Fragile Wings

by Rebecca S. Buck

  “I thought it was painful and just a wife’s duty. Isn’t it like that?”

  “Oh no! Of course, I’m sure that’s how some poor women experience it. But if you know what you’re doing and so does your lover, well, then it’s just another thing altogether. There’s really nothing like it. Maybe I should lend you my book after all.”

  “I’m not sure I want to read it,” Evelyn protested. Nevertheless, Lilian drew the book from the shelf and gave it to her. Evelyn took it dumbly.

  “And I think you’ll enjoy this one.” Lilian handed The Rainbow to Evelyn.

  “Thank you.” Evelyn returned to her armchair, before any more of Lilian’s books could create awkward conversations.

  Lilian turned curious eyes on Evelyn again. “So there’s really no one waiting for you at home? No one you’re just dying to marry?”

  Again, Evelyn thought of Michael. But he was not waiting for her and she certainly had no wish to marry him. She did not want to bring him into this new place, to give Lilian even more questions. “No, there’s no one. I should really be married by now, of course.”

  “You’re younger than me, and I’m not married.”

  “I’m different to you.” She did not really need to explain why she was so different to Lilian.

  “Why are you? You’re a young woman, you’re attractive, you’re smart. What can I do that you can’t do?”

  Evelyn considered. “It’s not about what I can or can’t do. It’s what I expect to happen in my life.”

  “Did you expect to be in London today?”

  “No,” Evelyn admitted.

  “Then perhaps it’s not really about what you expect to happen. Life’s about what you want to happen, if you ask me.”

  Evelyn thought Lilian’s approach was rather selfish and idealistic. But then Lilian seemed to have always been wealthy and popular, so it was not really a surprise that she did not approach life practically. And even Evelyn could admit the lure of going through life as Lilian did.

  “I suppose I don’t really know what I want to happen,” she replied. “I don’t even know how long I’ll stay in London.”

  “Well, how long did you tell your family you’d be away?” Lilian asked.

  Evelyn hesitated. The pause was long enough to raise another question from Lilian. “You did tell them you were coming away to London, didn’t you, Evie?”

  “Not exactly,” Evelyn confessed. There was no point trying to live a lie while she was staying with Lilian. “I left letters for them. They’ll know now.”

  “So you’re a runaway.” Lilian seemed delighted by the news. “How awfully cloak-and-dagger.”

  “Not really.” She explained her early morning departure. “Hopefully they’re not too worried.”

  “My parents wouldn’t give a fig, but I expect yours are slightly different to that.” Lilian reflected for a moment.

  “I think they’ll be very angry,” Evelyn said thoughtfully. There weren’t words to convey the level on which she suspected she had angered her parents.

  “And they’ll miss you?”

  “I suppose so.” She realised she’d barely considered the extent to which they cared about her. “I don’t know. I never really felt like they liked me very much, if you know what I mean. They spent all of their money on Eddie, sent him to school when they made me leave when I was fourteen, that sort of thing. And then my younger sister, Annie, she was the one who led the life she was expected to. She’s recently married and she’ll be a perfect wife and mother. I could never settle, you see.” It felt good to explain what she had always kept to herself, even if it was to someone like Lilian.

  “And when Eddie offered you the chance to come to London, you took it, no matter the consequences.” Lilian spoke softly, gently inquisitive now.

  “Yes. I mean, I also wanted to make sure you got Frank’s letter. That seemed ever so important too. But there were other ways of getting it to you without coming here on my own. I just wanted to see London so badly.”

  “And there’s nothing at all wrong with that, Evie. I, for one, am very glad you did. And thank heavens it was my doorstep you landed on. It could have been anyone. Imagine if I was a stuffy old schoolteacher or something. Then you’d see a whole different side of London.”

  “Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect. I knew London was big and exciting but I didn’t really know much about life here. I still don’t.”

  “Of course. And even a school ma’am could probably show you some thrilling museums and formal gardens. But if you really want to live, you came to the right place.”

