The Captain's Daughter (28 page)

The nurse pointed to a woman slouched over a table, working her fingers at something. She didn’t look up when the nurse announced, ‘You’ve got visitors again, Mrs Smith.’

‘May?’ enquired Canon Forester. ‘How are you today?’

There was no response. She seemed lost in her lace weaving. ‘I’ve brought someone to see you. Look, do you recognize who it is?’ The canon touched her shoulder, smiling. Celeste stepped forward trying not to look shocked at how pale and thin and aged May had become. She could have passed this woman in the street and not recognized her. Gone was the feisty May who, from her father’s account, had taken no nonsense from Grover on his visit and stood her ground against a bully.

‘May . . . it’s me, your friend, Celeste, back home from America for good.’

May turned her head, staring, not recognizing her at first and then when she had, she covered her eyes with her hands. ‘I’m sorry, who are you?’

‘I’m Celeste, your pen pal from the States, your friend.’

‘My daughter turned up on my doorstep without a word of warning. It’s so lovely after all these years. Doesn’t she look well? And I have a grandson, so high.’ Canon Forester lifted his hand to indicate Roddy’s height but Celeste could see May was not listening.

There was a strange blankness to her features, deep furrowed lines on her brow. How could this be the same woman who had written such lively letters, who’d boxed Florrie Jessup’s ears? What had gone so very wrong for her?

She was staring at them, still trying to focus on their faces. ‘It was a long time ago. I forget so. I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey,’ she replied, turning back to her bobbins and cottons as if her visitors’ presence was not her concern.

‘Of course, I should come to say thanks to you for all you did.’ Celeste sat down, forcing herself on her friend again. ‘You redirected my letters, cheered me up when I was low. Now I’m here to help you get better. We’ve so much to catch up on.’

‘I’m not good company, ma’am. I don’t deserve to get better.’ She turned her back on them again, but Celeste was not going to give up easily.

‘Then let’s help you get better. Is there anything you’d like us to bring? Don’t worry about your daughter. She’s being looked after. I saw her myself only yesterday. She’s a credit to you. We’re going to take her out for a day to meet my son, Roddy. He’s longing to meet her.’

‘She’s not my daughter.’

‘Of course she is. What put that idea in your head?’

‘I’m not her true mother. I’m not fit to be her mother.’ May started weeping and a nurse stepped forward.

‘I’m afraid I did warn you . . . not a good day. She gets these ideas in her head. The doctors are doing what they can.’

‘But it’s all poppycock. I saw the baby in her arms in the lifeboat . . . We were shipwrecked together. That’s how we met. I owe her so much. She’s an excellent mother. This is terrible . . . what can we do?’ Celeste wanted to weep at the sight of the broken woman. She reminded her of some of the force-fed victims in the suffrage campaign, broken by the torture and sense of failure that they’d felt in swallowing food to survive.

‘Time will heal her, Celeste. She needs rest now.’ Her father touched her shoulder. ‘The mind is a mystery. Some of our college students are much changed after the war, some have lost faith, others have had to go into retreat away from alcohol and substances. War is much more than buildings and machinery and bodies destroyed. I’m sure May will heal. She’s in my prayers every night. We’d better go now. I think we’re upsetting her.’

Celeste was not so ready to leave. ‘Has she seen her daughter yet?’ she asked. ‘That might shake her out of this dream world she’s in and bring her back into real life.’

‘Children don’t visit. It’s not advisable. It only upsets the patient more, in my experience,’ the nurse replied briskly.

As they walked down the long tiled corridor Celeste shivered at the sight of so many shuffling people lost in their own worlds. She’d heard about these places and this was better than most, being bright, airy, clean and spacious, but it was also cold and clinical, so vast in size, without any feeling of home. How could May get better in such a place, cut off from everyday life? Not to see her child, to deny she was her mother was madness indeed. What had put that idea into her head? She looked so muddled, so distant, lost in her own fantasy. Her eyes were like those of a dead fish on a slab, glazed, blank, her hair stringy and greasy. Her dress hung off her shoulders. How did she come to be so hopeless and lifeless, like an empty shell?

Had May survived their ordeal on the
Titanic
just to end up this shadow of her former self, making her daughter an orphan? There must be something she could do to bring her back to life, give her something to live for.

