No Wings to Fly

by Jess Foley

  Chapter Thirty-five

  At Pilching station Mr Beeching carried the heavy carpet bag up onto the platform, and there insisted on staying until the Corster train arrived. When at last it drew in he saw Lily and the boy safely into a carriage and put the bag up on the luggage rack along with Lily’s umbrella. That done, he stepped back down onto the platform, and Lily lowered the window and looked out at him.

  ‘You sure you’re going to be all right now, miss?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mr Beeching, we shall be fine.’

  He lifted a hand to touch at his cap, wished her and the boy goodbye, then turned and strode away along the platform.

  Lily watched him go, then pulled up the window and turned to sit beside the child. There were two other people in the compartment, a middle-aged cleric and his female companion. They looked over at the boy and smiled indulgently at him. Lily asked Joshua if he was all right, and he said yes, and added, a little wide-eyed, a touch of wonder in his voice: ‘We’re on the train.’

  ‘Yes, we’re on the train. We’ll be moving soon.’

  ‘I like it on the train,’ he said.

  The clergyman, who had overheard the brief exchange, said to Joshua, smiling, ‘And where are you off to, young man? Somewhere interesting?’

  Joshua looked briefly at Lily, as if for confirmation, then said to the man, ‘We’re going to London, and to Scotland.’

  ‘To London and to Scotland, are you? Well, well, that’s quite a journey. Are you looking forward to it?’

  The boy nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sure you are. It’s going to be very exciting for you.’

  Joshua gave another little nod, and then his face distorted as he sneezed.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ the cleric said, ‘somebody’s got a cold.’

  ‘Well, he’s just getting over one,’ Lily said, ‘aren’t you, Joshie?’

  ‘Yes, I’m just getting over one,’ the boy said.

  There was a little mucus dribbling from his nostrils, and Lily took out her handkerchief and wiped his nose. ‘There you are now, good as new.’

  From along the length of the train came the sound of the carriage doors being slammed shut. The noise, signifying that they were about to leave, made Lily tense, and she steeled herself to try to relax. Moments later came the sound of the guard’s whistle and then they were moving off.

  The clouds overhead gathered ever more closely as the train rattled on through the Wiltshire countryside, and the light in the carriage grew dimmer by the minute. ‘We’re in for a storm,’ the cleric said to the woman at his side, and she nodded agreement. A young mother and two children got on at Sheppey Hart, and they talked in loud voices as they ate sandwiches and drank from a bottle of water. Lily sat looking from the window as the bleak landscape passed by under the ever-darkening sky. As they rode, she marked off the stations on the route, aware that each one was taking her and the child further away. It was not too late, she said to herself; they could get off at any station and take a train back to Pilching. She could take the boy back to The Gables, and make some excuse, and everything would be well, and he would stay there until it was time to leave on another day. But the stations came and went, and she remained in her seat. Close against her side, Joshua chattered for a little while, but then became silent, inhibited by the noisy newcomers, and sat watching them, fascinated, and a little ill-at-ease at their crude manners and boisterousness. He gave a yawn. He had missed his usual midday nap, Lily realised, and he was tired. ‘Not long to go now,’ she murmured to him.

  Then, at long last, the train was drawing into the platform at Corster Junction. She pressed the boy’s shoulder. ‘Here we are, Joshie. We’re getting off now.’

  ‘Are we there? Are we in Scotland?’

  ‘No, dear, we’re just coming into Corster.’

  The woman and her two raucous children were gathering their belongings together. Lily got to her feet. ‘Come,’ she said, ‘we must get ready to get off.’ As she reached up to the luggage rack for her bag, the clergyman rose and lifted it down for her, placing it on the seat. The train was coming to a halt. The woman and her children came pushing by to the door and Lily sat down again, the boy at her side. When the train had come to a stop the door was flung open and the woman and the two boys got out. Lily took up the bag and her reticule and murmured a goodbye to the cleric and his lady. To Joshua she said, ‘Have you got Mr Charlie Dobbin?’ and he said, ‘Yes, I have’, clutching the toy to his chest. She stepped down onto the platform, and as she did so, Joshua cried out, ‘Don’t leave me, Lily!’ and she turned, saying, ‘Oh, I won’t leave you, darling. I’d never leave you.’ Setting the bag at her feet, she reached up and lifted him down.

