she loved the power of knowing it when Evie did not. Ernest had told her to say nothing about Leah to the girl. He was quite adamant - ‘Best if she knows nothing,’ he had said, ‘it might give her ideas, it’d lead likely to trouble and there’s been enough of that.’ But by the time Evie was thirteen, and on the edge of womanhood whatever she still looked like, Muriel knew that she would never be any trouble. She was thoroughly docile, without a flash of temper in her. It was safe to tell Evie anything at all, knowing both that she would never repeat it, because she had no one to repeat it to, and that she would not be unduly shocked or distressed. So Muriel, from then onwards, began to let things slip, little facts about Leah dropped into her monologues ready for Evie to pick up should she so wish. Muriel was not sure whether the girl did wish or not. Her expression betrayed nothing. And yet she thought she detected an extra stillness about Evie at these moments of revelation that alerted her to the girl’s deep interest. It became a kind of game, trying to get some reaction from her, and the more Muriel played it the more careless she grew.
Evie, when she arrived at the Fox and Hound, had not appeared to know her surname or indeed that she was bound to have one. It was only when her name was called at registration in school that she realised her other name was Messenger and that she shared it with Ernest and Muriel. This had surprised and pleased her at the time, it had been like receiving a present and made her feel a certain kinship which had been more meaningful than hearing Ernest referred to as a second cousin. When she was older, the shared surname misled people. They assumed she was Ernest and Muriel’s daughter and she saw how this irritated Ernest but pleased Muriel. ‘She’s not ours,’ she heard Ernest say, when inquiries were made occasionally, ‘she’s my cousin’s bairn, I’ve taken her in.’ Sometimes, because Messengers had been at the Fox and Hound a long time, the inquirer would ask which cousin and then Ernest would say first of all, ‘Leah Messenger, from the Caldewgate lot, kept the Royal Oak,
59
her mam died, came here when they’d had enough of her, but little pitchers have big ears and that’s as far as I’ll go.’ But if the question was asked of Muriel the reply was more detailed and nothing was said about little pitchers. ‘No, she’s not ours, and she’s not my side,’ Muriel would say, ‘she’s Ernest’s cousin’s bairn, Leah Messenger’s, from the Carlisle side. We’ve taken her in, not that we ever knew she existed till she was six and then we got a letter, they’d traced Leah back to here. She was in a Home, this one, she’d been with another Messenger, old Mary, she lived here once, before my time, and Mary died and this one was put in a Home.’
Suddenly, Evie had a history and, though it remained sparse, she clung on to it. Her grandmother might not really have been her grandmother but at least she had had the same name and there was some connection between her and Leah, the Leah who was her own mother. That thought was precious, that link between Mary, Leah and herself. Bit by bit, Muriel strengthened it. When, at fourteen, Evie finally began her monthlies Muriel told her that now she had come on she must be careful or she’d fall and if she fell she’d share her mother Leah’s fate. ‘Look what happened to her,’ Muriel said, sorting out rags to give Evie and telling her first to wash them well and keep them private. ‘Fell, at seventeen, and that was that, that was you, that was her out on her ear and nowhere to go, so you be careful, though you won’t have her problem looking as you do.’ Another time, when Evie was late back with the milk, it was, ‘Where’ve you been, not dallying with any lad, I hope?’ Evie, who knew no lads, shook her head and explained about the late arrival of the milk cart with the churns at the crossroads.
Evie, when she arrived at the Fox and Hound, had not appeared to know her surname or indeed that she was bound to have one. It was only when her name was called at registration in school that she realised her other name was Messenger and that she shared it with Ernest and Muriel. This had surprised and pleased her at the time, it had been like receiving a present and made her feel a certain kinship which had been more meaningful than hearing Ernest referred to as a second cousin. When she was older, the shared surname misled people. They assumed she was Ernest and Muriel’s daughter and she saw how this irritated Ernest but pleased Muriel. ‘She’s not ours,’ she heard Ernest say, when inquiries were made occasionally, ‘she’s my cousin’s bairn, I’ve taken her in.’ Sometimes, because Messengers had been at the Fox and Hound a long time, the inquirer would ask which cousin and then Ernest would say first of all, ‘Leah Messenger, from the Caldewgate lot, kept the Royal Oak,
59
her mam died, came here when they’d had enough of her, but little pitchers have big ears and that’s as far as I’ll go.’ But if the question was asked of Muriel the reply was more detailed and nothing was said about little pitchers. ‘No, she’s not ours, and she’s not my side,’ Muriel would say, ‘she’s Ernest’s cousin’s bairn, Leah Messenger’s, from the Carlisle side. We’ve taken her in, not that we ever knew she existed till she was six and then we got a letter, they’d traced Leah back to here. She was in a Home, this one, she’d been with another Messenger, old Mary, she lived here once, before my time, and Mary died and this one was put in a Home.’
Suddenly, Evie had a history and, though it remained sparse, she clung on to it. Her grandmother might not really have been her grandmother but at least she had had the same name and there was some connection between her and Leah, the Leah who was her own mother. That thought was precious, that link between Mary, Leah and herself. Bit by bit, Muriel strengthened it. When, at fourteen, Evie finally began her monthlies Muriel told her that now she had come on she must be careful or she’d fall and if she fell she’d share her mother Leah’s fate. ‘Look what happened to her,’ Muriel said, sorting out rags to give Evie and telling her first to wash them well and keep them private. ‘Fell, at seventeen, and that was that, that was you, that was her out on her ear and nowhere to go, so you be careful, though you won’t have her problem looking as you do.’ Another time, when Evie was late back with the milk, it was, ‘Where’ve you been, not dallying with any lad, I hope?’ Evie, who knew no lads, shook her head and explained about the late arrival of the milk cart with the churns at the crossroads.
Similar Books