  “I can see that.” Evelyn smiled. “And I do want to thank you for taking me in. You needn’t have done. And for being prepared to show me so much.”

  “Darling, so far you’ve only seen the Yellow Orchid. Now, it’s a smashing place, no doubt, but there is more to London, even I can admit that.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing much more. And to meeting more of your friends.”

  “I think we’ll have to see about finding you some better clothes too.” Lilian looked Evelyn up and down. Today she was in her smart grey skirt and cream blouse and this was seemingly unacceptable to Lilian, who frowned slightly. “I think I’ll introduce you to my dressmaker. Though we could get something off the peg, of course.”

  “I don’t have an awful lot of money,” Evelyn said cautiously.

  “Then we’ll be careful. But you really can’t keep dressing as if it’s twenty years ago. It’s so awfully liberating to wear what you want to.”

  Evelyn decided there was no point arguing that she was already wearing what she wanted to, and that she really had no desire to dress as elaborately as Lilian. She would fight that battle when it came to actually purchasing a dress. In an effort to change the subject, she decided to try to find out a little more about Lilian and her friends.

  “It was nice to meet Dorothy last night,” she said. “Are you old friends?”

  “Reasonably, although we weren’t at school together. I’ve known her since I came to London. It was Dorothy who told me about the Yellow Orchid. She’s known Vernon for simply ages. She’s almost like his sister.”

  Evelyn had not really paid much attention to the relationship between Vernon and Dorothy. However, the comment brought Vernon’s real sister into her mind. “And have you known Jos long?”

  “Not really. She’s rather a standoffish sort. Of course, James is disapproving of her kind and that doesn’t help us make friends.” Lilian did not sound like she really wanted to make friends with Jos.

  “But you’re not disapproving?” Evelyn pressed. She was oddly fascinated by Jos and her friends.

  Lilian looked awkward. “Not disapproving, exactly. I mean, I don’t really think it’s right, not the done thing so to speak. I mean, what can they really do with each other?” When Evelyn responded with a puzzled frown, Lilian looked mildly exasperated. “I mean sex, Evie. What can two women possibly do with each other?”

  Evelyn flushed. “I’m sure I don’t know. I can’t begin to imagine…” Although, she found, as she said the words, she could begin to imagine. True, she was only contemplating what it would be to kiss a woman like Jos, in the way she and Michael had kissed, but the image was rather vivid.

  “I will admit that Clara and Courtney have a good relationship. I don’t really object to them. They’ve got each other and they’re really quite eccentric, aren’t they? Besides, Courtney’s American, so it’s not really any surprise. But still, one has to wonder if they wouldn’t be happier if they found husbands. Or men to love them.”

  “It is rather extraordinary to think of two women courting each other,” Evelyn said. “But somehow it doesn’t shock me.” It was just one in a list of extraordinary things that had happened in the last two days. “Does Jos live with Vernon?”

  “No, but she spends a lot of time with him.” Lilian seemed irritated by this. “She often calls in on the way home from her work at the theatre.”

>   “She works in the theatre?” Jos seemed even more interesting now.

  “Oh yes, did we not tell you that? She makes scenery. Doesn’t just paint it, mind, she does all of the carpentry and things too. She might do more than too, I can’t say I’ve paid that much attention. I think she’s close by because she’s working on a pantomime on Shaftesbury Avenue somewhere.”

  “She does the carpentry?” Evelyn remembered Jos’s warm, rough fingers, the sensation of touching them as she looked into Jos’s blue eyes.

  “Oh yes. But then you can tell from looking at her that she’s a tomboy—it’s not really a surprise, is it?”

  “No, I suppose not. Are there many women like her?” Evelyn realised how naive her question sounded as soon as she asked it.

  “Well, that’s a question, darling. Who can say? Obviously you met Clara and Courtney last night, they went to school with Dorothy. And I know a few others. One or two who bat for both teams too.”

  “Both teams?”

  “They like men and women. For sex, at least.”

