Wait For the Dawn Page 3

  Lifting her arms, she spread them out into the bright air and said, ‘Oh, I do like this part of Sunday, when all the work is over.’

  ‘Yes,’ Evie said. ‘To work all the other days of the week is just too much.’ Then she added, slyly smiling, ‘Though some people have it easier than others.’

  ‘I work hard in the office,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Really?’ Evie grinned, ‘Well, if you tell me so.’ She sighed. ‘Sometimes I think I might have liked an office position too.’

  ‘It was Father’s idea,’ Lydia said. ‘It was his idea for me to go on the staff.’

  ‘Why not your Ryllis as well? Was he content for her to go away from home, into service? I s’pose he must have been.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lydia said. Then after a moment she added, ‘Sometimes I think I could almost envy our Ryllis.’

  ‘What? Being in service?’

  ‘No, being away from here.’

  ‘You mean you want a different job?’

  ‘It isn’t just Cremson’s.’

  ‘Then what? Are you talking about Capinfell?’

  Lydia dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. ‘Oh, there’s nothing wrong with Capinfell.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Lydia looked off into the bare branches of the trees. ‘It’s partly to do with Father,’ she said at last.

  ‘Is he ill?’

  ‘Ill! He’s never ill. No, it’s not that.’

  Evie remained silent. After a few moments Lydia said:

  ‘He – he mistreats my mother. It happened again last night. Oh, he gets in such rages. This morning her cheek is swollen. That’s why she didn’t go with us to church.’

  Evie said after a moment, ‘And this has happened before?’

  ‘Yes – I’m sorry to say it has.’

  ‘Oh, Lyddy, I had no idea. How terrible.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’

  Evie was silent for a second, then she gave a little nod of realisation. ‘Yes,’ she breathed, ‘of course. Now I see.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I remember now. I remember once I called round for you and saw your mother with her eye blacked – and it happened on another occasion too: I remember she gave some story of having had an accident. Of course I was too young to question it. I had no idea of the truth.’

  ‘Oh, Evie,’ Lydia said, ‘you must never breathe a word. Promise me you won’t.’

  ‘Of course. Of course.’

  ‘The terrible shame of it, if it should ever be known. Oh, how can my father be like that? Those folk who go to hear him preach – they’ve got no idea.’ Feeling tears threatening, Lydia took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. ‘I can’t bear to see my mother suffer like this.’

  ‘Has he ever been like that – violent – to you?’

  ‘Never. I don’t think he’d do anything to harm me. Oh, he’s flown into rages with Ryllis at times, and on occasions he’s struck her – though nothing serious, not like with Mother.’ She paused briefly then added, ‘Sometimes I just feel I need to get away from it all.’

  ‘Do you really think you might – leave?’ Evie said after a moment.

  Lydia nodded. ‘I’d like to. I’ve been looking at advertisements in the papers, in the classified columns. There are interesting-looking positions all over the place, work I’m sure I could do. At Seager’s in Redbury, for instance. They’re often advertising. They have so many places on their staff they’re always wanting someone or other. I could possibly get a position there.’ She put her hands up to her face, frowning. ‘I just feel the need to get away, and what is there for me in Capinfell? It’s a decent enough place, but I’ve got nothing here. I can see no future here at all.’

  ‘What on earth would your father do – if you left?’

  ‘I don’t know. Anyway, it’s only a dream. I can’t go anywhere. I can’t go and leave my mother. At times I think I’m the only kind of support she has.’

  Chapter Two

  The next morning when she took the coach into Merinville with her father for her day’s work at Cremson’s, Lydia carried with her the damaged lamp, along with the broken pieces of the cherub and the rose petals. Later, during the dinner break at one o’clock, she hurried from the factory gates to the ironmonger’s in the square. There she talked to the elder of the two Hammondson sons – he had a reputation for being artistic – and showed him the lamp base and the broken pieces. She was pleased to hear him say that he could make a good job of a repair. It would be ready for collection, he said, at the end of the week.

