Memories of You (17 page)

Funny lad, she thought. Never says much, but works hard even though he sometimes has to be told twice what to do. Jake, he calls himself. She closed her eyes a moment and tried to remember what the rest of his name was. Had he told her? She wasn't sure. But if he had it would come back to her, wouldn't it? When she was having a good day.

It had been a bitter cold day in January when Jake had arrived. She'd been on the point of selling up when she'd heard the commotion the hens were making that morning. It must be a fox. She grabbed her walking stick and hurried painfully across to the nesting boxes. It was no fox. She'd seen the lad running away and climbing over the wall. A bairn, she thought. Another hungry bairn from the town, and she never knew why she did it but she called out, ‘Come back. Don't be frightened. You can sit by the fire and I'll make you a pot of tea and bread and butter and boil one of those eggs if you like. As long as you leave some for me.'

To her astonishment his head popped up over the wall. He surveyed her guardedly and then he climbed over.

‘Bread and butter?' he said and she nodded.

More than a bairn, she thought. He's almost a grown lad. Probably can't find a job. Who can these days? And that's when it came to her. If she took him on she might be able to hold out at least one more year. Who knew, maybe longer? This smallholding was the only life she'd ever known. The pittance she might get if she sold up would hardly provide for a comfortable old age. With any luck she would be able to carry on until she dropped dead. Then she would never have to leave.

Jake had seemed grateful to be offered a job but he was a funny lad. Changeable. One day he would be guarded but chirpy, another day very quiet, even dreamy. He was almost like two different people. Mabel Norris didn't live long enough to discover why.

 

By the time the autumn term was about to begin Selma decided that Elise could be sent to school. Miss Barton had done her best with the child's accent, and as any good girls' school would teach elocution as well as deportment, any remaining little mispronunciations would soon be ironed out.

Elise was playing croquet in the garden with Barty when Hugh came home to find Selma sitting in the conservatory going through a pile of prospectuses. The day was warm and he longed for a shower and a Pimm's – maybe not in that order – but he flopped down beside his wife and picked up some of the prospectuses from the floor where they had been discarded. Selma smiled at him briefly and started flicking through the pages again.

After a moment he said, ‘So I take it she's not going to go away to school.'

‘Of course not.'

‘I thought you wanted the very best for Elise.'

‘The very best doesn't have to be a boarding school. There are some good day schools in London.'

‘With waiting lists, no doubt. I mean, haven't we left it a bit late for the coming term?'

Selma gave him a pitying look. ‘Really, Hugh. Have you forgotten who you are?'

‘Do you mean have I forgotten
what
I am?'

She frowned. ‘What are you saying?'

‘What you meant is that I am a rich man. A very rich man. And you are prepared to use that fact to get what you want.'

‘What we both want.'

‘Both want?'

‘For Elise. For our daughter. Surely you would do anything to get the best for Elise?'

Hugh looked out into the garden at the beautiful child moving so gracefully across the lawn and admitted to himself that he was as enchanted as Selma was. But in his case he hoped the enchantment stopped short of obsession. Maybe he should insist that the child go away to school. Maybe that would be good for Selma. Then he looked at his wife's eager face, saw her happiness, and knew that he couldn't do it. Elise would go to whatever school Selma chose; he had neither the will nor the heart to deny her that.

 

‘Leaving? What do you mean you're leaving?' There was a sheen of perspiration on Jane Roberts' brow as she looked up at Helen in alarmed astonishment. Helen had just placed her aunt's tray on her knee and it wobbled precariously.

‘Be careful, you'll spill your tea.'

‘Don't speak to me like that.' Her aunt gripped the handles of the tray. ‘And how dare you come in here and say that you're leaving me after all that I've done for you?'

‘I would have thought you'd be glad to get rid of me. After all, you have made it plain what an expense I am.'

‘That's true. As well as feeding you I've bought you clothes and shoes.'

