Yew Tree Gardens (12 page)

Nodding, she passed it to him, then clasped her hands together so tightly her knuckles showed white.

He opened it and read it first, feeling sick with sadness. There was no way to soften the news but he hated to say the words.

‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Yes. Very bad.’ He took her hand. ‘We’ve lost three of them, Mother: Robert, Harriet and little Jennifer.’

He half expected her to scream or fall into hysterics, but instead she sat very still, rocking slightly, staring blindly towards a patch of sunlight on the carpet, her hand limp in his.

‘Mother? Are you all right?’

She turned slowly to look at him. ‘No. I’m … frozen. I can’t seem to think beyond the news. What must we do? Tell me what to do.’

This was so unlike her. She normally knew exactly what to do. Gil spoke gently. ‘I think I should go and fetch Father from the club, then we’ll decide together what to do next. Don’t forget there’s little Elizabeth, on her own in New York.’

‘Poor thing. Someone will have to go and fetch her, I suppose.’

‘You and Father, presumably. Harriet’s parents are in India.’ He waited a moment then asked, ‘Will you be all right if I go and fetch Father now? I don’t think we should send a servant or even a note. Not for this.’

‘Send for my maid first, then go,’ she said. ‘You’re right. Bertram has to be told in person. And I … must change into my blacks.’ She pressed her hand against her mouth as if to hold in her anguish, but tears spilt from her eyes and ran down over her fingers.

At the club Gil had a word with Peterson, who was a sort of glorified butler and ran the place. When he explained why he’d come, there was no question of finding someone to sign him in. Peterson himself took him to his father, who was sitting in his usual armchair, hidden behind a newspaper.

But though it was late in the morning, only one page had been turned and his father was staring blankly at the nearby window. He didn’t put the newspaper down until Gil said, ‘I need to speak to you, Father. There’s … news. Bad news, I’m afraid.’

He waited until his father had carefully folded up the newspaper, then told him, not going into details, or asking what to do.

His father’s face was expressionless, but it began to flush, turning a sort of purplish red. He smelt of port, early as it was to be drinking, and he kept pressing a hand against his chest. ‘Indigestion.’

Gil waited, but his father continued to sit there, saying nothing, just frowning and continuing to press one hand against his chest.

‘We need to go home,’ he said at last. ‘Mother will need you.’

‘Mmmh.’ His father tried to stand up and fell back. His eyes rolled up and he slumped in his chair.

Gil shouted for help and Peterson came running, taking in the situation at a glance.

‘I’ll send for a doctor. There’s one nearby we’ve used before.’

It seemed a long time till the doctor came, though it was only minutes. Gil loosened his father’s tie and removed the stiff winged collar, making soothing murmurs. He didn’t know what else to do and was glad to stand back and let the doctor examine his father.

The doctor shook his head and whispered, ‘It’s a seizure. Not much you can do but nurse him and hope for the best.’

Gil looked at him in shock.

‘It’s in God’s hands whether he’ll survive or not. Take him home and I’ll send a nurse round to your house.’

‘Thank you.’ Gil turned and found that the redoubtable Peterson had already borrowed a carriage from another member and arranged for two men to carry Mr Rycroft out to it.

Gil followed, tipped them all for their trouble and asked if the two men could come with him to do the same service at the other end of the journey, after which they could ride back in the carriage.

He sat crowded on one seat with them, watching his father’s still body on the other. He made sure the unconscious man didn’t roll off, but that was all he could do.

At the house, he flung the front door open and hurried inside, relieved to find Walter coming across the hall towards him. Gil whispered what had happened and left Walter to show the two men carrying his father up to his bedroom.

His mother’s maid opened the door of her bedroom. ‘She’s lying down in her dressing room, Mr Gil.’

‘I need to see her.’

‘But—’

He pushed past the maid and went across to tell his mother what had happened. To his relief, the dreadful frozen
expression was replaced at once by a more alert look.

‘I’ll organise his bedroom,’ she said. ‘Please get Rawson to send for our own doctor and thank the men who carried him up.’

After that there was little Gil could do but wait while others tended his father.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she told her son. ‘You’ll stay, won’t you? Till we’re sure … what’s going to happen.’

‘Of course I will.’

He didn’t sleep well. The night was disturbed by voices, doors being closed quietly, though not quietly enough that you didn’t know someone was moving around.

The first day or two were the most dangerous time after a seizure, everyone said. Gil could only doze and hope for the best.

