In the Shadow of the Lamp (4 page)

Of course, nursing at war would be more concerned with death than new life, but right then, although I was completely done in, I felt high and happy. “I’ll tidy up here. You rest.”

By the time Jim returned that evening, Lucy looked well and the baby was by turns eating, sleeping, and messing her linens. How Lucy would ever manage on her own when I wasn’t there I couldn’t say. And with Arthur to tend as well. But there was no way I could stay. I had to earn money, not just my keep. I had to do something that would allow me to hold my head up when I walked through the door into my mother’s house.

My mother. All the time I thought of her. How were the little ones doing? Was everyone well? I suddenly ached to see them, to tell my mum what I’d just done for Lucy. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

We were expecting Will the next day; he had a half day and had promised to come. I knew he’d want to spend most of his time talking to his sister and fussing over the baby. But I needed to talk to him too, alone. I was glad, then, that the baby was asleep when he came in.

“I have something to do in the kitchen,” Lucy said, smiling at Will. Jim was working in the market stall his father owned, so Will and I had the parlor to ourselves.

I turned to him and started in quick. No sense waiting. It would have to come out sooner or later. “I have to—,” but I couldn’t go on. The words stuck in my throat. How could I ask him for more than he’d already done?

Will took my hand in both of his. Those eyes stared into mine until I had to look away. “What is it, Molly? You can tell me. Do you want to go home to your mother?”

I almost said yes, but that would’ve been weak. “No! No, that’s not it at all. Only I have a plan and I still need your help.” I took a deep breath and then told him everything as quickly as I could.

He let go of my hand and sat down on one of the wooden chairs, nodding as he listened to all I said. When I finished, he said, “Are you sure that’s what you want, Molly?”

I was sure, but his question made me think all over again. “What else can I do? A factory job is no life at all and not much money. And you know no one will ever take me on in service after being dismissed from the Abington-Smythes.” I wished I could tell him about Janet and Lucy, and how when I put my hands on them it made the pain go away a little. But I wasn’t sure of myself. Not yet.

“What’s next?” he asked, his voice dipping down at the end like it wasn’t really a question, but a sort of wondering out loud. I’d hoped he’d be glad for me, excited, like I was, but instead he seemed disappointed.

“I need to get to Folkestone by the day after tomorrow.”

I didn’t say a thing about money, but he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch. “I was going to give my sister a little extra. But I imagine I can spare some of that for you. This should be enough to get you to Folkestone. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

He handed me the pouch without looking at me. I took it and his hand in mine. “Will, there’s no one kinder than you. I swear I will pay you back.”

He looked up then. Maybe I imagined it, but I thought there was a sparkle in his eyes, like tears that wouldn’t fall. “I’ll make sure of it, Molly, one way or another.” His words sounded harsh but his tone was soft, and I knew he meant it kindly. “Tell my sister I’ll come back Sunday,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze and standing. He pulled me up with him and we stood there, so close but not touching. I could feel something warm coming from his heart, reaching out to mine. Was it pain? Or something else? I wanted to put my hands on his chest. I wanted to share whatever was in his heart. I looked up at him. He leaned down and very gently, more like a breath than a kiss, touched his lips to mine.

Before I could say another word, he put his hat on and took his coat from the peg and walked out the door. I clutched the pouch, feeling the weight of coins. I held my future there. But I was cold, like someone just tossed a bucket of water on the parlor fire, and I almost ran out the door to follow Will, to tell him to come back, to take his money. But I didn’t.

I was sorry to leave Lucy. I wanted to do something nice for her, so I scrubbed the house top to bottom the day before I left.

“The coach to Folkestone leaves at seven,” she said as I stood on her doorstep early in the morning on October 20, the mist still coating everything in dreary droplets.

I wasn’t one to show my feelings much—working in service taught you it wasn’t safe—but I couldn’t help hugging Lucy close to me. “I’ve never met people as friendly as you and Will,” I said. “I wish I could stay and go at the same time.”

“It’s all right, Molly. You did so much for me while you were here, you can’t imagine. You have a special gift. Just be sure to write to us.” By “us” I knew she didn’t mean her and Jim. I knew she included Will in that. She gave me a sheaf of coarse paper and a pencil. My reading and writing were coming along, enough to send a word or two. She’d taken care to write the direction on the top sheet so I could copy it.

“Of course.”

The time had come. I had to turn away and take my first steps to the future. I went off toward the south without looking back.

C
hapter 6

I didn’t expect it to be so easy to get on a coach. All it took was a few shillings. Maybe that was because I asked for the cheapest fare and found myself sitting on the top, shivering in the drizzle that had begun to fall. As a result, I still had some money left from what Will gave me. Even with that, I feared what was left wouldn’t be enough for a ticket on the Boulogne Packet.

