One night, after he had been put to bed, Alicia flopped on to a kitchen chair and sighed to Polly, ‘I’m so tired of it all, Pol.’
‘Aye, luv. We all are. But what else can we do?’
And there was no answer.
Sometimes, late at night, Polly would wake up to hear the nursery piano being played and she would lie fretting for Alicia – her baby.
II
In May 1907, on one of his rare visits to his family, Charles confided the news of his courtship to Alicia.
Alicia was thrilled and demanded every detail of Veronica Anderton’s looks, likes and dislikes. Charles was so besotted by his prospective wife that he was unable to answer some of Alicia’s questions and could not even recall for her, with certainty, whether her eyes were grey or pale blue.
Alicia was inwardly wretched. It was her Twenty-First Birthday, and when her brother came rushing into the house she thought it was to greet her on the day of her majority. Instead, he had come to discuss Veronica with her and had obviously forgotten about the birthday.
The day had also gone unremarked by both Humphrey and Elizabeth; Alicia thought sadly that her mother was becoming increasingly unable to remember anything.
The postman had brought a card and a little silver dish in need of polishing from her godmother, Sarah Webb. Her aunt Clara in West Kirby, immersed in her own invalidism, had also apparently forgotten, and Uncle Harold and his wife, Vera, had never marked her birthdays.
She had been touched by the gift of a violently pink shawl from Polly and Fanny, who must have spent hours late at night to produce it without her knowledge.
Now, as a sudden storm of rain beat against the window-panes, she tried to keep her attention on Charles’s problems. And he certainly did have a difficulty, because a prospective daughter-in-law might be reluctant to enter a family where she could have to care for sick parents.
‘Not that she’ll have to worry while you’re here,’ Charles was continuing, cheerfully taking it for granted that, while Alicia lived, it was her duty to care for their parents.
Alicia bit her lower lip and reluctantly agreed.
‘What shall I do, Allie?’
‘You’d better let Father know of your intentions, before you pop the question formally, don’t you think?’
Charles sighed. ‘Yes, I must.’ He stroked his golden brown moustache thoughtfully. ‘I wonder how much he’ll give me, to start us off?’
Alicia made a face and carefully turned rightside out the sock she had been darning. ‘You had better ask him.’
‘Can he stand a visit, do you think?’
‘He’ll have to. He’s reading. Mr Bowring’s gone home.’
Charles rose and sighed again. He was surprised to hear Alicia chuckle, as she looked up at him and said, ‘Don’t expect too much!’ He realized suddenly that Alicia appeared more self-assured than she used to. In the old days, he thought neither of them would have dared to make even the smallest joke about Humphrey.
At the sight of his son, a bored Humphrey thankfully closed the volume on the sloping book rest in front of his chair; he had difficulty in retaining what he read and even in turning the pages himself.
Charles did his best to smile, despite the smell of urine and excrement pervading the room from the commode behind the screen. What a mess the fine library looked, with a bed set in the middle of it, he thought depressedly.
Humphrey received his son’s news with interest and asked some details of Professor Anderton and what dowry Charles expected Veronica to bring. His speech was very slurred and Charles had to concentrate hard to understand him. He seemed, however, to find Charles’s replies to his questions acceptable and promised to dictate a letter to his clerk for Professor Anderton. ‘I don’t suppose your mother will write,’ he added.
‘She can’t, Father. She simply doesn’t remember what I tell her.’
‘Hm. Turn down the light for me. My head aches and it’s bothering my eyes. And get a whisky out of my cupboard – have one yourself.’
Charles stood up and adjusted the central gas-lights.
‘Not that far,’ his father told him testily, and Charles hastily turned the four lamps of the chandelier up again. He then got two glasses and a bottle of whisky out of his father’s side cupboard and poured out two modest shots. He handed one to his father.
‘God’s teeth! Can’t you even pour a decent sized whisky?’
Charles quickly added more to his father’s glass, and then sat down in a chair opposite to him and slowly crossed his own legs. Would the old man come up trumps and provide a decent sum towards his marriage expenses?
