The fog had cleared away altogether by the next morning; the sun came out for a fine bright day – and it was Sunday, so Ben would be at home. We ate our breakfast late, lingering over it in the warm kitchen; there was no need to hurry because we made our own Sunday dinner now and could have it when we pleased – Mary left everything ready and then spent the day with her family.
Pushing back his chair, Ben stretched the muscles in his arms until his joints cracked, then glanced at me and asked, ‘’Ow do you fancy a little walk, lass? Just to end of street and back?’
For a moment I was frightened – I had only been beyond the front door that once, before Christmas, and then he had half-carried me to the cab. I had lived safe in my warm little cocoon ever since – so now I was nervous of the world outside. But Ben would be with me – and looking at his broad shoulders I knew he would help me if need be, so I drew a deep breath and told him, ‘Yes – yes Ben, I’d like to try.’
‘You mun wrap up well, then. Fetch down a thick coat.’
It was strange to be putting a hat on my head after so long, and easing my fingers into gloves. When I came shyly down he looked at my feet and grunted, ‘You never give up, do you? First walk out and it’s got to be in heels.’
‘These are my lowest, Ben – and I wear them round the house, all the time.’
‘Aye – I suppose you do.’ His gaze travelled slowly up to my face and he smiled. ‘With having such a neat pair of ankles mebbe it’s only natural you want to show them off.’ He added, quite seriously, ‘I reckon change in fashions did us all a bit of good where you’re concerned – legs like yours are too fine to be hidden – now your ma, hers ’ud be better covered up, like.’ I felt a small surge of triumph – Mother was beautiful, but Ben was right – her legs were shapeless. I slipped my hand through his arm and he led me to the door.
The winter sun was so bright outside that I stood blinking in the doorway, dazzled by it. Then Ben pressed my hand. ‘Come on now, lass – us’ll take it slowly. We’ll go up first, then you’ve only got the downhill run when you’re tired.’
As we turned to head up the street the door opposite opened, and a man came quickly across the cobbles, tugging his jacket on over his braces, his hand outstretched. ‘’Ow are you, Missus Holden? I’m reet pleased to see you up and about. My Lizzie says, as soon as door opened, “Sid, that’s Missus Holden out for a walk – you get straight over to ’er and say good morning and wish ’er all the best” – so ’ere I am.’
As he pumped my hand vigorously I murmured, ‘Thank you – thank you so much.’
Other doors opened; Mrs Ingham came out wiping her hands on her apron, a round-eyed toddler clinging to her skirts. ‘How are you, Mrs Holden? First time out, is it? Now you just take it steady. I’m right glad to see you on the mend.’
We moved slowly up the street – it was like a royal progress. My hand was shaken over and over again while Ben’s shoulder was vigorously thumped. I kept murmuring, ‘Thank you, thank you,’ the tears filling my eyes.
As we reached the top of the street a fat, balding man came rushing out with a chair and planted it on the flagged pavement. ‘Here you are, Missus Holden – you just have a rest afore y’ goo down again.’ I collapsed on to the seat gratefully. Ben said, ‘Albert here, we were in same company for a while early on.’
Albert beamed, a great gap-toothed grin. ‘Aye, that’s reet.’ Then his face became serious. ‘And I knew your brothers, lass – they were as like as two peas in a pod, and always ready with a laugh and a joke. I were sorry, reet sorry.’ He added, ‘An’ I were sorry when I heard how bad you were – but I were in hospital at Eatapps meself, so no wonder you were worn out. How about a cup o’ tea now, just to keep your strength up? Florrie’s got kettle on.’
The small wiry woman in the doorway smiled, but Ben said, ‘Thanks, Albert another time we’ll take your offer, but I best get lass back now, afore sun goes in.’ He helped me up and I set slowly off again, clinging to Ben’s arm.
