BY PHILIP LOWE

My dearest wife has written her own memories in a book and has inspired me to write my own. I feel a little cautious in sharing my own memories of relationships and journeys. As long as everything I have experienced has brought me here, it is excusable.

I pray that our children do not experience the doubt, duplicity, and pain that I had.

I do not wish to deny the work my father must have effected, yet I believe, as my own future has taught me, he could have behaved differently—not only towards me.

My early teenage years became ripe picking fields. As I grew, my opinions changed.

At times, I recalled memories I thought were lost. Some were too uncomfortable. I have been able to reflect many times on motives and aspirations, yet it seems there has always been a different hand directing my path.

I do not know how my wife has relieved her life and her own difficulties. She must be so much stronger than me. Reader, I love her.

Cindy

As I grew, I learned much more about my surroundings. Still very young, I must have been amazed and excited to learn that there was a lake close to Thornfield, indeed a part of the grounds.

My mother pushed my brother outside in a remarkable perambulator. I say remarkable as I have never seen another since. Her friend Judith had invited herself—again, this was a time my father was away, so perhaps my mother had encouraged her arrival here, as my father would have disapproved of her informality.

It was a blazingly hot summer’s day, so the house was left behind as the staff made sure we were outside to enjoy the table and chairs set out for us.

As I grew, the grounds seemed to grow with me. As I saw it being built, I assumed the wall around the property marked its limits. Not at all. The house was a mere speck on the grounds enjoyed by the family.

Servants made sure our every need was served. As it was so hot, bottles of water were to hand.

Mother called her friend, as they spent more time together, “Judy.”

“Judy” had with her a little girl, a few months younger than I. I was introduced to her as “Cynthia” and expected to shake her hand; her mother always called her “Cindy”—another informality I thought rather odd at the time. Again, it would not be tolerated by my father.

We all went outside for lunch, and because of the heat, the staff had set up a large white shelter. The staff would stand under the cover it provided for as long as they could.

As we were at the table, “Judy” said that the servants should be seated and shaded. Very soon after she said this, several men ran back to the house and returned with chairs. Unusually, I thought, I saw Alice, and she was one of the last to be seated.

I wanted to drink more than to eat; the whole day seemed slow and oppressive. Cindy and I were encouraged by Judith to go and explore. Much trust seemed to be shown to Cindy, and looking back, I guessed my every step was watched by a member of staff.

Cindy asked if I wanted to see her carriage. Without waiting for my reply, she made her way to it—she must have noted where they drove when they arrived. She moved as if she knew exactly where she was going. This was all new to me. I must have been very slow to acknowledge where things were. Knowing such things seemed an irrelevance to me.

On entering a secluded area near where the horses were kept, I saw it. I had never seen anything like it. A carriage certainly, but with four wheels, and it was covered in the most beautiful and varied colours, shells and bells. At one end the driver would sit, and at the other some steps—that could be retracted—I assume, climbed up to its remarkable hooped shape. A rounded roof so that it looked like a round loaf on wheels.

The carriage was also decked with many signs, from shops to other signs, mostly containing names. It was decked with many colours too. Cindy walked away from the vehicle, having climbed inside briefly to fetch a fishing rod. She was unusually unimpressed and not even excited by the small dogs who yapped noisily at her exit. Interestingly, they did not follow her out, but they clearly belonged to her or her mother.

There were also several large and grey dogs nearby. Larger dogs, hounds. I saw one awaken and, with the others, trot to a nearby lady who wore a dark dress quite unlike the day.

Interestingly, they did not follow her out, but they clearly belonged to her or her mother.

Cindy said that her mother—incredibly—had driven them here. I did not know that women were capable of such things. She said it had only taken three or four hours.

The two horses were called But and Hen, but we walked back towards our parents before I could see them.

Obviously, there were very few clouds, yet at one point, Cindy lay upon the grass, enjoying a very brief respite from the heat, and picked a handful of daisies.

Cindy carried her daisies and led me to the shade of a tunnel allowing the swiftly moving water to run underneath. It also offered a cool shade, and the water seemed noisier.

Near the tunnel, we saw two ponies drinking from the lake, a young woman holding their reins.

Cindy said, “That is my elder sister. You may have seen her in the coach house. We simply cannot have her eating with us. Immediately, she would run off. She prefers the company of animals. Mother has looked at many places we have been told would be good for her. Mother says they are “asylums for the hopeless.”

“It is rare that we can leave our house. Mother’s life is all about my sister now. My father died before he could see how she became.

“Did you see her carriage? She goes into places that have signs outside and demands them. Mother buys them for her. She wants nothing else and will scream if she does not get what she wants. Well, she used to scream. Not so much now. She has also grown more capable of coping with her monthly curse.

