Remember Me (5 page)

There were eleven acting members, including Maddy, in Morgan’s Melody Makers. But there was a twelfth non-performing member as well, too important to be overlooked, and that was Henry Morgan, Percy’s father, who was now in his early seventies. It was Henry who, years and years ago, when Percy was a very young man, had started the troupe. It had begun on Scarborough sands as Morgan’s Merry Minstrels; a group of black-faced performers, all men, which had been the custom back in the 1880s. Maddy had heard the story many times both from Henry Morgan himself and from her grandfather, Isaac Moon, who had always taken a keen interest in the troupe, of how the Negro minstrels, as they were called, had first appeared on the beaches of the English seaside resorts in the middle years of Queen Victoria’s reign. They had originated in America where the players – the Negroes – really did have black faces. On the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, however, the faces of white men were blackened with burnt cork. They sang,
danced, cracked jokes and played banjos and tambourines.

This form of entertainment was to be seen on the beaches of all the popular resorts until, in the 1890s, they were superseded by the first Pierrot troupes. These were the very antithesis of the Negro minstrels. Their faces, in the early days, were whitened with zinc oxide to heighten the contrast; they dressed in ruffled white suits with black or red pompoms and conical hats, and brought with them an air of romance and refinement.

Henry Morgan, eager to move with the times, had not been slow to change the image of his troupe of players. In the early 1890s Morgan’s Merry Minstrels became Uncle Percy’s Pierrots; Percy, at that time, took over the leadership of the concert party, although his father was still an active performer. The all-male tradition had very soon been altered, as Percy’s young wife, Letitia – Letty – became involved, and in the years leading to the new century so did Nancy, Susannah, Queenie Colman and, of course, Madeleine Moon. The men, however, still outnumbered the women, as was the case in most troupes.

Henry Morgan had now taken over the administration of the group, dealing with the bookings and transport, the ‘hiring and firing’ – although there was not very much of the latter – and all the details which went to make a successful concert party. In 1903 they had taken to the road –
or to the railway, to be more accurate – and became a travelling company for the autumn and winter months, from September to April. Maddy, who had been a part-time Pierrot since she was twelve, had joined them in their travels in 1905 when she was fifteen.

‘Daydreaming, are we?’ said Susannah as she came back into the bedroom. ‘Well, at least I’m pleased to see you’ve got a smile on your face now.’

‘What?’ said Maddy, coming suddenly out of her reverie. ‘Yes…yes, I suppose I was. I was thinking about the Pierrot show, how the artistes haven’t changed much at all since I joined.’

‘That’s true,’ replied Susannah. ‘It’s because we’re all very contented working for Percy and Henry. There was that conjuror fellow, of course, last winter, who thought he was too high and mighty for the likes of us. The Marvellous Malvolio, or some such name.’

‘Yes; he wanted top billing, didn’t he?’

‘So he did, and when Henry told him he couldn’t have it he took umbrage and left. We can’t do with folks like that. We’re all equal here, in Henry’s eyes at least, and Percy’s. Though I can think of one or two who might consider themselves superior.’

Susannah didn’t enlarge upon her statement, and neither did Maddy enquire any further. She didn’t like to tittle-tattle about other members of the troupe. Letty had told her it was a most unprofessional thing to do and something they
did not encourage in their company.

Maddy assumed that Susannah was referring to the Colmans. Carlo was all right, very much under his wife’s thumb though, and as for Queenie, she didn’t half fancy herself…

Maddy was surprised to realise that she hadn’t thought about Samuel for at least ten minutes.

‘My turn for a wash now,’ she said. ‘Wait for me; I won’t be long, then we can go down for breakfast together.’

Mrs Howard served them with porridge, followed by bacon, egg, sausage and fried bread. Nancy, who had already taken her dogs for a walk – they were now sitting obediently at her side – was halfway through her breakfast.

‘Carlo and Queenie haven’t put in an appearance yet,’ she told them. ‘I gather she is a habitually late riser.’

Mrs Howard overheard her. ‘I serve breakfast until ten o’clock,’ she said. ‘I think that’s late enough for anybody and I’m not prepared to extend it any further. They’ve just managed to scrape in so far, with five minutes to spare. Of course I know you professional people keep odd hours, but I do have to draw the line somewhere.’

