‘Well, there was talk for a while about your father going into hospital – but they can’t do anything for him that can’t be done at home. Besides, he wouldn’t hear of it.’
A pause, then Lily said, ‘Is – is Father going to get well?’
Mrs Clair kept her eyes towards the window and compressed her lips into a thin line. Lily needed no further answer. ‘Oh, Lily,’ Mrs Clair said – and it was the first time she had used Lily’s name – ‘just go up and see and him. See him while he’s peaceful. We’ll talk later.’
Lily nodded. ‘But I don’t want to wake him when he’s needing his sleep.’
‘I doubt that he’s sleeping, but just creep in. Don’t knock. You’ll probably find him very talkative. It’s the laudanum that does it. He’ll be thirsty too.’
Lily moved to the hall door, turned and said, ‘Does Tom know that Father’s ill? You wrote to him too, of course?’
For a moment Mrs Clair did not answer. Then she moved her hands in a little flapping, dismissive gesture. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ she said, ‘just go on up and see your father. We can talk later. Tell him I’ll be up in a minute.’
Lily stood for a second in silence, then started up the stairs. On the landing she found that the door to her parents’ room was not fully closed, and after a moment’s hesitation she gently pushed it open and went in.
The curtains at the windows were half closed, and the silent room was shaded and sombre. In her first glance she took in the familiar wallpaper – entwined vines and leaves on a rust-coloured background – the framed print of a harvesting scene above the chest of drawers. Nothing had
changed. Beyond the window the leafless branches of the cherry tree shifted in the burgeoning wind. On the bed her father lay beneath the covers, his head in profile on the pillows. She went to him, and as she did so he turned his head a fraction in her direction.
‘Who’s that?’ he asked, and straight away she heard that his voice was not as she knew it. Just those few words gave away a fragile tone, a light, weak quality that was almost a whisper in the quiet.
‘Hello, Father – it’s me, Lily.’ She trod softly on the bedside rug. ‘I’ve come to see how you are.’
‘Lily . . .’ he breathed. ‘Oh, my dear girl, I’m so glad.’
She was standing right next to the bed now, looking down at him, and she was taken aback at the sight. Even her stepmother’s words had not prepared her for his appearance. Faced with it, she was shocked. He seemed so much smaller. All her life he had been a tall, well-built man with strong arms and a broad back, his face full, firm and strong-looking. Now the flesh was shrunken on the bones, his skin had a yellowish tinge to it, his cheeks were hollow, his dull eyes sunken in their sockets. The change in him was so devastating that it brought the pricking of tears to her eyes, and for a moment made her catch at her breath.
‘Oh, Father . . . Father . . .’ She gasped the words out, hoarsely whispering. It took all her effort to hold back the tears, and she tightened her lips and breathed deeply over the lump in her throat. She wanted to bend and put her arms around him, to kiss his shrunken cheek, but she did not; for too many years such demonstrations of affection would not have been encouraged, and it was too late to begin now.
There came then a little movement at the edge of the bedcovers, and his hand appeared, the thin fingers reaching towards her. As she took his hand in her own she felt the bony knuckles against her palm, and was so glad of the feeble contact.
‘When did you get here?’ he said, his weak voice quavering a little.
‘Just now. I got Mother’s letter this morning. I came as soon as I could.’
She saw his mouth move in the semblance of a faint smile, and felt a brief tightening of his fingers within her own.
‘Help me . . . Help me sit up a bit, will you?’
Bending to him, she supported his back as he tried to pull himself up in the bed, conscious as she did so of his bony shoulders beneath her hand. He managed to raise himself a little while she rearranged the pillows behind his head, but the effort told on him, and after a moment he sank back again, exhausted from the small exertion.
‘That’ll do for a minute,’ he muttered. His head was a little higher now, and she could more easily see his pale, gaunt face. He moved a hand towards the bedside chest on which stood a pitcher and a glass. ‘I must – drink something,’ he said. ‘My mouth and throat – they get so dry.’
She poured a little water, then, with one hand on his upper back, held the glass to his mouth. When he had drunk enough she set the glass back down. There was a small armchair near the bed, and she pulled it closer and sat. Reaching out to his hand as it lay on the coverlet she laid her own upon it. His skin felt dry.
‘Is there anything I can get you, Father?’ she asked.
‘No – thanks. I’m just so glad you’re here.’ Then he added, his voice a little querulous, ‘Why didn’t you come sooner? I wanted you.’
