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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017
Manchester, 1920. Carrie Jenkins reels from the revelation that her beloved father was shot for desertion during the Great War. Jilted, and with the close-knit community turning its back on her as well as her mother and her half-sister Evadne, the plans Carrie nurtured are in disarray. Desperate to overcome private shock and public humiliation, and with her mother gravely ill, Carrie accepts the unsettling advances of Ralph Armstrong and Evadne also meets Alex Larter. But both sisters put their faith in men who are not to be trusted, and they will face danger and heartache before they can find the happiness they deserve.
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The Deserter’s Daughter
SUSANNA BAVIN
To the memory of Ronald Shires (1893–1976), who in 1914 took a taxi to the docks so as not to be late for the War. And to Jen Gilroy, whose encouragement and understanding kept me afloat.
Contents
Chapter One
June 1920
‘Carrie Jenkins! What in heaven’s name is that you’re wearing? Oh my goodness!’
Heat flared in Carrie’s cheeks. She folded her plain shop dress in half longways and draped it over the footboard of the mahogany bedstead, trying to make it look as if her heart wasn’t clattering like the holiday express to Southport. She forced a smile.
‘Don’t tek on, Mam. It’s only a corset. It’s the new fashion.’
‘The new fashion for trollops!’
A sharp breath chilled her gullet. ‘Mam! How could you?’
Mam clapped a hand over her mouth, work-worn fingers splaying across lined lips. Carrie tore her gaze away. She was outraged, of course she was, but she felt a thrill of fear too. With the curtains drawn for modesty’s sake, the air in the bedroom the two of them shared was dense with heat, but was it the heat or her conscience making her flesh squeeze her bones?
‘I’m sorry, Carrie. What a thing to say.’
The mattress dipped as Mam sank onto the pale-lemon candlewick bedspread as if her legs had given out with shock. Her face was slack with disappointment and Carrie felt an urge to plump down beside her and wrap an arm round her, but Mam wouldn’t want comfort from someone who looked like a trollop. Besides, standing on the other side of the bedstead, Carrie felt sheltered, half-hidden. To move around the bed to Mam would be like opening herself to public scrutiny.
Mam shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have called you that.’
Oh, not an apology. That made it worse. Not that she was a trollop, never that, but she wasn’t a nice girl any more and hadn’t been for some time. If Mam should guess, if just seeing the new corset Mam should guess, she would chase Carrie down Wilton Lane with the broom. No, she wouldn’t. She would lock her in the cellar and not let her out till Saturday.
Saturday.
Her wedding day. And after that it wouldn’t matter if she had been a nice girl or not, because she would be Mrs Billy Shipton. A floaty feeling permeated Carrie’s limbs. Mrs Billy Shipton. She had known Billy was the boy for her ever since she first clocked him back when she was a lass of twelve, and now they were getting wed the day after tomorrow.
‘How could you, Carrie? What was you thinking?’
‘It’s only a corset.’
‘It’s more than that. It’s your reputation.’
‘No one’s going to know. No one’s going to see.’
‘They won’t need to. They’ll see summat else. A proper corset, a decent corset, one that comes up right under the bust where it’s meant to, with all but the very top of your camisole tucked inside it, holds your cami in place and gives you some support. That – that thing you’re wearing doesn’t hold owt in place. You’ll … jiggle.’
‘Oh, Mam, I’ve worn it all day and I haven’t … jiggled.’
At least she fervently hoped not. She had spent a self-conscious morning feeling hopelessly unfettered as she weighed sugar and currants and constructed a pyramid of Drummer Dyes boxes, all the while trying not to make unnecessary movements. But come the afternoon, when Trimble’s was sweltering hot even with the door propped open, and the air was thick with the smell of wooden floorboards and tea leaves and lamp oil, and the customers were making shifty little movements that indicated they were trying to peel corsets from sweaty torsos, she had known herself to be the most comfortable person in the shop. More than comfortable: vindicated. Her new waist-high corset wasn’t pure vanity after all. It was common sense too.
The mattress springs squealed as Mam bounced to her feet, her spine as straight as a poker. Her eyes were bright and she fizzed with energy, just like she used to before Pa died.
‘We can’t have Evadne seeing you like this, half-naked. She’s a lady. You’d do well to tek a leaf out of her book, our Carrie.’
‘Mam, will you stop it? There’s nowt wrong with this corset. It’s one of a range and Elizabeth’s wouldn’t stock a range if there wasn’t a demand.’
‘Elizabeth’s? You bought that thing at the knicker elastic shop?’
‘You tell me and Letty off for calling it that. Anyroad, you know they sell undergarments.’
‘Not like that, I didn’t. Those two old biddies were born the same year as Queen Victoria, and they dress like it an’ all.’
‘Aye, but you don’t know what they’re wearing underneath, do you?’
‘Carrie Jenkins! Fancy saying say that about your elders.’ But Mam laughed and couldn’t pretend she hadn’t.
‘I didn’t buy it to be tarty.’
‘I know, chick, and I’m sorry about the word I used. That were the shock speaking. But I still don’t like it. It’s not decent.’
‘I got it because …’ Carrie injected brightness into her tone. She refused to sound apologetic. ‘You know the hours I spent embroidering my wedding camisole, and what a swine that sparkly thread was to work with. Well, I don’t want to hide my cami under my old corset. I know no one’s going to see it, but I want to feel special. I’m not a beauty like Evadne, but I want to feel special.’
‘Oh, Carrie.’
Mam’s face fell. Was she remembering all the times she had called Evadne the beauty of the family? That time Evadne stood in their kitchen looking demure in the smart brown tunic with the sashed waist that her posh Baxter grandparents bought for her when she started at the high school, and Pa said, ‘Eh, you look reet bonny, lass,’ and Mam, looking all swelled up, said, ‘Evadne is the beauty of the family.’ And the time new people moved in up the road and Mam had introduced them as, ‘My lasses, Evadne and Carrie. Evadne is the beauty of the family.’ Not, ‘Evadne is the big one … the older one,’ even though, goodness knows, there was a whole eight years between them. Or even ‘Evadne is the darker one,’ because her hair was a wonderful reddy-brown like a conker, aye, and as glossy as a conker an’ all, while Carrie’s was fair, and not even proper fair at that. Dirty fair, Letty’s mam called it.
