Now, tonight, Mr Jonas had taken him by surprise. Greg had come to Wentworth’s and was heading for the card rooms, when a waiter said, ‘Mr Rawley, sir, you’re invited into the back room.’
But when he walked in, expecting to find his usual cronies, there was Mr Jonas.
‘Have a seat, Mr Rawley. I’ve been hearing about your esteemed aunt. She’s been remarkably fortunate recently, or should I say remarkably unfortunate. First a fall, then a fire, both of which she survived – and each survival prevented you from coming into your inheritance. Such a blow, considering your financial position. Not that one wishes any harm on your dear aunt, naturally.’
‘Naturally.’
‘Nevertheless, time marches on, as they say. September will soon be upon us.’
‘I have until the end of September.’
‘My dear Mr Rawley, of course you do.’ Jonas was at his most solicitous, damn him. ‘I’m simply concerned on your behalf. There’ll be no extension to the deadline, you appreciate that? Excellent. Then our business is concluded. I would suggest we enjoy a drink together, but you appear a trifle out of sorts. Do feel free to go and find a card game. That is, after all, why you’re here, isn’t it? To drum up a little cash?’
She was coming home today. It was ridiculous how much he was looking forward to it. Nathaniel had visited Jackson’s House every day while the workmen were in. Since then, he had popped in a couple of times a week to keep an eye on the place, or so he would have sworn, though the truth was he was drawn like a lovesick schoolboy to where Mary lived, even though she wasn’t there.
Mary.
She was in his mind constantly, which was mad, because her circumstances were complicated, to say the least. The last thing she needed was an admirer.
It hadn’t been this way with Imogen.
Imogen.
Everything had been straightforward with her. She was the girl from up the road and their mothers had nursed fond hopes, which in due course he and Imogen had fulfilled. She had devoted herself to being the perfect wife, looking after his home and his person, cooking his meals and doing charitable works that supported his interests. She never argued or complained, even when he worked long into the night. She had gone along with everything without question.
Without question.
Mary asked questions. Look at how determinedly she had tackled him when she believed the clinic was doomed to failure. She questioned everything – and thank goodness she did. Without her unease over the words ‘finished and ready’, the clinic would never have opened. That cleverness formed part of what made her a good writer, along with a confident style that was highly readable.
But there was more to her writing than that. She had written to help support her family. She was the type to muck in. That night at the clinic, she could simply have gone home and written her article, but instead she had rolled up her sleeves and helped. And just think of the guts it had taken to rescue Miss Rawley from that burning room.
Not that he hadn’t appreciated Imogen. First and foremost she was a housewife, and an excellent one. How many times had he acknowledged her as a good little woman? And he had been content with that. It hadn’t occurred to him that a wife might be any different, that marriage might be any different.
Imogen had agreed with everything he said.
Mary wouldn’t agree with everything.
Imagine having the support of a girl like that.
Mary was hot and achy by the time the cab pulled up by the gate. The damaged hedge had been replaced by fresh planting, which looked odd beside the mature privet. The front door opened and Mrs Burley and Edith spilt out to welcome them.
Helen went straight upstairs to inspect her bedroom.
Mary followed. ‘May I come in, Aunt Helen?’
‘Of course. They’ve done a splendid job, haven’t they? Though I’m not sure about this wallpaper.’
The previous wallpaper had been dark and formal. The new paper was green and cream with a pattern of roses. ‘It’s pretty.’
‘Presumably Doctor Brewer’s idea of how a lady’s room should be. Like his taste, do you?’
Much of the old furniture was gone, including the bed. A chair from downstairs, a hanging-cupboard from the master bedroom, the marble-topped washstand from a guest bedroom and other pieces from around the house had been employed to fill the gaps.
Sensing the depth of Helen’s silence, Mary said, ‘It’s sobering to remember how much damage was done. Maybe things would have happened faster that night if I hadn’t had to fetch the spare key.’
‘What do you mean? I never lock my door. The key lives in the lock, but I never turn it.’
