Between the tides and times

…it was no one's fault, really…

…it simply just happened…

…fate’s what it was…

…it was how it was…

…and…

…no one could help…

Tilly was the youngest, loved by us all though our Dad was a bit gruff with her sometimes but then he loved her the most, was protecting her, he said, she was young for her age, keep her safe from all harm…from boys…from what he thought their ploys and their charm…we could all see that and we really did not mind. After all, she was the youngest, he said, bright and pretty, the last in the nest… our cottage was the last in the row on the edge of the estate, not large but comfy and winterwarm and we all fitted in…just…the cottage seemed to expand when the next one arrived and as our Mum shrank…There was a pine table with a deep drawer in the middle, a slate floor covered with straw matting in front of the hearth, a basket of  firewood beside the range where Mum cooked our supper every night. At night the walls were noisy…little scratching sounds, scrabbling, up and down…everyone had to have a home somewhere, Mum said, and where better than in the thatch that we lived under…

…Tilly never went to school and it was high time for her to start something, Mum said, anything, rather than drawing flowers all day and watching the the clouds make pictures in the sky…is what Mum said…she was growing up so fast and she had to be directed…is what Mum told us…the big house had been empty for a very long time, shutters drawn but the grounds were kept in order still, old William pushing his barrow with hunched shoulders now… but he kept it nice clipped the roses, slow work with the pain in his hands, along the drive. His cottage was right near the little church by the house we went to on Sundays…Mum wanted better things for Tilly than what she had had. Mum wanted Tilly to be a lady…is what she thought and she kept it in her heart, shared it with no one but her maker…

…and…

…then one day a motor purred up the drive and a tall woman emerged, the palest pink dress to her ankles and a hat with ostrich feathers, elbow length, soft nappa gloves with tiny buttons and shoes to match, a chain of pearls around her throat…Myrtle had opened the shutters…looked in awe at such beauty… Myrtle had always kept house, the keys around her middle laid on the dresser now and she still lived in. She descended the steps, built like a fan, as fast as her knees would allow her, casting quick downward glances to gauge every step so as not to trip or to fall…to meet this lady with a curtsy and a  smile as her welcome…‘Welcome Madame’ she said in her soft Devon speak, ‘welcome to Annery House’, William will bring in your luggage, I’ll show you your room…Myrtle was not old,  ageing perhaps just a liltle, you could see she still stood proud when she had to but now with a tiny bend of her shoulders, grey streaks hidden under her cap…

...you heard the sea roar when the wind was from the west. The beach was a tiny cove, safe and secluded, a private bay and no one knew it was there, no one ever went there, the steps down no longer in good order, little point to keep them up when no one went down now…Madame de Florian was taking the house for the summer and her staff would arrive shortly. There would be parties and dances and picnics as well… oh yes! something to look forward to in these drab times…

… and would she not be wanting for a Lady’s maid? She would surely be wanting a Lady’s maid, is what Mum said, woman in her position, someone from these parts would be best who knew all the ins and out of the others, understood her own like nobody else…to share their secrets with her Lady and the intrigues, not that she gossipped but Madame had to know…and she would keep her in the comfort she was used to…

…I’ll go and ask, Mum said, I’ll go and see, because our Tilly was just right for the job, and she imagined how beautiful her daughter would look in her own long black dress, laying out her Lady’s clothes, her day and night dresses and combing her hair to gleaming black tresses until Madame would smile when she was ready for sleep…and Tilly would go fetch her night tea to steep…to sip slowly…to put a very busy day to rest for the while…

…Tilly came home after church together with them on a Sunday, three hours she had while her Lady would be reading or rest, till just after tea, when she told them stories as they were gathered round the table in Mum’s kitchen…she told of chandeliers hanging from carved beams, family crests with lions and bears, of silver scent bottles and candle sticks that Myrtle had shined, of candle light breakfasts, gold shimmering cloths called brocade and white table linen initialled, fine stitching, in corners... huge pewter platters and china with roses in windowed dressers, pink Persian rugs with fern fronds and mums, paintings of ships in full sail and glorious sunsets just as she watched when she clambered down to the bay before she was needed to care again for Madame …to put away in their boxes the rings she had worn for the day and the pearls on her ivory throat, and down she would go, sometimes with nothing but brambles to hold on to when the going was tough…

…Luc taught her to read, speak proper and French and Madame would play the piano when Tilly and Luc would dance while the candles flickered in the gentle breeze of the summer evenings. Madame had given her dresses she no longer needed, altered to fit and Tilly felt like a princess. She never thought that all would have to end very soon…until Luc and Madame would visit again the following summer…

…Tilly was no longer withdrawn into her sketching, she ran along the beach with Luc…is where he first kissed her, is what Mum told…impertinent… is what she said, did Madame never notice her gone?   Or William and Myrtle to keep a close eye?…Tilly wanted for nothing and Madame was only too glad that her son was so well entertained when she had no need of her maid…

…we all noticed the changes in her over the summer… Tilly was accomplished now…is what  Mum said, rightly blossomed, she even learned to play the piano a bit…she could read now and write and sing a fine tune, she knew how to dance a waltz and a polka,  her hands where soft and pure white. Tilly grew breasts that were firm and round, her young womanhood a real pleasure and Dad often so gruff, said that he found her the handsomest young girl abound…


 …Tilly said that it was lovely to come home every Sunday but life at the big house agreed with her well, she was so happy to be there, to be learning and earning for them to help out to buy all the things and the extras they’d all done without…she liked it a lot…and they liked her there…this summer was good to them all because Mum had made it happen for them when when the car drove in through the bluebell wood. She had found it within herself to ask right away and so it was set in motion what was to be good for them all… 

…but Tilly grew pale, is what Mum said and she saw that her face was quite drawn, shadows under her eyes and she had become quiet, too quiet for Tilly, is what Mum thought. She came home less often…perhaps they worked her too hard? Perhaps she missed the close banter at the end of the day, when they were all weary from their day’s work and the fire died down, the last embers crackled and cottage was sleepy, held them all safe together, cocoa and a digestive they had before bed…or sometimes a crust cut with butter from Mum’s home made bread…

…she wanted to draw by the sea, Tilly said, hear the wind in the cove, the call of the gulls on the wing as the tide turned, watch the ships pass on the horizon before they fell off and she smiled to herself at this childhood thought. She wanted to see the sun setting …

…and…

…then came a visit from  Myrtle and William, a curtsy from Myrtle when Mum clicked open the latch on the door. William bowed , doffed his cap for respect… they came to say…Madame had departed with Luc as winter was coming, that they would return to their home in the south where it was warm and the air smelled of Thyme and Sweet Basil, scent in the air of Mimosa in bloom, where the hummingbirds delighted the senses with shimmering colours as they flitted from flower to flower, they said…and not a sighting of Tilly to say their good byes…

…the wind howled and the waves crashed into the cove, the  rain drove inland relentless…is where they found her, caught up in some tree roots in a little hollow that the sea had made…quite still she lay there with sand in her hair that had left streak lines as the tide had receded, ebbing waves had dragged her skirts under the sand and she had her arms about the gentle rise of her body that no one had seen…

…it’s how it was…

…is what they said…

…it was fate…

…it just happened…

…now…

…no one could help her…

…no one at all…