A Time for Courage (24 page)

She settled back in the first-class compartment, letting the curtain fall back into place, watching Esther laughing into Harry’s face, her hair coiled under the large grey hat, her well cut light wool suit matching perfectly the darker grey of the ribbon which decorated the brim. The girlish looks had gone and at twenty-one Esther was a beautiful woman.

Harry bent and kissed Esther’s hand and Hannah turned back to the window. There were woods in the distance now, still brown. The pear tree at home was budding, though there was no blossom yet, and her mother was waiting for the pale green tinged flowers that meant the end of winter. She tried to breathe evenly, to push away the anxiety which came in a sudden wave of heat and pulled at the leather window strap which was hooked on to the brass knob. It was too hot in here, she thought, anger stirring; she wanted some air but if she opened the window the noise would be worse.

Would Mother be all right? Would Eliza keep Beaky under control? Would she keep the curtains drawn back to let the light in as her mother preferred? She ran her fingers over her lips. Would her father let her mother take her meals in her room? She ate so much better at the window which looked out on the pear tree. Hannah felt hotter still; she shouldn’t have left her alone, not even for this weekend. And then she saw that Harry was looking at her, at her fingers which were playing over her mouth, and she made herself smile.

‘I hope Mother will be all right, that she’ll not be too unhappy while I’m away,’ she said and could hear that her voice was too high, too taut.

‘For heaven’s sake, Hannah, it’s only two days and Eliza’s her sister after all. She’ll know better than you what keeps Mother content.’

Hannah said nothing. The train was labouring now up a slight incline which was leading to a small hamlet. No one knew her mother better than she did, she wanted to shout into his face, but he had turned again to Esther’s. So she did not shout. She must not shout, must she? The last time she had shouted had been at Joe and he had been right, hadn’t he? But how could she ever tell him, after speaking to him as she had. No, I must not shout. Say it ten times, Miss Watson, and she smelt the classroom and the chalk and the children who sat in rows. No, I must not shout. And now she was saying it in time with the wheels as they clicked over the joints in the track. And she must not think of Joe, not any more and she seldom did, except when marigolds bloomed and the wind roared or gulls called or … but now she clenched her mind shut, tugging at the tiredness which pulled at her, looking out of the carriage, out to where the air was buffeting and pushing at the clouds.

The churned fields were giving way to grey stone houses which lay on either side of the track. These threw back the noise which had until now rolled on and over the fields and helped to drive thoughts from her mind, but they could not remove the tiredness from the broken nights. She saw again the pale, frail hands but made herself look instead at the picture of London Bridge which hung in its gilt frame above the heads of Harry and Esther; at the brocade which covered the seats, at the rack which held their bags, and she felt calmer.

Mother was better than she had been, that was all she must think about, and with the coming of spring the improvement would be even greater.

Hannah sat with her hands loosely clasped in her lap now, forcing her shoulders down, her muscles to relax. The noise was less again, the houses were left behind and trees which crept up to the embankment took their place. It wouldn’t be far to Arthur’s junction now. He had said three hours out from London and it must be nearly that now. She pushed back the sleeve of her dark blue suit and looked at the wrist-watch which had been Arthur’s Christmas gift; in fifteen minutes they should be arriving and she was curious to see his country seat.

He had spoken of it often during the past four years but her father had refused permission for such a visit until now, his face darkening at the mere suggestion, his tone cutting through the air as he forbade such indulgences. But this weekend was special; it was to be Harry’s farewell and he had approached their father saying that Lord Wilmot wanted to introduce Hannah to his county set as the girl they favoured for their son. Hannah had swallowed when she saw the sweat that had appeared on her father’s forehead, at the smile which began to play around his mouth, disgust churning her stomach. She knew that this was not the truth. Lord Wilmot had no intention of introducing anyone as his second son’s potential wife, for Arthur was still far too young, and for that Hannah was grateful, she had too much to do to think of marriage. She was more than aware that the real reason Harry required her presence was, yet again, that Esther would be able to attend. As the train rattled on she looked at her brother. Would he like the hot parched land where Uncle Simon lay? Would it bring him the wealth he wanted? She sighed. Was it really so many years since they had laughed together in the garden, since that young boy had swung her on the rope, run with her on the grass, laughed into her neck as they fell face down and watched the ants climbing the stems? This was the boy who had become a man and climbed from the mine and had pressed her hand when she had held his to her lips. This was the man who had taken her education from her. But here she stopped. Had he taken it, or had it been given to him?