His parents had never shown any sign of loving one another, until now.

In April, Renie received a letter from her sister. It was passed to her in the evening when she was sitting with the others after their meal. She’d been worried because she hadn’t heard from Nell for a couple of weeks, but she’d been so busy the past week that she hadn’t found time to write and ask her sister if something was wrong.

She was relieved to see the letter, but it felt very light, with only one sheet of paper in it. This had happened a time or two before when little Sarah was sick, or the minister’s wife wasn’t well. Mrs Garrett had helped Nell when they first moved to Milnrow, so if she needed help in turn, Nell always helped out. Cliff grumbled about that, but her sister would never turn away from a friend in need.

The handwriting was shaky and there was what looked
like a tear stain on the address. Her heart clenched. It was bad news, she was sure. What could have happened? Was Nell ill?

She hesitated, because she usually liked to open her letters in private, but she couldn’t bear to wait. Inside was less than a page of writing and not only was the ink blotchy in places but the paper was blistered. Nell had definitely been crying when she wrote this. 

Renie burst into tears, weeping wildly and rocking to and fro. After a moment’s shocked silence, one of the other
women came to sit beside her, then held her as she continued to sob. A circle gathered round them.

‘What’s wrong? Tell us what’s wrong.’

She couldn’t speak for weeping, and the next thing she knew, Miss Pilkins was there.

‘Come with me, Renie.’

They tugged her to her feet and someone picked up the letter and gave it to Miss Pilkins. Renie let them take her where they wanted. She kept seeing her little niece’s face, remembering the cuddles and fun they’d had.

It was a while before she could calm down. She realised she was in Miss Pilkins’ bedroom, next to the dormitory, and Maud was there with them.

‘What’s wrong, Renie?’

She tried to put it into words and couldn’t. ‘It’s in the letter.’

‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ Miss Pilkins held out a crumpled piece of paper.

She nodded. ‘Read it.’ Then she pressed her hand to her mouth and tried to keep her anguish in.

Little Sarah was dead.

She couldn’t seem to get past that thought. Her lovely little niece. How could Nell face that? How could God let such a terrible thing happen to an innocent child?

‘Dear heaven! How terrible!’

Miss Pilkins passed the letter to Maud, who gasped and said in a choked voice, ‘I read about that accident in the paper, only I didn’t know it was Renie’s sister. Oh, my dear girl, how can we help?’

Renie could only stare at them, feeling blank, unable to think clearly.

‘She needs some time to be quiet. We’ll move her to the sickroom. Is that all right, dear?’

It was a moment or two before the words sank in, then she realised that they were offering her a chance to be alone, so Renie nodded. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

They moved her things, brought her cocoa, fussed over her. But it didn’t help the pain. She kept thinking of Nell, wanting to be with her sister. Only she couldn’t be, because Nell was moving and might not even be there if Renie went up to Milnrow.

All she could do was write a letter. Not till she’d calmed down, though. And even then it’d be hard. What comfort could you offer at a time like this?

‘You’re very kind,’ she said at last. ‘But I need to be by myself now, to try to … take it in.’

‘Of course. And don’t bother if you’re late for work in the morning. I’ll explain.’

But she shook her head. ‘I’d rather go to work. If I sit here, I’ll just weep. I’ll write to my sister after breakfast, though, before I start. Would that be all right?’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll make sure someone fetches your breakfast to you here and some writing paper, too.’

Then they were gone.

But the pain wouldn’t go. Or the deep sorrow.

Little Sarah was dead and Nell was all alone in the world, with no one to comfort her.

Renie was alone, too. This tragedy had made her feel utterly helpless.

It wasn’t until the following morning that she really considered the fact that Cliff was dead. She didn’t feel any sorrow for him, only a vague regret that anyone should die
in such a terrible way. She couldn’t help being glad her sister was free of his petty, carping ways.

She remembered all too clearly how the gas stove had sometimes gone out for no reason for the whole time they’d been living in that slum. He’d refused point-blank to ‘pay good money’ to have it mended. There must have been a fault and … She sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling sick. Was it … could the explosion have been because of that?

It must have been. The stove was the only thing that used gas in that mean little house.

She wasn’t going to waste any more sympathy on Cliff. It was all his fault. She’d keep her sympathy for her poor sister and her dear little niece.