‘It’s because Evadne was born a Baxter,’ Mam had explained to the world and his wife, and that was all the explanation that was needed. As a child, Carrie had thought of them as the Beautiful Baxters, even though she had met Grandfather and Grandmother Baxter and they weren’t raving beauties. Evadne’s dad must have been a right bobby-dazzler.
In fairness to Mam, it wasn’t just her. In those days, folks were falling over themselves to admire Evadne, and whenever they did, Mam would do that swelling-up thing and say, ‘Evadne is the beauty of the family.’ And no one had ever looked at Carrie and said, ‘The little ’un is beautiful too.’
Not that she had noticed at the time. Back then, she had been the luckiest little lass in the whole world because all the other girls had only hopscotch and hoops and French skipping, while she had all those and she had Evadne to look at.
‘I just don’t want to hide my lovely new cami underneath my old corset – and if you aren’t going to say summat kind, Mam, I’d rather you didn’t say owt.’
Mam fluttered her hands. ‘It’s a nice colour. Pale pink.’
‘Orchid.’
‘You what?’
‘Orchid. It said orchid on the box. The others said pink or cream. I thought orchid sounded a cut above.’ She pulled a face. ‘Turns out orchid means pale pink.’
All at once they were laughing, both of them, closeness restored, and things slid back to normal. Carrie hated being out of sorts with anyone. It wasn’t her way. She wished she could get on better with Evadne, but she was long past being impressed by the Beautiful Baxter. Mind you, Evadne had asked to see her in her wedding dress today and that counted for a lot.
‘Let’s get you dressed,’ said Mam.
Anticipation snaked through Carrie. The drawer glided open beneath her eager fingers and her hand hovered over her brand-new white stockings. The suspenders on her corset were made of pale pink (orchid!) satin ribbon with dainty satin rosettes. She glanced at Mam.
‘Save the stockings for Saturday, chick. It’s the dress Evadne’s coming to see.’
Carrie pattered across the polished wooden floor. Her heart was pattering too. She was about to put on the wedding dress that she, Mam, Letty and Mrs Hardacre had slaved over, two best mates and their mothers working together. She opened the hanging cupboard and the nasal-cleansing aroma of eucalyptus came streaming out. Bloody hell! Yes, bloody hell, and that was swearing, and that was a sin, but she didn’t care.
‘Mam, did you have to? The cupboard reeks.’
‘It’s the only thing that gets a grease stain out of serge. I can’t present myself at Mrs Randall’s with a grease stain.’
Why not? It was doing Mrs Randall’s cleaning that had caused the stain in the first place. Carrie sucked in an anxious breath but stopped midway before the eucalyptus could scrub her lungs. Honest to God, if she was doomed to walk up the aisle whiffing of eucalyptus, she would put Mam twice through the mangle.
Taking her dress out, she snapped the cupboard shut and sniffed like a hungry dog. It took her nose a moment to stop tingling and confirm that her beautiful dress was unsullied. A smile tugged at her lips. One day she would tell her children. ‘There I was, all excited, about to try on my wedding dress for Auntie Evadne, and when I opened the cupboard, what did I smell?’ and the children would cry ‘Eucalyptus!’ in gleeful voices, because they would have heard the story a hundred times before. It would be one of their favourites.
And one day – goodness, she had always pictured her children as youngsters, but one day, when her oldest daughter was getting married, they would share the special family joke as they took Letitia’s dress out of the cupboard. She and Letty had vowed years ago to name their oldest girls after one another. After today and the eucalyptus, Letitia’s dress would smell of roses, because Carrie would make heaps of muslin sachets and fill them with rose petals to fragrance the cupboard.
The fine cotton streamed through her reverent fingers, flowing as elegantly as silk. Heart engorged with emotion, she let Mam help her into the dress, standing still, elbow raised, as Mam bent to fasten the tiny pearly buttons that ran from hip to underarm. The bedroom was hot as soup, but Carrie felt cool and lovely.
‘There,’ said Mam. ‘Wait while I move the looking-glass.’
Lifting it from the marble-topped washstand, she placed it on the chest of drawers, angling it on its hinges. It was shaped like a shield from the olden days and Carrie had always considered it stylish, but now she would have given anything for a square or oblong with more glass. She stood on her toes, caught tantalising glimpses of rounded neckline and elbow-length sleeves, then dropped back again.
She pressed her lips together, longing to see herself properly. Then she felt a thrill of pride. Billy had shelled out for a photographer, so she would be able to see herself in her dress for ever afterwards. Anyroad, she would see herself head to foot on Saturday morning, because Mr Clancy was giving her away and they had a full-length mirror. Carrie dearly hoped Mr Clancy thought he was having the honour because of living next door and having known her since she was a nipper.
‘Here. Use this.’ Mam picked up the hand mirror.
Carrie turned to her, feeling the movement of the flared skirt around her legs – just a gentle flare, nothing showy. She had always been warned against anything fussy, as if having a sister out of a higher social drawer might have given her unsuitable ideas. But she had never hankered after minute pencil pleats or lacy cuffs. Fuss was for ladies, for beauties. Fuss was for Evadne – though, let’s face it, she could wear a potato sack and still turn heads.
Holding the mirror in front of her at waist level like a bouquet, Carrie beamed at Mam. ‘I’m so glad Evadne asked to see me in my dress.’
Mam’s gaze shifted. ‘She didn’t actually ask, not as such.’ She fiddled with the brush and comb that matched the hand mirror, lining them up as if they weren’t perfectly tidy already. ‘But I know she’ll want to see it.’
Carrie’s spirits deflated. She should have known. Mam did this now and again, tried to bring them close. It never worked, even though she was mother to both of them. It was Pa who had held them together. He had worshipped the ground Evadne’s smartly shod feet walked on; he had fostered Carrie’s childhood adoration.
‘I asked her to bring the veil,’ said Mam, ‘and why shouldn’t she see your dress? She’s your sister.’
Carrie gave her a kiss. ‘It was naughty of you to pretend, but I’m glad you did, because I get to wear my dress.’
‘And the veil,’ said Mam.
And the veil. Perfect.
Chapter Two
The air stilled in Evadne’s throat. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Great Scott. As if she wasn’t humiliated enough. Were they deliberately rubbing her nose in it? No, they weren’t like that. Certainly not Carrie; she hadn’t a malicious bone in her body. And Mother admired Evadne too much to imagine this might be difficult for her. And Evadne had never confided.