He put me straight on the sofa as soon as we got home and plumped the cushions up behind me. My legs were trembling a little. ‘How kind everyone was, Ben – how very kind – but’ – I swallowed, then plunged on – ‘but when I first came here, back in June – I mean – that is – people were always polite, but…’
He smiled a little. ‘You were a foreigner, lass – and so different – they was scared of you, with your voice and your ways. And then, you weren’t yourself, either…’ I remembered the days I had walked in my grief and despair down this street, unseeing, uncaring. His voice was dry as he added, ‘But there’s nowt like illness for getting folk interested – though it’s genuine interest, I’ll not say it isn’t – but it brings you down to same level, like – and they feel you’re more one of us now, I suppose.’ He stared into the leaping flames of the fire as he told me, ‘We unveiled war memorial in park back in October – so we all paraded there – with t’mayor and some general, though it were Mrs Illingworth who pulled flags off – she lost all her lads over them years, so it were right for her to do it. Anyroad, I were standing beside Albert, him as lives at top house with Florrie, and he said to me: “Your missus should be here today, Ben – wearing her ribbons just like us – I reckon if anyone’s got right to wear ribbons it’s her.”’ He looked up at me for a moment and added softly, ‘He were right, lass. I know from things you’ve let drop that you feel you’ve been weak over these last few months – just lying there in bed in nursing home, but you moan’t think like that – you were wounded in war, like me – and you needed rest – and still do – to get properly right. So no more of this nonsense about being a burden, being useless – do you hear?’
I smiled across at him. ‘Oh, Ben – and I’ve been hiding under the stairs every time I heard the rag-bone man calling in the street!’
He threw back his head and laughed, then slipped from his chair and knelt on the rug, putting his arms around me. I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling warm and safe. He lifted my chin gently and reached up to press his mouth on mine; I kept my lips still and let him kiss me. When he pulled back his head he was breathing deeply and I said, ‘Ben – if you want to – it would be all right.’
His gaze held mine, until my eyes fell; then he shook his head. ‘Nay, lass – I can tell difference – there’d be no pleasure in it for you. And you’ve only been up street once, hanging on me arm – you’re a long way from being right yet.’ He smiled and touched my cheek. ‘’Sides, I reckon with you being the way you are I’d only have to hang me trousers over end of bed and you’d be in family way by morning – and then what would your ma say to me?’
As he spoke I felt a little fluttering of pride – I was thin and small-breasted, but I had quickened to this man easily. Then I glanced at his vigorous body and ventured, ‘But you had something to do with it, too, Ben Holden.’
He grinned. ‘Aye, happen – ’cept on moor that first time – I must have missed then.’ He sounded almost ashamed of himself and I wanted to laugh – then he reached for his paper and muttered, ‘But if I’d taken you in maze when I came on that visit you’d ’a’ been walking up th’aisle with a full belly, my girl.’ I saw him give a small smile of satisfaction to himself before he began to read the news.
Watching him I thought, and when you filled my belly it was with two babies – not just one, but two – and I waited for the trembling to start, but it did not. The two I had lost had been unformed, come too early, when neither I nor they were ready. And they had not been my brothers – my brothers had died for their country, as so many other men had done.
I lay with my eyes closed for a while, resting, then I opened them and looked across at the man reading the paper: with his straight nose, his full firm mouth, his neat, curving ears. I said suddenly, ‘Ben – you’ve got very nice ears – they don’t stick out like most men’s do – they lie so beautifully flat against the side of your head.’
He looked up, his mouth twitching slightly. ‘Aye – you mun thank me old mam for that. She used to pin them to side of me head with a meat skewer every night, regular.’ I stared at him. ‘’Course, it were difficult to sleep, like –’ He burst out laughing. ‘The look on your face, lass! You believed me for a minute there, didn’t you?’ I blushed and laughed at myself, then he jumped up. ‘You stay there, sweetheart – I’ll start veg.’
Next morning Mary Grimshaw arrived late; she flushed and began to apologize. ‘I’m so sorry, Lady Helena – but Jim’s not so well – his stumps are playing him up – he reckons he can feel his legs again, and it always upsets him – and our Betsy’s in such a mood – she keeps pestering him and he hasn’t got patience when he’s like this.’