After Renie had written a long, loving letter to Nell, weeping as she wrote, she went to work, conscious of her swollen eyes. It was a while before she realised how gently the men in the hotel were treating her this morning.

They should have been kind before. People should always be kind to one another, because you never knew when fate would take away someone you loved. She’d lost her own mother when she was young and been brought up mainly by Mattie.

She didn’t even know where Mattie was now.

She wanted to see Nell and hug her close. Oh, how much she wanted to be with her at this sad time!

A little later, she stopped writing to stare into space as it occurred to her that if Nell had the insurance money and Renie had her savings, perhaps they could open a little shop or run a boarding house, or make some sort of new life together.

She stared round. She no longer enjoyed working at the Rathleigh. She was on edge every minute because of the way Judson stared at her and sometimes crept up behind her.

It was then that she remembered Gilbert Rycroft. He’d said he would help her and somehow she knew he’d meant it. He might limp and have trouble with his arm, but he was very good-looking and had such a warm smile. She didn’t know when she’d taken to someone so quickly.

Oh, she was terrible. How could she daydream about a man when her sister was facing a tragedy?

Once she heard from Nell again, she’d suggest them setting up home together, then she’d ask Gilbert Rycroft for advice. A gentleman was bound to know more about starting a business than they did.

The thought of being with her sister again was the only comfort during a very sad time.

Over the next few days the newspapers continued to publish the latest information and it was even worse than anyone had expected. Renie was shocked to learn that about fifteen hundred people had died, an unthinkable number, and only seven hundred or so had been rescued.

She kept her eyes open and at last found a crumpled newspaper, left by a guest, which gave a list of passengers who had survived, stopping with a gasp at the name:
Elizabeth Rycroft, aged 6 years.
That poor little child! What must she have gone through?

She continued down the list, but no other Rycrofts were mentioned. Her heart sank. Surely the rest of the young family hadn’t been lost?

Next she scanned the names of those definitely killed and found the surname she was looking for at once:
Robert Rycroft, 36, of London; Harriet Rycroft, 29, wife of Robert; Jennifer Rycroft, 3, daughter of Robert and Harriet.

Oh, that poor family! How must they be feeling? She knew how bad she’d felt when she heard about Nell’s tragedy and little Sarah’s death.
Agonised
was the first word
that sprang to mind. And another word she’d read in books:
bereft.
She’d had to look it up in a dictionary to find what it meant and wasn’t even sure how to pronounce it.

She bent her head to say a prayer for all the people who’d lost loved ones in the disaster, and made a special mention of the Rycrofts. It was all she could think to do. She didn’t know anything about the family, except that Gil Rycroft was a kind young man, but they must be devastated by losing three members of the family at once. Anyone would.

This reminded her of how she’d lost touch with her sister Mattie. That still upset her, but it wasn’t likely that Mattie was dead. Her sister had always been very healthy. Renie had that comfort at least. She still had hope.

One day, surely, they’d all three be reunited.

Renie started work in the office the very next week. She felt excited at the thought of learning new skills, but that excitement quickly faded, because they sat her in a corner and gave her simple tasks to do, checking lists of supplies, fetching office supplies for the male clerks or making tea.

The latter job made the office boy smirk at her and complain about the cup of tea she’d given him.

She guessed this was really his job and wasn’t going to be bullied by a mere lad, so leant forward and said in a low voice, ‘Any more cheek from you, young man, and I’ll trip up and spill hot tea all over you
accidentally.
Don’t think I won’t do it, either. And my name is Miss Fuller to you, spoken politely. Is that clear?’

Their eyes met and he tried to outstare her, but didn’t succeed. She only had to summon up the anger she was feeling about her treatment here and she could outstare King George himself.

She found the week’s work so dull and slow she began
to wonder if it was worth it and felt very downhearted. She was learning nothing and no one in the office spoke to her unless they had to.

On Friday afternoon, even though he was sitting nearby, the assistant bookkeeper sent the office boy across the room to tell Renie that Mrs Tolson wished to see her.

The housekeeper greeted her with a smile. ‘Do sit down, Irene. How is it going? What have you learnt this week?’

Then the tears came and she couldn’t help sobbing. She’d had such high hopes of this new job, but the men weren’t going to let her work with them as an equal, they’d shown that very clearly.

Mrs Tolson waited until she’d finished weeping and said in a bracing tone, ‘Let that be the only time you weep over those fools.’

