The Obsession

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Oh no. No.’ That tone of dignity was back in Beatrice’s voice. ‘At one time when we were young—’ she glanced towards Rosie; then on a forced smile she said, ‘well, children, there were lots of parties. Grandmama seemed to have friends and distant, very distant relations in all parts of the country. You find that when you’ve got a big house and there is free hospitality. Some of them, I recall, stayed for weeks on end. And that’s why the kitchen was added. Come.’

  She turned about and Rosie and John followed her into the hall and to the far end where a door led into what was quite a small kitchen, but one that was adequately fitted.

  ‘As you can see,’ Beatrice began, ‘it isn’t very large. My cook would turn her nose up at it. But it’s adequate.’

  John noted that Rosie had turned her head away. Whether it was the words ‘my cook’ or not, he didn’t know. Beatrice had gone to the small range and was saying, ‘It’s very cosy in here when the fire’s on. Even when the fire isn’t on, it’s a nice little room with its cupboards and such and all the kitchen utensils. And now, I suppose, you would like to see the garden.’

  He admired the garden, having walked through the conservatory to reach it, and as he looked to the wall of fir trees at the far end, he thought to himself, She would love this, it’s the very thing. He turned and, looking straight at Beatrice, he said, ‘Well, we had better get down to business, hadn’t we?’

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Who couldn’t like it? I’m sure my mother will.’

  Beatrice paused before saying, ‘She will have her own furniture, I suppose? But that will prove no difficulty, as we can store everything here up in the attic.’

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid she hasn’t any furniture; it went with our house when she sold it. You see, she had the idea she was going to live with her cousin for the rest of her days. But I’m afraid that didn’t work out. And so for some months now she has been living in a guest house, while I have been trying to find a suitable place.’

  ‘Well then, would you take it as it is?’

  ‘As it is?’ His voice rose. ‘Oh, yes! Yes, definitely.’

  She seemed to be relieved at this and her smile was wide again as she said, ‘Well then, I’ll be pleased to lease it to you. It will be on a lease, of course.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ His head was bobbing.

  ‘The only proviso is that your mother must come and see it first.’

  ‘Oh, indeed, yes. Will tomorrow be suitable?’

  ‘Any time. Any time. Would you like a cup of coffee?’

  ‘I would. Thank you.’ Then turning to Rosie, he said, ‘You don’t know what a relief this is. For months past I have been in and out of people’s houses, not including the empty flats, all advertised with pleasant outlooks which, in most cases, meant the front street, or’ – he pulled a face now – ‘a cul-de-sac of course, where there was no traffic.’

  They were all smiling as they returned to the main house again, and as he took in his surroundings, he was thinking that this was the kind of place he himself would have liked, but without the surgery of course. Anyway his mother would surely love it and it would be a refuge for him at times. He wondered what she was asking for it and so he put it to her now, saying, ‘Well, we had better get down to business, hadn’t we? What are your terms?’

  He saw her wet her lips and give a little cough before, hesitantly, she said, ‘It . . . it would work out, that is on a lease, at two pounds ten shillings a week.’

  He kept his eyes on her while being aware that Rosie’s head had jerked round towards her. ‘But if you are taking it as it stands,’ she went on, ‘I . . . I would have to ask another ten shillings a week, for, as I said, there’s . . . well, as I said, as you can see, it’s ready to be lived in, even to the linen. There are plenty of sheets and towels in the linen cupboard on the landing. And all that is needed to bring in . . . is food.’

  He raised his hand and smiled as he said, ‘It’s quite all right. It’s quite all right; I’m agreeable, and I’m sure my mother will be. You see, it will be in her name.’ But even as he spoke he was thinking, Three pounds a week. He could have mortgaged a fine house just outside the town with four acres of land and it wouldn’t have cost him much more than three pounds a week, if that. But still, it was a lovely place and he could see it would be ideal for his mother.

  He not only saw Beatrice sigh but heard her sigh, then she said, ‘Well, let us get that cup of coffee.’