She sighed as she put down my tray. I said quickly, ‘Mrs Grimshaw – go and fetch Betsy – she can spend the day with us, then your husband can rest.’ She hesitated, biting her lip, so I added, ‘I’m sure I’ll enjoy her company – I’m going to walk up the street again, and she can come with me and hold my hand.’
Her face lightened. ‘If you’re sure, Lady Helena – she likes to think she’s helping, does Betsy – and it need only be for morning. Right, I’ll do that – and thank you kindly.’
Betsy’s curly fair hair was tied ruthlessly back into two stubby pigtails; her eyes were ferociously blue. As soon as she was inside the door she held out one chubby hand. ‘I’ll tek you up street, missus – I’ll see you reet.’
‘Now, Betsy - my lady’s got to have her breakfast, first.’ Betsy’s lower lip pouted ominously.
I rushed in with, ‘Perhaps you would like to share a slice of toast with me, Betsy’, and watched her mouth change direction. ‘Wi jam, missus? Wi’ jam?’ Then she saw her mother’s expression and added hastily, ‘Please.’ I was walking more easily this morning I was proud of myself; Betsy clung to my hand and planted her small clogs firmly in the gutter as she ‘helped’ me down the curb. I thanked her when we got back and her blue eyes shone.
Later I heard her ‘helping’ her mother in the kitchen, and Mary’s voice raised in irritation, so I went out and invited her to sit in the front room with me. But I was not used to small children and could barely follow her dialect, so I let her roam around the parlour exploring while I lay back and closed my eyes.
It was the clashing discord which jerked me upright – Mary had the child by her plait – Betsy, red-faced and defiant, was anchored to the piano leg. ‘Wanter make a noise, wanter make a noise!’
Mary drew breath – she had been up in the night, her patience was gone – I intervened quickly, ‘I’ll make a noise for you, Betsy – I’ll show you how to do it.’ I pulled out the piano stool and began to play, ‘Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?’
The child’s eyes went rounded, her mouth fell open. ‘Baa baa – baa baa.’
I laughed. ‘Clever girl, Betsy – that’s right. Can you sing it?’
She took a deep breath and as I slowly played began: ‘Baa, baa, black sheep, ’ave you any wool? ’Ess, sir, ’ess sir’ I saw her groping for the words and I picked up the tune and helped her continue: ‘Three bags full.’ Then together we sang on to the end: ‘One for the master, and one for the dame, And one for the little boy that cries down the lane!’
Her voice rose in a shriek of delight: ‘Again! Again!’
So I played it again, and when we had ured of the black sheep we sang of little Miss Muffett, frightened by the spider – Betsy screeched in a truly blood-curdling fashion at the end – then we sang for our supper with little Tommy Tucker and popped with the weasel before moving on to the horrifying tale of the three blind mice. I taught Betsy to sing ‘Ring a Ring of Roses’ and she flung herself to the floor at the final: ‘And they all fall down’ – and then it was lunchtime.
We all ate together in the kitchen and then Mary went home to see how Jim was. She took a protesting Betsy with her – ‘Mrs Walsh said she’d take her after dinner.’ I opened my mouth to offer but Mary silenced me: ‘No, Lady Helena – you mun rest, you only went out first time yesterday – Ben’d never forgive me if you tired yourself out.’
But I did not feel so very tired, though I went back into the parlour and put my feet up obediently. My eyes kept returning to the piano – Mary would be back soon – I jumped up and ran over to it in a guilty rush. As soon as I was sitting down I began to play my scale – raising my voice and singing. But when I reached G I knew I was forcing, and on top A I cracked. I breathed in and tried again – the same thing happened. I made myself wait five full minutes by the clock, then began the scale a third time but it was no use; I did manage top A but it was only with the greatest of effort – and it was not true.
I went back and lay down on the sofa. I, I who had soared effortlessly to high C, who with careful training and practice had learned to go easily beyond – I could no longer reach the high notes; I was only fit to sing nursery rhymes to children. I cried a little, then fell asleep.