Humphrey conveyed his glass to his mouth with some difficulty, while he laboriously meditated on how little he could get away with without losing standing with the Andertons. It always hurt to part with money, and the thought of it raised his blood pressure.
The silence began to depress Charles, and he said, ‘Veronica is an only child, as I mentioned. She wants Alicia to be her bridesmaid and Florence her Maid of Honour. Her best friend would be another bridesmaid.’
Humphrey’s head began to throb. ‘Alicia?’ He turned his gaze slowly upon his son. ‘Alicia will not attend the wedding.’
‘Father! She’s my sister. Why not? Veronica’s very keen about it.’ He uncrossed his legs and leaned towards Humphrey, his face shocked. ‘I understand that you and mother may not be able to come – but girls love weddings.’
‘Alicia has to attend your mother and me.’
‘Oh, surely, Father, Fanny and Polly could do that for one day.’
‘They don’t do things properly,’ Humphrey retorted grumpily.
‘But … just for a day, Father. It would do Allie a world of good – might introduce her to some decent fellows – it’s time she got married.’
‘Nonsense! She’s not the marrying kind.’ His voice rose. ‘We should, in any case, not be left to the care of servants.’ As he spat out the last words, saliva dribbled down his chin. His face went slowly purple and he trembled visibly.
Charles did his best to control his own anger and bewilderment. He said persuasively, ‘I do understand your personal difficulties, Father, but surely it could be managed. Poor Allie will be frightfully disappointed – and so would Veronica – she …’
‘Stop arguing with me. I will decide …’ The empty glass fell from his hand and shattered on the brass fender.
For a second, the noise deflected Charles’s attention, but then he snarled furiously, ‘I won’t stop arguing. Allie must come.’
‘You say must to me? How dare you? Get out of this room. When you can be polite, come back again.’ It seemed to Charles that his father’s face swelled up and that his eyes suddenly protruded like glass marbles.
‘Father!’
‘Get out!’
Charles jumped angrily to his feet. He strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him, while Humphrey shouted something incomprehensible after him.
He stood quivering in the hall, and then went across it to the morning-room, to find Alicia.
During his absence, Elizabeth had come downstairs and, as he entered, Alicia was holding her arm and was trying to persuade her to go upstairs again. Elizabeth was resisting vigorously.
At the sound of the opening door, Alicia looked round. She said in an embarrassed fashion, ‘Could you leave us for just a minute, Charley?’
‘Of course.’ Charles carefully shut the door again and wondered what womanly business meant that he had to leave them. ‘Christ!’ he muttered savagely.
The door was quietly opened behind him and he turned quickly. His mother smiled charmingly, ‘Charles, dear. How nice.’
‘Come along, mother,’ Alicia said sharply. ‘We have to go upstairs.’
‘Why?’
Alicia blushed unaccountably and looked uneasily at her brother. ‘Mama, I explained to you.’
‘But Charles is here.’
‘We’ll be down again in a minute. Charles, d
ear, do go into the morning-room. We shan’t be long.’
Mystified, Charles did as he was bidden and stood leaning against the mantelpiece. What the hell was the matter with the family this afternoon? He heard Alicia and his mother arguing, as they ascended the stairs.
It was about five minutes before they returned and, as his mother slowly lowered herself into her chair, Charles raised a querying eyebrow towards Alicia.
‘Had to take her to the loo,’ mouthed Alicia over her mother’s head. Her face went scarlet. ‘She wets herself otherwise,’ she said baldly.
‘O Lord!’ muttered Charles.
Oblivious of any embarrassment, Elizabeth began to ask Charles how he was doing at school. He replied absently that he was doing all right – poor Mother seemed to be falling apart. He turned to Alicia and told her that he had had a row with their father over Alicia being a bridesmaid.
Alicia was not altogether surprised at the news. As she pulled out a chair and sat down near her mother, she asked, ‘Was he very cross?’
Charles hesitated before answering and watched his mother trying to find the right colour of embroidery silk in her basket. Then he said, ‘He was simply furious.’
