The old man was almost garrulous, thought Charles, and, with a sagacity that his family rarely gave him credit for, he concluded that something had rattled him severely. He was used to his father losing his temper, blowing up like some great Icelandic geyser, but not to his fretting so loquaciously about the ordinary ups and downs of business. Polly’s remarks had already made him uneasy. He had always taken his family for granted, assumed that they would be there, in the fine house on Upper Canning Street, ready to greet him whenever it pleased him to come home. Now, he wondered if his mother was more severely ill than Polly had indicated and whether this was upsetting his father.
Humphrey did finally turn to the subject of a post at the University and discussed the pros and cons of it for a few minutes. Then he dismissed the boy on the grounds that he had work to do, and Charles left him hunched over his littered desk, his white hair bunched over his stiff collar and scarlet neck like the feathers of a chilled magpie.
V
In search of Polly, Charles went up to the day nursery. When he opened the door he found a lighted candle on the old candle table by the easy chair and the embers of a fire still lingering in the grate, but no one was there.
He stood uneasily in the doorway and then crossed the room to stroke the nose of the rocking-horse. He looked round the shadowed room. Like everywhere else in the house, it seemed cluttered and neglected. On a table by the window stood a dead maidenhair fern, and on the floor by the chair there was an untidy pile of linen and an open sewing box. The only sound in the room was the steady tick of the clock on the mantelpiece. He smiled at it, almost expecting it to smile back because they knew each other so well. In the bookcase lay the volumes that he and Edward had read as children, and across the top of them had been laid further books. He picked one up. It was a school text on botany and he flicked through it; he was surprised at the careful detail of the notes that Alicia had added on every margin.
He snapped the book shut and rang the bell at the side of the fireplace. If Fanny answered, he would simply ask her to make up the fire.
Polly realized who was probably ringing the nursery bell, and she came hurrying up the stairs. The last flight seemed longer than usual; her knees hurt and she was panting, as she entered the nursery.
Charles was waiting with his back to the warmth of the dying fire.
‘Come in, Polly, and sit down. I wanted to ask you quietly a bit more about Mother. She insisted that she was quite well, when I asked her.’
Polly took the chair indicated. She straightened her long, black skirt and her short, afternoon apron, put her feet neatly together, folded her hands in her lap, and looked up at him inquiringly.
‘Alicia says mother has been drinking heavily for a long time and that, when she gets the chance, she still does. Why would she do that, Polly?’
Polly responded with prim virtue, ‘It int my business to inquire, sir.’
‘Come off it, Polly. You’re part of the family.’
Polly’s eyes twinkled almost girlishly. She relaxed and said, ‘Well, sir, I dunno for sure. She’s bin goin’ slowly downhill ever since I bin here – ever since Miss Alicia were born. Fanny says she used to be really light-hearted and happy when she first come. People visitin’ her and her goin’ to parties and the theatre – and buyin’ pretty dresses.’
‘Yes, I remember her like that,’ Charles answered soberly.
‘I can remember when I first come, she were always busy with her charities – and then she had her At Homes. And sometimes they’d give a dinner. Fact is, she were too busy to even take much note of Miss Alicia when she was a baby. But then, after a while, she seemed to lose heart and some days she wouldn’t even get up.’
‘Has she seen a doctor?’
‘Not for years, that I know of. And another thing, sir. She’s gettin’ so forgetful. At first, I thought it were the drink, but now she’s not getting that much. And she still forgets. The Master gets awfully cross with her sometimes.’
‘Hm. My parents never did see eye to eye.’
‘No, sir.’
Servants knew everything, he thought irritably. Feeling rather frustrated, he said, Well, thank you, Polly. I didn’t want to bother Father.’ He did not say that he knew that his father had never taken much interest in his mother, except to make sure she did not overspend.
Polly got up to leave him, and he asked, Where’s Miss Alicia?’
‘In the kitchen, sir. She’s bakin’ a cake.’
‘Cooking? What for?’
