Wait For the Dawn (34 page)

And always, since his return, at the back of his mind was Lydia.

He spent his days in his office at the newspaper, continuing to learn in his new role. So much responsibility had come to him in just a few short weeks, and he would go to bed at night with his brain teeming with the things he had to do, and lessons to be learned. There had been no word of Lydia, and no word from her either. It was as if she were some spirit that had briefly illuminated his life and then fled again, leaving only the faint shadow of where her presence had once been.

He could not live with the situation continuing as it was, however. He was not content to accept her having gone out of his life. Before long he had called at the house in Little Marsh Street, and there he had seen Mrs Obdermann. On enquiring for Lydia she had told him that the young lady was no longer lodging there, and that she had no idea where she might be. He could, she suggested, make enquiries at Seager’s department store, where Miss Halley
had been working, and might be working still for all she knew.

So he had gone to Seager’s, and eventually had spoken with someone in the employment office, who told him that Miss Halley had left the company some weeks before. No, the clerk added, they could not say where she had gone.

And so it had come down to his trip to Capinfell, and he had come here this Saturday afternoon to find her and, if possible, put his mind at rest.

Soon after entering the village of Capinfell, the cab-driver pulled his horse to a halt outside the premises of the local fly-driver. ‘This is the man who’ll know, sir,’ he said to Guy. ‘If’ e don’t I don’t reckon nobody will.’

After Guy had thanked him and paid him off he looked into the stable yard of the fly-proprietor’s house. There was no sign of anyone there, so he knocked on the door. It was opened after half a minute by a middle-aged woman wiping her hands on her apron. She looked at him questioningly. ‘Yes, sir?’

He was sorry to trouble her, he said, but did she know of a family named Halley residing in the village? She nodded at once, saying, ‘Oh yes, indeed, sir,’ and went on to describe the house and give him the address. Stepping into the entrance to the stable yard she stood and pointed off across the green. ‘I don’t know who as you’m wanting, sir,’ she added, ‘but I think it’s only Mr Halley’ isself biding there now. I think both’ is daughters have gone off.’

His heart sank a little at her last words, but he thanked her and set off across the green.

It took a very short time to get to the house, a humble-looking cottage at the end of a lane. The front door was reached via the side yard, and he stepped across the cobbles and rapped with the knocker.

At first there was no answer, and he began to fear that his journey had been for nothing, but then the door opened to reveal a man in his fifties with thick grey hair and steel-rimmed spectacles. He looked at Guy from top to toe and then said merely, ‘Sir?’ holding the door only half open, as if keeping it ready to close again at short notice.

‘I’m very sorry to disturb you, sir,’ Guy said, touching at his hat, ‘but would you be Mr Halley?’

‘And who wants to know, may I enquire?’ the other said.

‘My name is Anderson, Guy Anderson,’ Guy said. ‘I’ve come from Redbury this afternoon –’

‘Yes? And you wanted to see me?’ Mr Halley now opened the door a little wider.

‘Well, sir, in actual fact I’ve come in the hope of seeing Miss Lydia Halley. Your daughter, I believe, sir.’

A little pause. ‘That’s correct.’

‘I enquired for her at her past lodgings in Redbury, and also at Seager’s store where she used to work – but I was unlucky in finding her. So, I’ve come to Capinfell –’

‘And may I ask the nature of your business with my daughter?’

‘Well. . . I’m a friend. . .’

Halley nodded. ‘And what did you say your name is?’

‘Guy Anderson.’

‘Well, Mr Anderson, I’m afraid I’ve got to disappoint you. My daughter no longer lives at home. Neither of my daughters lives at home.’

Guy had been prepared for this by the woman at the fly station. ‘But – Miss Lydia,’ he said, ‘can you tell me where I can get in touch with her?’

‘She’s living in Merinville now,’ the answer came. ‘She’s married.’

Guy could scarcely believe he was hearing right. ‘Married. . .?’

‘She’s been married over a month now.’

Still Guy could hardly take it in. ‘Your daughter Lydia,’ he said. ‘You say she’s married?’

‘I told you, over a month.’ The door moved an inch under the man’s hand as he drew the interview to a close.

