No Wings to Fly (59 page)

Thursday passed quickly for Lily, for she spent most of it with the boy. It was precious time – time, she well knew, that was all too soon to come to an end.

Friday came. By now she had almost given up expecting to hear any word from Joel, though she was still so hopeful. What possible crisis could there be other than that he was sick or had had an accident?

The
Corster Gazette
had come that day, and that evening, in the nursery, while the child lay sleeping, Lily took it to scan the advertisements for some position that would suit in case the one in Little Hawes did not work out. Among the numerous advertisements for sheep and cattle fairs, properties for sale and offers of music tuition, she studied the instances of employment on offer: calls for brewery apprentices, housekeepers, milkmaids and stockmen. There was no call there for a governess. On the right-hand side of the page there was again a report on the smallpox epidemic and its significance in the area. It made for alarming and depressing news.

The following morning she stayed in the nursery with Joshua, keeping him occupied with his toys and his
alphabet blocks, and then in the afternoon took him downstairs to see the nurse where she lay on the sofa, her tightly strapped ankle resting on a cushion. Miss Cattock was glad of the visit, and Joshua was equally pleased to be with her again.

Lily and the nurse chatted together as the boy played with his toys before the fire. He seemed to be recovering from his cold, Lily thought, and would surely be well enough for the trip the next day. With regard to it, everything was now set for the journey; earlier that day she had packed bags for herself and the child, and they were ready to leave. If her assumptions were correct, when she had safely delivered the boy in Edinburgh, she would stay overnight and then set off to return to Corster on the Tuesday. From that time on, her employment with the Soamesons would be finished. Further, she would have said goodbye to the child for the last time.

As she sat chatting with Emily Cattock, there came a tap at the door, and Susie opened it and held out an envelope. The postman had just called, she said, and there was a letter for Miss Clair.

Lily thanked her, took it, and saw at once that it was from Joel.

She stood there with the letter in her hand as Susie closed the door and left. ‘Well,’ Emily said, ‘aren’t you going to open it? Joshie and I’ll excuse you.’

Lily turned and smiled. ‘Later,’ she said. ‘I’ll read it later.’

In the early evening Lily and the maid brought up hot water to the nursery and Lily bathed Joshua. He was cheerful, but she could see behind his humour that he was tired, and that his tiredness would soon overtake him. She studied him as she washed him in the soft, warm water, gently smoothing on the soap and sponging it away, taking her time, almost not wishing the pleasure to end. She took in everything about him, revelling in each little observation of this perfect form that she had once miraculously discovered and known, and lost, and now was discovering all over again. It was something she had thought she would never do. She took in the feeling of his skin, like the finest silk, the perfect shape of his little limbs, his exquisite fingers and toes, the blush of his cheek, the texture of his fair hair as it sprang from his temples and curled in the damp. She took in the smile he turned to her, showing his small white teeth, and the subtle dimple beside his lip. She took in the little crescent mark by his ear – and if it was a flaw, dear God, she would not have had him without it. There was a bubble of soap on his chin which she wiped away with a fingertip, and as she gloried in him she remembered the times when she had bathed him before the fire at Rowanleigh. Now it was a different flickering fire, and he was four years older. Without question, though, he was still her son. Perfect and beautiful.

When she had finished she lifted him out and dried him with a towel warmed on the fire-guard, and then dressed him in his little nightshirt.

‘I don’t want to go to bed,’ he said. ‘I’m not tired yet.’

‘Oh, but Joshie,’ she said, ‘tomorrow we’re going on that long journey.’ Before she had come to The Gables she had thought of him always as Georgie. No more. Joshua was his name, a part of him. She accepted it now, fully.

‘Tomorrow?’ he said, looking at her wide-eyed.

‘Yes, tomorrow. I told you.’ She sat down and lifted him onto her lap. ‘We’re going up to Scotland.’

‘Scotland. Oh, yes.’ He nodded and gave a yawn.

‘You’re a tired little man,’ she said, then added, ‘Yes, what an adventure that will be, to go to Scotland.’

‘Is it nice there, in Scotland?’

