‘Well – he’s a good man. If he can help you, I’m sure he will. Would you like to work in an office?’
‘It isn’t so much what I’d
like
– it’s what’s
allowed
.’
‘Allowed?’
‘Oh Father, I don’t know what a woman is to do with her life. I mean – men can do anything they want, but women can do so little. If they’re not wives, then what are their hopes? To be a seamstress? A flower-seller? Maybe slave in some cotton mill or shoe factory? As likely as not a girl will be a domestic somewhere – a servant at someone’s beck and call. When I think back to how I had hopes of being a schoolteacher – oh, how improbable it all seems. Do you
know, at the universities, such as Cambridge, they don’t even allow females to study law?’
After a moment, her father said, ‘I wish it had been possible for you to continue with your ’prenticeship at the school, Lily. I do so wish it. It just wasn’t. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right, Father,’ she said. ‘I know you did what you could.’ She turned to him and smiled. ‘I shall be all right, don’t worry.’
‘Yes. I’m sure you will. And you know, you’ve always got a home. If the worst happens, you’ve always got a home.’
She could think of no response. On the platform before them, people began to stir. Lily drew her bag to her. ‘Here comes my train,’ she said.
Sitting in the carriage, she tried to read. She had brought with her a book she had borrowed from the circulating library, a copy of
The Small House at Allington
. Concentrating on it was almost impossible, though; not because of the distractions – a very noisy family – but due to her own preoccupations. This day would see her back in her routine, see her going to Henhurst to visit Mrs Haskin’s mother to give her her Sunday dinner. And perhaps, afterwards, Joel would be waiting for her by the park. Joel. She had thought of him so often during her stay in Compton Wells. Through all the dreary days with their tedious routines of endless chores, he had come to her unbidden in little vignettes of memory, and she had imagined him in a score of different ways, seeing his face against the light, hearing his laugh, words he had spoken. And today, later this very day, she would see him again.
Lily had hardly been an hour in the house at Whitton following her return, when she had to leave for Henhurst to
prepare Mrs Shalcross’s dinner. She left with assurances to Mrs Haskin that she would not be late back. On her arrival at the little cottage near the station, she was greeted warmly after her absence, and the old lady asked her about her time in Compton Wells. Afterwards, when the table had been cleared, and the dishes and pots were washed, Mrs Shalcross wanted to sit and continue her gossip over a cup of tea, as was her wont. Lily, though anxious to get away, was forced to comply, and sat at the table sipping from her cup. Eventually, however she could take her leave.
As she approached the park she became aware of the stronger beat of her heart, and was a little shocked by it. Would Joel be there? The question had haunted her, and though she had told herself that if he was not waiting it would make no difference either way, she had known that it would.
As she turned the corner of Charles Street, the park came into view. There was a little knot of people gathered about the gates, and for a moment her beating heart sank a little, for there was no sign of Joel. But then the group moved on, and he was revealed there, sitting on the bench. She quickened her pace and, as she did so, she saw him catch sight of her. In an instant he had got to his feet and was striding to meet her.
‘Well,’ he said, grinning broadly, standing before her, ‘here you are.’ He was dressed a little less formally than before, wearing a brown corduroy cap, and a light grey jacket with a blue cravat under the soft collar of his shirt. In the lapel of his jacket was pinned a little white rosebud.
‘Here I am.’ Lily smiled back.
‘At last. At
last
. Oh, those three weeks were
three long
weeks. More like four or five – or six even.’
‘Six?’ She smiled. ‘Not seven?’
‘Seven, yes. Eight – whatever you want. They were interminable.’
Her smile grew wider, while her heart beat ever more strongly.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘you’re here now.’
‘Yes. Have you been waiting long?’
‘Just half-an-hour or so. And impatient as the devil.’
The music of the band came wafting out of the park, striking up a jaunty tune. The smile on her face felt inane. She said, making conversation, glancing up, ‘Well, the weather’s kind again.’
‘It is indeed. Have you got time for a little stroll?’
She so wanted to say yes, and to walk with him in the park under the sun, but she shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t, I’m sorry. I promised Mrs Haskin I’d get back.’
‘Oh – and I hoped you’d got some time off.’
‘Yes, but – being away – there’s so much to catch up on. I promised her.’
He gave a nod. ‘Ah, well, if that’s the case I’ll have to put up with it, but I’ll walk back with you a way, if you don’t mind.’
