by Jess Foley
That said, I’m glad to report that things are going as expected here; there are no surprises, which perhaps is a good thing. Routine and dullness are, if nothing else, safe. I am, as before, keeping very busy with the store – and the demands upon me and my time are even greater with my father being less than his robust self. It appears now that he suffered a slight stroke. We are all hoping and expecting that he will make a complete recovery, but the mild debilitation he has suffered has given him food for thought, and as a result we now hope that he is becoming a little more resigned to being less involved in the work, and more ready to delegate. Even so, I should be free to return near the end of the month, so it will not be long now. And as I said above, no matter how the time might appear to crawl, eventually it will pass and we shall be together again.
Believe me, I cannot wait for that time. I must say at this point, though, that I have not yet spoken to my father about us. I shall do so as soon as I feel the time is right, but while his health remains frail I cannot risk causing him further hurt. Have no fear, though, when the time comes I shall put all before him. Likewise, when Simone returns to Paris with her mother I shall make clear to her the change in my feelings and in my situation. I do not pretend for one moment that this is going to be an easy matter, and I dread the thought of causing her distress – which is what will certainly happen. And not only Simone, but her mother too. But I know now that I cannot live for another. I am, when it comes down to it, selfish, and I can only envisage my own happiness in this. I do want to assure you, though, that when I come back to Corster it will be as a free man, a free man who will never stop loving you.
Please write to me here and let me know how you are. I think about you so much. You cannot imagine how pleased I was to get your letter just before I left Brussels, and learnt that you are happily employed in your new situation. Not that I would wish it to continue indefinitely, for it is certain that as my wife you will no longer be a governess to other people’s children.
I shall close now, and hope that this reaches you soon. And, please, think of me – as you know I am thinking of you.
Your loving
Joel
A little later, leaving Lavinia at work at her lesson, Lily went downstairs, heading for the kitchen for a glass of water. As she reached the foot of the stairs, Mrs Soameson appeared in the open doorway of the morning room. ‘Ah, Miss Clair,’ she said, ‘I’ve been watching out for you. Can you come in for a minute?’ She was in mourning now, wearing a black bombazine dress and a black lace cap.
Lily went into the room and, at her mistress’s bidding, sat in one of the small armchairs near the sofa. As Mrs Soameson sat down facing her, she said with a smile, ‘A quiet time of day, thank heaven. Joshie’s sleeping, and Lavinia’s busy, no doubt.’
Lily nodded. ‘Oh, yes, indeed, ma’am. We’re doing history. She’s working on a written exercise now.’
Mrs Soameson gave a little nod, paused briefly, then asked with sympathy in her voice: ‘How did your day go, may I ask? Your poor brother’s funeral?’
Lily, prepared for the question, replied that all had gone as expected, though she went into no detail of the day’s events. Mrs Soameson took in her words as she spoke, but knowing of the immediate circumstances of Tom’s death, did not pry further. After a minute or two, having gone on to speak of everyday matters, she said with a sigh, ‘I wanted a word with you, Miss Clair. I’m afraid we’re in something of a state of upheaval here. Mr Soameson returned from Edinburgh this afternoon. Did you know that?’
‘Yes, I did, ma’am. Lizzie told me when I came in.’
Mrs Soameson nodded. ‘Yes, and it’s certain now that we’re going to be leaving sooner than planned.’
‘Oh, really, ma’am?’
‘Indeed, yes. Mr Soameson is talking about going in the middle of next month. Probably on the eleventh.’
‘Oh,’ Lily said,
‘so soon.’ ‘So soon, yes. The business here – the paper mill – the sale is going through very smoothly, and the managers are absolutely reliable. There’s nothing really now to stay on for – whereas Mr Soameson is very much needed back in Edinburgh, and as soon as possible.’ She clasped her hands. ‘Oh, there’s going to be so much to do in a short space of time, but now we’ve made the decision we have to get on with things. The lease on this place is due to end soon, anyway, so that’s no problem. Our future is there – in Edinburgh. And for the children too. Lavinia will be able to start school right away.’ She gave a little shake of her head, and said, ‘I’m really sorry about you, Miss Clair, for it means you won’t have so long in our employment as we’d anticipated, but – oh, dear, these things can’t be helped.’
