Through Glass Eyes (21 page)

Afternoon tea was also a splendid affair with the choice of over twenty different varieties of leaves. It was served in the finest china, with cucumber sandwiches and iced fancies presented on silver platters.

‘I don’t know why you are nervous,’ James said. ‘You are as elegant as the rest of the ladies here. And,’ he added, admiring the blood-red brooch decorating the lace yoke on her frock, ‘you are probably worth more money too!’

She smiled. It was hard to believe.

With the fox-fur draped around her shoulders, Lucy took James’s arm as they stepped out onto the first-class promenade deck. The sea was calm. The port side sheltered from the breeze.  From the bow they could see the promontory of Gibraltar looming in the distance, but they were too late to see the sun setting across the Rock.

A well dressed elderly gentleman was leaning against the forward rail gazing towards the land. He was alone.

‘Good evening,’ James said politely, as they approached.

The man turned. ‘Beautiful evening isn’t it.’

‘It certainly is.’

Both men reached out their hands simultaneously.

‘Farnley,’ the man said. ‘Archibald Farnley.’

Lucy swayed backwards. James steadied her.

‘James Oldfield,’ he said. ‘And may I introduce my mother? Mrs Lucy Oldfield.’

‘I am pleased to meet you, madam. Are you travelling through to Bombay?’

Lucy nodded, too taken aback to say more.

‘And planning to stay long in India.’

James answered. ‘Perhaps a few months. My mother has business dealings to transact.’

The gentleman turned to Lucy, ‘Would you excuse me for asking what may appear to be a strange question?’

Lucy nodded nervously wondering if the man had remembered the girl who had once worked in his household as a maid.

‘When we were boarding, I thought I
recognised
someone I used to know.’

Lucy felt a flush of heat colouring her face.

‘An old friend of mine.
I saw him at the gangway with you and I have been looking for him, unsuccessfully, ever since. After checking with the purser it appears he is not on the passenger manifest. I am a little puzzled.’

Lucy sighed as she relaxed a little. ‘Would you be referring to Captain Wainwright?’

‘Yes, that’s the man. Sebastopol Wainwright. Polly Wainwright, we used to call him. Captain, eh! Would you happen to know his cabin number?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Lucy said. ‘Captain Wainwright is not on board. He accompanied us to the docks and took afternoon tea with us in the cabin before we sailed.’

Archibald Farnley was obviously disappointed. ‘Darn shame. Not seen him in forty years. We were gentlemen cadets together at the Royal Military Academy. Of course he was born to the service as you are probably aware. Unlike me. I soon discovered I was not cut out for the life.’ He thought for a moment then added, ‘I remember he married the colonel’s daughter, Miss Lydia Carrington.’

‘That is correct, but I’m afraid Lydia passed away recently.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. She was a fine girl however I am pleased to learn they had many years together. I envy him.’

‘And you, sir,’ James said. ‘May I ask the purpose of your journey?’

‘Purely a pleasure cruise,’ he said. ‘Escape the worst of the English winter. Enjoy the sea air. I will be disembarking at Port Said. Visiting the Pyramids. I am indulging myself for a short while. My son and his family are accompanying me.’ He turned to Lucy. ‘I have a granddaughter, her name is Felicity. She is two years old and has the face of an angel.’

Lucy smiled.

‘You must excuse the ramblings of a doting old man. My daughter-in-law admonishes me every time I use that expression, but believe me, when you see her you will agree. Perhaps you will allow me to introduce her to you tomorrow.’

Lord Farnley smiled. It was the same smile Lucy remembered from Heaton Hall, though the sadness he had carried in his eyes then was now replaced with pride and joy. He was a little plumper than she remembered, and he stooped slightly. His hair had thinned considerably and his upper lip was clean shaven.

She must have changed too, possibly more then she realized. Certainly her wardrobe was now elegant and fashionable, a far cry from the serge dress and frilled pinafore she wore at the Hall. Now, her once dark hair, was seasoned with shades of salt and pepper. Her skin remained healthy, her colour good, but her mouth and eyes were etched with an assortment of lines.

Accepting his invitation, Lucy was careful not to address his lordship by his formal title. She looked forward to meeting his family, especially his son – one of the two boys, who had been sent away when Miss Beatrice became ill. She also wanted to meet the son’s wife and the little girl with the face of an angel.