Something tingled in the pit of her stomach. Confide? Share her shame? Never! No one must ever know. Hadn’t she just walked here from Oaklawn, golden fingers of evening sunshine failing to thaw the icicles in her chest, her head held high, a smile nailed to her lips and a cheery ‘Good evening’ for everyone she passed, whether she knew them or not? And she had managed that in spite of carrying this wretched box, tied with a double-knot to make extra sure it couldn’t burst open en route.
It hadn’t felt like carrying a box. It had felt like wearing heavy sandwich boards proclaiming MOTHER’S WEDDING VEIL TO BE WORN BY YOUNGER SISTER.
If only she hadn’t taken the veil with her when she moved out. But, oh, how natural it had felt at the time. Mother had added it to her belongings and they had shared a smile, both of them knowing – or thinking they knew – that her new job didn’t really matter, because she wouldn’t need it for long.
‘Look at Carrie,’ said Mother.
Evadne smiled, then smiled more widely to look like she meant it. ‘Pretty dress. It suits you. Here.’ She dropped the box onto the bed. She couldn’t bear to hold it a moment longer.
Mother pounced. ‘Blimey, you tied it tight enough. I’ll need to cut it.’ Don’t say it’s a waste of string. ‘What a waste of string, Evadne.’
The lid eased off with a sigh. With exquisite care that tore Evadne’s heart straight across from side to side, Mother lifted out her twice-worn veil. Evadne removed her green felt toque and fussed with her hair. Hats were hell in this weather, though her natural waves never suffered. Not like some girls, whose hair ended up hat-shaped.
When she looked again, Mother was standing in front of Carrie. Fine silk tulle cascaded down Carrie’s back. Mother’s arms were raised, her brows drawn together in concentration as she settled the simple headdress of wax flowers and leaves in position. Evadne’s scalp prickled, yearning for the headdress’s gentle scrape.
It wasn’t right; Carrie was only a kid. Mother was irresponsible to let her marry so young. Evadne had tried telling her when Carrie had insisted on getting engaged at sixteen. Sixteen!
‘I trust Billy appreciates he’s in for a five-year wait,’ she had said.
‘Five years! We can’t wait that long,’ Carrie had cried. ‘Tell her, Mam.’
And she had obviously worn Mother down because here she was, a bride at eighteen.
Eighteen.
Evadne’s hand brushed her pocket, flinching away as if it had been burnt. In her pocket were her clip-on bows for shoes. She should produce them now. Carrie would love them. Something borrowed. Evadne’s hand fisted, neatly manicured nails needling her palm. Her fingers uncurled and her hand dropped away.
Her heart dropped too. When had she become such a meanie?
A sharp rat-tat on the knocker had her at the bedroom door in an instant.
‘I’ll get it.’
She ran partway downstairs, then stopped to gather herself, straightening her shoulders inside her cotton blouse, embellished today with a shawl collar. She had a stash of detachable collars. It was important to look crisp and smart, important to look a cut above her fellow teachers, though there was no need to make any special effort where Wilton Lane was concerned. Her natural superiority here was precisely that – natural, and always had been.
After the drawn curtains upstairs and the always-dim light on the stairs and in the hall, the evening sunshine flooded her eyes as she opened the front door. She expected to see a neighbour but found herself face-to-face with Father Kelly, and face-to-face was exactly the right expression. He stood right in front of her, as if he had been trying to meld with the door. Even before she opened it fully, he was inside the house, and down the hall before she could close it.
‘Do come in,’ she murmured, following him to the kitchen.
He swung round to face her. ‘Where’s your mammy?’ His pudgy cheeks were flushed, his voice loud. It was a demand, not a civil enquiry.
Evadne’s heart pattered. What was going on? ‘Upstairs.’
‘Well, fetch her down.’
She quelled her heart and looked levelly at him. Wilton Lane might kowtow to this man, but she wasn’t Wilton Lane and never had been, even when she lived here. She knew how to make the most of her social superiority. She was tall and slender. All she had to do was lift her chin a fraction and, so long as the other person didn’t tower over her, it gave the impression of her looking down on them.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, lifting one eyebrow.
‘Oh aye, very wrong, and has been for a long time – but you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She felt a flutter of unease.
His face changed. The pudginess hardened and his eyes glinted. ‘Don’t you? Well now, we’ll see. Fetch your mammy down.’
She felt a powerful urge to protect Mother from this, to demand an explanation and deal with it, whatever it was; but Father Kelly produced his black rosary beads and shut his eyes. What a cop-out.
She nodded curtly. ‘I’ll see if my mother is available.’
She stalked along the narrow hall and up the stairs. There were times when she was heartily pleased not to be Catholic any more. Mother had turned RC when she married Pa and she had made Evadne turn too, much to the horror of Grandfather and Grandmother Baxter. Foolish child that she had been, Evadne had enjoyed feeling that the grown-ups were fighting over her. Looking back, she could see how that would have been the perfect moment for her grandparents to insist upon adopting her, but all Grandmother had done was make her swear to say the extra words at the end of the Our Father, even if she only did it inside her head. Evadne had shed Catholicism the moment she was old enough, for which Father Kelly had never forgiven her, but she didn’t give a fig about that. She could look forward to a better class of husband if she was C of E.
She opened the bedroom door. Mother had drawn the veil over Carrie’s face and was gazing at her as though she were a priceless work of art. Carrie was gazing at herself in the looking-glass in much the same way. A little corner of Evadne’s heart chipped off.
‘Who was it?’ Mother asked, but her attention was locked on Carrie.
‘Father Kelly. He’s in the kitchen.’
Mother’s face swung round, her mouth and eyes circles of shock. ‘You put Father Kelly in the kitchen? Evadne! You don’t put priests in the kitchen.’
‘I didn’t put him anywhere. He put himself.’
Carrie was still looking in the mirror. ‘Has he come about the wedding?’
The girl was becoming a prize bore. ‘I don’t know what brought him here, but it seems serious. He insists upon seeing you, Mother.’
‘I’ll come down.’
‘You too, Carrie,’ said Evadne. Anything to stop that ridiculous preening.
‘I’ll get changed.’
‘No time for that.’ Mother patted her faded mousy hair and checked the position of the cameo she wore between the rounded corners of her Peter Pan collar. ‘You can’t keep a priest waiting. Just tek off the veil – here, let me.’
