After he had followed her over a lawn, with a willow tree in the middle, through a privet hedge and round a well-tended kitchen garden, along by a stone wall and back again to where the roses were, he tried once more to open a conversation, for the short tour had been embarrassing, to say the least. He wasn’t anything of a chatterer himself, he was mostly content to listen, but this girl’s silence made him uneasy; it wasn’t a silence created by shyness, but rather it was a condemning silence. He stopped and, lifting a rose head on to his fingers, said, ‘I’m always amazed how the roses grow in England. Last year I was spending Christmas with some friends in Sussex and they had roses in their garden then.’
Looking at him blankly with her dark blue eyes, which now seemed almost black, she said in a flat tone, ‘How nice for them.’
It was a rebuff, an ill-mannered rebuff. He felt himself flush and was annoyed because he did so, and now he returned her look squarely and said, ‘They wouldn’t put you in an electric chair in America before they proved you guilty.’
At this moment Catherine called to them from the terrace, saying, ‘Will we have it outside?’ and Bridget, turning hastily towards her, replied, ‘No, indoors, there’s a bit of a wind blowing.’
When they were again seated in the drawing room and the coffee had been handed round Catherine said, ‘My husband should be back at any minute. I…I do hope you understand my attitude.’
Daniel nodded gravely towards her. ‘Yes. Yes, I understand.’ He looked at the dark slim woman who was, he imagined, somewhere in her early forties, and straight away he decided that he could like this woman.
Not only by way of making conversation, but because he wanted to place her clearly in the picture, he said, ‘Are you the daughter of Mrs Fraenkel’s brother or sister?’
‘Oh!’ Catherine smiled now. ‘It’s much more complicated than that. Aunt Katie—that is Mrs Fraenkel is my great-aunt. Her brother was my grandfather, if you can work that out.’
He dropped his head to the side and repeated, ‘Mrs Fraenkel’s brother—that is, my great-grandmother’s brother—was your grandfather.’ The smile broadened and he added, ‘It will come.’
Returning his smile, Catherine said, ‘And Aunt Katie is Bridget’s’—she put out her hand in the direction of her daughter—‘great-great-aunt, but we all call her simply Aunt Katie. And, you know, she doesn’t look anywhere near her age; she’s remarkable.’ She broke off at this point and turned her face towards the door, then rose to her feet, saying, ‘Excuse me, I think that’s my husband,’ and hurried from the room.
Again they were left alone and the silence was renewed, and Daniel determined that he wasn’t going to be the one to break it—he could stand silence; he would like to bet he could resist opening his mouth for a much longer time than she could. And then she said quite simply, ‘I’m sorry.’
He wetted his lips and replied, ‘Oh, that’s all right.’
‘No, it wasn’t…it isn’t. It was so childish. I’ve no explanation except that I’m very attached to Aunt Katie and the name of Rosier—well, I’ve heard so much about it and…’
‘And nothing to the good.’
‘Well’—she shook her head—‘it’s difficult…’
‘I understand.’
‘You don’t really. You couldn’t.’
‘Give me time.’
She had a soft smile, he noted. ‘It’s a great pity I wasn’t selling something,’ he said now. ‘I’m sure I could have enlisted your sympathy and made a sale.’
‘Ah! No, you wouldn’t.’ She shook her head. ‘If you saw the attic, it’s crammed. We’ve just had to draw the line. You see, they tell each other about easy houses, women they can talk over. Mother’s hopeless.’
‘And you are very firm?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m very firm.’
They were both laughing when the door opened and Catherine entered followed by a man.
Daniel rose to his feet and returned the hard scrutiny that was being levelled on him as the man came forward.
‘This is my husband, Mr Rosier.’
‘How do you do?’ Daniel put out his hand, and after the slightest hesitation Tom Mulholland took it.
‘How do you do?’ Another slight pause and Tom said, ‘Sit down.’
When they were seated again Catherine said, ‘The coffee is still hot. Would you like one?’
‘No thanks, dear; I had a cup of tea not long since.’ Now turning his head towards Daniel, Tom stared at him for a second or two before he began, ‘Well, this is a strange business, isn’t it, Catherine’s just told me. You say you’re Aunt Katie’s great-grandson.’
