No Wings to Fly (14 page)

Lily said nothing, but kept her head bent to her needlework.

Mrs Haskin said, ‘Has this been going on for a long time? You and this young man?’

When Lily did not answer, Mrs Haskin said, ‘My dear, we’re responsible for you while you’re in this house. We wouldn’t want your father to think we’ve been derelict in our duties.’

‘Two months,’ Lily said, without looking up. ‘I’ve known him about two months.’

‘Two months, eh? What sort of work does he do?’

‘He – he’s a student.’

‘A
student
.’

‘He’s studying law – at university – at Cambridge.’

‘University. Cambridge. Oh, my dear!’ Mrs Haskin pressed a hand to her big bosom. ‘This sounds too grand for me. A little too grand for the likes of you too, I have to say. Who is he, when he’s at home, this young man?’

Lily wanted to say nothing, but she said after a moment, ‘His name is Joel.’

‘Joel, eh? And I daresay he’s got another name, too. Did you see him today?’

‘No.’

‘Too busy, was he?’

‘No. No, he had to go away.’

Mrs Haskin nodded sagely. ‘I see.’

‘He’s gone to France.’

‘
France
?’ Mrs Haskin looked incredulous.

‘His father – he’s got a business there.’

Mrs Haskin gave a wondering little shake of her head. ‘It’s sounding grander and grander to me. D’you mean it – he’s gone off to France?’

‘Yes. He went last Tuesday.’

‘Ah, so that’s why you’ve been moping around with a face like a wet week.’ Now she looked directly at Lily, and when she spoke again her tone was a little softer, a little kinder. ‘My dear girl, by what you tell me, this young man is not the one for you. Face it, Lily – you’re a general maid. I don’t want to sound cruel, but pretty little servant girls are ten a penny. Specially for a man of quality. Take it from me, my girl, there’s only one thing young men want, and I don’t doubt for a minute that your young man is any different from the rest of ’em.’

‘Oh, he is,’ Lily breathed. ‘He’s kind, and he’s good.’

Mrs Haskin gave a nod. ‘Well, of course you think that, but you’re too young to have any experience of life. You’ll learn, though. A young man like that will have a bright future ahead of him, and I daresay his folks have higher hopes for him than the kind of understanding he’s got with you. And don’t take that the wrong way, my dear. You’re a well-brought up young woman, but you’ve got to face the facts: his family sounds a mite grander than yours. But you’ll meet somebody else, my dear, and he’ll be somebody of your own kind, and believe me, you’ll be much better off.’ She paused, then added, ‘I hope you’ve been sensible with this young man.’

‘Sensible?’

‘You know very well what I mean. I hope you have been – sensible. Because I don’t want you bringing trouble and disgrace back here.’

On Friday there came a letter from Joel. Mrs Haskin knew nothing of it. Lily was out in the yard when the old postman came up around the side of the house, and seeing her he went to her with the letter held out. Lily knew at once who it was from, and taking it up to her room, she opened it and read Joel’s words:

27 Rue de Soie, Paris
29th August 1866

She put the letter aside. She would answer it at a later date.

The letter remained unanswered, and the days passed. On the twelfth of September Lily expected her monthly period to make its regular appearance, but it did not, and when
three days had passed with no sign, she knew that it would not come. At the same time she began to be aware of certain changes taking place in her body, most remarkably a tenderness in her breasts. Then, some days later, she began to be sick.

The sickness struck at her in the morning, soon after she had risen, and she knelt over her chamber pot retching as if she would bring up her very heart. When it continued so every day, she had no doubt whatsoever of the reality of her condition.

She knew, also, that she would not for long be able to hide the truth from Mrs Haskin, and she dreaded the confrontation that she was sure must come.

It came on Friday morning, soon after Mr Haskin had left for the factory. Lily had just cleared away the breakfast things when Mrs Haskin came to her in the scullery.

‘I notice you didn’t eat much of anything for breakfast,’ Mrs Haskin said.

Lily shook her head, avoiding the woman’s gaze. ‘No,’ she replied, ‘I wasn’t that hungry.’

