Wait For the Dawn (37 page)

The train arrived and they climbed on board, and in the carriage found seats facing one another. The rest were
taken up by other travellers. Lydia and her father hardly spoke as they sat there; Lydia was anxiously looking out from the window while her father sat looking straight ahead of him, his gaze directed at some point just over her shoulder, his mouth pulled into a straight, thin line, his eyes dull behind their steel-rimmed lenses. His expression was unreadable, Lydia thought – which was nothing new – but she seemed to see a difference in the general appearance of him. He looked so much older. One lingering glance at him and she could not help but take in the deeply seamed cheeks, the shadows beneath his eyes. His whole body seemed strangely diminished in stature.

When at last they arrived at Redbury they went out of the station and Mr Halley hailed a cab to take them to St Margaret’s hospital. At any usual time he would have eschewed such a luxury, but this was not a usual time.

After a while they were set down at the entrance to a huge sprawling building not far from the city’s centre. Mr Halley paid off the driver, and they went inside. There, after making enquiries, they were directed along lengthy corridors until they came to Mason Ward where, they were told, Ryllis could be found.

From the corridor they stepped into a small foyer and Mr Halley knocked on an open door on the right beyond which a woman sat at a desk. She looked at Mr Halley and Lydia and got to her feet. She wore a voluminous white cap on her head and a blue uniform with white collar and cuffs, a white apron and a black patent leather belt. She gave them a grave smile as she came to them and said, ‘Yes? How can I help you?’

Mr Halley, taking off his hat, said he was the father of Amaryllis Halley and that he and his other daughter had been summoned there to see her.

As soon as Ryllis’s name was spoken a shadow of concern touched the nursing sister’s eyes and she gave a
little sigh. ‘Oh, yes, poor Miss Halley,’ she said. She lifted a gesturing hand. ‘We didn’t put her in the general women’s ward, but in a small separate room at the end. Her injuries are so bad. Truly dreadful. You know that it was a bull, I suppose . . .?’

‘Yes.’ Mr Halley nodded. ‘So I’ve been told.’

‘A dreadful business, poor girl. Her injuries are appalling – I’ve got to be quite honest. Her wounds have been cleaned and stitched as well as they could be, but I have to tell you that she’s got internal injuries, and only time will determine how she’ll recover from them. We plan to move her into the main ward when she starts to improve. The next hours will be crucial.’

In the silence that followed Lydia heard her father say: ‘What is the – What is going to become of her?’

‘We can’t be sure, I’m afraid, but she’s a young woman, and she’s strong, so her chances should be better than most. Although, as I say, her injuries are very bad.’ She hesitated, then gestured ahead. ‘Come with me and I’ll take you to her.’

She moved past them into the corridor. As she did so she added, ‘It isn’t visiting time yet, and normally you’d have to wait till six-thirty, but it’s a different matter with your daughter. Please – come with me.’ She said no more but led them on through double doors into a corridor, and at the end stopped outside a door on the right, where she turned to them. ‘You must prepare yourself,’ she said. ‘She’s looking very poorly.’ She paused. ‘I don’t think she’s spoken since she came in.’

She opened the door and went ahead of them into the room.

In the second that they were standing together on the threshold Lydia felt her heart leaping and pounding in her chest, and turning to her father she could tell that he was feeling the same. His hat was clutched in his left hand and
his eyes were tight shut. She could see his chest rising and falling as he gulped in the air. Then he opened his eyes and reached out with his free hand and sought Lydia’s own, and clasped and pressed it. It only took a moment, and then he was releasing her, and they were following the nurse into the room.

It was not large, and there was only the one bed. Ryllis lay still upon it, and the nurse moved forward, bent over her and took her wrist, checking her pulse with the watch that was pinned to the breast of her apron. Gently, she laid Ryllis’s small hand back on the blanket, then turned and gestured to Lydia and her father. ‘Come and see her,’ she whispered. ‘She appears to be stable at the moment, but I must tell you that if her condition worsens I shall have to ask you to leave. I’m sure you understand.’

Mr Halley nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’

There was a straight-backed chair drawn up to the bedside, and the nurse touched the back of it and said to Mr Halley, ‘Sir – come and sit down. And you, miss – why don’t you pull up that stool there?’

