Louisa knows a lot about the countryside and flowers and plants and animals and things. She said that when she grows up she’d like to grow plants and flowers to help people if they had a headache or a pain anywhere and it would save them from having to go to a doctor, especially if they were very poor and couldn’t afford to pay to visit one. But she said that first she would have to study botany and learn more about it and she didn’t know if her mother or father would let her do that. They might send her to work in service which means cleaning someone else’s house and waiting on table and things like that.
I don’t often get a headache, he considered. I’m very healthy. Mother always said that I was, so that makes me healthy as well as useful; Mr Arthur Crawshaw told me that both of those were most worthwhile attributes, which he said meant qualities. So really I don’t have much to worry about, he pondered, and took another bite of his bread; but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel sad sometimes.
Jenny went to the final Saturday performance of the show before it closed. Delia was in good voice, she thought as she listened from her front row seat, and she wondered who had taught her; except at school, she couldn’t recall ever hearing her sing when they were young, but then she maybe didn’t have much to sing about. However, she did remember that at the school Christmas carol service, when their parents and the vicar and the Sunday school teacher came to hear them, Miss Scrowston who taught them music and games always told Delia to stand at the back of their group so that her voice carried over the top of everyone else’s.
She never sang at any other time, Jenny thought, never hummed a tune, never in my presence anyway. Poor Delia. I wonder if she was always unhappy and never said.
She waited for her at the stage door and saw her hunched into her coat as she came towards her.
‘Jenny,’ Delia said as if surprised. ‘Have you been to the show?’
‘Yes, didn’t you see me? I was in the front row.’
‘No,’ Delia said. ‘The lights are very bright and I tend to look into the distance, which makes most members of the audience think I’m looking directly at them.’
‘Are you joining me for supper?’ Jenny asked. ‘I’ve booked a table.’
‘Just for the two of us? Yes, all right. That will be nice.’ She hesitated. ‘I’ll just tell Giles, then he won’t worry that I’m walking back alone.’
She re-joined Jenny a few minutes later and together they set off for the Maritime. They both huddled into their coats and scarves, as the weather was turning bitterly cold.
‘Is Giles becoming a special friend?’ Jenny asked.
‘No, I told you, I only met him when I first came to Hull. I’d just got off the train from Hedon and saw him – on the – station platform …’ Too late she realized that she’d given herself away.
Jenny turned to her as they walked. ‘You went to Hedon? When was that?’
‘When – I first came back – I went to Hedon, and then walked to Paull to see my parents.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Well, only my mother. I suspect my father was down in one of the village hostelries, but in any case it doesn’t matter where he was because my mother didn’t want to speak to me. She didn’t even open the door more than a crack.’ Her voice was choked and she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. ‘She told me I wasn’t welcome.’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ Jenny exploded, and shepherded Delia down towards the Maritime. ‘What on earth is the matter with the woman? Did you commit a crime or something?’ She pushed the door open into the hotel and they were greeted by warmth and chatter and then a welcome from Mr Gosling.
‘Good evening, Miss Robinson. Good evening, Miss Delamour. How lovely to see you both.’ He gave Delia a complicit smile and a raised eyebrow and nodded his head very slightly.
‘Good evening, Mr Gosling,’ Jenny replied for both of them. ‘We’re in fearful need of a brandy to warm us, if you please. Miss Delamour is frozen through and she mustn’t catch a chill; it will play havoc with her voice.’
‘Oh, indeed!’ He pushed first one chair and then another towards a fireplace where a bright fire was burning. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Sit down and warm yourselves. Perhaps some hot punch might be acceptable?’
‘Lovely, thank you,’ Jenny said, whilst Delia gave him a weak smile of acceptance.
When the punch and a plate of biscuits had been brought Jenny urged Delia to take a drink to calm her before she said quietly, ‘Why didn’t you tell me before? You’ve been holding this in ever since we met again. Surely you could have trusted me?’
Delia turned moist eyes towards her friend. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve kept everything to myself for such a long time that I’ve forgotten how to trust. My friend down south is the only person I could have confided in, and I haven’t told even him everything about myself.’
Something niggled at the back of Jenny’s mind.
‘Why would I tell him?’ Delia continued, her tongue loosening from the effect of the punch. ‘Why would I risk losing his friendship merely to unburden myself?’
‘If he’s a true friend you wouldn’t
