The next instant the cellar door burst open and a whole crowd of shouting people flowed in, a sea of faces that washed towards her like a great tide but Bella saw only one face, only one pair of outstretched arms. ‘Pa’, she cried, and half fell as he gathered her close.
‘I’m glad that Simeon thought better of his decision not to help, and that you are reconciled with your father. But what about us?’
Bella looked into Dan’s face and thought how very much she loved him. She regretted the differences that had torn them apart and welcomed, with all her heart, that he was again a part of her life. But was she yet ready to think of a future for them both?
It was the following morning and they were sitting on their favourite park bench, close together this time. Somewhere she could even hear a lark singing.
‘Im glad about Pa too. Sometimes he’s far too stubborn for his own good. You’re very much the same, Dan Haworth, in that respect.’ She smiled teasingly at him to soften her words, laughing still more when she saw his blush. ‘We had a long talk last night when he took me back home to his new business premises. Mother made me a sandwich, would you believe, and a cup of tea. Unprecedented.’ Bella chuckled at the memory of her mother struggling with the bread knife and her own silent plea to her father to leave her to it. Given time, who knows, Emily might even take up housewifery. ‘Pa was full of apologies for his behaviour towards me this last year or so, which of course I generously accepted.’
‘You haven’t offered to give everything up and go and help in his shop, have you?’
‘As if I would!’ Bella pulled off her crocheted hat to run her fingers through her long red hair as she laughed out loud. ‘Not unless I had a death wish, for there would certainly be blue murder done if Mother and I were ever to share a house again. Actually, I was hugely impressed that Pa didn’t even ask me to. Very noble. He swears he is more than ready to accept that I’m a fully grown woman with a mind, and a life, of my own. He’s making progress, eh?’
Bella wondered if the same could be said about Dan. As if reading her mind he cleared his throat then said, ‘I’ve learned a few lessons too, Bella. I understand now that material differences aren’t important, it’s how two people are inside that counts. And I do realise that I should’ve trusted you and not listened to the gossipmongers. As for them childer, well, I’m sorry about that but perhaps I just felt it was all happening a bit too fast.’
‘As if you were being landed with somebody else’s cast-offs? They were babies Dan, in need of love and care.’
‘I know. I needed a bit of time to adjust, that’s all.’ He gazed at her, his expression soulful although the soft grey-blue eyes held just a glimmer of hope. ‘I do love you, Bella. Can we start again? It’s not too late for us, is it?’
For a long moment, endlessly long in Dan’s mind, she sat in silent contemplation. He could hear the wind brushing through the branches above their heads, a hauntingly lonely sound. Then clasping her hands in her lap she began to talk. ‘You are aware of what I’ve been doing all these months, all through this long, hard winter?’
‘How could I help it? And I want you to know that I’m proud of you. Real proud.’
‘What I’ve achieved so far is only the beginning. I want to work in ante-natal care as well as with birth-control. If we give women the care and education that they deserve to properly look after themselves, to have just the right number of children that they want, then that’s the best way to ensure a safe future for all of tomorrow’s children. That’s what I want to do; what I mean to do.’
‘I understand that but...’
‘No, don’t interrupt. Hear me out. Many more women are volunteering for this sort of work, all wanting to do their bit. In order to justify their faith in me, and to achieve my aims, means that I need to improve my own credentials. I can’t lecture to others unless I have studied too. I need to talk to doctors and university students, nurses and others who work with the poor. The message has to reach those who count, who actually treat women on a regular basis. Dr Syd has been coaching me, whenever she can spare a moment from the clinic and her family. I mean to take a degree at the university. Perhaps in Social Economics.’
Dan took a slow intake of breath. ‘I see. And what about us?’
It was a repeat of the same question. This time, casting him a shy, sideways glance, she answered it. ‘I was hoping, though I know that it’s a lot to ask, that you might wait for me. There’s nothing in the university rule book says I can’t have a boy friend. At least, I don’t think so.’ Her voice sounded almost flirtatious, filled with optimism, and something else. ‘So, it’s up to you. Will you wait for me, Dan? Is our love strong enough, do you think?’
‘Oh aye, it’s strong enough all right. I’ll be glad to wait for you, my love. But I just wondered, is there a rule against students having husbands?’
She looked rather startled by the question. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, rules can be changed,’ Dan gently pointed out. ‘You’re good at doing that. It could be part of your next campaign.’
Bella was laughing with soft affection now as Dan reached for her and she moved gladly into his arms, eager for his kiss. ‘You’ll wait if it doesn’t take too long, eh?’
‘Aye, that’s the ticket. We could wed any time. Just you say the word. Did you ever find out what happened to baby Holly?’
‘She’s still at the home, with the sisters. Why?’
‘I wondered if happen we could adopt her. How would you feel about that?’
Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Dan, I love you so much I don’t want to wait too long either. What a treasure you are. No woman could ask for more.’
Act One
London and the Lakes
1912
Chapter One
The girl standing in the theatre lobby seemed oblivious to the crowds milling and jostling about her. A young man inadvertently knocked her elbow and a stream of wine slopped over the rim of her glass to splash the extravagant silken folds of her new gown. Not that she noticed. Nor did she pay any heed to her attentive young escort who took the offender to task on her behalf. She was examining the photographs that lined the panelled walls. A lively scene from
Charley’s Aunt
, the riotous comedy of
She Stoops to Conquer
recently performed at the Coronet Theatre; Vesta Tilley, Little Tich, Harry Lauder and other music hall favourites, and the aristocratic figure of Henry Irving playing
Hamlet
.
