No Wings to Fly

by Jess Foley

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I love you.’

  He pressed a hand to his chest. ‘I shall keep those words here. I shall need them to keep me going in the difficult times.’

  He picked up his jacket, gave it a little shake, and pulled it on. Looking into a small discoloured glass beside the mantelpiece he ran a hand over his hair and adjusted the knot of his tie. He turned back to her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I’ll write to you soon.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And I’ll be back by the end of October. Just – just be waiting for me.’

  ‘I will.’ She would count the days.

  ‘Kiss me again . . .’

  His face bent to hers and once more she felt his lips pressing on her own, while his arms came around her and held her fast. She could have had the moment last for ever, but then he was drawing back, holding her at arms’ length, looking down into her eyes again.

  ‘Goodbye, Lily.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  He released her, took up his hat and case, and went to the door. She was still standing there as she heard his footsteps moving through the hall, the opening and closing of the front door and then the sudden silence of the little house.

  Later, at Rowanleigh, Lily told Miss Elsie of the offer of the governess’s post from Mr Corelman, and that she was to start work for him on the eleventh of next month. When Miss Elsie asked where she planned to stay till she moved to Seston, Lily said she was keeping on her room in Little Patten. Miss Elsie responded saying she would not hear of such a thing, and that Lily must come and stay at Rowanleigh.

  So, the following afternoon Lily made her way to her lodgings in Ashway Lane. It did not take long for her few belongings to be packed up, and after she had said her sad goodbyes to Mrs Thorne, she set off back for Sherell.

  At Rowanleigh the hours passed slowly. Lily did her best to start planning some lessons for her first week with the Corelman children, but the task was not easy, for she was working much in the dark; she had not met the children, nor yet, come to that, had any discussion with their father about their lessons. Nevertheless, bearing in mind the forceful nature of Mr Corelman, she must do what she could.

  Frequently as she worked, her thoughts moved to Joel. She wondered how he was faring and where he was in the course of his travels. So often she thought back to their meeting in the little empty house. She still found it hard to grasp that it had actually happened, that he had been there and said such things to her. She heard again his words, listened again to the tone of his voice, and saw again the tenderness in his face. And while in one part of her mind she dared not hope for too much, in another part she was ready and eager to accept it all. She must believe him, she told herself. He truly loved her; she was sure of it now. With the thought she felt a little surge of happiness that rose and filled her heart.

  Of the fact that Joel had come back into her life, she said nothing to Miss Elsie. There would be a time when she could speak of it, but that time was not yet come.

  On Tuesday morning the postman came bearing a letter from Tom:

  Dear Lil,

  I have fixed it with Mr Ballantine and I can get into Corster next Friday. I’ll see you by the square again if you can make it about six-thirty. I’m glad to tell you by the way that things are looking good for me here. They seem very pleased with me, so I’m in real hopes of being kept on. I’m making some nice friends too, and Cissie tells me if I’m good I might get another rose buttonhole. Ha ha.

  Your loving brother

  Tom

  Lily read his letter in a glow of pleasure, and immediately sat down to dash off a few lines in reply, telling him that she would be there to meet him. Also, she wrote that she had at long last found new employment, and was to begin in her new position in a fortnight, on the eleventh, with a family in Seston.

  Early on Friday morning she received in the post an envelope that had been addressed to her at Roseberry Cottage in Little Patten, and forwarded on by Mrs Thorne. Mary had brought it up to Lily’s room and Lily held it in her hand as she stood at the window looking out onto a green lawn that was still almost sparkling under its fading dew. She had known a certain very positive feeling within her on waking that morning. She had thought of Joel once more, and of his promises, and looked forward with renewed hope in her heart to the time when he would be returning from France. There was also the fact that she was due to meet Tom that evening.

  The envelope, which she had just opened, held a smaller envelope addressed to her at the Gazette, and was surely a response to her classified advertisement in the newspaper. Whatever might be offered now, however, would be too late, she thought; she was already committed to Mr Corelman.