‘Oh, Father,’ she said gently, ‘I told you – I came as soon as I could. I only heard this morning that you were ill.’
‘Just this morning?’ He frowned. ‘Just this morning. Ah, well . . . How long will you be staying?’
‘As long as you want.’
A faint trace of a smile touched at his mouth. ‘That’s good.’
Lily smiled too, a melancholy touch at her lips. ‘Oh, Father – I’m so glad to see you again.’ And suddenly the tears that she had managed to suppress welled up and ran down her cheeks. With her free hand she wiped them away. She wanted to bring him strength, not upset him further; she must not let him see her cry.
Neither spoke for some moments, and she sat with her hand over his while she held back her tears and tried to be calm.
‘You’ve been away so long,’ he said after a while.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Too long.’
‘Ah, too long, my Lily. Much too long.’
He had called her
my Lily
. He had called her
my Lily
, as he had sometimes used to do. Then she had accepted it as she had loved it, and now it took her breath away.
As she struggled to keep back the tears that threatened again to spring, he moved his hand within hers. ‘I’ve been wanting you to come home,’ he said after a moment, his tremulous voice breaking slightly. ‘I wanted it – so much.’
‘Oh, I too, Father!’ she breathed. ‘I wanted it too, but I never heard anything. I wrote to you but never got an answer. I thought you didn’t want to see me.’
He gave a little moan. ‘Well, I didn’t – not at first. I – I was so – so distressed, I couldn’t see straight. But later – I wanted to see you and – and your letters came and – oh, there was a time or two I thought I’d write back, but it never got done. Your mother was against it. I’m sorry to say that, but she was. She’s a very strong woman, your mother.’
Lily said nothing to this, but merely pressed his hand slightly. He took a breath, a hoarse, tortured sound, and said, ‘I was so – so unhappy at how it all ended. How we parted. How you – went away.’ He paused a long moment, then added, ‘I trusted him.’ He spoke the words so softly, and at first Lily was not sure she had heard correctly. Then she realised he was speaking of Mr Haskin.
‘Yes,’ he breathed. ‘I trusted him. I couldn’t see that he’d ever do wrong.’ A slight shake of his head as it lay on the pillow. ‘I trusted
him
– and not
you
. I –’
His fragile words broke off and he winced, drawing back his lips over his teeth. Lily tightened her fingers over his hand. ‘Father . . .’ she said, ‘you’re in pain.’
‘It – it’s all right . . .’ After some moments he seemed to relax a little, and his breathing became easier again. ‘I’ve got to say it,’ he went on. ‘There are things I’ve got to say, and I might not – might not have another chance. There might not be that much – time left.’
Lily bit back the words on her lips and stayed silent, waiting. After a moment he spoke again, the words delivered haltingly in his dry-as-dust tone.
‘Yes, I – I trusted him. I couldn’t – believe that he would ever do anything to harm you. This was – was a man I’d known since I was a boy. I couldn’t – conceive of such a thing as you accused him of. Then – then, of course – when I learnt of your – young sweetheart – that you were seeing the young man – well, that only confirmed it.’ His words ceased momentarily while he closed his eyes and breathed in, deeply. Then he continued. ‘But later – I thought more about it. I had always – trusted you, and I realised that you had never – never lied to me in your life.’ He paused. ‘You never did, did you?’
‘No, Father.’ Lightly she pressed his hand. ‘Never.’
The faint smile touched at his dry lips again. ‘Never,’ he murmured. ‘No, I knew that. My girl – she’d never let me down.’ With these last words a little broken sob escaped his throat. His pale lips were drawn back and a tear ran down from the corner of his eye to be lost in the whiskers of his sideburns.
Seeing his tears, Lily’s own tears were once again so close to the surface, and it took all her strength to keep them down. She took a handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt
and gently touched it to his cheek. Then, settling back again, she sat with one hand on his, covering his bony knuckles.
A silence fell in the room, a silence touched only by the harsh sound of his breathing. Then, speaking carefully, as if the words were hard wrung from him, he said, ‘It wasn’t you – in the wrong. It was
him
. I misjudged you, and I’m sorry. Forgive me.’ Then he added, some breath of passion in his tone, ‘I would like to kill him. If I could, I would. If I had my strength I would go to Whitton and kill him. I’d kill him with my bare hands.’
‘Oh – Father . . .’ Lily’s hand pressed down on his. ‘It’s over. It’s over.’
