The Meadow Girls

by Sheila Newberry

  Sybil took a carton of skin cream from her handbag and began lazily to anoint her bare arms. She wore a new frock too, in kingfisher-blue silk, with a kerchief on her head.

  Rufus looked at his watch: another half-hour before he was to call time for lunch. He was conscious of the sensuous stroking of Sybil’s fingers as she protected her pale skin from the rays of the sun. She turned her attention to her legs, rolled down her stockings, deliberately pulling her skirt well above her knees. She was aware that he was staring openly now. She bent to her task, wondering what he was thinking.

  After a while Rufus said: ‘You are making rather an exhibition of yourself.’

  ‘Oh? Don’t you dare tell me you are not enjoying the experience!’

  ‘You are entitled to your opinion,’ he replied stiffly.

  ‘Rufus . . . you found me desirable once . . . what went wrong?’ she appealed.

  ‘In . . . that place where I grew up, we were told that most of us were there because our parents were sinful, lustful, that our conception likely had nothing to do with love.’

  ‘Why couldn’t you confide in me before? I could have helped you.’

  ‘My first wife tried. We weren’t at all in love, but became friends. You . . . I thought it would be different, but here we are, leading separate lives under the same roof.’

  ‘I’m a proud person, too. You rebuffed me on our wedding night. That was it.’

  ‘We should have talked this out long ago,’ he said, ‘but it’s too late now. You must realise the business is about to go under. We’ll have to sell the house to settle our debts. Don’t worry, I shall ensure that you are provided for. I don’t expect you to stay.’

  His hands were clenched in his lap. Impulsively, she reached out and touched his arm. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Rufus. I’ll help you all I can.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Time to blow the lunchtime whistle.’

  Cissie Coe stubbed her toe, as she scrambled, bare-footed, to where Miss Teazel guarded the lunch bags. Cissie’s exclamation of distress was heard. Miss Teazel was prepared this year. She had a phial of witch-hazel lotion and a wad of cotton wool.

  ‘Sit down, and I’ll see to it,’ she commanded, adding, with a glint in her eye, ‘It’s a pity Herbert from Furnishings is no longer with us, eh?’

  Cissie had joined the emporium after Herbert had departed, but she’d heard the story. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going,’ she confessed, ‘because, oh, you’ll never guess! I saw Mr Fullilove kissing his wife!’

  ‘That’s as it should be,’ Miss Teazel said primly. ‘I hope you haven’t got a guilty conscience.’

  Cissie flushed bright pink. ‘Sausages and mash, that’s all he bought me, not a nice fillet of steak, so I said a smart good-night after that.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Shall we have our sandwiches now?’

  That evening, back at the house, Mattie and Griff emptied the sand from their shoes in the garden. Mattie shook her hair loose. ‘That’s gritty too. I can’t wash it tonight.’ She scratched at the bites on her arms. ‘Maybe I should have had sleeves after all.’

  ‘Darned gnats. Quite spoiled our cream tea by that fish pond.’

  ‘Still, it was a lovely day out, even if we couldn’t tell the world we are in love!’

  ‘I expect they guessed,’ he said softly.

  ‘Oh, all the gossip was about Rufus and Sybil – can you believe it?’

  ‘Let’s take a walk down the garden, no one will see us there.’

  Mattie looked back at the house. ‘The lights have gone out upstairs . . .’

  Ostensibly, Rufus and Sybil shared a bedroom, but after their disastrous honeymoon night he had slept in the single bed in his dressing-room. Hilda knew, of course, but said nothing; it was their business, after all.

  After all the fresh air, Sybil was tired. She put her book down, and settled down to sleep. She wasn’t aware that Rufus had come into her room, and was hesitating at the end of her bed.

  ‘Sybil – are you awake?’ he said, after waiting for a response.

  She stirred, sat up. ‘Rufus? What is it.’

  ‘I wanted to say, I’m glad we talked . . .’

  ‘So am I. Is there anything else?’ she prompted.

  ‘I’m sorry I disturbed you.’

  ‘I’m glad you did. There’s something else I should tell you. Best in the dark, with you in bed with me . . .’

