Miss Appleby's Academy (5 page)

‘Unless you want to go to boarding school.’

‘Leave here?’

‘Would you like to do that?’

In answer she ran to him. ‘I don’t want to leave you and Mammy,’ she said.

That night Isabel turned away from him, and it meant something different than it had before, not just that she wanted to turn over, or that she felt more comfortable facing the wall than the window, or that she wanted him to mould himself against her. She turned away deliberately and somehow he could not ask her to turn back.

*

He tried to be at home more. In the mornings they had breakfast together, but she had nothing to say. The food was the same as usual, but it had no taste and he knew why that was – it had been cooked automatically without love. How ridiculous that it should taste so odd, so different, so unappetizing. He could not eat it.

He took Connie to the council school. He didn’t like the
look of it. It was cold, there was only one classroom, all the children were in it; he did not think his child would flourish there. The rows of desks were soldier-like, and the children were silent. The only heating came from a big stove at the front of the classroom where the teacher sat, and there was a cane on the teacher’s desk. He did not want to start off badly with Mr English, but he could not help saying, before he left, ‘Could we go out into the corridor?’

Mr English, a small thin man with a bald head, followed him there.

‘Don’t go using that cane on my child.’

Mr English stared and said nothing.

‘My girl is small and will no doubt cause you problems, but you don’t beat her. Do you understand?’

It was a few moments before Mr English spoke, and during that time Mick noticed how his body shook and how shabby his suit was and how lined and fallen his face.

‘I am not in the habit of caning small girls, Mr Castle,’ and he turned wearily and went back to his classroom.

Mick had never felt like a bully before, but he did when he left the school. He knew very well that Norton English had a sick wife, was paid very little, and he had everything to do when he got home because she could barely rise from her bed. It must try him hard to deal with children who were often bigger than he was and with no inclination for learning. Mick pitied him, but did not see what else he could do.

Emma Appleby could not imagine why Judge Philips was calling that afternoon. She was caught up in trying to decide which pieces of her furniture would fit into the cottage. All of it seemed so big.

Verity had come into the room while she was thinking about it, and when Emma told her the problem she said, ‘Why then, leave it here. It’s a pretty enough room and I like it.’

‘I have no money to buy new furniture or for anything else.’

Verity looked at her. ‘Oh my dear,’ she said. ‘I had no notion.’

‘I’ve never needed any before now. Father had accounts at all the shops in town—’

‘Do not let us talk about money. I am sure that Laurence will be able to help,’ and Verity went away.

Laurence had had a note sent that she should meet him at his office, but when she got there they were both so embarrassed that it was not an easy meeting. His office had oak furniture, including the big green leather-topped
desk which had always been in the library at home and now stood between them.

‘I had imagined Father always made you an allowance.’

She didn’t say anything. Her father had been a generous man, there was no question of her paying for clothes or books or trifles of any kind which she chose. Everything was delivered to the house after being chosen by her and the accounts were sent to him monthly. He had never mentioned it and she had assumed that it was always like that. She had made presents for him, knitted him warm gloves, hat and scarf for the winter, and socks of course, and she had bought plain journals and covered them in lovely fabrics. He had always said if she wanted to go on trips away she had only to say so, but he did not want to go and she did not care to go alone. She had been content to spend her days with him and with George, and she was glad of it now that they were gone.

Laurence frowned. ‘I’m not a rich man, I could take care of your rent and groceries and the day-to-day needs, but I’m not sure I could run to furniture. Perhaps you and Verity could find enough things from the house which would do.’

She had said nothing to Verity, pride prevented it, but it did not seem to her that any of the furniture in the house would go into the poky little place to which she was being sent.

She tried to collect her thoughts now and told the Judge that she was the only one at home, and he said that he was glad of that. She offered him coffee and took him
into the sitting room by the fire and made small talk until the coffee came.

Judge Philips had not married until fifteen years ago, a woman much younger than himself. She had borne him six children and had died in childbirth. All were boys.

She had done so well, people said, yet Emma could not help regretting that two or three of the children had not been girls; she could not imagine a household made boisterous by six small boys. On the few occasions when she had seen the Judge and his wife, Mary, when four of the children were running around, she had found the noise deafening and had only been glad to come back to the peace, the security of her father’s house, to wander through the colours and sweet smells of the flowers in the extensive garden. It had been high summer and there were lilies everywhere, stargazers in white, with pink middles, yellow and a bright shade of orange. Lilies, she thought, were unashamedly brash in the summer; she loved them for it. Lavender edged the paths for the smell as much as the colour.

The garden always calmed her, no matter what the season. She loved the bare winter trees, the first spring flowers, blue and yellow and bright red, the warmth of spiky dahlias each looking like a separate sun in late summer and the roses which bloomed thick and cream, and though she hated to admit it because of what Verity had done to the herb garden after her father died, they had the best smell of all.

The Judge had had plenty of help of course, especially
since Mary had died. The gossips said that he did not spend much time at home, but Emma did not blame him for that: he was almost sixty and children were trying even for people younger than he was.

He drank his coffee quickly, but when she offered more he refused, mopped his brow with a large handkerchief taken from his trouser pocket and then stood up and said, ‘I’ve come here to ask you something special, Emma. As you know, your father and I were friends for many years. You are – beyond the age where women think of marriage and yet – I don’t need to explain my circumstances to you. Indeed,’ he looked down at his well-polished shoes, ‘you were very kind and attentive to Mary. I – I loved her very much. I waited for a woman like her for so many years, only for her to be taken from me like that – it was almost unbearable.’

