The Poor Relation

by Susanna Bavin

‘Bad news should be delivered with the minimum of fuss,’ she said. ‘Express a proper regret and make the changed circumstances clear. That’s why I want you here: to see how it’s done.’

  ‘Did the doctors ask to see you, Mummy?’

  ‘No, which is worrying. Either they know and they’re postponing informing the Deserving Poor Committee, in which case they aren’t fit to receive funding, or they don’t know, in which case they ought to know and—’

  ‘—they aren’t fit to receive funding.’

  There was a tap at the door and the frock-coated doctors were shown in. Lady Kimber introduced Eleanor.

  ‘A pleasure to meet you, Miss Kimber,’ said Doctor Cottrell.

  ‘My daughter is learning the work of the Deserving Poor Committee.’

  ‘The clinic is doing much-needed work,’ said Eleanor, and Lady Kimber was gratified by the use of one of her own stock phrases. ‘Tell me, how is Miss Maitland faring?’

  Only years of self-control prevented Lady Kimber from showing her surprise.

  ‘She’s doing well,’ said Doctor Brewer. ‘We’re pleased with her. If you’d tell us why you sent for us, Your Ladyship?’

  Lady Kimber recalled his dislike of chit-chat and was glad of it. Mary Maitland! She would sort that out later.

  ‘It has come to my attention that a significant number of breadwinners in your clinic’s households will lose their jobs next week. You appear surprised. Were you unaware?’

  ‘This is the first we’ve heard of it,’ admitted Doctor Cottrell. ‘Our work at the clinic is voluntary and we’re not there every day.’

  ‘Neither am I at your clinic and yet I know. Many of your breadwinners work for a man named Lennox. Mr Lennox is closing that particular factory next week. The Deserving Poor Committee requires the breadwinners of eight out of every ten households to be employed in order for the community to be considered deserving. Your community will drop below this figure and hence we can no longer fund you.’

  ‘That will put us in danger of closing, just when we’re starting to do some good.’

  ‘You may apply again, should your community find its feet, provided you prove you can keep a more effective eye on matters.’

  ‘With respect,’ said Doctor Brewer, ‘funding that comes and goes is unsuitable. We need funding we can rely on.’

  Doctor Cottrell frowned at him. ‘Might I ask Your Ladyship how you came by this news?’

  ‘Mr Lennox apparently considered it his public duty to inform the Means Test Office and they, knowing the Deserving Poor Committee has an interest, informed me.’

  ‘So, as of next week, these people will no longer be deserving.’ Doctor Brewer’s voice was tight with annoyance. ‘What will that make them instead?’

  She met his gaze without a flicker. ‘The official term is “afflicted”, though I dislike it. So old-fashioned. I believe our business is concluded, Doctors. Thank you for coming at short notice.’

  When they departed, she discussed the meeting with Eleanor before approaching her principal concern.

  ‘Am I correct in thinking Mary Maitland is employed at the clinic?’

  ‘Yes, Mummy. She worked at the agency, but she lost her job – I don’t know why, though the girls swear it was through no fault of her own – and now she’s at the clinic. Charlie told me. He went to see her.’

  ‘Really? Now, our next duty is to arrange for the clinic’s funding to be withdrawn, and this is how we do it …’

  She went through the motions, but inside she was seething. So the Maitland girl was still trying to sink her hooks into the heir, was she? The first thing to do was dispose of Charlie temporarily. That would be simple, thanks to Sir Edward’s love of cricket. Then she would turn her attention to the social-climbing Miss Maitland. Removing her from the agency hadn’t worked and her parents had declined to send her away. So Miss Maitland must be made to want to go, something that could only be achieved in a subtle way.

  Lady Kimber felt a glimmer of anticipation. She excelled at subtlety.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The off-duty nurses, who should have been at home, were in the common room: something serious must have happened. Mary exchanged glances with Mrs Winter. This was no ordinary meeting.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ said Alistair. ‘Lennox’s is closing next week and the men will lose their jobs, which means the community will no longer count as deserving poor and we’ll lose our main source of income. Doctor Brewer and I will do all we can to find alternative funding before that happens.’

