Lakeland Lily

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life in that dreadful place,’ she told him, with what she believed to be the right degree of haughtiness. ‘I deserve better.’

  ‘Course you do, old thing.’

  ‘I have plans.’

  ‘Knew it the moment I clapped eyes on you.’

  She told him all about her ambitions because Bertie made such a sympathetic listener. ‘Over these last two years I’ve saved hard.’ She kept the amount secret, fearful he might mock. One pound and two shillings in an old tea caddy, hidden under the floorboards beneath her bed. ‘I want enough to rent a small house of me own. In the smart area of Carreckwater, naturally. Or mebbe Bowness or Windermere. Then I’ll buy a sewing machine and set meself up as a dressmaker,’ she told him.

  ‘Splendid. I’m sure you’ll achieve it, Lily. You’re such a dashed fine person.’

  She wasn’t sure how she would acquire the necessary skills for this grand ambition, even if she found all the money, but Lily did not in any way allow this to daunt her. She’d had plenty of practice at hand-sewing, hadn’t she? Helping her mother make hookie rugs, turn and patch bed sheets, and crochet blankets from scraps of wool made out of pulled back socks and cardigans. Lily felt she was an expert on thrift but privately admitted she’d a lot to learn about style.

  ‘I don’t care how or what I do, so long as it’s respectable and earns me a good living, d’you see? And from the look of the posh gowns the young ladies wear who stroll along The Parade, dressmakers must do well enough.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Bertie agreed. ‘I shall send Selene to patronise you.’

  Lily made no comment upon this anticipated honour.

  Then one day she managed to save enough to buy herself a blue print frock from the rag market. It was far too big for her, of course, but several late nights spent stitching by the light of the gas lamp turned it into a neat new gown for herself. She unpicked the waist-band, took in the bodice and sewed the whole lot back together again. Then she trimmed the hem and elbow-length sleeves with a deep blue braid.

  ‘By jove, you look splendid,’ Bertie told her as she twirled and preened herself in front of him on their very next outing. She’d begged her mother to let her finish work early for once. Lily knew she shouldn’t ask, for Hannah had seemed even more tired than usual lately, but she’d arranged to meet Bertie behind the old boathouses and was desperate not to be late. Now he sat on an upturned boat, his eyes devouring her.

  ‘I’ll set you up myself, if you like?’ he generously offered, impressed by her skills.

  ‘Bertie, the very idea! What are you suggesting?’ And her merry hazel eyes laughed up him, making him blush, as she so loved to do. Lily found it alarmingly easy to embarrass Bertie, and sometimes felt a pang of guilt at the way she took pleasure in so doing.

  ‘Steady on, you’ve got it all wrong. I never meant anything of the sort. Nothing, you know - improper, dash it.’

  So upset was he she should interpret his offer as a proposition that he slid, all arms and legs, down the hull of the boat and landed in a heap on the grass, gazing ruefully up at her. ‘I mean, there might the sort of female who - well, I dare say there are - only, a chap wouldn’t dream of asking a girl like you, Lily.’

  She put her hands on her hips and laughed at his panic. ‘I know you wouldn’t, you daft haporth.’

  Then she went and sat beside him, enjoying the warmth of his body beside hers, breathing in the clean expensive tang of him and feeling a long-forgotten sense of power stir within her. Bertie Clermont-Read was potty about her, and would do absolutely anything she asked, Lily was perfectly sure of it.

  ‘You’ve always shown proper respect for me, Bertie.’

  ‘I should jolly well hope so!’

  ‘I appreciate that. A lot of men wouldn’t, bearing in mind where I live.’

  ‘What’s that to do with it?’

  ‘You’re not ashamed of me?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  A teasing glance. ‘Haven’t you ever fancied a kiss?’

  ‘What sort of question is that to ask a chap?’

  ‘You’ve never tried.’

  ‘Wouldn’t want to scare a gel, would I?’

  Lily chuckled. ‘Who says I’d be scared?’

  Then she cupped his face between her hands and kissed him full upon the lips. The kiss wasn’t half so exciting as the remembered delights of Dick’s lips, but not by any means unpleasant. When she broke away, he was blushing all the more.

