Lakeland Lily (16 page)

On this occasion she deigned to allow George to accompany her, since no lady in her right mind would tread the streets of The Cobbles alone. It was just as well she did. The moment she climbed down from the gig, a tramp approached with his cap held out. When she would have brushed past him, he made a grab for her arm. Horror-struck, Selene thrust him off, almost kicking him into the gutter, then strode unheeding away.

‘How very unpleasant to see beggars littering the street. It really spoils the pleasure of a drive, don’t you think?’

George made no comment.

Having ascertained the whereabouts of number two Mallard Street, Selene wrapped a scarf about her hat and face, pressed a rose-scented handkerchief to her nose and regarded the house with a shudder of repulsion.

‘I’ll come with you,’ George said, eyeing a group of youths who hovered close by.

‘And risk losing the horse? Don’t be stupid, man. Pray wait for me here. I’ll not be more than ten minutes.’

‘I’ll come looking for you after fifteen, horse or no, miss.’

Such gallantry, she thought. Nor was George at all bad-looking. Tall and straight-limbed, with black curly hair and a ready smile, she’d often considered the possibility of a little dalliance with him, but rejected it. It didn’t do to put oneself in debt to a servant. And she must save herself for the right man. Pity, though, that such attributes could rarely be found with a sizeable bank balance attached.

Selene found Bertie seated in the midst of unimaginable squalor. Still in his nightwear, though it was gone eleven in the morning, he sat bleary-eyed, a mug of tea at his elbow, looking pathetically sorry for himself with a screaming infant on his lap. She almost found it in her heart to pity him. But then Selene recalled the misery of these last months; how all invitations to parties, balls and the like had completely dried up. The recollection soon hardened her heart.

There were some matters which simply could not be forgiven. Betrayal of family was one.

He was flatteringly pleased to see her. ‘I say, Selene old thing, what’re you doing in this neck of the woods? Don’t tell me Mama is rolling out the crimson carpet of forgiveness?’

Selene looked about the shabby room with dismay, her kid-gloved hands keeping the hem of her pink voile dress several inches from the ground in case it should become soiled. A pan of milk had boiled over on the hob, leaving a trail of sticky yellow fluid all down the brass fretwork. A basket of ironing stood on a stool, waiting for attention. Upon the kitchen table lay scattered a half loaf of bread and a dish of some indistinguishable mush. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘What on earth is that appalling smell?’

Bertie jerked his head at the ceiling. ‘Smoked herring.’ Strung high across the room was a wire upon which hung flat fish, split open and smoking above the fire. Selene shuddered.

‘Makes your eyes water, eh? You get used to it though. Taste delicious when they’re done.’ He grinned.

His pleasure infuriated her all the more. ‘You’re to come home this instant, Bertie. Get your coat. You’ve made Mama quite ill with all of this, and she’ll stand no more of it.’

His face tightened. ‘Is that what she told you to say?’

‘She’s concerned. This is no life for you.’

The child let out another wail, stiffening her tiny body in fury. Sighing, Bertie got up and started to stir the glutinous mess in the dish. He offered a spoonful. The baby opened her
 
mouth and bawled all the louder. Bertie seemed entirely unperturbed and simply raised his voice above the din. ‘Sorry we’re in a bit of a mess today. Overslept. Amy had a bad night. Poor thing’s teething, don’t you know? Kept us all awake.’

Selene could hardly believe her eyes. Could this truly be her own brother in this appalling dung-heap of a kitchen, feeding a raucous infant as if it were the most natural thing in the world? ‘Bertie, what are you thinking or You must get out of this place. Mama really is ill. She needs you.’

‘Rightio. Soon as I’ve finished feeding Amy, I’ll go and pack.’

‘You mean you’ll come?’

‘You don’t think I want to stay here, do you? Though I must say I find the people more friendly than I expected. Always ready to enjoy a tankard of ale with me.’

‘So long as you’re buying, I suppose?’

