Fragile Blossoms (33 page)

*

Daniel is sitting in a pew in the Trinity Church, Port Elizabeth, eating a cheese sandwich and chugging on a jug of apple cider. The Pretoria newsman told him of this place. He said they had a willing clergy and a generous congregation, and that he went there whenever he needed a rest. He said ‘if you’re lucky you get a blessing from the Lord, a ham sandwich and a jug of cider.’

Daniel was lucky. He got cider, a sandwich, and Miss Dobson.

Miss Dobson is all fired up. It seems she’s acquired transport to deliver aid to the camps. ‘I’ve got railway trucks.’

‘How the heck did you do that?’

‘I jogged the family elbow back home and got help from Sir Robert Peel.’

‘And you got railway trucks?’

‘And several tons of supplies which I mean to distribute.’

‘You have a useful elbow.’

Mona smiled her freckles wrinkling. ‘My family is a busy family. My grandfather is Permanent Under-Secretary at the Home Office, my father an Archdeacon, and my aunt is married to the British High Commissioner.’

‘Busy indeed!’

‘There are forty or more prison camps here, Mr Masson. We need to be busy. From what I hear the camp at Bloemfontein is as far as we’ll be allowed to travel. It’s not much but it is a start.’

‘Isn’t that rather dangerous?’

‘Not so very much. We travel under a flag of truce and should be safe.’

Daniel made no comment, his thought being the guy from Pretoria News probably thought the same thing. ‘How many are you?’

‘Do you mean helpers?’

‘Yes.’

‘There are eight of us, my friend Mary Osborne and six other Baptist people.’

‘Do you have armed escorts?’

‘No and we don’t need them. The supplies are meant for refugees, for farmer’s wives and children, not for the rebels. No one will fire on us. The word has gone out.’

‘Let’s hope for your sake the word has been heard. A fellow was shot only couple of days ago. He was a newsman not a mercenary. If the word went out about him the guerrillas sure weren’t listening.’

Mona regarded him. ‘Mr Masson the word I am referring to is prayer. I promise you that will be heard no matter where we are.’

Daniel’s stomach contracted. What a woman! Tight riding britches, freckles and an evangelical soul is an alluring combination. ‘So what are your thoughts about hangers on? I mean, how do you feel about me coming with you?’

‘In what capacity?’

‘A helper?’

‘Why would you want to help?’

‘Why not? I’m bound to see things that need seeing.’

‘Would you be prepared to help give out supplies?’

‘Sure, why not.’

‘And what about cooking and washing?’

‘Washing? What cooking pots and so on?’

‘No bodies, arms and legs and other parts of the anatomy. People that are sick, people with Typhoid and other infections, need washing. They can’t do it themselves. Are you prepared to roll up your sleeves?’

‘Washing sickly bodies is hardly my remit.’

‘What is your remit?’

Daniel shrugged. ‘Until today it was to get news from where news it most likely to be got and to get it posted so the world can read it.’

‘Then it’s time you did something more worthwhile.’ She walked away. ‘We leave tomorrow at dawn. We could use a strong pair hands but the right hands, hands that don’t mind dealing in dirt. For hands like that we’d have a Great-and-Godly use. Slack hands are no use to us. It’s like life, Mr Masson. You can’t come along for the ride. You have to be part of it to live it.’

It was warm in the church flies buzzing. Daniel was sick of dirt and heat. He’d seen enough to last a lifetime. Time is getting on. He should do what he came to do, put the letter in the post and book the first available berth back to England. If he catches the next boat he’ll be back in time for Christmas.

Right now it’s cold in England, snow on the ground, icicles hanging from the trees, and Julianna’s cool beauty never given to ardour. The envelope rustled in his pocket reminding him that once posted there’s no turning back. A ship is due to leave that will take the letter and what it means. When he returns to British soil it will be to an answer ready and waiting. On the other hand if he hesitates he won’t get home in time for Christmas and Callie will be alone.

