In the compartment, once the other women were chatting to each other and soothing excited babies, Edith Parkes turned to May and said in a low voice, ‘What is wrong with that child’s face?’
May explained, ‘She was badly burned, down one side.’
Miss Parkes folded her lips. ‘Some of these East End mothers are disgracefully careless.’
May remembered Louie’s mother weeping on Elizabeth Ward, thin and pale except for the great swelling abdomen which bent her back and seemed to draw all the life out of her: ‘I’ll never fergive meself – I fell asleep, I were so tired,’ and later, as she sagged on a chair, ‘Doctor says it’s likely twins, Nurse, I dunno ’ow I’ll cope, with six already and now Louie like this.’ Mrs Brown had wept silently, helplessly.
May felt anger well up now, but Edith Parkes noticed nothing and continued, ‘She should wear something over her face – it is not pleasant to look at.’
May said coldly, ‘You should have seen it at Easter. I assure you her present scars are a great improvement.’ She turned her head and stared out of the compartment window.
But the day was fine and sunny, they were bound for the seaside; she was not going to let Edith Parkes spoil it for her so she spoke to the girl again, asking how often she came to the East End, and what she did there. Miss Parkes warmed to this subject and lectured May on the importance of well-educated women serving the poor. Though May was interested to hear that this service apparently involved living at home and attending a pleasant collegiate community in West London, and only visiting the East End parish on two or three days a week, in the day time, and not always even then. ‘Of course it’s very important that we should keep up with our normal social life as well – one has a responsibility to one’s family, you know; my elder sisters are married, so Mamma likes me to go about with her.’ May wondered why Miss Parkes herself was not married; her face, though lacking in animation, was certainly beautiful, and she moved with elegance – her only fault was a degree of flat-chestedness of which Lady Clarence would have wholeheartedly approved.
In no time it seemed they were at Barking, where Walter Lisle popped his head into their compartment window.
‘All well, ladies?’ Then he shot off to quell an incipient riot further down the train. The whistle blew and they rattled over the points towards the green expanses of Dagenham and Upminster. Canvey Island roused a storm of cheering as they drew into Byfleet, and May felt excitement rising as she gazed out over the wide Thames estuary.
The cry: ‘Southend-on-Sea, Southend-on-Sea, all change here!’ was the signal for a concerted surge by the Sunday School scholars, and even Edith Parkes went slightly pink, while May looked about her with frank enjoyment. She sprang from the train and took deep breaths of sea air – tainted, it was true, with the smoke of the locomotives, but sea air nonetheless. Walter Lisle leaped onto a baggage trolley and addressed the assembled multitude, and, miraculously, the columns re-formed and they were off. As they left the shelter of the glazed porte-cochère at the station entrance May was dazzled by the sunlight.
‘What a beautiful day – the sky is so blue and the sun so delightfully warm!’
Edith Parkes replied by putting up her parasol, and they set off for the front at a sedate pace.
Chapter Thirty Five
May was enchanted by Southend. It seemed to her to have all the liveliest characteristics of the East End but without its obvious drawbacks. She abandoned Miss Parkes to a seat in the gardens – ‘No, thank you, Miss Winton, I feel quite drained by the heat already’ – and she and Louie and Louie’s cousin and Louie’s cousin’s friend rushed up and down the stalls on the front. They sampled the winkles, the whelks and the cockles, washing them down with vivid yellow lemonade and purchasing violently-coloured rock for later. The children bought cheap gew-gaws to take home to their families and Louie agonised over the choice of an appropriate gift for the surviving twin. ‘It’s still so little, Nurse, Ma keeps it by the range, even in this weather.’
Then they all made a mad dash for the pier, joining the general stampede, and rode the tram to the end. There they hung over the railings, enjoying the sea breezes, while May gripped Louie by the back of her pinafore.
Walter Lisle appeared beside them and leant over in his turn, saying to May, ‘I have no fears – I know if I topple over you will instantly dive in and rescue me!’ Then he proceeded to hang over so far, inspecting the girders below, that Louie’s cousin became quite alarmed, so May and the girls seized hold of his coat tails and hauled him, laughing and protesting, back to safety. He moved off to speak to another group of his Sunday scholars, with a murmured, ‘Fall in at one o’clock, remember.’
