Chapter Thirty-Two

Kate watched Helen and Henrietta button up their coats and pull on their hats and gloves as they got ready to leave. Henrietta’s fitting had gone well. A few nips and tucks were all that was needed.

Kate walked over to the front door and took off the safety latch. The Maison Nouvelle was as warm as toast, but outside it was bitterly cold. She guessed that snow was on the way, judging by the heavy, dark grey clouds that had loomed low all day. Her years on the street had made her quite a proficient weather forecaster. It was now just over two weeks until Christmas. Kate thought of Dorothy. She might get the white Christmas she was hoping for, after all.

Helen stepped out onto the street, quickly checking there was no one nearby.

‘I shall see you both on Saturday for the final fitting,’ Kate said to Henrietta, giving her a kiss on the cheek. ‘When you will be walking out of here a new woman.’

Helen smiled as they waved their goodbyes and climbed into the car. Kate firmly believed that clothes were intrinsically interwoven with one’s identity. A new look meant a new woman. Perhaps, Helen thought, she would get herself a new wardrobe in the New Year too.

As they drove along the coast road, the sun was just starting to drop and the evening was drawing in. Glancing across at Henrietta, she thought she seemed paler than usual. Perhaps she’d put on more powder than she would normally as she was having a trip out.

‘Grandmama,’ Helen asked tentatively, ‘do you still feel like you should be punished for not realising what Grandfather was doing?’

Henrietta clasped and unclasped her hands.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I really don’t know.’

Helen decided not to push the issue. The fact that her grandmother wasn’t sure was a step forward. She was no longer adamant that she was to blame. Kate had planted the seed of doubt on the day they had come for the initial measuring up and it had clearly started to germinate. She would just need a little more time, and a little more coaxing, to convince her that she really was not to blame.

As they turned right into the road that led into Ryhope village, an image of her grandfather came to the fore and Helen was again awash with the now familiar sense of outrage that he had got off so lightly after everything he had done. All the lives he had ruined. He really did have an incredible capacity to glide through life without having to suffer any kind of punishment for the crimes he’d committed. He’d raped Pearl when she was fifteen, as well as that other poor girl who’d hanged herself, got them both pregnant and had fathered at least two illegitimate children. Those left behind had had to deal with the devastation. He’d got his wife incarcerated and drugged up to keep her quiet for fear she’d hang him out to dry. And yet he was still sitting pretty – totally unblemished – continuing to be fawned over by the people of this town. He hadn’t suffered one iota. He’d not even had to part with any of his money. All he’d done was agree to allow her father to come back home. To be with Gloria and Hope.

‘I remember when you were a little baby,’ Henrietta said suddenly.

‘Really?’ Helen was surprised. Her grandmother never voluntarily brought up the past.

‘You had a mop of thick black hair. I remember thinking you were the spit of your father. So dark. So handsome. And so unlike a Havelock. You were always destined to be your father’s daughter. There was never any doubt of that.’

Helen felt the tears smart the backs of her eyes as she started down the narrow road that led back to the asylum.

‘Thank you, Grandmama.’ Helen blinked hard. ‘You don’t know how much that means to me.’

When Helen pulled up at the entrance of the asylum, she looked across at Henrietta. She seemed very subdued.

‘You all right, Grandmama?’

‘Just tired, my dear, just a little tired.’

As Helen helped Henrietta out of the car and up the stone steps to the asylum entrance, the outside light caught them in such a way that she saw her grandmother as a young woman. And it was then Helen realised that it wasn’t just her father she looked like – but her grandmother too.

As they walked slowly down the corridor, Helen asked, ‘If it were possible, would you like to leave the asylum and come and live at home with me? And Mother, of course.’

Henrietta stopped in her tracks and turned to her granddaughter.

‘Oh, Helen.’ Her dark eyes glistened as she searched her granddaughter’s face. ‘Would you really want me there?’

Helen laughed with joy. Her grandmother had not shown a flicker of indecision. It was clear she would be happy to leave the asylum in the blink of an eye.

‘Of course I would, Grandmama,’ Helen smiled. ‘I’d absolutely love you to come and live with us.’

Henrietta squeezed Helen’s arm as they walked on a little further. When they reached her room, she turned to her granddaughter.

‘Do you think it would be possible?’ she asked. She didn’t need to voice the reasons why it might not be.

‘I think it might,’ Helen said. ‘I have an idea. Something up my sleeve.’ She gave her grandmother an artful smile. ‘I just wanted to check that it would be something you’d want.’

‘Oh, yes. Very much so, my dear,’ Henrietta said. ‘I shall have wonderful dreams tonight,’ she added, a dreamy look on her face.

‘Dreams that can – and will – come true,’ Helen said, kissing Henrietta on the cheek and bidding her farewell.