Her mouth broadened into a smile, and he put his head a little on one side and said, ‘Oh, Lily, I appreciate everything you say, but let’s not let a perfectly good friendship go to waste. We can be friends, I know we can. And I’d never see you get hurt, I promise you I wouldn’t.’
‘Oh, don’t,’ she said quickly. ‘Don’t make promises.’
‘I mean it.’
‘I know you do, but – I’m eighteen years old. Old enough to go through life with my eyes open.’
They stood for some moments without speaking, then he said, ‘Well – are we going for a walk?’
Still not answering, she stood reconsidering.
‘It’s only a walk in the park,’ he said. ‘It’s not a trip to the moon.’
‘Yes. Yes, all right. Just for a little while.’ After all, she said to herself, what harm could it do? It was just a little walk in the sun. And besides, she had made clear to him her reservations, her awareness of the barrier of their differing situations, and she would not allow anything to sway her from her position of commonsense.
Side by side they walked past the bandstand while the band played a lilting waltz melody. Lily said, ‘I don’t know this song,’ to which Joel replied, ‘It’s called ‘Gardenias for my Lady’. I heard it sung at the music hall.’
Lily listened to the strains of the music for a few seconds, then said, ‘It’s a very pretty tune,’ and added, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a gardenia. I wouldn’t even know what one looks like. What colour are they?’
‘White. They’re white.’
‘Do they grow in England?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Joel said.
With the music following their steps they walked once more beside the pond, where the mallards again basked in the sun, and then sat for a little while talking and looking out over the water.
There was not much time, though, and only a little later Joel walked back with her in the direction of the Haskins’ house. They came to a stop some fifty yards or so from the front gate.
Joel said with a sigh, ‘The rest of the summer’s going to fly by, I know it. Before you can say Jack Robinson it’ll be over and I’ll be back at Cambridge.’
‘Oh, I envy you that,’ Lily said.
‘Going to Cambridge? Studying law?’
‘Well, not necessarily to study law, but to be able to study – for years even.’
‘They don’t have ladies there, you know. There are no young ladies training to be lawyers.’
‘That’s not right,’ she said. ‘It’s not fair. Why shouldn’t there be women advocates? After all, Portia did pretty well.’
‘Portia – oh,
The Merchant of Venice
. Yes, she did. But she had Shakespeare on her side.’
They laughed together. ‘On the Sunday,’ he said, ‘when you come back – will you be in time to visit the old lady?’
‘Yes. I’m getting back in the morning.’
‘Then I’ll wait for you by the gates – is that all right?’
‘Well,’ she said, smiling, looking off past his ear, ‘it’s a free country.’
The following Sunday morning, the fifth of August, Lily set off to get her train for Compton Wells, sitting in the trap with Mr Haskin holding the reins. Although he often went into the factory for an hour or two on a Sunday, on this day he would be going to Henhurst to pick up Mrs Shalcross and bring her back to the house for midday dinner. It would be no inconvenience, he had said to Lily, to take her to the station first and then call for his mother-in-law. So, late that morning she sat beside him as the vehicle bounced and rumbled over the rough roads, and did her best to relax in his company. It was not so easy. It was not often that she found herself alone with him, and when it happened she invariably found herself a little in awe of him, a little intimidated by his rather jovial way and his teasing questions.
Today as they drove he began to speak of his friendship with Lily’s father, recalling times they had shared when they were younger and had fought together with the British army. Lily was fascinated to hear his recollections, and glad of them too, for her father rarely made reference to his earlier days in the military. Afterwards, with one subject leading to another, Mr Haskin went on to speak of his work at the factory, and related two or three anecdotes concerning some of the customers and employees. He had a comical, witty way with his stories, and Lily found herself genuinely amused. As he went on, she remarked on the long hours he worked. He seemed to take so little rest, she observed.
‘The work’s got to get done,’ he replied. ‘It’s as simple as that. And it’s not always possible to get the right people.’
‘Have you,’ Lily said, tentatively, ‘ever thought about employing more women at the company, sir?’
‘Well,’ he said, keeping his eyes on the road, ‘we’ve got Miss Carter working in the office.’
‘Yes, I know, but she’s the only one, and she’s an older, maiden lady – and your partner is her brother. I meant – would you employ younger women?’
