Читать книгу Letters To Alice - Rosie James - Страница 10
ОглавлениеBristol 1930
‘Well, I hope you’re counting your blessings, Miss!’
The maid’s flat-toned voice intruded unpleasantly on ten-year-old Alice’s thoughts as she unpacked her small bag of clothes and began putting them in the bottom drawer of the cabinet.
‘I’ll remember to do that, Lizzie,’ she said calmly, glancing up at the young, uniformed figure standing in the doorway of Alice’s new room – the room she would be sharing with her mother from now on.
‘Humph’, Lizzie snorted. ‘Anyway, you and your Ma were only asked to live in because of your Pa being killed. That’s what Cook said.’ A thin smile played on the pale lips. ‘A stroke of luck that he was, then, eh?’
Alice straightened up, tossing her thick, dark plait over her shoulder angrily, her green eyes flashing with savage indignation. Although her father had never been a constant member of the family – well, how could he be, with his job – Alice had always loved him dearly and the thought that anyone should think it was a good thing he was dead was obnoxious. She moved purposefully towards Lizzie – who involuntarily took a step back, realizing she’d gone too far.
‘Don’t you dare say that,’ Alice said quietly. ‘My papa was a valued member of the crew – the captain told my mother. And they were sorry that he’d died. Everyone was sorry.’ Alice bit her lip hard. She was not going to shed even one tear in front of the maid, even though the lump in her throat was nearly killing her. ‘What you just said Lizzie was…despicable!’
‘Ho! Hoity-toity! Des…des…picabubble…am I? What sort of word is that?’ Lizzie retorted.
Well, if you read some books you might know what the word meant, Alice thought.
Reading had been Ada, Alice’s mother’s solace during her lonely hours, and she’d instilled the love of literature in her daughter. Alice could read fluently by the time she was six, and she was seldom away from school.
‘Oh, just go away, Lizzie, I’ve got things to do,’ she said airily, turning away.
Alone at last, Alice sat on the edge of the big double bed for a moment, her eyes welling up with the tears she’d managed to hold back. Although her father had only ever been back for one week at a time, and then gone again for six, Alice always looked forward to his home-coming, for them to be together again, just the three of them, in the two-bed terrace house they rented in Hotwells. And Alice’s father would always bring them little presents from wherever he’d been, and tell them how much he’d missed them while he’d been away.
And Ada never once complained about the fact that her jovial husband spent much of his leave down at the pub with his friends, often coming home so drunk she had to put him to bed to sleep it off. And when, one day, Alice had commented on this fact to her mother, she had been gently rebuked.
‘It’s the way with some people, with some men, Alice,’ she’d said. ‘Your Pa needs to have one or two drinks when he’s ashore. God alone knows how he – how his ship – survived the Great War. He…he deserves to be able to relax when he’s ashore.’ But Ada herself never touched a drop of anything, and refused to have alcohol in the house.
‘It’s the devil’s medicine, Alice,’ she said once. ‘Remember that.’
Ada was a spare- framed woman, prematurely grey, with shrewd eyes and a nature to match. She’d always known that the man she loved was not the sort to be relied upon, so three years ago she’d applied for the post of nanny to the five children of Professor Edward Carmichael, the eminent Bristol surgeon. And she couldn’t have known that the day she was ushered into the vast, high-ceilinged morning room at the big house in Clifton for her interview with Helena Carmichael, it was to change her and her daughter’s life for ever.
Mrs. Carmichael was a classically elegant woman with aristocratic, high cheek bones, widely spaced blue eyes and a perfect, sculptured mouth. Her blonde hair was swept up into a large shining knot on top of her head, and her pale, unblemished hands were calm and unhurried as her fingers turned the pages she was holding. Ada, slightly awe-struck to be in the presence of such a person, instinctively buried her own work-worn hands behind her bag, trying not to feel a lesser mortal. But Helena Carmichael’s friendly manner quickly laid any fears to rest, and after almost an hour’s conversation together, she’d said –
‘Well, I was very impressed with your letter of application, Mrs.Watts, and together with the glowing reference given to me by the vicar of St. Stephen’s church, I am quite certain that you are going to suit us very well…very well indeed.’ She’d glanced again at the papers in front of her. ‘So… I have great pleasure in offering you the position.’
