The Knight
I get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and as always, I check on the children to make sure they are asleep. Edmund is breathing noisily in his cot, just like his father in the bed across the hall, but Peter's bed is empty. I frown and listen, and I hear the soft whisper of his lisping voice. I follow it next door and see Peter sitting on the floor by Susan's bed, talking his way through a picture book. Susan is still asleep, lying on her back, but her hand is resting on his golden hair. I pause in the doorway and listen to the story Peter is inventing, being unable to read the large storybook yet.
"…The Princess was in a lot of trouble and she was very sad. But the Prince did not want her to be sad and he said 'I'll rescue you!' Then he fought to get to her." He consults the pictures, lifting the book to his face. "There were a lot of branches. He cut them with his sword. And he saw a bad witch but he said…" He gasps and shakes his head. "He said 'No! You won't hurt my Princess!' and he beat her and won. So she was safe." He pauses and smiles a little bit as he invents. "She was very happy and she stayed in the castle and took care of the babies all day, just like she always wanted."
I smile at his coda; I know he invented that just for Susan's benefit. Whenever we read stories she always wants to know what happens after, if the Prince and Princess had children and what were their names, and were the babies as sweet as Lucy? Peter is more preoccupied with the adventure, and he'll relive it for hours. I peer closer and see that somehow he has gotten hold of the big leather-bound storybook from downstairs and is looking at the pictures from Sleeping Beauty, his favorite story. "Peter?" I call softly.
He turns to me with his mouth hanging open, his cheek dusky pink. "Mummy! You're awake."
"What are you doing in here?" I ask quietly.
He rubs his eye quickly, as though he does not want me to see him cry. "I had a bad dream," he confesses, his little voice growly.
I sit down on the foot of the bed and open my arms to him. He shuts the book and puts it aside, coming to crawl into my lap. Both he and Edmund usually shy away from this during the daytime because of David's preaching about what big boys do. In the middle of the night, though, my boys are softer, more open with their baby sweetness. I cuddle Peter, resting my cheek on his bright hair and murmur, "I didn't hear you crying."
"Big boys don't cry," he informs me. "Daddy said." He clutches at my nightdress and looks up at me with a sudden gasp. "Mummy, don't make me go back to bed. I want to stay with Susan."
I stroke his hair and kiss it. "Alright. We'll stay," I agree, even though I know David won't really approve.
Poor Peter gives a heavy sigh and rests his cheek on my shoulder, watching Susan. She half wakes and sees me there in the thin light of the lamp we leave on for her. "Mummy," she grumbles, rubbing her eyes. She wriggles around in the bed so she can lay her head in my lap. Peter watches her too, and he leans over to stroke her hair. "Go to sleep, Susan."
My heart swells as I watch him. He is so small still, but there is something about Peter that is strong. Noble. He sees it as his especial mission to watch out for all his siblings, but most of all Susan. David told me how when he took Peter out to spend his pocket money, Peter insisted on buying something for Susan and was adamant about getting the prettiest thing they had. He always takes the blame when they get into trouble. In return, he gets her unending devotion, her beaming face, her confiding little hand slipping into his. They were inseparable from the moment Susan was born—they are conspirators, best friends, playmates. Constant companions. He works so hard at being a big boy to take care of Susan and make his father proud. I kiss his shining golden hair and cradle him to my chest, which makes him smile a little bit. Somehow this ordinary boy from Finchley has a streak of the noble knight in him. I hardly know how…no, I do know. I cuddle my little knight and I think. I can remember the night that brought him to us.
David and I had been married for half a year or so, long enough that I was well used to my new housewifely routine of shopping and cleaning and cooking. I had started making friends on the street, and when we met at the shops there would be cheerful daily gossip. I never joined in with any, not having any gossip to spill, but I always listened about the deaths and minor scandals and family intrigues. I reported the most interesting to David, who always patted my hand and chuckled with amusement and say "I see you've had a busy day, my dear."
One morning I joined the group of women at the corner, noting that they were speaking not with the delicious relish of tasting good gossip. They were speaking in hushed voices, and their expressions were very sober. I hoisted the shopping bag on my hip, and they widened the circle for me.
"…And her just a slip of a thing, barely older than Helen here."
"It's a shame is what it is. I've never been one of those suffragettes, but I tell you, something like this is enough to make me change my mind."
"A woman has a right to feel safe in her own home."
I looked around at the frowning faces with concern. "What's happened?"
"Oh, Helen dear, it's awful. Violet at the end of the road was hit by her husband last night."
Enid's flowers bobbed on her hat as she nodded. "I went round this morning to borrow some tea, and there she was with a blooming black eye."