Daniel thought of his mother and her endless struggles. He thought of Greenfields, that miserable house with leaky roof and rotten plumbing. Then there’s the holiday programme that like death and taxes inevitably lies ahead, the pre-Christmas Lunch at Sandringham with HRH, the visit to his cousins the Warwicks, the food and the cigars, the heaving tables and port to be passed, the heehawing and the shuffling, the grinning and the interminable waltzes, the bowing and the shaking of hands, and the whole weary business.

God, how dull it all sounds. He remembered the Pretoria news-man whose name he thinks may have been Jack. He thought of the way the bullet parted the air, the snap of light and Jack’s body sagging, and those sad fists clutching his shirt. It could have been Daniel, six inches either-way and it would be him trussed up the hold of a steam ship along with sides of lamb.

He thought of Jack’s little boy who never got to decorate the Christmas Tree. In Norfolk there’s Matty. There’ll be a fir tree in the cottage and in Greenfields which he and Matty might decorate, but then Matty already has a Pa who though not living may as well be. Must Daniel be a substitute father as well as a lover?’

If he stays here it’ll be hardtack and sleeping in bivouacs. There’ll be guerrillas who want to kill him and refugees with typhoid looking to do the same. It will be hardly the jolliest or most comfortable of holidays.

Mona Dobson is leaving. She drives her pony cart by the church. That’s some woman. She handles the cart well. She has strong hands, Godly hands as she said, and hands that so inclined would make a man stretch with pleasure.

She’s not exactly beautiful but she has nice eyes and the thought of riding gunshot on a train about the Transvaal sounds like it could be fun, and as Callie pointed out recently they have don’t have much fun nowadays.

Heads to stay and tails to go he tossed a coin.

It flipped up in the air. When it hit the ground he didn’t bother looking. He left it where it was and crumpling the letter to Julianna dropped it under the seat.

Saturday Julia called on the Carmody cottage for news of Joe. She knocked on the door. It opened and Bertha, his wife, peered out. ‘Oh, it’s you, Mrs Dryden,’ she said her tone colder than the snow. ‘You’re up and about early.’

‘I hope it’s not inconvenient to call. I wanted news of Joe.’

‘He’s no better. I put a poultice on his chest but he’s up there wheezing. It’s his own fault. The silly beggar was up half the night fiddling with the tree.’

‘What do the doctors say?’

‘We haven’t called any. Joe said not to fuss.’

‘Is that wise?’

‘That’s Joe. Wise or not he’s made up his mind.’

‘Oh right. We’ve brought a few things, haven’t we, Maggie? We thought it might help at such a busy time.’

Maggie Jeffers thrust the basket forward. ‘There’s a goose I helped pluck and a puddin’ boilin’ all night and mince pies as we sell in the Nanny.’

Bertha Carmody peered into the basket but made no effort to take it.

‘Bertha!’ Joe, his voice cracked from coughing, called down the stairs. ‘Where’s your manners woman? What you doin’ keepin’ madam on the door step?’

The door was cracked wider but with no real enthusiasm.

‘No need!’ Julia was embarrassed. ‘You’re busy.’

Mrs Carmody folded her arms. ‘I do have a lot to manage at the moment. Joe’s always complaining of one ailment or other but never really ill until now.’

‘Then perhaps he ought to see a doctor if only for an opinion.’

‘If you mean your German doctor I doubt we could afford him.’

‘My German doctor?’

Maggie poked her head forward. ‘She means Doctor Adelman, madam, him as doctors the Queen. She’s saying they can’t afford him.’

‘Bertha what’s goin’ on?’ Joe shouted down again. ‘Quit gabbin’ and bring madam in. And tell that Maggie Jeffers to mind her manners talkin’ of her betters in that way! She wouldn’t dare do it if I were up and about!’

Mrs Carmody gestured. ‘Might I invite you in for a cup of tea?’