‘And quite right too,’ agreed Nancy as the landlady took her plate away. ‘Queenie and Carlo insisted on a double room,’ she commented as Mrs Howard went into the kitchen. ‘Pete and me, we’ll always fit in where we can if we can’t get a room
together. Pete’s sharing with Henry this week, and your Frank.’ She nodded towards Susannah. ‘And Barney and Benjy too. But Lady Muck doesn’t like to mix with the “hoi polloi”; in other words, you and me.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘Forget I said that, will you, please?’

‘Of course,’ said Susannah with a knowing wink. And Maddy smiled. It seemed she was not alone in her summing-up of the Colman couple.

Maddy and Susannah boarded a tramcar later that morning, travelling north-east out of the city centre to the fringes of Roundhay Park. They soon decided that the park was, indeed, well worth a visit, as they strolled along the avenue of elm trees, their buds just beginning to show green, past beds of crocuses and early daffodils. They found an empty bench beside the lakeside and sat down. There were very few visitors to the park apart from themselves, it being a midweek morning. No doubt they would be there in their droves come Saturday and Sunday.

Maddy was glad she had put on her winter coat and a more serviceable felt hat than the one she had worn the night before. The sunshine was deceptive and there was a chilly wind on this mid-March day.

‘You’ve gone a bit broody again,’ said Susannah, looking at her keenly. They had not talked much on the journey out, both of them staring out of the tram window at the suburbs of Leeds – Sheepscar, Harehills, then on to Roundhay – that they had
never visited before. Maddy, at that moment, was thinking how to broach the subject about which she wanted to question her friend. She was somewhat startled therefore when Susannah went on to say, ‘Tell me, Maddy – please forgive me, but I’ve got to ask – you’re not pregnant, are you?’

‘What?’ exclaimed Maddy. ‘Of course I’m not!’ She could feel herself turning bright pink. ‘Why ever should you think that? I’m not…although I probably wouldn’t know if I was…’ she added, her voice fading away unsurely.

‘Oh dear! I’ve gone and upset you now,’ said Susannah, reaching out and placing her gloved hand on top of Maddy’s. ‘I’m sorry; I’m really and truly sorry. But you seemed so upset and bewildered.’

‘So I am,’ said Maddy, ‘but that’s not the reason. At least…well…it’s got something to do with it, I suppose.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh…I’ll tell you in a minute. There’s something I want to know…about being pregnant and babies an’ all that.’

Susannah squeezed her hand then let go of it. ‘Oh deary me! What an idiot I am; in with both feet, eh? I wouldn’t be surprised if you never wanted to speak to me again. But when you said that – Samuel, is he called? – that Samuel wasn’t your real brother, I started to smell a rat. I mean, he’s no relation at all really, is he? No blood relation? And
I started to think that perhaps you’d been – well – too friendly, if you know what I mean, when you saw him at Christmas, and that when you saw him last night you told him. But I’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion, haven’t I? Silly me! Please, please forgive me, Maddy.’

‘Of course I do,’ said Maddy. ‘Actually, you’ve made it all a lot easier – what I wanted to ask you – because it is something to do with…with all that. You see…I’m not actually sure what you have to do – you know – to have a baby. Nobody’s ever told me, not properly, and I’m really confused about it.’

‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ exclaimed Susannah. ‘Yes, I think I understand now. I suppose girls can grow up in ignorance, especially nice quiet girls like you.’ She chuckled. ‘I reckon I was always a good deal more worldly-wise. So you have…no idea?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose I have,’ admitted Maddy. ‘I’ve heard playground talk, but I dismissed it from my mind at the time and so did my friend. We were only about nine or ten, I think. It all sounded so silly and so…rude.’

Susannah laughed. ‘Yes, to a schoolgirl I suppose it would. Children can be little horrors, can’t they? Was it a boy who told you? A lad who knew it all, or thought he did?’

‘Yes, I can see him now,’ said Maddy, ‘though I can’t remember his name. A big rough lad with a big red face and black hair, the backside of his trousers always torn. His father was a fisherman
from what I can remember; they lived near the harbour.’