Renie stared at her in shock. This was the last thing she’d expected to hear. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The ones in that office are assistant clerks. It’s where they train the new office boys. The older men won’t rise any higher, and they know it, so they’re jealous of anyone who seems to be looked on favourably by Mr Greaves or the owners. It must gall them when that person is a woman.’

‘Oh.’

‘Bear with it for another week. If I intervene too soon, they can say they were just letting you settle in. But what I would ask you to do is keep a list of all the tasks you perform, a complete list of every single task. Bring it to me on Thursday after work. Armed with that, I shall consult Mr Greaves.’

‘Oh.’

‘It never does to react in anger. You are far less likely to make your point. Learn patience, Irene. Learn endurance. You’re going to need both many times during the coming
years. When women do something different, there are always obstacles deliberately thrown in their way.’

Renie mopped her eyes and was pleased to find she’d completely lost the desire to weep.

‘Now, you have one morning still to work this week, then you can enjoy your weekend. Are you and Daff going anywhere?’

‘Just to the markets. I like to pick up bargains there.’

‘So do I, when I can find the time. I buy things for my cousin sometimes. Her husband is very stingy with her.’

‘So was my sister’s husband.’

‘That’s why I have never married.’

Was that the choice you had to make? Renie wondered. You either married and put up with unfair treatment in order to have a husband and family, or you didn’t marry at all. Surely not all men were mean? But the two marriages she’d experienced at close hand, her mother’s and her sister’s, had been extremely unhappy.

She wasn’t going to put up with that sort of life, even for the sake of having children. But she didn’t want to live her life alone. Perhaps if she could find Mattie, they could live together. Mattie was past the age of marrying.

Seeing her eldest sister again was something to hope for.

Gil’s father made it through the night, and in the morning his mother joined Gil for breakfast as they waited for the doctor’s visit.

‘
You
will have to go to New York to fetch Elizabeth back, Gil.’

He looked at her in shock. ‘Me? But I thought you wanted me here to help with Father.’

‘That child’s need is greater than mine, I realised that
during the night. Who else is there to fetch her but you? Jonathon’s wife is expecting her first child any day now, so your brother can’t go. Harriet’s closest family are in South Africa. And besides, Elizabeth is our only grandchild, while Harriet’s parents have several others, so I feel
we
should be the ones to look after her from now on.’

‘But I don’t know anything about little girls.’

‘Of course you don’t. You’ll naturally take a nursemaid with you.’

He still didn’t like the idea, but his mother’s voice had cracked on the last few words and he could see how close she was to breaking down. She’d been very brave; he could be no less brave. He took a deep breath. ‘Very well. I’ll do that.’

‘Thank you. I’ll make sure you have plenty of money to cover your expenses. No, I insist! You need your own money for your house now.’

After he left her, he went to look for Walter. ‘We have to go to New York to fetch my niece Elizabeth. And as soon as possible.’

Walter looked at him in dismay, then shook his head. ‘I don’t think I can, lad.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve been tiring quickly lately, so I went to see a fancy London doctor. He says it’s my heart. Well, at my age, you expect something to start going wrong, don’t you? He advises me to lead a quiet life.’

Gil looked at him in dismay. ‘You should have said something sooner. We’d have made things easier for you.’

‘I said it when it had to be faced. I wanted to continue without people fussing over me for as long as I could.’ He paused to think. ‘Why don’t you take Horry with you to New York? He’s an intelligent young fellow.’

‘I need a woman, too, to look after Elizabeth.’

‘Take Lizzie. She’s from a large family, so she’ll know how to look after a little girl. You won’t want a starchy nurse telling her not to cry. I’ve seen them when folk visited at your parents’, telling children not to cry when they fell off a horse, stopping them
feeling
things.’

He sighed. ‘Us poorer folk live more normal lives, I reckon. We don’t have to keep those stiff upper lips. That little girl has a right to cry as much as she needs. She’s lost everyone, must be feeling desperate. I hope someone is looking after her over in New York, treating her kindly.’

‘You’re right. Lizzie and Horry it is, then.’

Walter clapped his shoulder. ‘Good lad. I’m proud of you.’

Things happened so quickly after that, Gil didn’t feel he stopped to take a breath until he and his two helpers got on the ship. They were lucky that one was due to leave in two days’ time. Walter helped Horry obtain more clothes and Mrs Rycroft’s London housekeeper took charge of Lizzie’s clothing needs.

