The Secrets of Tenley House

by Patricia Dixon

  Georgie followed her aunt’s direction. “Yes, I must say she does look rather glum but I thought it was down to these awful fish paste sarnies, not because she’s been a naughty girl.” While she and Mae tittered, a voice in Georgie’s head told her to take note and remember that actions, no matter how thrilling, have consequences. The last thing Georgie wanted was to end up like her soggy sandwich mother, stuck in a corner like a dollop of dismal cow poo.

  The paternal family mole came in the form of Great Uncle Albert. While he sometimes lost the plot during his ramblings, he usually came up with the goods in between slurping one or three double scotch on the rocks. Whilst despairing of the unfortunate match and henceforth enduring the hastily arranged wedding, it seemed that Georgie’s grandparents could only pray ‘The Situation’ wouldn’t affect Clifford’s job at the bank or sully their reputation.

  Great Uncle Albert had a way with words, perhaps his salty old sea-dog past was to blame but his hushed sharing of the family indiscretions still made Georgie smile, even on a hellish train journey suffering from a runny nose and goose pimples.

  It was during Grandfather Nibley’s birthday celebrations that fifteen-year-old Georgie took the opportunity to interrogate her half-pickled great uncle. All she had to do was ask him about the good old days and what her daddy was like when he was a boy. After enduring The Great War and Oxbridge days, Georgie was relieved when Albert finally got around to Clifford.

  “Oh aye, he’s a randy old bugger your father… runs in the family don’t you know. We’ve all got plenty of lead in our pencils. That’s for sure. I could tell you a tale or two about my navy days and what I got up to when we reached port.” Albert winked at Georgie, his whisky breath settled on her cheek like mist yet rather than recoil, she leaned in, not too close though, eager to hear more.

  “That’s good to know, Uncle, but I don’t think Grandmother would be too pleased about you telling me saucy tales… on the other hand, I am curious to know about Daddy. I always had him down as a bit of a bore.” Georgie kept her cheek turned, she knew that Uncle Albert was fond of sneaking a peck or two, and trying not to smirk, she also kept her eyes focused on her father rather than the bulge that had appeared in her uncle’s trousers.

  “Like I say, he’s a bit of a cad and has an eye for the ladies… but there’s nothing wrong with having a dabble and dipping your wick. Kept my dead-in-the water marriage alive for years and your father is no different. But that’s all hush-hush, strictly off the record, if you know what I mean?” Albert tapped the side of his nose and had a sneaky peak down Georgie’s top.

  Trying to hide her excitement at being told such salacious facts, Georgie feigned concern. “But does Grandmother know about Daddy? Surely she would have a blue-fit if she knew and Mummy would divorce him, I’m sure of it.”

  “Of course she does, your grandmother knows everything that goes on in this family. Blasted Mata Hari’s got nothing on her. She’s a wily old devil and gives her men folk a long leash, as long as the mud doesn’t stick.”

  “But what about Mummy, do you think she knows? And why is Grandmother so mean to her?” Georgie had a feeling she already knew the answer to that.

  “Because Mata Hari over there wanted better for her son than a shop girl, it’s as simple as that. And as for your mother, who appears to be permanently sucking lemons, I surmise she is fully aware of your father’s indiscretions. Everyone else is.”

  “And what about me… why is Grandmother so kind and generous when it comes to the unwanted child of a shop-girl?” Georgie sounded indignant rather than sorry for herself.

  “Mata Hari likes a project and I think she was sick to the back teeth of Nibley men cocking things up so she’s set her sights on you. Just make sure you’re a good girl and all will be well. As long as you don’t get caught with your knickers round your ankles you’ll be fine. Now bring me a refill, all this gassing has given me a thirst.”

  Georgie stood and took his glass. After the knicker comment, she steadfastly avoided looking at Albert’s groin and grimaced as his hand patted her bottom. Pushing certain nauseating thoughts to one side, Georgie concentrated on her new-found nugget of information and as she topped up her uncle’s glass, resolved to keep a very close eye on dirty Daddy Clifford. After all, knowledge was power.

