‘Anyway, there she is, Madam Lucas, one afternoon, with her visitor from Redbury or somewhere, and takes her down to the kitchen garden to show her the produce, and on the way back they stop by the pigsty. I was out in the yard at the time, having just got in some vegetables for
Cook, so I saw it all. Mrs Lucas had brought from the kitchen a bit of something for the pig to eat – though on normal days she never even noticed that the creature existed. But here she was, showing off her little kingdom, and stopping at the pig’s pen she leans over and tosses this bit of food for it. I don’t know exactly what happened then, but the next second she’s yelling out, “Oh, my brooch! my brooch!” and is leaning way over the rail, stretching out her hand. I ran up to see what was wrong and just at that moment – oh, my God! – just at that moment she loses her balance.’
Ryllis gave a great hoot of laughter at the memory so fresh in her mind and put her hand to her face. ‘Oh, poor woman,’ Mrs Halley said, unable to stop herself smiling. ‘What happened? Did she fall in? Don’t say she fell in.’
‘No, she didn’t fall in,’ Ryllis said. ‘Unfortunately. I’d have loved it if she had, but you should have seen her none the less.’ Her words were interspersed with her peals of laughter. ‘Oh, you should have seen her. Talk about lack of dignity. There she was, trying to reach out for her brooch, which was down in the mire, but then suddenly the pig is there, snuffling up to her, all curious, and then she’s having to push the creature away, and she gets sort of stranded over the rail, so that for a second you don’t know whether she’s going over or not.’ Ryllis could barely speak now for laughing. With her arms she demonstrated how Mrs Lucas had lain across the bar, her hands swinging wildly. ‘I tell you,’ Ryllis shrieked, hardly able to get the words out, ‘she couldn’t get up. She looked like one of those beetles that land on their backs, their legs going every which way! I tell you, if you –’
Suddenly her words stopped, for her swinging left hand had caught the lamp a heavy blow, rocking it on its base, and sending the sound of an impact on the glass shade ringing out in the room. All laughter was forgotten in the
space of the time it took for the inhabitants to gasp aloud, and all three of them turned their eyes to the lamp, Ryllis, clutching the cotton fabric to her cheek, giving a little cry and saying, ‘It’s broken!’
Lydia stood gazing at the lamp as if mesmerised. The same expression of horror was on Mrs Halley’s face as she sat close to the lamp, one hand at her mouth. The lamp’s shade was cracked from top to bottom, and it was a wonder to Lydia that it had remained in one piece.
Silence reigned in the room, silence touched only by the sounds of their breathing.
At last Lydia said, her voice almost a whisper, ‘Perhaps Father won’t notice it.’
‘How could he miss it?’ said Ryllis. ‘Anyone’d be bound to see that.’
‘We’ll get another one,’ Mrs Halley said.
‘That’s all very well,’ Ryllis said, ‘but tomorrow’s Sunday. We can’t get to a shop before Monday. What do I do in the meantime?’
Lydia and Ryllis were side by side in their bed. Neither was sleeping. Lydia, lying on her side, could feel the tension emanating from Ryllis’s body just a foot away. They had barely spoken since getting into bed some twenty minutes before. As they lay there they heard the church clock strike ten and Lydia silently counted off the strokes. Both of them were listening.
Then, at last, there came the sound of footsteps on the cobbles beneath their window. Lydia tensed even more, lying almost rigid on the mattress, and though no whisper passed between them, she knew that Ryllis was doing the same. Lydia drew in her breath, listening even more intently. Their father had returned home.
Downstairs in the kitchen Mrs Halley also heard the sound of Mr Halley’s boots in the yard, and applied herself
once more to her sewing. The damaged lamp, its flame turned out, had been put on the side, and the room was lit by a smaller lamp that sat on a small table at her elbow. With the broken lamp not in plain view it was hoped that Mr Halley would not notice the damage. Then, on Monday, Lydia could buy a new shade when she went into Merinville – one that matched, if possible.
There came the sound of the back door opening, footsteps across the flags, and then Mr Halley came up the step from the scullery and entered the kitchen. Mrs Halley could see at once from the set of his mouth, from the way he moved his tense body, that things had not gone well for him. Nevertheless she felt bound to ask, ‘How did it go, Father? Did you meet the gentleman you set out to see?’