  Briefly she took in the writing on the envelope – a casual, dashed-off hand – then tore open the flap and took out the letter. It was with a shock that struck to her very core, that she began to take in the significance of what was before her:

  The Gables

  Bourneway

  Happerfell

  Nr Corster, Wilts

  28th August 1871

  Dear Miss Clair,

  I write in reply to your recent advert in the Corster Gazette. I realise that you may well have been inundated with responses, and will therefore perhaps find our proposal less than appealing, but I am drawn to approach you, nevertheless. I will not prevaricate, but must announce at once that we are seeking a governess as a temporary measure, for a few weeks beginning this autumn. This is for our daughter Lavinia, whose regular governess has unfortunately had to leave us. We shall be moving to Scotland later in the year, after which time our daughter will be going to school. In the meantime, however, she is in need of tuition, and we cannot see her suffering boredom, as is wont to be her lot if she is left to her own devices for any length of time. This, then, prompts me to write – on the off-chance that you might similarly find yourself at a loose end, perhaps whilst being between engagements. So, if you are interested in such a temporary post, perhaps you would be good enough to agree to come and see us in Happerfell, and learn a little more about us. We are going away for a couple of weeks shortly, but we would suggest that after our return you come to see us on Tuesday, 19th September at, say, three in the afternoon. Happerfell is a small place, and you are bound to find us. The nearest railway station is Pilching. Please let us know if you are interested, and can attend.

  Yours truly,

  John Soameson

  The hands of the corn exchange clock were just coming up to six-fifteen as Lily walked through the square. It was a warm, balmy evening. The shops and offices were closing now, and many of the clerks, deliverymen and shop assistants were making their way back to their homes for their evening meals and what leisure time remained.

  Having paused only to buy a copy of the Corster Gazette from a newsvendor, she moved on towards the entrance to the Gardens. On reaching the flagstoned area before the gates, she found a seat near the fountain and sat down.

  She looked around for Tom, but he was nowhere in sight. She was early; he would be here soon. As her glance moved back and forth across the square she tried to relax, but she was preoccupied. She could not for long escape thoughts of the letter that had come to her that morning from Mr Soameson in Happerfell.

  After reading it she had stood holding it in trembling hands, scarcely able to take in the contents. What should she do about it? she had asked herself. And then the answer had come that she had no option but to reply to it, to thank Mr Soameson for his interest, but tell him that she was already engaged for employment.

  But she could not so easily dismiss the implications of the letter. Georgie . . . She had been invited to the house where he lived. She could go into the house where he lived as the Soamesons’ son . . . But no, it was madness to think along such lines, she admonished herself. Then she told herself that she was fortunate to have her agreement with Mr Corelman – that agreement that prevented her from even considering the offer contained in the letter from Happerfell.
/>   She must not dwell on the matter; it was too tormenting. From her bag she took the newspaper and scanned the first few pages. There was a piece about the formation of the local government boards that were to be set up throughout the country, and a report of alarming outbreaks of smallpox in Bath and Bristol. There was also a report of a fire at a factory in Redbury. She passed over all of it – nothing of it could touch her – and put the paper back in her bag.

  A glance at the clock on the wall of the corn exchange showed the time coming up to seven o’clock. Still no sign of Tom.

  She continued to wait while the minutes passed and the light faded, but then at last she gathered up her bag and rose from the bench. It was almost eight o’clock. Tom would not be coming now.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The early, mellow days of September passed by as Lily waited to hear some word from Tom, hoping every day for a letter, but there was nothing. Friday came, a week to the day since she had waited for him outside the Corster Victoria Gardens, and still there was no word. She would give it until Monday, she decided, and then if there was still nothing she would write to him at the farm in Wilton Ferres. In the meantime she must get on, for that same coming Monday would see her going to her new position at Seston. Mr Corelman had written to say that he would be occupied in Redbury for most of the day, but would expect her at the house at four in the afternoon.

