‘Well then, if you’re fine, you can help me with this lot,’ Bessie told her.
By the time Lily had helped the old woman stow her load of rotting wood in the stinking little cubby hole under her stairs, the Adams boys were rolling around the yard engaged in a bout of fisticuffs which it took their father’s and Arnie’s combined strength to bring to an end before they killed each other. Lily’s hatred for The Cobbles was magnified to enormous proportions. She must get out, she really must. She was in danger of losing all her dreams simply because she’d lost Dick.
Arnie calmly returned to work on his nets, and Lily to her argument.
‘I’d bring good money into the house if I had a trade at me fingertips.’ But somehow the fight had gone out of her. She felt so utterly powerless, so overwhelmed by her situation, that she knew it to be useless.
‘Aye, in about seven years happen, if we survived that long.’
‘Why won’t you help me to escape?’
Arnie’s mouth trembled as he looked at his wilful daughter, and his pale blue eyes held such an aching sadness that it pierced Lily to the heart. ‘Don’t you think that if I had the money to buy an apprenticeship, or whatever else you’d set your heart on, I’d do it? But I haven’t the money, Lily, and never will have. It’s a struggle to get by each day and put enough food in our mouths. So what’s the point in wishing for what thee can’t have? Be happy with what tha’s got. That way you don’t go mad.’
Lily acknowledged defeat. There was nothing to be done. No escape. Only she couldn’t be happy with what she’d got, that was the trouble. She wanted so much more.
Arnie took his troubles to the pub. Whilst he respected his wife’s abstemious nature, he didn’t share it. Being Church of England himself, he’d never signed the Pledge, and didn’t intend to start now. He and Hannah had come to an agreement early on in their married life, to live and let live. He never went home rolling drunk, not like some he could mention, so didn’t feel guilty. Not that he had the money to get drunk even if he had the inclination. He’d certainly little enough tonight, but he liked coming to The Cobbles Inn. There was a warm, friendly fug about the place, for all the filthy straw beneath his feet and dubious cleanliness of the tankards. He fastidiously brought his own because of it, though he was ready enough to join in any bit of fun that went on here: cock fight or bare-knuckle contest, a bit of crack with his mates. And he wasn’t averse to betting a bob or two each way, if he had any to spare. A little matter he failed to mention to his wife.
‘Aught on tonight, Jim?’ he asked the landlord, who jerked his head in the direction of the back room by way of reply.
‘I’ll happen look in later.’ Arnie ordered his usual half of bitter and, leaning against the bar, sank into unaccustomed gloom.
He’d give anything to make Lily happy. She deserved to be. Such a bonny lass, and so young to suffer grief. He felt so fiercely protective of her, the pain was almost impossible to bear at times. Why didn’t she see that? He’d buy her the world if he could afford it. Didn’t she realise that if he could see any way to get her out of The Cobbles, he would? Drat the place!
‘Should have been razed to the ground years ago,’ he growled out loud.
A deep chuckle came in response to this fervent declaration. ‘I don’t know, the beer’s not that bad.’
The man at his elbow, for all he seemed little more than a boy, had the sort of physique Arnie would not have cared to tackle alone on a dark night. He had thick eyebrows that almost met in the middle, dark hair, and a swarthy complexion which hadn’t recently seen a razor. Dressed in a navy pullover, he had the air and bearing of a fisherman, but Arnie knew them all, there being so few left, and this man wasn’t one of them. But he seemed friendly enough, and the hand grasping the handle of his jug looked as if it had seen a fair day’s work.
‘I wasn’t talking about the beer. It was the whole place I meant - The Cobbles,’ Arnie explained.
‘Ah, I see your point.’
‘No drains, gutters broken, only water from a pump in a shared yard, and walls that thin you can hear ‘em stir their tea next door. Been here hundreds of years it has, and should be burned to the ground.’
‘Won’t do it though, the landlords, will they? Wealth is power, and mustn’t be weakened by consideration for those who labour. But times are changing. The bosses won’t always have it their own way. Some of us are fighting back.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Take me, for instance. I’ve got meself a good job working on the Public Steamer. It’s only taking tickets but then I’m young yet, just twenty-one. I’ve plenty of time, and you have to start somewhere, eh? I mean to go places.’