  ‘There.’ She bent to him and put a gentle hand under his chin, lifting his head a little. ‘Are you all right now?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Good. And are you all right to walk a little way?’

  He nodded again. ‘Yes.’

  She smiled and straightened. ‘Then we’ll go.’

  With her reticule and the carpet bag in one hand, and grasping the boy’s right hand with the other, Lily set off along the platform. All about them porters moved to and fro with wagons of luggage, and travellers meandered or hurried about. The air was full of the sound of voices, guards’ shrill whistles blowing, carriage doors slamming and steam hissing and belching. Joshua observed it all with wide eyes, then after a few yards looked up at Lily and said: ‘Are we going to see Mama and Papa now?’

  ‘What did you say, my dear?’ She could not hear him clearly above the surrounding din, and she bent a little to him while he repeated his question. ‘Come on over here a minute,’ she said, and led him over to the side, near the wall, out of the way of the throng of travellers. There she put the bag down and crouched before him.

  ‘Listen,’ she said softly. ‘Joshie – we’re not going to Scotland just yet.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I thought we were. You said we were.’

  ‘Yes, I know I did, but –’ She came to a halt, momentarily at a loss. Then she summoned up a smile. After all, this was going to be a good thing, something they would both enjoy. ‘No,’ she said, ‘we’re not going up to Scotland just yet.’

  ‘Are we going to London, then?’

  ‘No, we’re not going to London either, not yet. In a few days you’ll be going up to Scotland, to see your mama and papa, but not yet. Not just yet.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, Vinnie’s ill. She’s got the scarlet fever, and your mama doesn’t want you to catch it, does she?’

  ‘No,’ he said with a little shake of his head. ‘No.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ She paused, giving him a bright little smile. ‘So – I tell you what we’re going to do – we’re going to have a little holiday.’

  ‘A holiday?’

  ‘Yes. You know what a holiday is, don’t you?’

  He nodded, but then immediately shook his head. ‘No. Is it nice?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ She beamed, wide-eyed. ‘It’s very nice. A holiday is lovely. On holiday you get to do all kinds of nice things – things you can’t do at other times.’

  ‘Oh.’ He sounded a little awed, but interested.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and that’s what we’ll do.’

  He smiled now. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I like a holiday.’

  ‘Yes, you will, my darling. I know you will.’ She had her hands on his shoulders, looking into his blue eyes. ‘You’re going to have a lovely time, I promise you.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Yes, you are. We both will. Only for three or four days, then we’ll go back to Happerfell, and when Lavinia’s better, Nurse will take you up to Scotland as planned. But first we’ll have our little holiday, just the two of us. We’ll have a jolly time together, won’t we?’

  He nodded, solemn, lips pressed together. ‘Yes.’

  Yes, she said to herself as she crouched before him, they would ha
ve a good time. For a few days they would be together. She would have him to herself for a little while – and then take him home again, to get on with his life, his life without her. She smiled, touched a hand to his cheek, and then straightened again. ‘Come,’ she said, ‘we’ll go and find a cab, and then get ourselves a nice cup of tea.’

  She took his hand, and together they moved along towards the exit, but as they drew closer to it there came a sudden drumming on the roof above their heads. Lily gave a resigned groan and said, ‘Oh, here comes the rain,’ and then added, coming to a sudden stop, ‘My umbrella! Oh, I left my umbrella!’ Taking a firmer grip on the boy’s hand, she hitched up the heavy bag and turned. ‘We must go back and get it.’

  They started back along the platform, Lily hurrying now, for she could see in the distance the guard hoisting his flag. Her effort was useless, she knew; they would not make it in time, besides which, she did not even know which carriage she and the boy had sat in. Seconds later a whistle had blown, and the train was moving on.

  ‘We’re too late,’ Joshua said as they came to a halt. Lily said with a sigh, ‘Yes, I’m afraid we are. Well, there’s nothing else for it, but we must run between the spots.’

