No Wings to Fly (62 page)

The fly-man’s horse and carriage were standing close to the house’s back door. Lily and the boy hurried forward, Lily casting her eyes about for a glimpse of the driver. She could see no signs of life anywhere, though she saw that the door to the house was slightly ajar. Coming to a stop below the step leading to the narrow porch, she called out, ‘Hello . . .? Is there someone there . . .? Hello . . .?’

There was no answer. The roof of the porch was so
shallow that it gave nothing but the very smallest shelter from the rain. She called out again, ‘Hello . . .? Mr Baxman? Are you there?’

When there still came no answer she said to Joshua, ‘Come on, we’ve got to get you into the dry for a minute.’ Leaving the bags on the ground next to the step, she took the boy’s hand and led him over to the carriage. After only a moment of hesitation she opened its door. It was, as she expected, empty. She bent and picked up the boy and placed him inside the carriage. ‘There you are, Joshie. Now you’re out of the rain.’ She climbed up after him and lifted him onto the forward-facing seat. ‘Now you wait here, my dear. I’ll get the bags and see the man. We’ll soon be off, you’ll see.’ She backed away, and he sat looking at her as she stood in the doorway. There was so little light in the carriage interior, and his eyes were dark pools in the blur of his face. The rain was dripping from his boots onto the floor. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said.

Returning to the porch, she picked up her reticule and the carpet bag and then carried them to the carriage. When she opened the door to place them inside she saw that the boy was lying on the seat. His eyes were closed. He had pulled off his hat and it lay beside him. She deposited the bags on the floor, then stepped back and quietly closed the door behind her.

Back once more at the door of the house, she knocked again. The fly-man had to be around; he was bound to be; he could not be far away; he would not leave his horse in such a situation. She knocked again, and waited, then stepped forward up onto the step and pushed the door open a fraction wider. ‘Hello . . .?’ she called. ‘Hello, sir . . .? Is there anyone there . . .?’

There was no answer. She stood, uncertain, and as she did so she realised that the rain was easing, it was coming to a stop. With relief, she looked up, but saw that the skies
were as dark as ever. There was no doubt that the rain would soon be back. She waited another moment, and then turned in the direction of the carriage. She must see if the boy was all right. She would wait with him inside the carriage; the fly-owner was bound to be out soon.

She moved across the cobbles, heedless of the puddles, up to the carriage door again, reaching up for the handle.

‘Hey! You there! Get away from that door!’

The man’s voice startled her. It came not from the house, but from around the corner of the yard where an outhouse stood. She turned at the harsh sound and saw a tall, lean man coming towards her across the yard. He was clad in a brown waterproof cape and a wide-brimmed, waterproof hat. He carried in one hand a pail, and in the other a mop and some rags. She remained standing by the carriage.

‘Get away!’ the man barked out as he came on. ‘Get away from the coach this instant.’

She was puzzled at the man’s behaviour. ‘Sir,’ she said as he drew nearer, ‘I mean no harm. I’m wanting to hire you if you’re free. I need to get to Brookham Way on the other side of the town.’

‘The cab’s not for hire,’ he said bluntly. There was no mistaking the anger in his voice. He came to a stop before her and set down the pail. It was full of liquid, and a strong, pungent scent rose from it in the heavy, damp air. Lily recognised the smell as that of Lysol.

‘You best go to the station and pick up a cab there,’ the man said.

‘I couldn’t get one,’ she said. ‘They were all taken. That’s why I came to you.’ She could not understand his manner. ‘Can’t you help me, sir?’ she said.

‘I just told you, miss, I’m not for hire,’ he said. ‘So be off with you.’

There was nothing more to be said, and feeling on the verge of tears of frustration she reached out and grasped
the carriage door handle. Seeing her action, the man stepped forward and roughly brushed her hand from it. ‘Get away from that handle,’ he said. ‘Don’t touch anything. Get away.’

‘But sir –’

‘I told you – get away. Just get away.’ Then he added, without pause, ‘Well, what are you standin’ there for? I told you, get away.’

When she reached for the handle again, he snatched at her wrist. ‘You deaf or summat?’ he said, ‘I told you not to touch nothing. What’s the matter with you?’

‘The child –’ she said. ‘My – my boy. He’s in the coach –’

‘
What
?’ The man looked horrified. ‘You got a child in there?’