Arnie laughed. ‘Working for the steamer company, the only place thee’ll go is round the lake!’
‘You can mock but I’ve served my time on bigger ships and I’ve a bit put by. I’m on my way, I tell you.’ He pointed a finger at the grimy ceiling. ‘I have plans.’
Arnie looked more closely at the young man, at the set of his jaw and the determination in his blue eyes. ‘Aye, happen you will an’ all.’ There was a tinge of new respect in his voice. ‘You’re not from round these parts then? I don’t seem to recollect...’
‘Monroe. Nathan Monroe. I’ve been away for a good while. But, aye, I was born in the middle of this rat’s nest of streets, the smell of refuse on me doorstep battling with the sweet scents from the fells above, so I understand how you feel. It’s criminal this place wasn’t flattened years ago. With the elegant new villas built all along The Parade, you’d think they’d want to clean up these poorer areas, wouldn’t you? But no, profit is all. The landlords don’t give a damn whether The Cobbles is a good place to live or not.’
‘Aye, you’re right there.’ Arnie sighed. Landlords seemed to be the source of all his problems. Only last week his had come knocking at the door yet again in the shape of Percy Wright, the ferret-faced and persistent agent. Lily might resent the fact that Arnie had refused to complain to the Clermont-Reads over young Dick’s tragic accident, but how could he? It was to them he owed rent. He took a swallow of his beer, depression settling still further.
The young man was still talking. ‘All they care about is making Carreckwater comfortable for themselves.’
Arnie looked doleful. ‘And now we’ve got steamers, posh houses all round the lake, a town band, women on bicycles for God’s sake! Even electric lamps in our streets that frighten our old folk who fear they’ll leak and kill ‘em in their beds.’
‘Ah, but that’s all for the good of the tourists, Arnie,’ the young man said, as if they were old friends. ‘They’ll provide the profits which could make us all rich, if we play our cards right.’
‘Well, the fishing’s going nowhere, is it?’ He gave a harsh little laugh, and recklessly ordered a second half so he could sink his troubles in his beer. He would have liked to buy the pleasant young man one too, but wasn’t sure his pocket could run to it.
‘How’s Lily?’
The abrupt change of direction took him by surprise and he spluttered into his drink. ‘Who?’
‘Lily. She is your daughter, isn’t she?’
Arnie wiped the froth from his chin and peered at the man through narrowed eyes. ‘How do you know our Lily? Come to that, how did you know my name?’
Monroe laughed. ‘Went to the same Dame School, didn’t we? Mrs Jepson, I’ll never forget her. She used to point at a big map on the wall with a long stick, and knock us on the head with it if we talked.’ He chuckled. ‘Mine was pretty sore by the time I left. Right old slave driver she was. So, how is Lily? I remember her as small and skinny with two long brown plaits.’
‘Aye, that were her all right.’ Arnie grunted, and wiped away a sentimental tear at the recollection of his schoolgirl daughter. ‘She’s had a bit of a disappointment. Getting over it now like, but slow.’
Arnie told him all about his lovely daughter and her problems, flattered by the young man’s sympathetic a
ttention.
Then, having talked himself out, and the beer having mellowed his mood, he slapped Nathan on the back. ‘Come on, Monroe. We’ve chewed on enough problems for one night. I’ll give you a game of dominoes. See if you can beat me.’
‘Or take good money off someone else?’
Arnie grinned. ‘Aye, that too, if thee likes.’
At three o’clock each afternoon, Selene Clermont-Read took a drive out in her gig. Particularly on a day filled with sunshine, as this one was. She rarely had a specific destination in mind, the object being primarily to show off her expensive equipage, painted a tasteful burgundy, and of course her own beauty. She took great care always to choose a stylish gown which would enhance to perfection the smooth slope of her shoulders, the fullness of her fine bosom and the delicacy of her features. She changed at least three times a day as it was essential to wear the most suitable gown for any occasion.
Equally important was the choice of hat, which should attract attention without appearing too ostentatious.