‘Well, I’m Daniel Rosier the Third, and as I have told your wife’—he inclined his head towards Catherine—‘from what I learned yesterday Miss Mulholland—that is, Mrs Fraenkel was my grandmother’s mother, and…’ he paused, ‘…my great-grandfather on both sides was Bernard Rosier.’
‘You know, then, they were half-brother and sister?’
‘Yes. Yes, I just found that out yesterday too.’
They held each other’s eye, then Tom said, ‘You know that this will come as a bit of a shock to Aunt Katie?’
‘Yes, yes. I can understand that because it came as a shock to me too…all of it.’
‘What…what I’m troubled about is that I don’t know whether it will be a welcome one or the other way about, not only because of your name, as Catherine has told you, but, you see, Aunt Katie didn’t see her daughter from when she was one year old until she was nearly twenty, and then, as far as I can gather, that wasn’t a very pleasant meeting. Her daughter sort of rejected her. She had been brought up to think she was somebody and didn’t like the fact that she wasn’t.’
‘Oh. I didn’t know this. You see, we knew nothing about having any relatives in England at all until my grandfather died, when, as I’ve explained, we found letters that had passed between him and his mother, my great-grandmother.’
‘Is your grandmother, Aunt Katie’s daughter, still alive?’
‘Yes.’
‘And she’s never mentioned having a mother all these years?’
‘No. We understood that her parents, together with those of my grandfather, had been killed in a train accident.’
‘Well.’ Tom rubbed his hand hard across his chin, then looked at Catherine as he said, ‘I think he should see her. If we prevent this we’ll keep wondering to the end of our days whether we did right or wrong.’
‘Yes, Tom, yes, I think you’re right.’
‘What do you think, Brid?’ Tom was looking towards Bridget, and she, after a pause, said, ‘You know best, Dad.’
‘Well, that’s settled.’ Tom nodded towards Daniel. ‘But the point is now, how is it going to be done? You can’t just walk in on her. I…I think she should be prepared, don’t you?’
‘Yes, yes, I agree.’
‘Catherine.’ Tom was looking at his wife, and she, getting to her feet, said, ‘Yes, yes, I’ll go up.’
When Catherine reached the landing she paused and put her fingers to her mouth and asked herself why this had to happen at this late date. Ten years ago Katie might have been able to withstand the shock, even a pleasant one—if this should turn out to be pleasant—but now she was ninety-two. It would seem she was going to go down to her grave being pestered by the Rosiers. Yet he was such a nice young man, so very nice, it was hard to associate him with the name of Rosier. It would be difficult to dislike him just because of his name.
She went across the landing and opened the door, and on her entry the figure sitting in the armchair by the window turned towards her and said brightly, ‘Who was that with Bridget in the garden, Catherine? I’ve never seen that one before. It’ll be a good job when Peter is back; that’s the third different one I’ve seen around this week.’
‘Aunt Katie!’ Catherine pulled up a chair to Katie’s side and sat down, and taking the old hand in hers she said, ‘That young man down there, he didn’t come to see Bridget
, he came to see you.’
‘Me?’ The fine lines on Katie’s face converged upwards and gathered around her eyes.
‘Yes, dear.’ Catherine put her free hand out and lifted a strand of white hair from Katie’s brow, saying as she did so, ‘We…we didn’t know whether to let him see you or not.’
‘What are you talking about, child?’ Katie impatiently brought Catherine’s hand from her head, and, patting it sharply, said, ‘A young man to see me and you didn’t know whether to let him see me or not…What do you mean?’
Catherine opened her mouth twice, looked towards the window, then down at the hand she was holding, before saying softly, ‘How would you like to have a great-grandson, Aunt Katie?’
As Katie lay back slowly in her chair and her jaw slackened Catherine exclaimed, ‘Oh, Aunt Katie, I shouldn’t have put it like that, not so quickly; but, you see, I didn’t know.’
‘It’s all right, it’s all right. You mean he’s…he’s Sarah’s?’
‘Yes, Aunt Katie. Yes, Sarah’s grandson. He’s from America.’