‘He’s not doing any harm,’ she protested. ‘He was just – sheltering from the rain while I tried to find you.’

‘Dear God!’ the man muttered. ‘Get him out. Get him out at once.’ Throwing the mop and rags down onto the wet ground, he stepped forward and yanked open the door. Past his shoulder Lily could see the boy lying stretched out, his face on the coarse fabric of the seat. ‘Get ’im out,’ the man said. ‘Get the little mite out!’

He held the door open wide, and Lily stepped up into the carriage and bent to the boy, who began to sit up. The raised voices had alarmed him, and she could see the distress in his face.

‘Come, Joshie,’ she said gently. ‘We can’t stay here. We have to find another cab.’ She pulled him upright on the seat. ‘Come on, my dear. Let’s put your hat back on and get you out.’ She took up his wet hat and put it on his head and adjusted the string beneath his chin. ‘There – all ready. Come on, now. There’s a good boy.’ She moved back to the door and stepped down onto the ground, while at the same time the boy picked up his toy horse. Then she lifted the boy in her arms and set him down beside her on the cobbles.

‘Don’t forget your bags,’ the man said.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ Leaning back into the carriage she took up the carpet bag and her reticule.

The man was watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘now you get the little chap away, well away.’ There was no anger in his voice now. ‘I’m sorry I shouted just now, but . . .’ His words trailed off.

Lily said nothing, but took the boy by the hand. ‘Let’s go back to the station, Joshie,’ she said. ‘We’ll get a cab if we wait long enough. If not we’ll find one somewhere else on the street.’

Outside the fly-man’s yard they turned back in the direction of the railway station, and as they approached, Lily saw that there were still several people waiting to pick up cabs. ‘It’s no good,’ she said. ‘If we wait there we’ll wait for ever – and I don’t think the rain is going to keep off for much longer. Come – let’s walk up into the town.’

They set off again. After they had gone a few paces the boy said, tilting back his head to look up at her, ‘Why was the man shouting, Lily? Why was he angry?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said.

‘Was he angry with me – for being in the carriage?’

‘No, dear, he wasn’t angry with you. He was angry with me, but I don’t know why.’

They walked on a little further, then the boy said, ‘I’m tired, Lily. My legs are tired, and I’m cold.’

‘Oh,’ she breathed, ‘poor boy.’ She came to a halt and bent to him, putting a hand to his cheek. ‘I know you’re tired,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long day for you, But soon we’ll be indoors and you can rest, and we’ll get a nice fire, and be warm again. Won’t that be nice?’

‘Will you carry Mr Charlie Dobbin for me, please?’ he asked.

He held up the toy horse and Lily took it. ‘We’ll put him in the big bag, shall we?’ she said. ‘He’ll be safe and
comfortable there along with Bunny.’ Putting the carpet bag on the wet ground, she unfastened the opening and put the toy horse inside. ‘There he is.’ She gave the boy an encouraging smile. ‘All safe and sound.’

He did not smile back. His lip trembled and she could see he was on the verge of tears. The sight brought a lump to her throat and she compressed her own lips, fighting back the threatening emotion. She could not afford for a moment to let the boy to see any hint of vulnerability. ‘Let’s walk on,’ she said.

They set off again, and then, as they reached the corner of Market Street, the rain began to fall once more. Lily groaned under her breath, and led the child into the shelter of the doorway of a disused warehouse. And there they stood side by side while the rain continued to beat down and the townspeople scurried past.

They stayed for almost half an hour, during which time the child hardly spoke a word. Then, at long last, the rain stopped. Lily picked up the carpet bag and, with a sigh of relief, looked up at the sky. Up above the roofs of the town the clouds were clearing. ‘Come,’ she said, ‘we can go now.’

Five minutes later she managed to hail a cab.

Sitting side by side in the carriage, Lily and the boy were driven through the rain-wet streets of Corster, leaving behind the market square, the shops and the factories and crossing the river to the outskirts. Then, at last, the cab pulled into Brookham Way, and Lily saw up ahead on the right, the little row of terrace houses.

‘Here. Just here.’ As she spoke, she leant forward and tapped sharply on the little window behind the driver’s seat, and the vehicle came to a halt.

‘Are we there?’ Joshua said, and Lily replied, ‘Yes, we are, my dear. You stay here a minute, while I pay the man.’