‘Of course not,’ Lily said. ‘I do understand.’
Mrs Soameson looked around at the room and gave a sigh. ‘A move is such a daunting task – but if we grasp the nettle it’ll get done. It has to – we have no choice.’ She waved a hand, taking in the furniture around them. ‘At a time like this I’m happy to say that not a lot of this furniture belongs to us, so it’ll be mostly just our personal things to pack up.’ She smiled. ‘And we shall be very glad of any help you can give us in that respect, Miss Clair.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Lily said. ‘Anything I can do . . .’
‘We haven’t told the children yet,’ Mrs Soameson went on. ‘That’ll be done in good time. Lavinia will remember her old home, of course, but for Joshie it’ll all be quite new. He was born here and has never set foot outside England.’
Joshie. In a few weeks he would be gone, Lily said to herself. When that happened she would never see him again.
‘Anyway,’ Mrs Soameson went on, ‘I had to let you know without delay, for you’ll want to look around as soon as possible for a new position.’
‘Yes.’ Lily gave a nod. ‘Thank you. I’ll look in the Gazette on Friday.’
Chapter Thirty-two
Immediately following Mr Soameson’s return from Edinburgh, the servants and anyone else available were set to the task of packing up the family’s belongings in preparation for their transfer on the long route to Scotland. There was an air of excitement that pervaded the whole house.
‘We’re going back to Edinburgh early, miss,’ Lavinia said to Lily as they settled to work in the school room on the Friday morning. ‘Mama told me after breakfast.’
Yes, Lily replied, she was aware of it.
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Lavinia said. ‘Though I’m sorry you won’t be coming with us, miss.’
‘Well – there you are. I shall stay here in Wiltshire.’
‘If you came with us you could be governess for Joshie. He’ll need one soon.’
‘Yes, he will.’
‘What will you do, miss, when we’re gone? Go as governess to some other little girl.’
‘I hope I shall be able to.’
‘Or perhaps you’ll get married, miss.’
Lily smiled. ‘Who knows. Perhaps I shall.’
The Corster Gazette was delivered to the house every Friday, and in the short break between morning and afternoon lessons, Lily left the schoolroom to go downstairs to see if the paper was available for a few minutes. She must needs study the classified advertisements. Notwithstanding that her future was with Joel, she must, before that future was formed, take care of the present, and that meant finding another post for when her employment with the Soamesons came to an end.
She found the newspaper on the hall table and took it back up to the schoolroom where she would be alone until Lavinia returned for her afternoon lessons. The main news article on the front page told of the Corster isolation hospital – which held no more than a dozen beds – being full with smallpox victims, so that more and more sufferers were having to be treated in their homes. She turned to the pages of classified advertisements, and after a brief search in the ‘Positions Vacant’ column found an advertisement from a gentleman in Little Hawes who was seeking a governess for his two children from the beginning of Jan
uary. At once she set to write a letter in response.
Later that day she received a letter from the Corster constabulary, informing her that at her convenience she might call at the office and retrieve her late brother’s effects. She went into Corster the next afternoon, and at the police station was brought a tray bearing the items that had been in Tom’s possession when he had died. There was a pocket knife, a handkerchief, her own last letter to him, a few coppers and an envelope containing the thirty pounds. She signed a receipt for the items, and took them away.
On Sunday she went to Sherrell to spend the day with Miss Elsie. The skies were clear, and the thinning October sun shone down on the autumn landscape. The grass of the meadows was still green, but the leaves of many of the trees had turned to brown and gold. As she walked along the lane towards Rowanleigh she saw that the leaves of the horsechestnut were yellowing, while the brown, shiny conkers, such a joy to children, lay scattered over the grass verge and the road.