Evadne wanted to give her sister a clip round the ear. Honestly! Someone should tell her this dratted wedding wasn’t the be-all and end-all.
She led the way down, aware of Mother fluttering behind, willing her to hurry, and Carrie bringing up the rear, presumably imagining herself as the Queen of Sheba descending the royal staircase. At the foot of the stairs, Mother nipped in front and hastened to the kitchen. She opened the door only to stop dead. Evadne cannoned into her and they stumbled forwards. Righting herself, Evadne stepped back, and if she had inadvertently trodden on the hem of Carrie’s dress, which she couldn’t because it was ankle-length, but if she had, it wouldn’t have done Carrie any harm. It might have brought her down to earth.
Father Kelly stood sideways to them, little black beads dripping between meaty fingers. He was murmuring as they entered, but now he spoke clearly and, even though he gave no other indication of being aware of their presence, the volume itself was an order to spring to attention.
‘… Holy Mary, Mother of God …’
He paused, the moment quivering around them. You had to hand it to him, he knew how to work his audience. Mother and Carrie bowed their heads and took up the chant in quiet, respectful voices that offered no competition to his practised rumble.
‘… pray for us sinners …’
Evadne waited politely for the prayer to end. Please don’t let there be another. She tried to see the beads. Was he going to drone his way through an entire decade?
He slipped the rosary into his pocket and turned to face them. Mother stepped forward.
‘Good evening, Father. Sorry to keep you. We’ve been trying on Carrie’s wedding dress.’
She moved aside, revealing Carrie behind her. Carrie gave a half-smile, modestly dropping her gaze. For someone who hadn’t wanted to be seen in her finery, she had overcome her reservations pretty quickly.
But Father Kelly offered no compliments. He looked squarely at Mother.
‘Won’t you tek a seat, Father?’ Having presented Carrie to him, Mother now presented the armchairs that snuggled beside the blue-and-white-tiled hearth.
‘No, thank you. I’ll not sit and be cosy in this house of sin.’
‘House of – what?’ Evadne exclaimed. ‘What are you talking about?’
Mother froze like a terrified animal.
‘You never told them, then?’ he said. ‘You never told your girls the sordid truth?’
‘Told us what?’ Evadne demanded. Her voice sounded strong but her mouth had gone dry. She told herself it was anger at his shilly-shallying, but it wasn’t.
‘So it’s just yourself who’s living the lie, is it, Mrs Jenkins?’
Evadne had never seen it before; she might not have believed it possible, but the colour vanished, simply vanished, from Mother’s face. Her skin was white – no, not white. Grey.
‘Mam?’ Carrie whispered, but Mother didn’t utter a sound.
‘And I said a requiem Mass for you and I sat in your parlour, dispensing comfort, and you let me, and all along you knew.’
Mother swallowed. Her throat convulsed as though she was about to splutter, but no sound emerged. The creamy smooth surface of her cameo brooch shimmered as her rigid body vibrated with tension. What the hallelujah was going on?
Evadne tried to break in. ‘Knew what?’
‘The parish has a visitor, Mrs Jenkins, a fellow priest who served as an army chaplain in the war, the very priest who spent the night alongside your husband before he … died.’
There was a delighted ripple of pretend silk. ‘He met Pa?’ said Carrie. ‘Can we see him? It would mean so much.’
But Mother and Father Kelly didn’t acknowledge her, and her little burst of pleasure faded into frowning confusion.
‘What say you, Mrs Jenkins?’ boomed Father Kelly. ‘Do you want your daughters, poor innocent doves that they are, to meet the priest who prayed for their daddy’s immortal soul the night before—’
Mother erupted into life. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t do this, Father, I beg you.’
‘What’s this? You’re asking me to live the lie for you, to perpetuate your own sin? Because a sin is what it is, make no mistake about that. You preferred to sin against your heavenly Father sooner than speak the truth to your fellow man.’
‘I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t.’
‘And all this time you’ve been receiving the Blessed Sacrament.’
‘I know, I know.’
‘You defied God himself rather than face the shame of your husband being shot at dawn for desertion.’
A wave of shock reverberated through Evadne’s frame, turning her cold to the centre of her being. Her gaze flew to the priest. He was all puffed up and righteous.
‘Mother—’
But Mother was silent. She stood there and let Father Kelly make this appalling accusation and didn’t say a word. Evadne’s insides liquefied.
In a flash of white, Carrie darted forwards. ‘Get out!’ Her hands were raised, crammed into fists as if she was going to batter the living daylights out of him. ‘Get out, get out, get out!’
‘Carrie!’ Evadne wanted time to think, to understand, but here she was, having to reprimand her sister. ‘Stop caterwauling. Do you want the neighbours to hear?’ She glared at Father Kelly, hating him for the foul suggestion he had brought into their house. ‘Please leave. If there’s any more to be said, we’d prefer to hear it from our mother, not from you.’
‘What I want to hear is her prayers as she falls to her knees and begs for forgiveness from God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Ghost.’
He wasn’t about to whip out his rosary beads again, was he? Evadne stood aside, clearing the path to the front door. He brushed past, radiating displeasure.
She followed him down the hall. He threw open the door and turned round.
‘Behold your sins will find you out.’
Away he marched. A couple of neighbours, chatting in the street, stopped to watch him. Before they could ask questions, Evadne shut the door. She had to lean her back against it. Anguish welled up. The cords inside her neck were so taut she couldn’t swallow. Placing the flats of her hands against the door, she pushed herself away and plodded along the hall. She didn’t want to reach the kitchen, but her feet were taking her there, taking her towards a truth she couldn’t bear to hear.
She halted in the doorway.
‘Well, Mother?’
And Mother dropped like a stone. Had she fainted? No, she was still conscious, still upright, only down on her knees, sitting propped up on her heels.
‘Oh my goodness … oh my goodness …’ she whispered, eyes wide and unfocused.
Carrie slumped down beside her, trying to pull her into her arms, but Mother didn’t lean into her embrace. Her breathing was shallow and ragged.
Carrie looked up. ‘Help me get her into the chair.’
Evadne grasped one of Mother’s arms and together they pulled her to her feet, the three of them almost swooping down in a heap when she swayed heavily. It was on the tip of Evadne’s tongue to say, ‘Pull yourself together,’ but she bit it back. They more or less dropped her into the chair. She sagged over the arm like a queasy passenger leaning over the side of a boat.