‘So it would seem. And it would also seem that you haven’t been hungry for the past month. And the way I’ve heard you retching in the mornings, it’s a wonder you’ve got as much as a stomach in you.’

Lily kept her eyes on the plate she was washing. ‘I think I must be a little out of sorts,’ she murmured.

Mrs Haskin’s eyes never left Lily’s face. ‘Oh, out of sorts, is it.’ She paused. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?’

When Lily did not answer, Mrs Haskin gave a nod and said, ‘Well, if you ask me, your silence says it all.’ She fell quiet for a second, watching Lily’s averted face, then added, ‘Your monthly – as far as I’ve learnt while you’ve been here it’s about the middle of the month. And regular too, if I’ve observed correctly.’

Lily remained silent.

‘Yes,’ Mrs Haskin said, ‘and I’ll bet I’m right in thinking you haven’t had it this time, is that so?’

Lily gritted her teeth, and briefly pressed shut her eyes.

‘I’m not surprised you can’t answer,’ Mrs Haskin said. She paused. ‘Have you written to the young man?’

Lily turned to her now. ‘What?’

‘Your young man. Your Joel, as you call him. Does he know about the pickle you’re in? Because he ought to be told. Men get away with too much. He’s got you into the state you’re in and it’s only right that he does something about it.’ She gave a withering shake of her head. ‘You young people, you’re so foolish, so stupid. You never think of the consequences of what you do. Have you written to him?’

A sob burst from Lily’s mouth, and she put her hands up and covered her face.

‘Yes, you might well cry, my girl,’ Mrs Haskin said. There was no trace of sympathy in her tone. ‘You’ve got yourself in a right old mess and you’d best think of what you’re gunna do about it.’

‘I don’t know,’ Lily said, the words breaking between her sobs. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, you’d better think of something, because you can’t go on as you are. You realise that, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ The tears were streaming down Lily’s cheeks.

‘Yes, indeed. And I’ll put your mind at rest over something else – and that is that you surely don’t think you’re going to stay here, do you? You’ll have to leave here, young lady, there’s no question about that. What you do about your Mr Joel is up to you, but you can’t stay here. Your father and Mr Haskin have been lifelong friends, but I’m afraid that doesn’t count for anything in a situation like this. There’s no way I’m having you here in your condition. You must try to get that young man to do the right thing by
you. Who knows, he might be willing. Though I doubt it. If he’s a man with a future, then a poor marriage and a child would really put a spanner in the works. Still – he must at least be informed of the situation, it’s only right.’ She continued to fix Lily with her unsympathetic gaze. ‘Does anyone else know?’

Lily shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Well, your folks will have to, and before too much longer. Though I shall be writing to your mother myself, you can depend on that. She’s got to know, and soon.’ She slapped down a tea cloth on the table. ‘You’ve got till the end of the month, and then you’ll have to go. I’m sorry it’s got to be like that, but there’s no choice.’ Her voice rose a little, indignant. ‘And I want you to know that it’s a great inconvenience for me, too. It means I’ve got to find a new girl and break her in. Not something I look forward to doing.’

The following Wednesday Mrs Haskin, tight-lipped, asked Lily whether she had yet written to her parents. Lily replied that she had not, but that she intended to do so.

‘Well, I might as well tell you that
I
have,’ Mrs Haskin said. ‘I wrote on Monday. I told them you’ve gone and got yourself into a state and I told them also that I can only keep you a while longer, and that they must expect you home at the end of the month.’ She gave a little snort, her fury growing. ‘I can’t imagine what they’re going to say to you when you get back, but you’ve only yourself to blame. You were stupid enough to get yourself into this pickle in the first place so you deserve all you get. Bringing shame and disgrace like this onto your parents – how could you? Where did you get such behaviour from? Certainly not from your stepmother.’ Her lip curled. ‘Perhaps you take after your own mother, is that it?’

‘Don’t you say that,’ Lily burst out, the anger and hurt
flashing in her eyes. ‘Don’t you speak that way about my mother.’

Mrs Haskin’s mouth fell open at the passionate outburst. Then she said, grinding the words out, ‘You watch yourself when you talk to me, young woman. I won’t be spoken to like that by some chit of a girl who gives herself up to the first man who gives her a wink. And
he’s
no better than he should be either, that so-called Joel of yours. He deserves all he gets.’

