by Dodie Smith
He was distressed at the extent of the physical labour. Every room in the house was kept not only clean but highly polished. Bedrooms not slept in for over forty years were religiously ‘done’ every day. ‘Religiously’ was, he thought, the operative word; White Turrets had been the late Mrs Whitecliff’s cathedral, and the care of it, including frequent re-decorations, had become a cult. He hoped to get two-thirds of the rooms dust-sheeted and closed eventually but felt he must not suggest this yet. For the moment, he satisfied himself by making sure the maids were well fed (he carved for them himself ) and always had a fire. And he had found two wicker chairs in disused bedrooms and carried them down to the kitchen.
Miss Whitecliff now called him ‘Drew’ and seemed completely at ease with him. And for most of the many hours they spent together her behaviour was perfectly normal; indeed he was often impressed by her almost sophisticated poise, which reminded him of the unembarrassed grace with which she had first received him. Only if asked for some definite decision did she become distressed, evasive and curiously childish. It was therefore easier to make all decisions himself. But he could not feel it was right to do so. Surely he ought to awaken her will-power, not acquiesce in its paralysis? So he would often ask her to decide some small matter, and every now and then she would give him a swift, clean-cut answer. But, if she stopped to think, her eyes became troubled and she either took refuge in silence or changed the subject.
In the mornings he often took her for a walk. In the afternoons, after going back on duty, he read to her or talked. In the evenings he played and sang to her. He had discovered, in the piano stool, a great many songs that mercifully were not the work of Melicent and Albion Whitecliff: Because, An old Garden, Love’s Coronation, Beloved, It Is Morn, Down the Vale, and others, all tuneful, all accomplished, inoffensively sentimental and blessedly unmartial. Each of them drew some reminiscence from Miss Whitecliff, and these musical evenings had for him a charm which emanated from Miss Whitecliff, the songs and his own imagination. Gradually he came to feel he was being given access to the days when the old songs were new.
He had noticed that Down the Vale was inscribed: ‘To Blanche, from Cyril’.
‘Cyril Severn, my solicitor,’ Miss Whitecliff explained. ‘I mean, he is now. Then he was just a young man in his father’s office – until the war broke out. He joined up with my brothers. We were engaged for five years, and even when I broke it off he waited. But of course I couldn’t leave my parents after all my brothers were killed.’
There had been no sadness in her tone and she had gone on to talk about the young Cyril Severn in quite a matter-of-fact way. But she did remark that he had been considered handsome. Drew saw him as a tall, fair youth, a suitable partner for the young Blanche Whitecliff. Now he would be an ascetic old man. Drew wanted to meet him and not merely out of curiosity.
He felt he must get Mr Severn’s approval before launching out on expenditure which, if mentioned to Miss Whitecliff, might worry her. Indeed Drew was worried about it himself, but he feared that without it he could not stay for even a couple of months. Running the house would soon cease to be an amusing challenge; and fond as he was of Miss Whitecliff, and of the maids too, life would not be bearable unless he could work on his novel every afternoon. He could only make time for this if the housekeeping could be simplified. Also his room must be warmer. One way and another, the expense would be considerable.
He was thinking about this, sitting at his washstand desk, after patting himself on the back for what he had accomplished in a week. Before making any demands he must decide what was essential. Under a heading ‘Minimum Basic Needs’ he began a list.
He had made little headway when the front-door bell rang. The postman? No, he always knocked. Drew went to the window. A car – it looked up-to-date and expensive – was parked outside the house. A visitor? Miss Whitecliff had told him she had few friends left – ‘They were my mother’s friends, really, and so many died before she did.’ He heard the front door close. No one came down the steps. The caller must have been admitted.
Drew wondered if he ought to go down, then decided against it. She was capable of receiving someone on her own. He went back to Minimum Basic Needs.
Some ten minutes later, as he was finishing his list, there was a knock on his door and Miss Whitecliff quaveringly called his name. He hurried to open the door and saw at once that she was distressed.
‘It’s Cyril,’ she said. ‘Mr Severn. He’s here and he wants to see you.’
‘Oh, good,’ said Drew. ‘I was hoping to meet him.’