Evadne couldn’t hold back any longer. ‘Is it true? What Father Kelly said, is it true?’
‘Leave her alone.’ Carrie placed a protective hand on Mother’s shoulder.
Evadne barely let her get the words out. ‘I can’t believe it. I simply can’t believe it. And you’ve known all along.’
It felt as if her head was full of angry wasps. It couldn’t possibly be true – yet Mother’s response declared it was. This would destroy them. What would Grandfather say? And Pa – imagine Pa being … that sort of person. Nausea rolled in her stomach and she tasted bile.
Mother moaned, a long, wavering sound; then she was in floods of tears, her mouth wide and drooping, candles of snot streaming from her nose. Evadne felt revolted, but Carrie, heedless of her precious dress, crouched in front of the chair, trying to draw Mother to her.
‘She needs to lie down,’ she said.
‘She needs to tell us the truth.’
Carrie rose to her feet, holding Mother’s limp hand in both her own. ‘Come on, Mam. Let me tek you upstairs. Help me, Evadne. She’s ill.’
‘Whereas you and I are right as rain. Oh, very well.’
Each with an arm looped around Mother’s waist, they struggled up the stairs with her wailing and shuddering all the way and Carrie crooning and encouraging. God, what a mess. This was no time to collapse in a heap. Mother had kept her secret for four whole years. Surely she could have hung on to her self-control for ten minutes more to tell them what they needed to know.
Carrie probably intended to assist Mother tenderly onto the bed, but Evadne was having none of that. She got Mother to the edge of the bed and let go. Mother slumped and Carrie followed her down. Flinging an accusing look over her shoulder, Carrie scooped Mother’s legs onto the bed and generally played nursemaid.
Evadne left them to it. She moved away, feeling restless and unclean. All the neighbours in Wilton Lane, all the housewives at the shops. How had Mother done it? How had she lived her life in such an ordinary way, all the while knowing what she knew? Were she and Carrie now doomed to lead the same kind of life? She rubbed the back of her neck.
Parting the curtains, she glanced out, her heart beating rapidly, as though an angry crowd might have gathered outside. It was an ordinary evening. Two or three lads were kicking a football around and across the road a queue of girls awaited their turn at the chalked-up hopscotch grid. Windows were open – as though anything could make a house cooler on a day like today. Some front doors were open too. A few neighbours sat outside on wooden chairs, enjoying a chinwag. It was only a matter of time before someone knocked to ask if everything was all right, ‘only we saw Father Kelly …’
How loud was Mother’s sobbing? Evadne pulled down the sash, leaning forward as she did so because it was stiff, and saw Billy coming their way along Wilton Lane.
She turned to Carrie. ‘Billy’s coming. Send him away.’
‘I can’t go down like this, not in my dress. You go. Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.’
Evadne shut her eyes and breathed in sharply through her nose. That girl. Their world was collapsing around them and all she could think about was her dress. On a wave of irritation, Evadne ran down and opened the door just as Billy knocked. He blinked at having it opened so promptly.
‘It’s not a good time, Billy,’ she said, even before he touched the brim of his bowler to her.
He shoved a finger inside his collar, easing the tightness. It was an attached collar, which was fair enough, really. He was only a clerk. His studs and good collar were kept for work. At home he wore a collar-attached shirt. Carrie didn’t mind, but then she was only a shop girl.
‘I shan’t stop a minute. Is Carrie in?’
‘She can’t come down. We’ve … we’ve had a shock. Excuse me.’ She backed away, about to shut the door.
‘I know.’
She froze. Surely not.
‘Father Kelly were in’t pub earlier with another priest and—’
She sucked in a huge breath. It was the only thing that kept her upright. She stared at Billy. Her face felt prickly. Was she losing her colour the way Mother had earlier? Her mind went blank. It had been bad enough when she thought only the two priests knew, but if the revelation had happened in public …
‘I say, are you all right?’
All right? Dolt! How could she ever be all right again? Some of the hatred she had felt for Father Kelly welled up and spilt over in Billy’s direction. Carrie thought him the last word in good-looking, but he was nothing special. Just an ordinary boy who had clawed his way into a town hall job, but didn’t have the good sense to spend years saving up before he got married.
‘They were in the pub?’
‘It wasn’t Father Kelly’s fault. This other priest started talking about it, knowing that this was where Mr Jenkins came from. He didn’t know …’ Billy’s voice trailed off.
‘He thought it was the talk of the wash house, I suppose?’
‘Look, I must speak to Carrie.’
‘Well, you can’t. Go away, Billy.’
He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. Was that relief? Evadne shot him a direct look, then shrugged inwardly. Not her problem.
He leant forward. ‘Can you give her a message for me?’
Chapter Three
‘I shall change my name back to Baxter forthwith,’ Evadne declared. ‘God forbid that anyone should mistake me for a Jenkins after this.’
From her perch beside the kitchen table, Carrie, watching in a distant kind of way, saw Evadne’s slender fingers grasp the arms of the chair, saw her perfect almond-shaped nails dig into the homey chintz. She wanted to tell her to shut up and stop being so selfish, but she couldn’t rouse herself. She was numb. There was so much to take in. Not just Pa, but Billy as well. She looked down. Her hands – square, capable little paws – lay fisted on the skirt of her wedding dress. Had Billy really and truly abandoned her? And Mam – imagine her keeping such a frightful secret all this time.
‘My father was a hero,’ said Evadne, as if he had relieved Mafeking single-handed.
Carrie stirred herself; she wasn’t having that. ‘Pa was your father.’
‘Not my real father. My real father died doing his duty. A father to be proud of.’
A father to be proud of: that’s what they had thought about Pa until today, she and Evadne, the neighbours, everyone who came in the shop, the parents of Evadne’s pupils … everyone. Not Mam, though. Mam had known different all along. No wonder she had fainted clean away at the end of the two-minute silence last November. She was upstairs now, refusing to see them, though the sobbing had stopped at last, thank heaven. Carrie’s throat clogged with guilt: she hadn’t shed a single tear. By rights she should be weeping buckets, yet here she was, sitting rigidly on a spindle-backed chair in the centre of a cold and frightening calm.