  ‘In the meantime,’ said Nathaniel, ‘it’s business as usual. In fact, the more we do, the better, as it increases our chances of being funded. Miss Maitland, a picnic for the mothers and babies has been suggested. I’ll speak to you in the office later.’

  She glowed. He saw her as instrumental in keeping the clinic afloat. She clasped her hands in her lap.

  Later, when there was a polite knock on the office door, she turned with a smile and found him ushering in a visitor – a woman with mousy colouring and kind eyes, her clothes smart without being fussy.

  ‘Miss Maitland, this is my wife. Imogen, this is Mary Maitland, who’s going to help you organise the picnic.’

  Imogen Brewer held out her hand. ‘I’m pleased to meet you. Thank you for volunteering.’

  Mary stared at the outstretched hand. What would Mrs Brewer think if she knew that when her husband had touched Mary’s hand, attraction had stormed through her like a runaway dray horse? Her own hand felt trembly as she extended it.

  ‘I’ll leave you to talk,’ said Nathaniel. ‘Use the common room – if Mrs Winter can spare Miss Maitland, that is.’

  Next thing she knew, Mary was in the common room with Nathaniel’s wife. His wife. She had known he was married. She had known it, but it hadn’t stopped her heart speeding up in his presence.

  ‘It’s good of you to offer to help me.’ Imogen smiled, but there was a question in her eyes. ‘You did volunteer, didn’t you? Only you seem surprised.’

  Her heart beat sluggishly, making it hard to smile. ‘I’m happy to help.’ How could she get out of this?

  Imogen produced a small book from her bag. ‘I’ve made some notes. Shall we go through them and see what you think?’

  There was a sour taste in her mouth. If only there was a looking-glass on the wall, so she could check her expression as Imogen’s ideas washed over her. Did she appear normal and pleasant, or did she look the way she felt, wild-eyed and ghastly?

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Imogen.

  Here was her chance to escape. ‘You don’t need my help. You’ve thought of everything. Why don’t you organise the picnic and I’ll arrange a party for the older children?’

  ‘Well – if you think so. Are you sure my husband didn’t push you into this? I know how single-minded he can be.’

  Her muscles loosened in humiliation. Now Imogen would go home and tell Nathaniel off for strong-arming her into helping with the blasted picnic, and he would think her a chump for ducking out of it. Let him. It didn’t matter what he thought. She never wanted to see him again.

  ‘I would gladly have helped, but you don’t need it. There’s a list of mothers in the office. Let me fetch it for you.’

  She dived out of the room. At the top of the stairs, she grabbed the handrail. Her legs felt as crumbly as Lancashire cheese.

  As she was leaving the office to return to the common room, Nurse Evans came through the front door. Mary could have kissed her.

  ‘Mrs Brewer is organising a picnic for your mother and baby clinic. She’s in the common room. Why not have a chat? Here’s the attendance list.’

  ‘Mrs Brewer, as in Doctor Brewer?’

  Mrs Brewer, as in Mary Maitland is an idiot.

  ‘Organised already?’ asked Mrs Winter when Mary sank behind her desk.

  ‘Change of plan. I’m organising a children’s party.’

  ‘You’ll need to be quick about it. We don’t know what the
situation will be by the end of next week. I’ll help. We’ll need a sack of children’s shoes, for starters. Being shod is a deserving poor requirement. We’ll talk about it this afternoon.’

  Mrs Winter went on her dinner hour and Mary sagged in her seat, feeling as if she had been twice through the mangle.

  ‘I’m looking for a beautiful lady journalist in need of something to eat. Do you happen to know any?’

  Charlie! Dear, uncomplicated Charlie. Her heart swelled with gratitude. She had never been more pleased to see anyone in her life.

  The meeting with Duncan Swayne didn’t last long.

  ‘It’s the wives who are being educated, not the men,’ said Nathaniel. He spoke as if he meant it, but he knew it was a specious argument.

  And so apparently did Swayne. ‘Don’t split hairs, Doctor.’

  ‘What if we withdrew the advice session?’ asked Alistair.

