Wait For the Dawn (3 page)

‘What caused it?’

Mrs Halley did not answer, but just gazed wistfully off into the room.

‘There must be a reason,’ Lydia said.

Mrs Halley turned back to her and gave a deep sigh. ‘Well – of course much of it has to do with his work. So much of it.’

‘His work? What about it?’

Mrs Halley did not reply at once, but turned her head, listening for any sign of her husband coming in. Then she said, continuing in a whisper, ‘Well – I’m sure you must be aware that he – he’s a disappointed man. Very disappointed. He’s never achieved in life what he should have.’

‘But – but that happens to many people.’

‘I know that, my dear, but it affects some more than others. He certainly never achieved what he was capable of – and he had all the ability. Oh, he had that all right. He had the ability, but he didn’t really have the necessary chances. It’s not new, the situation, of course, but it’s none the less hard. He was from such a big family as you know, growing up in Hampshire – all those brothers and sisters. There was so little money, and nothing to spare to send any of them to college, no matter how bright they were, how deserving.’ Mrs Halley gave a deep sigh. ‘Not achieving your heart’s desire when you’re young is all right, for you think you have time to make up the loss, but as you get older it gets too late. It doesn’t matter if opportunity comes knocking – there just isn’t the time any more to take advantage of chances that might come by.’

Lydia stood in silence. Her mother had a soft voice, pleasant and low timbred. She had been born the daughter of a vicar and a governess, and her slightly more polished tones and grammar had set her a little apart from the other women in the village. They had also influenced Lydia and Ryllis in the way they spoke.

Now Mrs Halley went on, ‘I’m afraid nothing’s going to change for him now. He’ll stay at the factory, and carry on with his preaching in his spare time, and of course, it’s not enough for him. He’s watched other people make it higher, and he’s still where he is, with no chance of things changing. Don’t be too hard on him, Lydia.’ She picked up the cabbage from the table and absently picked off one of the outer leaves. ‘He’s a good man, at heart. Believe me, he is. He’s just so – terribly strict in his way – it’s how he was brought up, I’m afraid – and he has this dreadful – temper – that gets the better of him and flares up so. Afterwards he’s always so sorry. I was always so glad,’ she added, ‘that he’s never ever turned his anger on you.’

‘No, he’s never done that,’ Lydia said, ‘though he’s turned it on Ryllis on occasion. There’ve been times when I’ve seen him white with anger over something she’s said or done, and she’s never deserved it. Why her and you and not me?’

‘Oh, Lydia,’ Mrs Halley put her bruised head a little on one side, ‘surely you can see that where he’s concerned you can hardly do wrong.’ She set the cabbage down and picked up the knife. ‘Come on, my dear, let’s get on with dinner. Things could be a lot worse.’

Over the meal Mr Halley was kind and considerate, and continuing solicitous of his wife’s feelings. Expressing his satisfaction with the food, he gave her words of praise for the lamb and the roast potatoes and vowed that no other woman in the village could make a currant pudding that was half as good. Afterwards, when the dishes were being cleared away, he said, still guiltily not meeting anyone else’s eyes, ‘Emmie, the other day you were speaking of needing a new nightgown. Well, why don’t you get yourself a length of cotton next time you go into town? That would be nice, don’t you think? Perhaps Lydia will help
make it up for you. She’s so good with her needle.’ He turned to Lydia. ‘Or when you go to meet Amaryllis from the train, you could buy it then, from Canbrook’s. It’ll be on your way. Which reminds me, perhaps tomorrow you could take in your mother’s lamp for repair – and also get a new wick fitted while you’re about it. Drop it off at Hammondson’s, will you? They’ll do a good job. You could go there in your dinner break.’

The lamp he spoke of was much treasured, having been a present for him and his wife on their marriage. It was a colourful thing with a china base decorated with two or three delicately painted cherubs and a spray of roses. Unfortunately Mr Halley had accidentally given it a hard knock recently, and one of the cherubs and two of the rose petals had been broken off. He had tried to mend it himself, but with no success for his efforts, and now the broken pieces lay wrapped in a twist of newspaper in one of the kitchen drawers.

Now, as he finished speaking, he leaned across from his chair, picked up the damaged lamp from the top of a small bureau and brought it to the table. As he set it down before him he said, ‘Mr Hammondson’s elder son is excellent at this kind of repair work. He’ll do a good job – and probably not charge the earth.’ He looked up at his wife. ‘That’ll be nice, won’t it, Emmie? Get your little lamp repaired, and looking as good as new again.’