‘The door was locked. It opened the moment I used the spare.’
‘You shouldn’t have been able to put in a key from the outside if there was already one on the inside.’
‘I assumed my key pushed yours to the floor.’
‘Maybe it did, but the door wasn’t locked in the first place.’
Mary looked at the lock. It was empty.
Edith appeared. ‘Would you like tea, madam?’
‘Where’s the key?’ Helen asked.
‘I’m sure I don’t know, madam. Before the fire, there were two, one in the door and the spare downstairs. Now there’s just one.’
‘The other must have been removed by accident when the room was cleared,’ said Helen.
But that didn’t explain why the door had been locked.
Mary sat on a bench on the riverbank, watching the Mersey slide by, just as she had each day since they returned home last week. The river looked peaceful and sedate, but Dadda always said it had a powerful current, or maybe he had said that to stop her going too close to the edge. That was how she felt now. Close to the edge. What was going to happen when her child was born?
She consulted the watch pinned to her dress. Hoisting herself up, she trundled along the path, branching off at Jackson’s Boat onto the path that led to the back gate of Jackson’s House.
Helen was sitting at the garden table with Nathaniel, who had been a regular visitor since their return. Something had changed between him and Helen. Before the fire, they had been acquaintances, doctor and patient, but afterwards they were friends. Yes, Helen was lonely, but was she so desperate for companionship that she would befriend a man who forcibly fed women prisoners? How could something so disgraceful not repel her?
‘There you are,’ Helen called.
‘You look deep in discussion.’
‘Deep in disagreement, you mean.’ Nathaniel rose to hold a chair for her.
‘I’ll pour some cordial,’ said Helen, ‘and then you can have the casting vote.’
She laughed. ‘I’m not sure I want it.’
‘We’re talking about Mr Balfour’s opposition to the idea of the black people in South Africa having equal rights. He says it would undermine white civilisation. What do you say?’
‘Goodness, and here I was thinking you were discussing whether to bring the tramlines further into Chorlton.’
‘I won’t let you joke your way out of it,’ said Helen. ‘Tell us your opinion.’
She was about to come down on the side of white civilisation, then she thought further. ‘If you say you can’t vote because you’re black, that’s like saying you can’t vote because you’re female, and I believe in votes for women, so I have to disagree with Mr Balfour.’
Nathaniel laughed. ‘My words exactly.’ He told Helen, ‘You’d never have asked if you’d thought she’d share my opinion.’
Helen wagged a finger at her. ‘As my companion, you’re meant to agree with me at all times.’
‘You’d soon show me the door if I did.’
‘Probably.’ Helen sighed. ‘It’s odd, isn’t it? My brother and I disagreed all the time and it was hell, but I can disagree with either of you and there’s no ill-feeling.’
‘It’s called being friends,’ Nathaniel said lightly.
‘It’s called,’ Helen said, re
moving her straw hat and using it to fan her face, ‘being too hot.’ She pushed herself to her feet. ‘I’m going in. You two stay here and finish the cordial.’
‘You don’t have to stay if you don’t wish to,’ Nathaniel said to Mary.
About to murmur something polite and stay put, she rebelled. ‘If you don’t mind.’ She started to heave herself to her feet.
His face fell. ‘I’d rather you stayed.’
Impossible to walk away now. She sank back down.
‘I’ve been hoping to talk to you on your own,’ he began.
Anger sprang from nowhere. ‘What makes you think I want to talk to you? I know what you do at the prison. How could you imagine that I’d want anything to do with you? Forcible feeding is brutal and I despise you.’
‘Let me explain—’
‘Mary, there you are.’
Her head swung round; her heart pitter-pattered. ‘Dadda, Sir Edward. This is Doctor Brewer,’ she said as Nathaniel came to his feet.
‘Brewer? Ah yes,’ said Sir Edward. ‘You wrote to me after Miss Rawley’s accident.’
The men shook hands, then Nathaniel took his leave.
