‘I always say you can’t have too many hangers,’ declared Miss Martineau.
By this time Julia had learnt that Miss Martineau was really Mrs. Potts, that her husband had died some years ago and Peter was her only child.
‘We’d have liked more,’ she explained. ‘But I was so ill when Peter was born and Norman was so frightened that he wouldn’t risk another. He said if it didn’t kill me it would kill him—so that was that. And to tell you the truth, Peter was just about all I could manage. You wouldn’t believe the mischief that child got into! Sometimes I felt like screaming and climbing up the wall. There’s just two rooms on this floor,’ she added. ‘Yours and Peter’s. I never let Peter’s room because I never know when it might be wanted—not much fun to come home and find a stranger in your room!’
‘It would be horrid,’ agreed Julia fervently.
As they came down the stairs together Julia explained her own affairs and discovered that Miss Martineau could listen, as well as she could talk.
“You’re quite right, dulling,’ she declared. ‘I can see it’s a bit of a wrench to leave your comfortable home, but it must be difficult for you to take a back seat after running the show, and they’ll get on better alone. Two’s company, you know.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘And you don’t have to worry about a job. I’ll talk to some of my friends; we’ll soon find something for you to do.’
Julia had taken an instinctive liking for her prospective landlady, and obviously the feeling was reciprocated, for as they were saying good-bye (‘It’s au revoir really,’ said Miss Martineau) she squeezed Julia’s hand and exclaimed, ‘What a good thing I didn’t let that room before! I nearly did, yesterday afternoon, but something prevented me clicking. I don’t know what, really, because he seemed a nice young chap and he had very good references. I think it was partly because I didn’t much like the idea of him and Peter up there on the top floor by themselves.’ She laughed gaily. ‘A regular old granny I am,’ she added.
*
3
As this happened to be Thursday, Julia was due to meet Morland in Kensington Gardens at the usual hour, so instead of going home to lunch she went to a small restaurant in a back street which had been recommended to her by Miss Martineau.
‘It’s a funny little place,’ Miss Martineau had said. ‘And funny people go there. But the food is good, and it’s cheap. The man is called Jacques—he’s French, and he cooks the food himself.’
Julia discovered that this was true. Jacques not only cooked the food himself but superintended the service. He chatted to Julia in a friendly manner and was enchanted when he found she could speak to him in his own language. She decided that when she came to live at Miss Martineau’s she would make a habit of lunching here.
By the time she had finished lunch it was half-past two, so Julia was early for her appointment; but Morland was already there, sitting on the seat. This was most unusual. Was it an accident that he happened to be early or was it because of what had happened last week? Perhaps Retta was right in saying that it was a good thing to give men a fright now and then to keep them up to the mark! Julia smiled to herself at the absurd idea and went forward smiling to greet Morland.
It was cooler to-day and inclined to be showery, so there were not so many people about, and it was easier to talk.
‘I’ve something to tell you,’ said Morland as they sat down together.
‘Something nice?’
‘Yes, in a way. As a matter of fact I’m half pleased and half sorry about it. I’ve got three weeks’ holidays and Father wants me to go to Gleneagles with him to play golf.’
‘But that’s lovely for you! Why are you half sorry?’
‘It means I shan’t see you for ages,’ he explained. ‘And I’m not very happy about leaving you here alone while your parents are away. It will be dull for you, won’t it? Mother is coming too and she suggested we should try to get a room for you, but there isn’t one to be had. Unless there happens to be a cancellation——’
‘Oh no!’ exclaimed Julia. ‘I mean it’s very kind of you to think of it, but I couldn’t possibly.’
‘Well, we can’t,’ said Morland with a sigh. ‘The hotel is full.’
Julia was glad the hotel was full; the idea of going to Gleneagles with the Beverleys did not appeal to her at all. Morland and his father would play golf all day and she would have been left to chat to Mrs. Beverley or to go out with her for drives in the car. Mrs. Beverley was a nice kind woman—nobody could be kinder—but she was a nonentity, with no mind of her own, so she was poor company. The idea crossed Julia’s mind that it would be very much more amusing to spend all day in the company of Miss Martineau.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Julia cheerfully. ‘Just go and enjoy yourself and have a good time. I’ve managed to find a room which seems very nice indeed, so the next thing is I must find a job.’