Later, sitting with Miss Elsie in her study over tea, Lily handed her the thirty pounds, along with the money left over after paying for Tom’s funeral. She would repay the sum used as soon as possible, she said. She went on to speak briefly of the burial, and then of the news that her employers were to go to Scotland much sooner than originally planned. They intended now, she said, to depart in November, the date being set for Saturday the eleventh.
‘So soon,’ said Miss Elsie. ‘That’s only three weeks away.’
‘Yes.’
There was a brief silence, then Miss Elsie said, ‘You’re going to miss the child, I’m sure.’
‘Lavinia’s an excellent pupil,’ Lily said. ‘I’ve been so fortunate in that respect.’
‘I was thinking of the boy.’
Lily said nothing, but gave a brief nod.
‘You still see him, do you – about the house?’
‘Yes.’ Lily nodded. Then, in a little quiet outburst, she added, ‘Every moment with him is precious!’
Miss Elsie gazed at her, unable to hide the faint expression of dismay on her face. ‘You’ll have to let go, Lily,’ she said into the quiet. ‘You’ll have to let go eventually.’
‘Of course. I know that.’
‘Do you?’
‘Of course. I’m realistic. I have to be.’
‘Once the family’s moved away – and so far away – it’s doubtful that you’ll ever see him again.’
‘I know. I know.’ Lily spoke quickly, almost impatiently. While she realised the truth of Miss Elsie’s words she did not wish to dwell upon them. ‘I know he’ll be gone,’ she said. ‘I’ve known that from the start.’ She forced a smile. ‘I told you – I’m realistic about this.’
Miss Elsie’s expression softened. ‘I’m sure you are.’ She paused. ‘I just don’t want to see you hurt – again.’
‘There is no fear of that,’ Lily said with a touch of bravado in her tone. She could have added, Anyway – other things are happening in my life. Joel – Mr Goodhart – is due in England at the end of the month. And then my life will be changed. But she held back. Something in her kept her silent. She would wait, wait until everything was settled.
The letter that Lily had waited for from Joel came on Tuesday. It arrived by the first post and she read it in the privacy of her room. It had come from Paris, from the apartment on the Rue de Soire and was dated Monday the sixteenth of October. It had taken just over a week to get there. He had written:
My dearest Lily,
I am writing this in some haste, as it must get to you before I return. And as time is of the essence, then it must necessarily be brief. I am due to leave Paris on the evening of Friday 27th, and to be back in England on Saturday, which will leave me no time to contact you that day once I’m back. Can you meet me on the Sunday, 29th? Can you have time off on that day? I do hope you can. In Market Street, close to the theatre, is a little restaurant called the Crimmond. Can you meet me there? You will not wish to wait there alone, so I will be there from the time of its opening at six o’clock. If you could try to arrive about 6.30 that would be ideal. We can eat there, or go on somewhere else – whatever you wish.
You will not be able to reply to this letter, for I shall have left France before any letter reaches me. Try to be there, though, please. In any case I shall wait till seven-thirty. If you have not arrived by then I shall assume that you have been prevented from coming, or that you have not received this letter.
Before I go I must tell you that it has been done – what I promised. Simone returned yesterday and we spoke at length. It was the most difficult thing I have ever had to do in my life, and I must tell you that I would never wish to do it again. To see someone suffer so much pain and anguish, and to know that oneself is the cause of that suffering is the most sobering of experiences. I cannot say more at this point. I have not yet spoken to my father on the matter, due to his present frailty, but I plan to do so before I leave. This will be another task for which I have no appetite, but which has to be undertaken.
Think of me, as I shall think of you.
Waiting, longing, to see you, I am, ever and always,
Your
Joel
So it was done. He had gained his freedom. She sighed, exhaling the breath held too long in her lungs as she had reads his words, feeling the tension drain from her body. It was done. And in a short a time he would be back. Just five days and they would be together again.
