Lily waited until the sound of her stepmother’s footfalls had faded on the stairs, then said to her father in a low voice:
‘When am I to go?’
‘On Saturday,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you to the train.’
The following morning Lily was out sweeping the path, when the old postman came by in his red jacket. Seeing her there, he wished her a cheery good morning and handed her a letter. It was addressed to herself and again had been redirected from the Haskins’ house at Whitton. It could only be from Joel.
She opened the envelope, withdrew a single sheet of notepaper and read:
Clare College, Cambridge
19th October 1866
Lily,
I received yours of the 6th. As I had not heard from you for weeks, you can only imagine my happiness at receiving a letter from you. And if you can imagine that, you can also imagine the distress with which I read your words. I never thought to know such unhappiness at your hands, and if I had not the words from your own pen I would not accept them. But I have, and accept them I must, though I cannot believe for one moment that you are right in what you say. I ask you, therefore, to please reconsider your decision.
I will not try to contact you again, but will just hope to hear that you have had second thoughts, and that you realise that you can indeed have a future with one whose aching heart is still yours,
Joel
She held the letter pressed to her breast, while tears stung at her eyes. His words brought pain to her, as she had known and feared they would. But she had had to write as she did, there had been no other way. She put the letter back in the envelope, and slipped it into her pocket. She would not write again. Now, at last, it was truly over.
On Saturday morning, the last in October, Lily and her father left the house to take the omnibus to the station. Lily had said her goodbyes to Tom the night before, and there had been tears in his eyes as he had embraced her. That morning she had kissed Dora goodbye, and exhorted her to be a good girl. There had been no farewell from her
stepmother. Indeed, Mrs Clair had not even been in the house when Lily had left it; she had chosen to be out on an errand to the shop, carefully timing her journey so as to miss the parting from her stepdaughter.
Later, on the station platform, Lily stood waiting at her father’s side. In his face she read a mixture of emotions, hardly hidden by his frowning brow and tight-set mouth. When the train appeared, rounding the bend and coming towards them with the smoke rising up, he turned to her and said gruffly,
‘Well, goodbye, girl. I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but I hope it’ll be in happier times. You be good, and do as Miss Balfour tells you.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘And for God’s sake don’t bring any more misery home.’
The train was grinding to a halt beside them. As soon as it had stopped, Mr Clair wrenched open the nearest door and climbed in with Lily’s box, stowing it under the seat. Then he stepped back down onto the platform and helped Lily on board. Setting her portmanteau down, she stood and faced her father as he remained on the platform. With a sudden movement he reached up, and with one large hand pressed her own gloved hand as it rested on the edge of the open window. ‘G’bye, girl.’ He did not meet her eyes as he spoke.
‘Goodbye, Father.’ Her voice broke on the words.
Another moment and he was turning, striding away along the platform without a backward glance. Seconds later the train was on the move.
The journey to Sherell took just under two hours. When the train had pulled to a stop, Lily dragged her box out from under the seat and down onto the platform. As she straightened, her luggage at her feet, she saw approaching her a short, middle-aged man. As he drew nearer he looked
at her questioningly and said, ‘Miss Clair? Are you Miss Clair?’
‘Yes, I am,’ Lily replied, and tentatively returned the smile he gave her.
‘I’m sent to meet you, miss.’ He had a slim, wiry body, and a face lined like a walnut. He bent and hoisted up her box and swung it up onto his shoulder. ‘You can manage your case, can you?’ He gestured towards her portmanteau and she replied, ‘Yes, of course.’
He set off then at a smart pace along the platform, with Lily walking at his side. Outside the station he moved to where a pony and trap stood waiting. ‘Here we are. Not a grand carriage, but it’ll get us there.’ He pushed the box into the well of the trap and then followed it with Lily’s portmanteau. ‘You want to sit up front with me?’ he said.
‘Why, yes. Thank you.’
He helped her up, then unhitched the pony and climbed up himself. ‘Come on, Sal,’ he called out. ‘Let’s be off.’
As they moved away along the street he said, ‘The young ladies who’ve come here call me Mr Shad. My name’s Shadrak, but it ain’t a name I cares to dwell on.’
Lily said tentatively, ‘How d’you do, Mr Shad,’ and put out her hand. He took it and briefly pressed it. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he replied.
They continued on. Lily had never been this far from home before and the small market town of Sherrell was quite new to her. It looked a pleasant place, not too large, and with many of the old buildings characterful and attractive. After a while of journeying the houses thinned and the trap was driven onto a country road, bordered on either side by fields.