Ben came home at teatime. Through the half-open door I heard Mary talking to him in the kitchen. ‘Lady Helena’s been up street – and I hope she hasn’t overtired herself – I brought Betsy with me this morning and my lady were right good with her. Betsy were thrilled because my lady played pianner to her and sang with her for hours.’
I heard Ben’s sharp question: ‘She sang – Helena sang?’
Mary said apologetically, ‘Betsy didn’t know all words of nursery rhymes, you see – but Lady Helena’s been asleep most of the afternoon – so mebbe Betsy were too much for her she is for most folks, I reckon.’ She sighed.
As soon as Mary had left Ben came through to me. His voice was elaborately casual as he said, ‘Mary says you’ve been singing with the youngster.’
There was no point in pretence. I shook my head. ‘It’s no use, Ben – after she’d gone I tried to sing my scales – my usual scales – and I can’t reach the top notes any more. It hasn’t come back.’
‘But mebbe with time…’
‘No Ben – I know my own voice, and it’s changed, I can hear it. The capacity just isn’t there any more.’
He moved restlessly around the room. ‘What about that singing teacher – the one you used to go to in Manchester – I remember the Captain telling me when I went to see him – couldn’t she help?’
‘Madame Goldman can only train a voice – she can’t create one that isn’t there.’
‘But it’s half there, lass.’
‘Ben – I can see line after line of music in my mind’s eye – and every time the notes rise… I would be dumb. You can’t half sing songs.’
‘No, no – happen not.’ He drew in a breath and said, ‘I’m glad you went out for a walk today, lass – but don’t over-do it, will you?’
The next day I asked for Betsy again, and we went a little further; her four-year-old legs and my rusty ones moved at the same pace. Neighbours stopped and spoke to us both in the streets and gradually, by listening to the child, my ears picked up the pattern and rhythm of their speech and I no longer had to strain to understand.
We ventured further afield each day, and on the Friday we came to the corner of Clegg Street. Betsy began to lead me up it – I hesitated but she tugged at my hand so I followed slowly behind her. We had just passed No. 6 when the door opened and Mrs Greenhalgh came out to stand on her snowy step. ‘My lady –’ Reluctantly I pulled Betsy round; Mrs Greenhalgh advanced. ‘My lady, I’m glad to see you on your feet again – we heard you’d been poorly.’ Her face was stern, but not unkind.
‘Thank you, Mrs Greenhalgh – thank you.’ Then I plunged on, ‘And Emmie – how is Emmie?’
She permitted herself the indulgence of a small smile. ‘She’s very well, my lady – courting steady now. A decent young lad, she met him through chapel choir – he’d not long moved to Ainsclough. He works in District Bank – a nice steady job, with prospects.’
‘I am so glad – Emmie is such a sweet girl.’
Mrs Greenhalgh inclined her head. ‘Other than a touch of flightiness I’ve not got any serious complaints about her – I will say that, my lady, though she is my own daughter. And she’ll settle down once she’s wed, women have to.’ Her eyes held mine a moment, and I felt my cheeks go red. ‘And young Alfred’ll have no cause to complain of her cooking, and that’s what matters most to a man, I always say. Of course, wedding’ll not be for a year or two yet, they’ll have to have a bit put by – but there’s no harm in waiting. He comes round every Wednesday and Saturday evening regular, and we all have a bite to eat and a little chat together. I’ve got one o’ teachers from infants’ school lodging in Ben’s old room now – a very nice lady, close to meself in age, and between us we keep an eye on the youngsters.’
‘Please do give Emmie my very best wishes.’
‘I will, my lady – I will.’ As Betsy tugged impatiently at my hand Mrs Greenhalgh fired her parting salvo: ‘And it’s such a comfort to me that he’s a regular attender at chapel – twice every Sunday without fail – and a nice clean job, too – no coming home covered with muck and leaving dirty overalls to be washed.’