“My sister sleeps in the carriage on a mattress with her dogs and an old cat that stays on her arm. She weeps and moans and screams when she can not have what she wants. Why do you think we have so many dogs? She sleeps in the caravan. You did not see the cat with which she shares a bed.

“It is rare to see Mother in such a fine mood. Thank goodness for your mother’s invitation. It came at exactly the right time, as I think my sister was brewing a new episode. She would not have coped with this weather.”

I think her sister was called Esme, for Esmerelda. Cindy seemed to talk at random, often disagreeing with herself; I decided just to listen. Less work for me, I suspected.

I did not tell her that my father would not have tolerated such a visit.

Cindy told me that someone she met whilst fishing told her that he had seen a kingfisher—a “magical blur of green and blue.” She told him she did not believe him. I had never heard of a kingfisher. Or “monthly curse.”

She gave me roughly half of the daisies she had gathered. How perspicacious, I thought. She then showed me how to make a dairy chain, which I had never done before. I was rather proud of my new skill. Then she and I wore the chains like necklaces and laughed to the echoes afforded by the space we were in.

She removed her shoes and her socks and laid them out together. She then sat at the edge of the water and looked to me, expecting me to do the same.

As I did not remove my shoes, Cindy came and sat next to me and took my shoes off. She remarked that my shoes looked curved and strange; I did not know what she meant—then I examined her flat, straight shoes, which were not made to accommodate foot shape at all. She went back to her previous location and dipped her legs in. I removed my white, knee-length socks and did the same. Initially, the water was freezing cold. Then it became unnoticeable.

Cindy talked with remarkable maturity:

“It makes one worry about the future. I know I am young, but one day my mother will be too incapable of looking after Esme, and I do not think I want such a responsibility. She is my sister, but I do not feel loving emotion for her.

“Occasionally she can seem very ‘normal,’ quite lovely. At other times, she can seem almost criminal, a servant will take her away. Since my father passed, we have fewer servants.

“My mother does not see anyone. I do not mean romantically. Nobody. It cannot be good for her. It was quite unexpected that we came here.

She said that her sister loved animals more than people. She spoke of the goats that lived on her property, their hens and ducks. She remembered that Esme had hit her—accidentally, I assumed—when collecting duck eggs. She said that Esme showed no remorse and did not apologise.

She said that Esme would give names to the animals. The one she remembered most was “Doasyouwouldbedoneby.” We both laughed at such an unusual name.

Cindy then talked about her sister being adept at getting the horse and ponies attached to the carriage.

I thought it strange how she would veer from talking about her sister with distaste, then she would talk endlessly about her skills in hitching, unhitching, with shafts and tracers. She would sound as if she had so much pride in her It moved her to tears.

“Not everyone has patience with Esme. It is not something one can buy or pay for.

She did not touch her fishing rod. Now and again, there would be black shadows in the water. Nothing to excite Cindy, though. We must have stayed there for at least an hour.

A face appeared at the nearby opening, saying, “Sir.”

We were ushered out after I replaced my socks and shoes. Cindy just walked out barefooted.

We strolled towards the white tent that was being dismantled. The sky grew darker quickly, and the wind grew. Very quickly, spots of rain started to hit me. At a distance, I heard a rumble of thunder.

My mother would normally have invited visitors inside to escape the weather. Yet at speed, the carriage carrying Judy, Cindy, and Esme left us. The rain became harsh, and the sky grew angry. No waving the visitors off in their carriage. Before moving inside, I noticed a parasol was being taken aloft by the wind.

Some time later, I went under the bridge again and saw where we sat. I threw some stones into the water. I think I was expecting to find Cindy’s fishing rod, which I did not remember her taking out. There was nothing. Yet where I sat there was what at first I thought was a shiny stone. I reached out and saw that it was a frog just sitting. As I came closer, it leaped into the water. At that moment, I remembered the daisy chain.

I rushed towards the house and ran to my room. There I found the daisies—lifeless and crumpled as I remembered I had secreted them in my Bible. I just left one in there; the rest I left out to be thrown away. No great memory here. I just like to remember that hot day. The memory of the grand, white tent that I have not seen since. Also, the fact that I enjoyed such an amount of time not worrying about my father and what his presence could bring.

I never heard from Cindy again. I heard my mother talking to a member of staff about her and her mother. My mother said she had not heard from them for many months; the staff member said she had heard of several cases of cholera in the area where they lived. Mother was concerned about the proximity of such an illness to Pierre. Not me, obviously. Perhaps Cindy was carried off by the cholera. That is what I surmise.

Despite Cindy’s failings, she was nice to me. She did not expect anything of me or stand with a disapproving face, waiting for me to do or say something. Then say how stupid I am. Or foolish. Or pointless.