‘Thank you no.’ Julia stepped back. ‘Matty’s in the Nativity play this afternoon at Greenfields and I’m in rather a rush.’

‘So I heard. I would have liked to have seen it but not with Joe poorly.’

‘The whole of Bakers is invited,’ said Maggie. ‘My sister Flora’s girl is an angel and Matty is a Wise Man. He’s to wear a turban and ride a camel.’

Julia sighed. ‘Matty is a shepherd and is to carry a lamb.’

‘Does he have much to say?’ said Bertha, ‘him and his poorly voice?’

‘He has eight words, ‘I bring you a lamb, Dear Baby Jesus.’’

‘Well that’s nice. Joe will be disappointed to miss it.’

‘Perhaps Matty could drop by tomorrow and tell him how it went.’

‘No thank you. Our Clifford is coming from Norwich with his wife and kiddies. I’ll be busy with them and won’t have time.’

Maggie was still poking about in the basket. ‘Look!’ she said. ‘Mrs Mac has made bramble jelly. Joe likes bramble jelly.’

Mrs Carmody snatched the basket. ‘It’s
Mr
Carmody to you, Margaret Jeffers! You need to mind your manners! You’ve far too much to say for yourself which might be alright for some around here but doesn’t wash with me!’

Julia thought it time to move on. ‘You’ll find a gift in there for Mr Carmody in appreciation of his work and there’s something too from Matty. Do please give him our love and tell him to get well. We can’t manage without him.’

‘You might have to manage.’ Mrs Carmody’s face was harsh in the morning light. ‘Joe’s not as young as he was and must be stopped going out in all weather. I’ve tried telling him but he won’t listen. Maybe if you do he will.’

Bang the door slammed!

Maggie sucked her teeth. ‘Not very friendly is she, madam.’

‘I imagine she has a lot on her mind.’

‘Is Joe going to die?’

‘Mr Carmody has bronchitis. I hope there’s no need for anyone to die.’

They walked further and then Maggie coughed. ‘She blames you for him bein’ ill. She says he’s never home. He’s always lookin’ to your interests.’

‘What? She said that?’

‘No but it’s in her head. She thinks it’ll be your fault if he dies.’

‘Good God, Maggie, how can you say such a thing?’

‘It’s what she’s thinkin’, madam, as plain as day. And if he does die it’ll be what the whole village is thinkin’.

Julia pushed on toward the churchyard. There’s nothing she could do about Joe until the New Year but when he does come back to work, if he comes back, there’ll be changes. Mrs Carmody may have been brusque but she has a point.

It was bitterly cold. It had snowed heavily overnight drifts backed up along the High Street. Men were busy clearing the paths but it was still hard going.

Maggie was red-faced and panting. ‘Are we to call at the Nelson?’

‘I hadn’t planned to.’

‘We’ve parcels for them.’

‘Yes but they are to be posted.’

‘But that’s a waste of stamps!’

‘Is your concern for stamps, Maggie, or more about seeing the boot boy?’

Maggie tossed her head. ‘Not at all, madam, I was thinkin’ of you.’ When they got to the churchyard she hung back. ‘I ain’t goin’ in there. I don’t like walkin’ on graves. All them dead faces starin’ up.’

‘Then you may as well go.’ Julia held out a package. ‘And take this with you.’

‘What is it?’ Maggie flew in through the gate.

‘It’s the blue ribbons you wanted, the marrying ribbons. You could wear them tonight with your boot boy and see if they help move things along.’

Maggie rushed away. She is to stay with her mother over Christmas, thank the Lord. The tea shop closed and Mrs Mac and Leah on their way to Dorset that just leaves Dorothy Manners, a nice quiet girl, and hopefully peace on earth and good will to all men.

‘Hallelujah!’

