Wait For the Dawn (24 page)

She got the child’s straw hat and set it on her fair curls, and put her own bonnet on and tied the strings. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘we can go now.’

Leaving the cottage, they set out for the edge of the village and then walked out into the countryside, taking a footpath that led between fields. Beside the hedgerow the cornflowers were a bright, vivid blue, while to the right and left of them the fields of golden corn stretched out. Hennie ran skipping ahead, Evie’s watchful eye upon her. They came to a five-barred gate after a while. Lydia was for opening it and passing through, but Evie said, ‘Oh, let’s stop here, shall we? It’s such a warm day, and it’d be nice to rest.’

They found a little patch of sun-dry grass near the hedgerow, a spot now partly shaded by a hawthorn tree, and sat down.

‘Did you see your Ryllis last weekend as you planned to?’ Evie asked. She took off her bonnet and ran her fingers through her chestnut hair.

‘Yes. She came into Redbury in the afternoon and we spent some hours together.’

‘Was she well?’

‘Yes, she’s quite well, though still not happy in her situation.’

‘How is she getting on with her young man? I’ve forgotten his name.’

‘Thomas. She didn’t say a lot, though I got the impression that she is not so happy with him as she might be.’ Lydia shook her head. ‘I do hope he’s not going to let her down. I’d never forgive him if he made a fool of her.’

‘Well, they haven’t long met,’ Evie said, ‘so give it time.’

‘Yes, you’re right. Things will work out in the end.’ She sighed, paused for a moment, then added, ‘That’s what I keep telling myself.’

‘Oh? Yes?’ Evie looked at her quizzically. After a moment she said, pacing her words carefully, ‘Have you heard yet from your Mr Anderson?’

Lydia hesitated, then said, ‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Not a word.’

‘How long is it now since he went?’

‘It’s three weeks to the day since I saw him last. Since that Sunday. He told me he would be going off the next day. I assume he did.’

‘Well – he’ll write.’

‘It’s been three weeks, Evie.’

Hennie, sitting a few yards away, had taken off her hat and was filling it with blades of grass that she was carefully tearing up. ‘No, Hennie, dear,’ Evie called out to her, ‘put your hat back on your head or you’ll burn in the sun.’ Hennie took no notice, and continued as before, and after watching her for a while, Evie got up and went to her. Lydia watched as Evie tipped the grass out of the hat’s crown and then set the hat back upon the child’s head.

‘There,’ Evie murmured, ‘we’ll see how long that lasts.’ She came back to Lydia’s side and sat down again. Without looking directly at her she said after a moment, ‘In your letter you wrote that you had something to tell me. . .’ She let the question hang in the air.

Lydia briefly closed her eyes and sighed. ‘To tell you the truth, Evie,’ she said, ‘I’m very worried.’

Evie looked concerned. Frowning, she said, ‘What about? You’re not fretting about your father, are you? He’s stronger than you think, I’m sure. He –’

‘No,’ Lydia broke in. ‘I’m not worried about Father.’

Evie looked at her for a moment, then gave a nod. ‘It’s your gentleman friend, is it?’

Lydia nodded.

‘Of course it is,’ Evie said, ‘but he’ll be all right, and as for not hearing from him – well, you’ve no idea what he’s having to do, have you? I mean, with his father being hurt – and it could be very badly – who’s to say what his situation is. If he’s as nice as you say he is, then I’m sure you’ll hear from him before too long.’

Lydia said after a moment, ‘It – it’s not that. That’s not quite it.’

‘What is it, then?’

‘As I told you – it – it’s been three weeks.’

‘Yes, so you said. Three weeks since you saw him, since he went away.’

Out in the cornfield two crows fluttered up and settled again. Lydia eyed them, unseeing. Hennie had once again taken off her hat, but this time Evie paid no heed. She looked at Lydia, frowning. ‘What’s the matter?’ she said.

Lydia bent her head and put both hands up to her cheeks. ‘Oh, God, Evie,’ she breathed, ‘I’m so worried.’

Evie continued to gaze at her for some seconds. Then she said, ‘I see now. I think I do.’ She paused. ‘Are you telling me that something – happened – between you and your Mr Anderson?’

Lydia said nothing, and after a second Evie gave the barest nod.

A little silence fell between them, and in the quiet Lydia
was vaguely aware of the cheeping of birds in the hedgerow. Hennie came over to them and deposited in her mother’s lap a few blossoms of cornflower. ‘These are for you, Mammy,’ the child said, and Evie replied, ‘Thank you, dear,’ in a faint, uninvolved voice, and absently touched the child’s fair hair. She watched then as Hennie wandered away again and once more sat down in the grass at the edge of the golden grain. Evie turned back to Lydia.

