Jamrach's Menagerie - Carol Birch [121]
“Well, look at you,” she said, “you’ve grown up.”
“So’ve you.”
She led me along a dark hall and into a room at the side.
“I hear you’re in service.”
“That’s true.” She looked over her shoulder. “Mr. Jamrach found me a position in Clerkenwell.”
“Do you like it?”
She shrugged, opening a door.
It was grander than the old place, high ceilinged and bow fronted, with a large fuchsia plant in a white pot in the bay, a fine black range covering one wall, and polished brasses about the fireplace. Mrs. Linver sat in a rocking chair with her slippered feet up on the fender.
“Look who’s come to see us,” Ishbel said cheerfully.
Mrs. Linver jumped to her feet and stared. A tortured ball of handkerchief fell to the floor. “How dare you come back without him!” she cried.
“Don’t be stupid, Mother,” Ishbel said. “It’s not Jaffy’s fault.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Linver,” I whispered. I couldn’t stand this. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Sit down, Jaffy.” Ishbel pushed me into a chair. “I’ll make some tea,” and she was gone.
Her mother took a few frantic steps towards me with her hands clenched hard down by her sides. Raddled, she looked. Dark hollows in her face. She stopped, shaking, a foot or so from me, then fell to one knee in front of me, the better to look in my face. It was a terrible thing to look in her eyes. “I know it’s not your fault, Jaffy,” she said urgently. “I know it really, but it’s just a very, very hard thing.”
My eyes burned.
“It’s a very hard thing,” she repeated, staring.
I felt as if my head would burst, tried to speak, but found my throat blocked.
“There, that’ll be ready soon,” said Ishbel, coming in and drawing up a small table, pulling her mother to her feet, thrusting her back into her chair and handing her the dropped handkerchief, all, it seemed, in one continuous movement. Every inch of her, every movement was familiar yet profoundly different, the reality of her more dream-like than her memory.
“It’s been very hard for our Ishbel,” Mrs. Linver said, still looking at me. “She’s had to take her father’s place, you know, really. What with her brother gone. We’re so grateful to Mr. Jamrach for finding her such a good position.”
“Yes, of course.” Ishbel drew up her own chair and perched there very stiff and straight like a lady, with her hands in her lap. A woman’s bosom had replaced the two small, lemon-shaped breasts I remembered. Her hands were as bad as ever, and I watched fascinated as they picked at and played with each other. “Strangely enough,” she said, “we’re not doing too bad. How’s your ma, Jaf?”
“She’s well,” I said. “Have to say though, I got a bit of a shock when I saw this sprog sitting there.”
“Oh yes.” She smiled. “We thought about that. Little David. Sweet, isn’t he? He reminds me of you.”
I chanced a look, but she was watching her mother.
“So tell us then, Jaffy,” Mrs. Linver said, sitting forward. “Tell us what you have to tell us.”
“Mother, leave him,” she said in a strained voice. “Let him have his tea at least.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “I don’t mind telling you anything, only it’s hard for me to talk about. You must understand.”
“Of course,” said Ishbel.
“I just want to know,” his mother said, “that he didn’t have too terrible a time, and I want to know if it was quickly over. You know. At the end. That’s all I want to know. And I want you to tell me the truth.”
“He went before the worst,” I said. “I’d be lying if I said there was no suffering; there was, for all, but he went before the worst.”
There was a long and painful silence. I couldn’t look at them.
“They said it was his idea to draw lots,” his mother said.
“It was. But we all agreed.”
I raised my eyes. Both of them were staring at me and the blood sang in my ears.
“He kept going, you know, Tim,” I said. “I never saw him lose his