‘Oh, Catherine. Catherine.’ Katie pulled herself upwards, and lifting Catherine’s hand she gripped it with surprising strength as she said, ‘And she sent him to see me? Oh, Catherine!’
Catherine smiled. The shock had been a happy shock; it would do her no harm. She rose to her feet and said eagerly now, ‘I will bring him up. Now you’re not to get excited, do you hear?’ She patted Katie’s cheek. ‘Keep yourself calm, now. Do you hear me?’
‘Yes, I hear you, Catherine.’
Katie squeezed her arm gently, then pushed her away; after which she sat waiting, her eyes on the door. Her heart was beating rapidly and she repeated Catherine’s warning to herself, Be calm; don’t get excited.
When the door opened and the young man walked past Catherine the beating of her heart turned to a mad gallop and, the old fear returning, she pressed her fingers across her mouth.
Katie knew she had reached a good age, she knew she was a very old woman, but she had never really acknowledged the fact to herself until a few years ago, when she found that things which had happened the previous day, or but a few hours ago, she could not immediately recall. Yet she had only to sit quiet for a minute and she could see herself as a girl again. She had spent many, many hours these last few years going back to the time when she was a girl; when she was a child, sitting picking cinders on the heap, and her mother coming and carrying the buckets away. She could see herself as plainly as if it were yesterday sitting in the kitchen surrounded by Lizzie, and Joe, and her granda, and her mother, while she told them tales. She could see her da at the kitchen table reading, and him saying, ‘You say it like this.’ And her thoughts of late had dwelt on the memory of the day before she started up at the house when her mother had washed and ironed her two print frocks and all her underclothes, and she had to sit by the fire in a blanket. And there was an odd thing about that memory, for when she thought of that day she could smell the singeing smell of the hot iron on the print. She could see her mother blowing on the heart of the fire to get it red so that it wouldn’t smoke the iron, and, when it was hot, lifting it out and rubbing it on a piece of hessian laid on the corner of the mat, then holding it against her cheek, and finally spitting on it. One dobble of spit had bounced off and fallen on her hand and she had taken the Lord’s name in vain because of her fright, and then had apologised, saying, ‘Aw, hinny. Aw, hinny, that slipped out; it was never intended.’ That day was so clear.
The scene that came often into her mind of late, too, was walking by her granda’s side to the top of the rise, and sitting with him, and talking, and learning from him; and she had learned from him, for she knew now that her grandpa had been a wise man; he hadn’t been a God-fearing man like her da, but in a way he had been wiser than her da. But never over the last few years had her thoughts touched on one single day she had spent up at ‘the house’. She had, as it were, railed off that part of her life in her mind, because once she stepped over the fence into any memory connected with ‘the house’ it would lead her to the night of the ball.
And now the fences were all down, for here through the door he was walking towards her again. She shrank back in her chair and closed her eyes, and Catherine’s voice seemed to come to her from a great distance away, saying, ‘Oh, Aunt Katie! Aunt Katie!’ Then: ‘I knew this would happen. You’d better go.’
‘No, no.’ She held out her hand before she opened her eyes. ‘I’m all right.’
Katie was now looking up at Daniel Rosier, who was Bernard Rosier as she had seen him close to that first time when he looked at her from between the curtains. This was the same shaped face, everything—the same eyes, the same mouth; everything, everything, was the same. But no. No, because he was talking and the other Bernard Rosier had never opened his mouth to her; not on that night, not when he looked like this.
‘I’m sorry I startled you. Perhaps…perhaps I should call again another time.’
The voice belied the looks, the figure, the whole man. It was soft, slow and kindly. Katie put out her hand and motioned him to a chair; then, looking up at Catherine, she said, ‘I’m all right, Catherine. Don’t worry.’
‘Do you want me to stay, Aunt Katie?’
‘No, no, dear. I’ll be all right.’
Catherine turned and gave Daniel a fleeting look, which said as clearly as if she had spoken, ‘Don’t upset her.’
When the door closed on Catherine, Katie said, ‘I’m…I’m sorry, but it was a shock seeing you. I…I never expected…And then you…you reminded me of someone.’