‘No!’ Although he spoke quietly the note of passion was still in the hoarsely whispered word. ‘How – how can it be over?’
‘It is. It’s past.’
‘But he ruined your life. That – that monster. That – that viper. He ruined your life and he took you from me.’
‘Yes. For a time, but it’s all right now. I’m back. And for as long as you want me.’
He breathed a long sigh. ‘Well – maybe that won’t be so long now.’
Her heart lurched at his words, but she bit her lip, saying nothing. After some time he said: ‘Get me another pillow, will you? Behind my head, so I can see you better.’
There was spare bedding on a chair near the window, and she fetched a pillow and eased it down behind his shoulders. Leaning back again, he smiled faintly. ‘That’s better. Let the dog see the rabbit.’ Looking at her now, and catching her glance with his own, he said, ‘Your – your baby . . .’
Lily nodded, ‘Yes . . .’ and waited.
‘Miss Balfour wrote – and later you wrote too – about the baby – your baby.’
‘Yes . . .’
‘Saying your baby had been born. And taken for adoption.’
‘Yes.’
‘A boy. You had a boy.’
‘Yes.’
‘A boy.’ He paused. ‘My grandson he would be.’
‘He’s your grandson, yes.’
‘Yes . . .’ His fingers moved again under Lily’s touch. ‘I wish – I wish I’d seen him. What – what was he like? What does he look like?’
Lily said, ‘He is the most beautiful boy you can imagine.’ Her smile now was radiant as she spoke. ‘And he looks like you, Father.’ The words burst from her, while in the same moment the renewed fountain of her tears spilt and started down her cheeks. ‘My Georgie – he’s got your nose, your eyes. Oh – he’s your grandson, and no one else’s.’
‘Georgie . . . ’
‘Georgie, yes.’ She struggled to force back her tears. ‘That’s what I called him.’ She added sadly, ‘Though he’ll have a different name now.’
‘Yes, no doubt he will.’ Her father’s voice sounded a little deeper, with a note of resignation. ‘He’s not with you now, is he?’
‘No. As I told you – he was taken – to be with another family.’
‘Yes – of course. You wrote to us – and Miss Balfour wrote to us.’ He paused. ‘It had to be that way. You know that.’
‘Yes – I know.’
He managed a slight nod. ‘Though I don’t doubt it was hard for you – to be parted from him. You hear tell of a mammy’s tie to her babby. Like no other bond on earth they say.’
Lily stayed silent, and in the quiet he turned his head a
fraction on the pillow, and saw her tears, and read her pain. ‘Oh – Lily,’ he murmured, ‘I had no idea.’
Summoning all her control, she said, ‘I miss him so, Father. There’s not a day goes by when I don’t think of him, and wonder how he is.’
Another faint nod. ‘Yes. But, my dear – you couldn’t have – have raised him alone.’
She wanted to say,
Yes, I could. I would have worked only for him. I would have given up everything for him
. But even as she made her silent protest she knew that it was unreal. She could never have built for the boy the life he deserved.
Her father spoke again. ‘Do you know where he is?’
‘No.’ It cost her much to say the word. ‘I know nothing of him now. I don’t know where he is, or who he belongs to. I don’t even know his name.’
His head nodded faintly on the pillow. ‘Maybe – maybe it’s better that way.’
A little silence again. He kept his eyes trained upon hers, their steadiness just occasionally touched by little pulses of pain that went through him, and which he could not hide. ‘I’m so – so glad you’re here,’ he said, ‘and I was glad to learn you’re still with Miss Balfour in Sherrell.’
‘Yes. She’s been so good to me.’
‘Good. I’m pleased to hear that.’
‘Oh, she’s been a true friend. She – she saved me, Father. I don’t know what I would have done without her help and kindness. She found a good home for my baby, and she’s helped me in every other way. She’s even helped me find a position.’ She paused. ‘Father, I’m to go as governess to two young children in Little Patten, the daughters of a Mr and Mrs Acland. I’m to begin my duties a week next Monday.’
‘Oh,’ he breathed, smiling, ‘that’s splendid, Lily. I’m proud of you, my girl. I’m proud of you. It’s what you always wanted. It’s what you worked for, so hard, and now you’ve got it at last.’
‘Yes – and I owe it all to Miss Balfour.’
‘Yes – well – she’s clearly a good woman. We did hear that she was – quite queer and eccentric – but you must speak as you find – and I’ve no doubt she’s done right by you.’ He gave a little sigh. ‘Where’s your mother?’ he asked.