Wait For the Dawn (18 page)

‘Right – we’ll just finish our wine and coffee and we’ll go.’ He drank again from his cup, then said, ‘Oh, I wish you weren’t leaving town tomorrow. Why d’you have to decide to go to Capinfell?’

‘I told you,’ she said. ‘I’m going to see my father.’

‘Yes, I know. I’m teasing. I just wish you weren’t going.’

‘I must.’

‘And you won’t be returning until Sunday.’

‘No.’

‘What time are you coming back?’

‘I shall try to catch the six-twenty from Merinville, which gets into Redbury just after seven.’

‘That’s two whole days you’re going to be away.’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it possible we can meet when you get back on Sunday?’

She frowned, shaking her head. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. I think I shall just feel like going back to my lodgings.’

‘Oh – shame.’

‘Well, for one thing I’ll have to get ready for Monday.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Oh, I dare not be late. I’m a new girl, don’t forget. I feel every eye is upon me – and will be for a while yet.’

‘Is it possible, then, that we can meet on Monday evening?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, that’s possible – if you wish.’

‘I
do
wish.’ His voice was soft, but urgent. ‘I do indeed. Shall I meet you outside the Victoria Gardens again?’

She paused. ‘All right.’

‘Say half past seven.’

She nodded. ‘Half past seven.’

‘What if it’s raining?’

‘Well – I’ve got an umbrella.’

‘Or you could wait opposite in the doorway of the Rose and Flag.’ Then he added, ‘No, no, that wouldn’t do. What about your reputation?’

‘Then I must pray for fine weather,’ she said.

She looked around. The violinist had gone back into the inn and the people from the next table were gathering their belongings and preparing to leave. ‘Really,’ she said, ‘I have to go. I must go.’

He nodded, and at once called the serving girl who was passing, and asked for his bill. A few minutes later he and Lydia were moving into the stable yard where the boy brought them the mare and carriage. Guy gave the lad some coins and then helped Lydia up into the seat and climbed up after her. The light was just beginning to fade.

They rode for some distance without speaking of anything of importance, and Lydia was glad to keep the conversation on safe ground. For the most part she kept her eyes on the road ahead, rarely turning to take in Guy’s face.
She had put her gloves back on, but she could still seem to feel the touch of his mouth upon her fingers.

At last they entered the city again, and as the Victoria Gardens came in view Lydia stirred in her seat. The end of the day was looming. Guy called out to the mare, ‘All rightie, Tess. Whoah there, old girl,’ and pulled her to a halt. As the carriage stopped, Lydia turned questioningly to him.

‘I don’t want to take you back yet,’ he said with a shrug.

‘But I have to get back,’ she said. To her ears her voice sounded slightly breathless. Little wonder, she thought: these past hours with him – nothing like it had ever happened to her before.

They sat looking at one another, just for a few moments looking into one another’s eyes, until Lydia, feeling herself flushing in the fading light, lowered her glance and turned her head away.

Above the trees of the Victoria Gardens the moon was pale and gleaming in the clear sky, a huge white disc with all its shadows clear upon its surface. Guy lifted his gaze to it as it hung over Lydia’s head, and said, ‘Look at the moon. It’s beautiful,’ and she turned and looked up into the sky. ‘Yes, it is.’

He gazed at her as she sat with raised head, a little smile hovering on his mouth. ‘There
is
a man in the moon,’ he said. ‘You can see for yourself – and he’s smiling.’

Then, leaning towards her, he put his arms around her and drew her to him, and kissed her. It was not a long kiss, just a moment’s pressure of his lips upon hers, but for all she knew it could have taken a lifetime. As he released her and drew back there came from a few yards away the sound of a little cheering ‘Whoops!’ and glancing around they saw that the sound had come from two young urchins who were passing. Now, as the boys caught the couple’s eyes, they raised their thumbs in triumph and grinned.

‘Cheeky little beggars,’ Guy said, grinning in spite of himself, and then turning to Lydia added, ‘but I must watch your reputation. Can’t have you going back to Capinfell ashamed to show your face.’

She said nothing. She was still reeling from the kiss.

‘Seriously,’ he said, ‘I shouldn’t have done that. I truly should not.’ He frowned, then gave a sound that was half chuckle, half sigh. ‘Though I can’t truly say I regret it, not for a moment, and if I could, I would do it again.’ He leaned slightly towards her. ‘Would you let me?’

