Never Look Back (18 page)

‘You might say that it is the same the world over, and so that may be, but you will notice after a short time in this city that the republican simplistic virtues are being lost, and an imperial
culture of excess, greed and power is creeping in. Tomorrow you will see this for yourself in Fifth Avenue, grandiose mansions with white marble, Corinthian pillars, and silver ornamentation on their front doors.’

Giles raised his eyebrows. He was a little surprised to hear such puritanical views from an English clergyman.

Darius smiled, perhaps reading his mind. ‘I don’t despise wealth, not at all. And some of these mansions have been built by good men who are philanthropists responsible for donating money to worthy causes. But most are owned by scallywags, and their wealth is the result of evil.

‘While I cannot stop such men, much less take away their wealth and give it back to those they robbed, I believe we must show our disapproval, ostracize them from society in the hopes that such action will deter others from emulating them. I also believe we must all take responsibility for the plight of the poor, and do everything in our power to alleviate their misery.’

Giles listened very carefully. He learned that Trinity Church was a rich one, with a large majority of the parishioners first-and second-generation Americans from English and Dutch stock. These were the men who had made New York what it was today, and who had big plans for its future.

‘I fear, though,’ Darius went on, ‘that these white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant people have a mind to create a kind of supremacy, from which any other kind are barred. I may be a white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant myself, just as you are, Giles, but we share the same God as the Catholics. I believe too that all men, be they Irish, Pole, Jew, Negro or Italian, are his children and as such they should have equal rights. I cannot sit back and watch any of these discriminated against purely because of the colour of their skin, language or religion.’

Giles was growing excited at finding a man who shared his views.

‘I agree wholeheartedly,’ he said. ‘But how can we help those who do not attend our church?’

‘Through a broader ministry,’ Darius said with a faint smile. ‘We do not need to be Bible-thumping missionaries seeking converts, we just show the love of God at the simplest level, schools for children of the very poorest, food for the starving, foundling homes, English classes for those who do not speak
our language. And we raise money for these projects and assistance by pricking the consciences of those rich but devout Christians who have not yet discovered the joy of giving.’

Giles beamed. It was only then that Darius began to shock him. ‘Take a look at those Fifth Avenue mansions, Giles, walk up and down and feel the opulence, then take yourself off to an area called Five Points immediately after,’ he said. ‘It’s not far from here, but it could be another country, the difference is so great. It is hell come to earth, Giles, far worse than anything you may have seen in London, I think the worst slum area in the world. At the centre of it is an old brewery where it is estimated over a thousand people exist.’

‘Exist?’ Giles repeated.

‘Yes, exist. You can’t call it live for they huddle together like crazed animals in their rags, in dark, putrid rooms, without fire, means to cook food, sanitation or even the scantiest of furniture. Many are reluctant to leave there even briefly, for fear someone will steal their place. Every kind of horror you can imagine goes on in there, and ones we wouldn’t dare to imagine. It is Hades, Giles. And most people in New York aren’t even aware of it.’

‘But what can we do about it?’ Giles said weakly.

‘We can make known its horrors, get it pulled down and decent housing built in its place, but that brewery is only the centre of Hell, all around it are rookeries so dense that even the police fear to go in there. There are tens of thousands of people living around there – each week when another immigrant ship comes in, the numbers swell even higher. Epidemics of cholera and yellow fever flash through there from time to time, fires break out and kill a few more of the unfortunates, but still it remains, the boundaries expanding daily. When I asked the Bishop of London for a good man to join me, I didn’t want a mealy-mouthed young whippersnapper who revels in taking Bible classes, but a man like St George, prepared to fight the dragon and slay him.’

Giles gulped. He had been in New York for only twenty-four hours, and much of that time had been spent in wishing he hadn’t come. Now, before he’d even had time to get his bearings, see the church, walk around the streets and meet the parishioners, he was being asked to show his colours. All he could think of
was how lucky it was Lily had gone out of the room with Mrs Kirkbright.

‘Well, Giles! Are you a St George?’

‘My sword is a little rusty,’ Giles said with a faint smile. ‘I share your convictions, I hope I can be the man you want beside you. But I have to say I am somewhat taken aback right now.’