And now I smiled properly. ‘You’re so right, Mrs Greenhalgh, so right. Come along Betsy, your mother will be wondering where we’ve got to. Goodbye, Mrs Greenhalgh.’ I let Betsy haul me away – then I thought of poor Emmie and her Alfred, so securely chaperoned by Mrs Greenhalgh and the ‘very nice lady’ who taught at the infants’ school, and began to giggle.
I told Ben all she had said when he came in that evening and we laughed together. ‘I hope that Alfred’s got a bit o’ spunk in him – else he’ll find he’s married her mother more than Emmie – she’ll run their lives for them, given half a chance – or less,’ he added thoughtfully. He glanced at me. ‘I’ll say this for your ma, she’s said some harsh things to me in her time, especially when you were ill – but she’s never interfered since you came back here.’
‘She hasn’t the time, Ben – she’s too busy leading her own life.’
He started to chuckle. ‘Aye – an’ it’s sort o’ life Mrs Greenhalgh doesn’t know exists this side of hell!’
‘Ben!’
‘It’s true, lass – painting, drinking, smoking – and running around with other men – you didn’t bring your ma up right at all!’ He was still chuckling as he took the plates out to the scullery.
I was getting stronger every day now, and I was able to help Mary with the odd task around the house; but I was careful never to do too much – she was so anxious to earn her wages – and I still tired easily. Ben watched me closely, and sent me to lie down if he thought I was looking pale; I told him I had always been pale, but he took no notice and shooed me off regardless – and I knew he was right.
One evening he stayed in the kitchen, and when I went to look for him he was writing a letter. He pushed the blotting paper over the sheet. ‘Won’t be a minute, lass – you go back in parlour.’ I was a little curious but he sat waiting for me to go, so I went.
Later, as we sat either side of the fire, I asked casually, ‘Were you writing a letter, Ben?’
‘Aye, that’s right.’ He turned a page of the newspaper and shook his head. ‘I’m having me doubts about Mr Lloyd George – I thought he’d be a better bet ’an a Tory prime minister, but now I’m not so sure there’s anything to choose between them. What do you think, lass?’
‘I think you voted Labour in the last election anyway, Ben Holden.’
He grinned at me. ‘Happen I did – but you won’t know, sweetheart, will you? Seeing as ballot box is secret – like post box.’
I bent my warm cheeks over the sock I was darning.
He was on early all that week; I would listen drowsily to the banging of the knocker-up and Ben’s answering shout, and then fall asleep again after I had heard him creep down the stairs. As soon as he arrived home on Friday he said, ‘Lass – I fancy a trip to Manchester – are you coming with me?’ Manchester! It seemed a very long way away. ‘Course you’re coming with me. Fetch your hat and coat and we’ll leave Mary in peace.’
It was exciting to sit on a train again, but Manchester seemed so big and gloomy after Ainsclough, and I clutched Ben’s arm as we headed through the traffic towards the trams.
It was only as he helped me out of the tram that I realized where he was taking me. I shrank back. ‘No, Ben –’
He hauled me forward. ‘No use arguing, lass – just do as you’re told.’ He was every inch a sergeant-major this afternoon.
Madame Goldman was alone; smilingly she took my hand. ‘I am so glad to see you my dear – I heard that you had been ill. Sit down and rest a little before we begin.’
I shook my head. ‘No, Madame – it’s no use – I only have half a voice…’
‘Then I shall listen to your half voice.’ She smiled like a cat as she sat down at the piano.
I sang my scale, badly – and cracked on A. I sang it again, a little better, but A was difficult for me. Madame was imperturbable. ‘We will try another scale.’ Her fingers rippled over the keys. ‘This too was a scale of yours.’ I sang that scale, all of it. ‘Good – now once more.’ I sang again, and she turned to me and smiled.
‘Madame – It’s no use; I am a soprano, that was not a soprano’s scale.’
Ben broke in. ‘What about her high notes? She keeps on about them.’ He had asked what I had not dared to.
Madame Goldman pursed her lips. ‘With care we might make you safe on A – even perhaps B – but not often, and not for long, I think.’
