Remember Me (25 page)

‘I wonder if Samuel will be having a Christmas dinner?’ she pondered. ‘Do you think so, William?’

‘Oh, I should imagine so,’ replied William. ‘It’s a British expedition, isn’t it? I’m sure they’ll manage to get hold of a turkey, or the nearest equivalent. And some wine to go with it. You can be sure he’ll be having a whale of a time, my dear. You don’t need to worry about him.’

‘But I can’t help worrying,’ said Faith, ‘especially as I know he hasn’t been well just lately.’ In the last letter they had received, a few weeks previously, Samuel had written that he had been suffering from a sort of sweating sickness and a stomach upset. He feared that the climate was not suiting him awfully well, but he was now recovering. A few days ago there had been a Christmas card, but no further word as to his state of health.

‘I’m sure he’ll be tucking into his Christmas pudding with gusto,’ said William, in an attempt to set his wife’s mind at rest. ‘Just as we are. I must say that Mrs Baker has done us proud with this.’ He was savouring every mouthful of the rich dark brown – almost black – pudding and the brandy sauce.

He knew that Faith worried about Samuel, needlessly at times, in his opinion, and he knew that her thoughts centred on her elder son far more than Samuel’s centred on her and on the rest of his family. He knew, also, that Samuel was corresponding with his own daughter, Hetty. He
had been a little anxious during the weeks before Samuel departed for Peru, when he noticed that the two of them seemed to be friendly, and he was aware that they had been out together a couple of times, maybe more. But he had decided that it was really none of his business and that Hetty, at twenty-six years of age, was quite capable of taking care of herself. Besides, it would not be long before Samuel was far away across the sea. The top and bottom of it, of course, was that he did not like Samuel. He had never taken to the young man and he guessed that he never would.

‘It won’t be snowing, though, in Peru,’ announced Tommy, with his usual aplomb. A few flakes of snow had fallen that morning, to the twins’ delight, but unfortunately for them it had not settled. ‘I’ve been reading all about it. Samuel is actually quite near to the Amazon Basin. It’s a tropical climate there and it rains a lot.’

‘Quite unhealthy, in fact,’ observed Faith. ‘I shall feel better when I know that he’s all right.’

Jessie glanced at Maddy and raised her eyebrows expressively. She was not filled with sisterly love for Samuel and she knew that Maddy felt the same about him.

‘Let’s drink a toast to Samuel,’ said William, magnanimously, after they had all eaten their fill of Mrs Baker’s splendid meal. They all raised their glasses of brown sherry, and Tommy and Tilly their tumblers of lemonade, as William proclaimed,
‘Here’s to Samuel…and to all absent friends.’

‘To Samuel…’ they all echoed, but Maddy was thinking of her dear Daniel, a very absent friend.

‘And to the king, God bless him,’ said William.

‘And to our lovely Queen Alexandra,’ added Faith.

‘To the king and queen…’ They all joined in the loyal toast, knowing that thousands of other patriotic families throughout the land would be doing the same.

The three sisters, Hetty, Maddy and Jessie had agreed that Mrs Baker had done enough and so they had bundled her, laughing and protesting, out of the house, saying that they would see to whatever else needed to be done. They retired to the kitchen where, between them, they tackled the great mountain of pots and pans, washing and drying and then returning them to the cupboards and shelves.

‘Well, thank goodness that lot’s all out of the way,’ said Hetty. ‘I wouldn’t like to do that every day.’

‘Nor would I,’ agreed Maddy. ‘We don’t always appreciate Mrs Baker as much as we should, do we? She has to do this every day and she doesn’t often get any help.’

‘She’s not usually catering for so many, though, is she?’ said Jessie. ‘Eleven of us; that’s quite a lot. And we’ll have the same number to wash up for at teatime, don’t forget.’

‘So we will,’ said Maddy. ‘Oh dear! But it’ll only be a simple tea, won’t it? No greasy pans and dishes. I’m so full up at the moment, though, that I’m sure I’ll never be able to eat another morsel.’

‘So am I,’ agreed Jessie. ‘But replete is a more ladylike word,’ she smiled. ‘It sounds rather common to say that one is full up. I don’t think Queen Alexandra would say that.’