‘She does quite a lot, sir. Your father – that is to say, the Master – likes a good table – so she helps me a lot.’
‘So you’re actually the cook now?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And the parlourmaid?’
‘Yes, Sir.’ As she watched him, she wondered where his eyes had been all these years that he had not noticed how the staff had been cut.
‘Who looks after Mother and Miss Alicia?’
‘Miss Alicia looks after herself – she runs the house now – and we all do our best for the Mistress.’
‘Fanny’s still here. I saw her. What does she do?’
‘She works real hard, sir. She’s got all the cleaning, and the fires to tend and slops to empty and beds and washing – and this is a big house, sir, and real old-fashioned.’
‘Poor Fanny,’ commented Charles glumly, and then as Polly prepared to leave him, he reverted to the question of Elizabeth. ‘I don’t think there’s anything to worry about over Mother,’ he said. ‘She’s getting on a bit – and I imagine it’s natural that she tends to forget things.’
Polly agreed with him, and after she had answered polite inquiries about her own health, she went slowly back down the stairs.
Charles stood staring at the old rocking-horse. He felt suddenly that he could not live in the house; it depressed him. He wondered how Alicia endured it – but then girls were different. If he got a post in the University he would definitely seek lodgings in the town.
VI
The gale finally blew itself out. In the Woodmans’ garden the snowdrops flowered late amongst a flood of yellow and purple crocuses. The weeds also flourished and, since there was no one else to do it, Alicia cleaned the intruders out. That evening, she mentioned to her father that they should start a new gardener soon, before the garden ran wild.
Humphrey never used the garden himself. He had paid Mr Bittle to keep it tidy, so that it was in line with those of his neighbours. He said he would think about it, see if he could find a suitable man.
A few weeks later, she reminded him again. In the meantime, she had continued to weed and had given the small lawn its first mowing. ‘I can’t afford a man,’ he had snapped. ‘You seem to be doing it quite well yourself – it’ll improve your health to spend more time out there.’
Worried that money seemed so short, she had left him and continued to weed and to cut the lawn; in desperation, she left the vegetable patch untouched. She felt she could not face another argument with Humphrey; only two weeks earlier, she had persuaded him that if he wanted to keep his two maids, he must improve their wages, and she had squeezed out of him another shilling a week for each of them. She had concluded that business in the city must currently be in a very bad state, to make her father so mean.
Charles was successful in his application and it was arranged that he should join the University College staff the following October. Meantime, he had to return to Cambridge.
He was thankful to escape from his father’s house, and was firm in his intention not to live there; it was so dreary. Even Alicia seemed awfully dull, sitting there with his mother, holding her knitting wool or untangling her embroidery silks and saying little beyond, ‘Yes, Mama,’ to their mother’s fretful utterances. One night he had offered to take both mother and sister to a concert, only to be told coldly by Elizabeth that they did not care to go out at night. When he had opened his mouth to protest that they should do so, Alicia had signalled him franticall
y to keep quiet. Later, as they were sitting down to dinner, she had whispered an apology to him and explained that, ‘If she is crossed, Mama gets nearly as angry as Papa these days.’
‘You should go out yourself sometimes,’ he had whispered back, as they waited for their parents to come to table.
‘I haven’t any money,’ replied Alicia dejectedly.
‘None? No pin money?’
‘No.’
‘You should ask Father.’
She was quiet for a moment, wondering how to explain her dread of incurring Humphrey’s displeasure, the hunch, that over the years had become a conviction, that she was not his daughter and that, if he felt like it, he could throw her out into the street.
In answer to Charles’s advice, she said, ‘I’m afraid to ask him. He gets absolutely furious if you mention money and it’s not good for his heart.’
‘I’ll ask him for you. He’d never help me at University beyond the bare fees, but he can find a bob or two for you – all daughters get pin money. Have you asked Mother?’
‘Yes, several times. But she forgets – and I rather think that Mr Simpkins, her lawyer, is keeping a tighter hold on her income – perhaps Father warned him about her drunkenness.’