  ‘You’re a dashed good sport, Lily.’

  ‘And you’re a good, sweet man.’

  The devil of it was that this was entirely true. How could she set out to take revenge on such a kind gent? But then it wasn’t the gallant Bertie she wanted to take her revenge on, was it?

  Lily had asked him several times if she was ever to meet his family again.

  ‘If you’re not ashamed to be seen with me, and if I look so fine in me new frock, mebbe your ma would approve of me now? I am your girl, aren’t I, Bertie? Should I visit again, and see how it goes?’

  An expression of anxiety crept over his boyish features. ‘Why would you want to do that? Mama was pretty rotten to you the first time. It’s true she can be a funny old thing. Bit blunt, and all that. But means no real harm, of course.’

  ‘Course not,’ Lily generously agreed. But privately wondered what was the point of walking out, assuming you could call it that, with Bertie Clermont-Read, if it didn’t give her the opportunity for which she most longed: to get even with his family. In what way exactly she meant to achieve this, Lily wasn’t sure. But she ached to ruin Margot’s life, as the woman and her family had so heartlessly ruined hers. ‘We may get on better with further acquaintance, you never know. It takes time, after all, to build friendships.’

  Bertie considered the delicate machinations necessary to make a friend of Margot and his usually smooth brow wrinkled with worry as his fingers plucked at strands of grass. Even his smattering of freckles seemed to stand out in alarm at the very idea. It certainly wouldn’t be easy, but he surely owed it to Lily at least to try. She was his best pal, after all. And he’d no wish to fall in with Mama’s plans, not at any price. His brow cleared as an idea came to him.

  ‘We take the Faith out every weekend. You could come on one of our picnics. We go to one of the islands, and in September an especially long trip to Kelda Bay. Mama loves picnics and is always in a good mood then. I’ll ask if you can come too.’

  Lily squealed her delight, and, flinging her arms about his neck, impulsively kissed him again. This time his arms came about her and they both fell back into the long grass, fully engrossed in the activity for some moments. It was hard to know who was blushing the most when they were done.

  ‘I’ll take you with me anyway, whatever she says, damned if I won’t,’ Bertie decided, gasping for breath.

  He insisted on walking her right up Fisher’s Brow to the end of her alley, which he’d never done before, promising that he’d fix it up for September, even if he couldn’t manage it earlier.

  Lily watched him go, her mind busy. September was two long months away, but she didn’t mind. It would give her time to think and plan. Now she turned and started along the sunless street, her boots clattering on the cobble sets.

  Bertie hadn’t exactly said she was his girl, had he? Yet she must be, otherwise why would he agree to risk her meeting his family again? Trouble was, for all he was a lovely man, did she really want to be his girl?

  It was true that she’d enjoyed his kisses, but she’d best take care. It was vital to her plan that she stay in control. Hadn’t she come one step nearer to her goal today? It was long past time for herself and the Clermont-Reads finally to settle their differences.

  Lily was filled with sudden nervousness at the thought of seeing Margot again, and had to stop for a minute, leaning one hand on the wall till her heart stopped its racing. She must get a grip on herself. This time she must be prepared for the wom
an’s acid tongue.

  And hopefully Lily would also meet Bertie’s father. She’d never forgotten her feelings as he offered her his card, as if grieving could be settled like a business transaction. There were a good few things to get off her chest when she met up with Edward Clermont-Read again. Oh, dear me, yes. Though how she would go about it, she wasn’t quite sure.

  Lily skirted a group of young children playing hopscotch on a patch of broken paving stones, their bare feet slapping in the overflow of water from an open sewer. She turned into Carter Street, and as if he’d been conjured out of her thoughts saw Percy Wright, the landlord’s agent, picking his way between the puddles towards doors which shut fast and were locked before ever he reached them.

  Lily couldn’t help but smile, knowing no one would answer when he knocked. If the dratted man had called on her mam again, she hoped Hannah had done the same.

  ‘Hello, Lily.’

  She managed a smile. She would have hated Percy Wright in any case. Local sidesman at the Methodist Chapel, his spare body, wrinkled face and high-pitched way of speaking always made it seem as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of prunes.

