Chapter Fifteen
Forest Hill was a pleasant enough place to be.
The streets were wide and, when Kate was out on errands or with the children, she was fascinated by the people, the elegant fashions and the number of motor cars.
Andover had been a busy place to her, coming as she did from a small village in the heart of the Hampshire countryside, but to be on the outskirts of the capital city broadened Kate’s horizons and altered her perceptions of the world.
Who’d have thought that a little Hampshire girl would be living in London of all places?
Life soon settled into a pattern. Her main duties had changed a little in that she spent a good deal of her time going back and forth to the children’s schools.
The walk took about fifteen minutes and they did it every school day morning, unless the weather was so bad that the children would’ve been drenched before they got there.
On those mornings they were permitted to take a cab, but she was told to take the best and biggest umbrella and wear her galoshes for the walk back.
Dulwich College was the far side of the gardens surrounding the Horniman Museum.
She encouraged the children to play tag or follow-the-leader on the way to make Thomas hurry along.
If Thomas was in one of his silent, uncooperative moods she’d introduce I Spy, for he was always more interested in mental than physical games.
The grounds were an absolute joy to walk through and, once the children were safely delivered, Kate delighted in taking her time on the return journey, ambling along and enjoying her freedom.
She walked the children as briskly as possible down the main avenue going towards the school but on her way home, weather permitting, she wandered beside the water gardens, the wishing seat and the putting green.
The tall trees reminded her of her Hampshire home and, when they were in bud in the spring, she stood beneath them looking through the woven scramble of their branches to the sky.
At those moments she felt as if she could float away.
She cherished her time in the gardens and took great pleasure in exploring different areas as the year progressed.
One morning, Kate took a path she had never taken before.
In one corner of the outer reaches of the garden, she noticed a group of trees showered in white.
She recognized the clusters hanging beneath the branches.
Before she even got close to them, she could smell the familiar perfume.
One of her favourite tasks at this time of year in Micklewell was to pick the lacy capped flowers of the elder tree with her mother and sister and make the thick cordial that filled the air with the scent of summer.
Before she could stop her hand from reaching, she’d picked one of the clusters and brought it to her nose. She inhaled deeply.
‘Oy, you’re not supposed to pick the flowers. Can’t you read?’ a young man called, indicating one of the many signs about the gardens.
Kate dropped the bloom instantly. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think,’ she stuttered.
‘No, you didn’t,’ the young man said.
He wore a navy flannel shirt and peaked cap, which made him look official, although his boots were muddy, and he had a wheelbarrow with him with a fork and spade poking out of it.
His jacket was flung over the side of the barrow and he stood with both arms folded across his broad chest. Kate noticed the sleeves of his shirt were folded up and his lower arms looked firm and strong and covered in dark hair.
When a smile cracked across his face, Kate felt relieved.
It altered his appearance completely. It was quite a handsome face, Kate thought, wide-set eyes and heavy brows with a strong chin, peppered with stubble and a bold moustache.
His hair, hidden mostly beneath the cap, was very dark and curled around his ears.
When he saw Kate’s blushes he laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell on you,’ he said.
He came towards her and swept up the elderflower cluster in his hands. ‘Mmm, I can tell why you felt tempted,’ he said. ‘Such a wonderful perfume. Nature’s is always best,’ he added, cupping the cluster in his hands and holding it to his face.
‘Reminds me of home,’ Kate replied, emboldened by his friendliness.
‘Which is where?’ he asked.
‘A long way from here, in the country, I was born in Hampshire,’ Kate said.
‘And what brings you to the city?’ he asked.
‘I’m a nursemaid. I work for a family. We moved here in the autumn,’ Kate replied.
She didn’t know if she should be talking to this stranger in such a personal way but she didn’t feel at all threatened by him. He put her at ease and it was a change to talk to somebody outside the household, someone who appeared to want to talk to her.
She was aware of the morning disappearing faster than she wanted it to and asked him if he knew the time.
‘Just come from my tea break,’ he said, ‘so it’ll be about quarter to ten. I start work at six thirty every morning.’
‘Oh, my goodness, I must go! I’ve got errands to run before I go back,’ she said. ‘It was nice to meet you.’
‘Likewise, Miss . . .’
‘Truscott, Kate Truscott,’ she replied.
‘Well, Kate, I’m here most mornings, except on a Sunday. That’s my day off,’ he said. ‘The name’s Archie, Archie Mabbs. I hope to see you again.’