  In the same row of shops alongside the square was that belonging to Mr Canbrook, where he worked behind the counter of his family draper’s, helped by his assistants, and here Lydia went for the fabric for her mother’s nightgown. To her great relief, she saw at once on entering the shop that Mr Canbrook was absent. She made her purchase fairly quickly, and was glad to find that her business had concluded and he had still not made an appearance. With the length of cotton wrapped up and stowed away in her basket, she left the shop to start on her short journey back to the factory.

  She might have known, she said to herself seconds later, that such fortune was too good to last, for hardly had she walked thirty yards from the draper’s storefront window when she heard her name called and knew at once that Mr Canbrook had appeared and had seen her. She stopped and turned.

  ‘Miss Halley . . .’

  She stood waiting on the street corner as he came towards her, his hand raised in greeting. Tinny was trotting at his heels.

  ‘Miss Halley . . .’ A little breathless he reached her side and came to a halt, his hand now grasping his hat, briefly raising it. ‘I say, Miss Lydia, this is a bit of luck, catching you just before you vanished. And it was only yesterday that I saw you in Capinfell.’

  Lydia didn’t think from her point of view that good luck came into it; nevertheless she smiled, and then, after a pause, for something to say, asked him how he was.

  ‘Well, I’m feeling all the better for seeing you,’ he said. ‘May I ask what brings you into the square today?’

  ‘I just stopped by to visit the ironmonger’s, and then called in at your shop for some cotton.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry I wasn’t there myself to serve you. I trust you got what you wanted.’

  ‘Oh, yes, indeed, thank you.’

  ‘Is this your dinnertime from Cremson’s?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘And you’re going back there now, are you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you had a little dinner? Some sandwiches or something? I doubt you’ve had time, have you?’

  ‘That’s all right. I hardly eat anything in the middle of the day.’

  He frowned, shaking his head. ‘My dear girl, you must eat something. You’ve hours of work left in front of you.’ He hesitated a moment, then said, ‘Look there’s a decent little teashop along there.’ He gestured back along the shops. ‘Why don’t you come in there with me and have a cup of tea and a sandwich? Get a little refreshment.’

  ‘Oh, that’s very kind of you, Mr Canbrook,’ Lydia said, ‘but I really have to get back to work. There just wouldn’t be time. We only get half an hour.’

  ‘Every time I see you,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘it seems you’re dashing off somewhere. The next time I see you I shall insist that you stop and have some tea with me. How would that be?’

  Lydia said nothing to this. She hardly knew what to say to him, but that had always been the way whenever they met. Over the years of her employment at Cremson’s, she had often had reason to call in at Canbrook’s draper’s, and had come to be familiar with Mr Canbrook’s small, efficient figure. Always he had been most pleasant and attentive towards her, whether she was on her own or in the company of one of her workmates. However, her first encounter of any significance with him had taken place some three years ago when, one summer day, she and her mother had come to the town and had been making
some purchases in the shop. A bee had flown into the premises, and had alighted on her mother’s bare hand when she had taken off her glove to feel the texture of some silk. The bee had stung her, and Mrs Halley had given a little yelp of shock and pain. Quickly Mr Canbrook had come to her side and urged her to a chair. To Lydia’s alarm, the perspiration had broken out on her mother’s brow and her hand had swelled up. Swiftly, then, Mr Canbrook had got tweezers and extracted the bee’s sting, after which he had sent one of his young assistants, Mr Federo, to the nearby teashop to fetch a pot of tea. While the young man was gone Mr Canbrook had applied to the site of the sting a little bicarbonate of soda. After a while Mrs Halley had recovered sufficiently and, after thanking Mr Canbrook for his kindness and sipping a little tea, she and Lydia had gone on their way. The incident had not been forgotten, however, and from that time on Mrs Halley had always spoken of the middle-aged widower with warmth and appreciation.

  It was because of the man’s previous exhibition of kindness and consideration that Lydia must always now give him the benefit of the doubt; and whereas she might in some other case, with some other man, have been cool in the face of his warmth, where Mr Canbrook was concerned she could not be.