‘Would I be guessing right if I reckoned that – that you’re late. . .?’

Lydia hesitated, then nodded. She could not meet Evie’s eyes.

‘When were you due?’

‘A week ago.’

Evie sat looking at her, clearly shocked. ‘Well – maybe you’re just a bit late.’

‘No, I’m never late. I’m that regular you could set the clock.’ Lydia paused. ‘I’ve been feeling so sick too. Yesterday morning and this morning, and yesterday when I was on the train I felt that ill. Oh, Evie, I thought I’d be sick there and then.’

Evie leaned across and briefly pressed Lydia’s hands as they lay clasped in her lap. ‘Lyddy – you poor thing.’

‘I don’t know what to do, Evie.’ Now Lydia turned and looked into her friend’s eyes. ‘I just don’t know. When I was heaving and retching this morning before church Father was very concerned. He thought it was something I’d eaten. I said it must be. I couldn’t tell him what I was thinking.’

‘Of course not. What are you going to do?’

‘I told you, I don’t know.’ Lydia gave a bitter little smile. ‘I really did pray in church this morning.’

‘Oh, Lyddy. . .’

Lydia sat in silence, embarrassed at the situation she had revealed. ‘Tell me something,’ she managed to say after a
few moments, ‘were – were your breasts tender when you fell for Hennie?’

‘What? Tender? Oh, I’ll say they were.’ Evie nodded. ‘I see – that’s happening to you, is it?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Oh, yes, that’s another sign. Definitely. I know my mam was the same – she told me.’ After a few moments Evie added glumly, ‘Well, I don’t reckon there can be much question about it, Lyddy. I’m sorry to say it, but I think it’s something you’ve got to face up to.’

Lydia groaned and covered her face with her hands. Her voice, muffled, with a desperate ring to it, came through her fingers: ‘Oh, God, I wish I knew what to do.’

‘What about your Mr Guy Anderson?’ Evie said after a moment. ‘He ought to be told, don’t you think?’

Lydia gave a shake of her head, a gesture of helplessness, lowered her hands and held them clenched before her. ‘I don’t even know where he is,’ she said. ‘Whether he’s still in Italy, or back in England.’

‘Well, you’ll have to find out, won’t you? I mean – he has to be told. Men have got a responsibility in these things as well.’

‘I know that, I know, but – oh, it’s easier said than done.’

‘Well – where do you think he is? D’you think it’s likely he’s still abroad?’

‘I don’t know, but – oh, no, I can’t think that. I’m sure he’ll have come back by now. It’s been three weeks.’

‘Well, you can get in touch with him, Lyddy, surely you can. For a start you know that he works for his father’s newspaper. You could write to him there. They’ll forward your letter.’

‘Yes, I could do that, but I’ve got the address of his home, so that wouldn’t be necessary.’

‘Well, whichever way, you must write to him – wherever he is, even if he’s still abroad. I mean, you don’t know that
he’s not in Italy even now. He might not be back in Redbury. But at least if you write you’ll be able to get in touch with him. Give him the chance to do the right thing.’

‘But – what if he’s back and – and just – doesn’t want to see me?’

Evie frowned. ‘You’ve no reason to think that, have you?’

‘No, but –’ Lydia gave a deep sigh and shook her head. ‘Oh, sometimes I don’t know what to think.’

‘Well, anyway,’ Evie said, ‘whatever he feels about you you’ll – you’ll find out in time, but you can’t afford to put it off. You must do it at once.’

‘I know. I know. I
have
been putting it off. Just hoping against hope, I suppose, that things weren’t – the way they are – that all my fears have been – for nothing.’

Hennie’s voice came then, calling to her mother, ‘Mammy, look, these are so pretty.’ She had picked three or four more cornflowers and was trying to stuff them into the pocket of her pinafore.

‘Yes, Hennie,’ Evie said. ‘Very pretty, but don’t pick any more, there’s a good girl.’

‘I’m picking them for
you
,’ Hennie said, coming to her mother’s side.

‘Thank you, dear, but that’ll be enough.’

Lydia said suddenly into the peaceful little exchange, almost crying out, ‘Evie, it can’t be true!’ And at the sound Hennie looked round at her with a faint expression of alarm on her face. Evie quickly put an arm around the child. ‘It’s all right, Hennie,’ she said to her. ‘It’s all right.’