  Despite being the fruit of disappointment, and whilst fully aware of her family’s many failings, golden-haired Georgie made the most of being adored by the Nibleys. She was happy to be cosseted and indulged, doted on yet carefully managed by those who aspired to greater things and at all costs, avoided another entrapment of their clan.

  Georgie did have the grace and intelligence to notice that whilst she rested on a pedestal, her mother remained on the periphery, looked down upon and frequently disregarded, as were her maternal kinfolk, referred to generally as ‘The Butchers’. And while it sometimes saddened her, Georgie felt it wasn’t her place to comment and after all, Mother was a grown woman and could fight her own battles, or should at least have tried. Anyway, Georgie knew by whom her bread was buttered and she preferred it on both sides.

  The train stopped at some rural back of beyond, and while passengers swapped places and thankfully the chap with the roving eye had buggered off, Georgie ruminated. Perhaps she was in fact the arch manipulator of the family and the others merely pawns in a game. It was a pleasing notion that caused her to smile, that and the irony of being taught well.

  In the company of those who took points from all manner of things, Georgie feigned reluctance at spending time with her maternal grandparents when in truth, she enjoyed immensely her once-monthly visits to the home of the Butchers because there too she was treated like royalty. Georgie was their curiosity. She spoke so beautifully and her school photograph, the one wearing a straw boater and blazer, was dusted with pride and shown to the customers with regularity. But whilst her relationship with the Nibleys was superficial and artificial, Georgie’s feelings for ‘The Butchers’ were genuine.

  Georgie always loved that cosy feeling when they sat around the kitchen table for tea, eating chunks of thickly sliced bread and golden brown chips cooked in a huge frying pan, with your fingers and not a knife and fork. At Christmas she would receive a stocking, identical to her cousins and stuffed with penny treats and knick-knacks from Woolworths, nothing fancy but given with genuine love. In between special occasions, her nan knitted lovely jumpers, a scarf, woolly hats and mittens in winter, but best of all, the thing Georgie looked forward to on the bus journey into town were the squashy hugs.

  Nan had bestowed these upon Georgie for no particular reason other than that she loved her, the scent of talcum powder and baking enveloping her as soon as she walked through the door and when she said goodbye. At home they didn’t hug, just a peck on the cheek at bedtime or after a story from whichever parent was on duty. The Nibleys appeared to frown upon shows of affection. Georgie suspected they thought it common.

  Hugs and chips aside, Georgie was ever curious as to how the other half lived and her large extended family, whose lack of social grace was a constant source of entertainment, became the most practical form of education. The Butchers served as a warning, a reminder and testament to many things, and during each visit Georgie would watch intently. Human interaction, especially that between her mother and grandparents, was utterly fascinating.

  When the train pulled out of the station, the image in her head caused Georgie to smirk. Perhaps her parents should have done the same during their fated fumble because the treatment of Mummy Mavis was so unlike that of Daddy Clifford, the other guilty party in what everyone considered to be a consensual coupling. As she matured it had occurred to Georgie that unlike her mother, her father had simply pulled up his zip and got on with life. Somehow, Mavis had been rendered disjointed. Not fully welcome or accepted by her snobbish in-laws she was then silently punished by her family, perhaps for being too much of a stranger, changing sides, looking down or becoming subservient and not fighting back.
Whatever it was, Mavis remained on the edge of both worlds.

  The notion of Georgie’s mother’s predicament was accompanied by a tingling of fear. Being cast adrift, rejected even, was something to be avoided at all costs. Her father was an only child and his singularity had presumably been his saving grace whereas her mother was one of many and surplus to requirements. Georgie, however, had her feet firmly in both camps and had endeavoured to reap the advantages so worked hard at fitting in, wherever and whatever the situation. Faking it was easy once you knew how.