‘Oh, goodness! He would hate his routine to be upset.’ She rose, and said a little anxiously, ‘Perhaps I had better see if he is all right.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, you know we’re not supposed to upset him – it might cause another stroke.’ She moved towards the door.
‘Oh, come on, Allie. He’s all right. Fancy getting all het up about Veronica’s bridesmaids!’
She nodded to him. Talk to Mother for a bit. I’ll just take a peep at him.’
He heard her quick footsteps on the tiles in the hall and the opening of the library door. She was back in a second, her face white.
‘Charley, come quick! I think he’s dead.’
From Elizabeth came a startled cry. Her comprehension was fleeting. Then her face went vacant again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I
In his Will Humphrey left Florence ten thousand pounds and Alicia a shilling for candles.
Polly and Fanny were sitting modestly at the back of the big upstairs drawing-room, which had been hastily cleaned for the gathering of the family; they had each been left one hundred pounds and felt they had been meanly dealt with. ‘What’s a shilling for candles?’ Fanny whispered to Polly, as Mr Derby, Humphrey’s solicitor, droned on.
‘Dunno.’
‘Will the Mistress be all right?’
‘Aye, I think so. She’ll get the use of the ould fella’s money and when she dies Master Charles’ll get it.’ Aunt Vera, Uncle Harold’s wife, turned and hushed Polly, and the two maids immediately became models of demure quietness. They watched, however, a sudden stir on the other side of the room, as Alicia got up from her seat beside her mother, the insulting sentence ringing in her ears. Mr Derby paused in his reading and the remainder of the group stared at her as she edged round the room to get to the door.
As the door clicked behind her, Mr Derby cleared his throat and continued, and the family turned back to hear that Humphrey had bequeathed his gold hunter watch, his seals and other personal jewellery to his brother, Harold Woodman.
Alicia had not expected that Humphrey would leave her anything; she was, she told herself, probably not his daughter. She had been shocked, however, to be humiliated before the family, when his Will was read, and, indeed, Mr Derby regretted it; he did not know who Alicia Beatrix Mary Woodman was and had unwisely assumed that she was probably a younger sister of Humphrey’s who had displeased the family; he had certainly not expected a quiet, sensitive-faced young woman to be seated in front of him.
Alicia ran down to the kitchen and stood in front of the great, old-fashioned range, her arms clasped across her chest as if she had been wounded. The warmth of the fire was comforting, but, yet again, she felt herself hemmed in by circumstances not of her own making.
‘How could Papa be so cruel?’ she asked herself. Her nephew, Frank, sitting there with his parents and siblings, must be sniggering. Did they all know about her? She shrank from having to meet them again. And Uncle Harold’s tall, dignified sons and their wives, to whose weddings she had not been asked? Did they know? Their mother, Aunt Vera, must know – probably knew more than Alicia herself did.
She heard the green baize door in the hall open and then Florence’s voice, calling in a hoarse whisper. Reluctantly, she went to the foot of the stairs, ‘What’s the matter?’ she inquired listlessly.
‘Mother’s soaked her dress and the chair,’ Florence whispered again in great agitation. ‘What shall we do?’
‘Take everybody into the dining-room for cakes and wine – it’s all ready. Send Polly down here to make the tea, and tell Fanny to serve. I’ll take care of Mama,’ Alicia responded practically. In the background, she could hear Elizabeth inquiring in a piercingly clear voice where Humphrey was.
After she had cleaned up her mother, Alicia did not again mingle with the funeral guests. Florence, as the eldest daughter, could do the honours. When the guests left, nobody thought to come to say goodbye to Alicia.
After Uncle Harold had seen his wife and family off to catch the train to Manchester, he returned, and Polly, as she took his hat and coat from him, was glad to see him. ‘Are you staying overnight, sir?’
‘Yes, Polly. As the Executor, I have to spend some time with Mr Derby. Where is Miss Alicia?’