She gave him a few moments to collect himself. She didn’t say anything, she had noticed that speech didn’t help at such moments, the grieving person didn’t hear and left the would-be comforter feeling inadequate, stupid and garrulous, and the words were left in the air somehow for the most interminable amount of time, until one’s face had taken to burning.

She realized that the Judge had begun speaking again, and she had to chase the sense of what he was saying. Even then she seemed to lose his words, as though they were disturbed by sounds coming in from the garden, but the windows were shut against the wind. She had never faced a winter without George and her father. She missed
them both so much. She drew her thoughts back to what the Judge was saying. She could hear her father accusing her of inattention when she was a child and he was teaching her something and whatever was happening beyond the window absorbed her.

The Judge paused while she was still in pursuit. He seemed better, relieved, as though he had taken all the heaviness from his mind somehow. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of response and since she could think of nothing he finally said, ‘I have of course spoken to your brother; I saw him earlier and he has given his permission. I would not have spoken to you so soon, with you in mourning, but I understand that you are moving into a cottage. I can see why you want to leave now that the house has a new mistress, and I’m sure I can offer you something much better than that.’

Whatever was the Judge referring to? She was annoyed with herself for not having listened more closely.

He looked down again. She had never seen him so sheepish.

‘My boys need a mother. I was hoping you would think kindly of us.’ He beamed at her, his red face, broken veins, suddenly shiny.

To say that Emma was astonished would be inaccurate. She was dumbfounded. This lasted only seconds and was followed by disbelief and then embarrassment. The Judge, happily, did not give her time to speak. He put up one hand. ‘I don’t expect an answer immediately. I know that a – a maiden lady like yourself will need time to consider taking on such a new life, but I feel sure that you won’t
regret it. You looked after your father so well, my dear, I don’t doubt you will do the same for your old friend.’

‘But Judge—’

‘No, no. I will take my leave and call tomorrow. Good day, my dear.’

And with that the Judge was gone, picking up his hat from the hallstand and leaving her silent. She wanted nothing but to be alone. However, a door opened and her sister-in-law, Verity, came into the hall with a look that Emma could only describe as arch.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘what did the Judge say?’

‘You knew?’ She guessed immediately from Verity’s face and felt a sudden rush of anger that her sister-in-law had told her nothing, as though it were a treat to be kept to oneself like a wrapped birthday present.

‘Laurence sent me a note earlier, to beg me to leave the house to you so that the Judge could speak. My dear, we’re so pleased for you – such consequence.’

There was a sudden chill in the air which Emma could have sworn was not there before.

‘I haven’t given him my answer.’

You couldn’t of course without speaking directly to Laurence. He has promised to come home early,’ and with that she went back to what Laurence affectionately and disparagingly, Emma thought, called her knitting: the running of the household.

*

Emma could not rest, and in the evening when she heard voices, having left her door ajar, she knew that Laurence
was home for his evening meal. She had to stop herself from running straight down and blurting out her thoughts to him as if he were her father and she the small girl she had once been. Laurence, she reminded herself painfully, was nothing like her father. She missed her father more and more as time went on. Why was he not still there for her when she needed him so very much?

Having made herself wait for some time, she went down. Verity and Laurence were having their pre-dinner sherry before the fire, the children having been put to bed. Laurence smiled as he saw her.

‘I gather we have something to celebrate,’ he said. ‘Having been obliged to wait for so long, and not exactly in the full flush of youth, you have landed yourself a prize. You are taken aback of course but I’m sure that the Judge has thought a great deal about this. He could have any woman he wants – a girl of eighteen perhaps. It never occurred to me that he would ask you.’

They were so obviously waiting to hear what she said. Their faces were blank for several seconds and then Verity laughed and said, ‘My dear, there is nothing to be afraid of. Marriage can be – a constant source of joy and although the Judge is not young I’m sure he has – plenty of vigour.’ Verity’s face was suddenly scarlet and she took a big gulp of sherry, smiled and turned away.

Afterwards Emma had no idea why she went with them into the dining room, Laurence talked about his day and Verity about hers. She sat, dumbstruck.

Afterwards they had coffee and Verity said to her, ‘We
haven’t had a wedding in the family for years. It will be wonderful. You and I will have such a good time planning everything: the dress, the guests, the occasion. You could be married in the summer; people will not mind if it is not quite a full year since your father died and the summer is such a joy for a wedding.’

Emma said nothing.

Verity leaned in as though the room was full of other people and she must keep her voice low. ‘Being a married woman is wonderful. You will have your own home, you must have longed for that, not just a room to call your own. I know that I put your nose out of joint when we moved here because you had been mistress for so long and it cannot have been comfortable for you.

‘The Judge’s house is one of the largest in the area and you will be able to change everything that you wish, especially the garden. Just think of the enjoyment you will have with your own house and garden to do with what you please. My dear, you’ve gone quite pale. You didn’t eat anything. Though it will be wonderful to look so slender in your wedding gown – quite as though you were twenty!’

*

Emma did not sleep. She thought about George so far away in Boston. He had sent her a stilted letter after he got there, the kind of thing she was sure he had been told to write. Perhaps it was even read before he was allowed to post it. It was about lessons, nothing else, and through what was not said she could feel his unhappiness.

She lay that night and made her decision. She would go to the Judge’s chambers the following day and talk to him.

The rest of the night went on and on and sleep got further and further from her. She was relieved when day came. She thought the clock would never reach an hour when it was respectable for her to call. Even then it was frowned on, but she did not care. She turned up and the clerks in the office were obviously surprised to see her, but she had to wait only seconds after the Judge knew she was there.

He came out into the hall and greeted her affably. ‘Do come through.’

His office, or whatever it was called, was very like Laurence’s. She turned swiftly when the door was closed.