She looked at the neat moustache, the starched collar, the mouth which talked words of love to the girl in a grey suit and hat, with coiled hair. She looked at his eyes; eyes which had been nudged by the knowledge of departure for the last few days and weeks and months. She looked at his hands which had swung the rope and they were the same ones that she had pushed from her when he had tried to talk to her on the stairs as their father had stalked from the house. She wished now that she had not done so, for there was still an empty space where first he, and then Joe had been.

And now he was to go and it was all too late, wasn’t it? The emptiness must stay hidden away as though it were not there. She looked again at her watch. Only ten minutes now. There were distant hills standing proud against the gathering grey clouds and birds were being blown off course. The train whistle shrieked as they passed under a bridge which Harry said held the road leading to the village this side of Alburton Manor, the Wilmots’ home. Hannah craned round to watch as it curved into the distance. There was a trap shying away from an Austin car. Was it Arthur’s automobile, she wondered, and smiled. If it was, he would be late.

‘Hannah.’ She turned as she felt the tap on her knee as Esther leant forward to attract her attention. ‘How will your Sunday ladies manage without you?’ Esther’s face was tilted and her mouth struggled not to smile.

Hannah felt herself grow tense at the question.

‘Yes, Father seems most awfully pleased with you, Hannah,’ Harry said, looking at her curiously. ‘Your good works seem to have made the old boy feel that at last he can relax. He seems to feel that you have grown into Mother’s role quite nicely. Dutiful daughter at home and Bible study with the deserving poor.’ His eyes were probing, his voice full of doubt. This was the sister who had fought and struggled against her father, against God knows what demons for so long, the child who had held her own against him before he went to school, and here she was taking Bible classes for the fifth year running. Had Father broken her after all? He looked at her again in a way that he had not done for many years and shook his head, surprised at the regret that the thought brought him.

She lowered her eyes before his gaze and he realised that she seldom met his eyes any more but said and did the right thing, demure and self-contained. Yes, during the five years the four of them had been laughing, talking and socialising it was suddenly clear to him that he did not know this adult Hannah at all. There was something private about her now, something hidden beneath the correct exterior. There was a hint of it with his mother too. A cloaking of the eyes, a preoccupation. Was it because of Arthur, he wondered. If so, they had no cause to worry, since that young man was very pleased with Hannah and so, it seemed, were the family; their reservations at Hannah’s lack of pedigree overcome by her mature influence. This, they seemed to feel, or so Arthur had told him with a laugh, was calming their son’s interest in the music-hall actresses who so enchanted him. Harry remembered the wet steps outside Arthur’s London house on the night of the Coronation dance. What was it Arthur had said about needing a sensible woman? He looked out of the window. It was something about needing someone who would let him enjoy himself.

Harry shrugged. Did Hannah love Arthur? It was so hard to tell, for there seemed to be a distance between Hannah and everyone and everything. It was almost as though she were only half aware of everyday life, as though she were waiting, but for what? But now he felt the pressure of Esther’s hand and his heart caught in his throat; she was so small, so delicate, so beautiful and soon he would be gone. But not for long. No, not for long because that he could not bear. Soon he would be back with money enough to approach her father for her hand in marriage. No, he must not be long because he could not be certain she would wait.

He laid his hand on hers and wanted to grip it, raise it to his lips, draw her to him and sink his mouth on to hers, feel her body against his, stroke her breasts as she had allowed him to do last week, but instead he moved his arm against hers and smiled at the answering pressure.

