Part 6 (1/2)

His kind words hurt me more than harsh ones. All my attempts to pretend to myself that only time is needed, that I will habituate myself to the idea if I am left alone, now strike me as weak and self-deceiving. I squeeze his hand; notice how his sallow fingers contrast with my white ones, as if we are opposites never to be conjoined. 'Oh, Robert, you are kind and admirable and everything a husband should be. But I have an irrational fear. I cannot describe it. I cannot understand it myself.'

'You know I won't hurt you at least not more than I can help.' He sounds as if he might break down in tears.

'I know you won't, Robert. And, anyway, I can bear pain.' I know that for certain. I've tested myself over and over, just to make sure. I've held my fingers over candle flames, and jabbed darning needles into my palm six at a time.

'Then I'm at a loss.' He puts his face in his hands, hopeless. We are silent for a while. Then he raises his head. 'Margaret, I hesitate to say this, but I feel maybe the time has come when we should consult a medical man. This antipathy of yours cannot be normal. It must be some sort of nervous condition.'

I need to offer him some hope. 'Yes,' I say. 'Maybe you are right.'

He smiles like a man who has been given a new life. 'I am glad you agree. I will ask Dr Lawrence to recommend a specialist. Someone in London Harley Street perhaps. We will have this cleared up in no time.' His face is flushed and joyous, and I feel guilty for encouraging him along what I am sure is the wrong path. 'Now, will you come down for dinner or shall I have something sent up?'

'A little soup, perhaps?' I am anxious to perpetuate the notion that I am in somewhat fragile health. I kiss his hand. My lips feel the little black hairs that cl.u.s.ter there and I have to suppress a shudder. 'You are so kind, Robert.'

He looks gratified. 'Nonsense,' he says. 'You are a dear girl and I love you. It's simply that I wish to love you more fully. As is right for man and wife.' He bends and kisses me on the forehead, a kiss of forgiveness and absolution. 'I will sleep in the dressing-room tonight. Let you rest with no fear of well, you know.' He backs away to the door and gives me a parting smile. 'Goodnight, dear.'

'Goodnight, Robert.'

He's forgotten all about the journal. But I can feel it against my thigh, an insistent presence, and now (maybe) my salvation. Memories are emerging in small and elusive flashes. Robert won't come back tonight, so I can read as much as I want. I draw it out and open it again, skimming over my innocent prattlings about teatimes and theatre visits, finding where I left off. There is a storm to come, I feel sure.

Yesterday I cut my hair short and now everyone is cross with me, except Mr Jameson, who said it made me look prettier than ever. (I know I shouldn't write down compliments, but he did say it.) I am very pleased with the result, which was mainly thanks to Mr Jameson in the end. Mama looked really cross and said, 'Really, Mr Jameson, you should have stopped her,' but I told her Mr J didn't know I'd done it so she didn't say any more. My sisters are being spiteful as usual. Sarah said it wouldn't grow back for ages, so I said I didn't want it to, as I wanted it short for ever. Christiana said she thought fringes were very common and it made me look as if I had lice and she'd be ashamed to go out with me now not that she often does. Papa said he didn't mind what hairstyle I wore except that there was deceit involved and he was disappointed in me and that I would need to ask forgiveness and learn suitable verses from the Bible. I thought this was a quite lenient punishment for Papa, but I'm not sure that I can ask for forgiveness as I am still pleased that I did it. I hope this will not affect my outings with Mr Jameson. It was truly not his fault, although I did it in his rooms. I hadn't intended to do it, it just happened on the spur of the moment after we had come back from the Botanical Gardens, which was very interesting as I saw the monkeys again and fed them on bits of fruit. Mr Jameson pointed at one and said, 'How would you like it if you had that fellow for your great-great-grandfather?' And I said I wouldn't like it at all. And he said some people thought we had monkeys for our ancesters but of course that was foolish talk because the Bible says we are all descended from Adam and Eve, and that was far more logical, wasn't it at least Bishop Wilberforce thought so. And I said I thought the bishop was right, and Mr Jameson said that was sensible of me, as bishops were always supposed to be right.

Then we went back to his rooms to have tea, and he said he'd like to take some more photographs of me if I didn't mind. Then he said, 'How would you like to dress up as a gypsy girl?' And I said I would like it very much but I didn't have the costume. And he said Aha, and opened his bedroom door and there it was already waiting for me, laid out on his bed. He said he had had it sent post-haste from Nathan's, and he hoped it would fit, as he'd had to guess my size. I don't know what we would have done if it hadn't fitted, as Hannah wasn't there to help and I am not very good at sewing except for plain seams and cross-st.i.tch.

