’ve been arranging a new maid for Sammi.’ He studied the astonishment on their faces. ‘I hope you’ll approve.’
After the funeral, the family and a few close friends returned to Humber Villa while the company of black carriages, carrying employees and former shipping colleagues of Isaac Rayner, snaked its way back through the villages into Hull.
Some of the men withdrew into the smoking-room, but the close family gathered in the drawing-room and talked quietly while they ate and drank the refreshments which had been provided for them.
James stood slightly apart and observed them. His mother appeared to be remarkably calm, yet when in church, as he sat at one side of her and Gilbert at the other, he had noticed that, although her face was unseen below the thick black veil, her shoulders shook and her hands holding the prayer book trembled.
Sammi had caught his eye once or twice during the service as she’d sat in the pew across the aisle and had given him a sympathetic nod. He knew that he would have to
speak to her before she left and tell her of his decision about the child. Her father, Uncle William, was very sombre, he seemed to feel the loss of James’s father very keenly; James had observed him several times during the service, surreptitiously blowing his nose with a large white handkerchief, and Aunt Ellen taking his arm and patting it.
Uncle Arthur, on the other hand, who had made the journey from York, was quite composed; he had a glass of wine in his hand and was chatting to someone about financial shares, and which were the best to buy, while his wife sat nearby, sipping tea. Gilbert was busying himself playing host, and James thought that the role suited him well. They had barely had the chance to do more than greet each other, and he guessed that Gilbert was embarrassed over the wedding lapse. Harriet was sitting in a corner talking to someone and James decided that the nicest thing about Gilbert was Harriet. But he needed to talk to Gilbert about financial arrangements their father might have made; he had very little money, the fifty pounds sent to him was almost gone. His father’s lawyer had been at the service and he assumed that his father’s will would be read shortly.
Uncle Arthur turned his attention to Tom. ‘Any news of your brother, young Tom? Has he written yet?’
‘No, sir. Not yet. But he will, in time,’ Tom answered firmly. ‘When he has something to tell us.’
Arthur grunted at the response and then confronted James. ‘So, James. How is life in London? Starving yet, are you? Isn’t that what you artist fellows do?’ He clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘Wearing hair long in London, are they? I thought it was the fashion to have it short these days, like Gilbert’s?’
Gilbert looked up as he passed, his curly hair was cut short and parted in the centre.
James threw back a lock of dark hair. ‘I don’t go in for following fashion, Uncle, I have my mind set on other things.’
His uncle pulled a face. ‘Oh, of course. An aesthete! But you’ll be giving up all this arty nonsense now, won’t you? You’ll be joining the family firm and giving your brother a hand?’
‘Why should James give up his career?’ William chipped in. ‘Give him a chance, Arthur, he’s only just got started.’
James cast a grateful glance at Uncle William. ‘I’m not cut out for business. I’ll leave that to Gilbert. Anyway, Billy has joined the firm, I don’t see that I am needed.’
‘Not for long,’ Billy muttered out of the corner of his mouth and added as James turned towards him, ‘I’m not cut out for it either.’
‘Well, I suppose if you are really dead set on it,’ Arthur pursed his mouth, ‘perhaps we shall have to see what we can do to promote you.’
James bristled. He didn’t need to be promoted. He would get where he wanted with his talent, if he had any, or not at all.
‘Now let me think. Who do we know, my dear?’ Arthur turned to his wife. ‘Ideally, he needs a patron.’
‘Thank you, it’s kind of you,’ James interrupted. ‘But I already have a patron who has seen my work, and I have the promise of support from a well-respected art critic.’
‘Indeed!’ Arthur’s attitude was one of disbelief. ‘So soon?’
‘She is Madame Sinclair, and he is Massimiliano Romanelli.’ James rolled the name majestically and eloquently around his tongue. ‘He’s from Florence.’
‘Romanelli?’ Aunt Henrietta said curiously. ‘Did we not once meet someone by that name, Arthur?’
‘Oh, indeed you did, Aunt.’ James turned to her. ‘I almost forgot, but he did mention that he’d met you in York, many years ago.’
‘Well, bless my soul,’ Arthur broke in. ‘So we did. The very same fellow. How extraordinary! You remember, Mildred, don’t you? You remember the Italian fellow, Romanelli? Didn’t he come here a time or two?’
James’s mother, who had not been taking part in this conversation, had nevertheless overheard and turned her head towards their group. ‘What?’ Her hand fluttered to her neck, a nervous gesture which James noticed she had been using frequently. ‘Who did you say?’ Her fingers strayed to her mouth.
‘Romanelli!’ Arthur boomed. ‘Didn’t he come over here to see you and Isaac? Wanted to paint the river or ships or somesuch?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘What about him?’
‘It’s just that I’ve met him,’ James explained. ‘Through my patron. He’s quite taken with my work. He’s promised to introduce me to Rossetti.’
Mildred bit anxiously on her lips, she was very pale and her hands were shaking.
‘You don’t look well, Mildred.’ Ellen took pity on her sister-in-law. ‘I think the day has been too much for you. Would you like us to leave so that you can go and rest?’