‘Yes, yes, I know, and I’m very sorry about that. It doesn’t make me very happy to know that I look like he did at my age.’
‘You…you know you look like him?’
‘I have seen a portrait, only yesterday. It…it gave me a shock too. Can you believe me?’
After a moment Katie nodded her head twice, then said, ‘You’ve…you’ve come all the way from America?’
‘Yes, but it’s not my first visit over here. I’m studying at Cambridge. It’s my third year there.’
Katie looked puzzled for a moment, then said, ‘And you never came before?’
‘I didn’t know I had a great-grandmother.’ He bowed slightly towards her. ‘I didn’t know until about…’ He lifted his head upwards and looked at the ceiling as he groped to state the right time. ‘…About half-past four yesterday afternoon.’
Katie’s bewilderment deepened and he smiled at her, then went on to explain about his grandfather dying, and about Willie and Maggie at the Manor. Then came the question that, in a way, he had been expecting, ‘My daughter…did she never tell you, or your father, about me?’
It would have been so simple to say, ‘No.’ Simple, but not easy. It was easier to say to this old lady, ‘Oh yes, she spoke of you…yes, indeed, but…but just at odd times. She is a very reticent lady, my grandmother; but when she mentioned you we—that is, my father and the family—were under the impression that you had died. As also,’ he put in quickly, ‘had my father’s grandparents. We didn’t know they were alive either.’
At this point he was conscious of the door opening behind him, but he did not take his attention from the newfound great-grandmother because her eyes, like great wells of sadness, were fastened on him and were asking him to alleviate some pain, an old deep pain. He watched the tremor pass over her pale lips, and the fine wrinkles on her cheeks quiver as she said, ‘Then if my daughter wanted you to think I was dead why have you come today?’
‘Because I wanted to see my great-grandmother. And you know something? I feel she wanted me to come—my grandmother I mean.’
‘What makes you think that?’
The pain was beginning to be eased, and he swallowed hard before he said, ‘Just something she said to me one day not very long ago. It…it concerned you and…and it proved to me that she must have thought of you very often.’ Looking into the great sunken eyes before him, his lying became
easy. ‘She said that she wished I could have seen her mother. She said that you had only met for a very short time but she remembered that you were beautiful.’ When he watched the moistness fill her eyes he put out his hand and touched her, saying, ‘Oh, please, please, don’t upset yourself. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘Oh, yes, yes. I’ve waited a long time. But…but you’re sure that’s what she said?’
‘Yes, perfectly.’
His sister Amy used to chant to him when they were children, ‘Tell a lie, fib or story, never, never will you know glory.’ Given the choice, he would have told these lies even if it meant forgoing all future glory, because she looked so…so…He couldn’t find a word which would describe the look in her eyes.
‘You’re very alike,’ he said now. ‘It’s remarkable.’ This, at least, was the truth.
‘How many children had Sarah?’
‘Only the one, my father; but he has six. I have three brothers and two sisters.’
‘Oh, that is nice. Then I have six great-grandchildren altogether?’
‘Yes, you have that.’ They were smiling at each other now, the atmosphere was less tense, and he turned his head to see who had come into the room, and saw Tom standing unobtrusively near the window. Katie, too, looked towards Tom now. ‘Did you hear all that, Tom? I have six great-grandchildren. Isn’t that wonderful?’
‘It is indeed, Aunt Katie.’ He came and stood by her chair, and she pointed to his index finger, which was bandaged, and said, ‘What on earth have you done to your hand, Tom?’
‘Oh!’ He lifted it up and wagged it as he looked at it and said, ‘I put it where a nail should have been when I was fixing the lock on the back gate. Catherine always says I should use a flannel hammer, but, as I’ve told you afore, Aunt Katie, every time I hit myself with a hammer something nice always happens.’
‘Oh, Tom!’ She put her hand to her cheek and rocked herself while she laughed gently, and Daniel laughed too, but Tom’s face hardly showed a smile, and he nodded at Daniel. ‘It’s true, perfectly true. I’m as handy with a hammer as an elephant with a toothpick. I used to work in the shipyards, you know, at one time. I often wonder now how I managed to come out alive, because some of the hammers were a foot across.’
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