Hannah did not smile at Esther’s question, at Harry’s curiosity, but looked at her hands. They were no longer clasped loosely but squeezed tightly. Yes, the women would manage just this once but Esther must not stir curiosity again. It was too important to be treated as a mere game but that seemed to be what life was to Esther and always had been.

When Hannah had approached Miss Fletcher the week after she had left Joe’s, the Headmistress had thought it was a splendid idea to hold classes for adults. Hannah had not mentioned that it was not hers alone. They had used the front room in Miss Fletcher’s private quarters so that parents of the schoolchildren could never have cause to complain that the school premises were being used for purposes they would undoubtedly disapprove of.

As they had handed out suffrage handbills during that week they spoke to the women on the doorsteps, urging, cajoling, and some had come. They had arrived on Sunday morning, some with children because their husbands would not baby-mind. Against the murmured protests of infants that were as dirty and lethargic as the matchmaker’s had been, Hannah had begun to teach. Buns and apples had appeared from Miss Fletcher’s kitchen and the children had eaten them sitting on the floor, forcing more and more into their mouths, scrabbling for the crumbs, fighting and screaming, refusing to sit on chairs, which were something they had not seen before. The next week more had come to listen and to learn and to eat, for meat sandwiches were included now. In the first few weeks they had concentrated on hygiene lessons before moving in due course to first aid. As the weeks progressed they had explained birth control and then more came and asked for reading and writing. Hannah and Miss Fletcher had worked around the tables, showing the women how to hold pens, how to form letters; showing the children how to sit still long enough to build bricks, to paint shapes. As they leant over them their smell was strong and so, as part of the course, they ran hot water and encouraged baths.

One day a husband had come, forcing his way in, pushing aside Miss Fletcher, grabbing his wife, dragging her from the room until Hannah had barred the door, feeling the wood solid behind her back, seeing the faces of those who remained; fearful, excited. She had asked him quietly amidst the furore why he would not allow his wife to stay and he had shouted at her, his breath rancid in her face, that why should she be able to read when he could not?

And so now they taught reading in a mixed class but saved hygiene and birth control and discussions about equality for the women alone, fearing that the men would forbid the knowledge. The children laughed now and played with toys made by Hannah’s mother, who sewed in her room and nodded to Hannah to sit and tell her of the progress the Sunday school was making and they would laugh softly together, aware that this was a secret that they shared. Her mother’s eyes would grow brighter as Hannah talked and her hands would grip the sides of her chair and she said that she was glad that some women would not have their life sapped from them.

Hannah had not been able to bear that and had knelt and laid her head on her mother’s knee and her mother had stroked her hair and had, for a moment, felt the impatience which still tore at her subside for a moment, but only a moment for Mrs Pankhurst’s suffragettes were fighting loudly now while the suffragists were still writing letters, and Hannah knew that this and her Sunday mornings were not enough.

‘I play the piano, you know, Harry dear, at Hannah’s fundraising teas.’

Esther’s voice startled Hannah who was full with memories but she listened to Harry as he smiled and patted Esther’s hand.

‘And quite beautifully too, my dear,’ he said.

Hannah nodded. Oh yes, quite beautifully, but that was all she would do because Esther had caught fleas the first time she had come to help with the children. Hannah and Miss Fletcher had left the room and laughed until their stomachs ached and had then had to splash their faces with cold water before they re-entered and sympathised and sent her home to bathe.

‘We buy bricks for the children, don’t we, Hannah, and pay for the refreshments?’ Esther said. Hannah scratched her arm and then her hand. Esther’s face grew red and Hannah laughed, and after a long moment, so did Esther.

Hannah relaxed. Esther would be more careful now because she would not want Harry or the Wilmots to know that she had once had fleas. There must be no suspicions about the Sunday classes or her father would insist on their termination, which would be a senseless waste, and the repercussions of his fury on her mother would be too dangerous. She felt anger again. Why did that girl take so long to grow up? Esther knew that it was imperative to keep the Sunday school subterfuge intact but it was as though she became bored and threw pebbles in the pond, just to see how far the ripples would go.