‘No. No, please don’t go. I shall be spending enough time alone in the future. I’m grateful that you are all here now.’ Her gaze was drawn back to James. He had his back partly turned to the window; the curtains, tightly drawn before the funeral as was the custom, had now been opened, and his profile was etched in silhouette. She drew in a succession of short sharp breaths. ‘Massimo,’ she whispered, and only James heard and understood the name and wondered why his mother would use the familiar shortened first name when he had only used it in full.
‘He said he remembered you very well, Mother,’ he said softly, realizing that she was unwell. ‘He asked if you were still as beautiful as you once were.’
‘Did he?’ Her eyes were vague, her voice a mere breath. ‘And he? How does he look?’
‘Well, his hair is dark, but he has a lot of silver streaks in it, particularly in his beard and sideburns. He’s quite distinguished-looking, I suppose – very Italian, with his long nose and dark eyes.’
‘Ah. Yes.’ A smile hovered briefly on her lips. ‘He used to joke about his Roman nose.’
‘My patron, Madame Mariabella Sinclair, jokes about her nose too.’ He smiled tenderly as he thought of her. ‘But she is nevertheless very beautiful.’
‘Mariabella?’ His mother’s hand again fluttered to her throat and played with the string of jet around it.
James nodded, aware that all of his relations were now listening with interest. ‘She is Italian, married to an Englishman. Romanelli was her guardian until her marriage to Sinclair, it was she who introduced me to him.’
‘And so she is promoting you?’ Arthur commented. ‘Is she very rich?’
James bridled and felt his face flush. ‘She is not promoting me, Uncle,’ he said thinly. ‘She is helping me to get started by introducing me to the right people, people who know about Art, like Romanelli.’
Arthur shrugged. ‘Sounds like the same thing to me.’
Mildred rose shakily to her feet. ‘If you will excuse me, I will, after all, go and lie down. Please feel free to stay as long as you wish,’ she assured the relatives and guests. ‘Gilbert and Anne will attend to you. James!’ She put out her hand. ‘Would you help me upstairs?’
28
Tom sat by his father’s bedside in the parlour and told him of the events of the funeral, then, saying that he was tired, he said goodnight to him and to George and Betsy who were in the kitchen, and went up to his room. He sat on the edge of the bed. The house felt empty without Sammi, even though she had only been gone a few short hours, and both his father and George had said that they were missing her already. Betsy hadn’t commented, but then Betsy didn’t seem to be saying much at all lately, having become tearful and morose since their father’s accident. Tonight though, she seemed to have recovered a nervous energy, busying herself constantly since supper, and telling him and George that they could get off to bed and that she would lock up when she had finished doing what she had to do.
Sammi had collected her belongings after they had returned from the funeral, and Aunt Ellen had come inside and waited for her; Tom thought that they both seemed preoccupied.
‘Will you be able to manage, Betsy?’ Aunt Ellen had asked. ‘I’ll find you some more help as soon as I can.’
‘Don’t worry, Aunt Ellen.’ Betsy was much more cheerful than
usual. ‘I’m feeling much better. I can manage well enough, with Nancy’s help.’
But I can’t manage, Tom thought, as he leant with his chin in his hands. At least I can, but I don’t want to. I miss Sammi so much already. How can I cope for the rest of my life without her? For he was in no doubt whatsoever that Sammi was destined for someone other than him; someone with more money, prestige, and position. He looked at his hands and turned them over. They were strong hands, used to rough work, brown and hard and with his right thumb flattened, just as his father’s was.
He sighed and got up and opened the window wider to look out across the night sky. There were few clouds, which promised a fine day tomorrow, and he breathed in the heady summer night air. There was a scent of honeysuckle, lavender and roses, a sweetness which reminded him so much of her; and an earthy smell of harrowed earth, the rich balmy smell of grain and, blowing on the slight breeze, the salty aroma of the sea. He leaned on the window-sill and looked across to where Monkston lay. She doesn’t notice me, of course, he reflected. I’ve always been here. I’ve always been part of her life, one of her kinsfolk, and although we were always close, I have been just as one of her brothers. And today, at Uncle Isaac’s funeral, someone upset her and I suspect that it was James. He said something to her out in the garden – but what? I felt jealous, angry even, when I saw her with James, and I don’t know why. But they had had their heads together as they walked around the garden, and I felt excluded. Yet, he mused, when she came inside again, she came across to me and sat beside me as if she wanted to confide, but didn’t know what to say. Everyone was on edge, understandable under the circumstances – James, Gilbert, Aunt Ellen, Aunt Mildred more than anyone. There was a strange atmosphere.
As he started to undress he thought of Mark, which he did most nights, and wondered where he was, thinking that, if it hadn’t been for Mark’s chance flippant remark, he might never have opened his own eyes to Sammi. She’s so young, he mused, as he slipped between the sheets and lay wide-eyed in the darkness, with his arms behind his head. She must never suspect how I feel; yet I sometimes think that everyone in the whole world must know, that even Sammi wonders, and that is why she questions me. Have we lost something, Tom? she asked after Gilbert’s wedding, and I kissed her hand in reply, when really I wanted to hold her in my arms. Yet I would never want her to suspect that what she had lost was a friend, and found a lover.