  ‘Do as you please with it,’ said Swayne. ‘If you cancelled it, it would only be to attract PIP funding and we aren’t that gullible. We’re looking for projects that promote our views, not ones that chop and change according to the bank balance.’

  ‘Are you coming to the meeting at the colonel’s house?’ said Alistair when Swayne had departed.

  ‘Give my apologies. Say I’ll be along later, after I’ve seen Barney Clough.’

  Nathaniel wasn’t one to drag his feet when something distasteful needed doing. Soon he was admitted to the Clough residence and entered the overfurnished sitting room.

  ‘Brewer! M’dear fellow, come in, come in.’

  Nathaniel was careful to maintain a neutral expression. Clough’s evident intention to enjoy the interview didn’t bode well.

  ‘You remember my legal man, don’t you?’

  He acknowledged Mr Saunders. ‘I’m here to discuss the clinic.’ He gave details of their successes.

  Clough cut him off. ‘This is all very fine, but that isn’t why you’re here. You’re looking for another handout. Your funding is about to be withdrawn and you need to find the money elsewhere.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware it was public knowledge.’

  ‘Word gets round.’

  ‘After everything you put into improving the building, you won’t want to see the clinic facing closure.’

  ‘Won’t I? Can’t wait, old chap. I’ll get my building back.’

  ‘What use is it to you?’ Nathaniel hid his scorn. At least, he hoped he hid it. ‘What will you do with it?’

  Saunders cleared his throat.

  ‘I’ll do nothing with it,’ said Clough. ‘It can fall to rack and ruin. But I’ll be free from you doctors.’

  ‘What of your ambition to be an alderman? You have to support the clinic.’

  ‘It won’t be Mr Clough’s fault if the clinic fails,’ said Saunders. ‘It’ll be yours.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Clough. ‘I’ll be the philanthropist who trusted the wrong men – and when I support other causes, I’ll be the philanthropist who continued his good works in spite of being let down.’

  ‘Face it, Brewer,’ said Saunders. ‘You were clever enough to get the clinic ready on time, but that’s the extent of your cleverness. Give in gracefully, man, while you can still hold your head up.’

  A vase of pinks stood in the middle of ‘their’ table in the tea shop. Charlie thanked the waitress with the easy-going charm that made Mary proud to be with him. He was the sort to notice every small attention. It was one of the reasons she felt so comfortable with him. What a relief to feel comfortable with Charlie after the skin-tingling angst of being in Nathaniel’s presence.

  She told him about the party she was organising with Mrs Winter’s assistance. ‘A couple of the nurses are going to give up their Saturday afternoon off to help. I’ve arranged to use the church hall a few streets away. It’s pretty run-down, but that doesn’t matter.’

  ‘If there’s a fee for hiring it, I hope you’ll allow me to pay. I want to support this scheme of yours.’

  ‘That’s kind, but it’s already paid for.’ She lowered her voice, a smile twitching her lips. ‘I’m paying by writing a couple of sermons.’

  Charlie threw back his head and laughed. ‘Perfect! That’s just like you, Mary. You can turn your hand to anything. But you must let me contribute – I insist. How about I stump up for prizes for the party games? Please say yes. It’d give me pleasure.’

  ‘That’s just like you.’ She was happy to return his compliment. ‘You do someone a favour and make it feel like they’re doing you the favour. And I accept gladly. But I’ll have to be careful what prizes I get. These children have next to nothing and the smallest toy would represent riches – and not just to the child. We don’t want to give the children things that would end up in the pawnshop.’

  ‘Really? Things are as bad as that?’

  ‘I know it probably sounds mean to you, but a marble would be a suitable prize. May I use your donation to purchase some games – a quoits set, skittles, things like that? They could then be left at the clinic for future activities.’

  If there were any future activities. Surely the doctors would find alternative funding?

  Saturday came round. To make the party even more of an occasion, Mary, for the price of an extra sermon, let some of the children into the church hall during the morning to make paper chains. Mrs Winter arrived with a sack of old shoes, borrowed from various poor boxes.