However, the dress was just right and was very pretty although the top of the sleeves kept falling down over my shoulder, but Mr Jameson said that bare shoulders looked right for a gypsy girl, and went with my bare feet. He said the way my hair was untidy was right too. That was when I told him that I hated my hair and wanted to cut it short like Miss Garfield had said, but I was afraid Mama would not allow it. I said I wished Miss Garfield had had some scissors with her because it was very difficult to cut your own hair especially with embroidary scissors. Then Mr Jameson said, 'Have you been trying to do that?' And I said I had snipped a bit off but I was afraid I'd make a mess of it so I'd stopped. And he came and stood behind me and lifted my hair in front of the looking-gla.s.s and asked how short I wanted it, bringing his hand higher and higher until it was up to my chin. And I said yes, and as well as that I wanted to have a fringe like Enid and Emma, so that my hair didn't fall over my face and make me hot. It is so horrid to be hot all the time and I just want to be cool and free. And he stood there holding my hair in his hands and looking at us both in the gla.s.s as if we were a photograph in a frame. I asked him if he would be so kind as to cut it for me but he shook his head and said it was Quite Impossible, and I was a bit cross and said it was not impossible at all, and anyway he always said it was important to think the impossible. Then he laughed and said, 'Don't you know that a thing can be possible and impossible at the same time?' And I said that was silly, it had to be one or the other. And he said no it didn't and that cutting my hair was possible because he knew how to use a pair of scissors but impossible because it would be wrong. I said it wasn't wrong as Nettie always used to cut an inch off every month, but Mr Jameson said that was different as Nettie was my nursemaid, but he was a batcheler don and as such he came under the Eye of Society. I wasn't sure why the Eye of Society was interested in who cut my hair but Mr J said Society was interested in a lot of things it had no business to be, including kindnesses that might pa.s.s between a little girl and a gentleman who was not related to her (meaning him of course). Mainly he was afraid that my mother would disapprove and stop me visiting him which would make him miserable. Well, of course, I didn't want that to happen but I thought all the same that he was giving in too easily. Surely Mama would not be cross with him as he was a grown-up person and had saved Benjy from drowning? But he said mamas could be very particular about some things and this was one of them.

Then he stood back from the gla.s.s and said it was time to take the photograph and then he noticed that I was still wearing my pantalettes and he said that, if it was not too delicate a matter to mention, he feared I would need to remove them, as all the frills and ribbons were showing through the rags, which would not do at all. I asked him what real gypsies did when their drawers showed through their rags, and he said, 'Oh, I think you'll find they are very free and easy in such matters.' He then went back into his sitting room and I took off my drawers and folded them up with my petticoats and dress. Then I saw there was a pair of very large scissors on the dressing-table that seemed to be asking to be picked up, so I did, wondering what Mr Jameson did with them. They were very heavy and had big black handles. They were so big that I knew they would cut my hair in no time and once it was done it wouldn't matter what Society or anyone else said. I stood in front of the looking-gla.s.s and put them across my forehead and let the blades crunch through my hair. I couldn't see what I was doing because my arm was in the way but I saw great long bits of hair fall onto my chest and when I put my arm down I saw my face looking quite different, and I felt quite airy and nice. Then I noticed that the fringe was very crooked so I tried to take a little bit more off one side, but the scissors were so heavy, I couldn't hold them straight. I began to feel very hot and panicky and was afraid I might end up with no front hair at all like Enid's sister who had allopeasha and couldn't go out for a year. So I went back to Mr Jameson in the other room.