‘Thank you, Madam,’ Ada had said quietly.
‘But of course – before you agree, I am sure you would like to meet the children? They are upstairs in the nursery.’
Ada had followed her future employer up the dark-oak winding staircase to the first floor, the whiff of polish, of orderliness, of affluence, making her senses swim briefly. She had never been anywhere like it before, but she had known such places existed because she had read about them often enough in classical literature. She wondered briefly if Mrs. Carmichael and her kind knew anything at all about how other people lived, just a mile or so away from here…the poverty, the squalor. Ada’s house was not squalid, and they were not that poor because her husband was employed. But the seven children living next door had no father that anyone was aware of, and often no shoes on their feet, either. Ada regularly took them in a basket of food when she knew things were really bad, and when the last baby had been born she’d helped another local woman to deliver the child, and for some months afterwards had done their pathetic washing.
Upstairs on the first floor, Ada had been ushered into the massive nursery where the children spent most of their day, overseen by the present nanny who was soon to depart to have her own child.
There were two sets of twins – the boys, David and John who were five, and the girls, Rose and Margaret, who were just two. None was identical, but they all shared the same tousled, curly hair, the same dark eyes. They were alert and interested as they gazed up at Ada.
‘Well, here they all are, Mrs. Watts,’ Helena Carmichael had said. ‘A tutor comes in each morning for two hours to teach the boys their lessons, and if at times it becomes necessary, I can always get you extra help with the girls. And of course, you have yet to meet Samuel, our eldest, who is ten, well almost eleven, and at boarding school. But he’ll soon be home for the holidays.’ She had glanced at Ada quickly. ‘And your own daughter…Alice….she is seven, I think you said?’
‘Yes,’ Ada had replied. Then, summoning all her courage she’d said deferentially – ‘Could I…may I have your approval that Alice comes up here at the end of each school day at 3 o’clock? I…I would not like to think of her home alone until I get back much later in the evening.’
‘Of course you have my approval!’ Mrs. Carmichael had replied. ‘And Alice must have her tea with you and the children. Cook bakes cakes most afternoons.’
‘Thank you, Madam,’ Ada said.
‘But…’ Helena had frowned briefly. ‘It’s surely going to be a very long walk for Alice all the way up here to Clifton, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, Alice is more than capable of walking the distance,’ Ada had replied at once. ‘She is strong, and very capable…a very sensible child. She will be happy to give me a hand with the children sometimes…I know she would love to read them their bedtime stories.’
Helena had nodded happily. ‘And you are quite sure that the hours will fit in with your own domestic requirements?’ she’d enquired. Ada was to come in by 8 o’clock each day to give the children their breakfasts, and to stay until 7 o’clock in the evening, after their baths. With Sundays and one afternoon off each week.
‘Quite sure, thank you, Madam,’ Ada had replied.
‘Then that’s all settled! We shall look forward to you being part of our staff…part of the family, Mrs. Watts,’ Helena had said.
‘Please call me Ada,’ Ada had said simply.
On the following Monday she’d arrived for work as arranged, and was formally introduced to Professor Carmichael. He was immensely tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a fulsome beard, already tinged with grey. His granite-black eyes twinkled behind the spectacles he was wearing, and when he spoke, his voice was deep, and reassuringly personal…and he had a way of tilting his head to one side slightly. Which Ada found very engaging.
‘I do hope you will be happy with us, Mrs. Watts,’ he had said, adding, ‘and don’t let those rascally boys get the better of you, will you?’
Then almost immediately he had left the house to go to the Infirmary where he spent very long days in the operating theatre.
And for the next three years Ada had revelled in her new position.