‘And I should imagine that what he told you was – basically – true,’ said Susannah. She went on to describe the act of sex – or love, she explained, as it really ought to be – in quite a matter-of-fact manner. ‘Yes, that is what happens, and the bald facts do sound rather…repellent. But you must remember that making love, or whatever you choose to call it is – or should be – accompanied by feelings of tenderness and trust and…passion as well.’ She smiled as she saw Maddy looking at her somewhat quizzically.

‘Yes, I think I can guess what’s going through your mind,’ she smiled. ‘I’m an unmarried lady. How do I know about it? Some folk might think I have no business knowing about it…’ Susannah’s eyes grew misty and thoughtful as she stared unseeingly into the distance. ‘There was a young man once; Simon, he was called. We were very much in love; childhood sweethearts, we were. He lived in the next street to us and we’d been courting for ages. But he went and joined the army – answered the call, you might say – against the wishes of his parents and against mine, of course. But he was hot-headed, was Simon, as well as being romantic, and I’m sure he believed he was indestructible. But he wasn’t…’ Maddy stared at her, wide-eyed with sympathy, guessing what was coming next.

‘He went to fight in the Boer War. He was killed during the siege of Mafeking. I was doing my first season with the Pierrots, but there was only Percy and Letty knew about it; and I daresay Henry knows.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Maddy softly. ‘I had no idea.’

‘No, how could you have?’ Susannah shrugged. ‘I’ve had a few men friends since then, I must admit. I know some folk think I’m a flirt, but it hurt for a long time when Simon died. He was my first love, my true love…’

‘But now you’ve got Frank?’ Maddy ventured to ask.

‘Yes, indeed I have. And we are very good for one another. We don’t really care what people say. We know that what we have will last. We were close friends at first before anything else, and that’s always a good start.’

‘Are you going to get married?’ asked Maddy boldly.

‘All in good time,’ laughed Susannah. ‘He has a wife, you know, but he and Hilda – that’s her name – have gone their separate ways for years. She has a thriving second-hand clothes business in York. And their daughter, their only child, has just left home to get married. Frank’s a good ten years older than me, you know. Yes, we’ll tie the knot eventually… Now, I hope I have set your mind at rest, regarding the other problem?’

‘Yes…yes, thank you, you have.’

‘Did it have something to do with that stepbrother of yours? You sounded a bit cagey about him. I guess you regarded him as something rather more than a brother, didn’t you, Maddy?’

‘Yes, yes, you’re right. I did…’

‘Do you want to tell me about it? Only if you would like to.’

‘Oh, I would,’ replied Maddy. ‘It all went wrong last night…’ She explained about her feelings of love for him and how she thought they were reciprocated by Samuel. ‘But he just wanted to…you know. I realise now what it was he wanted to do; but I knew it was wrong, that I couldn’t. And he didn’t really love me at all… But I feel much better now, Susannah, really I do, after talking to you.’

‘It sounds to me as though he is not a very nice sort of young man,’ she replied. ‘You will know to keep out of his way.’

‘I may not have any choice. He said he’s going on an expedition fairly soon, to Peru.’

‘Good riddance then,’ said Susannah. ‘Don’t be too ready to lose your heart, Maddy. You may meet quite a few young men before you find the one who’s right for you. What you must do now is make up your mind to enjoy your time with the troupe. Don’t forget we’ll be in Blackpool in a few weeks’ time.’

‘Yes, I’m looking forward to that,’ said Maddy. ‘I’ve never been to Blackpool.’

‘And then, before you know it, we’ll be back in Scarborough for our summer season. You’ll be back with your family for a while. I’m sure you must miss them all.’

‘Yes, I do,’ agreed Maddy.

‘Now, how about a spot of lunch before we catch the tram back? There’s a restaurant over there, see, beyond the trees. We won’t need much though, after that mammoth breakfast.’ They linked their arms in a friendly fashion as they made their way around the lake.