That afternoon, when the dinner dishes were washed and dried, and her father was resting in the front parlour in his favourite chair, Lydia got up from the kitchen table at which her mother sat with her mending.

‘I’m going to see Evie now,’ she said. ‘We’re going for a walk.’

‘That’s it, dear,’ Mrs Halley said, ‘Get some fresh air while the weather’s dry.’

‘You sure there’s nothing you want me to do?’

‘No, thank you. What time will you be back?’

‘I’ll only be an hour or so. It’ll be too cold to stay out for too long.’

Leaving the house in Cobbler’s Lane, Lydia made her way to Greenham Row, beyond the green. Reaching the third cottage along on the left-hand side she went round to the back and knocked on the door. It was opened almost immediately by Evie’s mother who stood with Evie’s three-year-old daughter Hennie at her side.

‘There you are, Lydia,’ Mrs Armstrong said. ‘Evie just’ as to get her bonnet and cape and she’ll be ready.’

Two minutes later Evie came out, tying up her bonnet strings, and the two young women started away.

At twenty-three, Evie was two years older than Lydia, and they had remained close friends since, as children, they had met in the local schoolhouse. Evie had been married but was now widowed. Her late husband, William, who had worked on a nearby farm, had died three-and-a-half years earlier, falling from the top of a hayrick and breaking his neck. He had been twenty-four years old. Evie’s daughter, Henrietta, had been born six months later. Now, living with her mother in the cottage, Evie earned her living working in the dairy of a nearby farm, while her mother took in washing and cared for Hennie at home.

Moving off side by side along the narrow lane, Lydia and Evie walked on the hard earth. Beyond the border of the hedgerow the fields of Wiltshire stretched out to the horizon. Up above, the sky was pale blue. To Lydia it felt as if all the countryside were waiting for spring.

‘It’s a beautiful day for a change,’ Evie said. ‘It does a body good to get out for a spell.’ She spoke with a slightly breathless air, in an accent somewhat broader than Lydia’s. She was a pretty girl, with reddish hair and a sprinkling of freckles on her nose and upper cheeks.

‘Was your mother too busy to come to church this morning?’ she asked after a moment.

Lydia hesitated. ‘Yes, she was. What with one thing and another.’

‘What did your father think of the sermon?’

‘Oh, Father would just like to be up there himself, and putting a little more passion into it. He’s much happier when he’s doing the preaching, rather than listening to somebody else. He doesn’t really approve of Mr Hepthaw – much too lukewarm for Father’s liking – but there, I think there are so many people my father doesn’t approve of.’

Evie smiled as she said, ‘Does he approve of your admirer?’

‘My admirer? What are you talking about?’

‘You know what I’m talking about. Mr Canbrook.’

Lydia laughed loudly, hooting out into the clear air. ‘Mr Canbrook, my admirer! What nonsense.’

Evie laughed along with her. ‘Maybe nonsense to you, but I don’t think it’s nonsense as far as Mr Canbrook is concerned.’

‘Evie, he’s older than my father. I’m sure he is.’

‘Ah, but his age apart, I think there are many who reckon he’d be a good catch.’

‘For who? Not for me.’

‘You’re too fussy by half. He’s got a good business going. That nice family drapers. Whoever married him would never want for anything. It’s several years now since his wife died, and I reckon he’s thinking it’s about time he got married again.’

‘Well, we’ll have to wait and see who’s the lucky lady.’ Lydia smiled. ‘What makes you say he’s after me?’

‘Well, he somehow always manages to be where you are. Look at the way he is in his shop. The few times I’ve been in there with you, he always manages to be the one to serve you. He’s just so attentive. And then there’s your coming
out of church and finding him there, like this morning. I mean, his coming all the way over to Capinfell. And he’s done it more than once.’

‘He was here on business. He said so.’

‘Even so. I saw him there on the green after church, making a straight line for you. I wonder he doesn’t start going to church himself so that he can sit next to you in the pew.’

‘Enough, enough,’ Lydia said, laughing. Although she joked about the matter, she was aware of Mr Canbrook’s interest in her. The way he smiled at her, the way he caught her eyes in his glance when he could. It was not something she would wish to encourage.