Today she had chosen one of plaited straw, suitably wide-brimmed and trimmed with artificial silk roses in pink, green and lemon to match her gown of ribbed lemon silk. The dress itself was slim-fitting, much decked about with drapes, bobble trim, and dozens of non-functional buttons. The more intricate the style and complicated the cut, the more expensive the ensemble - a vital consideration when wishing to impress.
Selene enjoyed driving the gig herself since she felt a woman alone attracted far more masculine interest. Besides which, she never doubted her own skill at anything to which she’d set her mind. Since anyone who was anyone would also be driving about Carreckwater at this time, it seemed perfect sense to be seen along with them.
On this particular day, the sky pearl-bright with sunshine, she drew up outside her favourite mantle-maker’s and waited for the lady of the establishment to come out, after which she might be persuaded to step down from her carriage and take a cup of China tea in the small parlour set aside for this purpose, while they discussed the line and fabric of her next ball gown.
It was while Selene was waiting, with a certain degree of impatience, that her attention was caught by a bustle all around her.
Crowds were beginning to gather, chattering excitedly, running downhill in the direction of the lake. For a moment Selene almost decided to ignore what was evidently peasant hysteria when she heard a sound like an angry insect, and recollection of a half-overheard breakfast argument between her mother and brother returned. Margot had wished her son Bertie to stay within doors that afternoon since guests were expected, and he had been even more determined to go out. Something to do with a new invention.
A voice at her side asked, ‘Would you care to step inside, Miss Clermont-Read?’
Selene paid it no heed. The excitement of the hurrying crowd was irresistible and, briskly urging her mare into a trot, she left the dressmaker standing open-mouthed in front of her shop.
Moments later Selene had joined the crowds by the lake, her gaze as riveted as theirs upon the strange machine humming high in the sky.
It comprised two broad wings held together by a fragile network of bamboo poles. Making erratic progress over the lake it emitted the most peculiar noises. Selene scrambled down from the gig and tossed the reins to an urchin, sternly bidding him to hold the horse which he eagerly agreed to do. She hurried away, very nearly breaking into an unladylike trot.
A large crowd had gathered at the end of the pier. Two boy anglers stood open-mouthed, rods forgotten in their hands. A boatman scratched his head in bemusement and one woman was actually kneeling and praying in a gabbling frightened voice while the crowd jostled each other for a better view, putting several people in danger of being tipped into the lake.
Selene came to a halt beside two girls a year or two younger than herself. They were dressed in striped cotton blouses and plain blue serge skirts, clearly the sort of young women who should be at their work some place rather than gallivanting about the pier with their heads turned skyward. Though, admittedly, so was everyone else’s.
‘God love us, what is it?’ said one.
‘I don’t know but it looks as if it might be made from matchwood,’ remarked the other.
There was something vaguely familiar about one of the girls but Selene did not have time at this juncture to study her. She was far too alarmed by what was happening above. Could it be her brother, up there in the waterplane? Was that what the argument this morning had been about? He was mad enough. And if it were, poor Mama would have a heart attack for sure. Margot had great plans for her darling Bertie. Seeing him ending up head first in the depths of Carreckwater wasn’t among them.
The small plane’s engine seemed to stutter and cough, and a gasp of horror erupted from the watching crowd as it dropped several feet. Then the engine kicked into life and the little plane swooped up again on a general expulsion of deeply held breaths. Selene was appalled to find she was actually perspiring. How dare he do this to her? How dare he risk his life for a moment’s excitement. What was he thinking of?
‘It’s called the Water Hen. Rotary engine’s a five-cylinder Gnome and the front elevator rod comes direct to the joystick.’
The young man’s voice, filled as it was with cheerful self-confidence, was only too familiar and Selene pressed a hand against the thumping of her heart, closing her eyes in a silent prayer of thanks.
‘Bertie!’ She turned upon him, ready to unleash her fury for his frightening her half to death. It was then that she saw he was not speaking to her at all, but to the two girls she had noticed earlier.
‘No chassis,’ he was explaining with many gesticulations of his finely shaped hands. ‘No protection against the weather. Takes off from the surface of the lake, don’t you know, and uses castor oil. Damned clever, eh?’