  Like the fact she hated going through to the shop where the smell of meat and sawdust made her retch, as did the carcasses of disembowelled rabbits that hung in the windows and the swollen ox tongues that were laid in trays beneath them. But Georgie never let it show, seeing it as a test, presenting another face to the world, one which also hid her growing disdain for those around her. Not for the Butchers, but for the Nibleys. Georgie didn’t wish to upset her maternal grandparents in any way so her resilience served her well whereas in the case of the others, Georgie played the game for entirely different reasons.

  Apart from the necessary rudiments of life that so far hadn’t challenged her to any great extent, Georgie had found it all far too easy. Beauty was just something she was born with and if she hadn’t been a clever clogs, would have had to rely more on being sweet and demure, kind and loving, because that was a sure-fire way to get what you wanted. As it happened, most things were given to her on a fine china plate, right from the beginning.

  Georgie had lapped it up and loved taking piano and ballet, deportment and elocution lessons, along with how to ride, play tennis and croquet. She had been dressed as any good upper-middle-class young lady should be, in the very best that her paternal grandmother could buy with her husband’s substantial savings. Georgie was also popular at school, and until recently admired by the brothers of girls in her group and more than likely still lusted after by those who should know better. With no clear destination in mind, apart from someday making a good match of her own choice, not forced down the aisle with a bouquet hiding her belly, Georgie accepted she had merely jogged through life, untroubled by what the future held.

  The motion of the train was making Georgie sleepy, causing her to yawn, bored also by the relentless tableau of fields and backwater stations so giving in, she closed her eyes and focused on the past, the best bits. Her epiphany occurred quite out of the blue during a sixteenth birthday treat when everything became so wonderfully clear. She could picture it all, her parents and grandparents dressed to the nines; the women swaddled in fur, red lipped and smothered in scent; the men in dark suits, smelling of cigars and brandy. They had all driven down to London for dinner and an evening at the theatre and there, in the darkness of the front row, lower circle, Georgie became struck by stars. Mesmerised by the other-worldly thespians that glided across the stage, enunciating words of great playwrights, educing gasps from balcony to stalls, basking in the glow of stage lights to the rapturous applause of an adoring audience, Georgie knew she had found her place.

  Later, during the drive home squashed between a grizzly bear and a snow leopard, Georgie had announced to her family that the theatre was where her destiny lay.

  Georgie clapped her hands, jolting her grandmother from a brandy-induced nap and drawing the attention of the remaining passengers.

  “I have a rather exciting announcement to make on my very special birthday. Daddy are you listening because when I am famous I want you to remember this important moment.” Georgie watched her father’s eyes through the rear-view mirror and waited for him to reply.

  “Of course I’m listening, my angel, although I do need to keep one eye on the road otherwise you’ll never get to be famous if we are all wrapped around a tree.” Clifford smiled and took the opportunity to take a puff of his cigar whilst by his side, Nibley senior obeyed and turned to face his demanding granddaughter.

  “Ta da… I would like to announce that I am going to be an actress of film and stage. You all know how wonderful I was playing Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, and Miss Cartwright who teaches drama always says I’m a natural born star, and she should know because she once acted alongside Lawrence Olivier at the National Theatre.” Georgie waited for the news to sink in, remembering that for thespians, timing is key.

  “I intend to enrol at drama school at the earliest opportunity but in the meantime perhaps I should have private lessons. I will make enquiries with Miss Cartwright when I go back to school.” Georgie paused once again for dramatic effect. She was so good at this.

  Mavis was the first to speak. “Well that’s wonderful, darling, but I wouldn’t take too much notice of Miss Cartwright because rumour has it she was just an extra and dines out on that rather tiresome story whenever she can.”

  Mrs Nibley senior was having none of it and where Georgie was concerned, always took great pleasure in usurping Mavis. “Whether Miss Cartwright is a fantasist or not, I am sure Georgie will make a fine actress and I for one thought she did a sterling job when she played Dorothy. And wouldn’t it be marvellous to have an Elizabeth Taylor in the family or perhaps a Grace Kelly because we all know how wonderfully that turned out. Maybe a future Princess Georgina is sitting right by my side, who knows.”