‘You’ve found a room!’ exclaimed Morland in surprise.
‘Yes, it’s in a sort of boarding-house in a turning off Kensington High Street. The place is run by a woman called Miss Martineau, I liked her the moment I saw her. Oh, Morland, you must come and see her parlour! It’s simply wonderful—a perfect period piece—all pink plush and yellow tassels and chairs with curly legs. She said I could have you now and then in the evening and she would let us sit in her parlour.’
‘She said you could have me? What frightful cheek!’
‘It wasn’t really.’ Julia giggled and added, ‘She doesn’t approve of boy-friends.’
‘Julia! The woman sounds awful. What you want is a boarding-house run by a respectable woman who used to be a cook in good service. She would know what was what.’
‘Try and find such a place,’ said Julia bitterly. ‘I’ve been hunting for days. Miss Martineau is good and kind, and very amusing into the bargain.’
‘What are the other people like?’
‘You mean the other boarders? They’re stage people, so I shan’t see much of them. They’ll be asleep when I have my breakfast and they’ll be out when I get back from work.’
‘It sounds most unsuitable. I don’t like the idea at all,’ declared Morland, frowning. ‘Don’t you think it would be better for you to stay on at Manor Gardens until we’re married?’
‘We’ve been into all that before,’ Julia pointed out. ‘And anyhow I can’t stay on there now—even if I wanted to—because I told Retta I intended to leave home and she was delighted.’
‘She was delighted?’
‘Yes. You see, Morland, you don’t understand Retta in the very least.’
Morland was silent for a few moments. Then he said, ‘What about your father?’
‘I don’t think he will mind,’ replied Julia with a sigh. ‘I never know what Father is thinking. Ellen is the only person who is sorry that I’m going away. There was a frightful scene when I told Ellen about it.’
This was not surprising, for Ellen had been with the Harburn family for most of her life. She had been with them before Julia was born; she had been Julia’s nurse; she had helped to look after Mrs. Harburn during her last illness. Now Ellen had assumed the duties of cook-housekeeper at Manor Gardens and ruled the dailies who came in at various hours with a firm but kindly hand. In addition to her other multifarious duties Ellen kept an eye on her one-time nursling. There was nothing Ellen enjoyed more than chatting to Julia about ‘the old days,’ which in her opinion were very much better than the new régime.
‘Ellen will miss you,’ said Morland.
‘I know, but I can’t help that; besides, as I told her, it isn’t as if I shall be going far away.’
‘Oh—well,’ said Morland rather unhappily. ‘I don’t like the sound of it much but I suppose you had better try it and see how you get on. You’ll write and tell me what happens, won’t you?’
‘Yes, of course I’ll write.’
By this time it was beginning to get rather cold, so Morland rose. ‘We’
ll go home,’ he said. ‘It will be much more comfortable. The parents are out so we shall have the place to ourselves.’
Julia got up and followed him.
Chapter Five
Mr. and Mrs. Harburn flew to Rome to join their ship and Julia went to the airport to see them off. Her father had been told of her plans but had made no comment except to say that if she changed her mind and wanted to come home she could do so whenever she pleased and that he had given instructions to the bank to pay thirty pounds a month into her account. Julia knew he could easily afford it, so she accepted the allowance with suitable gratitude. (It would have been foolish not to accept it for she had made some inquiries about suitable posts and had discovered that women without any training were a glut on the market.)
I shan’t starve anyhow, whatever happens, thought Julia as she stood and waved her handkerchief to the departing plane.
When the plane had vanished from sight Julia went home to pick up her luggage and say good-bye to Ellen.
Poor Ellen was very upset.
‘I don’t know what your pore dear mother would think,’ declared Ellen. ‘We can only ’ope she don’t know nothing about it. That’s all I can say.’
Unfortunately it was not all she could say; she said a great deal more, and Julia, who was really very fond of Ellen, was obliged to listen. She tried to comfort Ellen and repeated several times that she was not going far away, but Ellen would not be consoled.