Maddy laughed. ‘You and your posh words! You sound as though you’ve swallowed a dictionary sometimes.’ But she knew that Jessie was only having a bit of fun.

‘I doubt that the king and queen will have had a nicer meal,’ observed Hetty. ‘And you can be sure the twins will be ready to start again at teatime. They’re really enjoying themselves today, aren’t they?’

‘We don’t need to think about tea just yet, though,’ said Jessie. ‘Let’s go and sit in the dining room and have a bit of peace and quiet.’

The older members of the party – William, Faith, Isaac and Louisa – were taking their ease in the sitting room, the elder two no doubt having a postprandial snooze. Patrick and Katy had gone for a walk on the prom to work off the excesses of the meal, whilst the twins were playing with one of their new jigsaws in a quiet corner of the room.

Tea, or more likely early supper, would be just a simple meal, as Maddy had said: turkey sandwiches, which the girls had agreed to make,
and then the ceremonial cutting of the Christmas cake. And in the evening, before the twins retired to bed, later than usual, the family would play games: charades, ‘My Grandfather’s Cat’, a Christmas version of ‘I Spy’, and ‘Hunt the Thimble’ – or, more accurately, hunt the chocolate pennies, wrapped in gold paper, which Faith would have secreted throughout the house – this being a great favourite with the twins.

‘Tommy and Tilly are great kids, aren’t they?’ said Hetty, as they sat at ease around the dining table, leaning on their elbows in a most unladylike fashion, which would be frowned upon at meal times. ‘It’s so lovely to be part of a large family, especially at Christmas time. I’m really happy that it has worked out so well; me coming back, I mean, and being accepted the way I have been by William and Faith, and everyone else. I know I’ve said so before, but it comes over me sometimes, how lucky I am.’

Maddy and Jessie looked at one another a little embarrassedly. Maddy remembered a time when she could have been less than welcoming to her half-sister, but she had managed to put all bitter thoughts behind her and she had become very fond of Hetty. She smiled at her, then made a joke of it. ‘Yes, you are lucky – isn’t she, Jessie? – to have two lovely sisters like us.’

Maddy had had reservations, though, about Hetty’s friendship with Samuel. She didn’t know
how things stood between the two of them, but she had noticed that Hetty had remained very quiet and uncommunicative when Faith had been going on about her son.

Hetty spoke suddenly. ‘I’ve been writing to Samuel; I don’t know whether you know that. Well, I don’t suppose you do…and I haven’t mentioned it to Faith and William. Not that we have anything to hide but…I’m not sure how they would feel about it.’

‘No, we didn’t know that,’ replied Maddy. ‘Not that it’s any of our business really.’ Then, aware that she might have sounded rather abrupt, she continued, more concernedly, ‘How is Samuel? Has he really been quite poorly?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid he has,’ said Hetty. ‘I don’t think he’s said a great deal to his mother and William, but there has been some talk of him returning home. He was not adjusting to the climate as well as he might. But then he recovered and he seems to be all right just now.’

‘Oh dear!’ said Maddy. But she was thinking, not so much of Samuel’s illness, but of his coming home again. She was afraid that no good would come of the friendship between him and Hetty. But that, she decided, was something that Hetty would have to find out for herself, as she had done. Unless, of course, he had changed a good deal.

‘We’ll just have to wait and see,’ said Hetty.

As far as Hetty was concerned, she found that
she was missing Samuel far more than she had expected she would. She had enjoyed his company the few times they had been out together before he sailed for South America. He was good fun when he cast off his more sober image, they appeared to have quite a lot in common, and she had welcomed his kisses and the small intimacies they had shared. But when he had started to get overamorous – much too passionate and far too soon in her opinion – she had put a curb on their lovemaking. So that would be the end of that, she had thought, remembering how she had lost her fiancé to a girl who had been more willing than she was. But Samuel, to her surprise, had wanted to go on seeing her and had promised to write to her. And he had done so, quite frequently and in loving terms.

Now she realised that she was missing him. If he were to return home…well, she would have to see how she felt then, but she knew that she liked him a lot. It would be very easy to fall in love with him.

‘Wait and see,’ said Maddy, repeating Hetty’s last words. She sighed. ‘That’s just what I’m doing at the moment, isn’t it?’