  They lay side by side, if still apart. ‘Well?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘I’ve been deceiving you. I needed more in my life: I had enjoyed quite a successful career before I met you, I missed my work. All those coffee mornings with other bored idle wives like myself – I decided to mix up my potions again, to offer them privately – discreetly – to make a little pin money.’

  ‘Was I really so mean to you?’

  ‘I admit that money was always an issue between us, Rufus. I resented that. Maybe if we’d enjoyed a normal married life, we could have sorted that out.’

  ‘I have a confession of my own to make. The visits to my club . . .’

  ‘You don’t have to explain! I think I can guess – another woman?’

  ‘No, much more mundane than that! Every evening I sit in a depressing, dark-panelled room, in a fug of cigar smoke, with a glass of whisky in the company of other lonely men, and discuss the stock market,’ he admitted wryly.

  ‘Oh Rufus, how foolish we’ve been!’ Sybil exclaimed. She knew she must make the first move. She moved closer, turned and wrapped her arms around him.

  ‘Are you sure?’ his voice was husky, his heart beating as fast as hers.

  ‘I’m sure,’ she murmured. ‘We’ve waited six years for this, after all.’

  *

  There had been a dangerous moment in the garden, when Mattie and Griff had been tempted to carry things further. Mattie had come to her senses first. ‘We’d both regret it in the morning,’ she whispered.

  ‘I wouldn’t!’ he protested.

  ‘It could lead to – complications. You know that. When we get married—’

  ‘Oh, you’ve decided that, have you?’ he essayed a joke.

  ‘This very minute!’

  ‘Then I shall make an announcement on my birthday!’

  ‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘It’s very late, and it’s work as usual tomorrow.’

  SEVEN

  There were visitors staying for a few days at the Plough. It was quite like the old days, Sophia thought, except these visitors were not the paying sort, being family. Fortunately Evie was at home for the long summer holiday and could look after little Robbie while Sophia saw to the guests, Will’s sister Mary and her son Walter, from Mitcham.

  Despite the age difference, Walter and Evie got on very well. He asked after Mattie. ‘Is she staying on in Plymouth? I thought she would have been home by now.’

  ‘I believe she would have been, if she hadn’t had a good reason to stay,’ Evie said. They were strolling across the meadow to the stream. She was glad to escape her responsibilities for an hour or so, was hoping to gather watercress for tea. The scorching heat had caused limp, yellowing grass. The stream had dwindled to a trickle.

  ‘Oh, and what is that?’ Walter queried.

  ‘Reading between the lines of her letters, well, it seems she’s smitten with Mr Fullilove’s stepson, Griff.’ She looked at Walter keenly. ‘You don’t appear pleased.’

  ‘I’m not,’ he admitted. ‘I took a shine to her, you see.’

  ‘You’ll find another girl,’ said Evie in her old-fashioned way.

  Walter smiled ruefully. Young Evie, he realised with a start, had a pretty, glowing face. In a few years’ time . . . He gave himself a mental shake. ‘I’m obligated to my mother. Expected to look after her in her old age in return for the sacrifices she made for my education. I rather think it will be the same for you, eh?’

  Evie shook her head. ‘I’ll have to lea
ve school early, as Mattie did, due to our family circumstances. My future’s mapped out, as nursemaid to Robbie!’

  Later, as they paddled in the shallows, Evie, with skirts looped up, her tanned lower limbs innocently displayed, recalled another August day in 1914. She thought, Mattie and I were carefree then, but everything was about to change, and Mattie’s childhood was soon over, as mine is now . . .

  ‘Not exactly an abundance of watercress!’ she called to Walter, giggling to see his pale feet seemingly elongated in the water as he trod cautiously on the pebbles.

  He scrambled on to the verge, set the basket down. ‘You get picking then, while I squeeze the water out of my trouser bottoms! I should have rolled them up to the knee.’

  ‘Don’t you have any shorts from your scouting days?’

  ‘I was never an outdoors type,’ he admitted.

  ‘No bicycling on Wimbledon Common? Mind you, we girls weren’t allowed to wander about freely when we were young. I was five before I came down to the stream, when Mattie was considered old enough to keep an eye on me! Mother was always wary of water – one slip, she used to say . . . The boys, though, learned to swim in the river.’