‘Oh, I’m sure it is. You’re going to be very happy.’ She had wrapped him in her arms, her right hand enclosing his two small feet. ‘You’re going to be living in Edinburgh from now on. A beautiful place, they say. Where your mama and papa are now – waiting for you.’

‘And Vinnie too?’

‘Yes, Lavinia too. They’re all waiting for you.’

He smiled. ‘Are they? Shall I see them tomorrow?’

‘No, but we’ll set out tomorrow. It’s a very long journey.’

‘Is it?’

‘Oh, indeed it is. We have to go to Pilching first, then to Corster. Then we go to London, and from London to Edinburgh. It’ll take many hours.’

‘Will it?’

‘Oh, indeed it will. So you’ll need to have a good sleep and be fresh for the journey.’

‘Yes, I shall.’ He nodded. ‘And you must have a good sleep too, and be fresh for the journey.’

‘Yes, I must.’

‘Will Nursie be sleeping downstairs again tonight?’

‘Yes, she will. She can’t climb the stairs yet.’

‘Not with her leg bad, no.’

‘No, poor Nurse.’

‘Will you be sleeping here in Nursie’s bed again tonight?’

‘Yes, I shall.

‘You won’t leave me alone, will you?’

‘No.’ She breathed the word as she smoothed his hair back from his brow ‘I won’t leave you alone.’

He yawned again, his mouth opening wide. ‘Come,’ Lily said, ‘into bed with you, young man.’

He did not protest as she rose, lifted him onto the bed and tucked him in under the covers.

‘Here – have Bunny.’ From beside the pillow she took up his stuffed rabbit, a rather sorry-looking creature missing half of one ear and with much of its coat worn away, and laid it in his arms. ‘He must sleep too.’

‘Is there room for Bunny to come to Scotland? Along with Mr Dobbin?’

‘I should think so. You go to sleep now.’

She bent over him as he settled and closed his eyes, and stayed watching him until he had drifted off. It took so little time. In less than a minute she could see his lips part as his breathing became gently rhythmic. She hovered a moment, then bent lower and touched him gently with a kiss on his sweet-smelling hair. Then she straightened and turned away.

Joel’s letter, unopened still, lay where she had left it, on the table near the window.

With the child sleeping behind her, she moved to the table, stood there for a moment then sat down. The letter lay in the little pool of light cast by the oil lamp. Since being handed it by the maid earlier that day she had had no opportunity to read it in privacy. Now she had. She took the letter up, slipped the tip of her finger under the envelope’s flap, and tore it open.

The letter was dated the twenty-eighth of October. It had taken almost two weeks to reach her. He had written:

My dearest Lily,

There is nothing I can say, no matter what careful and subtle words I choose, that can possibly bring you any comfort. I am so aware of that, and I am aware of how badly I have let you down. You had the right to expect everything from me. Indeed, I made it clear that you had that right, and now I am going back on my promise and have taken that right away. How can you forgive me? And can I even ask you to do so? As you see by the address from which I’m writing, I am still in Paris, and on this day I was supposed to be returning to Corster, ready for my meeting with you tomorrow at the Crimmond. And by the time you receive this you will have been to the restaurant and waited for me, and eventually realised that I was not going to appear.

I must not delay any further, but must tell you the truth. You deserve nothing less. And you deserve so much more than I have ever been able to give you.

When I wrote last I told you that I had ended my understanding with Miss Roget. This was the truth. I told her that I loved another, and could not continue with the relationship as it was. She was, as you can well imagine, distressed by my revelation, but nevertheless she said she understood and would not wish to stand in the way of my happiness, as painful to her as it was. Oh, Lily, I cannot describe how difficult it was for me to tell her such things. She is such a good and upright person – I know you would agree with this if you knew her – and so deserving of someone who loves her and appreciates all her excellent qualities.

Even so, having unburdened my brain and my heart, I thought I was in control of the situation, and that even a similar revelation to my father was something that I could execute. I would have to, for I wished only to be back in England at your side.