Susan’s grave is on the far side of the churchyard, not exactly beyond the boundary but close enough to appease St Bedes Good Wives. The grave has lately had a visitor boot marks in the snow and a circlet off flowers crowning a marble cherub’s head. Stefan bought the monument. ‘A cherub guards my son in the Adelman vault. God willing we shall one day all be together as will this little family.’ The cherub guards the grave. Wings drooping and baby rabbit under his arm he kneels in tender care his crown of roses a beacon through the snow. A card hangs from a ribbon the ink smudged but the words legible, Evie’s handwriting, ‘
Sleep in peace Susan. May the Lord watch over you.
’

Freddie’s involvement in the tragedy is known throughout Norfolk. Everyone discusses it, all are shocked but apparently none surprised. ‘I’m not surprised,’ Mrs Mac was heard to say to Leah. ‘They are gentry and artistic. They do what they like and they get away with it.’ Recalling Freddie at the séance, staring eyes and trembling mouth, Julia doubted he’d got away with anything.

It’s been a strange week and one she’d sooner not go through again. The Nativity Play is a trial for Matty. When he said he was to play a shepherd Julia had reservations. ‘I can do it Mumma,’ he’d said. ‘It’s easy.’

‘What will you have to say?’

‘I bring you a lamb, Dear Baby Jesus.’

‘Oh that’s not so bad. In fact that’s rather nice.’ It wasn’t nice. Every Sunday morning Matty goes go to church happy but returns pale and worried.

‘What is it, dear heart? Don’t you like being a shepherd?’

He’d shake his head. ‘Don’t like it.’

‘Then what about being a cow? All they do is moo .You could let someone else be a shepherd.’ He shakes his head. It’s the knitted Lamb. It was Owen’s Lamb. His Mama made it and Owen wouldn’t be parted from it. Matty is the same. It sits on his bed all day and is only ever held by Matty. Kaiser is allowed to carry it in his mouth hence the Lamb is a rather grubby grey.

‘Let’s not worry about being in the Play,’ Julia then suggested. ‘Let’s just watch.’ That didn’t work. It seems Matty had promised the Lamb.

‘I said he would meet Baby Jesus and he wants to meet Him.’

It was the dratted words. He practices all the time, ‘I bring you a Lamb Dear Baby Jesus.’ He’s only to misplace one word to start all over again. Anxious, Julia spoke to Miss Perkins, the teacher who was sympathetic but had ‘a lot on her mind at the moment and would be glad if Matthew’s mother would please sort it out.’ Short of a miracle Julia knows it will end it tears but promised to be in the audience. ‘In fact,’ she’d said, ‘when it’s over we’ll have a party, you, me, Kaiser and the Lamb. We’ll spread cushions on the floor and toast bread.’ Bread blackened by fire and thick with butter is to Matty the height of decadence and so he said he’d do his part.

Julia laid the wreath on the grave, said a prayer, and asked Susan to watch over Matty this afternoon. ‘Because he is a good little boy and so wants to please Jesus.’

The wreath laid she hurried on to the post-office. So many packages! She’s already sent to Germany. She didn’t know what to buy but settled on a blue cashmere scarf for Stefan and a rose-coloured shawl for Karoline. So far she’s not had a reply and suspects Stefan finding it hard. Recalling her struggles with father, the sheer physicality of it, the pulling and lifting and every night she’d go to bed exhausted, nursing the mentally ill tests the soul.

Packages for sisters Charlotte and May were posted last week along with Greenfields, a bottle of lavender-water for Callie and a book on Christina Rossetti for Daniel. He is another slow to reply to mail but then he’s miles away. Three times last week Callie enquired at the cottage, ‘has Julia heard from South Africa.’ Callie suspects he’ll not be home for Christmas and says it’ll be the first time ever, that even when he was in China he’d made it home for the holiday. Her parting shot, Julia again the villain, was that ‘
had he expected a warmer welcome from England he would’ve returned
.’

The Nelson packages were last to post. Silly really, as Maggie said they could be hand delivered, but there you are, one is brought up to behave in a certain way and can’t get beyond it...and it is rumoured Luke Roberts is home.