‘Does Miss Rawley know you’re here?’ asked Mary. ‘I’ll fetch her.’
‘No need. We’ll pay our respects before we go,’ said Sir Edward. ‘You’re the one we’ve come to see. I’m aware, and have informed your father, of the enquiries that have been made. We’re deeply dismayed that you’ve gone behind our backs.’
‘What enquiries?’
‘Don’t pretend not to know,’ said Dadda. ‘You’ve embarrassed me.’
‘It gives me no pleasure to come here to reprimand you,’ said Sir Edward, ‘but your actions give me no choice. You’ve done yourself a grave disservice by seeking legal advice.’
‘But—’
He held up his hand. ‘I’m a reasonable man. While I sympathise with your predicament, I must place the good of the family above all else. If you have a son, he might be the heir. This is a question I am looking into at present. Even if he isn’t, I have to consider the most appropriate upbringing for him.’
‘Appropriate?’ She peeled the words from a dry mouth.
‘Is it appropriate that a male Kimber be brought up in an ordinary household?’
She looked squarely at her father. ‘You’re a Kimber in all but name. Did it harm you to grow up in an ordinary household?’
Sir Edward sighed. ‘It would grieve me to separate a child from its mother, but it would be unfair on any child, boy or girl, to grow up as the offspring of an unmarried mother.’
‘But I was married—’
‘And now you’re unmarried. We must consider the good of the child.’
She forced her voice to remain steady. ‘What does Charlie say?’
‘That isn’t your concern.’ Sir Edward rose. ‘Come, Maitland. We’d best pay our respects to Miss Rawley and be on our way.’
He strode away. Dadda stopped beside Mary, dropping a hand on her shoulder, an awkward gesture, and she wasn’t sure what it meant. Not that it mattered. She felt betrayed.
Presently, Helen came to sit with her. ‘What was that about? I don’t imagine it was good news.’
After she managed to explain without breaking down, she realised Helen had sunk back in her seat. Her flesh seemed shrivelled, her face suddenly thin.
‘My dear, it’s my fault. I wrote to Cousin William – Lady Kimber’s father. We haven’t been in touch in years, not since … Anyway, I wrote and explained your situation – oh, it was a frightful liberty, I see that now, but I wanted his help, you see, his advice. It never occurred to me that … The thing is, it transpires it was he who advised the Kimbers about the possibility of annulment.’
‘So when you asked him about me …’
‘He informed the Kimbers. I’ll write to Sir Edward and say you had no knowledge of it.’
‘It won’t make any odds.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ Helen sat up straight. The light was back in her eyes. ‘Cousin William was no help, so now we try Mr Porter.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mary held her breath as Mr Porter cleared his throat.
‘You appreciate, ladies, this is a separate issue to matters relating to the will of Miss Rawley’s late brother?’
‘Of course,’ Helen replied with asperity.
‘What I mean to say is, matters appertaining to the will are – ahem – paid for by the estate, whereas this matter …’
‘I can pay,’ Helen said immediately. ‘I have my own money.’
Mary turned to her. ‘I couldn’t let you.’
‘Fiddlesticks. You’ll look into the matter, Mr Porter?’
‘Indeed, Miss Rawley.’
Travelling home in the cab, Mary said, ‘It’s most generous of you.’
‘Did you see Mr Porter’s eyebrows shoot up when I said I had my own money?’
‘Didn’t he know?’
‘No one did until today. The fact is, I never had a bean. My father’s will didn’t leave me a shred of independence and neither did my brother’s.’
‘Then it’s a good thing you have something of your own. Did your mother leave it to you?’
‘Goodness, no. She had some money before she married, but that went straight to my father. I was twenty-three when Father passed on and everything went to Robert. Time went on and there I was, thirty years old with a lifetime before me as Robert’s housekeeper and I couldn’t bear it, so I started filching coppers from the housekeeping, a few ha’pence here, a tanner there. You’d be surprised how it mounted up. I aimed for five shillings a month, which made three pounds a year. I called it my running-away money and, in a strange way, it helped me to stay. The point is, my dear, all those five bobs piled up. At the end of twenty years, I had sixty pounds and after forty years, a hundred and twenty.’