Chapter Four

‘T
wo letters for us this morning,’ Faith Moon called out to her husband as she picked up the letters from the hall table, where their housekeeper, Mrs Baker, had placed them. ‘Well, only two that look interesting; the others look like official ones. Your department, my dear.’ She smiled at him as she entered the dining room where William was already seated at the table.

Faith’s children, the ten-year-old twins Thomas and Matilda – always known as Tommy and Tilly – had breakfasted earlier, in the kitchen, under the supervision of her elder daughter, Jessica. This was the routine they followed on weekdays – school days – as they needed to set off from home soon after eight-thirty. Jessie escorted the twins to their private school – although they insisted they were perfectly capable of going on their own – and saw them safely inside before going on to her daytime college. On Saturday and Sunday mornings, however, and at every evening meal, the whole family, six of them in all, dined together.

‘There you are,’ she said, handing him several of the envelopes. ‘The top one’s from Maddy; I
recognise her handwriting. And this one’s from Samuel. It’s addressed to both of us, though,’ she added.

‘Well, that’s a step in the right direction anyway,’ replied William Moon with a grin. There had been a time when any letters that Samuel wrote would be addressed solely to Mrs Faith Moon, as though he were trying to ignore the fact that his mother now had a new husband. Even Samuel, however, would not have dared to address her in her former name of Barraclough. But Faith had pointed out to him that it was rather rude and churlish behaviour, very childish, in fact; and so he had eventually come round to doing as she said.

‘He’s addressed the letter to both of us as well,’ said Faith, after slitting open the envelope with a knife and taking out the two pages. ‘It says… Dear Mother and William… Oh, I’d better read it later,’ she went on as Mrs Baker entered with the first part of their breakfast, two bowls of steaming hot porridge.

‘Lovely! Thank you, Mrs Baker,’ Faith said sincerely, as she did every morning. Their live-in cook and housekeeper, the aptly named Mrs Baker, was a veritable treasure. She had been with them ever since they had moved to their present home some three years before. Faith slid the letter beneath her side plate before adding brown sugar and cream to her porridge.

‘Aye, first things first,’ agreed her husband. ‘I’ll
read our Maddy’s letter later, an’ all. That’s addressed to both of us, of course, as they always are.’ He sneaked a look at the first page. ‘Yes… Dear Dad and Aunty Faith…’ He smiled fondly as he thought of his daughter. ‘She’s a grand lass is our Maddy. It seems ages since we saw her. Anyway, mustn’t let this go cold, eh?’

He tucked into the porridge, remarking, between mouthfuls, ‘I see Father hasn’t joined us yet. I’ve known the time he’d’ve been first down and raring to go. I suppose his age is catching up with him; Anno Domini, as he likes to call it.’

‘Yes,’ Faith agreed. ‘How old is your father now? Mid-seventies, isn’t he? But I can never quite remember.’

‘Aye, he’s seventy-four, seventy-five next birthday; that’s in September. He’s just thirty years older than me. Happen we could have a special do when the time comes. It might even be a retirement do, of course…’ he added thoughtfully.

‘Why? Is Isaac thinking of giving up the business?’ asked Faith, sounding surprised. ‘Well, handing it over to you and Patrick, I mean. Not that I don’t think it’s time he did. But you know what he’s always said. “You’ll have to carry me out feet first…”.’

‘Aye…“In one of me own coffins,”,’ agreed William with a sad smile. ‘Yes, I know he said he’d never retire, that he’d die on the job, but he’s slowing down, there’s no doubt about that. He’s
doing less and less at the workshop, although I don’t think he realises that Patrick and I have noticed. Oh… I’d best shut up. He’s here now,’ he added in an undertone as his father came into the room.

‘You’ve beat me to it again, the pair of you,’ Isaac remarked. ‘Reckon I must have overslept.’ He shook his head in a befuddled manner. ‘Anyroad, good morning to you both.’

‘Good morning, Father,’ said William, whilst Faith smiled welcomingly at him.

