No Wings to Fly (44 page)

The hands of the corn exchange clock were just coming up to six-fifteen as Lily walked through the square. It was a warm, balmy evening. The shops and offices were closing now, and many of the clerks, deliverymen and shop assistants were making their way back to their homes for their evening meals and what leisure time remained.

Having paused only to buy a copy of the
Corster Gazette
from a newsvendor, she moved on towards the entrance to the Gardens. On reaching the flagstoned area before the gates, she found a seat near the fountain and sat down.

She looked around for Tom, but he was nowhere in sight. She was early; he would be here soon. As her glance moved
back and forth across the square she tried to relax, but she was preoccupied. She could not for long escape thoughts of the letter that had come to her that morning from Mr Soameson in Happerfell.

After reading it she had stood holding it in trembling hands, scarcely able to take in the contents. What should she do about it? she had asked herself. And then the answer had come that she had no option but to reply to it, to thank Mr Soameson for his interest, but tell him that she was already engaged for employment.

But she could not so easily dismiss the implications of the letter. Georgie . . . She had been invited to the house where he lived. She could go into the house where he lived as the Soamesons’ son . . . But no, it was madness to think along such lines, she admonished herself. Then she told herself that she was fortunate to have her agreement with Mr Corelman – that agreement that prevented her from even considering the offer contained in the letter from Happerfell.

She must not dwell on the matter; it was too tormenting. From her bag she took the newspaper and scanned the first few pages. There was a piece about the formation of the local government boards that were to be set up throughout the country, and a report of alarming outbreaks of smallpox in Bath and Bristol. There was also a report of a fire at a factory in Redbury. She passed over all of it – nothing of it could touch her – and put the paper back in her bag.

A glance at the clock on the wall of the corn exchange showed the time coming up to seven o’clock. Still no sign of Tom.

She continued to wait while the minutes passed and the light faded, but then at last she gathered up her bag and rose from the bench. It was almost eight o’clock. Tom would not be coming now.

The early, mellow days of September passed by as Lily waited to hear some word from Tom, hoping every day for a letter, but there was nothing. Friday came, a week to the day since she had waited for him outside the Corster Victoria Gardens, and still there was no word. She would give it until Monday, she decided, and then if there was still nothing she would write to him at the farm in Wilton Ferres. In the meantime she must get on, for that same coming Monday would see her going to her new position at Seston. Mr Corelman had written to say that he would be occupied in Redbury for most of the day, but would expect her at the house at four in the afternoon.

She did not look forward to it. In her room on the Sunday afternoon, she bent over the bed packing into her box the last few items of linen she had ironed that morning. She felt tense and on edge, as if all the time she was waiting for something to happen. She had no sense of ease as she thought about the move to Seston. No matter how much she tried to comfort herself, the prospect was daunting. But then she told herself not to be foolish, and to have confidence in her ability. It was true that Mr Corelman had not appeared to be the most engaging of employers, but she was conscientious and able, and she would succeed.

Joel, too, was on her mind. He would be well into his travels now, though where he might be she could not try to guess. Was he thinking of her? It would be weeks before
they could meet again, but she dared not think of that time, that time that existed in his promise.

She straightened from her task and moved to the window and looked down onto the lawn. The blackbird was picking about among the sparse scattering of dead leaves that lay in the margins of the herbaceous border. Her thoughts were in turmoil, and the cause was not only Joel, or her forthcoming employment, or her brother’s failure to meet her; there was also the matter of the letter.

It lay in the top drawer of the small chest near her bed, where it had been for over a week. On several occasions she had taken it out and read it through. She knew it now almost by heart.

The letter offered to her the most wonderful opportunity – the opportunity to see her son. However, although her heart surged at the thought of such a meeting, she knew that it could not happen.
Oh, but to see him again
– but she must not even think of it. No possible good could ever come from such an action. Things had changed, and had changed for ever. For a little while she had been his whole world, his everything, but no more. He had a new life, of which she was no longer a part. There was a woman he knew and loved as his mother, a man he loved as his father – and now, she had learnt from the letter, he had a sister too. His new world was complete.