  When the children arrived, wriggling with excitement, they shoved their feet into shoes, not caring about comfort, and had to be persuaded to try on a couple of pairs in search of a better fit. Then they were allowed into the hall. Mary’s heart creaked at the sight of the paper chains, made from old newspapers, making the little ones gasp with joy. She wanted to hug each and every child to her.

  The hall had chairs, a couple of wonky tables and, joy of joys, a piano that was nearly in tune. Nurse Kent bashed out lively accompaniment to musical chairs and musical statues, but frankly it was better to rely on their voices for oranges and lemons and the farmer’s in his den. They enjoyed riotous games of blind man’s bluff, pin the tail on the donkey and grandmother’s footsteps, which Mary, seeing how many of the children were limping, used as an excuse for them to take off the shoes.

  ‘You can’t creep properly with shoes on.’

  ‘Goodness me, look at those blisters,’ said Nurse Kent in a jolly voice. ‘I’ll nip round to the clinic for some salve and then we’ll have a competition for the biggest blister.’

  Charlie’s donation, as well as paying for the games and the bag of marbles, had run to the cost of a simple tea, which Mrs Winter had advised Mary to ask the corner shop to provide – so the children went home with their bellies full of paste sandwiches and jelly, which was the heartiest meal most of them had seen in ages, if ever.

  ‘A cup of tea before we clear up?’ suggested Mrs Winter, closing the door on the last of the children and leaning against it.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Mary. It was the least she could do after the others had helped make the party such a success. She was tired, but it was a happy kind of tiredness, the gratification of a job well done.

  The donation from Charlie had made such a difference. Thinking of him brought a glow to her cheeks. She liked him – she was starting to realise how much. Meeting Imogen Brewer had been horrible, but it had done her good. The attraction she had felt towards Nathaniel had been … well, like when you lose a tooth and your tongue can’t resist probing the gap. The gap was well and truly plugged now, thanks to Imogen.

  It wasn’t the most elegant comparison. As a writer, she should be able to come up with something better. No, she shouldn’t, because it didn’t matter. She was well and truly over Nathaniel – Imogen was welcome to him. And just when she would otherwise have felt lonely and miserable, she had Charlie to make a fuss of her. Charlie would make anyone feel better.

  Helen snipped a deadhead off a rose, bringing it close to her face to inhale the lingering scent, but she w
asn’t going to cower among her roses until Doctor Brewer left. She might have made an idiot of herself last time he was here, but that didn’t mean she was going to avoid him. That wasn’t her way.

  ‘Thank you, Edith. I’ll come indoors and when the doctor has seen Mr Rawley, would you ask him to join me in the morning room?’

  What was she going to say? Small talk bored her and she didn’t think Doctor Brewer had much time for it either. Trying to plan a conversational gambit had always been a sure way of wiping her imagination clean.

  In the event, she did what she always did. She said the first thing that popped into her head.

  ‘Good morning, Doctor. I’m surprised my nephew tolerated your presence for this long. I’ve found him a poor patient.’

  ‘It’s true he wasn’t interested in being checked over; but I had an ulterior motive in calling. It’s been preying on my mind that I ought to speak to Mr Rawley about your concerns regarding the future of Jackson’s House.’

  Her hand crept to her throat. ‘Does he intend renting it out?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t.’

  She blinked rapidly. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to embarrass either of us by crying. In any case, these aren’t tears of weakness. They’re tears of anger. I’ve lived in fear since my nephew announced his intention. If I were a man and thirty years younger, I swear I’d punch him on the nose.’

  ‘I hope you don’t expect me to do that for you.’

  ‘You should smile more often. It suits you. You look stern most of the time.’

  ‘There’s always something to worry about.’

  ‘Is there a problem at the clinic? I’d be interested to hear it. I lead a dull existence and I miss hearing about the projects my brother supported.’

  She waited while Doctor Brewer looked at her thoughtfully. He was a good-looking man. Not breathtakingly handsome like Greg, but worth a second look, with his intelligent eyes and that smile that was worth waiting for.

  ‘The clinic has a serious problem. Most of the local breadwinners will lose their jobs next week, which means they’ll no longer count as deserving poor and most of our funding will go down the drain.’