I gasped. "You're sure it was her husband?"
"You don't get a black eye like that by accident," Enid said, folding her arms. "And what's more, Edward and I heard something like screaming last night."
"Right shame that is…"
I ducked away from the group. I knew Violet and liked her tremendously. Her husband was very handsome, and he worked hard like David. We often commiserated about cheering them up when they were grumpy. My heart started to pound. Was her husband's version of grumpy different from David's? I fairly ran down the street and knocked rapidly on Violet's door.
She opened after a few minutes of prolonged knocking, and she hid herself in the shadow of her house. "Oh, hello, Helen," she said morosely. "I can't really talk now. Thank you for stopping by, I'll call on you when I can." She started to close the door.
Though it was terribly rude of me, I put out a hand to stop her. "Are—are you alright?" I asked anxiously. I couldn't quite bring myself to repeat what I had heard in the street.
She peered beyond me into the street, looking like a fugitive. Then all at once she grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside. All at once she was sobbing and clutching at me, confessing through her tears. "It was my fault. He told me, and I didn't listen, and we had a row. After he smacked me I didn't want to that night. But he was only trying to make it up with me. I should have been a better wife. More forgiving…"
I grew pale and clutched my handbag so hard my knuckles turned white. "Did he…force you?" I whispered.
Her face crumpled and she nodded. "Oh, Helen! It was awful. It hurt so much. I should have been better. I should have…"
It was cruel of me, but I wanted to turn tail and run. I wanted to get out of that house where such terrible things could happen. George seemed as large and brutal as a monster from a fairy tale. I could hear the echoes of the bedsprings, and Violet's cries of protest. Fear started to swallow me up. Violet was crying, sobbing. I patted her shoulder and made her some tea, but that was all I could think of to do. She subsided, but I knew she wanted to talk more. I couldn't hear it. I couldn't. He hurt her. She loved him, she trusted him to take care of her, and he hurt her. I left as soon as it was even remotely proper.
All day what had happened to Violet came back to me. I tried to forget it, and I took on several tiring projects, such as washing and ironing all of David's shirts. Before I got halfway through the pile, I became terrified, surrounded by such men's things, white and fresh as those shirts were. I put everything away in a rush and ran out of the house. On the street I bit my thumbnail. I didn't know where to go. Violet crossed my mind, but I couldn't go to her. I couldn't.
In the end I walked and walked all round the neighborhood. I avoided all the men on the streets. There was a work crew building a house, and I recognized some of the boys from my old neighborhood. They called to me and I walked faster. I took refuge at last in a salon and had my nails done. I had to go home straightaway and cook David's dinner, and so they were quite ruined.
David came home in a pleasant enough mood. He talked through supper about the office and the research he was doing. I tried my best to listen attentively, but in the end I couldn't remember what he was saying. As I was pouring his tea after dinner, he covered my hand.
"You're awfully quiet tonight, Helen dear. Don't you have any gossip from the day?" He smiled. "I'm quite in the mood to hear your chatter after a day of nothing but research."
I opened my mouth, but for a moment, no words would come. Finally I stammered "I—I had my nails done. I hope you don't mind the expense."
He chuckled. "Not at all, you silly thing. Let's see them then." He turned over my hands and frowned, then looked up at me with a question in his eyes.
I flickered a smile, but my heart wasn't in it. "I had to come home and make dinner. They got ruined."
He patted my hand, still smiling. "I would say that was poor planning. Next time perhaps go on your beauty jaunts in the morning, eh?"
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"My dear, there's nothing to be sorry for. Just be a little more practical in the future. Now, what's for dessert?"
"Lemon cake. I'll get it." I started towards the kitchen, but before I got even halfway there, I stopped and gave a little sob. That fear had crept back over me.
David jumped from his chair and came and put his arms around me. "Helen! What on earth's the matter?"
I turned and cried into his shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll get the cake."
"Not before you tell me what's wrong." He folded his arms around me. "I must say this is all very strange."
I closed my hands around his shirt, and though he had been wearing it all day it was still clean and fresh smelling. My David, always crisp and clean. Always proper. I nestled closer to him and buried my face against him. Finally I murmured in a rush. "Last night, Violet's husband…he—he hurt her. He forced her. It's awful. Her face is swollen. She trusted him. He's supposed to take care of her."
David's arms tightened around me. "The cad," he growled. When I looked up, his face was thunderous. "What sort of man would do that to his wife? It's improper is what it is. What, are we meant to live like animals? I hope there's someone to give him a talking to. I have half a mind to do it myself." He looked down at me; I was still crying and wiping my eyes on his shirt. His hand came up to stroke my hair. "Now, darling, don't cry. I'm here, and I'll protect you. I'm a man who keeps his word."
