No Wings to Fly

by Jess Foley

  ‘But sir –’

  ‘I told you – get away. Just get away.’ Then he added, without pause, ‘Well, what are you standin’ there for? I told you, get away.’

  When she reached for the handle again, he snatched at her wrist. ‘You deaf or summat?’ he said, ‘I told you not to touch nothing. What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘The child –’ she said. ‘My – my boy. He’s in the coach –’

  ‘What?’ The man looked horrified. ‘You got a child in there?’

  ‘He’s not doing any harm,’ she protested. ‘He was just – sheltering from the rain while I tried to find you.’

  ‘Dear God!’ the man muttered. ‘Get him out. Get him out at once.’ Throwing the mop and rags down onto the wet ground, he stepped forward and yanked open the door. Past his shoulder Lily could see the boy lying stretched out, his face on the coarse fabric of the seat. ‘Get ’im out,’ the man said. ‘Get the little mite out!’

  He held the door open wide, and Lily stepped up into the carriage and bent to the boy, who began to sit up. The raised voices had alarmed him, and she could see the distress in his face.

  ‘Come, Joshie,’ she said gently. ‘We can’t stay here. We have to find another cab.’ She pulled him upright on the seat. ‘Come on, my dear. Let’s put your hat back on and get you out.’ She took up his wet hat and put it on his head and adjusted the string beneath his chin. ‘There – all ready. Come on, now. There’s a good boy.’ She moved back to the door and stepped down onto the ground, while at the same time the boy picked up his toy horse. Then she lifted the boy in her arms and set him down beside her on the cobbles.

  ‘Don’t forget your bags,’ the man said.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ Leaning back into the carriage she took up the carpet bag and her reticule.

  The man was watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘now you get the little chap away, well away.’ There was no anger in his voice now. ‘I’m sorry I shouted just now, but . . .’ His words trailed off.

  Lily said nothing, but took the boy by the hand. ‘Let’s go back to the station, Joshie,’ she said. ‘We’ll get a cab if we wait long enough. If not we’ll find one somewhere else on the street.’

  Outside the fly-man’s yard they turned back in the direction of the railway station, and as they approached, Lily saw that there were still several people waiting to pick up cabs. ‘It’s no good,’ she said. ‘If we wait there we’ll wait for ever – and I don’t think the rain is going to keep off for much longer. Come – let’s walk up into the town.’

  They set off again. After they had gone a few paces the boy said, tilting back his head to look up at her, ‘Why was the man shouting, Lily? Why was he angry?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  ‘Was he angry with me – for being in the carriage?’

  ‘No, dear, he wasn’t angry with you. He was angry with me, but I don’t know why.’

  They walked on a little further, then the boy said, ‘I’m tired, Lily. My legs are tired, and I’m cold.’

  ‘Oh,’ she breathed, ‘poor boy.’ She came to a halt and bent to him, putting a hand to his cheek. ‘I know you’re tired,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long day for you, But soon we’ll be indoors and you can rest, and we’ll get a nice fire, and be warm again. Won’t that be nice?’

  ‘Will you carry Mr Charlie Dobbin for me, please?’ he asked.

  He held up the toy horse and Lily took it. ‘We’ll put him in the big bag, shall we?’ she said. ‘He’ll be safe and comfortable there along with Bunny.’ Putting the carpet bag on the wet ground, she unfastened the opening and put the toy horse inside. ‘There he is.’ She gave the boy an encouraging smile. ‘All safe and sound.’

  He did not smile back. His lip trembled and she could see he was on the verge of tears. The sight brought a lump to her throat and she compressed her own lips, fighting back the threatening emotion. She could not afford for a moment to let the boy to see any hint of vulnerability. ‘Let’s walk on,’ she said.

  They set off again, and then, as they reached the corner of Market Street, the rain began to fall once more. Lily groaned under her breath, and led the child into the shelter of the doorway of a disused warehouse. And there they stood side by side while the rain continued to beat down and the townspeople scurried past.

