Leah Fleming - Remembrance Day

‘Speak, girl,’ said Lady Hester impatiently.

‘This is Newton, the oldest, and my brother Frankland and I am Selima Bartley,’ she offered, seeing her brothers standing tongue-tied.

‘What peculiar names for Christian children,’ the lady replied. ‘You look more like Tom, Dick and Nellie to me. You will be pleased to know that Master Angus has made a full recovery, and is back at school with his brother. They wish me to thank you all for your part in the unfortunate accident. They wish you to know that they appreciate all the effort you made on their behalf. The Colonel and I of course endorse such sentiments. We agree therefore that you should all be given a token of our gratitude. Arkholme, fetch the tray.’

Selma thought they were in for a bun feast but a silver tray with curlicue edges was placed on the table with a lace cloth. There were three gold coins, three half sovereigns, glinting in the sunlight.

‘Please take one each,’ said Lady Hester. ‘Tell your parents we are pleased that our tenants have brought up their children to be of such service to the community.’

Selma grabbed the first coin and bobbed her curtsy, not knowing what to do next. Frank and Newt did the same and bowed. There was a silence and then Lady Hester rang a bell and the parlour maid ushered them to the door.

‘Just this once, let them go out the front entrance and down the steps. I expect they will want to admire the view to the river. Thank you and good day.’

The audience was over. No handshake, no cup of tea and cake, no conversation. But most of all, no Guy or Angus in attendance.

Disappointment rose like bile in Selma’s throat. All that dressing up for five minutes in a beautiful drawing room.

How pokey, cold, plain and homespun their front room, with its rag rug and chenille tablecloth, would appear when she got home. How ordinary everything was. A splinter of discontent pierced her heart and she felt shame and pain.

This was another world, a world of luxury and comfort the likes of which the Bartleys would never know. ‘We are all equal in the eyes of the Lord.’ Mam’s words rang in her head like a tolling bell. Why at this moment were they sounding so hollow?

It was quite evident that they were not equal, or why did her ladyship not even stand or shake their hands? The gold coins meant nothing to the Cantrells. She had paid them for their services. Selma wanted to throw hers away in disgust. How dare they think so ill of them?

What would Dad make of it all? Half a guinea to spend or save? The boys weren’t bothered either way, glad to be out in the fresh air, wanting to tear off their Sunday clothes.

Selma felt a strange sadness when she opened the back door to their cottage.

‘Well? How did it go? That didn’t take long.’ Mam was anxious to hear every detail of the visit, stirring soup on the range.

‘It were all right…She give us one of these each.’ Selma plonked the coin on the table as if it was burning her fingers.

‘That’ll come in handy for your schooling,’ Essie smiled, and then she saw her face. ‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing. It were all so quick, in and out in five minutes as if we were the delivery boys.’

‘You didn’t get a look round, then?’ Essie registered surprise. ‘I thought the young masters would want to show you the horses.’

‘They’re back at school. It was a right thunder of nothing. I felt like a fool,’ Newt added. ‘She’s a right proud madam, is that one. Had us through the door in a flash in case we might steal owt, I reckon.’

‘Surely not.’ Essie sighed and shook her head. ‘I suppose we must expect that they do things different. Gentry folk don’t mix, never have except when they want the rent. She’s a bit stiff but I hear she’s very fond of her boys. They say she never had a nursemaid to them. Anyhow, I’m sure she was grateful.’

‘She didn’t look it. She looked at us as if we were the scrapings off her boot,’ muttered Frank.

‘Happen she’s just reserved with lower orders,’ Essie consoled.

‘You said we were all equal,’ Selma jumped in.

‘Aye, we are but that lot up there don’t know it yet. One day perhaps…Things’ll be better. You’ll see.’

‘I’m getting out of this clobber.’ Newt made for the stairs.

‘I’ll put the kettle on the hob. I gather she didn’t give you any tea then? I had hoped…never mind. Nowt as queer as folk.’

‘You can say that again,’ snapped Selma. ‘I’m never going back there.’ It wasn’t right to be made to feel small or ashamed of their fancy names as if they didn’t deserve them. Selima was her dad’s choice. It was foreign different. How dare Lady Hester belittle his choosing?

The drill sergeant had them marching up and down the quadrangle of Sharland School. ‘Forward…at the double.’ He wanted them drill perfect for the next inspection day. The officer cadets were soldiers-in-waiting, pride of the school parades, but today Guy was out of step and not his usual efficient self. He couldn’t concentrate. Something was wrong and he didn’t know what. It kept making him lose his rhythm. He kept looking over to where his twin brother was marching, head up, eyes forward, a glint of steel in his eye. He was a born drill merchant, far better than he.

Angus had made a remarkable recovery, only the gash on his left temple bearing evidence of his accident, and this was now hidden under a tuft of blond hair that fell like a forelock when it wasn’t plastered down. In their uniforms they were identical, but now all those pranks and swapping identities would not be so easy to go undetected. Angus was the one with the scar.

Guy felt uneasy. Poor chap had no recollection of the accident or indeed the afternoon picnic or the jump when the Bartleys rescued him. It was as if the whole slate was wiped clean, had never happened until he looked in the mirror at his brow with disgust. Mother kept reminding him to be careful. She’d not wanted him back at school so soon. Angus had shrugged off her worries as fussing and brushed aside Guy’s enquiries about how he was feeling.

Having a twin brother was both a blessing and a curse. There was always your own face looking back at you. It was always the two of them, dressed alike, objects of curiosity. Sometimes he felt as if they were one whole person split into two halves—or he did until the accident. Now he sensed Angus was changing and he was sure he was getting headaches because they throbbed in his own head. It was curious how when one of them was ill the other felt groggy too. Sometimes he sensed they could think each other’s thoughts before they spoke them, knew instinctively what the other was going to say.

He’d noticed that Angus didn’t concentrate on his studies for very long now, that he jumped up and paced round their study room, much more restless than last term. His tri-weekly test scores were much lower than his own and the competitive edge between them had vanished. All Angus wanted to do was run cross-country, chase up and down the rugger pitch and drill. They may still look like two peas in a pod but something had shifted. Guy had tried to speak to Mother and warn her something was up, but she put it all down to going back to school too early.

At least she’d had the Bartleys to tea one afternoon and given them a present each but he was horrified when she’d told them she’d given them a coin as a token. It wasn’t his place to criticise her decision, though. He tried but failed to imagine her putting little Selma and her brothers at ease.

Father would’ve been more gracious, but he was never around these days. Colonel ‘Give ’em hell’ Cantrell was now an important member of Lord Kitchener’s advisory staff. If war did come, as everyone was saying it would, they’d hardly see him.