Do you understand! That old crone is nobody to us! Eleanor shrieked, trying to convince her daughter that she was right. Susan winced, as if on the verge of tears, then lifted her head and declared, Then to me she is the dearest Nobody in the world, and nothing will change that!
It so happened that in the large farming family of the Larkins of Yorkshire, every daughter had been married off, and only the youngest, Margaretquiet and gentlehad remained single. Perhaps her intended never appeared, or he was lost abroad. The Larkins sighed for their daughter, who stayed at home a steadfast support while none of her citybound nieces ever bore children.
First came William, the son of the eldest sister, bowing low and pleading, Aunt Margaret, let me hire you to look after my little girl. We cant afford a nursery and my wife must go to work. Margaret, now a grown woman, stood at a crossroads: her parents were aging, and she dreaded the city. Yet Williams promise to look after her own father and mother swayed her. He had already come to the farm to plant potatoes and mend the roof.
Her parents urged her to go, saying perhaps she might meet a gentleman in town. Though she was past her prime, they trusted that a visit might ease their loneliness. Unaware that they had already discussed how hard it would be for Margaret to stay alone while they were away, they encouraged her to become a nanny. Thus the farm girl turned caretaker.
Williams older daughter went to school, the younger soon followed. When Margarets own parents passed, she was no longer looking after Williams children but after another nephews brood. She was passed from one branch of the family to another, caring for toddlers and schoolage kids alike. It seemed she had become a superfluous burden, yet the Larkins kept calling on her.
A few years before the housenestled by a berryladen wood and a streamwas sold by the sisters for a handsome sum, William demanded, Let us pool together and buy Aunt Margaret a modest room in the new place. She shouldnt be living under a hedge!
The nieces, nervous about who would inherit the tiny tenement, asked, If she dies, who gets the little flat? William waved his hand, Whoever serves the tea shall have it, or as Aunt Margaret sees fit. He died before reaching fifty, succumbing to gastritis and later cancer.
When William passed, the Larkins forgot about Margaret. Their children were grown, no longer needing a nanny, and she was approaching her seventies. She moved into a tiny oneroom flat furnished with a table, a wardrobe and a folding cot. Accustomed to the bustle of babies, she felt the silence keenlyuntil a chance vacancy appeared.
While queuing at a shop, a young woman approached her at the till. Do you happen to look after children? My little girl, after heart surgery, cant go to nursery. I need a kind nanny who can stay overnight. Margaret leaned in, and the girl, eyes bright, whispered, Come! Ill tell you stories. Thus Margaret gained a new charge.
Susan, now four, was a delight to raise. The two lived in the same bright, airy room. Susans parents worked long hours, and she spent most of her time with Margaret, whom she affectionately called Cush. The nurselike caretaker, though uneducated, rigorously supervised Susans breathing exercises, kept her away from smoky streets, and maintained a strict routine. Susan grew healthy and strong.
When night fell, Susan would ask, CushMargaret, tell me a tale of your life. Margaret would spin simple, earnest stories, even confiding a personal episode: she had once returned from a riverboat trip with a pregnant nieces husband, caring for their first child until the village, then faced a second birth.
On that boat the niece, a student named Olivia, had been left alone with her newborn after her lover vanished. Olivia, desperate, placed the infant in Margarets arms, pleading, Please look after him. Perhaps God sent him to you. Olivia slipped away as the boat docked.
Margaret, though blind, coaxed the baby, wrapped him in a blanket, and sang lullabies. She found a note apologising for abandoning the child, and a sack containing baby supplies, powdered milk, and a thermos of hot waterno birth certificate, suggesting a home birth.
The boat pulled away, and Margaret fed the infantwhom she called Altheafeeling a strange mix of sorrow and purpose. God has sent you, she whispered, dreaming of keeping the child as her own. However, the nieces husband soon arrived, furious, demanding the baby back. He claimed, We have our blood; why take another? The dispute escalated, and Althea was taken from Margarets care.
The loss haunted her, and she never forgave herself for not keeping the child. When Susan heard the tale, tears welled, and she embraced Margaret, saying, Youre still my nanny, my dear. Margaret replied, Youre my girl.