‘Such as you, Lily, you mean.’ He turned and glanced at her now.
‘Well – yes.’
‘I reckon you’ve got tired of bein’ a maid, have you?’
‘Well – I was eighteen last month, sir, and almost three years I’ve been with you and Mrs Haskin. A maid’s petty place only lasts a year, generally. No maid stays in a post this long. Particularly at my age.’ She added quickly, ‘No offence, sir, you understand.’
‘None taken.’ He paused. ‘Well,’ he said after a moment, ‘I don’t doubt that you’re too smart to go maiding all your working life. You’re your father’s daughter, and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, so it’s not surprising you’d be wanting something better. Though I don’t mind telling you that Mrs Haskin and I would be sorry to see you go.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Mind you, I reckon at your age many girls are leaving service anyway, going off and getting married.’ He grinned. ‘Isn’t there some young man for you, Lily? Some nice young fellow with a bob or two in his pocket who’s desperate to marry you? Pretty girl like you, there should be. Must be somebody round Whitton way. Not that you get much time for courting, though, I daresay – and it’s all very well for you to be reading your books, but there are other things in life.’
Lily said nothing to this, but looked straight ahead. Mr Haskin too was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘But as for coming to work at Silver – it’s something we can think about. I’ve no doubt you’d be an asset in the office, and perhaps Miss Carter could do with some assistance. Maybe I’ll talk to Mr Carter and Mr Horsham. Leave the matter with me. I won’t forget, I promise.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
He raised his head. ‘Enough of business for now, Lily. Look at that sky – you’ve got some nice weather ahead for your holiday.’
At the station entrance, he asked whether she wanted any help with her bags, but she gratefully declined his offer. All she carried in the way of luggage was an old carpet bag lent to her by Mrs Haskin, and her reticule. Mr Haskin wished her a good holiday, and a few minutes after bidding him farewell, she had bought her ticket and was making her way along the platform.
There was a delay on the journey, and the train was halted on the tracks for some little time. As a result it was late getting in to Compton Wells. Eventually, though, Lily arrived, and after the short omnibus journey, made her way along the lane to her home. She did so with no feeling of joy. Her two weeks’ holiday stretched out before her, and in spite of her hopes, she knew from past experience that it would not be a time of unalloyed pleasure.
Her stepmother was in the kitchen when Lily entered, sorting linens at the table. It had been three months since Lily had last seen her, but in spite of the time of separation there was no warm welcome for her, indeed nothing of any welcome at all. Not that she would have expected such a thing.
‘Hello, Mother,’ Lily said as she stepped from the scullery.
Mrs Clair flicked her a glancing look and said, ‘We expected you ages ago.’
‘Yes, the train got held up. There were sheep on the line near Cornley.’
‘Sheep on the line.’ Mrs Clair shook her head, as if such a thing had never been heard of. ‘Well, we’ve had dinner. We couldn’t wait all day.’
‘That’s all right – I’m not hungry. Is Father about? Tom?’
‘Your father’s down the garden. Your brother’s gone back to the farm. Dora’s out playing.’
‘I’ll put my things away and get changed,’ Lily said. ‘Then I’ll go and say hello to Father.’
When she had changed into her working dress and apron, she went back downstairs and out into the yard. She found her father at the lower end of the garden, near the small orchard, tying back some raspberry canes. He straightened as Lily approached, and gave her a smile.
‘Hello, girl,’ he said. ‘So you got here, did you.’
‘Hello, Father. Yes, I got here a minute ago.’
He gestured to the raspberry canes. ‘I just want to finish this, then I’ll come up. I could do with a cup o’ tea, and I expect you could as well.’
‘Yes, I could. The carriage was full, and it was so warm.’
After a moment he resumed his task, and Lily bent to help him. As they worked he asked her how she was faring at the Haskins’, and she replied that all was well. It was, she knew, what he wanted to hear.
A little later they returned to the house, where Lily found that Dora had come in from her play.
‘What did you bring me?’ Dora asked her. ‘Lily, did you bring me anything?’
Lily replied that she had indeed brought her a little present, and gave her a little flaxen-haired doll, which she had scrimped for out of her wages. Dora was thrilled with the gift, and chattered over it excitedly.