Lydia watched as Hennie squirmed out of her mother’s embrace and moved away again across the grass, then said in a voice that was little more than a whisper, ‘It can’t be true, Evie – that I’m to – to have a baby. What was I thinking of? What could I have been thinking of?’

‘Well,’ Evie said, ‘at such times we don’t think at all, that’s the trouble.’

‘It wasn’t meant to be like this. I thought one day I’d meet someone and get married, the way people do, and then later children would come along. It wasn’t meant to be this way.’

They sat there without speaking for some moments, then Lydia brushed a few bits of grass from her skirt and said dully, ‘I should reckon the time’s getting on. I ought to get back home and get ready to leave. I must at least have a cup of tea with Father before I go. He’ll expect it.’

Evie put on her bonnet, and called out, ‘Come on, Hennie, let’s put on your hat.’ Then to Lydia: ‘When’ll you be down again?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll let you know.’

Evie nodded, the concern written in her face, ‘Oh, Lyddy, I wish there were something I could say. Something I could do to help you – to make things better – but – but there’s nothing.’

‘It’s all right.’ Lydia briefly closed her eyes in her anguish. ‘I must think of what to do. The best thing. But you’re right – before anything else I’ve got to write that letter.’

On the coach heading back from Capinfell to Merinville there was, apart from Lydia and an elderly grey-haired gentleman, a boisterous family of father, mother, and two young and spirited sons. The boys, and the parents who remonstrated with them, kept up a loud, noisy chatter continuously as the vehicle made its way along the road that wound between the meadows and cornfields, only slightly lessening their volume at intervals with the consumption of sandwiches and slices of cake. Although Lydia vaguely noticed that the old gentleman appeared at times to be somewhat put out by the disturbance, she herself was not. Keeping tight in her corner of the coach, she let it all go over her head; her mind was occupied with
more immediate things than the non-stop chatter of the boys and their parents.

As the coach jogged along, she thought back over her meeting with Evie, and she knew now, after their talk, that it was no good to keep on hoping. Her worst fears had been realised. She was going to have a baby, and that was the fact of the matter.

And of course, as Evie had said, she must write to Guy. She must put out of her mind the fact that he had not sent her one single word since his departure, and write and tell him of the situation. It was the only thing to do. He had to know. He had a right to know. He had to know – whether he wanted the information or not.

How would he react? She could not guess. She was sure of her feelings for him, but of his feelings for her she could not speak; she could only hope.

Mrs Obdermann met Lydia in the hall when she returned to Little Marsh Street, and asked her how her weekend had gone. Lydia replied that it had been very pleasant and that she had found her father in good health apart from his lingering cold. The landlady then said that supper would be ready soon, for which Lydia thanked her, though she had no appetite.

When the time came, Lydia sat in the dining room and tried to force the food into her mouth. Cold tongue it was, with potatoes in mayonnaise and a green salad. To follow came apple pie with custard. Lydia did what she could to make an impression on it all, but felt that she was less than successful. When she had finished, Mrs Obdermann looked with slight dismay at the amount left on the plates and said Oh, dear, she hoped that Miss Halley wasn’t sickening for something. Lydia apologised for not eating very much, and made the excuse that she had eaten dinner with her father, and also that the hot weather took her appetite away.

Soon afterwards, upstairs in her little room, she drew the chair up to the small table and pulled in front of her a writing pad and pen and ink.

With the lamp lit, and her pen poised over the paper she sat trying to decide what to write.

Eventually, after several aborted efforts, she set down:

15 Little Marsh Street
Redbury
Wiltshire
Sunday, 10th August 1890

Dear Guy,

I hope you are well. Today marks three weeks to the day since we last met. The following day you were travelling to Europe to see your father, and I have wondered so often how you are, and indeed, after the state of your father’s health. For I know you were desperately concerned about him, and could not wait to be with him and your mother, and give what support and comfort you could.

I am a little reluctant to write as I fear that you might have so many responsibilities and so much work to do that a letter would be a mere nuisance. I’m afraid I have no idea whether you are still in Italy or back in Redbury, but if you are still abroad I hope this letter will be forwarded to you. In any case, wherever you are when you receive this, I would like to ask you if you would drop me a line. Of course, ideally, I would love to see you. I will not go into it in a letter, but there is a matter of some urgency – some great urgency, in fact – that I must speak to you about. So please, do write me a line, and help to put at ease the mind of