She looked even more distressed. ‘You didn’t say so. And when he asked to see you, in the letter he sent with the money, I forgot. Well, I didn’t exactly forget but … Oh dear, he was so cross – but I’ve told him it wasn’t your fault. Please go down at once.’ She hurried into her bedroom and closed the door.
Drew, worried to see her so upset, grabbed Minimum Basic Needs and went to the drawing-room feeling belligerent.
Mr Severn was looking through the songs which lay on the top of the piano. He turned – and Drew had seldom been so astonished. Instead of the thin, ascetic old gentleman he expected to see, now probably much annoyed, he found himself facing a robust, handsome man who looked years younger than Miss Whitecliff. And the solicitor showed no signs of annoyance. He gave Drew one swift glance, pleasant if also appraising, and then greeted him heartily.
‘Ah, there you are! Let’s sit down and have a look at each other. Do you smoke? Wise man – wish I didn’t. Well, well, this is a very pleasant surprise. If you knew what I’ve been expecting!’
‘The worst, I’m sure,’ said Drew, relaxing.
‘Frankly, yes – when I got Blanche’s letter. And I really was very much annoyed with her. Well, imagine: I’d taken the greatest trouble to find her a suitable companion – it was my idea that she should have one. I’d dealt with a highly respectable London agency, vetted all the applications, only put advertisments in papers because we couldn’t find the right woman. Of course I told Blanche to send me all the answers she received. But does she? No, indeed. She merely informs me she’s engaged a man! Naturally I wrote saying she must send you to me at once; and believe me, I was prepared for anything – a crook or, at best, a willowy type. Not that I mind the willowy lads; got one in my office, excellent worker, and they are often very good to old women. But actually, you’re not, are you? I mean willowy.’
‘If so, I haven’t noticed it yet,’ said Drew, slightly dazed.
‘Doubt if you will now. No, no, you can take it from me. And you’re not a crook – I knew that even before I saw you. Blanche has just told me about your father. You’d never have mentioned him if you’d had any underhand plans. No news of him, I suppose? Let’s hope he’s out of harm’s way. These things happen in my own profession. I could swindle Blanche with the greatest ease. Well, now, are you really going to stay with her?’
‘That’s just what I was asking myself when you arrived,’ said Drew. Though still a bit dazed by Mr Severn he felt that such a direct approach called for a direct response. ‘Do these demands seem to you reasonable?’ He held out Minimum Basic Needs.
The solicitor put on his spectacles and studied the list. ‘Telephone? Of course. We must make her have one. Her mother never would. Refrigerator – Good God, isn’t there one? Electric fires? Yes, indeed, though you’ll never make this ghastly house really warm. Don’t you want television?’
‘Not yet, anyway. I’d rather start with a radio – and perhaps a gramophone; though I don’t want to interfere with our musical evenings.’
‘Ah, yes, Blanche told me about those. What are you up to, exactly? She tells me you write. Going to put her in a book?’
‘Not her, but …’ He gave a brief explanation of why he had tried for the job, concluding apologetically, ‘Of course I ought never to have written to her. I see it now as a joke in very poor taste. But I was so madly keen to get atmosphere for my novel.’
‘Very enterprising of you. And we must make sure you have time to work on it. Now I’m going to be frank with you—’ Mr Severn interrupted himself. ‘Dreadful remark that – so apt to precede something unpleasant or else an outright lie.’
‘Not this time, I’m sure,’ said Drew smilingly. ‘Anyway, not a lie.’
‘Thank you. It’s not unpleasant, either – for you. It could be damned unpleasant for me, if I’ve estimated your character wrongly, but I’m sure I haven’t. The truth is, my dear boy, that as far as I’m concerned you’ve dropped from heaven and there’s practically nothing I won’t do to keep you here. Of course you can have what’s on this list. Don’t trouble Blanche with it; I settle all her bills. And the salary she offered you is ridiculous. I’ll see you get double.’
‘But she spoke of having to economize.’
‘Rubbish. She’s extremely wealthy. The trouble is that her ideas of expenditure are conditioned by her miserly old mother’s – on top of which, she feels persecuted by death duties. Naturally they’re heavy, on a fortune the size of her mother’s, but when I get the estate cleared up Blanche will still have enough to live extravagantly, let alone comfortably. Why not buy a car? Take her some pleasant drives – or even abroad, if you fancy the idea. You’re looking puzzled. Why?’