Lucy and James remained on deck, while the ship steamed slowly through the Gibraltar Strait. When it entered the Mediterranean, Lucy gazed at the expanse of sea and marvelled at the waves each edged with a sliver of moonlight. From that moment, any reservations she had held about the voyage disappeared.

If only Edward was with her to share the experience. If only she had gone with him to India when he had invited her all those years ago.

Chapter 21

Trouble

Lucy was sorry when Lord Farnley and his family left the ship at Port Said. She had enjoyed their company, particularly that of Felicity, his lordship’s granddaughter. With a mop of white blonde curls and pink cherub lips Lucy could hardly disagree with Lord Farnley’s affectionate description of her.

James was also going to miss them. He and Freddie Farnley had shared a common interest in motor cars and birds. They often chatted together on deck or in the cigar room, taking the opportunity to escape from the ladies. It was during one of their conversations that James discovered that the family now lived in a modest mansion on the cliff-top near Bexhill-on-Sea, a distance of only twenty miles or so from Tunbridge Wells. As he told his mother later, he felt confident Lord Farnley would be paying Captain Wainwright a visit when he returned to England.

Before the ship sailed from Port Said, Lucy handed the purser three letters for posting, the first addressed to Captain S. Wainwright, the second to Mrs Alice Bottomley at Honeysuckle Cottages, and the third, a letter from James to Miss Grace Fothergill. 

Only one week after Lucy and James left for India, Stanley Crowther started making a nuisance of himself again. The first time Alice saw him, she was pushing the pram to the village. Not immediately realizing who he was, she smiled when he tipped his cap and wished her good morning. That was a mistake. She noticed him twice more that day: outside the green-grocer’s shop, and at the post office. She wondered if it was just coincidence but when she saw him trailing behind her as she walked home up the hill, she knew that wasn’t the case.

After unlocking the door and pushing the pram safely inside, she confronted him. Standing in the lane, arms folded across her chest, she waited until he was within in a few yards of her before she spoke. ‘Are you following me?’ she demanded.

His mouth dropped open. ‘Who me?’

‘Yes, you!
I know what you’re like, but you’ll not bother me the way you did my mother. You can sling your hook, Stanley Crowther!’

‘Now, that’s not a very nice thing to say, is it?’

‘Well if you don’t go I’ll get the police on you.’

‘Whatever for?
I am just taking a stroll up a country lane.’

‘You’re a liar and a con-man and I’m not joking.’ 

‘And what do you think the police are going to do?’ He laughed. ‘I’ll tell them I was out walking when all of sudden you come out from the house, large as life and started shouting abuse at me. Not very lady-like, do you think?’

 Alice knew if she argued till doomsday she could not win. Exasperated, she shook her head, turned her back on him and walked into the house. Once inside she slammed the door as hard as she could. The sudden bang startled the baby. Lifting Rachel from the pram, she heard Crowther calling.

‘I’ll be back tomorrow. You might be in a better mood then!’

The following morning Alice tried to ignore his plaintive cries but they went on and on. When at last she thought he had gone and it was safe to go outside, she wandered into the garden. Intending to scare her, he popped up from behind the wall.

‘You’re mad!’ she shouted. ‘Don’t you ever give up?’

‘Free country! No law says I can’t sit out here and watch the birds.’

At first, though his constant visits were annoying, Alice tried to be philosophical. She told herself he was quite harmless. His actions were those of a child – immature and attention-seeking. She thought it a shame he had nothing better to do with his life, and a shame the spell he spent in the army had taught him nothing.

But it was not long before his nocturnal visits started affecting her. Apart from being cold and lonely, the nights were long, and darkness fell early – too early for Alice to go to bed and impossible to sleep with all his taunts and noises. But darkness brought with it increased abuse. Drunken abuse. Foul language. And threats which would grow to a crescendo culminating in a shower of rocks thrown against the front door, or the clatter of the milk churn kicked around the garden.

Unfortunately, when he had disappeared and the taunts finally subsided, the slightest sound unsettled Alice. Her imagination began to play unkind tricks. The branches moving outside the window became hands, night clouds – faces, the chicken’s squawk – a scream, shadows from the fire – ghostly figures creeping around the walls.