With a faint look of bewilderment on his face, Guy took a step back. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’ He turned and went back through the yard. Before he had gone two paces he heard the sound of the door closing behind him.

The days passed into the deeper days of autumn. It had been several weeks now since Lydia had last spoken to her father, in spite of the fact that she had written to him again. The estrangement from him preyed on her mind. She was well aware of his faults, his shortcomings as a parent, but she wanted something better than this – this silence between them that seemed to have no promise of an ending. Eventually she told Alfred that she would go and see him. She would go on a Saturday, she said, to Cremson’s, and wait for him at the factory gate, to meet him when he got out of work.

When the day came she arrived at the factory with ten minutes to spare. She did not stand in full view outside, for she did not want to be waylaid by encounters with well-meaning former workmates. So she stood off to the side, hidden from the gates behind the wall of a house. There she waited, her heart beating a little fast.

At last she heard the whistle issuing from the factory building that signalled one o’clock, when work ceased for the weekend. She moved forward to take in the open factory gate, and saw the first of the employees emerging. Eventually her father would have to pass this way as he went to catch the coach that would take him back to Capinfell. She stepped back again into the grey shadow of
the wall. The late October sun was pale and the breeze was unusually chill for the time of year. She drew the collar of her coat a little closer about her throat.

She watched the men and women streaming past her, their backs to her now from her vantage point, recognising several of those who had previously been her work-fellows. And then, after two or three minutes, her father walked past.

‘Father. . .?

As she called to him she stepped out into the street. He came to a halt some yards away and turned to the sound of her voice. She saw his mouth open as he almost framed her name, and then saw it close again, clamped shut, as if he could not bring himself to form a word.

‘Father. . .’ She moved towards him and came to a stop before him.

He spoke then. ‘What do you want?’ Frowning, no warmth, no affection in his face. Dressed all in black and grey, he wore his work-clothes, his trousers shabby, jacket a little frayed at the cuffs. Over his shoulder hung the old canvas and leather bag, scuffed and discoloured, that he had carried ever since she could remember. ‘What do you want?’ he said again.

‘Oh, Father – we – can we go somewhere and talk?’

‘Talk? Why? What for?’

‘Oh, please. I want to talk to you.’

‘I don’t know that there’s anything to talk about.’ He lifted a hand as if he would wave further words aside. ‘I’ve got to go and catch the coach.’

She moved a step closer to him. ‘Father, I need to talk to you.’ Still the factory workers moved past them, some calling out goodbyes to Mr Halley, and some also with words of greeting for Lydia herself. She acknowledged them briefly, with vague smiles and distracted hellos, and kept her eyes for the most part on her father’s face.

‘I’ve only got a minute,’ her father said. ‘What do you want?’

‘There’s something I have to tell you.’

‘Oh?’

She shook her head, and gave a little groan. ‘Oh, Father, not like this.’ She realised with dismay that they had never been able to talk properly. She had longed for it on many occasions, but it was not his way. Whether meaning to or not, he had never allowed his daughters to get too close. ‘Can’t we take a little walk?’ she said.

‘The coach won’t wait all day,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to get back. I’ve got things to do.’

‘Father,’ she said, a little note of passion in her voice, ‘don’t turn me away like this. I’ve come to tell you that – that I’m going to have a baby.’ She forced a smile that felt alien upon her mouth, reached out to him and grasped his upper arm. ‘You’re going to be a grandfather.’

He said nothing for a moment, and in the silence she thought for a split second that she could see the sudden glint of tears in his eyes, but then he was blinking and the shine was gone. Perhaps she had just imagined it. He shook his arm, only slightly, but it was enough to loosen her fragile hold, and she let her hand fall away. He hitched his bag more securely onto his shoulder. ‘Is that what you came to tell me?’ he said.

‘Aren’t you – aren’t you pleased? Aren’t you happy for me?’

Still he remained there, and she thought for a moment,
He’ll stay, he wants to hear what I’ve got to say
, but then he gave a shrug and took half a step away.

‘You should honour thy father,’ he said, and turned from her.

‘But – but, Father. . .’

He turned back to face her, just briefly, just long enough
to say, ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll miss the coach.’ Then he had swung about and was striding down the street.

She stood watching as he walked away and turned a corner out of sight.