I felt my eyes fill with tears. She swung round on her stool and took both my hands in hers. ‘Lady Helena, God gave you your high notes – and God has taken them away.’ The bitterness of loss swept over me, but she was still speaking: ‘However, Elsa Gehring gave you your low notes, and those you still have. You will sing again, my dear, but you will sing mezzo.’
‘But – but I’m not…’
She waved me to silence. ‘How wise Elsa was! I must admit at the time I thought her work on your lower register unnecessary – although I encouraged you to practise it – but I thought there had been no need to extend your range since all young girls wish to sing soprano –’ She shrugged, smiling. ‘But Elsa was wiser than I. I will write to her this evening – she always inquires of you – and I shall tell her that her work has endured longer than God’s, that will please her. She thinks already that she is cleverer than God – but she will like to be told it!’ Madame Goldman laughed, then became brisk. ‘How often can you come to Manchester each week, Lady Helena? We have a lot of work to do, you and I.’
Ben butted in. ‘She can come as often as she’s fit to, ma’am. We’ve got a good woman in to see to shopping and cleaning and suchlike. Helena’s only got to catch train.’
I was still uncertain, still protesting a little on the way back, but Ben would have none of it. ‘Just think of all those priv. tickets you’re going to use, lass – reckon it’s time we got summat back from company!’ He winked at me and squeezed my hand.
We did work hard. I was using my chest notes more now, and had to strengthen them and my middle register. It seemed very odd at first – I had always sung higher – and yet, because I had trusted Elsa Gehring I had regularly practised the lower notes as well as the middle and upper. But it was a shock when Madame Goldman gave me Mendelssohn’s aria from St Paul to prepare: ‘But the Lord is mindful of his own’. ‘Colour, Lady Helena, colour – darken your voice – you are still thinking like a soprano! You are not a choirboy any longer, you are a woman, so you must sing like a woman.’ And slowly, gradually, more confidently, I did.
I sent for my music from Hatton and began the long task of transposing. I knew I did not need to – I had been able to transpose on sight since before I had first gone to Munich – but I wanted to make a completely fresh start. My high bell-like voice had gone – it was buried in the grave with my brothers – I did not want any reminders of it. Madame was right – I was not a choirboy any longer, I was a woman who had loved and lost and lost a second time – and who now must come to terms with her loss and live again. So Ben would carry a small table to the sofa and I would sit at it with my pen and rewrite line after line.
Ben asked once, ‘Couldn’t you just buy new music, like?’
I flexed my cramped fingers and looked down at the opening bars of Frauen Liebe und Leben, then smiled up at him. ‘Most of my songs are by German composers, Ben – they might not be so easy to buy in England today. Besides, I must make a fresh start.’
He bent back over his book and I took up my pen once more. I had accepted my new voice now; the fight high notes had been like those of a young boy – they had drawn Gerald to me against his instincts – just as my body had been a boy’s body, slim and spare of flesh. I had lost my babies but my breasts remained a little fuller, my bottom was rounder – I put my hand up and touched the swelling curve of my bosom – then glanced up to see Ben’s eyes fixed on me. I felt my face crimson and blurted out, without thinking, ‘I’m getting fat, Ben.’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘No – you’ll never be that. But you have fleshed out like, since we were wed.’ His eyes narrowed a little. ‘I seen it afore in lasses – being with a man seems to – well, develop them like. I noticed it in you, even after a week or two.’
His face was redder now; he was watching me intently. ‘Ben.’ I held out my hand, uncertainly, nervously; he began to move out of his chair.
Then he sank back again. ‘Nay, lass – you’re not ready for it yet, so I’d best not touch you at present. Talking like that, and looking at you – it’s got me a bit excited.’ Then he smiled gently. ‘I’ll settle down in a minute if I just sit quietly with me book. Then I’ll give you a goodnight kiss.’
He found his place again and I picked up my pen. There had been no answering call in my belly – and yet – I had liked to see his eyes on my breasts and to know that they had pleased him.