I looked up into his face, and I saw from the gravity in his eyes that he meant it. Years later, I would realize that Peter wore the same look whenever he promised something. David lifted my chin and smiled down at me. "It's alright, my dear."
I let his words soothe me. I closed my eyes and swallowed, and I felt his soft kiss on my cheeks. He took out his handkerchief and wiped away my tears, and I kept my eyes closed the whole time. I trusted in him. I smiled softly. "I love you, David," I murmured.
He grunted his agreement and kissed my mouth. I reached up and wrapped my arms around his shoulders and clung to him because I knew he would protect me. "Come on," he said, kissing my cheek again. "I think it's time for bed."
I sighed and opened my eyes. "But the cake…and the washing up…"
He waved this away gallantly. "You've had a trying day, my dear. That can all keep until tomorrow. You can certainly take care of it then."
I nodded. I knew down the street Violet was walking on eggshells, but here in my flat it seemed like nothing bad could ever happen. He held me tightly round the waist, and together we went round and shut all the lights. He stood behind me while I covered the cake carefully and stroked my hair. Like a naughty child, he swiped his finger across the icing. I smacked his hand and he smiled, still sucking the icing off his finger. He looked so darling and so good I reached up to stroke his one cheek and kiss the other. "Ah yes," he murmured, catching me in an embrace. "Bedtime."
We undressed and washed up hurriedly. I didn't want to be apart from him, and I thought that he wanted to be close to protect me. He held me close in the dark, and he pressed kisses on my damp cheeks. He made not a move towards me otherwise, in case I should still be frightened. I felt the warmth of him and smelled the clean sharp smell of toothpaste on his breath, just like on our wedding night. I wanted him closer still, so he would protect me. Though it was bordering on improper, I rolled onto my back and whispered "David."
He didn't care about impropriety. "Helen," he said lowly. He leaned over me, undoing the buttons on his pyjamas. Then he kissed me. "You're safe, Helen."
I nodded, pulling him closer. "I know. I know. I love you."
The next morning before he left he pulled me close and cupped my cheek. He kissed me, lingering over his goodbye. Usually he pecked my cheek and was out the door. "Take care of yourself today," he told me. "Perhaps you should also bring Violet some of that cake. It needs to be eaten before it goes stale." He nodded, pleased with this idea. "You bring her some of that cake."
I thought this was so sweet of him to be thinking not only of me but of Violet that I welled up. Wisely, I waited until he was out the door to indulge in a few sentimental tears. I brought Violet the cake and made her another cup of tea. She didn't want to talk about it anymore; apparently she and George had made it up. I still trembled to see her bruise, though. I chattered bravely through an hour and a half, and then I went round the shops. I picked up a new silk necktie for my hero. I spent most of a month's pocket money on it, but I was happy to. I only wished I had the money for the silver cufflinks I really wanted to buy him.
I prepared David's favorite meal, and when I heard his key in the door I slipped the box with the necktie onto his plate. I grinned proudly as I stood by the table waiting for him, sure I was going to surprise him and very pleased with myself. In the end, he surprised me. He came in with a bouquet of flowers and a box in his hands.
"David!" I cried, rushing to him. He put his arm around me and kissed my cheek.
He put his arm around me and kissed my cheek. "I wanted to make sure you had a better day today than yesterday."
He had bought me a pair of intricately wrought silver earrings, and he beamed as I exclaimed over them. When he opened his present, he went to the mirror in the hall at once and swapped ties, declaring that the new one suited him exactly. I breached propriety again and sat not across from him, but next to him at dinner. He didn't seem to mind. He squeezed my hand and brushed my hair off my neck on the pretense of seeing my earrings. That gave me a little shiver.
"I want you to be happy as a princess," he declared.
"I am," I promised him. "I am."
We went to bed without pudding for the second night in a row.
I have always been privately certain that's where Peter came from. Nine months later, there he was, a solemn little boy. The first night we brought Susan home from the hospital his hand closed around hers. Peter is drooping against my chest, starting to fall asleep. I kiss his hair and rock him. Though my son is fair haired and blue eyed where his father is dark, he has the same nobility. Carefully I shift Susan back onto her pillow and settle Peter next to her. Sometimes when he has a nightmare we wake to find him in Susan's bed of his own accord. If David asks, I'll tell him that is what happened. I don't like to lie to him, but Peter and Susan need each other. In sleep, Peter reaches out for Susan and his hand curls around hers. She makes a soft noise and shifts closer to him. I kiss them both one last time and creep back into my own bed, sliding between the sheets and curling up as close to David's warmth as I can.