‘A skirt for work and one pair of shoes. And surely you had money left from the sum Mrs Partington gave you?'

Aunt Jane's eyes narrowed but she didn't deny it. The room was too warm as usual and Helen longed to open the windows, even though the evening air outside was dusty with summer heat.

‘Have you no gratitude?' Aunt Jane said.

‘I should be grateful?'

‘Of course. I took you in when your mother died. Where else would you have gone?'

Helen regarded her aunt solemnly. ‘That's true. You gave me a home, but I think it suited you. You have no children of your own and you wanted someone to look after you as you grow older, and even take over some of the housework because you are too mean to pay Eva a proper wage.'

The teacup rattled as the tray on her aunt's knee slipped to one side. ‘Viper!' Aunt Jane gasped. ‘I have t-taken a ver . . . ver . . . viper to my b . . . bosom!'

Helen would have laughed except that something strange seemed to be happening to Aunt Jane's face. It was slipping sideways, just like the tray. Helen stepped forward but she was too late. The tray crashed to the floor, spilling the contents on the hearthrug: tea, sugar, milk and cucumber sandwiches.

Her aunt was trying to get up. ‘Hel—' she began and Helen never knew whether she had been about to say her name or whether she was asking for help, for a moment later she sank down again and simply looked up at Helen with one startled eye.

Helen didn't even stay to clear the mess from the floor. She ran to fetch the doctor.

 

‘A stroke,' Dr Salkeld said. ‘But not too bad. With care and attention she ought to make a reasonably good recovery. It's a good job she's got you. Niece, aren't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Right then. I'll call in tomorrow morning, but how are you going to get her up to bed?'

‘I can't. Not until tomorrow when her maid arrives.'

‘You'll sit with her?'

‘Yes.'

‘Good girl. I'll be off then.'

As soon as Dr Salkeld had gone Helen cleared the mess from the carpet and took the tray through to the kitchen. Her own sandwiches were waiting on the kitchen table and she was tempted to stay there and eat them, but breathing a sigh of resignation, she took them through to the front parlour and tried to enjoy them as Aunt Jane stared at her with a comically crooked air of reproach. It was if she was trying to convey that this was all Helen's fault. And that would have been easier to bear if only there hadn't been an undeniable expression of panic in the one eye she had open.

You can't leave me now, Helen
, she seemed to be saying.
Surely you won't leave me now
.

 

In later years Joe still prayed and hoped that the dairyman's lad had gone to investigate as soon as he'd discovered that the milk churn wasn't waiting by the stile the next morning. Not only because someone would have to take care of the livestock but also because he didn't like to think of Mrs Norris lying all alone by the nesting boxes with the hens pecking around and treating her body as if it were just something to perch on. He and Danny had been with her for over a year and she had been good to them – although she had never discovered there were two of them.

They had made that decision straight away. ‘They'll be looking for two lads,' Joe had told Danny. ‘So one lad we'll have to be.'

Not that anyone had ever come near Mrs Norris's smallholding. She had no friends or family that Joe knew of, and if anyone did come by, both twins kept out of the way. Even the dairyman didn't know anyone was there as Joe or Danny – whichever one was ‘Jake' that day – was always careful to leave the churn and the basket of eggs and scarper before anyone arrived.

Joe tried not to think about the fact that they had just left her lying there. ‘If we take her into the house it could be a while before she's found,' he had said to Danny.

They had entered the house themselves. The first time they had been in there together and filled a knapsack with any food that would travel. They felt no compunction about that. They both knew that Mrs Norris would want Jake to have anything he found useful. Joe glanced at the Rington's tea caddy on a shelf of the dresser. He had a good idea of what was in there. He took it down, opened it and emptied the money it contained on to the table. His eyes widened.

‘More than I thought,' he said. ‘This will do us for a while.' It never crossed his mind that this was dishonest. After all, if they didn't take it who would? No one that Mrs Norris would like to have it, he was sure of that.