  Once more she was leading the way and before Rosie followed her she turned and looked at him and gave a small shake of her head which said quite plainly, You’re being robbed; but as he would say to her later, ‘I couldn’t afford it, but my mother can. She’s pretty well off.’ Then he let her know he understood the meaning of her look by patting her shoulder and pursing his lips at her.

  They were now in the drawing room of the main house, and as he looked about him in admiration he was not to know that the decision he had just made would change the course of his life.

  Four

  ‘Three pounds a week!’

  ‘But wait till you see it; I keep telling you.’

  ‘Yes, you do, but it’s part of a house – an annexe is part of a house. I wanted something private.’

  ‘This is as private as you’ll ever get in this town or hereabouts, unless you go right into the country.’

  ‘That means more than one hundred and fifty pounds a year. At that rate you could buy a decent house within three years. And if it’s as grand as you say . . . well, I don’t want anything grand, just comfortable.’

  ‘Mother.’ He turned to her as they walked up the side drive, having left the cab at the gate. ‘I’m telling you, if you don’t take this you’ll have to take on the house-hunting yourself, because I haven’t the time or any more patience trying to find exactly what you want.’

  Her voice was now apologetic as she said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, dear. I know I’ve put a lot onto you lately, but I just wanted something . . . Oh! why don’t I shut my mouth until I see it, as you’ve been saying all along. You say it has its own private entrance not connected with the house?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, and this is the private drive to it. Woman—’ he again stopped in his slow stride and, looking down into her face, he said, ‘if she had asked five or six pounds I would still have thought it was worth it and exactly what you need and it will be a way to get some of that money out of the bank’s coffers. Anyway, the interest alone on some of your bonds will pay for the rent, and more.’

  ‘All right, all right; let’s see this wonderful place.’

  As they went through an ornamental gate and into the garden, she stopped and said, ‘Oh, well, this part’s all right; very nice indeed.’

  He said nothing more but led her round the corner and to the front of the annexe, and there her impression was definitely favourable.

  After unlocking the door he stood aside and let her enter the hall. And as she muttered, ‘Oh, yes, very nice, very nice indeed,’ the sitting room door opened and there stood Beatrice, a vase of flowers in her hand. And she spoke immediately, saying, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought you wouldn’t be here for a while and I . . . I was arranging a few flowers to brighten things up, and . . .’

  He stopped her embarrassed prattle by saying, ‘This is my mother . . . Mother—’ he extended his hand towards Beatrice as he added, ‘Miss Penrose-Steel.’

  ‘How d’you do?’

  Beatrice quickly put the flowers down on a side table and, coming forward, she held out her hand as she said, ‘I . . . I’m so pleased to meet you, and I do hope you will be happy here. I can assure you that you won’t have any unexpected visitors popping in. I’m so used to coming through the house, but you can lock the door on the inside.’

  Mrs Catherine Falconer surveyed the young woman. She
was seeing her as quite a bonny piece with a nice speaking voice. She was looking older than the twenty-four-year-old that John had suggested she was; in fact, old enough and capable enough to be in charge of such a splendid house, and she smiled at Beatrice as she said, ‘Well, from what I’ve seen so far, Miss Steel, er . . . Miss Penrose-Steel, it has been very impressive and exactly what I would want . . . especially the garden. And I see there’s plenty of woodland round. I’ve always made syrups and jellies from the wild fruits.’

  ‘Oh, that’s interesting. Well, you’ll find plenty of hips, haws, crab-apples, blackberries and sloes hereabouts. But now’ – she looked at John – ‘I’ll leave you. But would you like a cup of coffee? I’ll have one of the girls bring it in from the kitchen. Afterwards, I can assure you, you won’t be troubled by anyone from the house.’ She smiled widely as she added, ‘Not more than you wish.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see. We’ll see.’ The answer was slightly noncommittal. But Beatrice, still smiling, turned about and went out.