She recalled what Archie McAdam had said, how he’d survived that torpedoed ship, clinging to the lifebuoy, knowing they had only hours to live. How he’d made everyone sing songs and hymns, telling the men stories and jokes and making them picture all their families at home, telling them how they must get back there and keep awake. ‘I just refused to give up,’ he’d said, smiling that grizzled grin, his eyes brimful of life. They’d received a letter already with his new address and as soon as she’d opened it, Celeste knew she’d reply.

Life goes forward not backwards. She didn’t want to think about her Akron days now. Would she have ended up in one of these places if she’d not escaped from Grover?

She’d kept going forward, relieved to be home amongst the familiar once more. May must be helped to move forward out of this terrible pit of gloom. What was it all about? She was going to have to find out more.

Now they were settled back with Selwyn at Red House near Streethay, camping in the rambling old place, crammed full of family furniture and clutter. His temporary housekeeper had given notice, saying the work was too much for her, leaving Mrs Allen, the daily help, to cope alone, and Celeste could make herself useful there for the moment. It was a ridiculous redbrick three-storey house with eight bedrooms. An old farmhouse off the old road to Burton on Trent, it was in need of repair. It looked like a doll’s house in shape but needed a good cleaning from top to bottom and was far too big for a single man.

Selwyn accepted Celeste and Roddy needed a roof over their heads, and he’d not asked too many questions or pried into what went wrong with her marriage. That was some relief. She was too ashamed to tell anyone her business, not even her father, who she caught staring at her with concern.

‘Are you all right, child? I’m afraid May is really quite sick, much worse than I thought,’ he sighed. ‘Such a shame, and that poor girl, all alone in the world.’

For all her father was frail and forgetful he was a good judge of his children. He’d refused to come and live with them in Selwyn’s barn of a house. He realized they needed their space. Now he sighed as he surveyed the gardens of the asylum from a bench. ‘I’m afraid I’ve landed you right in this. I’m sorry.’

‘What for? May stood by me for years. I’m not letting her rot in here,’ Celeste replied. ‘She will get better, won’t she?’

‘That’s in Greater Hands than ours. We’ll do what we can and trust to providence.’

‘I wish I had your faith, Papa . . .’

‘I’m old and I can look back and see patterns in life, turning points, roads not taken. You’ve had a hard struggle but one bad mistake needn’t ruin the rest of your life, child. You need time to heal too, and where better than with your own kind?’

‘May has no one . . .’

‘She has Ella, she has friends and she has you. She’s thrice blessed,’ he whispered.

Celeste stared out at the pristine lawns where a man was gathering up fallen leaves into a wheelbarrow and another patient was clipping hedges. Life was so complicated. Her return hadn’t quite turned out as she’d imagined. Had she struggled all this time to untangle one strand of her life only to find herself picking up the threads here? She was in danger of making even more knots.

Ella told Mrs Perrings she was going into town, but caught the bus to Burntwood at the Market Square. She’d got enough pennies for the fare and in her shopping bag were the drawings she’d done for a present. She asked around enough to know just how to find the hospital, but when she got off the bus and walked the last bit of the country lane, the sight of such an enormous building made her gulp. How would she find her mum in there? It was like a castle with a tower and windows with bars across them.

There were signs everywhere: ‘Main Entrance’ was what she was looking for as she scurried past the lodge and the gates, and down the tree-lined drive. There were lawns and a park. It was like visiting a great mansion. She tried to look inconspicuous, but it wasn’t long before a man stopped her path.

‘You can’t go in there! No kiddies allowed,’ he said.

‘But I want to see my mum,’ Ella replied, holding out her bag.

‘I’m sure you do but it’s not a place for children.’

‘I want to see my mum,’ she began to cry. ‘I haven’t seen her for two weeks and I’ve written to her. And I know she wants to see me.’ The sight of a child in tears had the desired effect.

‘Now, love, don’t cry . . . I’m sure she understands, but rules is rules.’

‘But I’ve brought her some pictures.’ Ella was beginning to panic. Why was he stopping her? The groundsman turned her round, pointing her in the direction of the road. Ella began to howl so loudly that people passing stopped and wondered what was happening. An old man in black moved forward to ask but through her tears she didn’t recognize him.