‘Not far now, miss,’ Mr Shad said. ‘Rowanleigh’s on the edge of the town, near Kepple.’ He nodded his head towards the pony. ‘I’m afraid old Sally takes it at her own
pace. Like the rest of us she’s gettin’ on in years.’ He chuckled. ‘And like most women she won’t be ’urried.’
Lily had to smile. ‘Have you been with Miss Balfour long, Mr Shad?’ she asked.
‘Oh, a good few years. Long before she come to Rowanleigh. I wus with her and Miss Beecham beforehand when they ’ad the school in Shalford. There was plenty to keep me busy there, as you can imagine, but I got enough to do ’ere as well. I got more than the ’orse to keep me busy. I’m groom, gardener and general ’andyman. I can turn me ’and to just about anything, I s’pose.’
Lily, liking the man, and feeling more at ease in his company, said, ‘I don’t mind telling you, Mr Shad, I’m a little nervous, I have to confess.’ There was no point in pretending that the situation was anything other than it was. The man had seen other young women come and go at the house, and he knew well what they were there for.
He nodded. ‘Well, I should think that’s to be expected, miss, though I don’t reckon you got anything to be nervous about. Anyway, the mistress’ll put you right, sure enough.’ He flicked the reins with his weathered, brown hands. ‘Come on, Sal old girl,’ he called. ‘Not far to go now.’
For a while they drove on without speaking, and then Mr Shad was pointing ahead to a house that stood beside a little grove of trees. ‘There we are, miss. There’s Rowanleigh.’
A minute later they had reached the house, and Mr Shad was down and opening the gates. Behind a well-kept lawn was a solid-looking yellow-brick dwelling of three storeys with a red-tiled roof. A flagged path ran up to the front door, and a gravel driveway to the stable buildings at the rear.
Mr Shad led the pony through the open gateway, then climbed back up and took the reins again. Moments later the trap was coming to a halt in the stable yard and Mr Shad
was jumping down onto the gravel. Reaching up, he helped Lily to alight. As she stepped down beside him the side door to the house opened and a tall woman stood there.
‘So, Shad,’ she said, ‘you’ve got the young lady.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Lily had been reaching out to take her portmanteau, but the woman said at once, ‘Leave those for Mr Shad. He’ll take them.’ She spoke rather gruffly, with little warmth in her tone. She looked to be somewhere in her early sixties. Her impressive height was set off by the plainest and most severe grey skirt that Lily could have imagined, atop of which was an unadorned white blouse with, at the throat, what looked to be a man’s cravat. She had a strong, unsympathetic jaw, a wide, thin-lipped mouth, and pale eyes framed by steel-rimmed spectacles. Her greying hair was pulled back and secured in a bun at the nape of her neck. ‘I’m Miss Balfour,’ she said, then added, turning, ‘Come with me. I’ll show you to your room.’
Leaving Mr Shad to handle her luggage, Lily stepped across the gravel and into the house, finding herself in a rear passage with an open door to a scullery or wash-house to one side and a kitchen on the other.
‘Don’t dawdle,’ Miss Balfour said ahead of her, and Lily quickened her step. Following the woman, she went from the passage into the main hall and then up two flights of stairs. On the second floor the woman stopped outside a door and turned the handle. ‘Here’s where you’ll stay,’ she said.
It was not a large room, but it was comfortably furnished. Aside from the bed – a little wider than her bed at home – there were a narrow wardrobe and a small chest of drawers. Under the window stood a writing table with a chair.
As they moved inside a knock came at the open door and Lily turned to see Mr Shad with her box on one shoulder
and her portmanteau held in his hand. ‘The young lady’s things, ma’am,’ he said and stepped into the room and set the luggage down next to the bed. Miss Balfour thanked him briefly and he went away again.
‘Now,’ Miss Balfour said when Mr Shad’s footsteps had faded on the stairs, ‘there are certain things you need to know.’ She looked at Lily with a frankness of gaze. ‘I hope you’re a sensible girl. Though if you were that sensible you wouldn’t be here in the first place. But be that as it may. If you behave well and do your work properly we’ll get on all right.’ She nodded in confirmation of her words, giving the message that there would be none wasted. ‘There are rules for the house, but they’ll keep for a while. Are you hungry?’
‘Well, ma’am . . .’ Lily said hesitantly. She had eaten no breakfast and was indeed rather hungry, but she was nervous of saying so.