Lydia briefly closed her eyes and put her hands to her mouth. Everything was happening so fast. ‘Mr Anderson, I –’

‘Guy.’

‘Guy.’

She remained sitting there. She seemed to be caught in some kind of spell, a spell that even the vulgar shouts of the boys had not been able to break, but she had no experience of anything like this. ‘I must go in,’ she said.

‘Right,’ he said, lifting the reins. ‘Let’s get you back to Little Marsh Street.’

With a flap of the reins and a word to the mare they were on their way for the last yards of the journey.

On the way back from the store just after two o’clock on Saturday, Lydia stopped at a butcher’s and bought a piece of mutton. After that she went to the washerwoman’s house and picked up her clean and ironed laundry.

Back at her lodgings she packed a few things into a bag and then went in search of Mrs Obdermann.

‘Just to let you know that I’m leaving now, Mrs Obdermann,’ Lydia said when the landlady answered her knock on the sitting-room door. ‘I’m off to get the train.’

‘And you won’t be back until tomorrow, is that correct?’

‘That’s right. Sometime in the evening. I expect to get back about seven, but it depends on how my father is. He says he’s not that well, so I might take a later coach from Capinfell, but don’t worry about supper for me.’

‘That’s not a problem,’ the landlady said. ‘I’ll make you a cold plate and leave it in the larder. If you’re late it won’t matter.’

Lydia left then, and made her way to the railway station where, after a wait of some twenty minutes, she was able to get a train for Merinville. From there she travelled by coach to Capinfell. As she rode she thought again of Guy, and looked forward to their coming meeting on Monday evening. It seemed a lifetime away.

The church clock was striking six as she walked up the lane to her home, and she could feel her heart bumping slightly as she thought of seeing her father again. But there
was no need for her to be anxious, she told herself. Although he had not been warm in his letter to her, at least he had not been disagreeable.

In a way that she could not have described, the sensation was a little strange as she let herself in at the back door. She had never been away from home for such a period in her life before. Two whole weeks. It was odd, she thought: everything in the house was just the same, and yet it all seemed a little different. Then she realised: it was her mother’s presence that was missing. Coming home would never be quite the same again.

‘Hello, Father?’ she called out as she moved through the scullery. ‘Are you there?’

There was no answering voice, and she thought perhaps he had gone out, but a moment later she entered the kitchen and there he was, sitting at the table, his notes and his papers spread out before him.

She stopped at the other end of the table, facing him. ‘Hello, Father.’ A tentative smile. ‘As you see, I’m back.’

He nodded. ‘So I see.’

She had not known what to expect, but she had not really expected more. After a moment’s hesitation she set down her bag and went to him, bent, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. It was an awkward gesture but brief, and then she turned away and took off her hat and jacket. ‘How is your cold?’ she asked.

He sniffed, and briefly put a hand to his forehead. ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache and a stuffy nose, but I’ll survive. It’s not enough to keep me from my work.’

From her bag Lydia took out the package of meat she had brought. ‘I got us a nice little cut of mutton,’ she said. ‘We’ll have it for dinner tomorrow.’

After putting the meat away she donned her apron and put the kettle on to boil. When the tea was made she and her father sat drinking it at the table.

‘I hope Mrs Harbutt’s looking after you,’ Lydia said. ‘Has she been coming in to get your dinner?’

‘Oh, yes, she’s been coming in.’

‘And did you tell her that I was coming back this weekend?’

‘Yes, I told her she wouldn’t be needed.’

An hour later Lydia prepared a meal for the two of them, serving some cold ham that she found in the larder. It was followed with plums and cold custard, the latter having been made by Mrs Harbutt.

Later, Lydia told him about seeing Ryllis the previous weekend in Redbury, but she made no mention of Ryllis’s friend Thomas Bissett. Her father asked how Ryllis was, and also asked whether she seemed any more settled in her employment with the Lucases. Lydia said she couldn’t tell, but added that Ryllis had made no complaint at their meeting. Her father replied dryly that this made a change if nothing else.

‘Well, Father,’ Lydia said after a while, ‘aren’t you going to ask me how I’m getting on at the store?’

He was silent for a moment, then said, ‘And how
are
you getting on?’

‘I’m getting on all right,’ she said. ‘The work keeps me very busy, but I’m enjoying it.’