  They made their way back along the platform to the exit, descending the steps into the subterranean way that would take them beneath the upward-bound line. Reaching the end of the underway, they found several persons standing sheltering from the rain just within the station entrance, while others out on the pavement went scurrying by, topped by their black umbrellas. Lily looked out onto Station Street, seeking a cab, but where they were usually lined up, waiting for passengers, there was none to be seen. ‘It’s the rain,’ she said to the boy. ‘Everyone wants a cab in this weather.’

  ‘Is this Scotland yet?’ he said.

  ‘What? No, my dear, no.’ Distracted, she looked up and down the street; if there was no cab then there might be an omnibus that would take them part of the way. ‘I told you, this is Corster,’ she said. He was looking up at her anxiously and she told herself that she must show no concern in front of him. ‘Don’t fret, my dear,’ she said. ‘We’ll be all right. Everything’s fine. It’s just this silly old rain, isn’t it? How foolish of me to leave my umbrella behind.’

  People pushed past them, running in from the street to catch their trains, closing dripping umbrellas as they came. Clutching Joshua’s hand, Lily stood looking out at the dreary scene where the carts and carriages and drays trundled by in the relentless rain, their drivers hunched over, the horses streaming. The station clock showed the time at four-forty-six, and there was deep gloom under the rain-heavy clouds.

  Looking up at Lily with wide eyes, Joshua said, ‘Can we go home now?’

  ‘What? Oh – my dear.’ She bent to him. ‘Not just yet. We’ll get a cab, then we’ll be all right, I promise.’ She straightened again. ‘Listen – there’s a fly-man just along the road. Let’s try there. We’ll get a cab there, I’m sure. He’s only a little way – and if he’s not ready we can wait for him in the dry.’ She hesitated for a moment longer, hoping that the downpour would ease, and then, renewing her grip on the boy’s hand, said, ‘Are you ready, dear? Can you be a big boy and run a little?’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘I can run. I can run very fast.’

  ‘Good boy. You’re a good boy. Come, then. Let’s hurry.’

  Clutching the bags and the boy’s hand, she stepped out into the rain. ‘This way.’

  They turned to the left, while the rain beat down. She could not run. The large bag was too heavy, and the boy’s steps were too small, but she walked as quickly as she could. Keeping to the paved footway, they hurried up the street. In seconds, it seemed, they were drenched. In no time at all the hems of Lily’s skirt and coat were wet with the water that splashed up under their feet. The thin soles of her boots were sodden, and she could feel the heavy drops pounding on the black straw of her hat. A little less than two hundred yards from the station they came to the fly-man’s yard. ‘Here we are,’ Lily said with relief, a little breathless. ‘We’ll get shelter here, and we’ll get a cab.’

  Over the entrance to the yard was a fading, painted sign saying ‘Rt. Baxman. Fly Proprietor’. Lily had passed by the premises in earlier days. Now she and the boy hurried under the sign, and as they did so she gave another sigh of relief for before them, in the yard outside the fly-man’s house, she saw a carriage, a rather forlorn-looking brougham, and a chestnut horse between the shafts. ‘Look, we’re in luck,’ she said. ‘The man’s here – his carriage is here – and he must be for hire as his horse is hitched up too.’

  As they crossed the yard there came all at once a sharp and terrifying flash of lightning. It seemed to crack the dark sky, flashing the heavens whiter than white, lighting up the darkness of the scene with a stark brilliance. Joshua gave a little cry, a yelp, halted in his tracks and threw himself at Lily. She, also startled by the lightning, stood for a moment with the boy’s arms clutching her about her knees. Only seconds after the lightning flash came a clap of thunder, and the child cried out again and gripped her tightly through her coat and skirt. Dropping the carpet bag onto the wet ground, she bent to him. ‘It’s all right, it’s all right.’

  But his terror could not be assuaged with her words, and he only held her more tightly, his face buried in the fabric of her coat. She crouched, heedless of her hems in the wet, and put her arms around him. Through the thin wool of her gloves she could feel that his coat was saturated. Lightning flashed again, and thunder cracked and growled. He whimpered, trying to press even closer, and she thought of that other time, in the house, when the thunderstorm had driven him into her arms. ‘Just be brave for a while longer,’ she said. ‘Soon we’ll be in the dry.’ Holding him by the shoulders, she eased him a little from her body. His face glistened with the rain in the dull light. ‘Come on, let’s get out of the rain.’ She straightened, taking his hand.