May and her party returned back along the pier and made a quick foray into the town, before assembling at the promenade gardens at five to one. They found Walter Lisle already there, sitting comfortably relaxed beside a cool and elegant Miss Parkes. He sprang up and offered his seat to May. As she sat down she was very aware of her tumbled hair and grubby gloves, while her pale linen skirt showed only too clearly the marks made by the eager tugging of small, sticky hands.
They devoted the afternoon to the beach. The children rushed back and forth, paddling, leaping and squealing in the sunshine, while May attended to several minor cuts and grazes. Edith Parkes sat beside her on the rug which Walter Lisle had thoughtfully provided, looking as neat and prim as she had done first thing that morning. When the first wave of casualties had been dealt with May sat back on her heels and looked longingly at the frisking children – how deliciously cool the waves looked. And how lucky men were! Walter and the curates had simply removed their shoes and socks, turned up their trouser legs and gone in paddling with the rest. Then May noticed that the mothers with Mrs Lewis had formed a massed circle, and by dint of rearranging their voluminous skirts and carefully manoeuvring an old piece of sheeting were discreetly removing their stockings.
May looked at Edith Parkes, upright under her parasol, feet neatly placed together. She asked wistfully, ‘I suppose you wouldn’t like to paddle?’
An expression of absolute horror passed over the fine features. ‘Certainly not!’
May gazed again at the enticing waves, then back at her companion, and made her mind up. She jumped up, ran across to the group of women and said, ‘May I join you?’
Mrs Lewis’ face smiled a welcome. ‘Course you can, ducks. We’re taking it in turns, see.’
The water was blissfully cold. May gasped and squealed with the rest. Walter Lisle saw her and waved, but did not come near, and the women stayed modestly in a group. May went back to the beach with the others when they had had enough, but not before a giggling Louie had bounced up and down in front of her and splashed her skirt and petticoats. However, they soon dried in the hot sun while May was busy back-combing Louie’s hair and bringing it forward in loops to lie on her cheeks. Louie peered with set face into the small mirror; then her expression cleared, she nodded approvingly and was off to join her cousins.
Later Walter organised a game of cricket for the girls and smallest boys – the bigger lads, of course, had their own well under way. May thoroughly enjoyed watching the expression that came over Edith Parkes’ face when he suggested she might like to join them. ‘Some of the older girls are a little embarrassed about playing, but as they’re members of your Bible class, Miss Parkes, I thought perhaps…?’
Her refusal was polite but implacable, so May discarded her jacket and Walter took her off, saying, ‘You’ll have to do instead, May – I knew I could rely on you not to be too ladylike.’
At this May hung back, suddenly uncertain. Walter Lisle turned and looked full into her troubled eyes and spoke firmly.
‘I meant that as a compliment, May – a true lady knows when not to be one.’
May doubted whether Lady Clarence would agree with this sentiment, but she smiled back and as the younger girls were calling, ‘Hurry up, Mr Lisle, we want to get started,’ he seized her hand and rushed he
r across the muddy beach at full pelt.
Archie, Bertie and an assortment of stable lads had taught May the right way to hold a bat and hit; it was soon clear that the other team would have to put Walter on to bowl if they were to have any chance at all. May did not want to hog the bat, so when he lobbed her a ball she hit it up, up, into a soaring arc, so that it came down into Walter’s cupped hands. ‘Howzat?’ The other side cheered and her girls groaned.
May ran backwards and forwards fielding – the rules were rather bent, since naturally no one wanted to waste time sitting out, even though it was their team batting. Her hair finally came tumbling down, to Walter’s obvious amusement, and she had to stop and quickly plait it and tie on borrowed ribbons. As she ran after the tennis ball with her long pigtails bouncing against her back she felt as if she were transported over the years to her schoolroom days, before the rules of polite society had summarily curbed her freedom.