Her hands unclenched and rubbed up and down her thighs in time with the dull thump of her heart – then she stopped. She mustn’t rumple her wedding dress.
But if Billy had jilted her—
Her mouth went dry, her pulse wild as panic poured through her veins. Her insides felt loose and trembly. She met Evadne’s gaze. Evadne looked like the queen of winter, cheekbones high and sharp, her lips a tight line of fury. How could she be angry with Pa? Pa had thought the world of her, and never mind that she wasn’t his own flesh and blood. Being dad to a Baxter had meant something to him. How dare she turn on him?
But looking into the depths of Evadne’s clever hazel eyes, Carrie saw – she saw fear, and her breath caught. She was frightened too. Now that the terrible truth about Pa had been revealed, they would never be able to hold up their heads again.
Shame pulsated in the air around her, so strong she could inhale it. Beneath the usual warm scents of herbs and pastry, it smelt of … vinegar. No, that was stupid. And yet there it was. Yes, of course – Mam had cleaned the windows that afternoon, one of her regular Thursday jobs, and the crisp aroma of diluted vinegar lingered in the air.
What was she doing, thinking about windows and vinegar at a time like this? A time like this? As if there had ever been such a time. The wedding was off – or so Evadne said – and Pa, dear Pa, such a devoted family man, Pa was … he was—
He was a deserter. He hadn’t copped it going over the top like hundreds of thousands of others, including four of their own men and boys from Wilton Lane. He had been shot by his own side. Blindfolded, he had stood in front of a firing squad and paid the penalty for his desertion. Pa – a deserter. Dear, lovely Pa. Was he still dear, lovely Pa now that they knew this shocking, shameful thing about him?
The door squeaked open and Carrie’s heart twitched at the sight of Mam, looking fragile and – and old. How had that happened? In the space of – what? An hour? – the fine lines about her eyes and mouth had become deeply gouged. Sinking into a chair at the table, she doubled over as if in the grip of a violent bellyache and gave way to another bout of weeping. Carrie reached out a comforting hand, but Mam’s shoulder heaved so violently it bounced straight off.
‘Try not to cry. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Oh yes,’ Evadne cut in, her voice thick with unspent tears. ‘A pot of tea will solve all our problems.’
Mam reared up, smearing the heels of her hands over her face. ‘I’m sorry. I never meant anybody to know. I’ve hoped and prayed every day for it to stay hidden. I wanted to protect you.’
‘If you’d wanted to protect me,’ Evadne flared, ‘you should have told me the truth so I could have found a new job a hundred miles away.’
‘Evadne!’ Mam cried.
‘There’s precious little hope of that now. Teaching posts are being given to men who served their country.’
Silence rattled round the kitchen. Muscles jumped beneath Carrie’s skin. Men who served. Not like Pa, who had betrayed king and country, his family, everything he stood for. She felt battered from all sides. She had loved Pa. Was she still allowed to love him? Did she still want to? And what about Billy? She clutched her elbows, shivering like a sick dog.
‘How did you manage to keep it secret all this time?’ Evadne sounded weary, disbelieving.
‘I didn’t know, not to start with.’
‘Wait.’
Evadne got up and crossed the kitchen to close the window, as though listeners might have sneaked into their backyard. Mellow sunshine spilt through the sparkling panes, painting golden rectangles on the beech dresser and turning the red floor tiles to garnet.
Evadne resumed her seat. ‘Go on.’
Mam’s lip trembled. ‘We got a telegram the same as everybody else. You saw it.’
‘Saw it?’ Evadne exclaimed. ‘We stuck it in the family Bible opposite the letter about my father. All this time I thought they were the same, two men dying for their country. I felt sorry for you, a soldier’s widow twice over.’
Carrie willed her to shut up. ‘Tell us what happened.’
Mam sucked in a breath. ‘Like I say, I never knew to start with. It were only when the pension stopped, about six months later. I thought it was a mistake and I was vexed. I thought: What a way to treat a soldier’s widow. I never imagined …’ Her voice trailed away, her eyes black with despair. ‘Then a letter came, saying I weren’t entitled to no pension. It wasn’t like getting a letter, not really. It were just a report of what had happened – hardly even that, just the bare bones. I didn’t even know it was desertion until Father Kelly said.’
‘They didn’t …’ Carrie had to clear her throat. ‘They didn’t tell you why Pa was … shot?’ The word crept out on a whisper. Uttering it was a betrayal.
‘No. Just that it’d happened. He’d been court-martialled and shot. Only they called it executed.’
‘It must have said more than that,’ said Evadne. ‘Where’s the letter now?’ She looked round, as if it might be sticking out from behind the clock.
Something glinted deep in Mam’s eyes.
‘I burnt it. I knelt in the hearth and tore it into shreds, then I dropped the pieces one by one into the heart of the fire. I was so close I could smell my apron scorching. I stirred it up to a right old blaze and I kept on stirring until it felt like the skin was peeling off my face.’
‘Oh, Mam …’ Carrie whispered.
‘I realised none of his mates would know. Pa was injured a while before he died – do you remember?’
‘He shot himself in the thigh while he was cleaning his gun.’ Nostalgia swamped Carrie. Mam had said, ‘Daft bugger,’ and she and Letty had squealed with delighted laughter.
‘Trying to give himself a Blighty wound, more like,’ said Evadne.
Carrie surged to her feet so suddenly she nearly toppled. ‘Stop it! It’s bad enough without you going on like that.’
‘Girls, girls!’ Mam was on her feet too, flapping her hands.
Evadne shut her eyes, then opened them again. ‘What does Pa’s wound have to do with it?’
Mam sat down with a bump. Tears spilt over and trailed down her face. Carrie’s heart ached for her. She sat down, pulling her chair closer to Mam’s, its feet scraping the floor tiles.
Mam’s voice shook. ‘He were carted off to hospital, but it was shelled and they were evacuated. At the same time, his regiment went elsewhere. I don’t know the details. I had a letter from him, but he couldn’t say much because of the censor. When he returned to the front, he ended up with a different set of men; and they were the ones he was with when he … when he died.’
‘So you knew none of our local men would come home knowing the truth,’ said Evadne.
‘Aye.’
‘Until now.’
Mam shuddered so hard her teeth clicked. ‘Four years, four whole years. It’s an actual weight, you know, so heavy, right inside here.’ She pressed splayed fingers against her chest. ‘I’ve been so ashamed and frightened.’