She was never sure what to call the father of her second husband. Her own father – and mother – were still alive, although somewhat estranged from her since her marriage to William. They had disapproved strongly of the divorce and subsequent remarriage of their daughter and that of her ex-husband. As had Edward’s parents. It had seemed to them all an ideal match, the marriage of Edward and Faith, the son and daughter of families who had long been friends, and they had regarded their divorce as a shameful state of affairs. Faith had always addressed Edward’s father as Mr Barraclough; she had been too much in awe of him for anything more familiar. William’s father, however, had tried to persuade her to call him Isaac. Perhaps one of these days she might do so. Most people did, but somehow it seemed to her to be a mite disrespectful to address him in that familiar way.

‘Good morning, Mr Moon,’ said Mrs Baker, coming in with a third bowl of porridge. ‘I’ve been keeping it warm for you, see, in t’pan. I’ve kept stirring it so as it wouldn’t stick.’

‘You’re a woman in a million, Mrs Baker,’ Isaac told her, as he very often did. She grinned at him with the familiarity of a servant who was on friendly terms with the family, but who still knew her place.

The porridge was followed by bacon, eggs, tomatoes and slices of black pudding, accompanied by toast and – for Isaac and William – the customary pot of strong tea, without which the menfolk would not be ready to start the day. Faith preferred coffee, which Mrs Baker ground freshly for her each day.

William cast a covert glance at his father. Isaac was, in effect, an older edition of his son. When William looked in a mirror he could see, more than ever now that he was approaching middle age, his father’s face looking back at him. The same lean features, with the longish nose and wide mouth, characteristic of the males of the family. William sported a well-groomed moustache whereas his father had both a moustache and a beard, as did many older men, emulating – intentionally or otherwise – their monarch, King Edward the Seventh. The eyes that William saw looking back at him were the same shrewd greyish-blue eyes of his father. He noticed now, though, that Isaac’s had lost
a good deal of their brightness and that he blinked frequently. He did not like to admit to his failing sight, but he was forced to wear his spectacles all the time now when he was at the workshop. Another difference was that Isaac’s hair, once dark brown like his son’s, was now completely white, whereas William’s was almost as dark as it had ever been. Just a sprinkling of silver at his temples, which his loving wife insisted made him look distinguished.

‘I shall read my letter now,’ said Faith, when Mrs Baker had cleared away their plates. She applied a small amount of butter and marmalade to a dainty sliver of toast, with which she always finished her breakfast.

‘Oh, that’s nice,’ she remarked a minute or two later, looking up from the first page of her letter. ‘Samuel says he’s seen Maddy. Their concert party was performing in Leeds last week – she told us that, didn’t she? – and he took her out for an evening meal. That was very thoughtful of him… He says they had a good time. Anyway, I’ll let you read it when I’ve finished.’

‘Good,’ remarked William perfunctorily, his eyes scanning one of his letters. ‘I’m saving Maddy’s till I’ve looked at this other stuff. It all amounts to summat and nowt from what I can see.’ He perused the circulars, adverts and a bank statement whilst his wife was deeply engrossed in Samuel’s letter. After a moment or two he was aware that
she had gone very quiet, no longer telling him snippets of news, and he saw her frown.

‘Oh dear!’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t like the sound of that at all.’ She slowly shook her head as her eyes took in the rest of the page.

‘What’s the matter, love?’ he asked. ‘Not bad news, is it? Samuel’s not ill is he…or Maddy?’ he added; she had just told him that Samuel had seen her.

‘No, nothing like that. Neither of them is ill. Whether it’s bad news or not depends on your point of view, I suppose. No doubt Samuel thinks it’s good.’ She looked across the table at her husband, her lovely blue eyes clouded with anxiety. ‘Samuel says he’s going to work abroad when he gets his degree. He’s joining an expedition that will be involved in silver mining…in Peru! That’s a very long way away, isn’t it, William?’

‘Well, yes, I reckon it is, love,’ he replied. ‘But it’s only what we might have expected, isn’t it?’ He smiled encouragingly at her. ‘He’s taking a degree in Geology. That’s the study of the earth and of…of all the stuff that comes out of it, isn’t it? So it stands to reason it’ll involve mining of some sort or another. Why? What did you think he might do when he had his degree?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Faith. ‘I took it for granted he would stay in this country. Very silly of me, I daresay. I thought he might want to be…oh, the curator of a museum or something of the sort. He’s
spent a lot of time going round museums: the one here in Scarborough, and I know he’s been to several others, much bigger ones, no doubt.’