‘It wasn’t him,’ Lily said, the tears starting in her eyes. ‘It wasn’t him.’

‘What d’you mean, it wasn’t him? You mean to say you’ve been going around with more than one?’

‘No, I haven’t!’ Lily cried. ‘And if you want to know who it was, it was
Mr Haskin
.’

There fell a moment of complete silence. Mrs Haskin drew in her chin, frowning, bewildered. ‘
Mr Haskin
? What are you talking about?
What do you mean, it was Mr Haskin
?’

‘Exactly that,’ Lily said. Her heart was thumping against her ribs. ‘It was Mr Haskin. Your husband.
He
did it.’

Mrs Haskin was staring at her, eyes wide as saucers. ‘I don’t know what you’re saying, girl. What are you talking about?’

‘Mr Haskin.
It was Mr Haskin
. On the Sunday night while you were staying with your mother. While you were away that night in Henhurst he came into my room. He – he did it to me. It was Mr Haskin.’

A brief moment of silence passed, then the older woman’s hand flashed out and caught Lily a stinging blow on the cheek, so hard that she staggered back, the pain bringing tears to her eyes. As Lily put a hand up to her smarting cheek, Mrs Haskin cried out in a passion:

‘How dare you say such a thing!’ As she spoke, little flecks of saliva flew from her lips. ‘Shut your filthy mouth,
you little slut.’ She raised her hand again. ‘And get out! Get out of my house. You’re not staying here another day. I want you gone –
now
.’

Lily was in her old bedroom, the one she shared with Dora. It was Saturday, just turned two o’clock. She sat at the small table that, years ago, her father had set there, to aid her in her studies towards becoming a teacher. Such a distant dream. There was no one else in the house. Her father was not yet back from work, and her stepmother and Dora had gone out to visit friends. Her brother Tom was, as on most days, out working on the farm.

The table was set near the window, and from her vantage point Lily looked out over the back yard and up the path of the rear garden. It was the old familiar scene, part of her very first memories.

Today, the October scene before her spoke of the ending of summer. In the border beside the small lawn the nasturtiums and the roses were still bright, but the vibrant shades of the green foliage were fading. The leaves of the distant tall elm were already turning yellow. Autumn had arrived and was not to be turned away. She observed it dispassionately. Perhaps in other years it might have brought a momentary melancholy, but not this time; she was already so steeped in unhappiness, and a mere dying of the summer barely touched her mind.

The house was still. There was not a sound. She sighed into the quiet. She felt lost. She had been back in Compton Wells for three days now, and was completely without anchor, without direction, without any knowledge or hint of what was to be. She only knew that things could not
continue as they were. That had been made clear to her at the start. ‘I wouldn’t bother to unpack much if I were you,’ her stepmother had said. ‘You won’t be staying long.’

Mrs Haskin’s letter had preceded Lily’s return to her home, so when Lily arrived, all was known. And if her stepmother had been cold to her in the past, it was nothing to what she was following Lily’s return from Whitton. Since Lily’s arrival, Mrs Clair had spoken to her only when it was absolutely necessary, added to which, she had given instructions to Dora not to speak to her at all. ‘I mustn’t talk to you,’ Dora had said. ‘Mammy said I mustn’t.’ And then: ‘Did you bring me anything, Lily?’ Tom had been given the same instruction as the child, and, like her, was given no reason for the injunction. Of course he ignored it, and talked to Lily whenever they had the chance to be alone.

‘But, Lil, what have you done?’ he had asked her soon after her return. ‘Nobody’ll tell me. They won’t even talk of it, and they treat you in such a cold manner.’

‘I can’t speak of it,’ she had said. ‘Not yet. Someday. In the meantime, just – just believe that I’m not a bad person. I haven’t done anything wrong. Believe me, I haven’t.’

As for Mr Clair, since her return on Wednesday not one single word had he directed at his daughter, and this was the most affecting of all.

She sighed into the quiet. Before her on the little table lay her writing slope, and beside it the letter that she had received that morning, forwarded from Mrs Haskin in Whitton. It was from Joel. He had written: