‘Send their daughter as companion-help? They’d never do that.’
That roused her obstinacy. ‘I thought they would, me being family, and – well, I hoped they’d want to get her away from the annulment unpleasantness.’
‘The annulment unpleasantness: that’s one way of putting it.’
‘You know what I mean. I’m not the sort to dress things up in fancy words.’
‘Why did you want Eleanor? I know you and Lady Kimber don’t keep up the connection.’
‘She doesn’t, you mean. If it were down to me … but there’s nothing I can do. She took great offence at something I did a long time ago. For years I’ve hoped she’d forgive me, but she never has. I thought, now Eleanor’s grown up, she might wonder about me, might want to know me. Maybe she does. Maybe she’s been forbidden. While you lived at Ees House, what was said about me?’
‘I never heard of you until I was told about coming here.’
Helen quashed the gasp before it could give her away. Christina and Eleanor were never far from her thoughts. She had assumed … well, it proved what a muttonhead she was.
‘I regret the way I’ve treated you and I don’t want you to leave. I promised Sir Edward you could stay until the baby is born, but if you’d like to stay beyond that, you’ll be welcome. If you can stand an old trout like me, I’d enjoy your company. I know there’s a question as to what will happen to the baby, but as far as I’m concerned, it’ll be welcome here.’
Mary sat bolt upright and glared at her. ‘First you wanted Eleanor. Now you want my baby. Do you propose using my child as bait?’
‘That never occurred to me, I swear—’
The door opened and Edith and Mrs Burley entered, carrying trays. Helen pressed her lips together to stop herself telling them to clear out. She was making a right old hash of this.
‘It’s all invalid food,’ said Mrs Burley, ‘so it’ll slip easily down your poor throats.’
She and Edith pulled up chairs while Helen and Mary ate a cucumber mousse followed by syllabub and the four of them talked about the damage the fire had done.
‘We’ll help you back to your own bed when you’re finished,’ Edith told Mary, but afterwards Mary dozed off.
‘Leave her be,’ said Helen. ‘Bring me a book and I promise not to disturb her.’
While Mary slept, Helen tried to read, but there was too much to think about. She would write to Cousin William. Mary was sorely in need of legal advice and who better to provide it than a judge?
There was a tap on the door and Doctor Brewer entered.
‘How are you?’
‘Good as new. When can I get up?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘And Mary?’
‘Mary, is it? When did she cease to be Mrs Kimber?’
‘When I came to my senses. I’ve been vile to her, poor girl, but that’s going to change. I want us to be friends, and no, I’m not going to demand her friendship like I did with you. I’m going to earn it. What are you looking at?’
‘You.’ His eyes were warm. ‘I’ll leave you to rest.’ Pausing at the door, he looked back. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow … dear Miss Rawley.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was disconcerting to wake in the master bedroom. Had she slept beside Miss Rawley all night? She was alone in bed now. Mary rolled out, stepping from a wool rug onto cool, polished floorboards. On the landing, the smell of smoke hit the back of her throat and she recoiled, holding her breath as she hurried to her own room to dress.
As she opened the door to go downstairs, she came face to face with Miss Rawley, hand raised, about to knock.
‘I was going to offer you breakfast in bed. Perhaps we should wait until Doctor Brewer …’
‘Did you wait for his permission?’ Mary demanded.
‘I suppose not. You’ll be breakfasting in solitary splendour, I’m afraid. I’ve already eaten and I want to set to work.’
Mary looked at her sling. ‘Doing what?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘Word will get round about the fire. I must let my parents know I’m safe.’
‘Leave that to me.’
She would pack her things before they arrived, then she could go home with them and leave this disagreeable old lady to her own devices – except that she wasn’t being disagreeable this morning. Had she meant what she said last night?
Mary had a light breakfast.
‘Madam says you’re to sit outside in the shade,’ said Edith when she came to clear away.
Madam could take a running jump. Emerging from the dining room, Mary found a couple of men manoeuvring a chaise longue downstairs. Miss Rawley hovered at the foot of the staircase.
‘Mind the bannister rail. There’s enough damage without that being knocked for six. There you are, Mary – may I call you Mary? This chaise longue is for you. It’s been in the attic for donkey’s years and needs a good walloping with the carpet-beater, but aside from that it’s none the worse. These helpful fellows from the farm are going to pop it outside, so you can put your feet up and get out of this horrid smoky atmosphere.’
With the men smiling at her, having manhandled the dratted thing all the way down from the attic, she hadn’t the heart to refuse. She spent the next half-hour propped up against cushions in the shade before muffled thuds drew her inside to investigate. She stood in the study doorway.
One man piled leather-bound volumes into boxes while Edith polished the empty bookcases. A lanky lad stood on a chair, taking down the maroon curtains while other men clustered round an enormous desk, preparing to move it.
Miss Rawley was directing operations. Seeing Mary, she abandoned the troops.
‘You’re a writer, aren’t you? Here’s a subject: how ruddy grim it is to live your life beholden to men. Pardon my language, but honestly, no other vocabulary will do. I’ve spent most of my life under my brother’s patronising thumb. Look at this room: a testament to his importance.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘What I should have done when he died: dismantling the lot. But I didn’t because … well, it never occurred to me. Why would it? The house and everything in it had gone from my father to my brother to my nephew. What say did I ever have? I’ve run this household since I was seventeen, but I never had a say. Well, I’m having it now. Today Judge Rawley’s stuffy old sanctum sanctorum becomes a sitting room for Miss Rawley and her distant relation by marriage – that’s you.’
A smile tugged at Mary’s lips. ‘What will Mr Rawley say?’
‘I don’t imagine he’ll care or even notice.’
‘What will you do with the judge’s things?’
‘If I had my way, I’d build a bonfire. As it is, it’s all headed for the attic. There’s a couple of small tables and a wall mirror stored up there that can come down, and the china cabinet from the morning room can move across – oh, and your chaise longue, of course.’
‘Miss Rawley, I’m not staying—’
‘Mary – oh, Mary!’
Her parents appeared at the open front door. Mary rushed into Lilian’s open arms. Some of her strain seeped away as they clung together. A warm hand squeezed her shoulder and she gave Dadda a watery smile.
Sniffing and patting away tears with her fingers, she gently pulled free. ‘Miss Rawley, these are my parents. Thank you for sending for them.’
‘This isn’t my doing. I was going to do it after this.’ Miss Rawley waved a hand at the soon-to-be sitting room. ‘But I should have done it straight away.’
Yes, you should. Mary’s jaw tightened as the others shook hands.
‘My morning room is at your disposal,’ said Miss Rawley.
‘We’ll go outside, if you don’t mind,’ said Mary. She led her parents out to the chaise longue. ‘Miss Rawley had it placed here so I can put my feet up.’
‘I’m glad you’re being looked after,’ said Dadda.
She sat, drawing Lilian beside her and keeping hold of her hand, while
her father seated himself in one of the garden chairs.
‘I’m sorry you heard of the fire from gossip. I’d have sent word myself if I’d known Miss Rawley was going to take her time.’
‘She should have acted sooner,’ agreed Dadda. ‘It’s the least you deserve after saving her life.’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘We heard nothing from gossip,’ said Lilian. ‘Doctor Brewer came round. He told us what you did, and he said the baby is safe even though you recently lost blood.’
‘He had no business saying that.’
‘Don’t be silly, love. Your father’s entitled to be told since you don’t have a husband.’
‘Jolly decent of him,’ said Dadda, then came to his feet.
‘Please don’t get up, Mr Maitland,’ said Miss Rawley. ‘May I join you?’
‘Mary’s coming home with us,’ said Lilian, ‘and if the Kimbers don’t like it, they can lump it.’
‘We’re sorry if this lets you down,’ said Dadda, ‘but we must put our daughter first.’
Something inside Mary crumpled with gratitude.
‘I was hoping she’d stay with me,’ said Miss Rawley, ‘though not here, in a smoky house with workmen traipsing in and out. My cook has two widowed sisters in Southport, who take in paying guests. Apparently, they’re marvels in the kitchen and demons at whist. Mary wouldn’t be expected to look after me, as my sling is due to come off any day now. In our absence, Doctor Brewer will watch over the repairs and redecoration.’
‘Is he a friend of yours?’ asked Dadda.
Miss Rawley lifted her chin. ‘Indeed he is.’ She looked at Mary. ‘Will you join me for a few weeks by the sea?’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Rawley,’ said Dadda. ‘It’s out of the question. Mary’s coming home with us.’
Seated on a bench on the pier, Mary shut her eyes beneath the brim of her straw hat and let the breeze play on her face. Here in Southport, the pier went on for ever. She wished this pleasant sojourn could too.
‘Is being here a form of pretence?’ she asked. ‘A way of hiding from what lies ahead?’
‘So what if it is?’ said Miss Rawley. ‘If being here is doing you good, try not to dwell on the rest. It is doing you good, isn’t it?’
Mary couldn’t help smiling. It had done her good in ways of which Miss Rawley knew nothing. If there was one thing Mrs Paxton and Mrs Ford liked better than a paying guest, it was a p.g. who was expecting a happy event. There had been various conversations from which she had emerged considerably better informed.
‘I’m glad you came,’ said Miss Rawley. ‘Doctor Brewer said you’d be going home – and then your parents were so insistent—’
‘Exactly. They didn’t ask. They told me. I may be not married any more, but that doesn’t make me the obedient daughter.’
‘So you came with me to spite them?’
‘I came because, if I hadn’t, I’d always have wondered.’
‘About what?’
‘You. You were so unpleasant to me at first and I couldn’t wait to escape. But that morning when you sorted out the old study, and you were so cranky, it struck me how remarkable you are. How many elderly ladies who survived a fire would emerge from the experience hissing and spitting like a cat?’
‘Is there a compliment lurking in there somewhere?’
‘Cranky old ladies don’t deserve compliments.’
‘But young, brave ones do. I wish I’d had half your courage when I was young. My life has been spent keeping house and bickering with my brother. Well, that’s going to change. Sir Edward told me about you, so I know about the agency. Will you think me an old fool if I say I want to be involved? You’d be surprised how much I know from my brother’s charitable causes.’
‘I haven’t been there for a long time.’
‘We could go together.’
‘I’m supposed to live in quiet seclusion.’
‘Best not ruffle Kimber feathers, eh? I’m afraid you’re going to spend a good many years walking the Kimber tightrope. Will you listen to a piece of advice from an old woman who hasn’t done much more than keep house and bicker with her brother?’
She nodded, curiosity piqued.
‘Suppose you weren’t expecting your happy event. Suppose it was just you and your Kimber pension. What would you do?’
She pictured it. ‘I would have found somewhere of my own.’
‘And done what? Grow prize chrysanthemums? Dabble in watercolours?’
‘Write.’
‘That’s what I hoped you’d say. It’s what you should do now. Carve out a life for yourself beyond what the Kimbers require. Be true to the girl you were before your marriage. Don’t let her vanish.’
Why had she stopped writing? Obviously, wanting to conform as a member of the Kimber family, she had stopped – obviously? Had she been so ready to give it up? Mad as it now seemed, she had done it willingly, wanting to show herself capable of taking her place as a Kimber.
Miss Rawley was right. She needed to reclaim herself. Yes, there were constraints on her life, placed there by the fact of her carrying a Kimber child, but within those constraints, and in spite of them, she must be true to herself. It would be good for the baby too, to have a mother with a brain and an independent spirit.
The words poured out of her, an article about Southport and another about the delights of seaside holidays in general.
Looking up from her work, she caught Miss Rawley watching.
‘This one’s finished. Would you like to read it?’
‘I’d love to.’
Mary glanced at her as she read, wanting her to like it. She had never had family approval of her writing. Family? Miss Rawley wasn’t family. But they lived under the same roof and spent most of their time together, which was what families did.
‘You have an engaging style,’ said Miss Rawley. ‘Which periodical will you send it to?’
‘The trouble is, it ought to be typewritten.’
‘I’ll get you a typewriting machine.’
She rented one from a secretarial school and Mary derived a ridiculous amount of pleasure from typewriting the piece, which she duly submitted to Vera’s Voice.
When it was accepted, she laughed with delight to see Miss Rawley as excited as she was. The best bit was the kind letter from Mrs Newbold, saying how pleased she was to have received work from ‘Fay Randall’ once more.
‘… and I hope to hear from you again soon. I haven’t written for such a long time. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy it.’ She sobered. ‘I’d never have written again if I’d stayed married to Charlie.’ Should she say it? ‘And that would have been fine, if being married to him had been enough.’
‘Wasn’t it?’
‘I don’t know. If I’m honest, I was fed up to the back teeth much of the time. I couldn’t see my friends, I couldn’t join committees. And Charlie was different. He wanted us to be the dashing young couple-about-town, but it wasn’t allowed. I tried to do everything that was required, but it wasn’t the real me. I think if we’d stayed married, I’d have ended up regretting it. Don’t misunderstand. I was appalled when the Kimbers announced the annulment, but if that hadn’t happened … sooner or later, I’d have had to face it.’
‘Face what?’
‘The truth. Our marriage was a mistake. It’s just that Charlie realised it before I did … though I’m sure he had help.’ She stopped: could she admit it? ‘When you asked why I came here, there was another reason that I didn’t tell you. It was because I felt so grateful.’
‘To me?’
‘To my parents. When they said they’d take me home and they didn’t care what the Kimbers thought, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. They never offered me that kind of support when I was waiting for the annulment or when I was engaged to Charlie or when I started writing. It meant so much to feel they were on my side. But then I remembered the last time I felt gratitude like that was when Charlie proposed.’
‘
You married him out of gratitude?’
‘You have to understand what it was like. I’d been in prison, I’d lost my job, I was in everyone’s black books and Charlie rushed to the rescue. I already loved him and now here he was, enveloping me in approval. It made me love him even more.’
‘If you loved him, does it matter if gratitude came into it?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m a nosy old bat. I should mind my own business.’
‘I haven’t talked about it before.’
‘Then I’m even sorrier.’
‘Don’t be. I’m not.’ She paused, weighing her words. ‘We aren’t family, you and I, but we’ve been thrown together and it’s ended up being the right thing. Thank you.’
‘Oh, my dear. You can’t imagine what that means to me.’
Miss Rawley stood up. She went to the window and looked out.
‘Do you think you could do something to please a nosy old bat?’
‘If I can.’
‘Do you think … do you think you might call me Aunt Helen?’
‘My dear Mr Rawley, always a pleasure. How are you? I would say what a delightful surprise, but of course the surprise is all on your side and I wouldn’t presume to describe your feelings upon seeing me.’
A fruity chuckle escaped Mr Jonas. Greg thrust aside his surprise, which wasn’t in the slightest bit delightful, and gritted his teeth. God, as if things weren’t bad enough.
Just when he had thought all was well, after he had set the fire at Jackson’s House, that bloody telegram had arrived. The message, which was signed Brewer (and who the hell was that? Ah yes, that doctor), had read FIRE AT JACKSON’S HOUSE STOP NOBODY HURT STOP.
He had written to Porter, requesting details, which Mr Porter duly supplied, including Helen’s intention of convalescing in Southport for some weeks. Some weeks? Some bloody weeks? That was no damn use to him unless he fancied tipping her off the end of the pier in full view of the companion.
The end of August was approaching. He needed Helen back in Jackson’s House to prove that third time was indeed lucky. Or in her case, unlucky.
The Poor Relation Page 30