He was so astonished when he saw me that his eyebrows went right up. 'Dear, dear,' he said. 'You have put the cat among the pigeons! But what a very disagreeable job you have made of it. I cannot take your photograph like that.' I said that his scissors had been too big to do it properly. 'Oh,' he said. 'I daresay. They are Benson's scissors as it happens. I asked him to take a couple of inches off my gown as the hem had come undone and I was treading on my tail. But you cannot go back to your mama like that. We'll have to improve it somehow and you'll need to stand very still while I do it.' I was relieved that he was going to help me but I said, 'What about the Eye of Society?' And he said, 'Well strictly speaking I'm not cutting your hair, just tr.i.m.m.i.n.g it to make sure you're not too much of a fright when your mama sees you, which is as different as a peach from a perambulator. Now you'd better stand on a chair while I do it.' And he got a wooden chair and put it in front of the wardrobe mirror and picked up the scissors. I climbed on the chair and said that I was as tall as he was now and he smiled and said in this world it was easy to grow larger but very difficult to get smaller which was a pity as he would rather like to be as small as me sometimes. And I said I hated being small and wanted to have long legs like Christiana and Sarah, so I could wear long skirts and petticoats and swirl them around. And he said don't wish for that, enjoy your childhood while you can. Then he lifted the scissors and started to make neat little snips to my fringe and I could feel his fingers against my forehead and they were so shaky I was worried that he would make things worse but in the end he cut it what he called a Perfect Horizontal at ninety degrees to the plum although I couldn't see a plum anywhere. When he finished, he said I looked very pretty now and when I looked in the gla.s.s I thought I did too and I could imagine myself on the stage with all the other gypsy girls and everybody clapping. Then Mr Jameson brushed the little bits of hair off my cheeks and neck, and his fingers tickled me and I laughed and tucked in my chin and he said he could see I was ticklish which was a sign of a Sensative Nature, and he was rather ticklish himself and his sisters had had no mercy on him when he was a boy. And I asked him how many sisters he had had and he said seven (which meant a lot of tickling!). And then he said we must get on a little faster as Benson would soon be getting the tea ready and would be in a bad temper if we were still in the dark room when it was time to sit down. So we went into that little studio and he lit the lights and told me where to stand and how to turn my head. I was a bit cold without my drawers, but Mr Jameson said it was all in the cause of Art, and Art is very important. DEB.

I have goose-flesh now, just to think of it me in my skimpy outfit against a painted background of sky and clouds, carrying a basket as if I'm selling nosegays, and standing on a make-believe rock with my hand on my hip. It's very clear in my head, because I saw the photograph many times, as Mr Jameson kept it proudly on his mantelpiece in a silver frame. 'I will always remember you like that,' he said. 'Even when you are grown up, you will always be a little gypsy girl to me.'

9.

JOHN JAMESON.

I have always loved the theatre. I have never believed, like many men of the cloth, that it is a place of impropriety. To me, a theatrical performance, when done properly without oaths or coa.r.s.eness, I mean represents the best and truest spirit of fancy, and is the means of touching what is closest to our hearts. When I was a child, and even as a youth, there was nothing I enjoyed so much as joining with my sisters in performing anything from charades to melodramas to the great amus.e.m.e.nt of our parents and all concerned and it has remained my habit as an adult man to frequent the stage as often as I can. I will always make it my business to see a Shakespeare play, particularly if it is a comedy, and I am drawn by anything of a light, fanciful nature. I especially like dancing when it is done by young ladies or children. It is so natural and free.

I have to confess that one of my particular enjoyments is watching the faces of the children seated in the audience; and indeed at times I am guilty of watching them in preference to what unfolds on stage. How I love their round-eyed sense of wonder as the curtain rises and a magical scene is displayed: a wood, a fairy castle, a baronial hall or a rose-covered cottage the colours so intense in the limelight. And here comes a princess in a floating white dress with spangles! And there is a monster with a head like a bear! And, ah, there is the young girl in a short tunic and pink tights, who pretends to be a boy and shows her shapely legs in all their beauty! How the little audience is transfixed! How it opens its mouth in astonishment at the moving scenery! How it hides its head in horror as the villain comes up from the depths, or fairies fly down from the sky! How it laughs at the antics of the clownish servants and their acrobatic tricks! I think I would not enjoy myself half so much if the little people were not there with their unreserved and spontaneous response.

So the prospect of taking my own little member of the audience with me has been exciting me for days. Daisy, bless her, wrote an extremely formal reply to my invitation, so I replied with equal formality: My dear Miss Baxter, Thank you for your excellent reply. But you will be getting tired of my long letter, so I will bring it to an end and sign myself, Yours affct, John Jameson. She said the letter had made her laugh. She also said her sisters were envious of her trip to London and when they had complained, her father had chastised them for not paying me more attention. Thank heavens they did not, or I would have been obliged to arrange an outing for the three of them, which would not have been half so delectable.

As it was, Daniel brought Daisy to meet me at Carfax. As he had business in St Ebbe's, he took his leave of us there, and the two of us walked on to the station. It was raining lightly and I had to draw Daisy under my umbrella to protect her from the splashes. Her waist was so tiny, I could hardly believe it. She seemed like gossamer under my fingers, and to have her so close bobbing along with her head just above my elbow, and the faint smell of her damp hair wafting up towards me was supremely delightful. I imagined how it might have been were I her father; how proud I would have been of her, seeing old ladies and nursemaids giving us approving glances as we walked and chatted.