  She did not look forward to it. In her room on the Sunday afternoon, she bent over the bed packing into her box the last few items of linen she had ironed that morning. She felt tense and on edge, as if all the time she was waiting for something to happen. She had no sense of ease as she thought about the move to Seston. No matter how much she tried to comfort herself, the prospect was daunting. But then she told herself not to be foolish, and to have confidence in her ability. It was true that Mr Corelman had not appeared to be the most engaging of employers, but she was conscientious and able, and she would succeed.

  Joel, too, was on her mind. He would be well into his travels now, though where he might be she could not try to guess. Was he thinking of her? It would be weeks before they could meet again, but she dared not think of that time, that time that existed in his promise.

  She straightened from her task and moved to the window and looked down onto the lawn. The blackbird was picking about among the sparse scattering of dead leaves that lay in the margins of the herbaceous border. Her thoughts were in turmoil, and the cause was not only Joel, or her forthcoming employment, or her brother’s failure to meet her; there was also the matter of the letter.

  It lay in the top drawer of the small chest near her bed, where it had been for over a week. On several occasions she had taken it out and read it through. She knew it now almost by heart.

  The letter offered to her the most wonderful opportunity – the opportunity to see her son. However, although her heart surged at the thought of such a meeting, she knew that it could not happen. Oh, but to see him again – but she must not even think of it. No possible good could ever come from such an action. Things had changed, and had changed for ever. For a little while she had been his whole world, his everything, but no more. He had a new life, of which she was no longer a part. There was a woman he knew and loved as his mother, a man he loved as his father – and now, she had learnt from the letter, he had a sister too. His new world was complete.

  The blackbird was still there, tossing aside the few dead leaves that Mr Shad’s gardening had left behind. How simple life was for some living creatures, she thought. With a sigh she turned away from the window and moved back to the bed. A little more effort and the task was finished, the box was packed. She would be ready to leave the next day.

  She stood before the glass in the hall to give a final check on her appearance and to twitch at her hat. Miss Elsie was nearby, waiting to see her off. As Lily lingered she could feel her heart beating in her breast. ‘Well,’ she said, giving a final touch at her collar, ‘it’s one o’clock. Time I was away. Mr Shad will be waiting and I mustn’t miss my train.’

  She turned and started towards the rear of the house, Miss Elsie following. Close to the back door her box and valise stood on the polished tiles, waiting to be picked up by Mr Shad, who would be knocking at any moment to say he was ready. Reaching the door, Lily turned to Miss Elsie and said, a note of bravado in her tone:

  ‘Well – wish me luck.’

  ‘Of course I wish you luck,’ Miss Elsie said, ‘Though you won’t need it.’

  ‘I wish I could be as sure.’ Lily hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and tentatively put her arms around Miss Elsie’s shoulders. As she did so she could smell the scent of Miss Elsie’s tobacco. ‘Goodbye,’ she said. ‘You’ve been so kind, so good. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’

  Miss Elsie shrugged herself out of the embrace, a little embarrassed. ‘No, my dear, I’ve done nothing.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Lily said. ‘I couldn’t begin to tell you how much.’

  Miss Elsie gave a gruff laugh. ‘Oh, get along, Lily, do. Such nonsense. You’ll be back here again for a weekend before you know it.’

  Footsteps sounded on the tiles as Lily moved to open the door, and Mary came towards them. ‘Ah, I just caught you, miss.’ She held out an envelope. ‘Postman’s just been, and left this for you.’

  Lily thanked her, took the envelope and looked at the writing on it. It was totally unfamiliar. Inserting her fingertip under the flap she tore it open.

  It was a brief letter, with a printed heading.