‘Forty years!’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment to my youthful looks. I was seventy-one when my brother died and I had to give up fiddling the books because of their being open to scrutiny by Mr Porter. But I amassed quite a haul before that and never spent any of it. I thought there was bound to be a good reason one day, and here it is.’
‘This is so kind of you.’
‘You’re the kind one. If I’d been you, I’d have called me all the names under the sun for writing to Cousin William. I’m an interfering old bag. Speaking of which, I have a surprise for you. Your friends from the agency are coming for tea. I hope you’re pleased, because Mrs Burley has baked a special cake and it’d be criminal to waste it.’
Mary kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you. That’s perfect.’
She hadn’t seen Angela and Josephine for such a long time, but the three of them fitted back together as if there hadn’t been any gap at all. She asked after Ophelia, Katharine and the rest, drawing Helen into the conversation too, though after Edith cleared away the tea things, Helen withdrew.
Mary smiled at her friends. ‘I can’t think why I didn’t put my foot down when I was at Ees House and insist upon visiting you. Well, I can. I was determined to be a good Kimber wife. That’s one mistake I shan’t make again: try to mould myself to someone else’s expectations. What matters now is bringing up my child – that, and writing. No husband needed.’ She looked straight at them, as if her heart weren’t beating in fear. What would happen to her baby?
‘Good for you,’ said Angela. ‘That doctor Miss Rawley mentioned, who oversaw the redecorating after the fire, is he the same Doctor Brewer from the clinic?’
‘Yes,’ Mary said crisply.
‘Have I said something wrong?’
‘He and I don’t see eye to eye.’ Her throat tightened. ‘He does forcible feeding, so you can imagine what I think of him.’
Angela and Josephine looked at one another.
Josephine said, ‘There’s someone you should meet.’
The grandfather clock boasted a large face, which included each individual minute delineated by a
black dash, which meant that when Madeline Bambrook came in, her late arrival could be recorded to the minute. Lady Kimber was a great believer in interrupting committee business to note a late arrival. It made others vow to be punctual.
This morning’s meeting, at the Claremont Hotel, was of the Lord George Committee, as they jokingly referred to themselves because so many elderly folk were grateful to ‘Lord George’ for their pensions. Really they were the Five Shillings Education Committee, a body new this year following Mr Lloyd George’s introduction of the Old Age Pension. Their work was to provide funds for educating needy old people in the best use of their pensions.
‘First item: the pint of porter,’ she said. ‘We have, in conjunction with the Lady Almoner’s office at the infirmary, drawn up a five-shilling budget, including burial insurance and coal, two ounces of tea, two pounds of potatoes, both at a penny, and a pound of mutton for sixpence. Do we include a pint of porter in our recommended budget?’
‘Certainly not,’ declared Thomasina Fitzpatrick, consulting her copy. ‘It’s cheaper to buy six pints of milk.’
‘I agree,’ said Aline. ‘I don’t see why our stocks and shares should be taxed more heavily than middle-class salaries just to enable the impoverished elderly to swill beer.’
‘The increased taxes are a burden to us all,’ the Honourable Vanessa Seymour agreed, ‘but I don’t see the harm in a weekly pint of porter.’
‘As long as it is weekly,’ said Marjorie Fairbrother. ‘What if one pint leads to another?’
‘It’s our duty to educate these people out of that way of thinking,’ Lady Kimber reminded her. ‘That’s why we’re funding two lady almoners to work in the poorest communities.’
‘Perhaps we should ask them what they think,’ Eleanor suggested.
There was a rumble of disagreement.
‘We tell them what to do. It’s not their place to tell us.’
‘We do indeed require the lady almoners to do our bidding,’ said Lady Kimber, ‘but they were selected because they’re decent, sensible women and their opinions may be of interest.’
The Poor Relation Page 31