No Wings to Fly (30 page)

Joel was looking at her aghast. He sat gazing at her, his eyes wide, his hands gripping his overcoat on his thighs, blunt fingers digging into the fabric. On the road that ran beside the station a heavy wagon rumbled by, pulled by two carthorses, its driver yelling out to the beasts. On the
platform the station master appeared from his little office, looked up at the clock, checked his watch and then retreated inside. Lily sat with her eyes fixed on the floor at her feet. After a time she said dully, not raising her head:

‘So you see, I’m not as I was.’

Joel remained rigid, his pained gaze upon her, as if unable to comprehend such a tale.

‘I’m not that same girl any more,’ Lily said, ‘and I never will be again.’

Joel said, his voice deep and husky: ‘I don’t understand. I can’t understand how a man can be so – so wicked.’ Briefly he pressed his hands to his eyes. As he lowered them again he said, ‘Had you – done anything?’

‘What? Done anything? What do you mean?’

He hunched his shoulders, almost a shrug. ‘I mean, well – had you said or done anything to – to encourage him?’

She frowned. ‘Did I do anything to encourage him?’ There was a note of incredulity in her voice. ‘Are you asking if I – if I led him on?’

‘No, oh, no. Don’t think that.’ He shook his head in a gesture of distress. ‘I didn’t mean it to sound that way. I just – wondered . . . Did it – did it just come out of the blue . . .? Did you have no inkling – no warning that he felt for you in this way?’

‘None. There was no warning at all. He was always polite and pleasant, nothing more.’ The tears on her cheeks were dry. A dull calm was creeping over her. She realised that with her revelation all was now lost and, whatever her efforts, there was nothing more to be saved.

Along the platform came a woman with two small children, followed by a young girl carrying a basket. ‘There’s a train due,’ Lily said. ‘I must catch it. And you – you must go and do your business with your client.’

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘we can’t leave things like this.’

She was silent for a second, then she said, ‘Listen to me . . .’

‘Yes . . .?’

‘Listen to me. You said – certain things to me in the coffee house. You spoke of a possible future together, and I know you meant it. But – but things are different now. I’ve told you certain things – and those things are bound to make a difference. How could they not?’ She shook her head and gave a faint, sad little smile. ‘Oh, Joel – how I wish that they did not, but they must do – and they have. So – I hold you to nothing. Nothing at all.’

As if she had not spoken, he said, ‘I can’t – I can’t believe what I’ve heard. And when I think on those times we had together. Oh, how I wish we could go back to them.’

‘Yes.’ She gave the faintest nod. ‘But we never can.’

She sat then in silence, while some part of her brain, and her heart, hoped that he might yet say that all was well, that he would speak some words that would show that their lives could be picked up and resumed, and that they could be together again as if they were once more so young and untouched by the stains of life.

But he did not speak. And as the moments of silence stretched out between them, she knew that all was lost.

Two more travellers had come along the platform, an old man with a younger woman holding on to his arm. Dully, Lily observed them as they drew nearer. If they came close enough they would save her and Joel from any more painful exchanges. Almost with a feeling of relief she saw them come to a halt just two or three feet away – and then the station master was there again, with his flag in his hand, looking back along the track.

‘Here comes the train,’ Lily said.

The moment after she had spoken there came the faint sound of a whistle, and the train came into view, a tiny shape in the distance, growing larger by the second.
Opening her bag, Lily dipped into it, scrabbling with her fingers, and brought out a small notebook and a pencil. ‘Here . . .’ Hurriedly she wrote on a page and tore it out, pressing it into his palm.

‘Here’s my address in Sherrell. Write to me – if you feel inclined.’ Now the train was here, slowing alongside the platform. ‘Perhaps – perhaps we can still be friends.’ She was not sure what she was saying; she was snatching at words in the panic of the moment, while the moment was flying by, irretrievable. Before them on the platform the travellers moved forward, preparing to board. Lily picked up her bag and umbrella and got to her feet. Joel stood up beside her, the scrap of paper in his hand. ‘Lily – wait,’ he said. ‘You can’t go like this.’

The train had pulled to a complete halt, and the carriage doors were being opened by the passengers. Joel reached out as Lily took a step forward.

‘Lily, wait . . .’