  ‘So what do you think of that?’ Mr Canbrook was saying. ‘I shall look out for you the next time you’re round by the shop, and if I see you I shall insist that you come and have some tea with me. That goes for your mother too, of course.’

  Lydia smiled. ‘Very well, then,’ she said, and then added, ‘I really think I’d better get on, Mr Canbrook. If you’ll excuse me.’

  He smiled again and touched at the brim of his hat. ‘Of course. I mustn’t keep you, but remember what I said. I shall be on the lookout.’

  Work at the factory finished for the weekend at one o’clock on Saturday, and when the time came Lydia said goodbye to her father and set off for the market square. She would go and pick up the lamp if the repair was finished, buy some collars that her father had asked her to get for him, and then go and meet Ryllis from the train.

  She went first to the ironmonger, and at the counter asked if the lamp was ready. It was the senior Mr Hammondson she spoke to, and he said at once, ‘Ah, yes, that’s a job concerning my son, miss,’ and called back into the shop, ‘Manny? Special customer here for you.’

  The proprietor’s son came at once and smiled at Lydia in greeting, saying without hesitation, ‘Ah, yes, miss, you’ve come for your lamp,’ and turned back into the rear. When he reappeared a few moments later he was carrying the lamp base. Carefully he set it down on the counter, gave it a wipe with a duster and turned it so that the site of the repair was facing Lydia.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘what do you think?’ He was a tall young man with fair hair and pale eyes.

  ‘It looks perfect,’ Lydia said, nodding to endorse her words. ‘It’s quite wonderfully done.’

  The young man was justifiably proud of his craftsmanship. ‘It took me a while,’ he said in his heavy Wiltshire accent, ‘but it was a job worth doin’ and it turned out better than I’d’ oped for.’ He pointed with his finger. ‘Look there, where the breaks were – you can’ ardly see the joins.’

  Very carefully, he wrapped the china base in a length of old cloth, and then took Lydia’s basket from her. As he laid the package inside he said, ‘I replaced the wick as well, Miss, so everything should be fine.’

  When Lydia had paid him, and thanked him again, she went back out onto the street. Her next errand was to buy her father’s collars from the draper’s, a job she did not look forward to, for it meant that she would almost certainly run into Mr Canbrook again.

  She walked along the side of the square until she came to the draper’s and went in, but if she had thought that Mr Canbrook could be avoided she was swiftly disillusioned, for he was almost the first person she saw. He was standing on a stepladder, replacing some items on a shelf above his head. As Lydia entered he turned to her with the attention that he would give to any new customer, but then, seeing who it was, beamed broadly.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if it isn’t Miss Halley come to see how we’re getting on.’ Quickly he climbed down from the steps. There were other customers in the shop, being served by the assistants, but Mr Canbrook gave his attention solely to Lydia. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ he murmured. ‘Have you just come to see me, or are you going to disappoint me by saying you only want to buy something?’

  Lydia smiled uncertainly at the man. ‘Hello, Mr Canbrook,’ she said. ‘I’ve come to buy some collars from you, if I may.’

  ‘Ah, well,’ he sighed, smiling, ‘at least you’re here, that’s the important thing. Collars, is it?’

  Lydia said, ‘I want half a dozen for my father. He takes size fifteen and a half.’

  ‘It shall be done.’ So saying, Mr Canbrook turned to a young man, who, having just finished serving a customer, now stood behind the counter, folding linen napkins. ‘Mark,’ Mr Canbrook said to him, ‘six standard collars, fifteen and a half, for the young lady here, if you please.’

  The young man at once went to a shelf and drew from it a box. Putting it on the counter he took from it a pile of collars, located those of size fifteen and a half, and counted out six. That done he carefully wrapped them in tissue paper. He gave Lydia the price and she counted it out from her purse and put the coins into his hand.

  ‘There you are,’ said Mr Canbrook, as the young man turned back to his business with the napkins, ‘you’ve got your father’s collars. And where are you going now, may I ask? Back to Capinfell?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m to meet my sister from the train.’