Bertie gave a shame-faced grin. ‘That was the way of it, at first. Temporarily out of funds now, old girl. Don’t suppose Mama would ... No, course not.’

Selene pressed home her advantage. ‘She might. Once you’re back in the fold, you’ll be her darling boy again. She’ll give you anything you ask.’

Surprisingly Bertie frowned, indicating with a jerk of his chin the scatter of papers that littered the rug. ‘I have plans. I could survive without Mama. I really don’t mind a bit of squalor, Selene. It’s pomposity I can’t stomach.’

She recognised the sincerity in his soft brown eyes, but Selene was rapidly losing patience. ‘Oh, Bertie, do come along. I haven’t all day. You’ve made your point. If you come home now, Mama will be quite different, I promise. Don’t you want to get out?’

‘I’d leave tomorrow, this minute - given half a chance. Lily would too.’

‘Lily?’

‘Course. She hates this place even more than I do.’

‘I dare say she does. We all know that’s one of the reasons she married you - to escape.’ Selene picked up an enamel dish of goose grease between finger and thumb and dropped it back upon the table with a shudder. ‘We’re not talking about Lily. We’re talking about you. She’ll survive as she did before.’

Bertie looked puzzled for a moment, and then as her meaning became clear, utterly stunned. ‘I couldn’t leave without Lily. She’s my wife. And this little monster here is my darling daughter.’ He lifted the baby high in his arms and gently shook her. For a second Amy stopped crying and almost smiled at him.

‘There, did you see that? Love your papa?’ He jiggled the baby some more.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Small babies don’t have emotions.’

‘Amy does.’

Selene watched in horror as a dribble started at the child’s nose and Bertie wiped it away with his thumb, then tucked the infant back upon his lap, whereupon she wailed all the louder. ‘I say, you don’t know anything about making porridge, do you, Selene old thing? Lily left Amy with me because she’s teething, but she won’t eat the stuff I’ve made, and won’t stop crying for a second.’

His words were spoken to the empty air. Selene had gone.

Nathan felt pleased with his progress. Captain Swinbourne had been shaken at first by his offer to invest in the Steamship Company but had accepted all the same. As well he might. True, Nathan didn’t have the funds which Clermont-Read might have offered, which meant the new ship must be put on hold, but Swinbourne was a desperate man. He’d spent one too many afternoons at the card table to refuse help, even from someone who’d only risen from ticket collector to booking clerk. By the time Nathan had outlined his plans for increasing trade Swinbourne was willing, if not exactly eager, to clinch the deal.

Improving the waiting room came high on Nathan’s list, dingy and depressing place that it was. Many local people used the steamer to get about, as it was quicker and more convenient than travelling by horse and cart on the poor country roads. But they needed to be encouraged, particularly with the threat of the coming motor-cars. For now these were currently a pleasure confined to the very rich, though Nathan believed things might change. A man had to look to the future. Besides which, if the Carreckwater Steamship Company was to survive, it should look as if it were thriving.

The refurbishment of the fore-saloon for first-class passengers on
Lucy
Ann
was another essential, and they should also provide refreshments. Nathan remarked that it wasn’t enough to be full on Bank Holidays with mill workers and half empty the rest of the time. There had to be other ways of increasing profits.

Quickly promoted to Business Manager, and now a shareholder, a good deal of his time was now spent writing letters to railway and charabanc companies, hoteliers and the like, offering special deals for outings on Carreckwater. By summer he hoped these efforts would start to pay off.

He didn’t intend to stay Business Manager for long, nor a small shareholder. Nathan knew himself to be ambitious. He meant to go all the way to the top. He’d started from just about as low as you could get, with a lot to put behind him, so what did he have to lose?

Now he strode happily home through The Cobbles, heedless of the dirty streets for he could scent the tang of autumn in the breeze: wood smoke and peat fires and soft brown earth. It was a scent which reminded him of days out mushrooming with his mother. She’d always told him it was magical, unique to her beloved Lake country. The best place on God’s earth, she’d called it. He’d believed her then, and still had no reason to dispute it. But then he’d been in places since where all you could smell was the next man’s vomit.