  “Exactly, the world is my oyster and I think today is just the perfect way to begin the rest of my life… it’s all so thrilling, don’t you think?” Georgie settled against the leather of the car seats, snuggled between the smug bear and the resigned leopard she closed her eyes and smiled.

  The other passengers turned to look out of the window and concentrated on the road. Whether all three of them secretly presumed it was just a passing fancy, Georgie on the other had spent the rest of the journey lost in the theatre of her own mind, receiving Oscars and reading next-day reviews in The Stage.

  Ignoring the reticence of her mother and aware of the pre-occupations of her father, Georgie focused her energy on the Nibleys, who up to that point still believed they were in control. After realising that darling Georgie was actually quite serious, she was immediately indulged and swiftly enrolled with the local acting teacher who had close connections with the Theatre of Amateur Dramatics in the next town.

  Whilst happy to encourage their golden grandchild, Georgie could tell they merely saw her thespian aspirations as an artistic string to her bow, a quirky accompaniment to her love of painting and melodic tinkling of ivory. Georgie admired them in a way; they had resolve and had strived to produce the whole package, paying close attention to aesthetic and cultural details, wrapping it up in beautiful clothes, waiting and hoping for the perfect suitor to come along and redress the balance. Thus erasing the stain left by inferior genes.

  Letting out a sigh that briefly caught the attention of the woman opposite, Georgie felt a smidgen of regret, for herself, not the Nibleys. It had all been for nothing, their grand plans and careful engineering. Georgie did cringe slightly when she thought about her falling from grace. It was a schoolgirl error and she should have locked the door instead of being caught with her knickers down, quite literally when the theatre manager’s wife and teenage sons popped into his office during a trip into town. Georgie could hear it now, the piercing sound of the wife who screeched far louder than Eliza Doolittle ever could, while her prophecies of ruin and castration would have made Macbeth’s witches proud. And thanks to the wide open door, said scene was played out for free, in full view and within earshot of any amused theatre staff that happened to be passing through the lobby.

  Georgie shuddered at the memory. News travelled fast in a small town, and within days, golden Georgie found herself wrapped in shame, hiding in her room beneath a stiff layer of plain brown paper, like the last pork chop in the tray, reduced in price and on offer to whoever would take it off their hands.

  After a dreadfully dull Christmas and even drearier New Year of social exclusion, it had been decided that Georgie would be sent away, the sooner the better for all concerned. After realis
ing that their investment wasn’t going to pay dividends, the Nibleys were adamant that not one more penny was to be wasted on indulging their embarrassment, not even in the form of a train ticket. According to Great Uncle Albert, repeating her grandmother verbatim, Georgie could walk to London for all she cared.

  Uncle Albert had called in to rub salt in the wounds and his body up against that of his nubile great niece, for the last time. “I have to say, my girl, that your lineage is in no doubt and I had to chuckle when I heard about your shenanigans. My my, you certainly put me to shame, I can tell you. Thought your grandmother was going to keel over from the shock of it all, you cheeky minx. Now come here and give me a farewell hug.”

  On this occasion, Georgie was in no mood for indulging her pervy uncle, his bulging trousers or tiresome tales. In fact she was sick of the lot of them and their misogynistic hypocrisy.

  “Actually, Uncle Albert, I have a vat of acid I need to stick my head into so if you don’t mind I’ll pass. Go rub your tiny cock on Grandmother’s dog, or Grandmother, either way I really don’t care.” And with that she turned and made her way upstairs, smirking as she listened to her mother apologise to a flabbergasted Albert.

  But Georgie remembered some kindness. Just across town, those who were somewhat used to their women folk causing a stir felt less inclined to shun but agreed it would do their granddaughter good, living in the real world. Aunty Mae had called round to deliver their verdict and assured Georgie that when she returned and all the fuss had died down, a secure and sensible job would be waiting for her at the butcher’s shop.