The blackbird was still there, tossing aside the few dead leaves that Mr Shad’s gardening had left behind. How simple life was for some living creatures, she thought. With a sigh she turned away from the window and moved back to the bed. A little more effort and the task was finished, the box was packed. She would be ready to leave the next day.

She stood before the glass in the hall to give a final check on her appearance and to twitch at her hat. Miss Elsie was nearby, waiting to see her off. As Lily lingered she could
feel her heart beating in her breast. ‘Well,’ she said, giving a final touch at her collar, ‘it’s one o’clock. Time I was away. Mr Shad will be waiting and I mustn’t miss my train.’

She turned and started towards the rear of the house, Miss Elsie following. Close to the back door her box and valise stood on the polished tiles, waiting to be picked up by Mr Shad, who would be knocking at any moment to say he was ready. Reaching the door, Lily turned to Miss Elsie and said, a note of bravado in her tone:

‘Well – wish me luck.’

‘Of course I wish you luck,’ Miss Elsie said, ‘Though you won’t need it.’

‘I wish I could be as sure.’ Lily hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and tentatively put her arms around Miss Elsie’s shoulders. As she did so she could smell the scent of Miss Elsie’s tobacco. ‘Goodbye,’ she said. ‘You’ve been so kind, so good. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’

Miss Elsie shrugged herself out of the embrace, a little embarrassed. ‘No, my dear, I’ve done nothing.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Lily said. ‘I couldn’t begin to tell you how much.’

Miss Elsie gave a gruff laugh. ‘Oh, get along, Lily, do. Such nonsense. You’ll be back here again for a weekend before you know it.’

Footsteps sounded on the tiles as Lily moved to open the door, and Mary came towards them. ‘Ah, I just caught you, miss.’ She held out an envelope. ‘Postman’s just been, and left this for you.’

Lily thanked her, took the envelope and looked at the writing on it. It was totally unfamiliar. Inserting her fingertip under the flap she tore it open.

It was a brief letter, with a printed heading.

Lily stood with the letter in her hand. Any anxiety about her employment with Mr Corelman had vanished. She looked up to see Miss Elsie looking at her with wide eyes.

‘My brother,’ Lily said, ‘– he’s ill. He’s in the infirmary at Grassinghill.’

‘Oh, dear. Do they say what’s wrong?’

‘No – just that he’s a patient. He’s been there almost two weeks.’

Miss Elsie frowned. ‘What are you going to do?’

Lily did not hesitate. ‘I’m going there. I must go there now.’

‘What about Mr Corelman? He’ll be expecting you.’

‘I can’t help that. I must go and see Tom.’

As Lily spoke there came a knock at the door. ‘I come for your things, miss,’ Mr Shad said to Lily. ‘We’d best get off, if you’re to get your train.’

‘Oh – Mr Shad – leave them, leave them.’ Lily’s hands fluttered in her nervousness. ‘I’m not going to Seston yet. I have to get to Grassinghill – as soon as possible.’

‘Grassinghill, miss?’

‘Yes, the infirmary there. I must get there right away.’

She reached the infirmary at Grassinghill at three-forty. She had had to get a train to Corster, where she had changed for one to Wilton Ferres. From there she had boarded a coach that took her almost to the gates.

The infirmary was situated on the outskirts of the village, in a street with few dwellings. Lily had alighted outside an inn, and walked the fifty yards to the infirmary’s entrance. Standing at the open gates she took in the building before her. It was a grim-looking place, of three grey-stone storeys, with not one gracious line in all its expanse. From the courtyard, she made her way to the front entrance, over which she read the sign:
Queen Victoria Infirmary and Workhouse
, then mounted the three steps of the wide porch and pushed open the door.