If truth be told, Lizzie’s joy in her new clothes cheered Gil up. His father was making only slow progress and would probably be unable to walk or speak properly again. He knew how that felt. He was full of admiration for his mother. After the first shock, Louisa Rycroft had become calmly supportive, spending a lot of time with her husband. It was to her that his father’s eyes always turned, and she seemed to guess what he needed when he couldn’t fit words together.

Even the thought of her little granddaughter didn’t seem important to his mother now that she’d handed that task over to her son. She was concentrating only on her husband’s recovery and welfare. Their love had never been demonstrated in public, but it showed clearly now.

He wished he could find someone to love. It must be … nice not to be alone.

He didn’t have a passport, nor did his two helpers, but the shipping agent assured him that it wasn’t obligatory, though there was talk of it becoming obligatory in a year or two if you wanted to re-enter the United Kingdom.

‘You’re only visiting New York and because of the … ahem … tragedy, I’m sure they won’t fuss about such details at either end.’

The voyage passed peacefully, with only one day of blustery weather. Some of the passengers were seasick, but Gil found he was a good sailor, as were Horry and Lizzie.

There were people on the ship on the same errand as Gil, some of them going only to identify loved ones’ bodies and bury them, so there wasn’t the usual round of dining and entertainment.

During the daytime Gil avoided the other passengers as much as he could without being impolite, and spent a lot of time standing by the rail, staring into the distance. His thoughts often turned to his eldest brother. Robert had been ten years older than Gil, so they had never been close. He had looked up to Robert, though. His brother was a popular fellow, who had enjoyed life, found everything easy. He’d been in the school teams for every sport he took up, then had gone to university for a time.

But as he had little taste for studying, he left after a year and came home to learn to manage the family estate, which, as eldest son, he would inherit one day. The trouble was he’d clashed with his father and the estate manager about what should be done, so when he’d met and married Harriet, he’d gone to live in the house she’d inherited from her grandmother.

Now, Robert would never come home to Merriton House, and he’d not left a son to carry on the family name.

Gil supposed the estate would go to Jonathon, the middle brother.

Gil had no desire to inherit Merriton, which was quite a large house and needed rather a lot of renovations. He’d heard his father complaining about that. He enjoyed his quiet life in Wiltshire, with a house that was smaller and somehow friendlier. He was starting to get on better with people in the village, though Chapman was still a thorn in his flesh.

It was good, Gil found, to have this time to come to terms with his sad errand, and most of the other passengers left him in peace.

From time to time, he saw Horry and Lizzie out on the lower deck. They seemed always to be talking and smiling, either together or with other younger people. He envied them that ease.

And then suddenly they were in New York, and he had to take charge of the situation once more.

Elizabeth, he found, had been placed in a boarding school for little girls, which had volunteered to take her.

As soon as they’d settled into the hotel, he took Lizzie with him and they went to find his niece. Horry said he’d go out and look at American motor cars, if no one needed him.

On her second Friday working in the office, Renie was again asked to report to Mrs Tolson. This time she found Mr Greaves sitting with the housekeeper, and they had her notes about what she’d been doing in front of them.

Mr Greaves shared in the questioning about her first two weeks, and after she’d finished, he gave her one of his twinkling smiles. ‘Be prepared to work much harder next week, young Irene.’

‘Yes, sir.’ She wondered what he and Mrs Tolson were planning, but they gave her no hint, only dismissed her and told her to enjoy her weekend.

She found it rather lonely. Daff was on weekend duty, no one else wanted to go out with her, so Renie was left to her own devices. She didn’t go to the markets because she didn’t need anything and the weather was showery, so she could only nip out during fine spells to walk round Yew Tree Gardens and admire the flowers, then stay in the staff sitting room and read.

A young man tried to get into conversation with her on one of her outings, but she’d had enough of men this week and gave him short shrift.

She stopped to watch two children playing, which reminded her of her poor little niece, who hadn’t had anywhere like these gardens to take the air and enjoy herself.

She also thought about Gil Rycroft and wondered what he was doing, how he and his family were coping with their loss.

Then it began to rain again, so she went back inside to read her book.

She hoped Mr Greaves would be able to do something about her job. She didn’t mind working hard, but she hated to be bored now that she’d experienced a more interesting sort of work.

On the Monday, Mr Greaves walked into the big office mid morning. He moved slowly round the room, looking at what each person was doing.