  They stayed for almost half an hour, during which time the child hardly spoke a word. Then, at long last, the rain stopped. Lily picked up the carpet bag and, with a sigh of relief, looked up at the sky. Up above the roofs of the town the clouds were clearing. ‘Come,’ she said, ‘we can go now.’

  Five minutes later she managed to hail a cab.

  Sitting side by side in the carriage, Lily and the boy were driven through the rain-wet streets of Corster, leaving behind the market square, the shops and the factories and crossing the river to the outskirts. Then, at last, the cab pulled into Brookham Way, and Lily saw up ahead on the right, the little row of terrace houses.

  ‘Here. Just here.’ As she spoke, she leant forward and tapped sharply on the little window behind the driver’s seat, and the vehicle came to a halt.

  ‘Are we there?’ Joshua said, and Lily replied, ‘Yes, we are, my dear. You stay here a minute, while I pay the man.’

  The boy did not demur, and Lily stepped down into the cinder-covered road and gave the driver his fee. Then, reaching up, she lifted the carpet bag and then the boy down beside her.

  As the cab trundled away, they walked to the little gateway of the second villa and up the short path to the front door, where she bent and lifted the larger of the two flower pots that stood there and took up the spare latchkey. A moment later it had been turned in the lock, and she was stepping inside.

  With the door closed on the bleak day, she led the way along the narrow passage into the kitchen, and there put down the carpet bag and her reticule. The place was cold, and had an air of dampness about it. She knew that neither Miss Elsie nor Mr Shad had been here for a while. The last time she herself had been here was in August with Joel, just before he had left for the Continent. Then, too, it had rained.

  ‘Well, we’re here, Joshie,’ she said with relief in her voice. ‘We got here at last.’

  ‘Where?’ the boy said. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Where? Oh – well, we’re in a part of Corster. A nice little part, and we shall be fine here for a few days.’ She turned in the room, looking around. ‘First of all, I’ll get you comfortable, then I’ll light a fire, and after that I’ll get us something to eat.’

  After removing her hat and coat she took off the boy’s hat and coat and boots. Everything seemed to be wet through. He was wet to the skin, and his little feet were like ice. In the carpet bag she had packed a few spare items of clothing for him, and when she had dried him with a towel she put a nightshirt and a pair of clean, dry stockings on him. She went upstairs then to the main bedroom and fetched down a couple of old blankets from the cupboard and wrapped them round him, and seated him on one of the kitchen chairs. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘I’ll make us that nice fire, and we’ll be warm again. I’ll get our things dry too.’

  There was some kindling near the range, and a thin pile of old newspapers. Moving to the back door, she said, ‘I’ll see if there’s coal or wood,’ and went out into the yard. In the small outhouse she found a little firewood, and in the bunker beside the back door some coal. She loaded a bucket and carried it inside, and soon had a fire going. There was a clothes-horse in the corner of the room, and she set it in front of the range and draped their wet clothes over it.

  ‘There – they’ll soon dry.’ She smiled encouragingly at the boy. ‘And look – the sky’s quite clear now. What a blessing.’

  From the well in the yard she brought in water and filled a kettle, and set it on to boil. While it was heating she took off her own wet stockings and put on a pair that she had packed in the bag. Standing in her stockinged feet she then took out the san
dwiches that Mrs Lemmon had provided for their journey. She laid a couple of them on a plate, and put it on the table, then set the boy’s chair before it.

  ‘There, Joshie, eat a sandwich, why don’t you? Some nice potted meat. You like that.’ She smiled at him, but he did not smile back. Instead, he looked down at his hands. ‘Aren’t you going to eat something?’ she asked.

  He shook his head.

  ‘No? I thought you’d be hungry. Won’t you have even a little bite?’

  He shook his head again.

  ‘All right, dear. Would you like a glass of water? There’s no milk, I’m afraid, but I’ll get some tomorrow. Have a sip of water for now, will you?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Will you have a little tea when I make it?’

  Another shake of the head. ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘You must have something, Joshie. Just a little? To please me?’

  Another shake of the head. Then he said, frowning a little, ‘Is this the holiday, Lily?’