‘Ella . . . Ella Smith? Oh, my dear, what’re you doing here?’ He turned to the red-haired lady from America, who’d called after school with a lovely musical box.

The lady smiled. ‘Oh my goodness! Ella, how did you get here on your own?’ She stepped forward to comfort her but Ella was having none of it.

‘I want my mum. She’s in there,’ she cried, pointing to the hospital.

The groundsman gripped her hand. ‘Now stop this fuss, you’ll get me into trouble! You know this kid? Tell her she can’t go in.’

‘She’s come all this way on her own. Surely something can be done . . . It’s cruel not to let her see her own mother. Mrs Smith needs to know she is safe.’ Her mum’s friend was trying to help. ‘Father, we’ll have to go back. Just stay here.’ The lady darted back up the drive while the canon found a hanky for Ella to blow her nose on.

‘They’re being very kind to her here. She’s having a long rest and needs to be kept quiet, but don’t worry . . . she’s safe.’

Ella had always liked Canon Forester. He fished in his pocket and brought out a wrapped sweet. ‘It’s only a cough drop. My daughter will see what she can do . . . If anyone can bend the rules she’ll find a way.’

Ella blinked back tears, nodding. ‘She brought me a present yesterday.’

‘That sounds like Celeste; I still can’t believe she’s come back to us . . . Look, she’s waving us to come up and see . . . I told you, Celeste can work miracles, so dry your eyes and give me your hand. Slowly, don’t rush.’

Ella was dying to push ahead, hoping to see her mother at the doorstep, but there was only the young lady with the short skirts smiling and pointing to a window at the side. ‘Look, Ella, over there, in the day room window.’

Mum was standing looking at her, not smiling but staring hard. Ella put her hand in the shopping bag and held up the pictures she’d done of the cathedral spires. ‘I did them for you!’ she shouted, waving them in the air. Her mother nodded. She looked so faded and pale; the sides of her hair were all sticking out and grey. Ella reached out her hand and touched the glass of the window to feel her mother’s hand in hers.

For a second Mum turned away and then stopped and put out her own hand on the window, her fingers splayed out, covering her daughter’s small hand.

‘Are you getting better?’ Ella shouted. ‘I’ve been to St Chad’s Well. You will get better soon. I want you to come home.’ Mum nodded and then her lips turned into a little smile and she patted the window again. The attendant led her away and she faded back into the room and out of sight.

When Ella turned round the lady was wiping her eyes. ‘It will do your mother more good than all the tablets in the world to know you are here. We’ll hand in your beautiful pictures for her to keep by her bed. I’m sure she’ll love to have them. You’re a very clever girl to be able to draw like that.’

Ella walked back down the drive holding the lady’s hand tightly. Mrs Perrings would be wondering where she was by now. How strange her life was with no one around to call her own. She looked down at the three spires of the cathedral, which came into view as they drove down Pipe Hill. At least she now knew Mum was safe in the castle, but still she felt very lost.

‘So, young lady, what are we going to do about you? When I take Papa back to Vicar’s Close, I think you should come too and I’ll make tea. Then I’ll take you back to your lodgings, pack your bags and you can come home with me to Streethay for a few days. I want you to meet Roddy. And we can get to know you better. I saw you once as a tiny baby but you are so grown up now. Such a pretty girl. I want to know all about you and who taught you to draw like that.’

‘Thank you, miss, but Mrs Perrings looks after me now.’ She didn’t want to stay with strangers.

‘And I’m sure she’s done a sterling job but now it’s my turn to oblige. Wait until you see Selwyn’s old house. There’s enough room to billet an army in there. There’s three enormous conker trees and the conkers are ripening. Roddy needs someone to play with. You’ll love it. You can call me Aunt Celeste. Your mother’s been like a sister to me in the past.’

Ella looked into those bright blue eyes and at the red-gold hair tucked under a pretty beret. Perhaps her mum wouldn’t mind her changing digs for a few days. This lady looked fun and she’d given her the chance to see that her mum was safe. So she sat back in the bus, staring out of the window with a flutter of excitement and curiosity. The tight band round her chest didn’t hurt so much now. She could breathe again, and for the first time in weeks she felt things were turning out better. Perhaps St Chad had heard her prayer after all.