It was almost tea-time when the game was abruptly finished by two of the younger boys cannoning into Walter, so that they all fell into a sprawling heap on the beach. They unluckily landed on some sharp pebbles, so Walter scooped up the youngsters and, with one under each arm, they all made off to where Edith Parkes sat, guarding May’s handbag. May attended to the two snivelling infants – whose solicitous elder sisters had by now turned up – and they rapidly cheered up when she pushed a sweet into each mouth after applying the antiseptic. The second one demanded, ‘Kiss it better’, and May laughed and did so, and the first one then clamoured for his kiss too. May turned next to Walter Lisle, and knelt at his feet cleansing the graze on his shin – aware as she did so of the strength and shapeliness of his leg.
She applied the second piece of strapping, patted his leg and said, as she had done to the children, ‘There, all better now!’
Walter looked down at her, his eyes dancing. He spoke softly.
‘Haven’t you forgotten something, Miss Winton?’
May felt the hot tide rise from her throat, then she suddenly grinned. ‘Why, so I have, Mr Lisle!’ And she sprang up and popped a boiled sweet into his surprised mouth. He began to laugh, so that the sweet choked him and made him splutter, until the tall broad curate, who’d arrived from the boys’ cricket, thumped him vigorously on the back. May’s sides ached with suppressed laughter.
Tea was trays of buns and bottles of lemonade, bought in Southend; these were soon dispatched. Then Walter began to round up his flock. As the columns were reassembling he came over to May and Edith Parkes, still sitting decorously on their rug.
‘May I help you up, Miss Parkes?’ He held out two strong hands and Edith Parkes, barely touching his fingers, rose gracefully from the ground. He turned to May, sitting warm and happy in the sun, and held out his hands again. ‘I’m not sure such an athletic young woman as you, Miss Winton, needs any help!’
In revenge May reached for his hands and grasped them, then went limp, leaving him to pull. He blinked, then she saw the muscles in his arms flex as he took her weight, and with a mighty tug she was off the ground. Then, all at once, he let go. The quick pull had unbalanced her, and she stumbled and fell forward, and her hands clung to his shoulders. As she caught hold of him May felt a wave of pure joy wash over her. Instinctively she relaxed and let her body melt against his. She was conscious of his heartbeats, very loud, in his chest, and of his arms sliding round her and tightening for a moment – but it was only for a moment. Suddenly he let go, gripped her arms and pushed her from him. As soon as she was steady on her feet his hands dropped as though they had been burnt. His face was grim and set as he wheeled around and marched off across the beach.
May stood, still swaying slightly, shaken and humiliated as she had never been before. She put her hand to her cheeks, which were burning now with more than the sun. Edith Parkes’ voice, glacier cold, spoke beside her.
‘Would you care to gather your belongings together now, Miss Winton?’
May turned, and saw a look of complete contempt on the other woman’s face, mingled with something else – triumph, perhaps? She looked away, fell to her knees, and began to pack her bag with shaking fingers.
The sun was brassy, and unbearably hot on the back of her neck as she picked up the rug and shook it out before folding it. Then she stood with the bundle in her hands, helplessly.
‘Perhaps I had better see that that is returned to Mr Lisle.’ Edith Parkes’ voice stressed the personal pronoun, and May handed it over silently. Then she got control of herself.
‘I think, Miss Parkes, it would be better if I travel back with Louie – the child is rather excited; she may need calming.’
A small smile played round her companion’s mouth. ‘Certainly. No doubt Mr Lisle will be happy to escort me to my compartment.’ She walked gracefully away.
May found Louie, who did indeed look rather green, and took her into the farthest carriage. She carefully positioned herself as far away from the platform as possible, and when Walter Lisle came round to check that his party were all aboard she did not look up. Just past Hornchurch Louie was suddenly sick. The child’s eyes filled with tears.
‘Oh, I’m ever so sorry, Nurse – all down yer lovely skirt.’
May said, ‘It doesn’t matter, it needed cleaning anyway.’ She took a cloth from her bag and wiped the child’s face and mopped up her skirt. One of the mothers put a newspaper on the floor; May sprinkled some antiseptic and the smell almost went.
Louie soon perked up again and began to chatter to her cousin, so May sat back and closed her eyes, listening idly to the gossip of the other women. It was with a jolt that she realised they were talking about Walter Lisle.
‘Now, Mrs ’Arper, a vicar needs ter be married, ’specially a good-looking bloke like that – ’s’only natural.’