Together they stepped out, past the gates, with the music drifting behind them. As they walked he asked her about her time with her family, after which she asked him about himself, how he had been spending his time since they had last met. He replied that he had been working in the family business, helping out in the stores, travelling between Corster and Bath. ‘And soon, of course,’ he added, ‘I’ll be off to Paris.’
‘Ah, yes.’ There was a little note of dismay in her voice, a note that she could not hide. ‘When are you going?’
‘A week come Tuesday, the twenty-eighth.’ He paused. ‘My father is there, and he wants me there too. A little more experience at the store before I come back for the new term at Cambridge.’
‘Which is when?’
‘October the second.’
‘Oh. And – how long will you be away?’
‘It depends on my father’s wishes. For several weeks, anyway. I’m going to have very little time here at home before I go back to Cambridge.’
Lily’s heart was sinking. Their paths were diverging so soon, so quickly. There she had been wondering and pondering on the wisdom of meeting him again, and circumstances were making the decision for her. Perhaps, though, it was meant to be. Perhaps it was for the best.
They had reached the corner where the lane joined the Corster road, and came to a stop, facing one another.
‘I don’t want to go to France,’ Joel said, ‘but I haven’t got a choice.’ Then, brightening, he added, ‘But there’s still
next
Sunday. We can meet then, can’t we? Please? Don’t tell me you’ve got to work then as well.’
‘No,’ she heard herself say, ‘I should have part of the time free.’
He grinned. ‘Good. So – we can meet.’
‘Yes – if you wish.’
He smiled. ‘Oh, I wish. I do most certainly wish.’
Lily caught his infectious smile, but said nothing.
Joel groaned again, theatrically. ‘I’m spinning this out, you realise. I know you’ve got to go in, but I don’t want you to.’
‘I know, but I must,’ she said.
He nodded and gave a deep sigh, theatrical still. ‘Well, I can’t prevent it. But anyway – I’ll see you in a week.’
‘Yes.’
‘The longest week it’ll ever be.’
She grinned, moved from one foot to another, and shifted the basket on her arm. ‘Well – I must go.’
‘I know.’
‘Yes.’
Neither moved.
‘So – I’ll see you next Sunday.’ He reached out, took her
hand and gently pressed it. ‘Till Sunday. Goodbye, Lily.’
She avoided his gaze; she had to. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Say my name. Please.’
‘. . . Joel . . .’
He smiled. ‘Yes,’ he breathed. ‘Yes. That’s it.’
She smiled with him. ‘Goodbye . . . Joel.’
‘Goodbye, Lily.’
When she reached the gate she looked back and saw him standing there, watching her. He raised his hand in a wave, and she waved back, then turned and hurried up the path.
On Friday afternoon, Lily was working in the scullery with Mrs Haskin when there came a light tap at the door. Mrs Haskin went to open it and revealed there a young boy of twelve or so, standing a little out of breath and touching his hand to his cap. ‘Why, it’s Willie,’ Mrs Haskin said in surprise. ‘What are you doing here, lad?’ And then, with a touch of alarm: ‘Is there something wrong?’
The boy nodded vigorously. ‘It’s Mrs Shalcross, mum. She’ve ’ad a fall.’
‘A fall?’ Mrs Haskin clutched a hand to her bosom. ‘Oh, dear God. Tell me what happened.’
‘Our mam sent me round next door to see ’er,’ the boy said, ‘and I found ’er on the floor. So I fetched our mam and she come round, and then sent me to tell you. The old lady’s quite poorly, mum.’
Mrs Haskin hovered on the spot, flustered. She thanked the boy for coming with the message, then when he had gone turned to Lily and said, ‘Well, there’s nothing for it, but I must go to her. As soon as I can. I’ll leave you to tell Mr Haskin what’s up, and to get his dinner for him when he comes in. All right?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Mrs Haskin gave a deep sigh. ‘I might well have to stay overnight. We’ll see.’
In a few minutes she was ready to leave and, carrying a bag of various foodstuffs and some nightclothes in case she was required to remain, she set off from the house.
That evening, when Mr Haskin arrived home and enquired after his wife, Lily told him what had happened, and said that she would be preparing supper for him.