Alice, too, soon became used to this way of life, could hardly wait for the end of the school day when, as fast as her legs could carry her she would half-walk, half-run up Park Street, and Whiteladies Road and Blackboy Hill until she came to Clifton Downs and the auspicious rank of elegant dwellings owned largely by wealthy merchants of the city – the Merchant Venturers, many of whom had made their fortunes from the slave trade. She would let herself in at the tradesman’s entrance and to the wonderful smell of Cook’s baking, before going up the back stairs – never up the front stairs which were for family, Ada had instructed her – to the nursery where her mother would be doing some ironing or amusing the children or helping the boys with a simple lesson their tutor had left them, or sometimes getting them to recite a poem or two.
Then bliss! Cook would lay tea on the wide table by the window and they’d all eat her wonderful cakes and biscuits and little sandwiches, usually finishing up with fruit from a huge crystal bowl. Sometimes Mrs. Carmichael would come up at this point, but not often because she was very busy with her charity work. Mrs. Carmichael was an amazing woman, Cook said, and it was a pity there weren’t more like her.
For Alice, her only problem was Lizzie. Lizzie was fourteen years old and was brought to the house every morning and collected each day after tea. Her job was to run errands and do odd jobs and help the two cleaning ladies who came in every other day. Alice knew that Lizzie hated her.
‘Lizzie hates me,’ Alice said to her mother one day.
‘Hate is a terrible word,’ Ada replied.
Before even a year had passed, it was arranged that a car would arrive in the morning to fetch Ada, and another one to collect Alice from school in the afternoons. That was all to do with the foul wintry weather they were having, Cook said at the time. Cook knew the reason for everything.
Not only that, on the week of merchant seaman Watts’s leave ashore, Mrs. Carmichael insisted that Ada worked a much shorter day so that she could be at home to spend some time with her husband.
Alice had loved this new life, loved everything about it, and young as she was she recognized this part of her childhood as having a story-book feel. The best of all possible worlds…
But most of all she loved being with Samuel when he came home from boarding school. She would listen, round-eyed, to all his tales…that he was having to learn Latin and Greek, and learn great chunks of the bible off by heart. That they all had to do “prep” after lessons finished, and that the last meal of the day was “supper” at 6.30 and that the food wasn’t very nice – not as good as Cook’s. And that he had to be up very early each morning, how he shared a “Dorm” with seven others and that everyone had to make their own beds. And about the pranks they played on each other and that no talking was allowed after lights-out. He told her about the sports they played, and that he’d been chosen as captain of their Junior House cricket team. To Alice, it was a dream fantasy world and she devoured everything Samuel was saying in his gentle, well-modulated voice as if she could catch some of it for herself.
And soon, they’d begun to write letters to each other, Alice using her careful, rounded handwriting to tell him about the goings-on in the nursery, and of her day at school. And Sam would write back, almost at once, always addressing his letters to the house in Clifton.
Then, a few weeks after Alice’s tenth birthday, when her father’s ship had just docked, they received terrible news.
Before his feet had even touched the ground, Alice’s father, drunk as a lord, had fallen overboard, crushing his arm badly against the side of the vessel. He was rushed to hospital but died a week later from an infection.
That had been seven weeks ago, and one day, Helena said –
‘Why not come and settle here with us, Ada? It would be more convenient for you than renting your home… Professor Carmichael and I have discussed it and we would love to have you living-in. The children adore you – and they adore Alice – so it would be good for all of us, wouldn’t it?’ She paused. ‘And with the housing shortage still so dreadful after the War, it would mean your place would be available for others.’
That point clinched it for Ada as she thought about it. Although it was true that it was just the girls – Rose and Margaret, to take care of during term time – since David and John had joined Sam at his boarding school – Ada was always happy to do general housework if required, and would sometimes help Betty do the vegetables – especially if the Carmichaels were entertaining. And if she and Alice did come to live here permanently, then they would be on hand at night time when the professor and his wife had to go out. There often seemed to be dinner engagements and various social occasions for them to attend. And for her own part, it would be a relief to Ada that she and her daughter were to be well-housed and well-fed, and that she no longer had the responsibility of finding the money for rent and household bills.