  John now led his mother into the sitting room, the sight of which brightened her face still further, as did the dining room and the study, which was to be her bedroom. In the kitchen she put voice to her pleasure, saying, ‘Well, I never! I never thought you would come across a place like this for me. Talk about home from home. It’s lovely. It’s a beautiful little place.’

  ‘Yes’ – he nodded at her – ‘it is lovely.’

  Quickly now she said, ‘There’s three bedrooms upstairs, so I understand. Why don’t you come and park here then?’

  His answer was quick: ‘No, Mother. I’ve told you, my business is in the town and I must be near it. What’s more’ – he smiled now – ‘I don’t know whether or not lodgers come into the lease. Anyway, you know I’ll pop in every day to see you. And by what you’ve already said, you’re not going to be lost for an occupation with all that material to hand.’ He motioned towards the window. ‘There’s only one more thing I’ve got to say and then it’s finished. You’ll have to have someone to come in at least two or three times a week to clean for you.’

  ‘I can do that . . .’

  ‘No you can’t, and you’re not going to! There’s many a woman in the town who would be only too glad of the offer of a part-time job, when she knows she’ll spend most of her time drinking tea and nattering over the kitchen table to the mistress. But one thing I’d advise you, Mrs Falconer, don’t go on extolling the virtues of the South to any of these Northern ladies, whoever they are, or you’ll likely find yourself in their black books and asked why you don’t go back there. I’ve been told that numerous times.’

  ‘You haven’t!’

  ‘Oh yes, I have. When the old boy’s been laid up they’ve looked at me and said, “I want me own doctor. I’ll wait until he’s about again.” They’re a hardy lot around these quarters, I’m warning you, and that goes for the mistress of this house.’

  ‘Oh, she seems very nice.’

  ‘Yes, she is at times.’

  ‘You’re qualifying it. Have you had a do with her?’

  ‘No, not what you would call a “do”, but she can be a madam when she likes.’

  ‘Is her other sister the same then?’

  He laughed now. ‘Rosie? Oh, no, they’re chalk and cheese. And the other two are much the same as Rosie. Yet they are all different; but the lady of this manor is as different again, very unlike the rest of them.’

  ‘Well, from the little I’ve seen of her, I get the idea we’ll get on together.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  ‘You seem to have doubts?’

  ‘No. No, Mother. No, I have no doubts, merely just expressing an opinion, because, you know, you’re a rough old bird, too, when you can’t get your own way.’

  There was a tap on the door and it opened and the maid came in with a tray. She smiled from one to the other, then, addressing Catherine Falconer, she said, ‘Me name’s Janie Bluett, ma’am. I’m the parlourmaid. And may I say, welcome to the annexe. I’m so glad you’ve taken it, being Doctor’s mother.’ She cast a smiling glance at John now before she added, ‘’Tis nice to have somebody along here. I’ve always liked the annexe; it’s homely like, ma’am.’

  ‘Yes, Janie, I know what you mean, and I may say I’m very pleased to be here. And thank you very much for the coffee.’

  ‘You’re welcome, ma’am.’ Janie bobbed her head from one to the other, then turned and went out, her smile wide.

  ‘Now wasn’t that nice?’

  ‘Yes, very nice, Mother, but don’t expect that every day. You’re on your own here. This is a private house and I’m sure Miss Beatrice would like it kept like that.’

  ‘You talk as if I was some nosy old woman,’ said his mother now.

  ‘And that’s what you are. Oh, come on, drink up this coffee.’ He handed her the cup. ‘And get that look off your face, because I’ve got to be away and if you want me to take you back and get your things together, then just don’t sip at it as if you were in the drawing room.’

  First, she sipped at the coffee while staring at him; then she said, ‘There’s times when I wonder why I ever want to be near you.’

  ‘The same here, Mrs Falconer, the same here. Come on now, finish it and let us get off, because there’s a lot to do between here and tomorrow, when you start your new life in your private section of the mansion.’