Dawn made the gray sky pale when we left Charing Cross and set off over the river. The horses’ breath puffed out in little clouds as they clopped first over cobbles, then echoed on the wooden planks of the bridge, and after that thudded in the packed mud of country roads. I’d never been outside of London, so in spite of almost no sleep and my stomach tied in a knot, I just kept drinking in the sight of rolling fields with hedgerows cutting them up into neat parcels, brown now and dead after the harvest, stubble showing where hay had grown. At least I thought it was hay, for all I knew about farming. Whatever it was, the air smelled clean and earthy, not sooty like London. The wind up top made it too noisy to talk, and I was glad. I just kept my eyes turned away from the others up there with me, all men.

We drew into Folkestone late in the afternoon, my backside bruised from bumping on the wood plank seat. The man who sat next to me hopped down and lifted me off like I was a sack of potatoes, but then set me gently on my feet and tipped his hat to me.

I took my valise and set out to find the docks. Folkestone was so small I could walk across it in a half hour. Just a little ways in I saw the tops of the masts bobbing up and down on the waves and set my course toward them.

The channel was chopped up with whitecaps.
Must be a rough journey across
, I thought. I couldn’t see to the other side. To France. If all went like I hoped, I’d be in a foreign country soon. Someplace where they didn’t speak the Queen’s English. I shivered, though the rain had stopped.

I strolled back and forth on the docks like someone taking the air, while really looking for a place I could buy a ticket. All I saw were dock workers, though. I watched them bend and lift, muscles tensing and sweat streaking their cheeks, even though it was cold enough that I could have worn an extra cloak and been grateful for it.
Boulogne Star.
I made out “Star” and guessed the first word, since she was the only boat that wasn’t a fishing boat, with deck chairs and a cabin where passengers could sit.

What if I couldn’t get a ticket? If there were none left? Or if they were more costly than the few shillings I had in my pocket? I had to suss out if I could get aboard some other way.

Where we lived in the East End, near the docks, I used to play with my brother Ted before the littlest one came along and I had to stay home and help. We’d go and see if we could sneak aboard the finest and biggest ship, and usually we managed it. We pretended we were going to sail off to the South Seas, but of course we never did. As soon as we heard the sailors cry that the tide was on the turn, we’d get off as quick as we got on, sometimes by swinging from a rope to the dock, sometimes we’d just scamper down the gangplank when no one was minding us. There were always children running around on the docks in London, begging or playing or thieving.

Not here, though. What I saw of the town was neat and quiet. No one was begging or thieving that I could see, not even on the docks. And there was only one narrow gangplank leading to the deck. It’d be hard to pass unnoticed. I put my best face on and walked right up to a man on the dock; he was official looking, with a uniform, but not a policeman. I thought he might tell me about the fare for the packet.

“Beg pardon, sir,” I said, and I added a little curtsy just for good measure. “Can you tell me where I might purchase a ticket on the packet boat to Boulogne?”

“Fancy a jaunt to France, eh?” he said. He smiled with his lips closed. I stared right back at him and waited for his answer. “The purser’ll be coming by soon. You can get your ticket from him. If you’ve got six shillings, that is.” He turned his back on me when a gent walked up to him and asked him a question.

How did I know what a purser looked like? It didn’t make a bit of difference though. I only had two and six left. I couldn’t buy a ticket. I’d have to think of another way.

I was no longer a little urchin who could squeeze by everyone quick and invisible. Some of the dock workers stared at me as I walked, one or two calling out things I wouldn’t repeat to my mum. I ignored them and pretended I was going into the town. Back to the train station. Perhaps I’d meet the train Miss Nightingale and her nurses were on.

I joined a queue of people at a kiosk. When it was my turn I said, “Excuse me, but what time’s the train from London?”

“From London? Don’t get in until morning,” he said and looked behind me to the next person, dismissing me before I’d even stepped aside.

Morning! What would I do with myself all night? I didn’t have money for lodgings. And after dark they probably locked up people just wandering around. It was that kind of town. Like the nicer areas in London. So now I’d have to find someplace I could hide, somewhere to put myself out of view all night, and where I’d be safe too.

As I suspected, even though Folkestone was a prospering town, the harbor had its secrets. I wasn’t the only one lurking there waiting for daily business to stop. There were lots of nooks to tuck myself away behind crates and great coils of rope. I just hoped the weather wouldn’t turn against me, or some thief set on me. Little chance of that, since anyone with something worth stealing would likely have a room at the inn. No, my only difficulty would be managing to keep dry all night long and still look decent in the morning.

So, stomach rumbling and hands now numb from cold, I wandered until the to-ing and fro-ing stopped and the dock workers went home, then found a corner to hide myself in and tried to sleep, sitting on a crate with my back against some sacks of grain.