She had told her father and Faith, of course, that Dan would be unable to come and stay for a couple of days during the Christmas or New Year period, as she had hoped. They had said they were sorry to hear about his brother’s accident and that they understood that he was unable to leave his family at such a critical time. Apart from that, though,
they had been very non-committal. They had not said that they hoped everything would go well for her and Dan; in fact, Maddy thought she had seen a look of relief on her father’s face, and a faint smile of complicity pass between the pair of them. She could, though, have imagined it; she was feeling very vulnerable with regard to Dan at that time.

It was only to Jessie and Hetty that she had confessed her innermost fear; that it was more than likely that she would not see him again. She told them again, now, of her grave misgivings.

‘He’s back home again, isn’t he, playing happy families?’ she said, with a touch of bitterness that was not in character. ‘And now that woman’s got her claws into him again it’s doubtful that he’ll be able to escape a second time.’

She had received a Christmas card from him, sending kindest regards to all her family, with love to herself. He had, at least, sent his love, but only the sort of love that one often sent on a greetings card; no mention of how much he loved her, or a promise that he would see her again.

‘Give him time,’ said Hetty. ‘Joe’s accident will have been a shock to all of them, and they’ll be rejoicing now that he’s recovering. You said, didn’t you, that they feared he might die?’

‘Yes…they’ll see it as God’s answer to their prayers,’ said Maddy thoughtfully. ‘Which I’m sure it is,’ she added. ‘Don’t think I’m being cynical
because I’m not. I do know, though, that…this sort of thing means so much more to Dan than it does to me. I mean…I say my prayers and all that, but Dan is really devout. Not pious or sanctimonious – he likes a laugh and a joke – but deep down he’s…well, I know it means a lot to him, that’s all.’

‘And he’s all the better for that,’ said Hetty. ‘You can be sure he will do what is right.’

‘But will it be what I want, what I’m hoping for?’ said Maddy. ‘I’ve got such a funny feeling about it all.’

‘Like you said yourself, all you can do is wait and see,’ said Hetty. She was thinking of Samuel, as well as of Maddy’s absent love. She knew, to her slight consternation, that he did not possess the integrity or the innate goodness that Daniel had. It was possible, too, that Samuel might prove to be unreliable, that he might let her down. And in the case of Samuel it would be because he put himself and his own desires first. She knew all this, and yet she was looking forward to seeing him again. You could not choose with whom you fell in love.

‘Try not to feel sad, Maddy love,’ she went on. ‘We’ve had a happy time today, haven’t we, all of us together? And it’ll be time for party games soon. The twins won’t let anyone feel miserable.’

‘And it’s time for us to put on our pinnies now,’ said Jessie. ‘Don’t forget we’ve promised to make the turkey sandwiches. You can cut the bread,
Hetty. I think you’re better at it than Maddy and me. And we’ll do the buttering. Then there’s the turkey to carve… Oh dear! I think we’d better ask Uncle William to give us a hand with that. Come on then; let’s make a start…’

Chapter Twenty

T
he Melody Makers continued their touring programme when they had completed their fortnight’s booking at the Spa Pavilion. Maddy had been glad of the loving support of her family and friends, which had helped to assuage, to a certain extent, the sadness she felt at Daniel’s absence. There had been no further message from him, and now, when she would be lodging first in one place and then in another, he would have no idea where she was. Unless, of course, she wrote to him again, which she was determined not to do. She had written just once, expressing regret at Joe’s accident, but adding that she was pleased to hear he was recovering. Taking her cue from Dan, she, too, had sent no special message of love or of hope that they would meet again soon. The next move, she knew, had to come from him.

For the last two weeks in January, 1908, they were booked at a provincial theatre in Manchester. It was during the second week that a letter from Dan finally arrived, forwarded to her from her Scarborough address by her father and Faith. She did not open it at the breakfast table as she would
normally have done, but waited until she had returned, as quickly as she could, to the seclusion of her bedroom.

‘My dearest Madeleine,’ he began, ‘This is a very difficult letter for me to write…’ Yes, it was as she had feared. Their brief friendship…courtship – it was difficult for her to find a word to describe it – was at an end. Dan explained that his brother’s recovery had been nothing less than a miracle. He had been at death’s door, and then God had answered their prayers and restored him to them again.