  ‘What, dear?’

  ‘The holiday. Has it started yet?’

  She hesitated, for a moment at a loss. ‘Yes,’ she said then, ‘but it will be much better tomorrow. The sun will come out, and we’ll do something nice. Maybe we’ll go to the aquarium. Would you like that?’

  He frowned.

  ‘You remember? The aquarium I told you about? Where they have all the fishes? That’ll be interesting, won’t it?’

  Silent, he gave a little nod. Then he said, ‘I don’t like holidays.’

  ‘Oh – Joshie.’

  He began to cry, large tears welling from his eyes and running down his cheeks. Lily, sitting on the adjacent chair, brought him onto her lap, wrapping her arms around him. ‘Don’t cry, my little sweetheart. Oh, don’t cry.’ She could not bear to see his tears.

  His tears faded after a while, and he lay quiet in her arms. Soon he was asleep. The sandwiches remained untouched on the plate. Night had fallen, and the room was in deep gloom. She wanted to light a candle to relieve the dark, but she could not disturb the boy. She would have liked to take him up to bed, but soon it would be too dark to see her way up the stairs.

  Eventually the kettle began to boil, so she would have to move. Murmuring softly to the boy, she carried him to the old sofa by the window, laid him down on it and covered him with the blankets. He stirred, and then settled again, his breathing becoming rhythmic once more. She lit two candles and by their light made some tea. Sitting at the table she sipped at it and ate a few bites of a sandwich. From her reticule she took out her watch and laid it on the table. It gave the time at ten minutes past eight.

  She fed the range with more coal later on, and pulled up a chair near the sofa. While the steam rose from the wet garments on the clothes-horse she watched the boy as he slept.

  This was not the way she had meant it to be, she said to herself, but it would be better tomorrow. Everything was new and strange to the child, so of course he was not at ease with it. He was so tired, too, so exhausted. For him it had been the longest day, but he would be all right soon. It was just his tiredness. When he had had a good night’s sleep, he would be all right again. If the weather was dry they would find something interesting to do in the town. Perhaps go to the aquarium, or do something else that would amuse him.

  She continued to gaze down at him in the dim light. The only sound in the room was the occasional crackle coming from the range. There was no sound at all from the night outside. She yawned. For her too it had been a long day, and she felt the exhaustion of all the tense and pressing hours. She was dog-tired, and she needed to sleep. After a time she rose and, taking a lighted candle, went up to the bedroom again and brought down another blanket. After banking up the fire she settled herself on the sofa with him, covered herself and tried to sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  She was awakened by the boy’s coughing, though it would have taken far less to wake her; she had not been deeply asleep. Indeed, neither of them had slept well. Just as she had passed the night in fitful dozes, she was well aware that the boy had done the same.

  Casting aside the blanket she sat on the edge of the sofa and put an arm around him as he sat up. ‘Are you all right, my darling?’ she said. He coughed again and said yes, but there was no energy in his voice, no note of enthusiasm. Picking up the watch from the table she saw that it was just after eight. ‘It’s going to be a nice morning, Joshie,’ she said, turning, looking out of the window over the back yard. ‘The sun is out for a change, look.’

  Leaving the child under his blankets on the sofa, she washed her face and hands and then got dressed, throwing on her clothes with no consideration as to her appearance. That done, she raked out the hot ashes from the range, then went out into the yard for wood and coal for the fire. There was little of both left, and she would have to get more. The sky was clear, but there was a keen wind blowing, and she was glad to get back into the relative comfort of the kitchen. When she had rekindled the fire she put on a kettle of water to boil. A little later, when it had heated, she poured some into a bowl and gave the boy a wash. The clothes she had draped before the range had quite dried during the night and she got him dressed. He suffered it all uncomplaining, passively and without comment, in contrast to how he usually was with his little protests and obvious impatience to be getting on with something more vital and more interesting. He was rather listless, she observed, and she told herself that it was due to his not sleeping so well, and his exhaustion of the day before. For breakfast, she could only offer him more of the sandwiches that Mrs Lemmon had prepared, and she put one on a plate before him as he sat at the table, and poured a little water into a glass. He took a bite from the beef sandwich and a sip from the glass, and then sat back in the chair, wanting no more. ‘No?’ she said. ‘No more?’ He shook his head. She gave a nod; she would not press him. Reaching out, she laid the back of her hand upon his brow. ‘Your forehead’s too warm, Joshie,’ she said, frowning. ‘I hope you haven’t caught a little chill.’