  ‘I stuck to my books. I’m a very dull chap, Evie. I don’t like admitting it, but maybe I was always destined to be an accountant.’

  She placed a small bunch of tender green cress in the basket. ‘I’m too old for my years, some say.’

  ‘You’re full of fun today. Good company,’ he said appreciatively.

  ‘Well, how about help with the picking? Mother will wonder where we are.’

  Sophia was, in fact, wondering whether she should have encouraged her young daughter to keep her cousin company. He was older, though she doubted he was any more experienced. However, she’d have a quiet word with his mother, she thought. Evie was far too young for any romantic notions.

  The following day Ronnie came in as usual for his lunch, with half a dozen red rosebuds from the stationmaster’s garden, wrapped in a discarded newspaper. Evie placed the stems in a basin of water, saving the paper to read later.

  ‘Mother said you’re taking Robbie along to the infirmary this afternoon.’ he said. ‘The roses are for Ena. Tell her I hope to see her soon, won’t you?’ He didn’t sound very convincing. He was invariably upset and withdrawn after visiting his wife.

  Evie bit her lip. How could she tell him that Ena always ignored the baby? Conversation was one-sided. She couldn’t pass this on to Ronnie either. Ena ranted on about her early life in London, before her mother returned to her home village with her small girl to escape her violent husband. Ena had never spoken of this time before; now, a shocked Evie learned of the abuse her young sister-in-law had suffered. No wonder, she thought, that Ena had ‘snapped’.

  Robbie, however, was a delightful baby, smiling and contented – much loved and cuddled by his grandparents, a comfort to his father, and, of course, Evie adored him. If only she didn’t have to play the role of ‘little mother’, she thought, with a sigh.

  ‘I’ll walk with you,’ Walter offered.

  ‘You won’t be able to come inside,’ Evie said quickly.

  ‘I hear there’s a pleasant garden and a seat or two. I’ll take a book to read, eh?’

  ‘I’d come too,’ Aunt Mary said, ‘but Sophia has decided we’ll make strawberry jam, so I can take a couple of jars home. Shame to waste those last small berries.’

  Evie wore her Sunday-best frock in pale green organza, with puff sleeves and a sash, made by Sophia from material sent by Mattie. Evie privately thought it rather childish, but Walter complimented her, ‘You look very nice!’ She wished her hair was as long and straight as Mattie’s.

  Robbie kicked his legs and waved his arms as he lay in his coachbuilt pram, loaned by the doctor’s wife, whose own family were long since grown and flown. He wore a white romper suit, a present from Aunt Alice. Being fair-skinned like Mattie he was shaded from the sun by a fringed canopy, fawn cotton lined with dark green.

  Evie was glad of her floppy sunhat. She glanced at Walter. You couldn’t call him handsome, she thought, but he’d lost his town pallor after this break in the country, and he was well-mannered, walking on the road side of the pavement.

  The infirmary, formerly the old workhouse, was situated on the outskirts of the village. Those suffering from mental problems, whether temporary or long-term, were housed in a separate wing from the cottage hospital. Some of the men tended the garden, growing vegetables; women at the recovery stage helped in the laundry, or in the sewing-room. However, the kitchens were considered out of bounds, because of hazardous equipment.

  There were chairs set out on the porch, so Evie suggested Walter wait there with the pram, while she went to find Ena. Carrying the flowers she went through the double doors into a long corridor, with small wards on either side. She met a nurse halfway along, who told her Ena had been moved to a two-bed room at the end.

  The nurse lowered her voice. ‘She is much quieter. She could well be home soon.’

  Ena opened the door. She wore hospital garb, a loose blue dress, as belts were not allowed. She accepted the roses, now wrapped in shiny paper, read Ronnie’s message, then laid the bunch on her bedside cabinet. ‘Nurse will put them in water later.’

  ‘Robbie is in his pram on the porch,’ Evie said tentatively. ‘Will you come out?’

  Ena nodded, after reflecting for what seemed a long moment. ‘All right.’ She followed Evie to the entrance.

  Walter looked up. He was rocking the pram handle. Robbie was almost asleep.

  ‘Ena, this is our cousin Walter from Mitcham. Walter, this is Ena,’ Evie said.

  Walter was on his feet, holding out his hand. Ena didn’t respond.