Ellen said she didn’t know how she was going to bear it; she wished she was dead, she wished she could leave Manor Gardens, she hadn’t never liked ‘that young woman’ and didn’t trust her a yard . . . and what’ Mr. ‘Arburn’ wanted to go and marry her for Ellen couldn’t think.
‘It’s all ’is fault,’ declared Ellen wildly. ‘She wouldn’t never ’ave dared turn you out if it ’adn’t been for ’im. ’E’s an unnatural father, that’s what ’e is and always ’as been ever since you was born . . . never looked at you or bothered about you, never spoke to your pore dear mother for days, and all because you wasn’t a boy. As if she could ’elp it! I can see ’er now lying in bed with tears pouring down ’er face because it wasn’t a boy and the doctor said she couldn’t never ’ave another. It wasn’t for ’erself she minded; you was a sweet pretty baby and as good as gold and she loved you dearly.’
Julia had heard all this before; she was aware that she had been a severe disappointment to her father, but as it was not her fault she was not unduly perturbed.
‘I suppose that’s why Father has always been so unhappy,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I mean because he had no son.’
‘Don’t you think it,’ declared Ellen. ‘Your father was queer before you was born. It’s ’is nature to be shut up like that and never speak a civil word to nobody . . . besides, there was something else that preyed on ’is mind.’
‘Something else?’
‘I don’t listen to gossip.’
‘But, Ellen, what was it? I wish you’d tell me. I’ve often wondered why he wasn’t cheerful and happy like other girls’ fathers.’
‘I’ve told you, Miss Julia. There was something that preyed on his mind,’ repeated Ellen. ‘P’raps I didn’t ought to have told you—p’raps I’ve said more than I ought—but it’s because I’m all upset this afternoon.’
‘It worries me,’ said Julia sadly. ‘It has worried me for a long time. I hoped he would be happier when he married Retta.’
‘If ’e couldn’t be ’appy with your mother ’e couldn’t be ’appy with nobody,’ Ellen declared. ‘She was a saint if ever there was one . . . but there ain’t no call for you to blame yourself, Miss Julia. You did your duty to both of them as well as you could. You were a good daughter to your pore mother, going abroad with ’er and looking after ’er when she was ill. I’m sure I don’t know what she’d ’ave done without you. And you were a good daughter to your father too—better than ’e deserved—doing the ’ousekeeping so well, and everything just as it was when your mother done it ’erself. You did your best, so don’t you worry about it.’
Julia was silent for a few moments. She was sensible enough to realise that what Ellen had said was true; she had done her best for both her parents . . . neither of them needed her any more. It was sad to feel that she was not needed, and it was sad to be leaving the old house in Manor Gardens where she had lived all her life, but it was no use allowing herself to feel sentimental. Julia decided to leave her old life behind her and look forward to the future.
The taxi which had been ordered to take Julia and her luggage to Miss Martineau’s house had now arrived, so Julia kissed Ellen fondly, and, repeating her assurances that she would come and see her soon, ran down the steps as quickly as she could and drove away.
*
2
As the taxi turned the corner and approached Miss Martineau’s door Julia began to wonder how she would be able to get all her luggage upstairs. However, Miss Martineau had been watching for her arrival, and she ran out and persuaded the driver to carry it up, and told Julia exactly how much she was to pay him.
The sum seemed very little to Julia—considering those breakneck stairs—so she gave him a good deal more, and he went away quite cheerfully.
‘You gave him more than I said,’ declared Miss Martineau, wagging her finger at Julia. ‘I saw him jump into his cab and he wouldn’t have been so cock-a-hoop if you hadn’t overpaid him. . . . But never mind, dulling, I like a girl to be generous. Mean people give me the shudders. When I was in rep we did a play about a miser, it was translated from French, and it was so awful I used to wake at night screaming blue murder thinking he was after me. Come upstairs,’ she added. ‘We’re having tea in the parlour—just you and me—the others are out so I thought we’d be cosy and get to know each other properly.’