  Evelyn found herself, once more, lost for words. That anyone could like another person for the purposes of sex was entirely a revelation to her, let alone that a woman could like another female in this way.

  “It’s not just women either. There’s plenty of men who like other men too. James is even more uptight about that one. Of course, the men tend to be relatively private about it because it’s against the law for them.”

  “Is it? Why for them and not for women?” Evelyn could not work out why that would be the case.

  “Oh yes. But that’s because men can, well, do…something…a little more than women can. If you know what I mean.” Evelyn did not know what Lilian meant but chose not to admit this and press the matter. “But they find ways of making themselves known to each other. Of course, the Yellow Orchid attracts all sorts of people. And one can’t really complain. It’s modern times, isn’t it? What was it that Mr. Pound said about writing in modern times? Make it new! And really that’s what’s important isn’t it?”

  Evelyn reflected that if it was possible for women to love women and men to love men, it was likely not a new development or a modern affectation. Her one encounter with Clara and Courtney had showed her how genuine their love seemed to be. It certainly seemed far more sincere than much of what Lilian did and said in the name of being new and modern. She chose not to share these thoughts with Lilian. “How often do you go to the Yellow Orchid?” she asked instead.

  “Oh, whenever we feel like it. At least twice a week in the evening and once during the day. I don’t always sing, of course. Vernon hosts other singers and some top-notch bands. You’ll keep coming with us, of course.”

  “Yes, I’d like that. It will be interesting to get to know Dorothy more. And Vernon too, of course.”

  At this, Lilian’s face fell. Evelyn was intrigued. It seemed to be impossible to mention Vernon without Lilian reacting. Could it be that Vernon was the man she was involved with?

  “Dorothy’s one of my favourite people, of course,” Lilian said. “But don’t expect to get to know too much of Vernon. Oh yes, he’s handsome and all, but he’s a terrible man, really.”

  “I thought you were friends,” Evelyn pressed, now even more curious.

  “We are. But a woman would really have to be a perfect idiot to be tangled up with him. If you’re looking for someone to discover the mysteries of sex with, I don’t suggest you try Vernon.” At Evelyn’s astonished reaction, the tension dissolved from Lilian’s face. “Not that you were, darling. I just know what he’s like for latching onto any new face at the Orchid, especially the pretty ones. And you are pretty.”

  “Thank you.” Evelyn smiled at the compliment, sure now that Lilian was somehow involved with Vernon. It seemed odd that for all of Lilian’s openness she did not just admit it. Perhaps she was afraid of appearing foolish for falling for a man who was clearly neither faithful or particularly loving. Evelyn resolved to watch them more closely the next time she saw them together.

  “In fact, by the time we get you a new dress and maybe a haircut, you’ll have men flocking to your side.” Lilian winked.

  Evelyn was flattered but also aware that her desire to live her time in London well was rather different from Lilian’s. It seemed remarkable that a woman who advocated rights for women as strongly as Lilian did seemed to think that the attention of men was a measure of success. “We’ll see,” was all she said in response.

  “Oh, I know what I’m talking about, darling. I could show you how to have men eating out of the palm of your hand.”

  “I’m sure you could.” Evelyn smiled and looked out of the window. Rows and rows of rooftops stretched across the view. So many houses, so many people, so many lives. She looked back to Lilian, reflecting that she could have done a lot worse than finding Lilian as her first friend in London. She would just have to be careful that Lilian didn’t try to interfere too much in her decisions.

  They were quiet for a moment. Evelyn was just beginning to wonder what Lilian was thinking when she broke the silence. “So, darling, shall we go our separate ways for an hour or so? Then dress and go to see the palace? And then I’ll take you to tea at the Park Lane. It’s a swanky place, you’ll love it.”

  “I will do my best to dress appropriately,” Evelyn said.

  “Top hole, we’ll be ready to leave at about two, how does that sound?”