So Ada gave notice to the landlord of their furnished accommodation, and at the end of the month she and Alice packed their belongings into two large suitcases and a couple of bags. And watched by groups of curious neighbours, they shut the front door behind them and got into the car which had arrived to take them away from that part of their lives for ever.
Now, having in no uncertain terms told Lizzie to buzz off, Alice remained on the edge of the bed for a while, thinking. Then she lay right down, resting her head on one of the soft pillows. The wide mattress felt firm and comfortable under her back, and it didn’t have any creaky springs. Alice had thought that all beds creaked and groaned when you moved.
Their accommodation was on the second floor of the house, and it comprised this large room, a small sitting room next door, and at the very end of the long landing was their bathroom. Imagine – a lavatory that wasn’t outside in the back yard! And with a long bath you could lie back in instead of a hip bath that forced you to hug your knees!
Alice smiled to herself, and wriggled down further on the bed, wishing that it was night time so that she could get right under the pristine sheets and thick, white cotton counterpane, and dream some wonderful dreams. Except she didn’t need to dream now, because reality was wonderful enough.
Dear Samuel
Isn’t it funny that I always put “Dear Samuel” when I start my letters, instead of “Dear Sam” – which is what I’ve always called you.
Well, we have been here for four weeks and my mother and I have settled in very well. I must say it is lovely not to be living in Hotwells, though of course I still go to school there. But I don’t mind. I wish I was at your school. Do you think I could disguise myself as a boy?
We have gone back to see our neighbours twice since we left because my mother is worried that the children don’t have enough to eat, and the youngest baby is poorly again. So on our way down the town we bought bread and buns and oranges for them. They were all very pleased to see us.
Rose and Margaret had a fight the other afternoon you will be sorry to learn. It took my mother ages to get the plasticine out of their hair. It hurt them and made them cry and she said it was their own fault and they shouldn’t be so silly next time. My mother can be a hard woman!
I think I told you the other day that Lizzie hates me. Do you know why that could be? She’s always looking at me in a funny way and stares me out. Rather uncomfortable!
I’m sorry you only have bread and butter and marmalade for tea. Shall I ask Cook to send you a food parcel for a midnight feast? Ha Ha.
Have you seen the twins yet? Do they like it at your school?
I must tell you something. Your parents were going out somewhere special last week and I hid upstairs on the landing and spied them just as they were leaving. Your mother was wearing a long red gown and she had a diamond clip – or perhaps it was a tiara – in her hair. It sparkled like anything and she looked like a queen, or a princess. And Professor Carmichael was in full evening dress. They looked like two film stars. And then – help, help!!! They suddenly looked up and saw me watching them and they smiled and gave me a little wave. I was so embarrassed1!!!
The summer holidays will soon be here again, thank goodness, and I can’t wait for you all to come home again.
I hope you are well. My mother and I are both well.
Best wishes, Alice.
Dear Alice
Thank you for your letter. I am sorry I haven’t replied sooner but we’ve been having end of term exams and I’ve been doing a lot of revising. I think I have done OK – here’s hoping!
I was not surprised to hear about the girls scrapping. They’ve always done it. But the thought of them sticking themselves up with plasticine made me laugh.
I have spotted John and David in the far distance but we don’t mix at all. Anyway, I shall see enough of them in the holidays, thank you very much!
Our main production this year was Midsummer Night’s Dream. I elected to help with scenery and lighting. It was very good. Have you ever seen it?
It will soon be Speech Day and the end of term service for the whole school. There’s always a bishop or some other big fish present, but I haven’t heard who the lucky person is this time.
Then there is the LAST SUPPER. Note the capital letters! It’s always on the last Saturday before we come home. The kitchen staff make an unusual effort on this occasion, and the menu will be put up on the notice board soon. It’s usually something like roast lamb or chicken and there are always lovely puddings. Nearly as good as Cook’s – but not quite!
