No Wings to Fly (52 page)

‘Look . . . look.’

The child’s piping voice came as he moved from his mother’s knee to Lily, holding up his toy horse as he did so. ‘Look.’

‘Look,’ Mrs Soameson echoed fondly. ‘I think that’s his favourite word – “Look”.’

‘Look,’ the boy said to Lily.

She smiled at him. ‘Yes, I’m looking. That’s a most splendid horse, Joshie. Have you got a name for him?’

He nodded. ‘He’s Mr Charlie Dobbin.’

‘Mr Charlie Dobbin, eh? Well – that’s a nice name.’

‘Yes,’ he said gravely. He held the horse a little higher for Lily to see. ‘He’s got a proper bridle, look.’

‘Yes, he has indeed.’

The boy hopped the little horse along the arm of the overstuffed chair, clicking his tongue as he went, then lifted it in a little arc to land on Lily’s thigh. ‘Look,’ he said as he jogged the toy horse along on her skirt, ‘he jumps so high.’

‘He’s a very clever little animal, isn’t he?’ Lily said, ‘and a very handsome one too.’

He nodded, his lips compressed in his concentration. Mrs Soameson said to him, ‘Mind you don’t spill Miss Clair’s tea, Josh,’ then to Lily, ‘Don’t let him be a nuisance, Miss Clair.’

Lily replied at once, ‘Oh, he’s not, he’s not. He’s perfectly fine.’ She smiled warmly at the boy. ‘You are, aren’t you, Josh? Perfectly fine.’

As she spoke there came a knock on the door, which opened and Lizzie put her head round and said, ‘Mum, I’m sorry to disturb you, but the sweep’s here, and I don’t know which chimneys you wants done.’

Mrs Soameson got up from her seat. ‘I’ll come and see to it,’ she said. She turned to Lily. ‘Will you look after Joshie for a minute, Miss Clair? I shan’t be long.’

‘Of course,’ Lily replied.

To the child, Mrs Soameson said, ‘You stay with Miss Clair, Joshie. I’ll be back soon.’ Next moment she had gone from the room, closing the door behind her and leaving Lily alone with the child.

Lily set down her empty cup and now turned her full attention to the boy. ‘Are you going to show me what your horse can do?’ she said to him. Every instinct in her being prompted her to reach out and touch him, but she kept her hands clasped before her.

‘You know he can gallop too,’ the child said gravely.

‘He can gallop? Really?’

‘Oh, yes, look.’ He jogged the little horse back and forth along the chair’s arm, making the now familiar clip-clopping noises as he went. ‘Did you see?’

‘Yes, I did. Very good.’

All at once the child stopped the horse’s movements and let his hand fall. As Lily looked at him she saw his eyes momentarily droop, and he opened his mouth in a yawn. ‘You’re a tired little man, aren’t you?’ she said.

He rested against her leg and shook his head. ‘No,’ he murmured, and yawned again. ‘I’m not tired.’ He leant closer, draping himself languidly against her, his horse for the moment forgotten. The room seemed very still. Lily said, ‘I think perhaps Mr Charlie Dobbin is a little tired, is he?’

He lifted his head and smiled. ‘No, he’s not tired. He’s never tired.’ His lips were soft pink, his skin flawless, his eyes wide and totally trusting. He lifted the toy horse and jogged it two or three times on Lily’s thigh, then let his hand fall again. From far off came the faint rumble of thunder, and the boy heard it and at once pressed closer to her, his left hand rising, small fingers clutching at the fabric of her skirt. Sensing his fear, Lily put her hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘It’s just a little thunder. Nothing to be alarmed about.’

He said nothing, but stayed with his arm across her, tense. As the skies had darkened, the light in the room had dimmed. Both she and the boy were listening. Then into the silence came another rumble of thunder, this time much nearer, louder. He pressed closer, and Lily’s other hand came up and lay upon him. ‘You’re not afraid, are you?’ she said. ‘Don’t be afraid.’

He looked up at her again and dumbly shook his head.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to be afraid.’ Then she added, meaning every breath of each word, ‘I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.’

A sudden, sharp clap of thunder came, cracking from the heavens as if it might split the lowering sky. It was so loud that Lily was startled, and under her touch she felt the boy flinch and draw in his breath.

‘Come,’ she said, ‘come . . .’ and in a second she was wrapping her arms around him and lifting him up, and he was lying in her lap, his face against the softness of her bosom. She thought she might never move again. Moments passed and she began to feel the tension easing a little from his taut form, and then suddenly the room was lit up by a flash of lightning followed by another crack of thunder. He gave a gasp and stiffened in her arms and burrowed deeper into her body. ‘It’s all right,’ she murmured. ‘It’s all right.’

Long minutes went by. The rain came, driven by a sudden wind. Thunder rolled again and again, but a little more distant now, the storm receding. She looked down and saw that his eyes were closed, and realised that he was sleeping, his mouth slightly open, his sweet breath rising and falling. She looked at the way his fair hair curled from his temples and saw again the tiny crescent mark near his ear. His horse lay in her lap beside him. ‘Yes,’ she breathed into the sound of the rain, ‘you sleep, my darling. You sleep.’

When Mrs Soameson came back into the room some minutes later she put a finger to her lips, as if urging herself to be quiet, and whispered, ‘Ah, look, he was so tired, bless him. And he’s very much afraid of thunder.’ She looked over to the window where the rain fell against the pane, but now less violently. ‘What a storm that was.’ She stepped closer and looked down at the sleeping boy. ‘Look at him, so peaceful now.’ She smiled at Lily. ‘He must like you, Miss Clair.’