Inside, she found herself in a cavernous hall, with a stone floor and whitewashed walls. A long corridor led from it. Two nurses in starched white uniforms and wide white caps like flying birds crossed through the hall and disappeared through one of the doors that opened off the corridor. A few yards away an old women knelt scrubbing the stone. The pungent smell of lye was in the air. Over to the right was a desk, behind which sat a porter, writing in a book. Lily went to him and he looked up as she appeared next to him. ‘Yes, miss, can I ’elp you?’

Lily already had the letter out of her bag as she began to speak. ‘I received this letter,’ she said, ‘telling me my brother is a patient here. I’ve come to see him.’

The man said at once, ‘You’d best go to the nurses’ office, miss. They’ll tell you where to go.’ He pointed off along the
corridor. ‘Go to the end room on the left. Somebody’ll ’elp you there.’

Lily thanked him and went down the corridor. There were people coming and going in all directions. From beyond one of the open doors she passed, a baby cried, its piercing yells ringing out. In another she saw a group of people surrounding a bed. In a third some women stood before water taps, washing out receptacles. The last room lay just yards further on, and she came to a stop at its slightly open door and knocked on one of the panels.

The door was pulled wide and a woman stood there in a white apron over her grey dress, with a tight-fitting head-dress over her short hair. ‘Yes, miss?’ Her voice was brisk. ‘I’m Sister Weston. Can I help you?’

‘I’m sorry to trouble you,’ Lily said, ‘but I’ve come to see my brother.’ She held out the letter and the woman took it and gave it an appraising glance. ‘Ah, yes,’ the nurse said, ‘Thomas Clair.’ She nodded solemnly. ‘Very unfortunate.’ She handed back the letter, and Lily put it into her bag.

‘May I see him?’ Lily said.

‘Yes, of course.’ The woman consulted a watch attached by a fine strap to her bosom and added, ‘Though visiting time’s nearly over for the afternoon. It finishes at four. You won’t have very long with him, I’m afraid. Only a few minutes.’

‘Oh, but – I’ve come such a long way,’ Lily said. ‘Can’t I stay with him a while?’

‘I’m sorry, miss.’ The woman’s tone was a little disapproving. ‘We can’t change the rules for everybody who comes in. We’d never get anywhere. You can come back tomorrow, of course. Visiting in the morning starts at half-past ten. Then in the afternoon again at three. Come with me. I’ll get one of the nurses to take you to him.’

Lily wanted to ask what was the matter with Tom, but the Sister was stepping past her into the corridor. Lily
followed her to a door opposite, which the nurse opened. ‘Simpkin,’ said the Sister, to a nurse who was rolling bandages, ‘will you take this young lady to patient Thomas Clair, please.’ She turned back to Lily. ‘The nurse will take you, but as I said, you won’t have long with him.’

As the Sister turned and went back across the corridor into her own office, the nurse put down the bandages and got to her feet. ‘Come with me, please,’ she said to Lily. ‘I’ll take you to him.’

Lily followed her along the corridor. ‘You’ll be his first visitor,’ the nurse said to Lily who walked just half a pace behind her right shoulder. ‘Not that I think it’s bothered him. I don’t think he’s felt much like seeing people. He’s in very low spirits, I’m afraid.’

‘I had no idea he was sick,’ Lily said. ‘Not till I got the letter this morning. I mean – well, he’s never ill. He might not look that hardy, but he’s strong enough. I mean – he came through scarlet fever all right when he was small, and diphtheria too.’

They had come to a stop outside a small ante-room. The nurse gestured towards the door. ‘The ward’s through here.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Lily said. ‘Is it pneumonia or something? No, that can’t be – not at this time of year. What is it? I’ve been reading that the smallpox is all over the country, but it surely can’t be that.’

The nurse, one hand on the door handle, said, ‘Oh, I thought you knew,’ then pushed open the door.

‘Knew what?’ Lily said. ‘I only know he’s here.’

The nurse looked a little surprised. ‘Well – he’s not sick in the sense of having a disease or something like that. Though it’s made him poorly enough – his accident.’

‘His accident?’