Reading between the lines she gathered that Dan had made a promise to God to serve Him again, in gratitude for answered prayers. She felt sure, though, that his mother must have had a great deal to do with his decision. She had got him back home again, under her sway, and it seemed as though he was powerless to do anything but obey her commands.

‘I am not sure at the moment exactly what I shall be doing in the future,’ he continued. ‘I am still working full-time for Mr Grundy until such time as he can find another assistant. I have also returned to my studies with Father Fitzgerald, and he assures me that I will be able to start again from where I left off. I know this will be hard for you to understand, my dear Madeleine, but I know that it is something that I have to do.

‘I will remember our time together as something very precious. But I know, deep down, as I am sure
you do, that it might never have worked out for us. I fear that my family would never have come to terms with our friendship’ – he means his mother, Maddy thought, feeling a deep bitterness towards the woman – ‘and it would have been hard for me, and for you, to feel shut out from the family circle.

‘There will always be a special place in my heart for you. I have loved you; I love you still, but I know that there is no future for us together…’

He had enclosed a copy of a poem by Christina Rossetti, who had died in the latter years of the nineteenth century; a very poignant poem called ‘Remember’.

Maddy read it with tears in her eyes. She knew it was really referring to someone who was dying; but Dan might just as well be dead; she was sure she would never see him again. The last two lines were particularly apt.

Her tears dropped on to the page, smudging the dark blue ink, as she read Dan’s closing words. ‘Please forgive me, Madeleine, and try to be happy. I am sure you will be. You have such a capacity for
joy and delight in life, and that is how I will always think of you. With my fondest love, Daniel.’

She screwed up the letter in her hands, but not because she wanted to destroy it. It was more of a reflex action as her hands clenched together in a spasm of anger, as well as the sadness she was feeling. It could have worked, it would have worked, surely, if they loved one another enough… But it was clear that Dan’s commitment to his God was greater than his love for any earthly being, such as her.

On second thoughts, she straightened out the pages of the letter and the poem and put them into her handbag. Then, suddenly, she rose from her seat on the edge of the bed. She glanced in the mirror to tidy her hair and brush away the stray tears, then she quickly put on her hat and coat. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone at the moment. She would tell Susannah in her own good time, but not now… What she needed now was to be on her own, and she must get away before her friends came upstairs and started fussing around her. A brisk walk might help to clear her head, and she needed to be fully in control of herself before the matinée performance that afternoon.

No solace was to be found in the mean grey streets of Wythenshawe, but Maddy scarcely noticed where she was walking. She knew she would have to find the strength within herself to carry on.

And so she did. Not one of the audience listening to her that afternoon as she sang about the seeds of love could be aware that she was hiding a heart that was aching.

But so often, in songs as in real life, love was found to be false.

The damsel in the song, however, was determined not to be downcast, and Maddy knew it was an example that she must try to follow.

Only Susannah, listening from the wings, knew how sad Maddy must be feeling. Her young friend had confided in her just before the performance
began that she had received a letter from Dan saying that it was all over between them. First love, Susannah thought… How much it could hurt. But the sadness and the agony that it caused would be forgotten in time – she knew that from her own experience – and the first rapture would come to be remembered with tenderness and not regret. She hoped it would prove to be so for Maddy.

Meanwhile, waiting in the wings – metaphorically speaking as well as in reality – was that nice young man, Freddie Nicholls. Susannah believed that he still harboured warm feelings for Maddy, although he was trying hard not to let them show. There might be a chance for him, eventually. She knew that she must not tell him, not straight away, of Maddy’s disappointment in love. It was not really her place to start spreading the word or to indulge in matchmaking. But it would become obvious before long, surely, that the lovely Madeleine was unattached once more.

She was young, of course, not yet eighteen; far too young, in Susannah’s view, to be thinking of marriage. What was more, she had a promising future ahead of her. With a voice and a personality such as hers she could go far. No doubt there would be lots of young men, as well as Freddie, who would admire her and wish that they might become closer to her. Many would be able only to worship her from afar, but Freddie was right there, on the spot. And he was a far more suitable match for her
than the heavenly minded Dan, in Susannah’s opinion. Anyway, time would tell.