Later on, Lily made tea, which, because it was Sunday, was served in the front parlour. Tom came in from his work
at the farm soon after five-thirty, but by the time he had washed, and changed his clothes, the tea things had been cleared away and the parlour was shut for another week.
As the days passed, Lily found herself increasingly eager to get back to Whitton. There had been little pleasurable relaxing, and it was a disappointing time. During the days her father and brother had been out at work, the latter from early in the mornings until quite late in the evenings. On a few occasions, with Dora for company, Lily had gone off on various errands, but for the most part she had no recourse but to remain around the house, helping her stepmother with the chores. So she spent time cleaning, doing laundry, washing dishes, mending the family’s clothes and lending a hand in the garden. It was what was expected of her. She was disappointed too, to find that her relationship with her stepmother had not improved in any way. Mrs Clair had not mellowed with the passing of time. If anything, Lily found, she seemed even more prickly, humourless and disagreeable with her stepchildren. Lily tried on several occasions to bridge the gap that was ever there between them, but with no success. Her attempts at initiating a friendly conversation were invariably met with coldness and a certain disdain. As she had done a hundred times in the past, Lily could only urge herself to accept the situation, and acknowledge that it would never be mended.
At least, though, she was able to spend a little time with her brother, during those few hours between his getting in from the farm and going off to his bed. After supper on the Saturday, her last evening, the two of them walked down the garden to the little orchard. It was past Tom’s usual bed-time, but he would be up and out of the house the next morning before Lily had risen.
‘You hardly get a day off,’ Lily observed. ‘Going into the farm even on Sunday.’
‘I want to,’ he said, ‘and they need me. Work don’t stop just because it’s Sunday. The livestock don’t know a Sunday from a Sat’day. The cows still ’ave to be milked, the sheep still ’ave to be fed, the stables still ’as to be cleaned out.’ He gave a sigh. ‘Oh, Lil, it’s been grand havin’ you back for a while, and I’m sorry you’re goin’. I just wish I was goin’ too.’ There was the shadow of sadness in his face. They had come to a stop beneath an apple tree. Up above their heads bats dipped and soared in the fading light.
‘Oh, believe me,’ Lily said, ‘I’m not going back to anything special. Far from it, and I hope it won’t be that much longer before I’m doing something different.’
‘Have you given up all thoughts of teaching?’ Tom asked.
‘I’m afraid I’ve had to,’ she said. Then added, brightening a little, ‘But there’ll be something else. I live in hopes.’
‘Of course you do,’ he said. ‘Anyway, maybe you’ll meet some nice fella and get married.’
‘Yes,’ she said dryly, ‘and pigs might fly.’
He laughed. ‘Still, summat good’ll ’appen, you’ll see. Your time’ll come. Mine too. One day I shall get away as well.’
Soon after breakfast the next morning, Lily and her father prepared to set out for the station. As Mr Clair came into the kitchen carrying Lily’s bag, Mrs Clair said, ‘Lord almighty, you’d think the girl’s a child, I swear. She’s eighteen years old. Ain’t she capable of getting to the station on her own?’
‘It’s not light, her bag,’ he said. ‘And it’s a longish walk to the omnibus.’
‘You mollycoddle ’em, that’s what you do,’ Mrs Clair said.
Mr Clair said nothing to this, but put on his hat. ‘Come on, then,’ he said to Lily. ‘Let’s go, or you’ll miss your train.’
He carried her bag along the lane, while Lily walked at his side holding her reticule. At the corner they waited for an omnibus, and so eventually got to the station.
On the platform, in good time for the train, they sat on a bench for a minute or two in silence as other travellers came and went. Lily was conscious of her father’s nearness, of their being alone together, and glad of the situation. Throughout the days of her holiday there had rarely been such periods.
‘Well,’ he said after a while, ‘it’s back to Mr and Mrs Haskin for you now.’
‘Yes. You know, Father, I’ve been there almost three years now.’
‘Is it that long?’
‘Three years come the twenty-third.’ She paused. ‘I can’t stay a maid all my life.’
He gave a slow nod. ‘No more you can’t, I s’pose.’
‘I spoke to Mr Haskin on the way here,’ she said. ‘I was very daring. I asked him about getting a job in his factory. I thought maybe I could work at the books, look after the ledgers, do some accounting, help with the orders and the letters. That sort of thing. He said he’ll give it some thought.’