  “Perfect.” Evelyn left Lilian in her bedroom. She took the books with her to her own room and set them on the bedside table. Her first thought was to go through her few clothes to work out what would best suit Lilian’s swanky afternoon tea. When she’d done the best she could, she sat on the bed for a moment and contemplated the books. She had to admit she was intrigued at just what an ideal marriage was considered to be.

  Chapter Nine

  Side by side, Evelyn and Lilian walked along a wide, tree-lined path which led straight through the middle of Green Park. The winter trees had lost their leaves and the sky was a cold pale grey, but Evelyn still found the park beautiful. True, it was odd to see such a wide green space so surrounded by buildings, and every flower bed and row of trees was clearly there by human design rather than nature’s hand, but she could understand why so many people sat on the benches either side of the path, appreciating the park.

  It seemed that the park attracted all kinds of people. Some young men in the clothes of manual labourers were gathered around one bench, sharing a bottle of milk between them, joking loudly with each other. On the very next bench, a man in a bowler hat read The Times. A small boy in short trousers and a knitted jacket ran across their path, back towards where his uniformed nanny waited with a perambulator, attempting to soothe the crying infant within. Ahead of them, a young, smartly dressed couple strolled arm in arm and an elderly lady stopped to speak to a similarly aged acquaintance.

  All of these people lived in London. The old and the young, the rich and the poor. And the majority did not know each other. On the other paths through the park, more people strolled, passing away a pleasant hour of leisure or using the park as a thoroughfare as part of a busy day. Strangers everywhere. In West Coombe that would have been impossible. Although she was not on conversational terms with everyone in town, she at least recognised them all. No one in West Coombe was truly a stranger. And the town had its old established rhythms, so you could usually guess what business a person was about at a particular time of day. In London, time seemed to be a different concept. There were no routines or rhythms and everyone was a stranger, caught up in his or her life. The anonymity appealed to Evelyn. Here she was, a young woman walking through a London park, feeling awfully self-conscious, and the only person who even noticed her was Lilian. It was oddly liberating not to be noticed, to know she wouldn’t meet a family acquaintance around the next corner. Only now did Evelyn realise how much time she had spent hiding from observation and judgement. She liked her clifftop retreats precisely because she hardly ev
er saw anyone, let alone someone who would recognise her. In London, she did not have to retreat into isolation. She could be invisible and yet part of a crowd at the same time.

  Of course, being invisible wasn’t necessarily desirable. Perhaps, she contemplated, if a person was like Lilian and lived to be noticed and praised, it would be necessary to try to ensnare people’s attention. No wonder Lilian spoke so loudly, was so gregarious, and dressed in such an extraordinary fashion. She wanted to stand out from the London crowds. Evelyn could hardly blame her, though it was further proof of how different they were.

  Lilian had decided that Evelyn’s skirt and blouse would do for tea at the Park Lane, but insisted on lending her a hat. It was a grey felt cloche and decorated with white and orange ostrich feathers, as well as a fancy silver and crystal ornament, where the feathers met the white ribbon which went around the crown. Evelyn wore Lilian’s string of pearls again but had left her butterfly brooch on her dressing table, afraid of losing it again and made uncomfortable by her dream. Lilian also insisted in lending her a woollen wrap of grey wool, doing away with the need for her coat.

  For her part, Lilian did not look quite so extraordinary as she had the previous evening. Her outfit was a single tone of midnight blue, skirt and coat matching the hat perfectly. A loose belt at her waist had a silver buckle which sparkled with crystals, and there was a similar ornament to the ribbon of her hat, but otherwise she was, for Lilian, dressed in quite a conservative manner. Evelyn noticed that the women of London wore a myriad of colours and styles. Some of the older women looked as though they had not fully escaped the last century, with floor-length skirts and corseted waists, many were stylish but dour, and others wore bright colours and short skirts more similar to Lilian. It was these women to whom Evelyn’s attention was most drawn, until a group of young women in what was clearly school uniform walked past, laughing together.

  “Oh, how I miss my school days,” Lilian exclaimed as they passed. “Don’t you, darling?”