Lydia did as she was bidden. Her father sat on the chair beside her, and laid his hat on the foot of the bed. The nurse hovered, checking on Ryllis’s breathing, and then looked at some of her dressings. Ryllis lay beneath a blanket, but it did not cover all the bandages that wrapped parts of her body. They were evident about her shoulders, her right arm and her head. Her face was scratched, swollen and dreadfully bruised, her left eye puffed up and discoloured. Beneath the bandage that swathed her head, hardly any trace of her hair was visible.

The nursing sister saw Mr Halley’s eyes rest on Ryllis’s bandaged head and said, ‘We had to cut a lot of her hair off, I’m afraid. A part of her scalp was torn away and a good deal of stitching was needed.’ She let this sink in, then added in a whisper, ‘I’ll leave you for a few minutes. If
there’s any cause for alarm do come and get me, or call one of the nurses.’

Left alone while the nurse’s footsteps faded outside, Lydia and her father sat looking at the small figure before them.

There was a gas lamp burning on the wall above the bed, and its light cast Ryllis’s face into deep shadows, making hollows of her eye sockets. She lay with her eyes closed. Her breathing was steady but shallow. Lydia looked at her without speaking, her throat tight, tears running down her cheeks. She heard a little moan from her right, from her father, and turning slightly saw that his head was bowed, his eyes closed tight, his lips drawn back over his teeth. She watched as his hands clenched before him and his lips began to move in an almost silent murmur, and realised that he was praying.

They sat without moving for some minutes, and all the while Lydia did not take her eyes off Ryllis as she lay before them. Then suddenly she leaned forward a little. Ryllis’s eyes had opened.

‘Ryllis,’ Lydia breathed. ‘Oh, Ryllis . . .

At Lydia’s side her father’s light murmuring ceased.

‘Amaryllis . . .?’ He leaned forward as Lydia was doing. ‘Can you hear me?’ he said. ‘We’ve come to see you – Lydia and your father. Can you hear me?’

No sound came from Ryllis other than that of her breathing. She did not move. Her small, unscathed hand lay on the blanket like some pale, lost creature. Her eyes moved neither to left nor right, remaining fixed straight ahead of her, but there was a faint shine there, a sign of life. Then her fingers twitched once or twice, and Lydia saw the movement and whispered to her father, ‘Look, Father. Her hand.’

He reached out and touched Ryllis’s hand. ‘Come on, my girl,’ he whispered. ‘Come on. Get better so as I can take you home.’

He began to stroke Ryllis’s hand then, in a gentle, rhythmic little movement while Lydia sat unmoving again and silent.

After a time Mr Halley withdrew his hand from Ryllis’s and began to pray out loud, his clasped hands resting on the side of the bed: ‘Oh, Lord, spare this child . . .’ Lydia looked at Ryllis’s naked hand and saw that the fingers were still. There came a sound from behind them of the door opening, and softly the nurse came into the room. She moved past them on her soft-soled shoes and moved round to the far side of the bed. There she took up Ryllis’s hand and put fingertips to her wrist. Lydia watched the expression on her face, saw her frown. The nurse then put her fingers to Ryllis’s throat, seeking out a pulse. She shook her head and looked at Lydia and her father, and both of them saw, in that instant, that there was nothing more to be done.

The winter of 1895 had lingered, and the early April day was unusually cold for the time of year. Before setting out that afternoon Lydia had seen that Davie was well wrapped up against the chill. She had put a coat over his sailor suit, and a scarf around his neck, his fair curls being partly hidden by a little woollen cap that came down over his ears and was fastened under his chin. Now, though, in the warmth of the coffee house, his cap and scarf were off and the buttons of his coat were undone.

The coffee house was called The Blue Anchor, and catered for residents and factory workers thereabouts. It boasted solid and simple fare, and on display could be seen such things as beef pies, pigeon pies, pickled herrings and thick slices of lardy-cake and cream-decked pastries. The husband of the proprietor had once been a merchant seaman, and evidence of his interests and loves were all around the place, from the ship-in-a-bottle that rested on the mantelshelf to the wallpaper with the anchor motif that lined the walls. The place was situated just a few minutes’ walk from the factory gates of Cremson’s, so was handy for Mr Halley when leaving his work.

Now, the boy and his mother sat at a table together. Lydia had before her a cup of tea, which she had poured from the pot that had just been brought, while Davie had a cup of hot chocolate and a small cream-topped cake, of which so far he had only taken a couple of bites. It had been
a day of excitement for him, excitement which at times had curbed his appetite.