‘Yes, yes . . .’ Kate called back to him as she walked away. She turned her head so that he couldn’t see her cheeks reddening and her lips curving into a self-conscious smile.
Kate did see him on many occasions after that day.
She learned that he’d been a gardener at the museum since he’d left school.
They got on really well and either exchanged a brief good morning chat or talked for longer, depending on her duties for the day.
He was learning a lot about trees and plants and growing things, and he’d a great deal of respect for Mr Fellows, the head gardener.
Archie explained that his ambition was to become the head gardener too one day and Kate told him that if he continued to study and learn and work hard then there was no reason why that couldn’t happen.
She confided in him, explained how much she missed Eliza and Clara and how, although Mary was pleasant enough, she didn’t have the same spark that Eliza had and she was not as funny, they didn’t laugh as much together and she missed that.
She told him of her interest in the suffragette movement and how she was sorry that her contact with the organization had come to a halt since she’d moved to Forest Hill.
He was intrigued with the idea of Votes for Women but didn’t understand why it was causing women to throw themselves under horses, break windows and get themselves arrested.
‘Sometimes trying to change things by shouting loudly just isn’t enough,’ Kate said. ‘There are times when action must be taken, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Depends,’ Archie replied, ‘on who’s doing the acting and what the consequences are. Is it worth going to prison for?’
Kate decided she wouldn’t argue the case with Archie just now, as they had only known one another a short time, but it was a topic only shelved not forgotten.
She found in Archie a new friend and they soon became comfortable in one another’s company in their snatched morning moments together. He wasn’t Philip but he was a likeable man.
As the summer months moved on, Kate found she was less homesick but she still missed the fun and laughter that Miss Clara and Master Philip had brought to the old house. She willed the time to pass quickly, looking forward to when they would once more share good times together.
Kate hadn’t discovered much about when she would see Miss Clara again.
The only news she had was when she saw Master Philip briefly on a rushed visit at the end of the college term.
The meeting had left Kate concerned for Clara’s well-being.
Philip had told her of his sister’s unhappy state, and how her letters were full of an eagerness to be free of what she described as ‘complete torture to the body and the soul’.
The young women at the academy were obnoxious in the extreme, she’d written, they talked of nothing but coming out balls and eligible young men.
Apparently, the young men were either ‘chinless wonders’ or ‘dowry-seeking opportunists’.
The description made Kate and Philip laugh.
She so enjoyed his company and she was beginning to feel that she wanted to be more than a friend to Philip.
She suspected that there might be similar feelings for him too; his gaze lingered on her face whenever they saw each other.
When their eyes met or their bodies accidentally touched, she tingled in a way that she couldn’t control.
She wanted to keep him talking and said she was sad to hear that Clara was so unhappy. She asked Philip if she might write to her but he explained that there would be little point as Clara was about to embark on a tour of Europe with her aunt.
‘They will be moving from one city to another,’ he said. ‘Aunt Beatrice can be a bit if a tartar sometimes but at least Clara will be seeing some of the world. A step up from being stuck inside that stuffy finishing school. Appropriate name, don’t you think? It would certainly finish me off.’
‘What about you?’ Kate asked. ‘Will you be going on your travels too?’
‘Unfortunately not,’ Philip replied. ‘I have important exams coming up and I will be tied to my desk with a pen in my hand. Once they’re over, though, Carnforth and I plan to go to Scotland for the stag hunting. The season opens on July 1st.’
‘Stag hunting! I’m not sure I could . . .’ Kate began.
‘No, I’m not sure I want to shoot them either but the stalking is a wonderful experience apparently. At least that’s what Carnforth tells me.’
‘So you’ll both be away all summer?’ Kate asked, a tinge of sadness in her voice.
‘We’ll both be back in August,’ Philip replied.
Kate was relieved to hear that and allowed herself to hope that, once Clara and Philip returned, things might return to how they were in Andover.
But was this just a childish wish? Life moved forward; that was the nature of things.
Miss Clara and Master Philip’s lives were so far removed from her own life of service that things were bound to be different between them.
They were all turning into different people and she wanted to stop the changes that separation and new experiences were making, hold up the passage of time and apply a brake to their growing apart.
Whenever wishful thoughts of turning back the clock crept into her head, she reprimanded herself.
‘Grow up, Kate and accept what must be,’ she said to herself. ‘Remember the rhyme . . . If wishes were horses then beggars would ride.’