She stood before them all, enthralled.
But her face, with its open, friendly aspect, seemed quite at odds with the sophisticated image the dress presented. Quite bare of powder or the current daring fashion for rouge, some might consider it to be the face of a strong woman. A more shrewd observer would notice deep blue shadows and the faintest hint of fine lines, which should hardly be present in one who’d barely attained maturity, displaying evidence of many sleepless nights. It was, unquestionably, the face of someone who has known too early in life inordinate pain and the value of compromise.
In truth very few people noticed her either, or paid her the slightest attention, being too tall and ungainly to be considered a classic beauty. Even the hair, undoubtedly glossy and of a deep, dark brown, was plainly styled in twin plaited coils that formed ear muffs nestling against the dome of each pink cheek. The eyes, a deep velvety brown, were commendably alert and questioning, but the lashes were neither long nor curling, being rather short and functional.
This was evidently a young woman afraid to make the best of herself in case she should inadvertently reveal her vulnerability.
Only the dress might have excited interest, and had certainly been purchased by her socially aspiring mother with that purpose in mind. It was meant to take the wearer without shame or ridicule to any social event a busy diary might throw up, hopefully attracting attention in the right quarters.
Undoubtedly exquisite, and of the purest silk, it was a wondrous example of the dressmaker’s skill and artifice. Encrusted with bugle beads and rows of tiny, non-functional buttons, the boned bodice sported a daringly low-cut neckline, and the multi-layers of the draped silk voile skirt, floated light as air against her legs.
When Kitty had first seen the dress in the dressmaker’s boudoir she’d refused, absolutely, to wear it.
‘It’s a symphony in blues and lavender, Katherine dear,’ her mother had insisted, quoting the fanciful language of the dressmaker in the posh voice she always adopted whenever she felt outclassed. ‘You look a proper swank.’
Clara Terry, whose real name was Smith but which she’d changed in honour of the famous actress, Ellen Terry, smoothed a hand over the shimmering silk and, completely ignoring the scowl on her daughter’s face, added, ‘I picked this design out special, ‘cause that’s what yer wears for half mourning, ain’t it?’
‘I shall feel dreadfully overdressed.'
‘Go on wiv yer. Draped skirts are all the rage this year.’
‘An excellent reason for me not to wear one then. Anyway, I don’t know that I even wish to go.’
Clara had registered utter shock and disbelief at this remark. ‘Hark at ‘er? What a bleedin’ tale that is. Loves the theeayter she does.’ She made no mention of having invested a small fortune in goodwill and hot dinners persuading Frank Cussins to come up trumps and buy an engagement ring for her darling girl. The theatre tickets had been a part of her strategy of inducement. They were the best seats in the stalls and had cost her a mint of money.
Clara had liked young Frank from the start, for all he was a bit pasty-faced. She’d let him have the best room in her Ealing lodging house, second floor front with a view over the common. The minute she’d sized up the solid state of his insurance business she’d made sure her Kitty was always the one to take up his tea or his hot shaving water. He’d taken quite a shine to the girl as a result. Took her up town regular, though he was close with his money and would as soon settle for a walk by the river or a cream tea at the Lyons Corner House, if left to his own devices. Men were like that. No imagination.
It had been Clara’s idea to celebrate the couple’s engagement with an evening at the theatre, knowing how much Kitty would love it. Not that she’d any intention of revealing this fact, better the girl think it her fiancé’s idea. Clara had adopted her most cajoling tones. ‘Course you must go, cherub. Frank has got tickets specially, ain’t he? It’s
Hullo Ragtime
,
what that American chap wrote, Irving Brussels.’
‘Berlin. Irving Berlin.’
‘There y’are then, Duchess. Yer knows all about it, so yer wouldn’t want to miss it, would yer? Not when everyone says it’s a hit. You’ll look a proper duchess in that frock. Besides,’ Clara persisted, ‘You can’t hide yourself away. Raymond wouldn’t want you to. Life goes on.’
‘To die so young is too cruel, Ma. So unfair.
’
‘Who said life was fair, and don’t call me Ma, dearie. You know ‘ow I do detest it,’ Clara hissed under her breath. ‘We can’t bring him back, now can we? Nor be in mourning for ever. Life must...’
‘Don’t say it must go on, not again. I can’t bear it. How can we
go on
? I’m not in the mood for high jinks and parties. I can’t flirt and jazz, drink cocktails and act as if everything is fine, because everything isn’t fine. Raymond is
dead
.’ Kitty revealed in every sigh, every gesture, every irritable pluck of her fingertips upon the silk fabric, her desperate unhappiness.
‘T’aint a party, dearie, it’s the theeayter. I thought you liked the theeayter?’
Kitty hadn’t been near a theatre for over a year. Not since before the motor accident which had robbed her of a loving brother, when together they’d gone to see
Charley’s Aunt
with Raymond’s best friend, Archie. The beautiful eyes filled with tears. ‘I can’t do it. It’s
obscene
!
Insensitive.’