‘I’ll arrange for Mary to make you a sandwich,’ Miss Balfour said shortly. ‘That’ll keep you going till we have dinner at seven.’ She waved a hand to indicate Lily’s luggage. ‘I’ll leave you to unpack your things now and have a wash, and then I’ll see you downstairs in a little while. I’ll send Mary up to fetch you when it’s time.’ She turned and went out, closing the door behind her.
Lily had just finished packing away the last of her things in the chest of drawers when there came a tap at the door, and it opened to reveal a young woman dressed in a maid’s cap and apron. She looked to be about nineteen or twenty. She had pale reddish hair, with freckles over her nose, and carried a laden tray. With a nod she deposited it on the writing table. ‘I brought you your sandwich, miss,’ she said and Lily thanked her. Moving back to the doorway the maid said, ‘When you’ve et it, miss, I’m to come and take you to the mistress.’
When the door had closed behind the maid, Lily washed her face and hands, and then sat at the small table and ate
the sandwich. It was cheese, with a tomato pickle, and was very good. Ten minutes after it was finished there came a knock at the door again, and the maid was back, ready to take her to see Miss Balfour.
The girl led the way down the stairs. As Lily stepped down beside her, the maid half-turned to her and asked, ‘What’s your name, miss?’
‘Lily. Lily Clair.’
The girl nodded. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, miss. I’m Mary.’
Reaching the first floor, the maid led the way to a room off the landing where she knocked and opened the door. ‘Go on in, miss, if you please.’
Lily stepped over the threshold and found herself in a large, cluttered room with tall windows. Near to the door was a wide table, the surface of which was almost hidden by a number of pencil sketches and half-finished water-colour paintings. A small easel was there, and littered about were the tools of an artist: paints, mixing trays, and jars of pencils and paintbrushes. At the other end of the room by the far window stood a desk where Miss Balfour sat smoking a cigarette. The walls behind her were lined from floor to ceiling with shelves of books and files. The smell of tobacco smoke hung in the air.
‘Come in and shut the door.’
Lily did as she was told, and moved across the room to the chair that Miss Balfour indicated.
‘Did you finish your unpacking?’ Miss Balfour asked.
‘Yes, thank you, ma’am.’
‘And you got your sandwich all right?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Good.’ Miss Balfour drew on her cigarette and blew out the smoke in a plume over her head. There was a photograph on the desk, Lily noticed. Set in a silver frame, it was a head-and-shoulders portrait of an attractive young woman who looked to be in her thirties.
Taking Lily’s attention from the picture, Miss Balfour asked, ‘Did you have a good journey from your home?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Good. How are you feeling?’
‘I’m feeling well, thank you.’
‘No discomfort?’ She patted her own stomach.
‘No, I’m quite all right.’
‘Are you having morning sickness?’
‘I was. It stopped a week ago.’
The woman nodded. ‘That must be a great relief. How far along are you?’
‘Nine weeks.’
Miss Balfour nodded and made a note on the page of a ledger that lay open on the desk before her. ‘So the date was . . .?’ She waited. When Lily did not reply, she said with a note of contained impatience in her voice, ‘I’m not asking this for any gratuitous pleasure; I need to keep my records. Just let me have the date.’
‘The twenty-sixth of August.’
Miss Balfour made another note in the ledger. ‘And what was the date when your last menses came on? Can you remember?’
‘It – it would have been near the middle of the month, say the twelfth or thirteenth. I’m very regular.’
‘Right.’ Miss Balfour did some swift calculations with pen on paper, counted off some months on her fingers, then said, ‘I should think we can expect the birth sometime in the third week of May. Round about the nineteenth or twentieth.’ She made further notes, then looked up at Lily again. ‘It isn’t my purpose to moralise with you,’ she said. ‘I’m not one of the sisters up at the Heart of the Virgin. I’ve no interest in going into the whys and wherefores as to how you came to get into your present condition. That has to be accepted. You’re in this situation, and I have made an agreement with your parents that I’ll see you through it
with no added shame to them. Unless they come here to visit you, you won’t be seeing them again until after the birth. If you’re one to suffer from homesickness you’re going to have to get over it, because I can tell you now that, although you’ll be looked after, you’re not going to be pampered. We’ve got no time for that and no inclination for it either. You’re not ill, you’re in a very natural condition, a condition that’s necessary to make the world continue. So you’re not going to be treated as an invalid. Do you understand that?’