The Long Walk Home (18 page)

'I know nothing about that, Mr Smart, and if you will excuse me I must be getting along.' I don't know what he is talking about, she thought as she took her leave and he again tipped his hat to her. But whatever it is I don't think he should be discussing it with me.

She spent another hour looking in the shops and reading the posters advertising the coming attractions, the circus, the travelling theatres, the two-headed dogs, the thought of which made her shudder, and then decided she had better return home for luncheon or Cook would not be pleased. She strolled back down the High Street, and just before she reached the top of Bishop Lane she saw her father turn out of it and head towards their house.

He's coming home after all! I hope Cook has done enough food. I said I would just have a light repast. She became agitated. He will have to have mine. I'll say that I'm not hungry. Why is he coming home? Is it because, as Mr Smart said, there are too many people there? Has something gone wrong? But surely, as a senior partner, my father would be needed.

It was of no use surmising or second-guessing. If her father wanted to tell her, he would, but more than likely he would not. He was putting his key in the lock as Eleanor approached.

'Hello, Papa,' she said in as bright a voice as she could muster. 'Have you come home for luncheon after all?'

He turned and looked down on her from the top step. Her heart skipped a beat at his frown. I can surely go out when I want to, she thought. And I'm too old and too big to be locked in a cupboard. The memory of it still gave her nightmares.

'Eleanor?' It was as if he hadn't seen her in a long time. He gave a little shake of his head. 'No,' he said. 'No, I don't want anything to eat.' He pushed open the door and entered, holding it ajar for Eleanor to come in. 'I'll just have a jug of coffee. Tell your mother I want to speak to her straight away.'

She stared at him. 'But she's not here, Papa! She's gone to stay with Aunt Maud.'

He gazed back, his forehead creased. 'Oh! Yes. I'd forgotten. Was that today?'

'Yes, Papa. Just this morning. She caught an early train.'

He grunted. 'Then I will write and tell her she must come back immediately.' It was as if reason had come back and he was himself again. 'She's needed here.'

'But . . .' She was confused. 'Mama will not yet have arrived in Nottingham. She was expecting to stay at least a week.' Though as she said it, Eleanor recalled that her mother had been very vague about the date of her return.

'Never mind what she was expecting,' he answered brusquely. 'She must return at once.'

'Has something happened, Papa?' she dared to say. 'Is something wrong?' Her thoughts flitted to Percy Smart, who had sneaked out of the office.

Her father gave her a sharp glance. 'What? What makes you say that?'

'N-nothing, except that— you seem upset over something,' she said lamely.

'I am not upset.' His eyes flickered about the hall and up the stairs. 'I shall go to my room. Send for my coffee straight away.'

'Shall I ask Cook to send in a slice of bread and beef?' she asked.

'No!' he bellowed. 'Do not trouble me with such insignificances.' He marched away to his study just off the hall.

Eleanor shook. Something's happened. Whatever it is, will he take it out on me? She knew her father's idiosyncrasies very well. If he had had a problematical day at the office, she and her mother tried to keep out of his way, and the maids became invisible, disappearing down the kitchen stairs or into the laundry room when he was having what Eleanor had once overheard Mary expressively describe as 'Master's strop'.

She slipped down the back stairs to the kitchen. On the table her own luncheon was being prepared. Cook was standing by the range stirring something in a pan and a maid was washing up in the sink.

'Cook!' Eleanor said quietly, for the opening of the door had gone unheard.

The cook turned round, startled to see Eleanor in her kitchen. 'Miss! Is something wrong? They're just about to bring up your luncheon. We're not late?'

'No, no,' she assured her. 'It's just that my father has arrived home unexpectedly. Will you ask Mary to take him a large pot of coffee, please? He doesn't require anything to eat—'

'Oh, surely just a morsel—' Cook began.

'Nothing!' Eleanor emphasized. 'Please don't press him.'

'No, Miss Eleanor.' The cook nodded. 'If that's what he said. And we'll send yours up in just a minute.'

'Thank you. Will you ask Mary to bring it to my room? I won't eat in the dining room as I'm alone. Just on a tray. Please!'

She slipped back upstairs to the hall and then up the two flights to her own room. She still used the old nursery, for she felt very comfortable there. It was her own private place where she kept her books and writing materials and the maid lit a fire every day so it was always cosy and warm, but best of all no one ever bothered her, least of all her father.

Eleanor stayed in her room for three days, coming down only for breakfast and having her lunch and supper brought to her upstairs. She saw her father only twice in that time and was surprised to see him then, for on both occasions it was during the morning when he should have been in his office. He was plainly not intending to leave the house, for he was unshaven and without his jacket, and wore an old knitted garment on top of his shirt.

She asked him no questions but simply greeted him and said she hoped he had slept well; in answer he only grunted. On the fourth day he was waiting for her in the breakfast room and without any preamble asked if she had heard from her mother.

'No, I haven't,' she said. 'Perhaps there will be a letter today.'

'The first post has been already,' he muttered, 'and there was no reply to my letter.'

She bit on her lip. 'Second post,' she said nervously. 'It generally comes just after lunch.'

'I am aware of when it comes.' His manner was sharp. 'I receive post every day.'

She crossed to the sideboard. 'May I serve you some bacon, Papa?' she asked. 'Or scrambled egg?'

'No. I'll have toast and marmalade. And coffee,' he added.

Eleanor served him and then helped herself to eggs. She was hungry but didn't have bacon or kidney as she knew she would choke on it; she was so nervous that her throat was tight.

Her father drank his coffee and nibbled on the toast, glancing at her from time to time but not speaking. Eleanor kept her eyes lowered so as not to confront him. Finally he spoke, after loudly clearing his throat.

'What were your mother's plans for Nottingham?'

She looked up, her lips parted. 'Plans, Father? I didn't know she had made any.' Eleanor swallowed. 'I assumed that she was only visiting Aunt Maud. It is a while since they last met.'

'Hmph! That is what she told me. Why she should want to visit that harridan I can't imagine.'

Eleanor was shocked at his language and could think of no reply.

'Do you think she has news of your brother?'

'I— I don't know. Mama never said that she had.' Eleanor pushed her plate away, her appetite failing. Surely her mother would have confided in her if she had heard tidings of Simon.

Her father rose from the table, taking his cup and saucer with him. 'I shall be in my study,' he announced. 'I am not going to the office today.'

Nor did you go yesterday or the day before, she thought, and ventured, 'Taking a little holiday, Papa? You rarely do.'

He turned towards her and for a moment she thought he was going to say something, but he appeared to think better of it and gave a shake of his head. He looks so pale and unwell, she thought. He is surely not fretting over Mama.

At mid-morning she decided to take a walk, even though it was wet and windy. She put on her outdoor cloak and fastened the hood over the top of her deep-brimmed bonnet, then picked up an umbrella from the hallstand.

Her father appeared at the study door and looked questioningly at her. 'I'm just going out on an errand,' she explained. 'I need embroidery silks.'

'Ah,' he muttered. 'I thought I heard the post.' He turned back into his room again.

I ought to buy some silks now, she thought, or be found out in a lie. But I don't have any money. I will have to place them on account at the haberdasher's. That is what her mother always did and the account was then sent to her father. Mama never has any money either, she realized; I don't think I have ever seen her with anything in her purse. It would be so nice to have just a little allowance to spend as I pleased. Perhaps, could I, dare I ask Papa?

She purchased silks, ribbons and a few reels of cotton, just to make the sale worthwhile, and bidding the saleswoman good day she stepped outside again. The rain was coming down in torrents, and after battling unsuccessfully to keep her umbrella from blowing inside out she decided to return home.

As she waited for someone to open the door, she glanced down the street. The postman was heading this way. 'Do be quick, Mary,' she implored beneath her breath. 'Let me in.' When the door was opened, she kicked off her shoes in the hall and gave the maid her wet cloak to take away and dry, and ran upstairs. She didn't want to be there when her father collected the post. If her mother hadn't written, he would be in a fearful mood.

She put on her indoor slippers and tidied her hair. She still wore her hair loose as her parents didn't consider her old enough yet to put it up. She searched in a drawer for a lace cap and was pinning it on her hair when she heard her father roar.

'Eleanor! Eleanor!'

She dashed out of her room and along the landing, and peered over the banister. Her father was below, looking up. In his hand he held a letter.

'Yes, Papa?'

'Come down here at once!'

Oh, she thought, he sounds so angry. What have I done? Is the letter from my mother?

She ran down the stairs, lifting her skirt so that she didn't fall. 'What is it, Papa? What has happened?'

Mary appeared at the top of the servants' stairs as if in answer to an urgent summons, but she was brusquely shooed away by Mr Kendall.

'What's happened? What's happened?' He took Eleanor by the arm and pushed her into his study. She never came in here. This was her father's private sanctum. 'You might well ask what's happened!'

Eleanor stood trembling, waiting for an explanation. She clenched and unclenched her hands, then clasped them together. 'Mama is not sick, is she?' she whispered. 'Or is it Simon?'

'No, it is not Simon,' he roared. 'This is a letter from
your mother
!' He emphasized the relationship so firmly, it was as if whatever was amiss was Eleanor's fault for having such a mother.

'Tell me what it is, Father,' she implored. 'Have I done something wrong that Mama has told you about? I assure you that whatever it was—'

'Not
you
,' he interrupted fiercely. 'This is not about
you
. This is from your mother. My wife! Telling me that she is not coming home.
Ever!
'

Eleanor was thunderstruck. Not coming home? But what about me? Am I to stay here? With my father?

Her father turned to his desk and picked up another envelope. 'This is addressed to you. It is marked personal and private; otherwise I would of course have opened it.' He stared at her. 'It is within my rights to do so. You are not of an age to receive correspondence without my reading it, but as it is so obviously your mother's writing, you may see it first.'

She took it with trembling fingers. 'Thank you,' she whispered. 'May I sit down?'

He waved her to a chair, but he remained standing by the fireside, tapping a foot on the carpet and banging one fist into the palm of the other.

Eleanor struggled to open the envelope and then, in a small, cracked voice, asked if she might borrow a paper knife. Her father handed one to her without a word; she slit the envelope and withdrew the letter.

My dear Eleanor [her mother wrote in her fine neat handwriting],

This letter may come as a shock to you, but on the other hand your father might by now have acquainted you with the contents of the letter I have sent to him. In short, my dear, I have left your father and am now living with my sister Maud and her husband, Mr Morton James. They have been very kind and considerate to me, and although I do not envisage spending the rest of my life with them, they have offered me shelter for as long as I require it.

I have been very unhappy for many years, particularly since your brother ran away, and although I have tried hard to be a good and faithful wife, I cannot any longer live under the same roof as your father. I am very sorry to leave you behind, but I have no wealth of my own and although our house was mine, bequeathed to me by my father before my marriage, it is now of course, in law, the property of my husband. Your father therefore can offer you more materially at the present time than I can and also of course insist that you stay with him.

I know that your father will be angry with me, but I hope he will allow you to write to me care of Aunt Maud and that you will be able to receive my letters. I shall think of you often, my dearest child, and send my fondest love.

I am your affectionate mother,

Rosamund Kendall.

Eleanor swallowed hard for a moment and dared not lift her eyes to look at her father. At last she raised her head and saw him looking at her with narrowed eyes.

She whispered, 'How can we get her back, Papa?'

'She does not want to come back,' he said in such a vicious tone that she trembled. 'She has left without a penny to her name and with only the clothes she was wearing. And,' he added, 'even those I paid for. Every bill your mother incurs comes to me.'

'I know,' Eleanor said. 'Mama always said we must not be extravagant; that we must always remember that you are responsible for us.'

'Did she indeed?' Her father was brusque. 'And did she tell you that I am still responsible for her, even though she has left her marital home?'

'No, Father, she didn't.' Eleanor knew now, with a sinking feeling, that her mother had always been under her husband's domination. And is that what will now happen to me, she thought. Is that my lot in life? Will I now have to take my mother's place and be under my father's rule? Never to live a life of my own?