Lifting her arms, she spread them out into the bright air and said, ‘Oh, I do like this part of Sunday, when all the work is over.’

‘Yes,’ Evie said. ‘To work all the other days of the week is just too much.’ Then she added, slyly smiling, ‘Though some people have it easier than others.’

‘I work hard in the office,’ Lydia said.

‘Really?’ Evie grinned, ‘Well, if you tell me so.’ She sighed. ‘Sometimes I think I might have liked an office position too.’

‘It was Father’s idea,’ Lydia said. ‘It was his idea for me to go on the staff.’

‘Why not your Ryllis as well? Was he content for her to go away from home, into service? I s’pose he must have been.’

‘I don’t know,’ Lydia said. Then after a moment she added, ‘Sometimes I think I could almost envy our Ryllis.’

‘What? Being in service?’

‘No, being away from here.’

‘You mean you want a different job?’

‘It isn’t just Cremson’s.’

‘Then what? Are you talking about Capinfell?’

Lydia dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. ‘Oh, there’s nothing wrong with Capinfell.’

‘Then what?’

Lydia looked off into the bare branches of the trees. ‘It’s partly to do with Father,’ she said at last.

‘Is he ill?’

‘Ill! He’s never ill. No, it’s not that.’

Evie remained silent. After a few moments Lydia said:

‘He – he mistreats my mother. It happened again last night. Oh, he gets in such rages. This morning her cheek is swollen. That’s why she didn’t go with us to church.’

Evie said after a moment, ‘And this has happened before?’

‘Yes – I’m sorry to say it has.’

‘Oh, Lyddy, I had no idea. How terrible.’

‘Yes. Yes, it is.’

Evie was silent for a second, then she gave a little nod of realisation. ‘Yes,’ she breathed, ‘of course. Now I see.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘I remember now. I remember once I called round for you and saw your mother with her eye blacked – and it happened on another occasion too: I remember she gave some story of having had an accident. Of course I was too young to question it. I had no idea of the truth.’

‘Oh, Evie,’ Lydia said, ‘you must never breathe a word. Promise me you won’t.’

‘Of course. Of course.’

‘The terrible shame of it, if it should ever be known. Oh, how can my father be like that? Those folk who go to hear him preach – they’ve got no idea.’ Feeling tears threatening, Lydia took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. ‘I can’t bear to see my mother suffer like this.’

‘Has he ever been like that – violent – to you?’

‘Never. I don’t think he’d do anything to harm me. Oh, he’s flown into rages with Ryllis at times, and on occasions
he’s struck her – though nothing serious, not like with Mother.’ She paused briefly then added, ‘Sometimes I just feel I need to get away from it all.’

‘Do you really think you might – leave?’ Evie said after a moment.

Lydia nodded. ‘I’d like to. I’ve been looking at advertisements in the papers, in the classified columns. There are interesting-looking positions all over the place, work I’m sure I could do. At Seager’s in Redbury, for instance. They’re often advertising. They have so many places on their staff they’re always wanting someone or other. I could possibly get a position there.’ She put her hands up to her face, frowning. ‘I just feel the need to get away, and what is there for me in Capinfell? It’s a decent enough place, but I’ve got nothing here. I can see no future here at all.’

‘What on earth would your father do – if you left?’

‘I don’t know. Anyway, it’s only a dream. I can’t go anywhere. I can’t go and leave my mother. At times I think I’m the only kind of support she has.’

The next morning when she took the coach into Merinville with her father for her day’s work at Cremson’s, Lydia carried with her the damaged lamp, along with the broken pieces of the cherub and the rose petals. Later, during the dinner break at one o’clock, she hurried from the factory gates to the ironmonger’s in the square. There she talked to the elder of the two Hammondson sons – he had a reputation for being artistic – and showed him the lamp base and the broken pieces. She was pleased to hear him say that he could make a good job of a repair. It would be ready for collection, he said, at the end of the week.

In the same row of shops alongside the square was that belonging to Mr Canbrook, where he worked behind the counter of his family draper’s, helped by his assistants, and here Lydia went for the fabric for her mother’s nightgown. To her great relief, she saw at once on entering the shop that Mr Canbrook was absent. She made her purchase fairly quickly, and was glad to find that her business had concluded and he had still not made an appearance. With the length of cotton wrapped up and stowed away in her basket, she left the shop to start on her short journey back to the factory.