  He said nothing, but looked back at her dully, without interest in her words.

  ‘Here,’ she said, picking up his toy horse, ‘here’s your Mr Charlie Dobbin. Aren’t you glad to see him today?’

  She put the toy on the table and the boy picked it up, clicked his tongue at it in a half-hearted way, and moved it across the table top in little jerking, galloping movements. Lily said, smiling, ‘Oh, that’s good. I’m sure Mr Dobbin likes a little exercise.’ The boy smiled faintly, moved the toy horse on a few more inches, then set it back down.

  Lily watched him for a few moments, then said, ‘We need to get a few things from the shops. Let’s go round and see Mrs Tanner next door for a second or two, shall we? She’ll help us out, I know.’

  Taking him by the hand, she led him out of the house to the front gate, and turned up the path of the adjoining house. Her rap on the door was answered by Millie, Mrs Tanner’s granddaughter. Invited in without hesitation, Lily and the boy went along the passage into the kitchen where Mrs Tanner sat with her crochet beside the range. The old lady was surprised to see her, and Lily told her that she had come to stay next door for a few days with her mistress’s little son. She would not sit down, she said, when invited to, but she would be most grateful if the old lady or Millie could sit with the child for half an hour while she went to the shops to buy a few necessities. Millie spoke up at once; she would go to the shops, she said, and get whatever was needed.

  The girl put on her coat and hat and accompanied Lily and Joshua back to the house next door. There Lily wrote a list of things she needed and gave it to the girl with some money, asking her also to call at the coal merchant’s yard in the next street and ask for a sack of coal to be delivered to the house.

  ‘There, Joshie,’ Lily said when the girl had gone, a basket over her arm, ‘Millie’s going to get us something nice for our dinner and also for breakfast tomorrow. She’s going to get a little tonic for you as well – that’l
l make you feel better – and she’ll go to the dairy too, later on, and get us some milk.’

  While Millie was away, Mrs Tanner came in, bringing part of a fruit cake that she had baked, and a large piece of apple pie. She cooed and clucked over Joshua where he sat on the sofa, and tried, briefly, to amuse him, but he showed little interest, and after a few minutes she gave up and settled in the grandfather chair near the range while Lily made some tea.

  As the two women sat drinking it a knock came at the front door, and Lily answered it to find on the doorstep a young man selling bundles of kindling. She bought some and set them down in the hearth beside the range. Millie came back a little later, her basket loaded, bringing eggs, bread, potatoes, cabbage, and a small piece of beef. She had also bought some candles, a bottle of Haver’s tonic, and a little bar of plain chocolate. As soon as she had unloaded the basket she set off again, this time heading for the nearby dairy. While she was gone, Lily put away the groceries and opened the bottle of patent medicine and poured a little into a glass along with some water. After a few moments’ coaxing, she got the boy to drink a little, but he spat it out and turned his head away, refusing to take any more. ‘Oh, come, Joshie,’ she pleaded, ‘do try to take a little. It’s good for you. And if you drink a spoonful you can have a bit of chocolate to take away the taste.’ He could not be persuaded, however, and Lily put the chocolate and medicine away in the cupboard.

  Millie came back shortly afterwards, bringing a quart of milk and a small quantity of butter and cheese, after which Mrs Tanner got up from her chair to return to her home next door. Millie remained, glad of a change of company and someone new to talk to. She was happy also to make herself useful, feeding the fire in the range and tidying the hearth, and fetching in water from the well. She was, she explained to Lily, between employments. She had recently been working as a milkmaid at a nearby farm, but the farm had been sold on and she was now looking for a post elsewhere.