We travelled silently in the heavy gloom of the car. When we reached the mill Selwyn helped me out and we went haltingly into the house.
We had a supper of soup and the last of the bread. Afterwards in the sitting room Selwyn and Aubrey began a long, slow wind through an A to Z with Pamela, the subject being Birds of the World. Albatross, buzzard, they chanted, sticking for a long time at M before arriving at mallard, and again at U. ‘There’s a bird called an upland goose,’ I told them. ‘I learned it at school.’ When we had finished Selwyn played the piano and Pamela fell asleep on the sofa. Selwyn carried her up the stairs and I followed him into our bedroom. He laid her on our bed.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said again.
‘I’m just glad that William found you.’
He straightened up. I looked into his face. He knew what I’d done, tried to do; the knowledge was in his eyes, but he held it there. He didn’t give voice to it.
‘Selwyn …’
‘I love you so much, Ellen. I’m so sorry—’
We clung to each other, dry-eyed. ‘It’s not your fault,’ I told him, many times, because it wasn’t, and the truth bore repeating until he understood.
Later I undressed and lay beside my small child. The night was short. I pulled the sheet over her cold, round little arms. For most of the night I watched her but my eyes and mind were worn out with looking and, anyway, she had closed herself off from me now, it seemed, and lay like a nut in a shell with her back towards me and her face turned away.
In the morning I gave her a bath, and squeezed the sponge over her shoulders. ‘I shall wear my dark-blue dress,’ she said, with solemnity. ‘The one with red pockets.’
I buttoned up the dress and brushed her hair for the last time. She was supposed to do it but today she let me, her head rocking backwards with the strength of my brush strokes, her eyes impassively trained on her reflection.
We went downstairs. I gripped the banisters, limping a little. She turned back and said, ‘Your poor ankle,’ and then walked on down.
I couldn’t eat, so sipped at a cup of tea. Pamela had her porridge. There wasn’t enough jam for a whole face, only for the two eyes. She shrugged, and started eating.
Aubrey came in, followed shortly by Selwyn. She looked up at them. ‘What sort of woman is it, that’ll take me to Ireland?’
‘A nanny,’ Aubrey said. ‘One specially trained in travelling with children.’
‘Yes, but will she be a kind one or a bossy one?’
‘I’m sure she’ll be kind,’ I told her. ‘Only kind people do jobs like that.’
After breakfast Pamela and I brushed our teeth and finished her packing. The nerves in my stomach were singing and I felt light-headed. I remembered that I hadn’t yet found a bag for Pamela’s remaining things: her peg dolls and her books. I brought out an old shoe bag of Selwyn’s, but as I began to fill it an idea came to me. ‘I know. You can have my little suitcase.’
It was the one I’d taken from the Stour House when we moved to the Absaloms. I removed the label which said ‘Ellen Calvert’ and turned it over and wrote ‘Pamela Lovell’ on the blank side. The case was cream-coloured with a pink inside, a pink I’d never liked, nasty and artificial. She laid in the dolls, and stuffed in a cardigan to keep them all lying down in position, and put her London book, and her drawing book and pencil, in on top.
I fetched my letter to her and tucked it into the side pocket. ‘You can read this when you get to Ireland.’
‘Is it from you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why don’t you just tell it me now?’
‘Because it’s for Ireland, not now. Look, we can tie everything in with these little straps.’ There were two of them on the inside of the case, also pink, with brass sliding buckles.
But she shook her head. ‘The Pegs’ll be comfier without them.’
She hadn’t smiled all morning, and I realized I’d seen the last of her smiles the previous day, and I wouldn’t see another.
Selwyn called up the stairs. ‘Darling. It’s time.’
I carried the large case downstairs, she the small one. When she reached the hall she said, ‘I need to go to the lav.’
We went to the downstairs lavatory. I made sure she washed her hands well. ‘Don’t neglect your hand-washing on the journey, Pamela,’ I said. ‘Just because I’m not there to tell you. And if you need the lavatory, always tell Daddy well in advance.’ She still dried her small hands so clumsily. It was astonishing how long it took, to learn the grips and turns of the fingers for washing and drying. I finished the task by patting the backs of her hands with the towel.
Elizabeth was waiting by the lavatory. She held out her arms. Pamela embraced her, putting her cheek flat against Elizabeth’s belly. ‘Dear Pammie,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Little pet.’ Then she set her hands on Pamela’s shoulders and bent to kiss the top of her head, and then she turned quickly and made for the kitchen.
The front door was open. Lady Brock’s car was outside, Selwyn already in the driver’s seat. He was wearing his motoring hat. He looked at me, but only to be sure that there was nothing amiss. He knew better than to do or say anything else. Aubrey was waiting on the path. I went to join him. I put out my left hand and he took it in his, clasping it rather than simply shaking it. Pamela followed me out and clutched my other hand. I was bound by them.
‘You must both let go of me,’ I told them, and they released me.
I kneeled on the path in front of Pamela. ‘Be a good girl.’ I embraced her. Her arms came round my neck, gripping hard. I pulled her against me and breathed in, sniffling as the tears flowed down my nose. She gripped harder and I felt her sobbing.
‘Come now, Pamela. You must be brave. We must both be brave.’
‘No. No.’ She began to cry loudly. ‘We haven’t even fed the hens. You said we would.’
‘Never mind now. There’ll be hens enough in Ireland. You’ll see.’ I let go of her middle and took her hands in mine, tugging them from my neck. She was sobbing hard. ‘Come on. Good girl. Into the car.’ Aubrey tried to guide her by the shoulders but she twisted away from him.
‘Ellen!’ She clung to me again. ‘I don’t want to go! I want to stay here with you and feed the hens!’
I put my arm across her back and led her forcibly to the car. She sat sideways on the seat and started screaming, kicking out at me. I caught hold of the flailing legs and pushed them round so that she faced the front. ‘Get into the car,’ I told Aubrey. I slammed the door shut on Pamela, who was still screaming. As Selwyn started the engine she held up her arms. ‘Ellen! Ellen! I don’t want to go! Ellen!’
‘Drive on,’ I said to Selwyn, as Aubrey got in. ‘Drive on!’ I cried, when he hesitated. I stepped back from the car and Selwyn drove away. I watched them reach the end of the lane and turn. The car window was shut but I could still hear Pamela calling my name.
When the sound faded I went inside. Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. I went upstairs to the bedroom. Pamela’s dress, the one she’d worn the day before, was lying on the bed. It was too small to pack, she was growing out of it, and the trim of white daisies at the hem was coming off. I picked it up and held it against my face. The sky-blue cotton was still warm, and it smelled of her. I didn’t know how long the smell would last.
I held the dress to my face and breathed in. I held the breath and the dress.
Some time later I looked out of the window. William was in the garden watering my apple trees. I went downstairs and out into the garden. I was still holding the dress.
I said to him, ‘I don’t understand how I can still be alive.’
William set down the watering can and embraced me. Rough tweed, stiff, against my face. ‘And yet you are,’ he said. ‘Come with me to Upton Hall, Ellen. Sit a while with Lady B and me.’ The trees were damp at the knees, their leaves fluttered in the breeze. I saw Elizabeth crying in the doorway and beckoned to her. William took my arm. We left the apple trees to grow, and the three of us set off up the lane together.
TWO
Ellen
1944–1973
21
15th March 1944