‘I see.’ He began to whistle under his breath; the whistling stopped abruptly, as his father entered the dining-room.
The next time Alicia presented her household accounts to Humphrey, he closed the book with a snap after examining it, and said, ‘You may in future take a shilling a week for your own pocket.’
Though Humphrey’s lips were clamped together as if he had just swallowed castor oil, surprise and delight shot across Alicia’s face. ‘Really, Papa? Thank you – thank you very much.’ She picked up the housekeeping money that Humphrey had set out on his desk, crept from the room in her usual subdued way, and then ran down to the kitchen to break the good news to Polly.
Polly was grating cheese and she looked up from her work, and said, ‘About time, too, luv!’ To herself she grumbled, The old skinflint!’
VII
During his visit, Charles had gone out to the Vicarage to pay a duty call on Florence and Clarence, and had mentioned idly to Florence that Alicia seemed to have a very dull existence. ‘Couldn’t you take her with you to a play or a concert or something, occasionally?’ he asked uneasily.
Florence had replied defensively that except for visits to her parents and her in-laws, they did not go out much themselves. ‘I have Sunday School and Church visitors and the Flower List and the Women’s Embroidery Guild – the Guild is making new hassocks for the church at present and it’s a lot of work. I hardly know how to manage myself. Clarence is also very busy – he is writing a book, on top of everything else.’
‘God! I don’t know how you stick it.’
‘Charles!’
‘Beg your pardon, Flo.’ He chewed his thumb fretfully and decided that Alicia was a lost cause. What boring lives women lived.
Chapter Twenty-One
I
Florence usually visited her mother accompanied by her younger children, but while her boys were home from boarding school at Easter she decided that it was time dear Mama and Papa saw their whole flock of grandchildren. She wrote a note to her mother saying that she and Clarence would bring them for dinner on Easter Saturday, since Clarence would be busy with Easter Services on the Sunday.
Elizabeth was delighted and ordered two dozen eggs to be hard-boiled and then dyed, so that the children could play at egg-rolling in the garden.
‘But, Mama,’ Alicia protested, ‘aren’t the children rather old for that? Frank, Tom and Freddie are all young men.’
Elizabeth looked bewildered. ‘Are they really?’
‘Yes, Mama. I think only Beatrice and Teddy might still enjoy it.’
‘Well – er – do what you think fit.’ Her mother smiled sweetly at her. Then her smile faded and she looked puzzled.
Alicia told Humphrey of the impending invasion and he grunted acknowledgement. Though he loved Florence and always looked forward to seeing her, he did not enjoy her unruly offspring or the pompous scholar she had married.
Alicia and Polly spent the whole of Good Friday preparing for the visit. To save time, though it cost more, Alicia got the poultryman to bring the roasting chickens already feathered and drawn. She did not dare to buy the Easter Cake, however, and stayed up till midnight in order to bake, ice and decorate one. She had done the same thing at Christmastime, when the whole family had descended on them, and she thought what a relief it would have been if Florence had invited their parents to the Vicarage instead. The older Alicia’s male nephews grew the less she liked them. The eldest, Frank, treated her with less respect than a kitchen-maid could normally have expected, and she thought sadly that his pontificating father was not much better. She could not say what it was that bothered her, except that they were patronizing, as if she were her mother’s companion-help, instead of her daughter.
The young people did not dare to misbehave when Humphrey was present, so the dinner went off quite well. Afterwards, the three older boys and their father went away to the library to have a glass of port with their grandfather, and five-year-old Teddy and his sisters joined Elizabeth, Florence and Alicia in the morning-room for tea.
The little boy began to whine and be awkward.
Alicia finally suggested that he come with her to the old nursery and have a ride on the rocking-horse.
He accepted with alacrity and was soon restored to good temper. They chose a good jigsaw puzzle for him to take down to the morning-room, and Alicia opened the nursery door to go down again to the family. Lounging outside it was Frank, smoking a cigarette.
He nodded curtly to his little brother, ‘Your mother wants you. Hurry up.’
