Through Glass Eyes (7 page)

‘What do I want a garden for? I want to stay here with Sam and the girls. I want to stay at Mill Lane School. You can go to Horsforth if you must and I’ll stay here with Mrs Swales.’

‘James! You do not live with Mrs Swales.’

‘But I spend more time with her than I do with you.’

Lucy bristled though she knew what he had said was true. ‘I’ve had to go out to work to keep us, but at Horsforth I’ll have time to spend with you. Anyway,’ she said, ‘the arrangements are made and I do not intend to go back on them. I’ve finished at the antique shop and I start my new job next week. I’ve paid the last rent on this horrid house, and another family is moving in on Monday. The wagon will be here in the morning to collect our things and I will need your help. What’s more, I do not want to hear any more of your foolish talk!’

James did not move.

Lucy picked up the doll from the sofa and fastened the button at the back of the neck. She dusted out the gown and pulled the fraying threads from its hem.

‘Take the damn doll if you want someone to go with you,’ he yelled ‘You think more of that doll than you do of me.’

‘That is not true!’

‘Stupid doll!’ he shouted. ‘You are always nursing it. Just like it was a baby. Mrs Swales says you nurse it because you can’t have another baby.’

Lucy’s face drained. ‘James! That is a terrible thing to say! How dare you speak to me like that?’

‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it? I ain’t got no brothers and sisters, have I? And I don’t have a father either.’

‘And what does that have to do with us moving to Horsforth?’

‘It’s not fair,’ he yelled. ‘It’s not damn fair!’

‘James! Stop being daft! It doesn’t matter what you think, we’re going and that’s final! And do not let me hear you swearing in this house again.’

‘You won’t! I’m leaving and I’m not coming back!’

The ornaments on the dresser rattled, when he slammed the door. Lucy listened, as he set of running past the window and down the street. Anger and frustration were boiling inside her when she thought to go after him, but she stopped herself before reaching the door. She would never catch him, he was too quick, and if she shouted he would probably ignore her. James had never behaved like this before.

Lucy looked at the clock. It was five. Almost tea time. He would come in when he was hungry, she was sure of it. And later when he settled down she would talk to him calmly and make him understand.

Before doing anything else, she stuffed the doll into a bag packed with old linen. Best out of the way, she thought. She had no idea what had caused his sudden outburst. He hadn’t objected to the move when she had first mentioned it. So why now? And what had caused his sudden outburst about the old doll? It had been in the house since before he was born. For Lucy, it was something which belonged there, like an ornament or piece of furniture. It was an item she took for granted, but would have missed it if it wasn’t there. He’d never complained about the doll before. Or had he?

Suddenly her thoughts flashed back to 5 November, the day he had taken it without her permission and paraded it as Guy Fawkes. Had he really wanted to destroy it? To watch it burn on the bonfire? But why? Surely he wasn’t jealous of the silly doll! It wasn’t even pretty.

Putting the problem to the back of her mind, Lucy tried to think positively about the cottage in Horsforth, about moving, and the packing and cleaning she still had to do. But James’s words kept nagging at her. And he had never run off before.

By 7.30 her concern turned to worry. A hurried visit across the street confirmed that he was not at Sally Swales’ house. She tried two other neighbours but he wasn’t there either. With the tea gone cold on the stove, she sat anxiously at the table listening to the clock ticking. By ten o’clock she was desperate.

James had headed down the street, that was all she knew. Pulling the shawl across her chest, Lucy set off in the same direction. Outside, the night air was cold and damp. Dimmed lamps glowed from behind curtains in upstairs windows. Most kitchens were in darkness. Most folk were in bed. She had to find him, and quickly.

‘Have you seen my lad?’ she asked the man sitting on his doorstep polishing his boots. ‘He’s eight years old. He must have run past you. He’s not wearing a coat.’

The man shook his head. ‘Sorry, lass.’

She hurried to the main road at the bottom of the street.