This kind welcome comforted Julia considerably; her spirits rose and she followed Miss Martineau into the parlour feeling much more cheerful. They sat down together and drank tea from delightful old cups of mid-Victorian bone china and ate an exceedingly good sponge-cake which Miss Martineau had made with her own hands from a very special mid-Victorian recipe.
‘It all goes together,’ Miss Martineau explained. ‘If you have a room like this you must live up to it. Peter wanted to have a cocktail party but I said, “Well, you can have a cocktail party if you like but you can’t have it in the parlour.”’
‘You were absolutely right,’ declared Julia.
‘Some people like this room and some don’t.’
‘I like it awfully.’
‘I’m glad you like it,’ said its owner smiling proudly. ‘I didn’t like it much at first, but it grows on you—at least it did on me. Peter says it’s affected and artificial, but it isn’t at all. It’s absolutely real.’
‘Real?’ asked Julia.
‘The furniture is real. It all belonged to Great-Aunt Anne and she left it to me in her will. It was in store for years and years, but when Norman and I bought this house we got it out and had it brought along. I thought it was hideous,’ admitted Miss Martineau. ‘I wanted to sell it and buy a nice new suite, but Norman liked it. Norman said it would be a joke to have a Victorian parlour, so he got pictures of what it ought to be like and arranged it all himself. We had everything except the wallpaper and the fireplace. Norman bought the fireplace at a sale and he found the wallpaper in a warehouse in Stepney; it was right at the back behind a lot of modern wallpapers. I let him do it just as he wanted, all except the lamps. I drew the line at oil-lamps—nasty smelly things! I had to draw the line,’ said Miss Martineau earnestly. ‘But I don’t mind telling you that after he died I was sorry I hadn’t let him. It was horrid of me, wasn’t it?’
‘It wasn’t horrid a bit,’ said Julia in comforting tones. ‘Lamps are dangerous; they might have set the house on fire.’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ agreed Miss Martineau more cheerfully. She poured out another cup of tea. ‘I’ve got a job for you if you want it,’ she added.
‘A job—for me!’
‘If you want it,’ repeated Miss Martineau in warning tones. ‘You didn’t say what sort of job you were looking for, did you?’
‘Almost anything!’
‘It’s a friend of mine who has a hat shop in Kensington High Street. She’s doing very well and she said to me yesterday she wanted another assistant and I said, “Well, I can’t promise, but if you want a girl that’s got style and knows how to wear her clothes I believe I might know one that would suit you. But you’d have to pay her,” I said. “She’s good class and you won’t get a girl like that for twopence a week.” That’s what I told her. She’s French, you see, and she likes a bargain; you have to be businesslike dealing with people like that. First she said four pounds—and I laughed in her face—so then she said five and I said five-ten. So that’s what it is . . . take it or leave it, dulling.’
‘But she hasn’t seen me!’ cried Julia. ‘And I’ve never done anything like that before!’
‘Gracious me, anyone can sell hats!’ cried Miss Martineau gaily. ‘Anyone with a face like you and pretty curls!’ and with that she leapt from her chair, seized an antimacassar, twisted it into a sort of turban and crossing the room to a gilt-framed mirror arranged it carefully upon her head. Then she turned, and suddenly she was a different person, languid and affected.
‘The very latest from Paris,’ she drawled, bending her head from one side to the other and patting her curls with the tips of her fingers. ‘So chic, so becoming . . . the line so original, so intriguing! Let us see if it becomes Madame,’ she added, removing it from her own head and settling it carefully upon Julia’s. ‘Beautiful!’ she cried in sudden ecstasy. ‘What could be better? It is Madame’s colour; it enhances the loveliness of Madame’s eyes; it shows off her delicious complexion! Let me pull it this way a trifle—no, that way! Exquisite!’ cried Miss Martineau, clasping her hands and rolling her eyes. ‘Such faultless taste! Such perfect line! Quite ravishing! It is Madame’s chapeau . . . and only twenty guineas. Too expensive?’ asked Miss Martineau in surprise. ‘Oh no! Oh dear me, no! Twenty guineas isn’t out of the way for such a beautiful chapeau. Oh, I do want Madame to have it! Well—for Madame—let us say eighteen-ten.’
The Blue Sapphire Page 4