After a little while she herself moved, and headed back through the outskirts of the town towards the market square. On another day she would have gone into the shop to see Alfred and talk with him for a while, customers permitting, and probably would have stayed on to help serve. Today, though, she wanted to be alone.

That evening when Alfred came home from the shop he found her sitting in the glow of the gas lamp with her sewing in her lap. He bent and kissed her cheek. Tinny, having greeted him enthusiastically, continued to wag his tail. Lydia set her sewing aside on the small table at her elbow and said as Alfred straightened, ‘I saw him. I saw my father.’ Alfred waited for her to go on. ‘I went to Cremson’s and waited outside the gates. I caught him as he came out.’

‘Oh? What happened?’

‘I told him – about the baby.’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘He didn’t want to know. He didn’t even want to talk to me. I was only with him for a minute, and then he was off again.’

‘Oh, dear.’ Alfred joined Lydia’s sigh with his own. ‘He’s still hurt that he didn’t know sooner about the wedding.’

‘It was a surprise for everybody, you and me included.’ Then, her rueful smile fading, she murmured, ‘Oh, but it does upset me so – this not talking. As I said, I was only with him for a minute, and then he was dashing off, to catch his ride to Capinfell. I thought, when I told him about the baby, that he’d come round, but no.’

‘He will. In time. Give it time.’

‘But it’s been weeks now – and he hasn’t answered any of my letters. Ryllis has heard from him, so it isn’t that he’s been incapacitated in any way.’

‘He won’t stay angry with you for ever,’ Alfred said. ‘What is his way? Is it to sulk? To hold a grudge?’

‘Not usually, no. He’s quick to anger – oh, more than you can imagine – and then usually it’s over.’

‘Well,’ Alfred said consolingly, ‘this time it’s taking a little longer, but things’ll be all right, you’ll see.’ Changing the subject he clapped his hands lightly – making Tinny look round in surprise and expectation – and said, ‘Anyway, what else have you done today?’

She began to tidy up her threads and needles as she answered. ‘I did a little crochet,’ she said, ‘and also I helped Mrs Starling in the kitchen.’ Mrs Starling was the resident cook/housekeeper – an ageing widow, faithful and conscientious, employed at Ranleigh House since the death of the first Mrs Canbrook. There was also a young daily maid, Alice, who came in from her home nearby. Lydia, since arriving at the house, had divided her time between helping in the management and cleaning of the place, and assisting Alfred in the shop, which business she was swiftly learning as the days went by. She could have taken over the running of the house herself, but after a brief discussion with Alfred the notion was scotched for the time being. There would come a time soon, Alfred insisted, with the arrival of the baby, when they would be even more glad of Mrs Starling’s services. So matters remained as they were, and Mrs Starling was left content to pursue her usual employment.

The marriage between Lydia and Alfred had of course been a great surprise to everyone who knew Alfred Canbrook, for many had believed that his widower status would continue. For one thing, they said among themselves, they had not even known that he and the young woman from Capinfell were walking out. A quiet man, he had given nothing away until he was ready for others to know, and then he had told Mrs Starling and his assistants
at the shop. Everything had happened so quickly, and he and Lydia had been wed. The swiftness of the move had been a subject for talk, and the gossip would not be over yet, for as soon as the baby was born, both Lydia and Alfred were well aware, the chatterers would start counting backwards.

‘Were you busy at the shop today?’ Lydia said after a moment.

‘Yes, very, and the new linens came in from Derby, so there was that to deal with as well. It still isn’t finished.’

‘I could have come along to help out,’ she said. ‘I could easily have done that after seeing Father.’

‘Oh, we managed all right,’ he said. ‘Besides, I want you to take things easy for now.’

‘But
you
don’t take things easy,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I think you work much too hard.’

‘I do what I have to do. It won’t get done otherwise. Besides, I’m not having a baby.’

As he spoke she reflected, not for the first time, on the long hours he worked, and how he drove himself. He would be up at five-thirty each morning, and before breakfast would take Tinny for a ten-minute stroll beside the river. Then, back at the house he would have his breakfast and, before leaving for the shop, would take Lydia tea in bed. Then, unless she decided to go into the shop during the day, she would not see him until after eight in the evening when he got back.