‘Those sorts of jobs, curatorships, are very hard to come by, I should imagine,’ remarked William. ‘It’s often a case of stepping into dead men’s shoes or waiting for somebody to retire. They hang on to them as long as they can. Anyway, I can’t see Samuel wanting to stay in one place. Personally, I’m not at all surprised.

‘Don’t let it upset you, my dear,’ he continued, looking at his wife’s troubled face, although she was not crying. Faith was made of sterner stuff than that and didn’t dissolve into tears at the slightest setback as he knew some women were wont to do. ‘I’m sure Samuel will be perfectly all right; it will be a well-organised expedition. I should think it’s quite an honour that he’s been asked to join it, straight out of college.’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ agreed Faith. ‘He’s always been studious and hard-working, so it’s probably no more than he deserves. It was a shock though; he’s never mentioned anything of the sort before.’

William nodded. He was aware – and no doubt his wife was too, although she didn’t admit it – that Samuel told them only what he wanted them to know; and sometimes that amounted to very little. ‘It isn’t as if we see him all that much,’ he remarked. ‘I’m not saying anything wrong about him, mind, but his visits home are very few and far between.
He’s no doubt got other interests and friends that are important to him. Is he coming home for Easter? They’ll be finishing soon, won’t they, for the holiday, or vacation, or whatever they call it?’

‘He doesn’t say,’ replied Faith, sounding a mite dispirited. ‘He’s only one term left to do; that will be his exam term so I doubt if we will see much of him then. But he’s sure to pay us a visit during the summer before he goes away.’

‘Of course he will,’ said William, smiling at her confidently. ‘When is this expedition? Does he say?’

‘Yes; they’re setting out in September.’

‘Well then, you can be sure he’ll come back to Scarborough for a week or two at least. And Maddy will be home for the summer months, won’t she, with the Pierrot show?’

‘Yes, of course she will.’ Faith’s face lit up at the thought of seeing Maddy again. William knew that she had come to care for his daughter almost – or possibly just as much – as she cared for her own children. ‘Have you read her letter, William? What does she say?’

‘I’m just going to read it now,’ he replied. ‘I was sidetracked by your news about Samuel. Now, you mustn’t worry anymore about him. Promise me you won’t; he’s a big boy now, you know!’

‘Very well; I promise,’ smiled Faith. ‘It’s hard, though, at times, to see your children growing up…and growing away from you.’

William read his letter, nodding from time to
time. ‘Good… She still seems to be enjoying her travels.’ He glanced across at his wife. ‘You see, I worried about Maddy when she first went off with Percy Morgan’s troupe, but she was perfectly all right. I expect she was a bit homesick at first; she never said, but I could tell; but she’s fine now… Yes, she says she’s seen Samuel. He went to see the show, then they went out for supper; that’s all she says about it… Oh, they’re off to Blackpool soon – the concert party, I mean – for Easter week, two weeks in fact. She’ll enjoy that; our Maddy’s never been to Blackpool.’

‘Have you, William?’

‘Yes, Clara and I went for a few days once. I didn’t reckon much to it, to be honest. It’s big and brash, not at all refined. Not a patch on Scarborough.’

Faith laughed. ‘You couldn’t be a little bit prejudiced, could you, William?’

‘Aye, maybe I am, a little bit,’ he smiled. ‘And I suppose I have to admit that Scarborough’s got its more seamy side an’ all. I daresay folks that live in Lancashire think there’s no place like Blackpool, just as we Yorkshire folk think there’s no place like Scarborough.’

‘Blackpool?’ said Isaac, becoming aware of the conversation. ‘Aye, I remember going there as a lad, only once, mind. One o’ t’few times I managed to escape from me father’s tyranny.’ He chuckled. William had heard, many times, how his
grandfather had ruled the young Isaac with a rod of iron. ‘We had a jolly good time there. By heck! You should see all t’rows and rows of boarding houses. And the length o’ t’promenade; seven miles of golden sand, that’s what they boast. Aye, Blackpool’s a grand place. But I know what you mean, lad. There’s no place like home, is there?’