As Davie sipped at his chocolate he took another look around him. There were so many interesting items in the room, though his favourite was a stuffed swordfish that was resplendent in a glass case over the door. He was fascinated by it. He sat there for some moments with his head back, gazing up at the object, then at last lowered his head and spoke to his mother. ‘Mammy,’ he said, a little anxiously, ‘what’s the time now?’

Lydia replied, ‘Two minutes ago it was twenty minutes to three and now it’s eighteen minutes to three.’

‘And what time is Grandpa coming?’

‘I told you – as soon as he can. He’s working later today. He leaves work at half past two and he said he’ll come straight here.’

Carefully the boy set down his cup. ‘And d’you think he’ll bring me a present?’

She put out a hand and gently touched the tip of his nose. ‘Why on earth should he bring you a present? D’you think you deserve one?’

‘Oh, yes, I do! You know I do.’

‘But why should he bring you one, in any case?’

‘You know why. Because it’s my birthday.’

‘Oh, is it?’

‘Oh, you know very well it is, and I’m sure Grandpa knows it too.’ He paused, screwing up his face. ‘If Grandpa asks if I’ve been good, what will you tell him? Will you tell him yes?’

She smiled. ‘I shall tell him the truth.’

‘Then you’ll tell him yes, won’t you?’

‘Shall I? Yes, I suppose I shall. I’d have to, wouldn’t I?’

‘Yes, you would, you would!’

He had raised his voice with his words and Lydia put
a finger to her lips. ‘Not so loud – you’ll disturb the ladies.’

He put a hand over his mouth, and looked around him, while the proprietor, a large, jolly-looking woman in her forties, glanced over and smiled at him indulgently. There were only four other patrons there, all middle-aged women; the place was far from busy, which suited Lydia. She chose it partly for that reason but mainly for its convenience for her father, coming from work. He had come to see his small grandson on several occasions over the past couple of years in the coffee house; it was a handy meeting place for the three of them.

Now, lowering his hand and turning in his seat, Davie was rewarded as he saw a familiar figure walking past the window towards the door. ‘It’s Grandpa, Mammy!’ he cried out. ‘He’s here.’

Seconds later Lydia’s father was pushing open the door and entering. As he sat down on the third chair he reached out and touched his daughter’s hand in greeting. There was no kiss, but Lydia would not have expected such; it was not the way they were. He did, however, kiss his grandson, leaning over, brushing back the fair hair and planting a kiss on his forehead. He was holding a brown paper-wrapped package, which he now put down on the vacant chair at his side. His hat he set down on top.

‘So,’ he said to the child, ‘and how is our birthday boy?’

‘Grandpa, you remembered,’ Davie said, beaming. ‘You didn’t forget it’s my birthday.’

Mr Halley nodded, his smile wide. ‘Of course I didn’t forget. How could I?’ He tipped his head on one side. ‘And how old are you today?’

‘You know how old I am.’

‘Well, perhaps I do, and perhaps I don’t. You tell me.’

‘I’m four. Did you know that I’m four? And next year I shall be five.’

‘Indeed you will, but four is plenty to be going on with.’ Mr Halley smiled at Lydia. ‘What it must be like to be four.’

Lydia, smiling back at her father across the table, picked up the teapot and began to pour another cup. ‘Indeed,’ she said, and then added: ‘While you have a chance, do have some tea. It’s just been brought.’

‘Thank you, I could do with a cup.’

She finished pouring, then added milk and passed the cup over to him. He took a swallow.

Lydia said, ‘Davie’s nurse has got part of the afternoon off. So she’ll be doing her shopping. I thought this would be a good opportunity to see you.’

‘Yes, very good,’ Mr Halley said.

‘Have you had a good day at the factory?’

It was a usual question. ‘Oh, as it normally is,’ he said, and added, ‘Everyone glad it’s Saturday and no work till Monday.’ He put a hand into his pocket and brought out a little brown-paper packet. He set it down on the table and pushed it across to her.

‘What is this?’ she said as she took it up and pulled the wrapping aside.

‘It’s nothing special,’ he said, but got pleasure from watching as she poured into her hand a little swarm of jet buttons.

‘Oh, Father, they’re lovely,’ she said. The surface of each one was embossed with the head of a rose.