‘You seem to know a good deal about it,’ said the girl with the laughing eyes, and as she turned her face up to his, pale-skinned for all she wore no bonnet on the thick brown hair piled on top of her small neat head, Selene knew on the instant who the girl was and where she had seen her before. She snapped shut her parasol and was beside Bertie in a second.
With one mittened hand Selene angrily tapped the ferule of her parasol upon the wooden boards of the pier. ‘If this plane isn’t about to take a nose dive into the lake, and you along with it in a daring bid to get your name in the Chronicle, you may drive me home this instant, Bertie.’
‘Selene! I didn’t see you there. Wasn’t it wonderful? Did you see the take-off?’
‘No, I’m glad to say I didn’t.’ Wishing to put herself above such childish pleasures. ‘It was not wonderful in the least to be scared half to death. The fear of believing it was you up there in that ridiculous machine has quite jarred my nerves and left me utterly exhausted.’
Brown eyes shone with sudden excitement as he laughed. ‘Me? Fly in the waterplane? What an idea! Wouldn’t I love to have the chance, though?’ He cupped a hand over his eyes to watch as the tiny machine swooped and shivered over the shimmering lake, making a bumpy landing that had the crowd following its every movement with ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ as it slid from side to side and finally sank to a halt in the water. ‘He did it! Down safe. I might ask the owner, a Captain Wakefield, if he’ll let me go up with the pilot next time.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ Selene’s fist itched to knock some sense into his handsome young head, but with some difficulty she managed to restrain herself. It didn’t do to lose control before the lower classes.
Catching the direction of her disapproving gaze and laughing at it, Bertie said, ‘I haven’t introduced you, have I? This is Rose and Lily, would you believe?’ He laughed, as if it were the funniest joke in the world. Selene allowed her gaze to flicker momentarily over the two girls, thereby dismissing them, and her upper lip curled in displeasure.
‘I believe I have run across Miss Lily Thorpe before,’ she said, with acid satisfaction at her pun.
‘Have you, by j
ove?’ Bertie was delighted. ‘When was that?’
Lily was frowning, not making the connection quite so quickly as Selene might have expected, or even hoped. No one, in Selene’s opinion, should ever forget her, once having gazed upon her beauty. But Lily Thorpe clearly had, or at least was pretending not to remember. ‘I’m not quite sure...’
‘This is my sister, don’t you know? Selene Clermont-Read.’ Selene watched as the girl’s eyes widened as realisation dawned, and then darted from one to the other of them as if she couldn’t quite believe it.
I see. I-I hadn’t realised.’
Selene sniffed in disbelief and abruptly turned her back upon the girl, addressing her brother directly. ‘My carriage is on the promenade, Bertie, and I haven’t all day. Pray hurry. Mama will be waiting tea, and the Ferguson-Walshes are expected, if you recall.’ And gathering up the ankle-skimming hem of her gown, she spun upon her heel and swept away without a backward glance or further explanation, her modish button boots tapping on the wooden boards.
It was only when she had settled herself comfortably back into the gig, having given the urchin a halfpenny for his trouble when he had hoped for a sixpence, that Selene realised Bertie had not, after all, hurried along beside her. The foolish boy still seemed to be deep in conversation with those two trollops.
She slapped her whip against the leather seat in a furious outburst, startling the temperamental mare with the sound so that she had to force herself to sit still or the silly creature would bolt. Selene battened down her impatience as best she might while her gaze burned up the distance between herself and the trio on the pier.
It was the very same girl, no doubt about it. The hussy who had caused all the trouble two years ago and robbed Selene of the chance of catching Philip Linden.
Mama had point-blank refused to go to the young man’s funeral, of course, but Papa had kept his word and insisted it would be unseemly for them to attend the Carnival ball. So it had been Lucy Rigg, not herself, who had danced with Philip. And Lucy it was who had become his wife, leaving Selene still unwed at twenty since Carreckwater was not exactly bursting with suitably rich young men. The fault for that tragedy lay here, with this slut who was even now flirting outrageously with her impossible brother!
Lakeland Lily Page 5