By the way I’m sorry about Lizzie staring you out. Very uncomfortable, I agree. But did you know she’s an orphan, living in Muller’s Orphanage? Have you heard of George Muller? I will tell you about him when I come home. I believe the orphanage is a very nice place, but it can’t be as good as being at home with a family, can it?
I must close now because it will soon be lights-out.
Give my best wishes to your mother.
Kind regards, Sam.
PS. I nearly forgot to mention…our House won the cricket tournament outright! I was lifted up on some shoulders, and the team did a victory parade around the ground. (I didn’t forget – just wanted to keep that bit of news until last. S)
Alice read and re-read every line of the letter. Then she folded it carefully so that it would fit inside the prettily painted box – a gift from her father – kept specially for all her treasures.
But before tucking it away, she lifted the letter to her lips and kissed it softly.
December
As she remained quietly kneeling on the floor by her side of the bed. Alice wondered what on earth her mother found to say to God each night. Alice’s own prayers took hardly any time at all – in fact she often repeated them all again in case her mother thought she wasn’t taking the matter seriously enough.
The procedure followed an identical pattern. First, Alice recited the Lord’s Prayer, followed by an urgent request that all her sins would be forgiven. After that, she asked for a blessing on her mother, and that her father was happy in heaven – well he must surely be settled up there by now – though probably not enjoying the devil’s medicine. Next, with a rush of compassion, the names of all the children in Hotwells would be mouthed silently, and, through gritted teeth, a quick prayer for Lizzie’s health, and a much warmer thought for Betty, the best cook ever, thank you God. And then Alice would ask that Professor Carmichael and his wife and children would all have long life and happiness.
But at the very end would be Samuel, whose name she would repeat several times in case God wasn’t listening properly. That He would look after Sam, and that Sam would always be her friend. Her very best friend.
Presently, at last, Ada rose from her knees and Alice immediately followed suit. Together, they turned back the counterpane and got into bed, Ada sighing briefly. The girls had been difficult today, and she was tired.
It was the beginning of December, and Ada and Alice had been truly part of the Carmichael’s house for more than six months. To Alice, it seemed that she’d never lived anywhere else, that this really was home.
‘I hope you won’t catch the girls’ colds,’ Ada said. ‘They’ve been so crotchety today – quarrelling non-stop.’
Alice stared up at the white ceiling for a few moments, her eyes tracing the ornate mouldings and cornices. ‘This is a huge room, isn’t it,’ she said. ‘Are all the other bedrooms in the house as big as ours?’
‘They’re even bigger on the first floor where the family sleeps,’ Ada replied. ‘I’m glad I don’t have to clean them.’
There was silence for a while as Alice thought about that. Then – ‘Mama – can I ask you something very private?’
‘Of course,’ Ada said.
‘What do you find to say to God? I mean, your prayers take you such a long time,’ Alice said slowly.
Her mother smiled in the darkness. ‘Oh well, I have so much to thank Him for, don’t I? I give thanks for kind employers, and a very nice home to live in. And I ask that everyone in the country will soon be able to find work, and that the government will take good care of all the injured men from the War. And that my daughter will be a good girl!’ She reached across to the bedside table. ‘Now then, it’s your turn to read tonight, isn’t it,’ she said, handing Alice their copy of Persuasion.
Alice opened it eagerly, removing the bookmark. From the very beginning of the novel she’d thought of herself as Anne Elliot, and because she already knew the story Alice longed for the end when all difficulties would be resolved and she and the handsome Captain Wentworth would finally be together.
Before beginning to read, she said -‘I wonder why, in books, it always takes such a long time to reach the happy ending? There are always so many problems to sort out before everyone gets what they want,’ she went on. ‘It seems such hard work for them all to be truly happy.’
‘I suppose because that’s what real life is all about,’ Ada said.
Alice looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Did you and Papa have a lot of problems,’ she enquired, ‘before you eventually got married? And then…did you really know that he was the one you wanted?’