Nan Roberts is happy. Luke is home. He’s not staying at the Nelson. He’s dug into his house on Fairy Common but at least he’ll be sharing Christmas lunch.

He is here now leaning against the dresser gnawing a chicken drumstick.

Nan slapped his hand. ‘That’s enough of that. They’re for the public bar and folks that pay our wages not cheeky sons. Look at all that snow!’ She peered through the window. ‘If the forecast is right there’s more to come!’

Luke took another drumstick. ‘And you’ll be snowbound and the public bar empty so I may as well have another of these. Which reminds me,’ he turned to Albert. ‘Did your lads look to lagging the pipes in the Harrogate place?’

‘They did.’

‘Well done. The last thing we want is burst pipes on a newly carpeted floor. And the Derbyshire House, did you manage to check the boiler?’

Albert nodded.

‘And is that alright no problems with the motor?’

‘It’s as I said the last time you asked it’s runnin’ smooth as clockwork. For heaven’s sake, lad, do yourself and me a favour and settle down. It’s Christmas and we’re supposed to be on holiday.’

‘Talking of lagging pipes,’ said Nan, ‘are you warm in that house of yours? I popped in the other day to do a bit of tidying and thought how cold it was. No colour and hardly any furniture, you live like a hermit.’

‘Some hermit!’ Albert yawned. ‘He owns half of Manchester. A chippie the other day called him Mister Rockefeller.’

Luke laughed. ‘And does he know who Rockefeller is?’

‘I doubt it but you’d best be careful. Don’t climb to high. You know how folks do like to bring a man down.’

‘I’d like to see ‘em try!’ said Nan. ‘I’m glad he makes his money work for him. He works hard enough. I just feel his position should be reflected in his house.’

‘And what position is that?’ said Luke.

‘A successful man.’

‘And does a successful man require more furniture?’

‘He does! He wants Aubusson rugs on the floor and linen sheets on his bed. He wants fashion and colour and mirrors that light up the room.’

‘I have linen sheets on the bed and I a sheepskin before the fire. That’ll do for now.’ Luke pushed away from the dresser. ‘I’m going out to look at Betty and taking a currycomb with me. Her coat is rough and her tail full of burrs.’

‘That’s not my concern. I am busy enough without worryin’ about a horse.’

‘Too busy to care for an old and faithful friend?’

‘I’m never too busy for that but since you’ve been away Betty is the pot boy’s job. I told him the other day to attend to her.’

‘Well he’s not doing it right. Best leave her alone. If he can’t be trusted to do it right I’ll find someone who can.’ That led to a spat, mother saying he’s a fine one to talk of not caring him and Albert always away; if it wasn’t for the public bar she’d have no one to talk to. Luke swept her up in a hug whereupon she boxed his ears and said to put her down, he was busting her ribs.

Christmas this year has come with a sudden rush. Luke went home to change. There’s a bit of do later this afternoon at the Big House. The children of St Bedes are putting on a Nativity Play. They’ve done it for the church and are to repeat the performance. Augustus Simpkin, newly elected Mayor, and other of Bakers more illustrious people are invited to watch and share a cup of punch. Nan received an invitation as had Luke. Nan puts her invite down to having taken tea with the Prince of Wales. Luke thinks it is because Greenfields’s roof is leaking. Earlier this year Daniel Masson suggested A Roberts & Sons might put in a tender for a complete overhaul. Overloaded with work and not that keen to work for Mr Masson Luke said he wouldn’t be able to do anything until the end of 1901. The old lady started calling on the phone and leaving messages to whit she’s a defenceless woman in need of help. A fortnight of that, and weather permitting, the roof on both the North and West Wing is the next job. ‘And when you’ve done that, dear Mr Roberts, perhaps you’ll take a look at the plumbing,’ she said when he visited. ‘I’ve heard good things about you. I know you’ll not let me down.’