‘I’m wondering what the catch is,’ said Drew.
Mr Severn laughed. ‘Don’t blame you – but there is none. It’s just that I want you here, for my sake as well as hers, I think, perhaps …’ He was silent for a moment and when he went on his eyes and his voice were grave. ‘Yes, I’d better explain my own position, otherwise you’ll think it strange that I should wish to hand over so much responsibility. You see, Blanche is greatly on my conscience. I once hoped to marry her and was prevented by her parents. For twenty years I miserably watched a delightful girl on the way to becoming what she is now. And then … well, I stopped minding and married a woman half my age. I’ve been, I am, exceedingly happy. And I want to go on being happy – as long as I can. I’m seventy-two, you know.’
‘You certainly don’t look it,’ said Drew.
‘Well, I try not to, on my wife’s account even more than on my own. I make a practice of youthfulness and it’s hard work at times. Now, the point of this embarrassing confession is that I simply cannot bear being with Blanche. I see my true age reflected in hers. And she fills me with guilt because – let’s face it – I no longer have any real affection for her; God forgive me, she makes me impatient. Now you’ll understand why I’ll do practically anything to ensure her happiness without, to put it bluntly, interfering with my own. Are you thinking me callous?’
‘No, no—’ Drew was actually engaged in thinking how much older the old man was looking. It was as if a mask had fallen. ‘No, really. But it’s rather awful for me, isn’t it? Makes me feel I’ve got to stay with her.’
‘I’m afraid it was intended to.’ Mr Severn now spoke smilingly; the mask was up again. ‘And do consider the advantages. You can order anything you like to make this house tolerably comfortable. Re-decorate your room if you like – but of course Edwardian taste suits your book in every sense of the word. Well, get the book written. Invite friends to stay, or your family. And you must make friends here; I’ll talk to my wife about that and we must see you take time off to meet people. Send for any books you want, gramophone records … In short, do any damn thing you please as long as you keep dear demented Blanche as happy as she seems to be with you.’
‘Just how demented is she?’ asked Drew, looking at Mr Severn searchingly.
‘I used that word ill-advisedly.’ Mr Sevem’s glance had become oblique. He then thought better of evasion and met Drew’s eyes squarely. ‘As far as I know there’s nothing wrong with her except that she hates making decisions. No doubt it’s the result of never having been allowed to make any while her mother was alive. The tricky thing for me is that she both counts on me to run her life and resents my authority. And every now and then she’s unpredictably self-willed – as when she decided to engage you; thankful though I am that she did.
‘Actually, I decided for her,’ said Drew, remembering.
‘Ah! Well, go on deciding for her. I doubt if she’ll ever resent it, from you. I’m not tactful enough – I try to be but my irritation shows. You may be glad to know that she said she wouldn’t let you go whatever I felt about it. That could mean a real awakening of will-power but it’s more likely that she just prefers your authority to mine. Now, will you help me? Give me your promise to stay with her at least a year.’
Drew, after a moment, said: ‘I can only promise I’ll try to.’
Mr Severn nodded acceptance. ‘I’ve no right to ask for more. But I’ll just add that if you do leave I may have to, well, coerce Blanche into some kind of … well, nursing home. Beastly of me to hold that over you but it’s true. And I might mention that if she wants to put you in her will she’ll get every encouragement from me. Oh, dear, dear – you’re looking outraged. That’s conventional of you.’
Drew smiled. ‘Quite true. One just has a horror of appearing mercenary.’
‘I’d advise you to be a bit mercenary, if you can. It’ll help you to stick this job. Seriously, Blanche has nobody to leave her money to but one very well-off niece whom I happen to dislike, and those midgets in the kitchen. Thank God, she let me talk her into making provision for them. Her mother wouldn’t; to be fair, she feared they’d leave Blanche if she did, but it was pretty shocking – not one penny after well over fifty years of service. She got them from an orphanage and paid them eighteen pounds a year each, which with princely generosity she eventually raised to twenty-five. Imagine! With domestic service at a premium, they were still getting less than ten shillings a week each when she died.’