  The fly-man’s horse and carriage were standing close to the house’s back door. Lily and the boy hurried forward, Lily casting her eyes about for a glimpse of the driver. She could see no signs of life anywhere, though she saw that the door to the house was slightly ajar. Coming to a stop below the step leading to the narrow porch, she called out, ‘Hello . . .? Is there someone there . . .? Hello . . .?’

  There was no answer. The roof of the porch was so shallow that it gave nothing but the very smallest shelter from the rain. She called out again, ‘Hello . . .? Mr Baxman? Are you there?’

  When there still came no answer she said to Joshua, ‘Come on, we’ve got to get you into the dry for a minute.’ Leaving the bags on the ground next to the step, she took the boy’s hand and led him over to the carriage. After only a moment of hesitation she opened its door. It was, as she expected, empty. She bent and picked up the boy and placed him inside the carriage. ‘There you are, Joshie. Now you’re out of the rain.’ She climbed up after him and lifted him onto the forward-facing seat. ‘Now you wait here, my dear. I’ll get the bags and see the man. We’ll soon be off, you’ll see.’ She backed away, and he sat looking at her as she stood in the doorway. There was so little light in the carriage interior, and his eyes were dark pools in the blur of his face. The rain was dripping from his boots onto the floor. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said.

  Returning to the porch, she picked up her reticule and the carpet bag and then carried them to the carriage. When she opened the door to place them inside she saw that the boy was lying on the seat. His eyes were closed. He had pulled off his hat and it lay beside him. She deposited the bags on the floor, then stepped back and quietly closed the door behind her.

  Back once more at the door of the house, she knocked again. The fly-man had to be around; he was bound to be; he could not be far away; he would not leave his horse in such a situation. She knocked again, and waited, then stepped forward up onto the step and pushed the door open a fraction wider. ‘Hello . . .?’ she called. ‘Hello, sir . . .? Is there anyone there .
. .?’

  There was no answer. She stood, uncertain, and as she did so she realised that the rain was easing, it was coming to a stop. With relief, she looked up, but saw that the skies were as dark as ever. There was no doubt that the rain would soon be back. She waited another moment, and then turned in the direction of the carriage. She must see if the boy was all right. She would wait with him inside the carriage; the fly-owner was bound to be out soon.

  She moved across the cobbles, heedless of the puddles, up to the carriage door again, reaching up for the handle.

  ‘Hey! You there! Get away from that door!’

  The man’s voice startled her. It came not from the house, but from around the corner of the yard where an outhouse stood. She turned at the harsh sound and saw a tall, lean man coming towards her across the yard. He was clad in a brown waterproof cape and a wide-brimmed, waterproof hat. He carried in one hand a pail, and in the other a mop and some rags. She remained standing by the carriage.

  ‘Get away!’ the man barked out as he came on. ‘Get away from the coach this instant.’

  She was puzzled at the man’s behaviour. ‘Sir,’ she said as he drew nearer, ‘I mean no harm. I’m wanting to hire you if you’re free. I need to get to Brookham Way on the other side of the town.’

  ‘The cab’s not for hire,’ he said bluntly. There was no mistaking the anger in his voice. He came to a stop before her and set down the pail. It was full of liquid, and a strong, pungent scent rose from it in the heavy, damp air. Lily recognised the smell as that of Lysol.

  ‘You best go to the station and pick up a cab there,’ the man said.

  ‘I couldn’t get one,’ she said. ‘They were all taken. That’s why I came to you.’ She could not understand his manner. ‘Can’t you help me, sir?’ she said.

  ‘I just told you, miss, I’m not for hire,’ he said. ‘So be off with you.’

  There was nothing more to be said, and feeling on the verge of tears of frustration she reached out and grasped the carriage door handle. Seeing her action, the man stepped forward and roughly brushed her hand from it. ‘Get away from that handle,’ he said. ‘Don’t touch anything. Get away.’