She held on to the thought, and in all the horror of the past weeks it was the one single ray, the one candle flame, that brought light into the dark.
There came in the post the next day a letter from the Corster coroner’s Court informing her that the inquest into the death of her brother would be resumed on November the first, and that she would be required to attend on that morning at ten-thirty.
The next day, Thursday, brought a letter in answer to her response to the classified advertisement in the Corster Gazette. In it, the writer, a Mr Arthur Molle, said that he and his wife were seeking a governess for their son and daughter of six and seven years, from the beginning of the new year. He would be away from home for a while, he added, but if Miss Clair was interested he would like her to come to Little Hawes for interview in mid-November. A specific day and time would be arranged. Lily wrote back at once to say she would be pleased to attend, and would look forward to hearing again from Mr Molle nearer the time.
On Friday, the thought was constantly with her that Joel would be setting out from Paris that evening – and on Saturday too, from the moment she awoke, he was there on her mind. She did not know at what hour he would be arriving at his home in Corster, but frequently she pictured him on his journey, stepping off the boat at Dover or sitting on the train bound for the West Country. Each hour brought her nearer the moment when they would be together.
Then Sunday came, at last, and the minutes and the hours dragged by, but eventually, at long last, it was time to get ready to go to meet him.
On the train to Corster she sat looking out at the autumn scenery. Occasionally, when the train passed through areas deeply shadowed by trees or the high chalk banks that marked the route she caught brief glimpses of her reflection. Though these revealed nothing of the shine of anticipation in her eyes, or the touch of anxiety in the set of her mouth, she knew that they must be there.
In Corster when she alighted she felt the urge to hurry, but she held back; it was not yet six o’clock. Near the end of the platform was a ladies’ waiting room, and she went in and sat on a bench while fifteen slow minutes passed by. From where she sat she kept an eye on the station clock, and when the hands came to six-fifteen she picked up her bag and umbrella and went out of the station.
The town’s streets were not so busy on a Sunday. As she turned into Market Street she heard the clock of St Margaret’s church strike the half-hour. The Crimmond restaurant was well-established in Corster. A wide-fronted Georgian building, it had tubs of evergreens on either side of its oak front door. It was six
-thirty when Lily entered, and she was approached at once by the head waiter, who gave her a little bow, and said, ‘Yes, madam, good evening.’
Lily politely returned his greeting and said that she was there to meet a friend, Mr Goodhart. As she spoke she was already looking around, hoping to catch sight of Joel. The interior was not spacious, and several diners were already seated, though most of the tables were still empty. Did madam’s friend make a reservation, the waiter asked, to which Lily replied that she thought not. Then perhaps, the man said, she would like to take a seat and wait for the gentleman. She thanked him and he took her coat from her and led her to a table over by a window. As she sat down the waiter asked her if she would like to order something while she waited. Although she wanted nothing, she said she would have a little tea.
As she sat there, other diners came in and were led to their places. The waiter brought her tea in a thick white china pot and she poured it out and sat sipping at it, wondering where to direct her gaze. She felt self-conscious sitting there alone, when every other diner in the place was in company. Eventually she heard the sound of the church clock striking the hour of seven. By this time the restaurant was well over half full. She had drunk one cup of tea that she did not want, and now poured a second. She toyed with it merely, though, sipping in a desultory fashion. When the waiter came to her once more he looked at her sympathetically. Did madam wish for anything else? he asked, and Lily replied with thanks that she did not, not for the present. He nodded his head and went away again.
The minutes passed. Almost every table in the place was now occupied. She knew she could not continue to sit there without ordering something more – and now here was the waiter coming to her again, his eyebrows rising slightly as he asked the question he was bound to ask: ‘Is there anything else you would like, madam?’ No, she said, thanking him, and then added, ‘Please – if you’d be kind enough to bring me my bill . . .’ Minutes later she had paid, and was taking up her bag and umbrella.