The child clattered obediently down the stairs, while Alicia looked uncertainly at Frank.
He came into the room and shut the door behind him. Suddenly nervous, Alicia edged away from him, so that the centre table was between them. He laughed, and threw his cigarette end into the fireplace.
She said in a light, bantering tone, ‘I don’t think your father would wish you to smoke, Frank.’
‘What Father doesn’t know about won’t bother him. Come over here and sit on the sofa. We’ll have a bit of fun together.’
She was shocked, but she managed to say calmly, ‘No, Frank. You know that wouldn’t be right – besides, I have to go downstairs to help with the children.’
Her coolness annoyed him. He whipped round the table, caught her by the shoulder and turned her to face him. She tried to pull herself away, but she was pressed against the table and he was a big, heavy youth. He shook her like a dog shakes a rabbit it has caught. ‘Come on,’ he ordered her roughly. ‘Give us a kiss – you Queen of the Midden – if you don’t want to get hurt. For a bastard, you’re too proud by far.’
He let go of her shoulder, put his arm round her waist and held her chin while he tried to press his mouth against hers. Terrified, she turned her face away, but not before she had seen the savage glint in his eyes.
To stop herself falling backwards on the table, she grasped frantically at the table’s edge. Her fingers came in contact with a thin textbook she had left on it. She picked it up, and, as she was pushed backwards, she became for a second sufficiently separated from him to swing it hard against his face.
The swipe was so painful, as the corner of the cardboard cover caught his eye, that he let go of her and staggered back, his hand to his stinging cheek and outraged eye.
In a second, she was round the table and had the door open. ‘You bitch,’ he shrieked at her, tears running down his face from the injury.
‘I’ll tell Father,’ she snarled back at him, as she ran through the door.
As she closed the door, she heard him him yell derisively, ‘Tell Crossing? That’ll be funny!’
She feared he would come after her, and she tore down the familiar staircase and across the hall to the green baize d
oor leading to the kitchen stairs. She swung it open, and nearly sent Polly backwards down the staircase. The teacups rattled on the tray and the teapot sent an angry burst of tea from its spout, ‘Carefully, duck!’ Polly cried. Then she saw her charge’s frightened face, and she asked anxiously, ‘What’s up, luv?’
‘It’s Frank. He tried to kiss me – it was horrid.’
‘Tryin’ it on, is he? Run downstairs to Fanny and stay with her. I’ll be down in a mo’.’
As the door swung closed behind Alicia, Polly paused for a moment to rearrange her tray. She heard heavy feet coming quickly down the upper stairs, a door opening and then a bathroom tap running.
‘Blast him!’ she muttered, and hastened to deliver the tea tray to Elizabeth. ‘The dirty warehouse rat!’
When, later, the visitors said their farewells, Frank’s sore eye – he had got something in it, he said – drew people’s attention. But in the general confusion of departure, no one noticed that Alicia was not present.
II
A shaken Alicia dried the dishes for a loquacious Fanny; she told her nothing about Frank. Then, when the noise of departure had ceased, she went up to escort her mother to her bedroom; she had had to do this recently, because Elizabeth seemed occasionally to lose her sense of the time of day. This evening, however, Elizabeth was already napping in her chair and allowed herself to be helped upstairs to bed without argument.
Though she had defended herself, Alicia had been terribly frightened by Frank’s attack on her. What would he do the next time he came? And he might easily visit more often, since he had now finished school and was, in May, to start work with a Liverpool wine merchant. And young Tom and Freddie might be equally aggressive.
Though she did not know the word ‘rape’ she began to fear some such attack. And what did he mean by ‘Tell Crossing?’
It was only when she was drying the dishes that his last words really impinged on her mind. What did he mean? Who was Crossing? She wanted to ask Polly if she should tell Humphrey. Would Humphrey laugh at her for refusing to be kissed? Would he say that Frank was her nephew and it was quite natural to kiss his aunt occasionally? But not the way Frank had tried it, she felt sickeningly; he had tried to put his tongue in her mouth.
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