To his surprise Darius began to laugh uproariously.

‘Good man,’ he said. ‘If you’d leapt up and pulled a sword out of the closet you’d have had me worried. I like a man who has the courage to admit he needs time to take stock. I had no intention of dragging you off to that hell-hole tonight.’

Giles found himself laughing too, if only from relief. ‘I ought to warn you, sir,’ he said, ‘my wife is a little squeamish, so I’d be grateful if when the ladies come back in you didn’t tell her about this place, not today anyway.’

Darius’s eyes twinkled. They were brown, but flecked with amber, reminding Giles of a cat’s. ‘Of course. Our little ladies have to be protected from sights that would offend and frighten them. My suggestion is that we take the comfortable route, you meet our parishioners, you and your wife socialize and make friends, and learn to love New York as myself and my wife do. Then later, once you’ve found your feet, we will make our plans for rooting out this evil together.’

The sun was like a huge orange fireball, slowly sinking into the sea, as Lily and Giles went for a walk along to the Battery later that same evening. The red sails of fishing boats out on the bay made a pretty sight, and Lily was cheered a little by the many elegantly dressed couples strolling arm-in-arm towards Castle Clinton, an old fort on the foreshore that the Kirkbrights had told them was now used for concerts.

‘Maybe it won’t be quite as bad here as I feared,’ she said in a slightly disbelieving voice, looking wistfully at the many fine houses and fancy carriages. ‘Reverend Kirkbright and his wife are very kind, I’m sure they’d understand if we told them the house we’ve been given isn’t suitable for us.’

Her anxiety had grown after Florence Kirkbright had mentioned that this part of lower Manhattan was gradually sinking in tone because the wealthy former residents had begun moving further uptown to newly built areas like Gramercy Park. Lily
couldn’t actually see any visible signs of decay. Even the little ragamuffins playing down on the shore looked picturesque rather than squalid. But a minister’s wife wouldn’t say such a thing without good reason.

‘I don’t think I can do that,’ Giles said. ‘A clergyman has to accept what he is given, Lily, you know that.’

‘But I don’t think the Kirkbrights live in a modest house. Florence mentioned a cook and a maid, we know they have a carriage too because we will be going out in it tomorrow with them. If you are really not just a mere curate but sharing the work at the church as joint ministers, surely you should have a similar household?’

Giles sighed deeply. ‘I suspect Kirkbright is independently wealthy and that his house is not owned by the church, but is his own,’ he said.

This temporarily silenced Lily. Back in England parsons received a stipend according to the wealth and size of their parish. Many clergymen had private means to supplement this often meagre amount, but Giles had no such private income. They had been fortunate in Primrose Hill in that it was a wealthy parish, and her careful housekeeping had meant they lived well. She hadn’t for one moment imagined that by coming to America they would live in reduced circumstances.

‘Please don’t look for problems,’ Giles begged her. ‘Tomorrow after the tour of the city we’ll be having dinner with them, and meeting some of the parishioners. When you married a clergyman you knew we would never have riches, but I think we should both be very grateful for all the privileges that go with my work.’

Lily knew that was as close as he’d ever get to telling her to be quiet and accept her lot in life joyfully. She wondered what it was he and the Reverend Kirkbright had talked about today that had suddenly made Giles so happy. Just the fact that he hadn’t shared it with her meant it was something slightly covert and therefore more cause for anxiety.

‘I’ve never been sorry I married you, Giles,’ she said in a small voice. This was entirely true, she loved him as much now as she had on their wedding day. ‘I just wish I could be all the things you really wanted in a wife.’

Giles looked down at her small, strained face and tried to
remember when she’d last laughed, really laughed the way she used to. She no longer responded to his caresses, her glances at him were often accusing, yet she wouldn’t or couldn’t speak of what was troubling her. Was it his fault? Perhaps it was unseemly for a man of the cloth to desire his wife, to remember with longing those passion-filled nights in the early days of their marriage? Lily was the only woman he’d ever made love to, the only one he wanted, so he could make no comparisons. Was there truth in what other men said, that they took a mistress so they didn’t
bother
their wife? Could the root cause of her unhappiness be just that, she wished he wouldn’t trouble her?