'Is it a long way to London?' she asked, clinging to me as she daintily avoided a puddle. 'I have looked in my atlas, but it doesn't say.'

'It can be long or short. It depends where you start from,' I replied.

'Well, here of course,' she said with a laugh.

'Well, there's no ”of course” about it. If we were in Birmingham or Chester, we would have to start our journey there, and it would be a lot longer.'

'But we're not in Birmingham or Chester!'

'How very to the point you are! Let me see, I reckon it will take us an hour and three-quarters provided it is not a very slow train. Some trains are dreadfully slow, you know. Some are so slow I think they might even go backwards, and you'll end up in Newcastle the day before yesterday.'

She looked a little alarmed. 'Can trains really go backwards?'

'Well, some are pulled and some are pushed. The locomotives may go backwards, but, rest a.s.sured, the carriages will always go forwards relatively speaking, that is.'

She wrinkled her forehead. 'I think you are just making all this up! I shall take no notice of you.'

'Quite right. I am a foolish old thing.'

She gave me a sharp look. 'Are you old, Mr Jameson?'

'Depends on what you mean by ”old”, Miss Baxter. I'm younger than your pa. But age is as age does. I'm only eleven at heart.'

'That's my age.'

'Yes. That's why we are such good friends.'

'And what will happen when I am twelve?' She laughed. 'Will you be twelve too?'

My heart sank. 'Sadly, no. I am destined to be eleven for ever. You will grow away from me, my dear. Soon you won't want to know me just like Christiana and Sarah.'

'I will! I'll always want to know you!' She grasped my arm again.

'Bless you. You are a dear child.' But my heart was heavy at the knowledge that she was so dreadfully wrong.

The journey pa.s.sed quickly. Daisy was so interested in everything. She said she had been on a train many times to visit her grandfather in Herefords.h.i.+re, and sometimes to go to the seaside at Aberystwyth. As a result, she knew not to lean out of the window for fear of getting a cinder in her eye. 'I shall look at the cows and sheep instead,' she said, pressing her face to the gla.s.s. But the cows and sheep lost their charm after about fifteen minutes, and she jumped up and kneeled on the brown plush of the seat opposite and began to examine the pictures below the luggage net. 'Taunton sounds rather a cross place, doesn't it? But Dawlish sounds nice a bit like dawdling. And it looks nice, too.'

At Didcot we were joined by a lady with a Scotch terrier and a small boy who made appalling faces at us when his mother wasn't looking. Daisy ignored him with an air of infinite superiority, choosing to talk only to the lady and the dog, but I a.s.sumed the most grotesque of faces behind cover of my newspaper and fixed my stare on the wretched child for as long as I could. The mother, looking up suddenly, caught her son with his tongue out, and slapped his hand sharply: 'That's rude, Tommy! Apologize to the gentleman at once!' In vain did he burble that 'The gentleman did it first!' His mother gave him another slap and said lying would only make matters worse, and she was so sorry and hoped I wouldn't be offended. 'Why can't you just behave?' she told the boy. 'Why can't you be like this nice young girl and sit still and talk nicely?'

Daisy looked very smug, and spread her dress out around her and sat plumb in the middle of it with her back straight and her little hat tipped forward and her neat little feet crossed at the ankles, all as if b.u.t.ter wouldn't melt in her mouth. The boy looked daggers at her, and Daisy in way of response turned round and said pointedly, in a grown-up way, 'Which theatre is it that we are going to, Mr Jameson?'

'Theatre Royal, Drury Lane,' I said. 'That is the best one for spectacle and transformation scenes, I think. And always the best for fairies.'

'Oh, indeed,' said the mother. 'How lucky you are to be going there, young lady. But then I expect you have deserved such a lovely outing. And your uncle '

'Sadly, I am but a family friend,' I put in, anxious not to have the woman make any mistake in the matter, even though we were unlikely to meet again.

' Well, your nice friend, then. I'm sure he has arranged this treat knowing you would sit still and listen to what is being said unlike some people I know.' And she glowered so much that even I was compelled to feel sorry for the boy.

They got out at Reading, the dog yapping at their heels, and Daisy and I were alone again. 'When we get to London, will we see the sights?' she asked. 'Or will we go straight to the theatre?'

I said that we would go to the theatre, as the performance began at half past three o'clock. 'We'll just have enough time to get across town from Paddington.'