This was not exactly what he wanted to hear, she thought, and then wondered whether he might ask about the particular work she did, but he did not. The thought then crossed her mind that he might ask how she spent her evenings. What would she say? She could not tell him about Guy. She would never dare.

‘There’s a young man doing your job at Cremson’s now,’ he said. ‘It didn’t take them long to find a replacement. No one’s irreplaceable.’

She had to ignore this, almost, and merely said, ‘Oh,’ and
then asked, ‘What about you? What about your preaching? Have you been busy with it?’

‘Of course,’ he said, frowning. ‘It would take a lot to stop that. People need meaning in their lives.’

A little later, as Lydia stood in the scullery washing the dishes, he came to her and said he had to be going to Hurstleigh on business. He would be back about ten, he added.

Left alone in the house, Lydia finished the washing up, then sat down to darn a couple of her father’s socks. At ten o’clock she went upstairs. A while later, as she lay in bed, she heard her father’s footsteps on the cobbles and not long afterwards the sound of his footfalls on the stairs as he came up to bed.

She accompanied her father to church on Sunday morning. On her arrival there as they waited for the service to begin, she looked around for Evie, but there was no sign of her. After the service, outside in the sun, Lydia said to her father, ‘Father, you start on back. I’ll catch you up. I just want to have a look at Mother’s grave.’

‘Shall I come with you?’ he asked, but she was silent while she searched for a reply and he gave a nod and said, ‘No, you go on your own. I’ll start home.’

She left him and made her way down the little slope of the churchyard to where her mother’s grave lay close to the shade of a large yew tree. There was no one else close by. Bending over the grave she said softly, ‘Hello, Mother. I’ve come back to see you. I think about you every day.’ The stone’s surface was pale and gleaming in the bright morning sunlight, the crisply-cut letters read:

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF
EMMA MARY HALLEY 1845–1890

‘I’m sorry I can’t come as often to see you now, Mother,’ Lydia whispered, ‘but I’ll get here when I can, and soon I’ll bring a nice flower to plant for you. Perhaps a pretty little tea rose.’ She kissed the tips of her fingers and gently touched them to the top of the stone. Then, picking up her skirts, she made her way up the slope and on to the church gate.

Back at the house she put the mutton into the oven and set about preparing the rest of the dinner. When it was ready, she and her father ate in near silence, speaking only desultorily, and of mundane subjects that were safe from dissension. Afterwards, Lydia washed up the dishes and the pans and then announced that she was going to see Evie for half an hour.

When Lydia called at Evie’s cottage door a short while later she found her sitting on the sofa alone, sewing a little shift for Hennie. Hennie was upstairs asleep, Evie said, and her mother was out delivering some clean washing.

‘Do you want some tea?’ she asked as Lydia sat down. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

Lydia thanked her, but declined. ‘I shall be having some with Father as soon as I get back indoors,’ she said. From her bag, she brought out a paper bag, and took from it a little storybook with bright pictures. ‘I brought this for Hennie,’ she said. ‘I bought it in the store.’

‘Ah . . .’ Evie took the book into her hands. ‘
Hansel and Gretel
. Oh, she’ll
love
it. Oh, thank you, Lyddy. I shan’t get any peace once she’s heard this, I can tell you.’ She leafed through the book, glancing at the colourful pictures, and then put it carefully back in the bag. ‘I’ll give it to her as soon as she gets up,’ she said.

As Evie put the book aside, Lydia said, ‘I looked out for you at church this morning.’

‘Oh, I decided not to go,’ Evie said. ‘Hennie was being especially good, and it give me a chance for a lie-in. You went with your father, did you?’

‘Oh, yes. I wouldn’t dare not to.’

‘How did you find him? Is he well?’

‘He’s got a bit of a cold, but other than that he’s all right.’

‘I expect he was very glad to see you back.’

‘I suppose so.’ Lydia nodded. ‘He doesn’t give much away.’

A thought occurred to Evie, and she said, ‘Oh, I saw your friend the other day. Your admirer.’

‘My what?’ Lydia said.

‘Mr Canbrook. I went into Merinville and popped into his shop to get some cotton thread. He recognised me as your friend and asked me where you were. “Where’s your friend today?” he asked. “Where’s Miss Halley?” I told him that you’d gone to Redbury to live and work. He looked quite put out about it.’ She waited a moment for Lydia’s reaction, then added, on a more solemn note, ‘He mentioned your mother, too. He said how sorry he had been to hear about her – her passing.’