‘Well, she certainly ’angs round ’im enough – opportunity’s the greater part o’ courtin’, as me old Mum used ter say. And Miss Parkes is quite a looker – lovely ’air and skin. An’ real posh manners.’
‘Yes,’ the third woman sounded doubtful. ‘She’s perlite enough, but…’
The others nodded, they obviously knew what she meant. ‘Still, be different with the vicar, she’s the same sort and all – wouldn’t look dahn ’er nose at ’im.’
‘Not ’er, she fancies ’im too much.’ Mrs Harper gave a raucous laugh. She lowered her voice, but it was still audible to the appalled May. ‘Mind you, she allus strikes me as a bit – well, you know…’
‘Aye, my Jim says for all ’er looks she’s not one as ’ud warm the bed fer a man!’ The voice was complacent. The other women laughed, and there was a whispered exchange, and more laughter. Then the first voice spoke again.
‘Still, I daresay vicars don’t want that sort ’er thing – I reckon we’ll ’ave the banns called by Michaelmas.’ There were sage nods and the conversation moved on.
May felt a shiver of horror at the implications of what she’d just overheard. If Walter Lisle was engaged, or nearly so, to Edith Parkes, no wonder he’d pushed her away from him in disgust. How could she have forgotten herself like that? He’d only suggested her coming today to keep Miss Parkes company – and she, May, had literally thrown herself at him. It had been bad enough before, to have done what she did; but to have acted like that in front of his betrothed! Walter Lisle’s grim face as she had last seen it swam before her closed lids, and it was only with a great effort that she could stem the tears of shame. Her behaviour seemed more monstrous and unforgivable with every mile that they came nearer to London.
At Bromley Louie made her farewells.
‘I’ve ’ad a luvely day, Nurse Winton, ta fer everythin’ – me Dad said ’e’d come fer me.’ She was off. May longed to follow her, but she couldn’t go without a word; yet she shrank from speaking to Walter Lisle. She looked round desperately and saw Mrs Lewis. Thankfully she had only been in the next compartment. She ran up to her.
‘Mrs Lewis, would you be so kind – I have to get back quickly, please explain t
o Mr Lisle for me – and thank him for a most enjoyable outing.’
She turned to the exit and then, to her dismay, saw Walter Lisle at the barrier, counting his flock through. She backed away – could she hide in the waiting room? Then she glimpsed the open baggage gate and rushed towards it. A porter tried to bar her way but she thrust a florin into his astonished hand and murmured, ‘Please, I’m in a great hurry,’ and he let her through and pointed to the direction of the road.
There was a cab waiting. She jumped in with a quick, ‘St Katharine’s, please,’ and fell back against the seat. All she could think of now was to put as many miles between herself and Walter Lisle as she could, as rapidly as possible. She studied her watch. If she really hurried there was still time to catch the evening train to Suffolk.
She rapped on the trapdoor in the roof and when the driver opened it, announced, ‘Please wait at St Katharine’s, then take me on to Liverpool Street – I have a train to catch.’ She knew she must look untidy and dishevelled but the driver nodded, responding to the tone and accent of her voice, as she had known he would. He signalled his agreement.
At the hospital she rushed up to her room, changed at top speed and tossed a few things into her grip – she had plenty of clothes at Allingham. As she ran downstairs again she met Ellen coming up.
‘I can’t stop – I’m catching the evening train.’
Ellen asked anxiously, ‘Is anything wrong, May?’
‘No, yes – I’m going home, I’ll write.’ She continued her headlong flight, Ellen staring after her in consternation.
All the way along the Dock Road she willed the horse to go faster, and tried to pretend that catching the train was the only thing that mattered in the world. They drove into the gloomy cavern of Liverpool Street; she was out of the cab in seconds. She paid the driver and hailed a porter simultaneously, then ran to the ticket office. Mercifully there was no queue, and with the porter galloping beside her she reached the barrier just as it was about to close. She sped through, an official opened the door of the ‘Ladies Only’ compartment and she jumped in. The porter threw her bag in after her and she pressed a coin into his hand as the train gave a hiss of steam and began to move.
Mayfair Rebel Page 32