Alas, Lily, things have not turned out as I intended, as I wished. Having told Miss Roget and my father, and while making my plans to leave for England, I watched this fine woman fall into a decline and, knowing that I had been the cause of it, I was stricken with remorse. I could not escape seeing the results of my action. Even though she did her best to avoid me, we were thrown together by circumstances, and I could not but see the effect upon her that I had had. I had dashed all her hopes of happiness, and, further, felt I had ruined her chances of marriage to anyone else.

In the end, Lily, I could face it no more, and I asked her to forgive me and assured her that we would go on as we had. I have told my father also, and he is, of course, much relieved by my change of heart. And now I have to tell you that discussions are underway with Miss Roget and her mother concerning a time for our marriage. I cannot say that the new arrangement brings me the greatest joy, but I must take comfort from the fact that I am doing the right thing, as most would view it.

But you, Lily – to you I have brought such grief, I know that. And I have no way of mending it. I have told Miss Roget that I will remain with her and marry her, and at the same time I have deserted you, the one I love above all others, and who deserves love as much as anyone else. I will not ask you to forgive me, for forgiveness is not appropriate nor something I could ever expect. Perhaps, though, you might possibly understand a little of my situation, and see how a weak man can find himself so in a tangle.

I hardly know what else to say. Lily, you are a fine and beautiful and intelligent young woman, and in time there will come someone who is deserving of you, for certainly I am not. And that someone, whoever he may
be, will make you happy, and you will find that, in the end, you were better off without me.

I will say only one thing more: that is that I shall never forget you, nor the brightness and the love that you brought into my life. I did not deserve any of it, but I shall treasure it none the less.

Joel

Lily laid the letter down on the table and sat there in the soft glow of the lamp while the time passed and the little clock on the mantelpiece ticked into the quiet. Taking in the clock’s face she saw that it was after eight. Mrs Lemmon would have been expecting her downstairs to eat. It did not matter. She remained where she was. She had not drawn the curtains, and beyond her still head the sky was starless and dark.

After a time she folded up the letter and put it back in its envelope. She had no wish to read it over again. She had no need to; every word in Joel’s neat hand was engraved in her mind and on her heart.

She was disturbed from her silent sitting by a light tap on the door and, getting up to answer it, she found on the threshold Susie bearing a tray with a bowl of coarse vegetable soup, some bread and butter and a little dish of vanilla junket. ‘Mrs Lemmon’s sent it up, miss,’ the maid said in a whisper, ‘seeing as ’ow you ’aven’t come downstairs to eat.’ She tipped her head a little to one side. ‘She was expecting you downstairs, miss, and wondered if you’re all right.
Are
you all right, miss?’

Lily assured her that she was, and thanked her. As the maid softly closed the door and departed, Lily placed the tray on the table. And there she left it, for the soup to grow cold and congeal and the bread to go dry. It was still there when she at last undressed and climbed into bed.

*

A wind sprang up as the night drew deeper, and Lily, lying sleepless in the nurse’s too-soft bed, heard it rattle the window pane, and sigh in the branches of the ash tree. It was not the wind that kept her from sleeping. Her own thoughts did that. They churned around in her brain without cease, giving her no respite, while she turned from one side to another in a vain search for comfort and ease. Eyes open, she gazed unseeing into the room, its darkness relieved by the nightlight that burned on the side table. In his bed on the other side of the fireplace Joshua slept soundly on.

When dawn came she lay and watched as the light crept through the crack in the curtains and stole into the room, slowly giving the familiar objects their shape and colour once again. The nightlight had burnt out. Her head ached, and her eyes felt sore. After a while she got up and pulled on her dressing gown. The child was still asleep, though he would not be for much longer, she knew. The room was cold. In the grate the remains of the fire were ashes. Like her hopes.

In the gloom she stood for a moment over the child’s bed, watching him as he slept, so peacefully, his mouth open against the pillow, his stuffed rabbit half-embraced. She turned away, paced the room for a minute and then sat down at the table by the window. Reaching out, she drew the curtains back a little, just a little, and the cold November light crept in and touched the baize table-covering and the envelope containing Joel’s letter. It was still there. Of course it was still there. Nothing had changed during the night.