Ada didn’t answer straightaway as she thought of her own life. Of her parents, both dead before reaching middle age, of her two brothers killed at the Front, then of meeting Stanley Watts. Older than herself, and so good-looking in his naval uniform, so roguish and full of fun. She was a part-time cleaner at a public house near the Docks where the regulars frequently gathered when in port, and he’d picked her out straightaway. Stanley was a charmer, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and he’d lost no time in making himself known to Ada. And she’d been flattered and thrilled. Had so readily fallen in love. Within three months they were married quietly, and although he was so often absent Ada had thought herself lucky. Her husband was generous and kind and treated her well, never once raising a hand to her. Her worst nightmare had been the War, the dread of hearing that his ship had gone down. But defying all the odds, Stanley had come back safely each time.
And then, and then…he had thrown away all his good fortune. The devil had had the last laugh. What a waste. What a dreadful waste.
‘The difference,’ she said now to Alice, ‘is that in books you usually do get a happy ending – even if it takes a long time to happen – because that is what readers want. What they expect. But…it’s different in real life. You can never count on anything. You have to take what comes your way. And survive it.’
Alice pursed her lips. ‘One day, I am going to write a book, Mama, a proper book,’ she said. ‘Not just my short stories, but a long book, with all sorts of things happening to everyone…and I will give it a really happy ending! I’ll give them all exactly what they want and it’ll end with a great big party!’ She turned her head to look at her mother. ‘Do you think I could do it, Mama…would it take a very long time to write?’
‘It probably would take a long time,’ Ada said, ‘but I’m sure you’d be more than capable, Alice. One day, when you’re older. Because you’ve always loved writing, and all your short stories are like little novels in themselves, aren’t they…and they’re very good. They all have a beginning and a middle and an ending – and I always love reading them – and not just because you’re my daughter.’
Alice hugged her arms around her knees, already imagining her first best-seller in the shops. ‘I would like my book to be bound in red,’ she said, ‘with the title and my name in gold lettering.’
‘I’m sure that could be arranged,’ Ada said.
‘Yes, but how am I going to get started?’ Alice said, beginning to get worried now that her plan looked possible. She hadn’t even thought of a plot for this tome yet!
Ada smiled briefly. Her little daughter had never suffered from the childhood malaise of boredom because there’d always been her exercise books and pencils to keep her occupied. Almost as soon as she’d been able to write, Alice had made up poems and stories. Had so easily seemed to occupy the lives of the characters she invented in a way which had sometimes surprised her mother.
‘Well, I’ll tell you what we could do,’ Ada said. ‘Why don’t you choose one of the short stories you’ve already written – or make up another one – and we’ll send it off to a publisher. How does that sound?’
Alice’s eyes widened. ‘What – you mean a real publisher? Someone who would print it and put it in the shops? Oh Mama!’
‘Now, don’t get carried away, Alice,’ Ada said, smiling. ‘I’ve noticed that there is a small publishing house near the centre of town, and all we would ask them to do is to read your story, and give you their opinion. Tell you where you might have gone wrong. It’s not very likely that they would publish it straightaway,’ she added gently, ‘ because it takes time to learn how to be successful. But they would be professional people who understand what people want to read, and they would tell you where you might have gone wrong. See? And that would be a start, wouldn’t it? But ambition is the main thing you need, Alice, and you’ve got that, haven’t you? You’ve always wanted to be the second Jane Austen!’
Alice’s heart quickened as she imagined a glittering future for herself in the book world. ‘I’ve already got a new idea for a story,’ she declared, ‘I’ve just thought of it! And I’m going to start writing it as soon as I get home from school!’ She turned to her mother. ‘But will you read it first, before we send it off to the publishers, Mama…to make sure I haven’t made any mistakes?’