He took off his hat as he spoke, and threw it down almost violently on to the shelf beside his chair. ‘It didn’t go well at all,’ he said shortly, ‘and as for that imbecile Winsford – he still wasn’t anywhere in evidence by the time I returned. I had to wait a further half hour before he got in. Then it turns out that the hall isn’t available after all on Monday.’ He drew back his lips over his teeth. ‘It meant the whole journey was for nothing.’ He looked up towards the ceiling. ‘Are the girls upstairs?’
‘Yes, they are.’
He pulled out his chair at the head of the table and sat down. Then he bent and began to untie the laces of his boots. At once Mrs Halley got up and started towards him. ‘Here – let me do it.’
He straightened, and she came to him and crouched and untied his boots and eased them off.
‘I started a blister on my heel,’ he said. ‘That walking, that wasted effort.’
‘Oh, dear. You want to bathe your foot?’
‘No, I’ll just rest it. It’ll be all right.’
‘It’ll be no trouble. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘I just told you, it’ll be all right.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll get your slippers.’
A minute later his slippers were on his feet.
‘Is there anything I can get you?’ Mrs Halley said. ‘You want some tea or something?’
‘Yes, a cup of tea would be welcome. I should have thought you’d have the kettle on already.’
‘It won’t take but a few minutes. It’s already filled.’
Standing at the range she moved the kettle on to the heat. As she did so he took off his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. Then from the dresser drawer he took a notepad and a pencil.
‘Are you going to start work?’ Mrs Halley said. ‘Aren’t you tired?’
‘As I walked I worked on my sermon,’ he said shortly. ‘I want to get it down while I think of it. While it’s still fresh in my mind. At least something might be salvaged from this evening.’ Then, frowning, he added, ‘I can’t see by this dratted useless lamp. Where’s the other one?’ Getting up from his chair he moved to the dresser and took the repaired lamp and brought it to the table. Then, removing the shade and the funnel he struck a match and lit the wick. After adjusting the wick and the flame he replaced the funnel and took up the shade.
It was as he moved the shade around in his hand to set it back on the base that he saw the crack. He held it up before him.
‘What is the meaning of this?’
Shocked by the fury in his face, Mrs Halley stood motionless and speechless by the range.
‘I asked you,’ he said, ‘what is the meaning of this?’ He turned the shade to get a clearer view, and then took up the base with the funnel and held it closer to the shade, letting the light fall clean upon the break.
‘Who did this?’ he said, and when there was no answer,
said again, ‘Who did this?’ This time he almost screamed the words. ‘Tell me! Answer me!’ He slammed the shade down on to the table top, so hard that the glass shattered, sending splinters flying across the room. Mrs Halley flinched but did not move. ‘Answer me,’ he said grimly. ‘Who did it? It wouldn’t be Lydia, for she’d have owned up – she wouldn’t have crept off to bed, afraid to face me.’ He paused. ‘Was it Amaryllis?’
No answer came, and after glaring at his wife for the briefest moment he turned and, still holding the lamp base, strode towards the door to the hall and the stairs.
‘No, Father,’ Mrs Halley said, and then as he turned to face her, added: ‘I did it. I broke the shade.’
‘You,’ he said. ‘You.’ His teeth clenched, his breath coming in loud gasps, he burst out, ‘Can’t we keep anything intact in this God-forsaken house! Does everything that comes in have to be ruined?’ Then, drawing back his hand to its limit he threw the lamp.
Hurled with all his force, it struck the corner of the table, the china and glass of the base and the funnel immediately breaking, sending up a showering spray of flaming paraffin.
Lydia and Ryllis sat up as their mother’s screams rang out into the night, then leapt from their bed and, still in their nightdresses, ran down the stairs and into the room.
The scene that met their eyes was like something out of a nightmare, something not even to be imagined in the darkest moments. The room was full of smoke, and their mother, shrieking, her clothes and hair all ablaze, was running from one end of the room to the other. As she ran she scattered furniture and anything that was in her way, as if somehow she could escape from the fire that was enveloping her. Their father, trying to put out the flames, was flapping at them with his hands, but at the same time not getting near enough to be effective. Seeing the girls enter the room he cried to Lydia, ‘Get a blanket! Get a blanket!’ and Lydia turned and dashed back up the stairs. In her bedroom she snatched blankets from the bed, rushed back downstairs and, without hesitating, dashed at her mother with the blanket outstretched in both hands and wrapped it around her. Then, as the flames were smothered, Mrs Halley fell back onto the window seat. When at last, certain that the fire was out, Lydia and her father pulled the blanket free, they saw that Mrs Halley’s clothes were scorched and charred and that there was scarcely a hair left on her seared and blistered head.