For a time, Margarets role in the family seemed secure. Eleanor, Susans mother, once whispered, Shes idle now. Lets rent out her room and use the money to pay for Susans music lessons. A dusty piano lay in the house, and Eleanor dreamed of cultivating her daughters talent without a costly tutor. Margaret agreed, and they let the flat be let.
Years later, Eleanor inherited a share of an apartment from a deceased relative and, with Margarets consent, transformed the tiny flat into a spacious onebedroom dwelling, registered jointly to Susan and Margaret. By then, the Larkins had lost interest in the aging nanny, and life settled into a quiet rhythm.
Susan blossomed into a healthy, attractive young woman, finished school, and moved to nearby Cambridge to study. Margaret handed over her modest savings to help Susan pay rent, support herself abroad, and perhaps save for a wedding.
By then Margarets sight had faded completely. She shuffled, a frail, smellingofoldage figure, unclean and demanding, yet the Larkins expected her to continue. Eleanor, irritated, moved Margaret from the bright bedroom to a dark storeroom, snapping, For heavens sake, go to your own quarters! She addressed Margaret with a cold you, insisting she was nobody.
Eventually, the Larkins decided to place Margaret in a care home, enlisting a wellconnected acquaintance to secure a place. Susan, caught up in university life, forgot to ask about her nanny, only briefly inquiring, Hows the nanny? before rushing off.
One day Susan returned home, brimming with news: Father Andrew has proposed! Hell come with his parents this weekend; well have a modest celebration, a white dress, everything. And Ive brought a special gift for the nanny. She rushed to the room Margaret once occupied. Eleanor, uneasy, answered, Shes in the back storeroom, dear. Father cleared out the shelves; its quieter there for her blind eyes.
Susan flung open the storeroom door, finding a battered bed and the frail Margaret curled on it. Overcome, Susan pressed her trembling hands to Margarets wrinkled cheeks, whispering, Nanny, forgive me, my dear. Youre my ripe berry, my sweet bun. Margaret chuckled, Susan, child. Weve met at last. She felt Susans head and said, Youre beautiful, my love.
Two hours later, Margaret, fed and soothed, sat on the worn mattress, a shy smile playing on her lips. Susan placed a little box of scented herbs and dried flowers on Margarets lapa gift of aromatherapy, turning the cramped room into a meadow of fragrance for the blind woman who now lived by scent, sound, and touch.
Behind the kitchen door, Eleanor tried to negotiate with her irate daughter, explaining how hard it was to care for a blind old woman and to keep peace with Susans father, who seemed to be entering a midlife slump. Youre young, Susan, fluttering like a butterfly. I wont take away your love, but dont judge me, Eleanor pleaded.
Susan, halfwhispering, retorted, If I locked you in the storeroom for forty years, would you understand? Eleanor, desperate, shouted, Shes nobody to us! Susan twisted her face, then lifted her chin, Then to me shes the dearest Nobody in the world, and that shall never change.
She postponed the meeting with Andrews parents, yet invited him to the house, introducing him to Margaret, now affectionately called Nobody. The Larkins finally moved out of the cramped flat that had once housed Margaret, repainting it modestly and bringing in secondhand furniture.
Susan, initially skeptical about marrying a man who would care for an old stranger, soon learned that Andrew, a diligent medical student, was compassionate. They married, Susan switched to a parttime teaching course, and later trained as a speechlanguage therapist.
Margaret, though blind, proved capable of looking after small children, a fact Andrew admired. He joked, A nanny who can see with her heart.
When Susan and Andrew finished their studies, they settled in a modest home, bringing Margarets modest inheritance with them. Their first child, a granddaughter named Althea, was cradled by Margarets handsthough the infant never truly saw her.
Margaret passed away quietly at ninetytwo, her final year spent in a simple bed, without complaint. She left behind a legacy of kindness, a house once shared with a nanny turned into a home for a new generation, and the memory of a woman who, though called Nobody, meant everything to those who remembered her.