Ada took Alice’s hand and squeezed it. ‘No, I won’t read it first,’ she said, ‘because it would have to be all your own work – nothing of mine. If you make a mistake it won’t matter. Everyone makes mistakes. All you need is determination to succeed and persistence, and you’ve got all that, Alice. I know you have.’ And after a moment, Ada added,‘Never give up on your dreams, Alice. Always tell yourself that one day they could come true.’
Thoroughly wide awake, her imagination darting all over the place with heroes and heroines and blighted love lives, Alice went back to her original question about her parents.
‘You know…you know you and Papa?’ she said. ‘Did you and Papa really love each other, at once, straightaway I mean? Did you know that you were meant for each other?’
Ada turned her head and looked at Alice. ‘Yes, Alice, we really did.’ She paused. ‘I know we did,’ she added quietly.
Alice was in an enquiring mood. ‘Do you think that the professor loves Mrs. Carmichael as much as you loved Papa?’ she asked. ‘He’s so often away at the Infirmary, Mrs. Carmichael must be awfully lonely sometimes, mustn’t she?’
‘Loneliness is something everyone has to put up with at times,’ Ada said. ‘It’s not the worst thing in the world.’ She paused. ‘Now then – where had we got to with Jane Austen?’
At once, Alice began reading, stumbling only very occasionally with a difficult word, and Ada, only half-listening, thought of Stanley, and what might have been. There might even have been a brother or sister for Alice. If God had intended it.
Presently, aware that Alice was getting tired, she said gently, ‘I think that we’ll let that be the last chapter tonight, Alice. Well done – you read beautifully.’ She turned to switch off the small bedside lamp. ‘Good night, Alice, God bless you.’
‘God bless you, Mama,’ Alice replied, snuggling down contentedly. Then, yawning, ‘Which bedroom do they sleep in – is it the one underneath ours…the professor and Mrs. Carmichael, I mean?’
‘Oh I really don’t know. Go to sleep, Alice,’ Ada said.
But Ada did know. The professor and Helena occupied the main bedroom, the one with its own dressing room, immediately beneath this one. And Ada imagined them, perhaps even now, lying there together…such a handsome couple, he tall and strong, so utterly, completely masculine…and Helena – slim, perfect, beautiful. Beautiful for him.
The Fiction Editor, Allbright Publishing,
St. James’s Square, Bristol. – 13th December 1930
Dear Sir,
My name is Alice Watts and I am ten years old – well, nearly eleven, actually – and I have great pleasure in sending you a short story which I have written, in the hope that you may agree to publish it. It is about five hundred words long.
I have been writing short stories all my life, and one day I hope to attempt something much larger, perhaps like Jane Austen, or one of the Brontë sisters. I know it will take a long time, but I am prepared to work hard and not to give up on my dream.
I wish everyone at your publishing house a very happy Christmas.
I hope you are well.
Yours faithfully,
Alice Watts (Miss)
Alice put the letter in the envelope, hoping that she had said the right thing. “There’s no need for me to advise you on letter-writing,” Ada had said earlier, “because you have had plenty of practice already.” All Ada had done was to give Alice the address of the publishing house, and to explain that to find an approximate word count for her story she should multiply the number across the top by the number down the side.
As Alice stuck the postage stamp on the envelope, she wondered briefly whether she should have put “yours truly” or “yours sincerely” – but, after all, this was a business letter, and she knew that “yours faithfully” was how it was done in business.
Dear Miss Alice Watts
Thank you so very much for sending us a copy of your short story, which my colleagues and I thoroughly enjoyed reading.
I hope it will not depress you too much that we cannot agree to publish it on this occasion, simply because we feel that a little more work needs to be done on it. We would suggest that you employ far more dialogue in the story, showing us, rather than telling us, what you wish to convey. You write in a very impressive, grown- up way, Miss Watts, and all your characters are charming. Let them speak for themselves!
We urge you not to give up on your dream, and hope to hear from you again in the future.
We are returning your story, with many thanks, and hope that you, too, have a very happy Christmas.
Yours faithfully
John Elliott – Fiction Editor, Allbright Publishing.