‘Father,’ Lydia gasped hoarsely as the three of them stood looking down on the gravely injured woman, ‘Ryllis must go and fetch Dr Harvey.’
‘Yes,’ Ryllis was already moving to the hall door, ‘I’ll get dressed and go at once.’
‘It’s all right,’ Mr Halley said quickly, ‘I’ll go.’
‘But Ryllis can run so fast,’ Lydia said. ‘She’ll be there in no time.’
‘I told you, I’ll go,’ he said. ‘Besides, I’m already dressed.’ He turned and looked to the window, beyond which the full moon shone down from a clear sky. ‘And I shan’t need the lantern; the moon’s bright enough.’ He looked back at the form of his wife as she lay there. ‘Don’t leave her,’ he added. ‘I’ll bring back the doctor as soon as I can.’
Moments later he had gone from the house, and from the window Lydia and Ryllis glimpsed him walking quickly through the yard. As he disappeared from sight Ryllis turned and ran upstairs, to return moments later with a fresh blanket which they gently laid over their mother. She then moved back to the hall doorway. ‘I’ll go on upstairs and get dressed, Lyddy,’ she said. ‘Then when I come down you can do the same.’
While Ryllis went upstairs Lydia pulled up a chair, and sat and bent over her mother. She wanted to wrap her in her arms, but did not dare touch her for fear of causing her further hurt. ‘Oh, Mother,’ she murmured, leaning closer, the tears streaming down her cheeks, ‘what a dreadful thing to happen.’
She did not expect her mother to respond, but Mrs Halley said haltingly, ‘He – he didn’t m-mean it.’ The words struggled out through her cracked and blistered lips, while her eyes rolled in her head. She tried to sit up. ‘Be-believe me. He didn’t – mean it.’
‘He didn’t mean it?’ Lydia felt herself go cold. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘The l-lamp. He – didn’t m-mean to hurt me. He – he . . .’ Then Mrs Halley’s words trailed off and her eyes closed as she sank back into her seat.
‘Mother? Mother?’ Lydia whispered the words, but although she could see her mother’s chest rising and falling with her breathing, it was clear that she was unconscious. Lydia’s hands were clutched to her face. She could do nothing but sit there, and pray that her father would soon return with the doctor.
She was sitting in the same position a few minutes later when Ryllis came hurrying downstairs, now wearing her day dress and pinafore.
‘All right, Lyddy,’ Ryllis said, ‘I’ll stay with Mother now while you go and get dressed.’
Upstairs in the bedroom, by the light of a candle, Lydia hurriedly took off her nightdress and changed into an old frock. Moments later, as she stood before the small glass and glanced at her pale reflection, she thought of the words her mother had spoken:
He didn’t mean it
. The question came into her mind:
He didn’t mean what?
She had no answer, and it did no good to dwell on it. Quickly she smoothed down the skirt of her dress, blew out the candle and started back down the stairs.
Dr Harvey lived on the far side of the village. Having settled down for the night, and not expecting any calls, he had hurriedly stirred himself and brought Mr Halley back to the little house in his carriage. By the time of their arrival Mrs Halley was conscious again. Lydia and Ryllis had brought more blankets for her, but she still felt cold, and when Dr Harvey appeared at her side she was lying shivering, her teeth chattering. Seeing her again, Mr Halley gave a little cry and rushed across the room.
Lydia and Ryllis stepped back as their father came to his wife’s side. He knelt down, tears shining in his eyes, his face pale. ‘Oh, Emmie,’ he murmured. He groped for her hand for a moment and, taking it, said, ‘I’ve brought Dr Harvey, Emmie. He’ll soon have you right again.’
He released his wife’s hand, straightened and stepped aside. At once Dr Harvey was there, taking a seat on the kitchen chair that Lydia had placed for him, and bending to the woman.
As the doctor ministered to her and took in the extent of her injuries he murmured comforting little words. Then he said softly, sympathetically, ‘Oh, dear, this was an unfortunate accident, Mrs Halley, wasn’t it?’
‘Y-yes,’ Mrs Halley stuttered. ‘I was c-careless.’
The doctor gave a little nod. ‘So it seems,’ he said kindly. ‘Lamps can be such dangerous things – all that paraffin.’ Then turning to Mr Halley at his side, he added directly, ‘Very unfortunate indeed, but it’s so easily done.’ He gave a sigh. ‘It’s a bad business. Dropping a lamp like that. I’ve had other cases. Burning paraffin – it can be truly dreadful.’