  ‘I can’t get an answer at your house. Tell your ma I’ll be back on Friday. We ain’t running a charity.’

  Lily said nothing, knowing as Percy Wright did that the house could not be empty at this time of day. Hatred warred with her fear that the family was once again slipping behind with the rent. How long before they were turned out on to the street, as others had been before them?

  She recalled a conversation she’d had with her mother long since. It was one winter when ice had broken the ceiling rafters in the bedroom and they were all half frozen in their beds. Lily had asked if Hannah had never yearned for something better.

  ‘Be thankful for what you’ve got, that’s my motto. I came here as a young bride, happy and willing to make a home for Arnie and me. He’s been a good husband, not like some who drink and gamble all their wages away. I’ve had my children here and, praise the Lord, managed to bring them all up healthy. I won’t say it’s been easy but I’ve no complaints. What more could I ask for than that?’

  Lily could think of a dozen things but had the good sense not to say so, Hannah’s view of The Cobbles being entirely different from her own. ‘You could at least get the landlord to mend the roof.’

  Her mother had looked away, lips tight, folding her arms across her chest and rubbing them, a familiar gesture whenever she felt uncomfortable. ‘Mr Clermont-Read is a busy man. I’m sure he has better things to concern himself with than our situation. I’ll get your father to see to it.’

  Even as the young girl she’d been at the time, Lily had been aware of the sense of bitter defeat in her mother’s attitude. She could still remember the hiding behind closed curtains, the fear when someone did a moonlit flit and were never seen again. The hopelessness which Hannah concealed with a staunch pride.

  How could she have forgotten? Edward Clermont-Read, landlord of The Cobbles. And Percy Wright, his ferret of an agent.

  Lily didn’t move till he reached the end of Carter Street and turned into Drake Road. No wonder nothing was ever done to help the poor souls who had to live in this awful place. She strengthened her resolve to enjoy her revenge all the more. She would talk the whole thing over with Rose at the very first opportunity. Her friend would help plan a good strategy. Tugging her shawl close, Lily came to her own back door, stepped over a puddle and hurried inside. She saw at once that trouble with the rent was the least of her worries.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Late again, madam.’

  Lily flushed with guilt as Hannah pressed a hand to her back, a gesture indicating her very deep weariness, then burst into a fit of coughing.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Where’ve you been? I wish I knew what you got up to half the time while I’m trying to make ends meet.’ Hannah lifted the tin laden-can full of hot water from the kitchen range and Lily ran to help. She’d forgotten it was bath night. The girls, Hannah and herself always took theirs on a Wednesday; the boys and Arnie on Fridays.

  ‘Here, let me bath our Kitty. You look worn out, Mam. Go on, put your feet up for a bit.’

  Hannah had never felt more peculiar in all her life, but hated to confess it. Weakness was a sin in her book.

  ‘When have I time to put me feet up?’

  Lily would take no arguments. She sat her mother down with a mug of hot, sweet tea and then went in search of her three grubby sisters.

  Four-year-old Kitty was first, giggling infectiously as she scampered to escape Lily’s ministrations.

  ‘I don’t want me hair washed. The soap stings me eyes. Oh don’t, our Lily!’

  Laughing, Lily caught her, and once the squirming infant was safely seated in the zinc bath tub before the fire, scrubbed her from top to toe with red carbolic soap and a soft flannel. The child’s hair was washed with the same soap and combed with a fine tooth comb afterwards.

  ‘Ow, you’re hurting me.’

  ‘You don’t want no biddies in your hair, do you?’

  Hannah leaned back in her chair with a thankful sigh. ‘Ee, Lily, what would I do without you, girl? I’ve no energy for this lot tonight.’ But she was aware that she still hadn’t received an answer to her question.

  ‘Are you going to tell me then?’

  ‘Tell you what?’ Lily chased a giggling eight-year-old Emma around the kitchen table, captured her and set about scrubbing her in the same manner.

  ‘You know full well. Where is it you go off to whenever my back is turned? Got a new boy friend, eh?’ Hannah smiled as she sipped her tea, sincerely hoping that it were true. For there was nothing she’d like better than to see her lovely daughter wed to a fine young chap.

