“Oh,” she said in a little sigh all to herself.
Simon was still hiding behind the sofa.
I hope his mum is gentle with her.
SEPTEMBER 1906
Albert Waterhouse
Don’t know that I’ll tell anyone, not even Trudy, but I escorted Kitty Coleman home the other night. I was coming back from nets on the heath with Richard Coleman when I remembered that Trudy wanted me to leave a message with the vicar at St. Anne‘s-a trifle about altar flowers or some such thing. I try not to attend to that sort of detail-best left to Trudy. But I told Richard I’d catch him up at the Bull and Last and ran off like a good errand boy.
Afterward I was heading toward the pub when I looked up Swain’s Lane and saw Kitty Coleman, walking along slowly with her head bowed, kicking at her skirts. I thought her a peculiar sight, given it was twilight and she was alone and didn’t seem to be walking anywhere in particular.
“Evening, Mrs. Coleman,” I said, raising my cap. “Nice night for a stroll, isn’t it? Last spurt of summer, looks like we’re having.” My choice of words made me blush. I don’t know what it is about Kitty Coleman-she inspires me to say things I shouldn’t.
She didn’t seem to notice, though-she just stared at me like I was a ghost. I was taken aback by her appearance. Richard had mentioned she’d been ill and was not looking her finest. But it was more than that. Her looks were plainly gone, I am sorry to say.
“Are you on your way somewhere?”
Kitty Coleman hesitated. “I have been… I wanted to climb the hill but couldn’t.”
“It is steep, that hill up to the cemetery. And if you haven’t been well it must seem like a mountain. Would you like me to take you to your husband? I was just going to meet him at the pub.”
“I don’t want to see Richard,” Kitty Coleman said quickly.
I didn’t know what to make of that, but I couldn’t leave her there on her own-she seemed so ill and childlike. “Shall I see you home, then?”
I held out my arm, feeling a little silly and wondering what Trudy would say if she could see us. I know she doesn’t think much of Kitty Coleman. Luckily Trudy was safely tucked away at home with our girls. Maude was there, too, staying the night.
After a moment Kitty Coleman took my arm. The quickest way to her house was straight past the Bull and Last, but I didn’t go that way. It would have felt strange to parade past the pub and have Richard Coleman look out and see me with his wife on my arm when I was meant to be at the vicar’s. I could have explained it, but it still didn’t look right. So I took the back way, which she didn’t remark upon. I tried to make conversation en route, but she didn’t say much, just “Yes” and “Thank you” when thanks weren’t even called for.
Never mind. I saw her home, feeling a little foolish but a little proud too-her face may not be so pretty now but she still carries herself well and wore a nice gray dress, even if it was a bit rumpled. A couple of passersby stared at us and I couldn’t help but hold myself a little straighter.
“Will you be all right, then, Mrs. Coleman?” I asked when we got to her door.
“Of course. Thank you.”
“You look after yourself, now. Tuck yourself up with a Horlicks and get an early night.”
She nodded and slipped inside. It was only when I was heading back to the pub that I realized she hadn’t said my name at all. I began to wonder if she’d even recognized me.
At the Bull and Last, Richard teased me for spending so long at the vicar’s. I just nodded and ordered another pint.
OCTOBER 1906
Lavinia Waterhouse
I was truly shocked when I saw Maude’s mother.
We almost didn’t see her. We had stopped at Maude’s house on our way home from school only because I wanted Maude to lend me a book about plants so that I can copy passages from it for a school essay. Maude was reluctant to get it, and I thought it was because she disapproved of my copying, as our essays are meant to be original. (It is so tedious to think up things to write, especially about “the life cycle of leaves”!) But now I think it was because she did not want me to see her mother. Indeed, when I think back on it, Maude has been coming to my house almost every day for months-even more than before.
She hurried me up to her room for the book and hurried me down again. Just then Mrs. Coleman came out of the morning room. She looked at us so vaguely that I was not even sure she really saw us until Maude said, “Hello, Mummy,” very softly, and she nodded slightly.
I was so surprised by her appearance that I did not even say anything about it to Maude-which made me rather sad, as I thought we shared all our thoughts. But I could not bring myself to ask her why her mother is so thin, and her hair suddenly has gray in it, and her skin looks like ditch water. Worse than that-for one can always dye or pull out gray hair (as Mama does) and apply a tonic to dull skin-Mrs. Coleman does not sparkle as she used to. Admittedly her sparkle felt a little wicked at times-which is why Mama does not care for her-but without it she is very flat indeed.
Clearly something is wrong at the Colemans‘. Not only is Maude’s mother not herself, but a few months ago their maid Jenny was suddenly taken ill and had to go away. Perhaps they have the same illness. Maude says Jenny is returning soon. I shall have to look to see if she has gray hairs as well. It is just as well she’s coming back, for the temporary chars have been dreadful. Maude hasn’t liked any of them, and the house looked none too clean, the little I saw of it. The plants on the landings were terribly dusty.
I said nothing of this to Maude, poor dear. She was very subdued as we went on to my house. I tried to be especially nice to her, even suggesting that we attend the official opening of our local public library. They have been building it on Chester Road all summer, and there is to be a ceremony on Thursday afternoon. I am not keen on going-it will be all tedious speeches-but it may cheer Maude as she is so fond of libraries. And it would mean we could leave early and miss the last class at school, which is math. I can’t abide math-all those dull numbers. In fact I don’t like any of my classes, except for domestic arts and composition, though Miss Johnson says my imagination needs reining in-a compliment, I should think!
Mama will have to get permission for us both to leave school early, as Maude’s mother is clearly incapable of making such arrangements. And I expect Mama and Ivy May will have to come with us, although it is only a few minutes away. Maude and I are eleven years old, yet we are still not allowed to go anywhere alone except to walk to school together. Mama says you never know what might happen, and reads all sorts of terrible things out from the newspapers-babies left to freeze on the heath, or people drowning in the ponds, or rough men looking for girls to prey upon.
When we arrived home I asked Mama if we could all go to the library ceremony. She said yes, the dear. She always says yes to me.
Then Maude asked a funny thing. “Please, Mrs. Waterhouse,” she said, “could you ask my mother to come with us? She hasn’t been well these past months, and she could do with getting a bit of air.”
Well, Mama was nonplussed by this request-surely Maude could ask her own mother!-but she said she would. I was a bit put out, as I am not at all sure I wish to be seen with someone who has clearly let herself go. Nonetheless, I must stand by my friend. Besides, Mama may not be able to convince Mrs. Coleman to come with us-it is not as if they are close friends. If she does, though, perhaps I will steal over to their house one night and leave a bottle of hair dye on the doorstep.
Gertrude Waterhouse
I did not have the heart to say no to Maude. It is horrifying to think a girl cannot even ask her mother to escort her somewhere. I wanted to inquire why she felt she could not, but she looked so meek and sad that I simply said I would do my best and left it at that. I did not think I could do much good, though, even for something as insignificant as arranging an outing. I have never had any influence with Kitty Coleman, and if Maude cannot convince her to come to a little local event, I do not see how I will be able to.