  Five

  As Beatrice was about to leave her office, having given the cook her orders for the day, which varied very little from the day before, she had straightened the papers on her desk, then risen from her chair and was about to walk towards the door when it was flung open by a very excited Rosie, holding out a paper towards her and gasping now, as she said, ‘Robbie’s just shown me. It was in yesterday’s paper. Look! Look!’ She pointed to the column on the folded sheet, and Beatrice, taking the paper in her hand, read:

  ‘A tragedy occurred yesterday when Sir Frederick Morton Spears and his son Michael were both drowned in a squall in Plymouth Sound. Sir Frederick was a well-known figure in the sailing world, as was his son. Mr Michael Morton Spears, aged twenty-five, was unmarried, and as Sir Frederick leaves no other male descendant, the title falls to his cousin, Major Leonard Morton Spears.

  Major Leonard Morton Spears and his wife, Helen, were both staying with Sir Frederick and they, like all Sir Frederick’s many friends, are devastated by the news.

  The bodies were recovered late last night, and the funeral is arranged for Wednesday, the 3rd October.’

  When the paper went limp in Beatrice’s hand, Rosie took it from her, saying, ‘Isn’t it awful! Awful! Helen was always talking about them. She said they were lovely people, and the son, Michael, she thought, was soon to be engaged. She told me so in her last letter.’

  ‘In her last letter? What do you mean?’

  ‘Well’ – Rosie tossed her head now – ‘you always get angry when she writes to me, so I took it out of the post.’

  ‘How could you, Rosie! How could you! It’s to me, the head of the house, she should be writing.’

  ‘Damn the house!’ Rosie actually jumped back a step when this exclamation broke from her, and she dared to go on, ‘You and the house! That’s all you think about. Two people have been drowned. Leonard will be feeling awful, because he told me that he and Sir Frederick were more like brothers than cousins. They were very fond of each other. And now he’s gone, and his son’s gone, and all you can say is, why doesn’t Helen write to you because you are head of the house? Well, I’ll tell you why she doesn’t write to you. It is because of your reception of her when Father died, and the fact that you’ve never got on together. But now, what’s not going to please you is that, if Leonard inherits the title, Helen will be Lady Helen Morton Spears. That will endear her to you more, won’t it? Oh, I can never understand you, Beatrice. Never
! Never!’ On this she swung round and left the room, leaving Beatrice leaning against the side of the desk, her hands gripping the edge.

  Lady Helen. Her, Lady Helen. Why was it that she should be so lucky? There will be no holding her now. She’d be in society, perhaps presented at Court. Why did all the good things happen to her? Why did nothing exciting come her own way, something that would make her happy? She was only twenty-four, and she considered she had looks, interesting looks. It wasn’t fair. Her hands slackened on the edge of the desk and now she almost groped her way back to the chair and sat down. As she laid her head back she told herself to be calm, because when she got herself worked up in such a state, inside it made her feel awful for days. And it became evident in her expression, she knew that.

  She now asked herself a question, even quietly, Why did she dislike Helen so much? Her dislike almost amounted to hate. Was it because she was so beautiful? Not entirely. No, not entirely. It was something about her, that ease, that off-hand manner, that laugh of hers. The way she talked, and she would talk to anybody, always the same, to servants, trades people, anyone, just as Rosie did, while she herself couldn’t act like that. For one thing, her father wouldn’t have liked it. Her father had a sense of class. Class. She almost sprang up from the chair now. Why did she keep seeing the good side of him? He had deceived her for years. She used to pride herself on being like him. Now the one wish in her life was that she could be someone different, free and easy in her ways. But she had been more free and easy of late since Mrs Falconer came, and the doctor. Oh yes, the doctor. She could even joke with him: they would laugh together as he teased his mother, especially about the wine making. Mrs Falconer was teaching her how to make wine. She never knew there were so many different kinds that could result from the fruit in the hedgerows: sloe, elderberry, rose-hip syrup, besides all that could be made from vegetables, such as rhubarb and potatoes, and a wonderful wine from parsnips. Cook had been a bit uppish about making jelly from rose-hips, but her ruffled feathers had been soothed when Mrs Falconer had given her a bottle of damson wine and sent her in tasters from the others, too.