  ‘Where is she coming from?’

  ‘Redbury.’

  He nodded. ‘What time is her train due in?’

  ‘Two-thirty.’

  ‘Oh, well, you’ve got lots of time before you need to go to the station. Have you got other errands?’

  ‘Well – no.’

  He beamed, and lowering his voice, said, ‘Then you can have some tea with me, can’t you? You told me you would, the next time you were in Merinville.’

  ‘Well . . .’ she said, and then after a moment’s hesitation. ‘I haven’t got that long . . .’

  ‘Oh, but the teashop’s only a few doors along.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lydia said, knowing now that she could hardly get out of it. Then, making up her mind, she nodded and smiled. ‘Very well, Mr Canbrook, thank you very much. It would be very nice to have a quick cup of tea if you can spare the time from your business.’

  ‘That’s excellent,’ he said. ‘It’s not too busy this afternoon, and I shan’t be gone long.’ He turned and smiled at his two young male assistants and the middle-aged female, whom Lydia had heard him refer to as Miss Angel. ‘You’ll be all right for ten minutes, won’t you? I’ll only be along at the teashop. One of you can come and get me if you need me.’

  Moments later the man was leading the way out of the shop. As they stepped outside there was a little flurry of movement, and suddenly Mr Canbrook’s dog was there, tail wagging enthusiastically.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Canbrook with a shake of his head. ‘Sorry, Tinny old boy, but this little jaunt’s not for you.’ The dog looked up at him with mournful eyes. ‘We’re not going anywhere, old chap,’ Mr Canbrook said, ‘so you might as well go on back into the shop.’

  ‘Where did he come from?’ Lydia said.

  ‘He’s got a basket in the back room.’

  ‘Can’t he come with us?’

  ‘Well, I would take him, but there are some people in the teashop who’d frown, so we’d better not.’ He bent and touched the dog on the head. ‘All right, Tinny, go on back into the shop, there’s a good lad.’

  Mr Canbrook held the shop door open, and obediently the dog turned and trotted back inside. Mr Canbrook then turned back to Lydia. ‘All right, let’s go and get some tea.’

  The teashop was busy enough, with only a couple of tables unoccupied. ‘There’
s a spot,’ Mr Canbrook said as they entered, ‘let’s go and sit over there,’ and they made their way to a table against the far wall. As they took their seats Lydia placed the basket on the empty chair. When the middle-aged waitress came over, Mr Canbrook said to her, ‘Look, Mrs Winnow, I have a friend visiting me today from Capinfell, Miss Lydia Halley.’ The woman smiled a hello at Lydia and asked what they wished for. They would have tea, Mr Canbrook said, and the woman asked, ‘Would you like some cake as well?’ Lydia said no, the tea alone would be fine.

  The woman went away again, and in the little silence that fell between them, Lydia became aware of the chatter of the other people in the teashop. After a while, she said, ‘Mr Canbrook, why do you call your dog Tinny?’

  ‘Oh – because he was a tin ribs.’ He gave a little chuckle.

  ‘Because he was a tin ribs?’

  ‘It’s not a long story,’ he said. ‘One day, two or three years back, I was driving along near some spot where gypsies had had a campsite, and I saw this little wreck of a dog hanging about: no more than a puppy, just a few months old, and obviously abandoned. So I took him home with me and cleaned him up and fed him. He was so thin, I called him Tin Ribs – which is what my mother sometimes called me when I was a skinny boy. And Tin Ribs became Tinny, and now that’s all he answers to.’

  ‘He’s so fond of you,’ said Lydia.

  ‘Oh, yes, he is that. And I’m very fond of him. He’s became a nice little companion for me. It’s been good for me – having lost my wife – to have something around that needs to be cared for.’

  The waitress came then with their tray of tea, and when everything had been set out and they were left alone again, Mr Canbrook asked Lydia if she would pour it out. She did so, and Mr Canbrook took up his cup and blew on the hot tea. His fingernails were clean and square cut; his hands were large for a small man.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘you’re off to meet your sister.’