It had never entered Susannah’s head to be envious of her young friend; not for her youth, nor her beauty, nor her glorious singing voice, which she knew was far superior to her own. She had enjoyed her years as an artiste, and although she had performed only in provincial theatres and had never had her name in lights, she knew she had brought pleasure to many audiences, who enjoyed her light-hearted singing and her saucy mannerisms. She had reached her own peak, she supposed; but since she had – surprisingly – fallen in love with Frank, whom she had known for years, ambition had ceased to be important to her. What they both wanted now was to be able to get married. Their relationship, in some quarters, was looked upon with disapproval. She knew that even Percy Morgan, who knew them both very well, would prefer it if they were able to tie the knot.

But now, at last, the situation was looking rather more hopeful. Hilda, Frank’s wife, apparently had a gentleman friend. So a close friend of Frank had revealed to him, and he – the friend – was keeping his eye on developments. By this time next year, or even sooner, with a bit of luck, she might be Mrs Frank Morrison. Then she would be able to share a room with him openly, without pretence, or being dependent on the whim of an obliging – or more often a disapproving – landlady.

It was at the beginning of February that Samuel Barraclough was forced to return home from South America. The illness he had contracted previously – a sweating sickness and bouts of painful diarrhoea – occurred again; and after a spell in hospital it was decided that it would be in his best interests if he were to return home. It was obvious that the climate did not suit him.

It was with a feeling of relief, tinged with a certain regret, that Samuel boarded the ship, bound eventually for the port of Liverpool. What he had hoped would be a grand adventure had turned out to be a disappointment. He had not been given a position of authority, as he had hoped, but had been treated as little more than a minion, despite his first-class degree, which he had thought might count for something. But it appeared that he had to start at the bottom and prove his worth. He had been unable to do so due to the recurring bouts of illness, and he had come to be regarded as a liability who must be sent on his way as soon as possible.

He regretted that he had been unable to make a name for himself. And he knew that he would miss the camaraderie of some of the other members of the team, which he had enjoyed during the times when he had been feeling reasonably well. Despite his relief at being on the ship he found he was dreading the long journey home; but as it turned out, his cabin was comfortable, he took care with what he ate and
drank, and the weather, fortunately, was fairly temperate.

One problem was that he had no home of his own to which he could return. He had gone, more or less, straight from his student lodgings in Leeds to the ill-fated expedition, apart from the visits to his father in York, and his mother and William in Scarborough. Also, he needed to find employment. And so his first port of call after disembarking at Liverpool was to the city of York. He had written to his father asking if he could stay for a little while, and Edward Barraclough and his wife, Gwendolen, were only too pleased to welcome him. Edward saw his other three children very infrequently; Samuel was the only one who had remained close to him, the one who bore no resentment for the break-up of his marriage to Faith. Edward realised that Samuel was very much ‘a chip off the old block’.

Samuel had been very highly thought of at Leeds University. He had studied hard there and made the most of his opportunities, and he hoped that they might be able to offer him some guidance for the future. Fortunately for him, one of the junior lecturers in Geology had fallen ill and they had been unable, as yet, to find a replacement. Samuel was offered the post on a temporary basis, that was until the end of the spring term, with the promise that, if he proved satisfactory, there was a chance that he might be offered the full-time post. The previous lecturer, though junior in status, was really
quite an elderly man. Samuel, indeed, remembered him as a bumbling old codger who knew his facts but was unable to communicate well with his students; Samuel, fortunately for him, had not been one of them. He had been persuaded to retire, to the relief of all concerned and to the especial delight of Samuel, who was determined, now, to prove himself worthy of the position. He had not envisaged, previously, that he might become a lecturer. He had, in the past, considered the old adage that those who can, do, and that those who can’t, lecture. He had vowed that he, Samuel Barraclough, would always be a man of action and not of words. But circumstances altered cases and he was only too pleased, now, to have found a niche for himself; and in the city of Leeds, too, which he had come to regard as his home. Seeing that his plans for adventure had been thwarted, he considered he would be as well here as anywhere. There were a few friendships, too, of both sexes, that he would be pleased to rekindle.

Luck was with him and he found a flat to rent just off Woodhouse Lane, near to the university buildings. He paid a fortnight’s rent in advance as security, returned to York to say goodbye to his father and Gwendolen, and then headed for Scarborough. He had been granted two weeks’ grace to get acclimatised again and to ensure he was fully recovered before commencing his lectureship at the university.