The boy did not demur, and Lily stepped down into the
cinder-covered road and gave the driver his fee. Then, reaching up, she lifted the carpet bag and then the boy down beside her.

As the cab trundled away, they walked to the little gateway of the second villa and up the short path to the front door, where she bent and lifted the larger of the two flower pots that stood there and took up the spare latchkey. A moment later it had been turned in the lock, and she was stepping inside.

With the door closed on the bleak day, she led the way along the narrow passage into the kitchen, and there put down the carpet bag and her reticule. The place was cold, and had an air of dampness about it. She knew that neither Miss Elsie nor Mr Shad had been here for a while. The last time she herself had been here was in August with Joel, just before he had left for the Continent. Then, too, it had rained.

‘Well, we’re here, Joshie,’ she said with relief in her voice. ‘We got here at last.’

‘Where?’ the boy said. ‘Where are we?’

‘Where? Oh – well, we’re in a part of Corster. A nice little part, and we shall be fine here for a few days.’ She turned in the room, looking around. ‘First of all, I’ll get you comfortable, then I’ll light a fire, and after that I’ll get us something to eat.’

After removing her hat and coat she took off the boy’s hat and coat and boots. Everything seemed to be wet through. He was wet to the skin, and his little feet were like ice. In the carpet bag she had packed a few spare items of clothing for him, and when she had dried him with a towel she put a nightshirt and a pair of clean, dry stockings on him. She went upstairs then to the main bedroom and fetched down a couple of old blankets from the cupboard and wrapped them round him, and seated him on one of the kitchen chairs. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘I’ll make us that nice fire, and we’ll be warm again. I’ll get our things dry too.’

There was some kindling near the range, and a thin pile of old newspapers. Moving to the back door, she said, ‘I’ll see if there’s coal or wood,’ and went out into the yard. In the small outhouse she found a little firewood, and in the bunker beside the back door some coal. She loaded a bucket and carried it inside, and soon had a fire going. There was a clothes-horse in the corner of the room, and she set it in front of the range and draped their wet clothes over it.

‘There – they’ll soon dry.’ She smiled encouragingly at the boy. ‘And look – the sky’s quite clear now. What a blessing.’

From the well in the yard she brought in water and filled a kettle, and set it on to boil. While it was heating she took off her own wet stockings and put on a pair that she had packed in the bag. Standing in her stockinged feet she then took out the sandwiches that Mrs Lemmon had provided for their journey. She laid a couple of them on a plate, and put it on the table, then set the boy’s chair before it.

‘There, Joshie, eat a sandwich, why don’t you? Some nice potted meat. You like that.’ She smiled at him, but he did not smile back. Instead, he looked down at his hands. ‘Aren’t you going to eat something?’ she asked.

He shook his head.

‘No? I thought you’d be hungry. Won’t you have even a little bite?’

He shook his head again.

‘All right, dear. Would you like a glass of water? There’s no milk, I’m afraid, but I’ll get some tomorrow. Have a sip of water for now, will you?’

He shook his head.

‘Will you have a little tea when I make it?’

Another shake of the head. ‘No, thank you.’

‘You must have something, Joshie. Just a little? To please me?’

Another shake of the head. Then he said, frowning a little, ‘Is this the holiday, Lily?’

‘What, dear?’

‘The holiday. Has it started yet?’

She hesitated, for a moment at a loss. ‘Yes,’ she said then, ‘but it will be much better tomorrow. The sun will come out, and we’ll do something nice. Maybe we’ll go to the aquarium. Would you like that?’

He frowned.

‘You remember? The aquarium I told you about? Where they have all the fishes? That’ll be interesting, won’t it?’

Silent, he gave a little nod. Then he said, ‘I don’t like holidays.’

‘Oh – Joshie.’

He began to cry, large tears welling from his eyes and running down his cheeks. Lily, sitting on the adjacent chair, brought him onto her lap, wrapping her arms around him. ‘Don’t cry, my little sweetheart. Oh, don’t cry.’ She could not bear to see his tears.

His tears faded after a while, and he lay quiet in her arms. Soon he was asleep. The sandwiches remained untouched on the plate. Night had fallen, and the room was in deep gloom. She wanted to light a candle to relieve the dark, but she could not disturb the boy. She would have liked to take him up to bed, but soon it would be too dark to see her way up the stairs.