  ‘Don’t start, Mam.’

  ‘Why won’t you tell me?’

  ‘There’s naught to tell.’

  A screech from Emma as Kitty aimed a swipe at her sister with the flannel brought Lily’s attention back to the task in hand. Later, while Liza took her turn in the bath, old enough at ten to wash herself, Lily dried the two younger ones and dressed them in their nighties, set warming by the fire. Made from old flour sacks they might be and, if you looked closely, still bearing the imprint of the maker’s name, yet they’d been washed so often they were soft and warm to wear.

  ‘You’d say if there were?’ Hannah persisted, her eyes half closed, watching the proceedings as she lay back, trying to relax.

  Lily glanced at her mother, thought how pale she looked, how exhausted so much of the time. For all Lily loved her sisters and brothers, she really didn’t wonder at it. Hannah never stopped for a minute, not from dawn when she got up to make breakfast for them all to the moment she fell back into bed at night after a long day of cooking, washing and ironing. And that was on top of minding the fish stall. Which only made Lily even more determined not to end up the same way.

  ‘I’ve told you, I mean to have me own business one day. Something grand in Carndale Road happen, or even Bowness or Windermere. I stand by that.’

  Hannah’s eyes opened wide, and pride mingling with concern softened the next, seemingly harsh, words. ‘Ee, Lily, don’t talk so soft. Dreams are dangerous things. Give up with ‘em, lass. They’ll only make you dissatisfied with life as it really is.’

  ‘They give me hope.’ She turned to her sisters who were rolling together on the rug like a pair of puppies. ‘Come on, you two, time for your dose of sulphur and treacle to keep your innards clean.’ Despite more groans, this was eventually achieved, followed by a mug of hot tea and slice of bread with a scrape of dripping by way of supper for each girl.

  After she’d got them to bed, Lily and Hannah both took turns in the bath, a hasty all-over wash before the water went cold.

  Then Lily ladled out the zinc bath tub and hung it back on the yard wall. But there was still work to be done, and tired though she may be, she worked extra hard to catch up on her missed chores, making sure that Hann
ah rested some more.

  She scoured out the swill baskets which were used to hold the fish, and set them to dry. Then she boiled kettles and prepared the men-folk’s supper almost single-handed. Her father would be tired from working on the boats all day, aided or rather hindered by his two sons, and yet he would still go out on his night fishing.

  Considering she’d sat still long enough, Hannah set about wiping the cottage down with damp cloths, as if it weren’t already clean enough. She swept the floors, shook the hookie rug, wiped down the range and polished the brass fittings with pride, bringing it to that pristine cleanliness which could only be achieved by constant and daily attention.

  Lastly Hannah wiped away the black mould which clung to the walls, knowing it would be back again the next day.

  ‘The worst thing about housework is that it’ll all have to be done again tomorrow.’ She laughed, but it sounded forced, even to her own ears.

  After watching her for a while, noting the lines of strain at the corners of her mouth, Lily took hold of her mother’s arm and gently shook her. ‘I told you to sit down and put your feet up.’

  ‘I’ve had ‘em up.’

  ‘Why don’t you have your supper now, Mam, then go on up to bed? I’ll see to me dad and the boys.’

  Hannah stared at her daughter as if she’d gone mad. She couldn’t remember ever going early to bed in her life. ‘Ee, I can’t, our Lily, much as I might like to. I have to finish up in here. Needs must when the devil drives.’ And shaking scouring powder all over the sloping wooden draining board, she began to scrub. As she did so, a cockroach ran across it and she captured it in her cloth to toss it into the fire where it hissed and cracked. Lily shuddered.

  ‘God almighty, I wish we were out of this stinking hole.’

  ‘Lily! I’ll thank you to keep a clean tongue in your head or I’ll wash your mouth out with this carbolic.’ Stiff-backed, Hannah wiped her hands on the sacking apron that covered her black dress. In all Lily’s seventeen years, she’d never seen her mother wear anything else, save for Sundays when she put on her ‘best’ coat and hat in a rather dull olive green.