A spurt of tears and spittle showered Carrie in a fine mist, settling softly on her cheeks, then Mam was sobbing lustily. It lasted mere moments, halting as abruptly as it had started.
Carrie reached out to draw her close. She smelt of soap and starch. Carrie kissed her hair. ‘You poor love.’ No wonder her grief had intensified a few months after Pa’s death.
‘It teks some people that way, Carrie love,’ Letty’s mam had explained. ‘It can tek a while for it to sink in. Your mam has just realised, I mean really realised, that your dad’s not coming home, God love him.’
But it hadn’t been that at all. It had been the truth that had knocked her flat.
‘That’s why you went to work in the munitions at Trafford Park,’ said Evadne. ‘They paid good wages, so you could pretend some of the money was pension. That’s the truth, isn’t it?’
Mam jerked upright and Carrie glared at her sister. Did she have to stick the knife in?
‘Be reasonable, Evadne. Even if there had been a pension, Mam would still have needed to work. Widows do. I were just turned fourteen, so I wasn’t bringing much home; and you’d moved out long before then.’ She turned to Mam. ‘You were lucky to get the position with Mrs Randall when the munitions closed.’
‘Aye. Mrs Randall used to have two live-in staff and a daily before the war, but girls have got above themselves these days and she can’t get anyone to live in. Mind you, she is a bit of a tartar. And her brother, he slips me the odd half-crown now and then for services rendered.’
Evadne shrieked. Carrie might have shrieked, too, only the breath had been sucked clean out of her body.
‘Not that kind of service,’ Mam snapped. ‘You should wash your mouths out with soap, the pair of you.’
‘We never said a word,’ Carrie protested.
‘You didn’t need to. For your information, I keep his stump clean and medicated. It still has him in bad ways after all this time.’
Carrie slumped back in her chair. She couldn’t believe it. Pa was dead, a deserter, and here they were talking about Mrs Randall’s brother’s manky stump. Her heart contracted on a pang of yearning. Oh, Billy—
‘I’m going out.’ She was on her feet. She didn’t remember standing up, but here she was, on her feet. The skirt of her wedding dress swished.
‘You can’t,’ said Evadne.
‘You mustn’t,’ said Mam.
Carrie blinked. ‘I have to see Billy.’
‘What for?’ Evadne demanded. ‘I told you. He’s called it off.’
Answers flooded Carrie’s mind. You’re wrong, you’re mistaken, you’re lying. You were too shocked about Pa to listen properly. Billy would never leave me.
‘He should have waited to see me. I were only upstairs, for pity’s sake.’
‘Tek your dress off, love,’ said Mam. ‘We’ll have a cup of tea, eh?’
Take her dress off. Yes. She mustn’t spoil it. But … but if Evadne was right about the wedding being called off – which she couldn’t be, but supposing she was – then Carrie might never put her dress on again. Distress swelled inside her, bubbling up towards the rim of her self-control. Her dress, stitched with love and hope in every seam.
‘I’m going to see Billy.’
Mam came to her feet and grabbed her arm, yanking her round. Almost tipped off balance, Carrie snatched at the table, her hands slapping down. Her palms stung. Heat darted up her forearms.
‘You can’t,’ Mam insisted. ‘Word will have got round by now. We have to stop indoors.’
‘We can’t stay in for ever.’
‘You’re not going and that’s flat.’
‘That’s what’s happened to the china serving dish, isn’t it?’ said Evadne. ‘You took it to the pawn.’
Carrie stared. What was she on about now?
‘I told you.’ Mam looked shifty. ‘I broke it. I dropped it.’
‘If you’d broken it, you’d have stuck it back together,’ Evadne retorted. ‘No, you pawned it.’
‘I needed the money.’
‘What else have you pawned? Only it wasn’t pawning, was it? People who pawn things redeem them and you never had any intention of doing that, did you?’
‘I always meant to get them back, but it were never possible.’
‘Them? What else have you got rid of?’
‘Just one or two bits, nowt special. The ashtray, the brass candlesticks. Nothing we needed.’
The brass candlesticks? Carrie remembered them disappearing, remembered Mam claiming, ‘I’ve put them in Miss Reilly’s room. We’re lucky to have a nice lady lodger. We have to give her the best we can so she stays.’
Evadne jumped up. ‘My God! If you’ve dared …’
She swarmed from the kitchen and Carrie flinched as the parlour door banged open. The room was probably flinching too. Evadne came flying back into the kitchen, heat highlighting her fine cheekbones.
‘That barometer wasn’t yours to dispose of. It belonged to my father and that means it was mine.’
She confronted Mam across the table. Carrie saw Mam shrink. Was she subsiding back onto the chair? No, she was shrivelling beneath Evadne’s wrath. Carrie made an instinctive move to put herself between them, but the table was in the way. Instead she gave Evadne a push, then had to stand her ground when Evadne’s glare ensnared her.
‘So Mam pawned the barometer – so what?’ Carrie flared. ‘She needed the money. What does it matter now?’
Evadne cracked her hard across the face. The breath rasped in Carrie’s throat. Her hand flew to her cheek in disbelief. It felt as if she had been burnt. A whiff of the light flowery toilet water Evadne favoured hung in the air between them. Carrie stared at her sister and Evadne stared back, then she flung herself into the armchair, fingers pressed across her mouth.
She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry – I’m sorry.’
Carrie spun round, yearning for the comfort of her mother’s arms, but Mam shoved herself clear of the table, overturning the chair in her haste, and vanished before it stopped clattering.
Chapter Four
That afternoon the air had been as heavy as a sack of potatoes and even though it had now eased into the tranquil warmth of evening, the gate’s wooden planks and the bricks in the back wall were still packed with the day’s heat, and it bounced out at Carrie as she lifted the latch and slipped through to hasten along the entries. She often walked down the entries – there was nothing new in that – but it felt new, because she was consciously avoiding the streets. Was this how life would be lived in future, skulking through entries, never lifting her eyes beyond the tops of the yard walls in case someone was looking out of an upstairs window? Her vision narrowed, focused solely on the cinder path crackling underfoot and the walls to either side. Typical Manchester, Pa used to say of the distinctive red brick. Was it wrong to remember him as an ordinary person, living an ordinary life and saying ordinary things? Was it disrespectful to all those other soldiers?
