‘You, erm, don’t go out if the weather’s bad, do you?’ she asked Aaron, worrying about Robin in the deep water. ‘Robin isn’t a strong swimmer.’
Aaron shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t mek any difference if he were a champion swimmer,’ he answered. ‘With boots and a heavy coat nobody’d stand a chance in that deep water. But you don’t need to worry. We don’t tek any chances.’
‘No, of course you won’t,’ she murmured. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that—’
‘That you’ve allus been there to protect him,’ he acknowledged. ‘I know. But there’re others to look out for him as well now.’
They drove down the long village street and Delia observed that nothing seemed to have changed since she was a girl here; the same village shop where she was sent on errands, women standing on their doorsteps with hands in their apron pockets, taking a breath of air or looking to see who was about to chat to; then Aaron took another track back and along to Thorngumbald and on to the Hedon road.
‘Will you come back soon?’ Robin asked when they arrived at the station. ‘I shall miss you.’ He clung to her and once more she felt guilty about leaving him behind, even though she knew that it was in his best interests. Peggy and Aaron could do more for his well-being than she could. But it still didn’t seem right.
‘I’ll come back as soon as I can,’ she said. ‘This run at the theatre is nearly finished so I’ll have more time.’ Though heaven knows what I’ll do for money, she pondered. I still won’t have two farthings to rub together.
They climbed aboard the train and Delia felt a lump in her throat as the whistle blew and the engine got up steam and they slowly chuffed out of the station; she thought her heart would break when she saw Aaron put his hand on Robin’s shoulder as he waved and waved until she could no longer see him for the pall of steam and smoke that surrounded them.
They sat down and Jenny murmured, ‘It seemed to go well, considering.’
It was upsetting for Jack and for me, Delia thought. I was so nervous and he, well, he seemed to have had no thought of the effect his actions might have had. He said he was ashamed, and perhaps now he realizes the enormity of what happened. Susan was pregnant and he thought Louisa was his child, yet the question of my possible pregnancy doesn’t seem to have occurred to him.
She gave a deep sigh and Jenny looked at her. ‘Yes,’ Delia said slowly. ‘I suppose we could say that.’
They didn’t talk much on the journey; Delia wasn’t inclined for conversation and Jenny seemed to understand that. The train drew in to Hull and they stepped down; a train had arrived at another platform and she was reminded of when she’d come back from Hedon after the hiring fair, when she’d left Robin behind and she followed the theatre performers.
They were walking towards the exit and the cab stand when Delia heard a voice calling her name. They both stopped and turned and Delia’s face lit into a smile when she saw Giles Dawson striding towards them with luggage in his hand.
‘I’m so pleased to see you,’ he said to Delia, and then tipped his hat to Jenny, ‘Miss Robinson.’
‘I’m pleased to see you too,’ Delia said, feeling an immediate lifting of spirits. It was true she was delighted to see him; she had missed him when he wasn’t there. He looked rather drawn and tired, though, and she hoped he and his wife had managed to sort through their difficulties.
‘Can we share a cab?’ he asked. ‘Miss Robinson, are you staying in town?’
Jenny was about to answer when another voice called out behind them. A man’s voice with a distinctive accent, not a northern one.
‘Miss Delamour! Delia!’
Delia turned once more and was astonished to see Arthur Crawshaw bearing down on them, looking disgruntled and yet relieved. ‘Delia,’ he exclaimed as he approached. ‘At last! Where on earth have you been? I’ve searched everywhere for you. And where is my boy?’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Delia gasped, ‘Arthur,’ but she also caught sight of the expressions on the faces of her companions: Jenny’s of simple astonishment, but Giles’s of bewilderment and disbelief, and she realized that he had heard Arthur’s words and picked up entirely the wrong implication. Surely he didn’t think—but perhaps he did, for he was turning away.
‘Jenny, Giles,’ she said hurriedly. ‘This is an old friend, a fellow performer, Mr Arthur Crawshaw, and a great friend to my son Robin. Arthur, these are my friends Miss Jenny Robinson and Mr Giles Dawson.’
Arthur bowed to Jenny, murmuring ‘Delighted’, and shook hands with a reluctant Giles, who was resuming his composure.
‘But what are you doing here, Arthur?’ she asked. ‘This is a long way from your usual haunts.’
‘Indeed it is,’ he boomed, ‘and it has taken me all day to get here! That idiot of an agent you employ only told me last week that you had come north, and I asked him weeks ago to find out where you were. Look here, I’m staying here at the hotel; can we go in? I’m desperate to sit somewhere comfortable and have a glass of whisky to revive me.’ He turned to Giles. ‘What do you say, old chap? Will you join me? And the ladies might perhaps like a glass of sherry?’
‘I’ve only just got off the train myself,’ Giles said stiffly. ‘I was heading to my lodgings.’
‘What about you, Miss Robinson?’
Delia glanced at Jenny; she knew she would be flattered that he remembered her name and then was astounded when Arthur said abruptly, ‘Robinson? Are you a relative of our young Jack?’
Giles looked from one to another, and Delia thought he must