Polly directed him to the morning-room, where he found Alicia entertaining her mother by going through an old photograph album of Charles’s. He contented himself with taking Alicia’s hand and telling her warmly that she was not to worry. ‘We’ll have a good talk in the morning,’ he said, with an uncertain glance at Elizabeth who appeared to be regarding him as an intrusive stranger. He said to her, as he loosed Alicia’s hand, I’m your brother-in-law, Harold.’ He leaned over her chair and kissed her, and she gave him one of her brilliant, almost arch, smiles.
II
Uncle Harold proved to be very helpful. The house now belonged to Charles and he would have liked to live in it after he was married. He felt, however, that he could not turn his mother out and he was determined that his new wife should not be made responsible for his mother’s care, which she would be if they moved in – even if Alicia stayed with them and became her mother’s personal attendant. It would be better to rent another house for the first years of Veronica’s and his marriage.
Thankful not to have to move, Alicia discussed with Uncle Harold her mother’s growing incapacity, the doctor’s assurance that it would grow worse and the problems of managing such an inconveniently large house.
With Alicia, Uncle Harold toured the place from cellar to attic nurseries, and then he conferred with Charles. Charles told him irritably to arrange any alterations he felt necessary, the cost to come out of his father’s Estate.
The old basement kitchens were closed off, and after much trailing in and out by muddy-booted workmen, all grumbling that it could not be done, the butler’s pantry on the ground floor was made into a modern kitchenette with a gas-stove. Gas-fires were installed in all the rooms still in use and the nursery floor simply had its doors closed and was left to gather dust.
‘I know it saves steps,’ Polly confided to Fanny, ‘but when I locked me old bedroom door, I cried. Master Edward and me was so happy in it – and when I put a dust-cover over the rocking-horse in the nursery, it were like losing an old friend – Master Edward loved that horse.’
Fanny nodded glumly. With a fine, new bedroom on the first floor, she would not in future be able to ask a man to spend the night with her, as she had been able to when alone in her basement bedroom. But you can’t have everything, she told herself, and never having to carry another hod of coal, never having to face the dust and soot of open fires again, was an overwhelming relief. ‘All you has to do is strike a match and the fire’s there,’ she thought incredulously.
‘W
ill your maids stay with you?’ asked Uncle Harold of Alicia.
She looked at him in surprise. How could anyone imagine Polly and Fanny leaving her? ‘Of course,’ she assured him. Then she asked slowly, ‘Do you think we could pay them a bit more? They are shockingly badly paid.’
‘I imagine so,’ Uncle Harold had replied cautiously. ‘I’ll ask your Aunt Vera what the usual wage is at present.’ They were seated at the dining-room table, a mass of papers between them, and he looked at the pale, earnest face before him, and then went on, ‘I can justify a salary for a companion-help for your mother, since she is far from well, and I would like, my dear, if you are not offended, to pay you this salary.’
He saw the startled surprise on Alicia’s face, and added, ‘It’s the only way I can think of to provide for you.’
Alicia flushed, and then nodded sadly, ‘A shilling for candles,’ she said ruefully.
‘Yes. I don’t know what made your father cut you out of his Will,’ he lied. ‘But we have to live with it. So I hope you will accept the salary.’
‘Thank you, Uncle Harold. Yes, I will.’
‘I think your mother’s affairs also need attention, don’t they?’
‘Yes, they do. She is no longer able to sign cheques for her clothing – and she used to buy books.’ Alicia swallowed at the recollection of her mother’s pitiful decay, but she sighed with relief when a few weeks later he was able to arrange for her signature to be acceptable on her mother’s account, subject to Elizabeth’s lawyers overseeing the Bank’s Statements. He also opened a Housekeeping account for her and she was astonished at the generosity of the amount he felt she needed. With Charles’s and his permission, she had the hall repainted and a new stair carpet laid.
No amount of money would halt the ruthless march of Elizabeth’s illness, so it was decided to continue the use of the library as a bedroom and this, too, was redecorated before putting Elizabeth’s bedroom furniture into it, so that it looked familiar to her.
Yes, Mama Page 29