‘No, I must go. You can write to me if you want to.’

‘Lily – listen to me. This is all a – a shock to me, you know that, but I want to do the right thing. I want – ’

‘Joel,’ she broke in, ‘you must not be noble. You need time to think. Now is not the time for hasty decisions.’ She hesitated a moment longer, then turned and hurried across the platform to where a carriage door swung open. Joel followed close at her heels, halting at the door as she pulled it shut behind her. There were other people in the carriage, but she hardly noticed them. As quickly as she could, she lowered the window and stood at it, facing him.

‘Joel,’ she said, ‘it’s been so wonderful to see you again, to see you so well, and successful.’

There came the sound of the guard’s whistle. She put a hand on the top of the open window, and at once Joel put his hand on hers.

‘I’ll write to you,’ he said.

‘Yes, write to me.’

As she finished speaking the train gave a jolt and began to move. Joel pressed her hand one last time and withdrew his touch. She stood at the open window until the train had taken her beyond sight of him, then pulled the window closed, and sat down.

It was well after six when Lily arrived back at Rowanleigh. As she entered the hall she met Mary carrying a tea-tray, on the way to Miss Elsie in her study. ‘She’s been asking for you, miss,’ the maid said. ‘She’s been wondering why you wusn’t back.’

‘Yes,’ Lily said, ‘I’m afraid I got delayed.’ Putting down her bag and umbrella, she said, ‘Let me have the tray, Mary. I’ll take it up,’ and took the tray from the girl’s hands. Then, still in her hat and coat, she started up the stairs, and a minute later was sitting facing Miss Elsie across her desk and telling of her success at her meeting with Mrs Acland.

Miss Elsie was overjoyed at the news. ‘This is splendid,’ she said, beaming, ‘though I was sure it would go well. When do you start?’

‘In two weeks.’

‘Excellent.’

Lily went on then to speak of her brief meeting with the two Acland children, and then of having arranged her lodgings with the widow Mrs Thorne. Miss Elsie sipped at her tea and nodded her approval. ‘It’s all worked out for you,’ she said, ‘and it’s what you’ve been working for. I’m proud of you, I really am. I’ve been dying to know how you fared, but you were away such a long time. I was beginning to get a little concerned.’

‘Yes,’ Lily said, ‘I – I met an old friend. Someone I hadn’t seen in a good while. We stopped and had some tea together.’

For a moment Miss Elsie waited for her to elaborate, but Lily said nothing more. ‘Ah, well,’ Miss Elsie said, ‘I’m sure that must have been very pleasant. It’s nice when old friends meet.’

‘Yes.’

Miss Elsie reached out and lightly touched Lily’s arm. ‘You’re tired, my dear. You go on now, and we’ll talk more over dinner.’

Up in her room, Lily, still wearing her coat and hat, sat on the side of the bed. About her interview with Mrs Acland she could only feel joy and satisfaction, but at the same time she could not stop reliving her meeting with Joel and what had passed between them. Not only had his feelings for her not changed, but he had spoken of a shared future. In her most self-indulgent dreams it might have been all she could have wished for, but she had had to tell him the truth, the secret that could be a secret no more. And with it, the telling, she had surely spelt the end. Whatever hopes she might have nursed, her confession had surely finished them – and yet, said a small insistent voice in her brain, he had made clear his feelings for her. He loved her still. Perhaps, then, all was not lost. Perhaps . . .

She could do nothing but wait. She would hear from him soon.

After getting dressed the next morning, Lily was standing before the looking-glass touching at her hair when there came a tap at the door. She opened it to find Mary on the threshold, holding out an envelope. ‘This just come, miss,’ the maid said. ‘I brought it straight up.’

Lily thanked her, wondering who the letter could be from. It was too soon to hear from Joel, she had long since given up expecting to hear any word from her father, and, other than Tom, she could not think of anyone else who
would be writing to her. Closing the door after the departing maid, she looked at the writing on the envelope, and realised that it was her stepmother’s hand. The envelope held a single sheet of notepaper. On it her step-mother’s lines were brief and to the point:

As Lily read the letter through, her heart began to pound in her breast. Her father was sick, and clearly too sick to write. That her stepmother should have been moved to write in his stead was unprecedented – and most disturbing. There was no question but that she must return home at once. She would pack a bag and be ready to leave as soon as breakfast was over.