Nathan felt privileged to spend his days by the lake; to watch the glitter of leaves, topaz, gold and saffron, as they drifted down on to water that glowed like molten honey in the autumn light.

He loved the friendly cluster of green mountains, drawing their cloaks of autumn rust about them, and the invigorating crispness of the northern air, something he’d missed on those miserable journeys south. He loved this whole damned country, and now that he’d managed at last to return to it, meant to stay. One day he would build himself a house by the lake. Why not? All it took was money.

For now he had the use of two rooms and a tiny kitchen on the first floor of a house on the corner of Drake Road where it crossed with Mallard Street. His landlady was not the interfering sort, but Nathan looked upon the arrangement as temporary. He’d find somewhere better soon, a whole house to himself, one that he owned, not rented. He hated to be beholden to anybody.

He heard the noise the minute he turned the corner. Jeering laughter, the sound of bricks being thrown and glass breaking. What now? There was always some trouble or other in this place.

A gang of youths had evidently set upon some poor fool. He was making a valiant fight of it, whoever he was, fists and feet flying every which way. Not an uncommon sight in The Cobbles. Nathan had learned early on in life not to interfere with other folk’s problems. Hadn’t he enough of his own? So he skirted the group, ready to hurry by, but then realised the man had gone down. Nathan caught a brief glimpse of a blood-splattered head being hammered into the dirt. There was no mistaking that sandy hair.

‘Hit the toff!’ someone shouted. ‘Let ‘im have it.’

Nathan didn’t hesitate. He launched himself into the melee with a terrifying roar, grasping collars, cuffing chins, flinging bodies to left and right.

‘Here, who the hell are you to interfere?’

Nathan peeled the flailing bodies off the heap one by one until he reached the last. Hands came up to grasp his throat and he only just managed to thrust them away.

‘Leave off. I’m on your side, you daft idiot!’ Then he pulled Bertie to his feet. Even when he’d succeeded the man wasn’t for standing still. Knocking Nathan’s supporting arm away, Bertie set off after the now rapidly retreating youths at a hobbling run.

‘Let them go,’ Nathan shouted.

‘No, dammit. I’ll knock their heads together when I catch them, see if I don’t.’

‘Are you mad?’ Nathan charged after him and dragged Bertie to a halt, though he continued to struggle furiously to be released.

‘Let me go, dammit! The blighters broke our window. Could’ve hit Amy. And they ruined my new hat. Finest felt, Russian leather band with a silk lining. Cost a damned fortune. I’ll show the brutes what’s what.’

Nathan gave a shout of laughter. ‘I believe you would.’

‘I’d’ve killed the bastards if you hadn’t interfered.’

Nathan tightened his grip on the furious Bertie and flattened him against the wall. ‘There are six of them at least. More likely they’d kill you.’

Bertie stopped fighting instantly and began to shake. In a more subdued voice he said, ‘I’d kill for a whisky.’

Nathan chuckled. ‘That’s more like it. After a fight with the Mackenzie and Adams boys, you deserve one. Come on. I admire your spunk for taking ‘em on. A whisky it shall be.’

With Amy parked in her pram beside them, the two men stood at the bar enjoying a tot or two of whisky, generously provided by Nathan. They exchanged a few fighting anecdotes, examined various scars resulting from these valiant confrontations, and generally warmed to each other’s company.

Nathan told Bertie his spunk would make anyone think twice about tackling him in future, and Bertie told Nathan something of his plight and of Selene’s visit.

‘You mean, you had the chance to leave and you turned it down?’

‘I couldn’t leave Lily, could I?’ Bertie sounded affronted at the very idea. ‘Pa would only start on at me the minute I walked in, and Mama would weep and wail. I’m not sure I’m quite up to all of that sort of tosh.’

Nathan laughed. ‘You’re an odd fish and no mistake.’

After an hour or two Amy started to grizzle and Bertie thought she might be getting hungry. Nathan suggested they should mend the window.