‘Good Lord! What are they getting now?’
‘Oh, the same, from Blanche. I told you, she’s half convinced she’s ruined. But I’m paying a normal wage into an account for them and I’ve made them understand they’ll always be taken care of. I daren’t let them know quite how shockingly they’ve been treated in case they count it against Blanche. There’s something approaching enmity there – on both sides. I’ve no idea why. It’s just one of the mysteries of this frightening household.’
‘Frightening indeed,’ said Drew. ‘And I can’t understand how such a fantastic state of affairs could have gone on so long here. This house isn’t—’
‘Its inmates were, by the iron will of one old woman. But don’t harrow yourself about the past. Just concentrate on making the present as comfortable as possible, for yourself, Blanche and those poor victimized midgets – who would, by the way, be utterly lost if ever I had to send her away and close the house. Tomorrow you must start spending money; that’s always cheering. And now let’s have Blanche down. I’ll tell her I’ve given you my blessing and do my level best to behave nicely.’
Drew went for Miss Whitecliff. She came out of her room still looking distressed and seemed unable to believe that all was now well. Only after considerable effort on Mr Severn’s part did she relax. He treated her with a mixture of gallantry and playful brusqueness which, to Drew, was most obviously false; but it undoubtedly pleased her and by the time tea came in she was responding gaily and laughing her pretty laugh. Her whole manner, particularly the delicate flicker of her eyelids, had a faded coquetry Drew found heart-breaking.
‘Well, I must get back before my office closes,’ said the solicitor at last, and bade Miss Whitecliff an almost lover-like farewell. Drew then accompanied him to his car.
‘Didn’t do too badly, did I?’ said Mr Severn, once they were out of the house. ‘But, oh my God, the strain! Now drop into my office whenever you need to and I’ll fix a date for you to dine with us; but don’t, I implore you, ask me to see Blanche more than is strictly necessary. Oh, I know I’m heartless.’
‘A heartless man wouldn’t mind seeing her,’ said Drew.
‘Still, I don’t acquit myself – and I’ve no right to feel such
rapturous relief on getting away from the poor dear.’ He waved gaily to Miss Whitecliff at the drawing-room window, then turned again to Drew. ‘Well, don’t dislike me too much. How nice of you to look genuinely astonished at such an idea! I suspect you haven’t acquired the knack of disliking people. Good night, my dear boy, and the best of luck.’
Drew, watching him drive away, asked himself if he’d ever really disliked anyone and couldn’t remember doing so. Perhaps it was a bit milk-and-watery of him. But he took a pride in being able to see other people’s points of view and once one did that … He certainly saw Mr Severn’s point of view. Darling Miss Whitecliff was harrowing enough even when one hadn’t shared her youth.
Turning to go in, he looked up at White Turrets. Such a cheerful house, with all its gleaming paintwork! He shuddered to think of its cheerless past – and reminded himself of the good dinner Lizzie would be cooking. Now Annie was drawing the bedroom curtains, and Miss Whitecliff had come to meet him at the front door. Why should these three harmless old women feel ‘something approaching enmity’ for each other? Well, he’d go on doing his best for them all.
5
Rosalind
The next morning he took Mr Severn’s advice as regards spending money. Miss Whitecliff’s name, and instructions to send all bills to Mr Severn, instantly secured him credit wherever he went. After that shopping spree he was never able to recapture his first picture of Whitesea as a town embalmed, for there was no lack of modernity if one wanted to find it rather than avoid it. Indeed, he amused himself by wondering if he had invented that first town to please his mood, and was now inventing a second one to fit his needs. Certainly there were shops overflowing with electrical equipment, all the latest gadgets … He had to resist the temptation to streamline the entire kitchen; for the moment it would be enough if he ordered a refrigerator, new saucepans, and a radio for the midgets. (He had now accepted Mr Severn’s name for them; it finally ousted ‘the fiends’.) For Miss Whitecliff and himself he bought a radio and gramophone combined and a first selection of records. He also chose four electric fires, one intended for the midgets’ bedroom, wherever in the heights of White Turrets they slept; and was promised that an electrician should start work at once on the necessary new wiring. Only when he went to inquire about a telephone was he warned there might be some delay.