The meal was an unusual one that evening, for never before since Lily’s arrival at the house had Mrs Haskin been absent from the table. Lily served the food and sat in her usual place and ate a little self-consciously. The meal passed almost in complete silence. Lily hoped that Mr Haskin would make some reference to her approach to him concerning work at the factory, but he seemed to have no wish to converse, and she herself could not bring up the matter. She was relieved when the meal came to an end and she could clear the table. By the time she had washed the dishes there was still no sign of Mrs Haskin, and it seemed likely that she would not be returning that night.
When she did appear, it was late the next morning. She came upstairs to the main bedroom where Lily was just finishing making the bed, and Lily at once asked how Mrs Shalcross was.
‘I’m afraid she’s not well at all,’ Mrs Haskin replied. She was still wearing her hat. ‘I haven’t come to stay,’ she added. ‘I’ve only come to pick up a few things, and as soon as I’ve had some tea I shall start back.’
In the kitchen Mrs Haskin sat at the table and drank her cup of tea. ‘Well, I have to say Mother’s very lucky,’ she said. ‘No bones broken, I mean. It could have been so much worse. As it is she’s got a badly wrenched shoulder, a bruised arm and a nasty bump on her head. And she’s very shocked, of course, and with all that, along with her cold, she’s in a poorly way.’
A short while later she prepared to leave the house again. ‘Now you tell Mr Haskin I shan’t be back till Monday,’ she said, standing in the doorway. ‘Monday at the earliest. I’ll try to get back then, but it’ll depend on how Mother is.’
‘So I shan’t be needed to go to Mrs Shalcross on Sunday,’ Lily observed.
‘No, that won’t be necessary; I shall be there meself. You’ll have to get Mr Haskin his Sunday dinner, but you’ll manage that all right, I’ve no doubt. Then you’ll be free the rest of the day.’
When Mr Haskin got in from work that evening Lily gave him his wife’s message and prepared supper for the two of them. When they had eaten he moved to his chair by the range, lit his pipe and stretched out his legs. Then he took from a cupboard a bottle, poured himself a measure of liquor, and sat sipping. It was not something he did when Mrs Haskin was around.
That night when Lily lay in bed, she thought about the coming day. Joel would be waiting for her by the park gates. It would be the last time she saw him before he went off to France.
As he often did on a Sunday morning, Mr Haskin went into the factory the next day. Before he left, he told Lily that he would return for dinner about one o’clock. Later, as the hour approached, Lily set the table and began to cook the meal. She had started the preparations in good time, so that everything would be ready as soon as Mr Haskin returned. She kept an eye on the weather too, and was relieved to see it remaining bright and fair.
But the minutes went by, and Mr Haskin did not appear.
When he was not there by one-thirty, Lily changed out of her working dress into her best, then put her apron back on. As she moved from her room she heard the sound of the cob’s hooves coming round the side of the house. A few minutes later, as she began to busy herself once more in the kitchen, Mr Haskin came through the door.
He was in a jovial mood. He poured himself some beer from the cask in the scullery, and sat back in his chair with
a sigh of pleasure. Eyeing his display of ease with a little dismay, Lily said that dinner was nearly ready, to which he replied, ‘In a while, girlie, in a while. Let me get my breath for a minute,’ and she could do nothing but mark time and wait. At last, to her relief, he said, ‘Right, Lily, now we’ll have our bit of dinner.’
As he took his seat, Lily set out the food and then took her own usual place. While Mr Haskin ate with a good appetite she ate sparingly, only waiting for the time to pass when she could clear the dishes away. He looked at the small amount of food on her plate and said, ‘You ain’t eating, girl. Not sickening for something, are you?’
‘No, sir,’ Lily replied. ‘I’m just not hungry.’
‘Not hungry,’ he said with a little snort. ‘You eat like a sparrow on a diet.’
He went on then to remark that the food was excellent, and on how odd it felt not to have Mrs Haskin around. And the long case clocked ticked on. When Lily glanced at it and saw the hands at two-forty-five, she pictured Joel moving to the park gates and sitting down to wait.
At last, however, the meal was over and Lily was able to start clearing the dishes away. As she did so, he said to her with an approving little nod, ‘I just noticed, Lily, you’re lookin’ mighty sharp today. You got on a new frock, have you?’
She felt herself colouring slightly. ‘No, sir,’ she said, avoiding his amused gaze as she moved to the door. ‘I’ve had it ages.’