  Queen Victoria Infirmary, Grassinghill, Wiltshire

  7th September 1871

  Dear Miss Clair,

  We are writing with the information that your brother, Mr Thomas Wesley Clair, is at present a patient in the Infirmary at Grassinghill. He has given us your name and address with the request that you, as next of kin, are informed of his whereabouts. He has been here since his admittance on Tuesday, 29th August. If you wish to visit him, please be advised that visiting hours are strictly between 10.30 and 11.30 a.m. and 3 and 4 p.m. No exceptions are made to these rules other than in the most exceptional circumstances. If you should wish to visit outside these hours, please apply to the Matron, Miss J. Lavell.

  Yours truly,

  J. D. Carpenter

  Lily stood with the letter in her hand. Any anxiety about her employment with Mr Corelman had vanished. She looked up to see Miss Elsie looking at her with wide eyes.

  ‘My brother,’ Lily said, ‘– he’s ill. He’s in the infirmary at Grassinghill.’

  ‘Oh, dear. Do they say what’s wrong?’

  ‘No – just that he’s a patient. He’s been there almost two weeks.’

  Miss Elsie frowned. ‘What are you going to do?’

  Lily did not hesitate. ‘I’m going there. I must go there now.’

  ‘What about Mr Corelman? He’ll be expecting you.’

  ‘I can’t help that. I must go and see Tom.’

  As Lily spoke there came a knock at the door. ‘I come for your things, miss,’ Mr Shad said to Lily. ‘We’d best get off, if you’re to get your train.’

  ‘Oh – Mr Shad – leave them, leave them.’ Lily’s hands fluttered in her nervousness. ‘I’m not going to Seston yet. I have to get to Grassinghill – as soon as possible.’

  ‘Grassinghill, miss?’

  ‘Yes, the infirmary there. I must get there right away.’

  She reached the infirmary at Grassinghill at three-forty. She had had to get a train to Corster, where she had changed for one to Wilton Ferres. From there she had boarded a coach that took her almost to the gates.

  The infirmary was situated on the outskirts of the village, in a street with few dwellings. Lily had alighted outside an inn, and walked the fifty yards to the infirmary’s entrance. Standing at the open gates she took in the building before her. It was a grim-looking place, of three grey-stone storeys, with not one gracious line in all its expanse. From the courtyard, she made her way to the
front entrance, over which she read the sign: Queen Victoria Infirmary and Workhouse, then mounted the three steps of the wide porch and pushed open the door.

  Inside, she found herself in a cavernous hall, with a stone floor and whitewashed walls. A long corridor led from it. Two nurses in starched white uniforms and wide white caps like flying birds crossed through the hall and disappeared through one of the doors that opened off the corridor. A few yards away an old women knelt scrubbing the stone. The pungent smell of lye was in the air. Over to the right was a desk, behind which sat a porter, writing in a book. Lily went to him and he looked up as she appeared next to him. ‘Yes, miss, can I ’elp you?’

  Lily already had the letter out of her bag as she began to speak. ‘I received this letter,’ she said, ‘telling me my brother is a patient here. I’ve come to see him.’

  The man said at once, ‘You’d best go to the nurses’ office, miss. They’ll tell you where to go.’ He pointed off along the corridor. ‘Go to the end room on the left. Somebody’ll ’elp you there.’

  Lily thanked him and went down the corridor. There were people coming and going in all directions. From beyond one of the open doors she passed, a baby cried, its piercing yells ringing out. In another she saw a group of people surrounding a bed. In a third some women stood before water taps, washing out receptacles. The last room lay just yards further on, and she came to a stop at its slightly open door and knocked on one of the panels.

  The door was pulled wide and a woman stood there in a white apron over her grey dress, with a tight-fitting head-dress over her short hair. ‘Yes, miss?’ Her voice was brisk. ‘I’m Sister Weston. Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m sorry to trouble you,’ Lily said, ‘but I’ve come to see my brother.’ She held out the letter and the woman took it and gave it an appraising glance. ‘Ah, yes,’ the nurse said, ‘Thomas Clair.’ She nodded solemnly. ‘Very unfortunate.’ She handed back the letter, and Lily put it into her bag.