Alice knew from what she had been told that Crowther’s actions were a repeat performance of the treatment he had given her mother, and every morning she told herself she was being stupid for allowing herself to be affected. But she also knew her defences were being worn down – and Crowther probably sensed it too. How much longer could she hang on? Not much, she thought. Certainly not until Lucy and James got back.

‘Take your foot out of the damn door!’ Alice screamed.

‘Don’t be like that. Let me in. I only want a cuppa and a chat.’

‘I said get out! Go away! I don’t want you here!’

‘Strikes me you must be lonely, left all alone!’

Alice wasn’t going to let go of the door until it was shut and the bolt shot. She was angry with herself for opening it. Crowther had been cunning and had fooled her. This time he had approached the cottage silently, knocked quietly, like a child, making her think it was someone else. ‘Damn you!’ she cried.

He laughed and pushed his knee between the door and jamb breaking her grip on the handle. The door banged against the wall.

‘It does open after all!’ he sneered.

‘Get out of my house! You bastard.’

‘Such words in front of the baby.
Tut-tut!’ He put his forefinger to his lips. ‘Shhh!’

Alice had had enough. After swinging at him with both fists, her knee came up hard and hit him hard in the crotch.

He dropped towards her, his weight pressing on her shoulders. ‘You bitch,’ he breathed.

‘Get out!’ she screamed, fighting to free herself and lift her knee again. But this time she couldn’t reach.

‘Bitch!’ he yelled grabbing her neck with one hand and throwing a punch with the other. She could feel the moisture running down her cheek. It was not tears.

‘Get out!’ she cried, her voice weak and trembling.

As Crowther let her go, she slid down the wall to the floor. She had no energy left.

‘Bloody bitch!’ he said. ‘I’ll get you!’

Bombay was a bustling city, far busier than Lucy could ever have imagined. The dusty thoroughfares were crammed with all manner of people and vehicles, all competing in a cacophony of curses, cries and car horns.

The hotel, which the firm of solicitors had booked for Lucy and her son, was just the opposite. It was spotlessly clean, spacious and the atmosphere was relaxing. The only sounds in the reception area were the echo of footsteps across the marble floor and the gentle murmur of quiet conversations.

The letter, handed to Lucy on a silver tray, bore an English stamp. She was thrilled to receive it. In the envelope were two sheets of lightly perfumed writing paper. After reading both pages slowly, she turned back to the first page and started again.

‘Did Alice tell you she was planning to go back to nursing while we were away?’ she asked.

James shook his head, as he scooped the skin from the top of his coffee. 

‘She says she is staying with her mother in Ilkley and intends to go back to full-time work at the hospital and to live-in at the nurses’ quarters.’ Lucy raised her eyebrows. ‘It appears Rachel will be living with Pansy and Miss Pugh on a permanent basis.’ Lucy looked at James. ‘How strange!’

‘Did she give a reason?’

‘No. Apart from the fact she says she enjoys working.’ Lucy finished the letter and handed it to James.

After reading it he frowned. ‘She says she’s asked Mr Fothergill and Grace to keep an eye on the cottages and feed the animals while we are away. That’s odd too, and it means Grace will be kept busy because Mr Fothergill won’t be going far on that bad leg of his.’  Folding the letter, he handed it back to his mother. Gazing up at the fan rotating slowly above his head, he watched it for while as it wobbled in its housing. ‘What would you say if I went back to England? Would you be all right on your own?’

‘Do you think it necessary?’

‘Yes,’ said James. ‘I do.’

The following morning they took a taxi to the Bombay shipping offices where James secured a berth on a cargo vessel sailing for London the following week. At the post office, Lucy sent a telegram to Wainwright’s friends in Nashik accepting their offer of hospitality.

Three days later, a chauffeur-driven car collected her from the hotel for the drive to Nashik. The journey was long, exhausting and intolerably bumpy and it took most of the day. But, as Wainwright had promised, the cool mountain air was a welcome change from the city. It was also sweetly perfumed with masses of flowers which bloomed in profusion on every hillside. Lucy thought the area delightful and accepted an invitation to stay with the elderly couple for two or three weeks. She hoped when she returned to Bombay, there would be news about the properties which she had offered for sale.