  ‘Shall we walk in the gardens?’ Evie asked quickly, releasing the pram brake.

  ‘If you like,’ Ena mumbled. Her expression was quite blank.

  They found a wooden bench fitted round a tree-trunk. The shade was welcome. Evie and Ena sat together, Walter on the far side, with his book.

  ‘Robbie has grown, hasn’t he?’ Evie willed Ena to look at her baby.

  ‘Yes,’ Ena said indifferently. She added: ‘They say I can leave here soon.’

  ‘Oh . . . that’s good news, isn’t it?’

  ‘You needn’t worry. I won’t come back to the Plough. Or to Ronnie and the baby. It . . . would only happen again, I know that. My mother will have me. She was frightened when I was shouting, but, as you can see, I’m calm now.’

  ‘Does Ronnie know?’

  ‘He will be told, when the time comes.’

  ‘Don’t you love him any more?’ Evie had to find that out.

  ‘As I said, it would only happen again . . .’

  Robbie stirred. Evie reached for his bottle, wrapped in muslin. ‘Would you like to nurse him?’ she appealed.

  Ena jumped up. ‘Leave me alone!’ she hissed, and stalked off without a backward glance.

  Walter came round the tree-trunk, looking concerned. Evie lifted Robbie up, with tears spilling from her eyes, and offered him the bottle.

  Walter’s arm went comfortingly round her shoulders. ‘You did your best,’ he said.

  It was October, and Mattie had been gone for six months. Evie had not returned to school in September. She looked forward to letters from Mattie, and now, from Walter. Her mother, she knew, perused them later, but there was nothing she could object to. However, she managed to write to her sister once without her mother being aware of it.

  Dearest Mattie,

  I need to tell my thoughts to someone, and I hope you don’t mind that it is you! You say you have a secret you are longing to tell us, but we have to wait a couple of weeks first! I hope it is about you and Griff. Well, I only have worries to share.

  Mother is still hoping that Ena will come back to Ronnie and the baby. Ena’s mother is out working all day in the fields, they live in a tied cottage as you know. Mother does not think it is wise for Ena to spend
so much time on her own.

  You say I should keep up with my studies at home, well, my only chance to read is when I go to bed, and then I am so tired, my eyes close before I turn more than a page or two. The only bright spot this year was when Walter was here!

  We will be even busier shortly. We are having paying guests, a mother and daughter. The younger lady is taking up a teaching post at the grammar school in town. Her mother is crippled with arthritis so will need our help. The good thing is they will pay for this too, so we will be much better off.

  Well, I must get this in the post. Write as soon as you can, as your letters buck me up no end. Your loving sister, Evie.

  Mattie received a letter from Sophia the same day, excited that things were looking up at last, in respect of the paying guests. Mattie decided to write back by return of post.

  Dear Mother,

  Good news indeed! Just a thought, I don’t mean to meddle! Would it be possible now for you to employ a girl to look after little Robbie, and for Evie to return to school for another year or two? I was lucky not to leave until I was fifteen, after all.

  Please do consider it!

  As promised, I will be home for a few days’ holiday shortly. Business is very slow just now, so it is a good time to come. Griff is looking forward to meeting you and Dad and thanks you for the kind invitation. If you have a ‘full house’ by then, perhaps he could share with Ronnie?

  Fondest love from your affectionate daughter, Mattie.

  Sophia discussed Mattie’s suggestion with Will. ‘What d’you think?’

  ‘I think it’s a good idea,’ he said slowly. ‘Maybe we have all expected too much of Evie. Go and see the headmistress this afternoon, ask if she agrees. Don’t mention it to Evie until you know if Miss Ashton is agreeable.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Reckon this young man of Mattie’s is coming to impart something important?’

  ‘Reading between the lines, I do!’ Sophia said.

  The following Monday Evie was welcomed back at school with open arms. Fanny Aldred, like Mattie a former classmate of Ena’s, came in daily to look after Robbie, and her cheerful presence was much appreciated by the family, including Ronnie. Of course, he was bound by his marriage vows, so Sophia wondered if she should have a word with him, but William said, rather sharply, not to presume anything of the sort. ‘Be glad things are looking better,’ he reminded his wife.