When told of the letter, Miss Elsie said at once that Mr Shad would drive Lily to the station, and less than half-an-hour later Lily set off.

When the train arrived at Compton Wells she took the omnibus from outside the station and alighted near the end of Hawthorne Lane. A cold wind whipped along beside the hedgerow, and she pulled up the collar of her coat. As she walked she looked about her at the familiar scenery. Thirteen months had passed since she had last been here, but it might have been no more than a day; nothing about it
had changed. And still fresh in her mind was her distress on that day of her departure, when she had left in disgrace to go to Sherrell.

Coming at last to the house, she moved round to the back door and let herself into the scullery. Here again all was the same. She stood for a moment listening, then opened the door into the kitchen, and stepped through.

‘Father . . .? Mother . . .?’

Standing inside the threshold on the worn linoleum, she held her breath, listening again. There was no sound apart from the sonorous ticking of the long-case clock. Then against the quiet she heard footsteps from out in the yard, followed by the click of the latch of the scullery door. She turned as the kitchen door opened, and her stepmother entered.

‘Oh – Mother, hello.’

Mrs Clair came to a stop in the doorway. ‘So,’ she said, ‘you got here.’ There was no welcoming smile on her face, no warmth in her expression. Even so, there was something different about her manner. Whereas she usually appeared calm and self-contained, now she had a preoccupied air about her, a slightly distracted look; her brow was furrowed, her lips compressed. ‘I didn’t know what time to expect you,’ she said. There was nothing in her manner acknowledging their long separation. Lily might have been away only an hour.

‘I arrived just this minute,’ Lily said, setting down her things, at which Mrs Clair, as if Lily had not spoken, said, ‘I’ve been up the garden to cut a cabbage.’ Her pale hands fluttered. ‘We’ve still got to think about dinner. Life’s got to go on.’

‘I got your letter this morning,’ Lily said. ‘It came by first post.’

‘My letter – yes.’ Mrs Clair nodded. ‘I should have written earlier, I know, but there’s so much to do, you can’t
imagine. Thank God, Dora’s at school, so that gives me a breather.’

Lily stepped back a pace as her stepmother moved past her and stopped before the kitchen range. Mrs Clair lifted the plate and tipped a few coals into the fire. ‘How is he, Mother?’ Lily said. ‘I was just about to go upstairs. He’s in bed, is he?’

Her stepmother turned back to face her. ‘Yes, he is. The doctor came yesterday, and will be coming back tomorrow. I don’t know how we’re going to pay for it all. There’s no money coming in.’ She gestured towards the hall door. ‘Yes, go up and see your father now. He’s been waiting for you to get here.’ She brushed her hands together, dusting off her palms. ‘I’ve had to leave him for a few minutes – I’ve got to get things done while I have the chance – while he’s quiet. There’s so much to do. I’m absolutely worn out.’ She wiped the back of her hand across her brow where a wispy lock of hair had come adrift. ‘I gave him his medicine not long ago so he ought to be feeling a bit easier at the moment. Trouble is, he needs more and more of the stuff.’

‘Mother, what’s wrong with him?’ Lily said. ‘You didn’t say in your letter.’

‘No – well – it isn’t something you can really write about.’

‘How long has he been ill? Has he been off work a long time?’

‘Several weeks now. For a while he didn’t seem too bad, but then he seemed to get worse very suddenly. Just in a couple of weeks. He’s gone down very quickly in that time.’

‘But what is it? What’s wrong with him?’

Mrs Clair waved her hands agitatedly before her. ‘Well, it – it’s a malignancy, the doctor says.’ She lowered her hands to her belly, briefly placing them on her apron. ‘In the liver, so the doctor says.’ She looked away, towards the window. ‘It’s the cancer.’

Lily put her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh, God.’

‘Yes.’ Mrs Clair nodded. ‘It’s bad, I’m afraid. It’s very bad. He’s so often in pain. Very bad pain at times.’

Lily stood as if frozen. She had concluded that her father’s illness must be serious, but the reality behind her stepmother’s words was chilling. After a moment she said, ‘What does the doctor say about it?’