Circles of yellow light reflected around the street lamps. It had been raining. Standing between the tramlines in the centre of the empty street Lucy spun around in all direction. Which way had he gone? What if he had begged a lift? He could be miles away. Behind her were rows of houses, in front, the Leeds and Liverpool canal. Not more than fifty yards to the right was a set of locks. The area looked dark and forbidding.

‘Are you all right, luv?’

Lucy jumped. She hadn’t noticed the man lying beside the path, propped on one elbow and nursing a bottle in his other hand.

‘I’m looking for my son,’ she said.

‘Mind your step,’ he drawled. ‘A lot of rubbish gets thrown around here. Don’t want to fall in!’

She glanced down at the murky water. It was coal black and still, and smelled foul. It made her stomach churn at the thought of James running along the bank, slipping over and sliding in.

‘James!’ she shouted, her voice piercing the night’s silence. A dog barked, barked again then stopped. Lucy picked her way along the bank, stumbling at times over obstacles she couldn’t see, never thinking of her own safety. Then she saw the lock ahead and a dark silhouette sitting astride one of the gates. Her voice faltered. ‘James!’ she cried.

The boy looked up and raised his hand.

‘Thank God!’

Mr Carrington helped James carry Lucy’s furniture into the middle cottage. It was not an easy job as the passages were narrow and the heavy beams which ran across the ceiling meant there was little headroom. He had said the cottages were old but Lucy had not realized how old.

Individually, the rooms were smaller than at Loftholme Street, but each cottage had two separate rooms downstairs and a tiny kitchen. Upstairs there were two bedrooms. The windows were quite small but from the back of the house there was a view across the field to the patch of trees in the distance. From the kitchen door a path of broken slate led through the garden to the old iron gate which opened directly to the meadow.

At Mr Carrington’s suggestion, Lucy moved into the middle cottage. He explained that it would be more convenient for her if she had to run between the two on wet days. Furthermore, he said, the old chestnut tree kept the sun off the end cottage, and, as a consequence, its back bedroom had a smell of dampness about it and was in need of a good airing.

Despite having the front door wide open while they moved Lucy’s possessions in, the new house was warm. Mr Carrington had lit the fire in both rooms early that morning.

As the empty wagon rumbled away, he turned to James. ‘Have you ever ridden a horse, lad?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Then it’s about time you learnt.’

James looked across to his mother.

‘I like to ride and I enjoy riding with company,’ he said. ‘The countryside round here is ideal, so I have arranged with Mr Fothergill, a local farmer, to lease the meadow at the back. Now all that remains is to purchase a couple of suitable horses and build a stable. Every boy should be able to ride,’ he said. ‘I think I learned to ride before I could walk.’

Over the next few years James’s education came on by leaps and bounds. Apart from his regular schooling, he learned how to ride and fish. He learned how to trap rabbits, shoot, and cure skins. How to chop wood, dig potatoes and grow beans from seeds. He learned to recognize the song of a willow warbler from a whitethroat and know the difference between a thrush’s egg and that of a chaffinch. He learned how to identify a peacock butterfly from a painted lady, and learned the names of all the wild flowers which grew in the meadow. Mr Carrington was a walking
encyclopaedia. The stories he told, of life in India and of his travels across the world, mesmerized James.

‘When I am old enough I will join the horse-guards and go to India,’ James often said, while Lucy would sit back with her knitting and listen to the pair talking late into the evenings.

From the day she moved into the cottage, when he first insisted she call him Edward, Mr Carrington was not like an employer. Though she prepared his meals and cleaned his cottage, and received a wage in return, for Lucy it was not like a job. She treated Edward as if he were an older relative who needed a little special care.

The more she came to know him and understand his ways, the harder it was for her to believe he had come from a disciplined army family. He was the most undemanding and patient man she had ever known, and despite their growing companionship he was always the perfect gentleman. He never forced himself on Lucy and James when he felt they did not need his company. Nor did he outstay his welcome when he was invited to share a meal or an evening with them.

James on the other hand was forever running to Edward’s cottage, never knocking but bursting through the front door full of excitement, behaving as though the house was his own. Though Lucy reprimanded him, Edward assured her he was no trouble. And one morning when they were alone, he admitted how much he enjoyed having the boy around. He said, for him, James was the son he had never had and from the first day, the pair thrived on each other’s company.