Lily had the Sunday off, and soon after breakfast she set out for Sherrell. The rain of the previous day had gone and the
early October sun was shining onto the fields, all stripped now of the harvest, leaving the last gleanings to the crows. She reached Rowanleigh just after eleven, and was greeted warmly by Mary and Miss Elsie. Lily made coffee for herself and Miss Elsie and the two of them sat in the drawing room while Lily told of her first ten days in Happerfell.

Miss Elsie listened attentively to her words – which mostly concerned the teaching of Lavinia – then said:

‘And him? What of him?’

Lily did not answer at once. Then she said, ‘Joshua.’

‘You see him, of course.’

‘Yes. The nursery’s just along the landing. I see him several times a day.’

‘And?’ Miss Elsie’s question hung in the air.

Lily hesitated a moment, then said, ‘He – he’s beautiful.’ Miss Elsie’s mouth was touched by a sad little smile. ‘Beautiful. Oh, Lily . . .’

‘He is. He’s a splendid, beautiful little boy. Charming and bright and handsome – and loving.’

Miss Elsie studied Lily’s face. ‘But you know he’ll be going away, eventually. Before Christmas, you said, the whole family will leave for Scotland.’

‘I know, I know.’ Lily spoke quickly, almost as if irritated by the words. Of course she knew. How could she be other than aware of such a fact? ‘I’m aware of that. Of course I am.’

Miss Elsie nodded. ‘Good.’

A little silence fell between them. Then Miss Elsie said, with a little start, rising from her chair, ‘I mustn’t forget – a letter came for you yesterday.’ She crossed to the door and went out into the hall, returning moments later with an envelope which she handed to Lily.

‘Oh – it’s from Tom,’ Lily said. She looked up at Miss Elsie. ‘Do you mind . . .?’

‘Of course not. Go ahead – read it.’

Lily tore open the envelope, took out the folded sheets of cheap notepaper, and read her brother’s words. In pencil he had written:

She sat with the letter in her hand.

‘Well, Lily?’ Miss Elsie said, ‘What does he have to say?’

For a moment Lily was unable to speak. Then a sob burst
from her throat and she leant forward, shaking her head in despair. ‘He’s living in a dream. He’s just – living in a dream.’

‘Tell me. What does he say?’

‘He wants to go to America,’ Lily said. ‘He says he’s arranged passage on a ship, and of course he needs money to help pay his fare. I can see it now – some unconscionable man selling him a dream – taking him for anything he can get. And how’s he going to live in America once he gets there? How will he work?’

Miss Elsie said, ‘But – if it’s what he wants . . .’

‘I know. It’s like when he went off to London – he thinks life will be different. And it won’t be. But I can’t tell him that. I can’t destroy what little hope he might have left.’ She paused. ‘And of course – if he goes I’ll never see him again.’

A moment of silence, then Miss Elsie said, ‘Have you got some money to give him?’

Lily gave a deep sigh. ‘Only the little I managed to save up while working in Little Patten. But – he’s welcome to it all.’

‘If you need more . . .’

‘Oh, ma’am.’ Lily was greatly touched by the woman’s kindness. ‘Thank you so much, but I couldn’t take anything else from you.’

‘It’s not a time to be proud, Lily,’ Miss Elsie said. ‘If the young man needs it, then he must have it.’

‘Thank you. Thank you.’

‘I have some cash here in the house.’

‘Thank you. I shall pay you back. You know I’ll pay you back.’

Miss Elsie nodded. ‘Whenever. It’s not important.’

When Lily returned to The Gables in Happerfell, Lizzie met her in the hall with a grave expression and a lowered voice.
Lily frowned, aware at once that something was amiss. ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What’s the matter?’

Lizzie glanced quickly around, then murmured: ‘It’s the master’s father, miss – old Mr Soameson. A telegraph come, so Mrs Lemmon says. I’m afraid he’s died. Went in the night.’

After the maid had gone, Mrs Soameson came into the hall. ‘Ah, there you are, Miss Clair,’ she said. ‘I thought I heard you come in. Did you have nice day in Sherrell?’

‘Yes, thank you, ma’am.’

‘That’s good.’ Mrs Soameson’s expression grew a little grave. ‘I’m afraid we had some bad news while you were gone. Mr Soameson’s father has passed away. We received a telegraph this morning.’ She sighed, shaking her head. ‘We knew he wasn’t strong, but it’s still come as a great shock. There’s nothing for it but Mr Soameson must go up to Scotland, of course, and arrange the funeral. He’s leaving first thing tomorrow. A dreadfully long journey, but there you are, it has to be done.’ Another deep sigh. ‘I think it will mean our moving back to Edinburgh sooner than we’d anticipated.’

Up in her room Lily took off her coat and hat and stood at the window looking down over the rear garden. She had only just arrived at the house and now suddenly there was talk of the family leaving so much sooner than planned. And Edinburgh – it was a world away.

On Monday morning, Lily asked Mrs Soameson if on the coming Friday she might finish her lessons a little early and go to meet her brother in Corster. Mrs Soameson made no objection, and when the day and the hour came, Lily made ready and left the house.

She arrived in Corster just after five-thirty, and at once went to the little paved yard at the entrance to the Victoria Gardens. There, facing the corn exchange and the museum, she sat on a bench in the overcast light of the pale sun. The air was cool, with a chill breeze blowing. As usual at this hour, there were many in the streets who were going to their homes after their day’s work, and they moved past Lily with purpose. She kept her eye on the corn exchange clock, watching the minutes pass until Tom should arrive. In addition to the money she carried in her bag, she had some other items: on the way from the railway station she had bought a bar of his favourite chocolate, and also, from a street-vendor, two ripe pears.