But how could he speak of such delicate things? To do so might create an even wider chasm between them. All he could do was love and protect her, and try to control his own urges.

‘You are everything I want in a wife, Lily,’ he said, squeezing her arm. ‘Just try a bit harder not to close your mind to everything which is new. Our life here might very well turn out to be far better and more worthwhile than the one we had in London. Let’s strive for that together.’

Chapter Five

‘I think it’s high time, Matty, that you made some friends for yourself,’ Lily said unexpectedly as they were hanging a new set of curtains in the parlour. ‘We’ve been here for nearly three months now and it isn’t right that you never have any fun.’

Matilda was standing on a chair, balanced on top of a wooden box, and she nearly fell off with surprise. Back in England her mistress wouldn’t have considered ‘fun’ important to a servant’s well-being, but then a great many of her previously rigid ideas had been softened since they came to America. She had retained her fussiness, her fear of disease and insistence on utilizing every scrap of food. She still lapsed into long sulks, but she had adapted to living in a small house, sometimes it seemed that she was even happier doing most of the cooking herself.

Back in England her mistress would never have taken a bath in the kitchen, yet once she saw how much time and effort were required for Matilda to haul pails of hot water up to the bedrooms, she announced that in future they would all take their baths downstairs. She didn’t take fright any longer when she heard a foreign accent or saw a black face, and she even admitted to enjoying the odd glass of sherry, when once any kind of alcohol had been the gateway to Hell. She had been alarmed at first by American women’s informality – they called her by her Christian name and dropped by uninvited. But slowly she’d grown to accept this was the way here, and at times she admitted to liking it.

Yet the biggest change in her attitude was the way she treated Matilda. She asked rather than ordered her to do something and even showed concern if she looked tired or off-colour. Maybe this was partly because she’d been told that English-speaking, good, reliable servants were almost impossible to find in New York, but perhaps mainly because Matilda alone appreciated what her mistress had lost by leaving England.

Back in England a parson was on a social level with doctors, barristers and other professional men, and the difference in their respective incomes was of no consequence. Lily as a parson’s wife was a ‘lady’ and therefore was treated with the utmost respect.

Here in America a minister had little social status, unless of course he was wealthy like the Reverend Kirkbright. For shy little Lily Milson, it was painful to have to accept invitations to smart parties by the well-intentioned Kirkbrights, only to find herself ignored by most of the other guests. Giles could hold his own, he was after all young, handsome and a very interesting man, but Lily would just wilt into a corner, only too aware she was unfashionably dressed, and plain.

Giles had stated before they left England that American men treated their wives with far more respect than English men, and on the face of it they did appear to do so, at least in public. But from what Matilda had gleaned from overheard conversations between women here in this house, in reality American men in their homes were even more egotistical than the English. They told their wives nothing about their business interests, the assumption being that women were too delicate, too anxious for such things, and expected them instead to concentrate on traditional womanly skills – housekeeping, child-rearing and making life more comfortable for their men.

It seemed Giles was embracing this way of thinking too, for although he was still as kind and gentle with Lily as he’d always been, he seldom talked about his ministry work at home, and never included Lily in any part of it other than when she accompanied him to social events.

So perhaps it wasn’t surprising that two women in a strange new country, living under very cramped conditions, had become something more than mistress and servant. They talked a great deal, about Tabitha, books, cooking and their neighbours, they reminisced about home, and often took walks together with Tabitha to explore their new city.

At night Giles often had to go out, and Lily would join Matilda in the kitchen, or on hot evenings, out in the back yard. Matilda might still call Lily ‘madam’, she still obeyed her implicitly and did the main brunt of the household chores, but the truth was that Matilda was more than Lily’s equal. She was
the one who haggled for lower prices in the shops, the one who wasn’t afraid of anything, not even those beetles she now knew were cockroaches. It was she who decided the day’s menu, for housekeeping money was tighter here than it had been in England and she knew how to stretch it. Each time Lily confided her worries to Matilda, the bond grew stronger between them.