A telegram delivered one afternoon upset Edward. It was dated 10 August 1910 and read:

Sorry to advise – Lydia very ill.

Come immediately if possible.

Wainwright – Bombay

Chapter 6

The Accident

‘Sit down for a moment, would you?’ Edward’s tone was serious.

Lucy put down her duster. ‘What is it, Edward? Are you worried about your sister?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But not only that.’

Lucy waited for him to speak.

‘You have been good to me, Lucy,’ he said slowly. ‘It is strange how one changes as one gets older.’ He paused. ‘I love my sister Lydia, but we have lived apart for many years, and though she is my own flesh and blood, over the last five years I have come to regard you and James as my family.’ He continued, before she could interrupt. ‘It is my duty to go to India. And I will be obliged to stay for however long it is necessary. The problem is, I don’t want to leave here, or leave you and James.’

‘But we will be here when you get back. You must not worry.’

‘But I do worry. I worry about the journey – it is long and can be hazardous. I worry about the situation in India. The country has changed since I was a boy. I worry about the growing unrest in Europe, and the riots in the Home Counties with the suffragette movement. And I worry about leaving you alone.’

‘James will care for me,’ Lucy said. ‘You have taught him so much and he is capable and strong.’

‘You are a good woman, Lucy, and a good mother.’ He paused. ‘I remember the first time I saw you on the Skipton train, how attractive you looked. But you also looked a little lost, which was the way I was also feeling at that time.’

‘Edward, you’ve never told me that before.’

He smiled. ‘It’s true.’ He leaned forward in his chair. ‘Before I leave for India, there are things we must speak of.’ He took out his pocket book and flipped through his notes. ‘Firstly,’ he said. ‘I will arrange for your wages to be paid into a bank account. Do you already have one?’

‘No, but I have a little money put away in a tin.’

‘Then I suggest you secure it in the bank. If you will accompany me to Leeds next week I will assist you in opening an account in your name.’

‘But I will not be working for you while you are away.’

‘No, buts, please.
Let me continue. Secondly, I intend to set aside some money to help with James’s education. He is progressing well and I hope eventually he will go to the university. He has the brain for it.’

‘But that is several years away!’ The colour drained from Lucy’s cheeks. ‘Edward, you are speaking as though you have no intention of coming back.’

He touched her hand. ‘I like to be prepared for all eventualities. Don’t worry, Lucy, the booking I have is for a return journey even though I can’t be certain when I will be returning.

‘Now, there is another matter I would ask you to consider. You don’t have to answer immediately.’ He looked directly at her, when he spoke. ‘Would you like to sail to India and visit me when I am there? If the answer is yes, I will arrange tickets for you both. It would be a wonderful experience for the boy.’

 ‘Edward, that is very generous, but it is too much to offer. You are going because you are duty bound, but at this time I feel we should stay here. James has school and I have the cottages and gardens to care for.’

He stared down at the book in his hands.

‘Perhaps,’ she suggested, ‘if you go again, then we could accompany you. I would not like to travel alone.’

‘Yes! A splendid idea. We will do that.’ He folded his pocket book and laid it on the chair arm. ‘There is one more thing. How old are you, Lucy?’

It was a strange question.

‘I was thirty-five on my last birthday.’

‘As I thought.
And I will be sixty while I am away. A considerable difference, is it not?’ he said. ‘After caring for me for five years, I think you know me as well as anyone has ever done. But what I ask is that while I am away you consider the idea of becoming my wife.’

‘Edward?’

‘I will say no more about it and I do not want your answer until I return. Now,’ he said. ‘I shall need help with my clothes for the tropics. They are packed away and will require airing. Until I get news of the sailing date I can’t be sure when I will be leaving, but I would like to be prepared. Will you see to that for me?’

Lucy squeezed his hand. ‘Of course, Edward.’

Less than two weeks later, Lucy and James waved Edward goodbye from Leeds station. As the guard waved his flag, Edward lowered the compartment window and leaned out.