“I hope they’re all right,” said Flo gently.
At the bay by the boathouse Dick stopped. “When are you visiting the market again?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Flo. “I must go.” And she tan up the bank. He called, “Good-bye,” but got no return.
Chapter 16
Captain Webb got over his exhaustion and seemed not to have been affected. But Jenny’s milk was short. Because of her wildness also Mr. Nadin decided to sell her, and he and Clem drove her to auction the following Thursday. Captain Webb bawled disconsolately. He made much more fuss over the loss of his mother than he had done about his great swim. With Flo he became a favourite, and whenever she could get away to his pen she fondled his head or let him suck her fingers.
“You’ll have ’im mardy as a kitten,” said Mr. Nadin in a pleased humour.
Flo didn’t like the name “Captain Webb”. It sounded too old. But all the rest took it up, for Dick had found Bert in the boathouse and had passed the name on to him. Flo, when no one else was about, called the calf “Jerry”, because she thought it suited his inconsequence. Three days after Jenny had gone he seemed to have forgotten that he had ever had a mother, and he accepted everything and everybody with bland, big-eyed innocence. Flo wrote home about his great adventure, describing him fully and telling how greedy he was. Since leaving home she had written to her mother about once a week, and once she had written to Ivy, but she had had no reply from either. As long as she could remember, Flo had only known her mother write two letters, both when relatives had died; and these letters had only been got out with a great deal of worry and labour. So that Flo did not expect much from her mother, but she thought that Ivy might have made an effort to write. It was hard sending letters each week without getting any reply, yet Flo persisted because she got a certain amount of comfort out of steadily thinking of home, as she had to do when she wrote. However, ten days after her letter about Jerry she was thrilled when she got in from washing the churns to see on the mantleshelf, leaning against the tin tea-canister with the picture of Queen Victoria on, a blue envelope marked with her mother’s untidy heavy blotched writing.
“Summat’s goin’ off. It’ll non be a love-letter by looks on it,” said Mrs. Nadin as Flo reached up.
Flo was tempted to tear it open at once; then after a moment’s hesitation, she thrust it in the neck of her blue working frock. It was such an event that she felt she wanted to enjoy it alone.
“Dunna you want ta read it? Happen you’ve had a fortune left,” said Mrs. Nadin; and next with unexpected intuition, “Goo upstairs an’ get it done wi’. You’ll ne’er work till tha’s got the guts out of it.”
“Can I?”
“Can a cat lick its backside? ’Course it can. Off with you, but dunna tek aw day.”
Flo ran up and shut the bedroom door and went to the window and sat on the sill, Her fingers shook and tore the envelope jaggedly. There was a single thick sheet on which the writing wavered at one place under the blue lines, then above, but hardly anywhere exactly on them. It read:
Dear Flo,
Mrs. Howels says why havent you write you promise before You went and are you Beeing good girl. Taking care of them cloathes? I got got a cold but nott to bad Mrs. Baybut got baby. boy Ivy yu know on Twntysix. When you sending sume mony stead Of tellin about JERRY ME you working work an get noathin attall better be Home 8 I, think doant you Hoping this finds as it leeves mee your Mother Millicent Royer. Write Mrs. H. PS an doant frget some cash
XXXXX mother.
When yu comin home.
Flo turned it over in the hope that there might be something on the other side but there were only three grease spots. She could imagine it being laboriously written on the table after tea; with Ivy off-handedly tossing over suggestions, but not really helping. Whatever did that part about Ivy mean? Had Mrs. Baybutt had a baby boy; or had Ivy got another young man? Of course, Flo hadn’t written to Mrs. Howell, and she didn’t intend to. Wasn’t it Mrs. Howell’s fault that there was no money? How could she send money when she hardly got any? Flo read the letter through again, and this time the two phrases that stood out as if written in block capitals were: “better be Home,” and “When yu comin home.” How could she go home when she hadn’t even enough for the fare? Suddenly she let the letter waver to the carpet and sobbed. For nearly five minutes she kept her face hidden, thinking of home and her mother and Ivy and the hopelessness of ever being able to go back. Then gradually she felt better, and looked out and saw the lake and the hills and recognized their familiarity. She remembered that she had only come up to read the letter, yet how long had she been? She hurriedly straightened her hair and smoothed her eyebrows with her handkerchief and started downstairs. On the landing Dot met her.
“What have you been doing?” she demanded in a disagreeable tone.
“Missis sent me,” said Flo shortly, and went on down.
“Don’t speak to me like that,” shouted Dot.
As soon as Flo went in at the kitchen Mrs. Nadin started: “Well, how are they? Sister had any illegitimate kids yet?”
“They want to know when I’m going home,” Flo answered. “And when I’m sending some money.”
“It’s not till six months, first holiday . . . three days . . . accordin’ ta what they said in papers as they sent. I’m payin’ you what they said, an’ t’other goos ta them for togs an’ things. How done they reckon you con send ’em owt?” demanded Mrs. Nadin.
“I don’t know,” said Flo meekly.
“Damn soft arrangement. We could ’a fitted you up wi’ clothes as would ’a done. Dot’s got more stuff than oo knows what ta do wi’.”
“Yes,” said Flo.
“If you’d like ta send ’em a few eggs or summat, I’ll see what we con spare.”
This only made Flo feel more homesick. She was relieved when she was told to go and start cleaning the cabin. There instead of working in her usual steady way she went at it fiercely, brushing the matting till the place was misty with dust, then dropping on a chair and staring through the window, all her energy and intention spent. She knew that she was giving way as she ought not to, pitying herself, but she abandoned herself and hoped that Dot would come, then they could have a row. However, Dot did not come, and eventually Flo started dusting, giving everything the merest flick, just to be able to say that she’d done it. When she looked out again she saw Dick Goldbourn come from behind the willows at the left end of the little beach and work himself across and go behind the willows again. Despite her mood she was impressed by his uncomplaining intentness. He had troubles, yet there he was making the best that he could of things. Her thoughts lost centre in herself, and she began to think of his life; her sympathy flowed outward after him. Surely he needed someone to look after him. Wasn’t that a job that she could do instead of carrying on hopelessly at Prettyfield? And then the thought came that the only way really to help him was to marry him. The only person that could really help him would have to be his wife. Suppose . . . suppose that it were possible! She gazed hard through the willows where he had gone, only she could not see him. Nevertheless the more she thought about marrying him the more attractive it seemed. How nice it would be to have a man who had a lot of money. Then she would be able to send home whatever she wanted. Her imagination took charge and she saw herself in furs in a Rolls driving up Balloon Street and all the neighbours watching and envying her. She remembered the woman in the poppy jumper that once she had seen on the yacht. And suddenly she laughed and stood up from the chair quickly.