Dancing the Charleston Read online

  ‘There’s not much to tell. I was lonely. My own mother wasn’t a good woman, and my father was a stern, strict man. I had to get away. I was always skilled with my needle, so I got a job at a dressmaker’s in Hailbury – Madame Orwell’s Fine Gowns. She was kind enough, I suppose, but she never treated me like one of the family, and just gave me a tiny room in the attic to sleep in. I stayed there year after year. I always hoped I might find myself a young man and start walking out with him, but I never met anyone. If any of the lads whistled at me in the street, I always scuttled away, too shy to let them talk to me.’ Aunty shook her head.

  I shuffled a little nearer.

  ‘Then there was all this talk of war. It changed people – somehow livened them up, even me. They started holding Saturday-night dances in Hailbury Town Hall, and somehow I plucked up the courage to go along by myself. I got into the habit of going every week, and got to know some of the girls there. I found I was quite good at dancing, heaven knows why, so I had my fair share of partners. Lads started coming along in their stiff new uniforms, with pink faces and short hair. The other girls considered them handsome, but I didn’t think much of the new look. They couldn’t dance properly in their great clumping boots either. Then one night your father came to the dance.’

  ‘And he was handsome,’ I said.

  ‘No, I can’t tell a lie,’ said Aunty, then sniffed. ‘Though you’re right, I’ve been lying all your life. But I need to tell you how it really was. It wasn’t a love match. We didn’t look at each other across a crowded room like the people in Old Molly’s romantic novels. He didn’t look up at all – he was so shy, even shyer than me.’

  ‘But I thought he was a Somerset. The Somersets aren’t shy,’ I protested.

  ‘Eric was, dreadfully. He sat there, staring down at his brand-new boots, a fish out of water. I had no idea he came from a grand family. I thought he was just some poor country bumpkin. I waited to see if he asked anyone to dance. Once or twice he shifted in his seat, but he always seemed to lose his nerve. Somehow it made me feel fond of him. When the Ladies’ Choice was announced, I waited a minute or two, not wanting to look too bold, and then I hurried across the floor and asked if he’d like to trip the light fantastic with me. He went scarlet, but he said yes. He had such a surprisingly plummy voice I rather wished I hadn’t asked him after all. I was scared he’d look down on me, but he seemed to like me, although he didn’t say much. We danced every dance, and then he walked me home. He didn’t even kiss my cheek, but he asked if I’d come to the big fundraiser ball for the war effort the next Saturday.

  ‘I was taken aback. I didn’t have anything to wear for a ball. For the village dances I wore my best summer dress, but I could see that wouldn’t do. So I spent my week’s wages on yards and yards of pink silk and made my own dress, sewing on hundreds of beads to make it sparkle.’

  ‘The dress that was in the back of your wardrobe!’

  ‘That’s right. I’ve hidden it away in an old pillowcase. I didn’t want you asking any more questions about it,’ said Aunty. ‘So I went to the ball with him, and he chatted a bit, and it turned out that he was being sent off to fight in France the very next day. When he said that, he got a bit choked up. His elder brother, Frederick, was an officer and had had proper army training. Eric was just an ordinary soldier, and he admitted that he was terrified of what waited for him in France. He didn’t want to go, but he knew that it was expected. Then he said he’d been looking for a special girl to remember when he was in the trenches.’

  ‘So you were his special girl?’

  ‘I felt sorry for the poor beggar. I let him take me to this hotel. When we checked in I felt everyone staring at me. I’m sure they knew we weren’t married. I was terrified too, to be truthful. I’d always been a good girl and kept myself to myself. But there it was. I stayed the night, and then he went off to fight, and I went on working at Madame Orwell’s, and after a couple of months I realized that you were on the way and I didn’t know what to do. Eric had sent me a postcard with the address of his regiment, so I wrote to him. And he wrote back, bless him. It wasn’t a very lovey-dovey letter – that wasn’t his style – but he said he’d written to his mother begging her to make sure the baby and I were provided for if he was killed. Then I didn’t hear any more until I got a terrible letter from one of his pals telling me that he had died in action. Apparently he didn’t suffer at all, but I wondered if that was true. Then, when I got nearer my time, Madame Orwell said I couldn’t possibly continue to work for her and threw me out.

  ‘I had nowhere to go. I couldn’t go back to my father – he’d have thrown me out too. A church charity for unwed mothers took me in, and when you were born they planned to give you to some good God-fearing couple. But as soon as I held you in my arms I knew I couldn’t go through with it.’

  ‘Why?’ I breathed.

  ‘I couldn’t give you up because you were my own little baby. I loved you. The charity people said I was being terribly selfish. I was condemning you to a life of poverty and shame. I wouldn’t listen. I packed my bag and took you in my arms and went to Somerset Manor to see her ladyship.’

  ‘That was brave!’ I was sitting so near Aunty now that we were nearly touching.

  ‘At first she was furious. I knew she wanted to send me packing, but she’d had a soft spot for Eric and was grieving terribly. She felt she had to help me out for his sake. I had to promise her that I’d keep the circumstances of your birth a secret. I didn’t just have to keep quiet about your father: I had to say that I was your aunt, and make up a cock-and-bull story to keep everything respectable. It seemed to make sense at the time. I’d had enough of people pointing at me.

  ‘Her ladyship’s gatekeeper had gone to join up, along with most of the other men, so she said I could live in the cottage rent free,’ Aunty went on. ‘I made her a gown in gratitude, and she was so pleased she had me make more, and recommended me to her friends. The gatekeeper was killed in the war, and I made just enough money to support us both. I kept myself to myself and did my best to bring you up like a little lady. I think some of the villagers suspected the truth. I thought you’d start asking questions when you went to school, so I found an old grave without a headstone and said that your mother was buried there.’

  ‘And I’ve been visiting her all these years! I believed in her! I’ve talked to her, and she talked back to me. But it was all pretending,’ I said, the tears rolling down my cheeks. ‘She was so real to me, Aunty.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mona, so very sorry.’

  ‘But you must have realized that I’d find out the truth some day.’

  ‘I just hoped we could carry on the way we were. Lady Somerset seemed to be in robust health. I thought she might live on into her eighties or nineties. It was such a shock when she died. I thought we were done for then. It was such a wonderful relief to find she’d left everything to young Mr Benjamin,’ said Aunty.

  ‘So he’s known all along?’ I asked.

  ‘He was not much more than a child when I came to live here. Such a pretty boy, with those wonderful dark curls. He was always so sweet with me, fascinated by my sewing basket, playing with the silks and ribbons while I discussed materials with his mother. I don’t think he knew my circumstances then. He was never one to judge anyway,’ said Aunty.

  ‘So he really is my uncle,’ I said. ‘I still can’t quite take it in. Do you think that’s why he was so keen for me to go to the high school?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘But you didn’t want me to.’

  ‘Of course I did, you noodle. But they wanted the wretched birth certificate. I haven’t lost it, I’ve got it hidden away, but we can never show it to anyone because there’s a blank where your father’s name should be. It was part of my deal with Lady Somerset. I had to keep the circumstances of your birth secret. She would never change her mind, not even when she was dying.’ Aunty took a deep shuddering breath. ‘I hated her. Sometimes I’ve hated the whole lo