It couldn’t have taken long to reach Billy’s road, but it felt like for ever. Emerging from the entry, she stumbled to a halt, feeling exposed and vulnerable as if a crowd should have been watching for her. She longed for Billy to hold her while she wept for Pa, aye, and for Mam, too, clutching her dark secret to her through four desperate years.
A woman was standing on her doorstep, chatting to a younger woman with a small child on her hip. They noticed her the same moment she saw them. Should she smile, nod, say hello? The women gave her a nod and her face heated as their conversation resumed, the way their heads tilted closer together telling her what their topic was. She could barely raise her eyes to fix them on Billy’s front door. It wasn’t more than a few yards, but it might as well have been miles. First she had to brave a couple of girls skipping in the road, one end of their tatty rope tied to a gas lamp.
Raspberry, gooseberry, apple, jam tart
Tell me the name of your sweetheart
With an A, B …
Then the girl turning the rope accelerated while her companion skipped pepper, both of them yelling the alphabet at top speed. On G, skipper and rope became hopelessly entangled.
‘G!’ the turner cried gleefully. ‘You’re gonna marry Gregory Wells!’
‘Am not!’
‘Are so!’
A ghost of a smile fluttered across Carrie’s lips. She had skipped that rhyme herself many a time. You couldn’t stop on B, not without looking like you’d done it on purpose, but, by heck, it had been impossible, trying to keep going all the way to W.
‘Look, it’s Carrie. Tek an end for us, Carrie.’
‘Go on,’ wheedled the other. ‘The rope keeps slipping down’t lamp post.’
‘Sorry, not today.’
‘Eh, Carrie Jenkins, is it true?’
‘Is what true?’ What a pathetic thing to say.
‘About your dad. Margaret Harrison’s mam said Mrs Shipton said your dad never went over’t top. He were shot running away. He was a coward.’
Anger, white-hot, scorched through Carrie. She stepped forward, a sharp movement that sent both girls scuttling backwards. ‘My dad weren’t a coward and don’t you dare say he was.’ She caught the scared looks on the pinched little faces and her heart froze in shame. ‘Just … don’t say it, that’s all.’
She carried on walking. It was like being in a dream, the sort where you walked and walked but never arrived, even though your destination was right there in front of you. Then, with a shiver of surprise, she reached the Shiptons’ front gate. She rested her fingers on top of it. In Billy’s road, each house had a ‘front’, a small area boxed in by a low brick wall with a gate. It was nobbut a couple of steps from gate to door, but even so, a front gate was a front gate. It swung open without a squeak. Carrie lifted the knocker and executed a smart rat-tat that sounded braver than she felt.
The door opened and Billy’s mother planted herself in the doorway. Carrie offered a tentative smile; she had always done her best to please Mrs Shipton.
‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘Good evening, Mrs Shipton. Can I speak to Billy, please?’
‘There’s nowt to be said. He’s done his duty by coming round to tell you.’
‘I didn’t see him. He told Evadne.’
‘Same difference.’
Carrie lifted her chin. ‘I want to see him.’
‘Well, he doesn’t want to see you. Now clear off back where you came from.’
Her stomach bubbled. ‘Not without seeing Billy. I have to. We’re getting wed Saturday.’
‘Not any more, you’re not. Didn’t that sister of yours pass on the message?’
‘You can’t leave something like that as a message.’
Mrs Shipton’s jaw hardened. ‘Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.’
‘I need to speak to him. We have to sort this out.’ A movement behind Mrs Shipton caught her eye. ‘Billy! We need to talk—’
Mrs Shipton landed a great jab in her chest and she almost went over backwards, her feet scrambling for purchase as Mrs Shipton surged towards her, forcing her through the gate onto the pavement. Mrs Shipton delivered a final jab, thrusting her face down into Carrie’s, eyes snapping with contempt.
‘You’re not welcome here. I’m not having any lad of mine marrying the likes of you. He’s a bright boy, our Billy. It’s not everyone can pass town hall exams. He’ll end up a senior clerk one day – but not if there’s a scandal dragging him down. No wonder your mother kept her mouth shut all this time. Happen she’s cursing that army chaplain for turning up today instead of this time next week. Happen you are too.’
‘I never knew about Pa until today.’
‘Maybe you did and maybe you didn’t. The result’s the same. Our Billy’s not being held back by anything or anyone, least of all you and your family scandal, so get that through your thick skull, Carrie Jenkins.’
‘Whatever happened to Pa, you can’t punish me for it.’ Carrie reached out her hand.
Mrs Shipton dashed it aside with a stinging swipe. ‘Blood will out. Just look at you, coming round here half-naked. Where’s your decency?’
Bewildered, she looked down at herself. She had ventured out without her shawl.
‘Billy! Come out, love – please.’
Mrs Shipton loomed in front of her. ‘Hark at you, bawling like a fishwife. And you wonder why our Billy doesn’t want you any more.’
With a shove that sent Carrie tottering off the kerb, Mrs Shipton did a smart about-turn and marched indoors. The door slammed and Carrie flinched. Her knees wobbled. Another moment and they would collapse under her and she would plonk down in the road.
A hand touched her arm. She looked into a lined, compassionate face.
‘It’s Carrie, in’t it? Best get thee home, lass. Your mam’ll be fretting after you.’
‘She doesn’t know I’m here.’
‘Oh aye, and aren’t things bad enough for her without you mekking ’em worse?’
The woman looked round. Carrie glanced about too, saw figures on doorsteps, faces at open sashes, sharp-eyed women, grinning children.
‘Show’s over,’ called the woman. ‘There’s nowt more to see … unless you was planning on beating down the Shiptons’ door?’ she asked with a wry lift of her brows. ‘Go home, love. Best thing.’
Feeling the eyes of the neighbourhood clamped on her, Carrie headed for home, forcing herself to walk, though she was desperate to take to her heels. Her hand twitched, an instinctive movement, the desire to protect. She grabbed her elbows and hung on to them for dear life. She mustn’t, mustn’t, mustn’t put a hand on her belly.
Chapter Five
Evadne hovered in the narrow hallway, fingertips brushing the parlour doorknob. All she had to do was walk in and draw the curtains. Simple.
She closed her eyes, unshed tears burning in the darkness beneath her eyelids. It wasn’t simple at all, but she had her standards and her pride and she would not shirk this duty, however painful, however humiliating.