‘How far will that get us?' Danny asked.

‘London if you like, and there'll still be lots left over.'

‘London?'

‘Yeah, I reckon that's far enough away and it's big enough to get lost in. But it's getting there that might be tricky.'

‘Why?'

‘They could still be looking for two of us.'

‘After all this time?'

‘Depends whether they decided that Tod went over the cliff by accident or not.'

They looked at each other solemnly.

‘So what will we do?' Danny asked.

‘We'll travel separately and meet up when we get there.'

‘Where?'

‘King's Cross. That's a railway station. Whoever arrives there first must wait for the other.'

‘We're going by train?'

‘I don't see why not. We've got enough money to buy tickets and some left over. So my plan is that we part now and hitch to the station at Darlington or York or wherever we can get a ride to.'

‘King's Cross must be a big station. How will we find each other?'

‘There's got to be a waiting room, hasn't there? And a refreshment room where we can buy food.'

After thinking it over Danny agreed, and they took a pack of cards from the dresser and cut to see who should go first. Joe drew the high card. ‘I'll be off,' he said. ‘Give me two hours' start.' Then, trying not to look at Mrs Norris lying amongst the clucking hens, he slipped away.

Danny watched the old clock on the mantelshelf and waited for two hours as Joe had told him to do. Outside the sky darkened and it began to rain. By the time Danny decided he could go the rain was torrential. He hesitated at the door, but looking up at the skies he didn't think it was going to ease off for a while, and he wanted to get away before nightfall.

He glanced over his shoulder at the fire in the hearth regretfully. Leaving the door open so that the wind blew the rain across the stone-paved floor, he made a run for it, pausing only briefly to look down at Mrs Norris and the raindrops streaming down her face like tears.

 

Joe had found a cosy billet in a waiting room just as he'd said he would, but he soon learned that if the policemen in Newcastle Central Station were fierce, the London bobbies were worse.

He was moved along every time a copper spotted him. Who do they think I am? he asked himself indignantly. A criminal of some kind? Then he caught sight of himself in a mirror in the men's lavatories. A right little tramp, he thought. No wonder they don't like the look of me. He paid sixpence for a wash and brush up. The attendant, a tall, lugubrious man, gave him a bar of soap and a nice clean towel and showed him into one of the little white-tiled cubicles.

When Joe emerged the attendant eyed him speculatively. ‘All alone in town?' he asked.

Joe said he was and could have kicked himself when he saw the narrowing of the man's eyes. ‘But that's just for the moment,' he added quickly. ‘I'm meeting my brother, my elder brother. That's why I thought I'd better smarten up a bit. He's – erm – he's been on business in the North and he's been delayed.'

The man raised his eyebrows. Joe knew he didn't believe a word of it but he must have decided it wasn't worth pursuing. He shrugged and walked away. Joe returned to sit by the fire in the waiting room. Someone had left a newspaper on the bench seat. It was open and folded over to show the Situations Vacant column. Joe glanced at the jobs advertised and grinned: bank clerk; travelling salesman; livein chauffeur and handyman. London might be the land of opportunity – didn't they say the streets were paved with gold? – but there was nothing there for him. And then he saw a job that would be just the ticket; furthermore, according to the times given, he could go along right now and apply for it.

What should he do? Sitting there he could hear the announcements of trains leaving and arriving. Was there still a chance that Danny would arrive today? Then the time came when the next arrival from the North wouldn't be until the next morning. He knew he wouldn't be allowed to stay in the station overnight and in any case he didn't want to. With an anxious look at the clock above the fireplace he grabbed the newspaper, shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out the cash he had left. No worries there. He headed for the taxi stand.

He was back bright and early the next morning. When Danny arrived he looked tired and ill. He was coughing. ‘Got soaked,' he explained, ‘and no one wanted to stop to give me a lift in that weather.' It had taken him all night to walk to Darlington, where he'd had to wait at least an hour for the London train.