The Sunday Girls

by Maureen Reynolds

  I saw Jean’s motherly figure coming towards us. She had overheard our conversation. ‘Aye, if I hadn’t broke this ruddy leg, then I wouldn’t have let Miss Hood bully you, Ann, but you’ve got to understand that Mrs Barrie had a dicky heart and she could have dropped dead at any time. And all these bouts of flu didn’t help but she always said she wanted to die quickly …’

  I saw Jean was crying as well. I looked around for Dad and Grandad but they were with Maddie’s father. Jean moved ahead but Maddie held me back. She obviously wanted to tell me something that she didn’t want the mourners to overhear. ‘Do you remember the photograph, Ann? The one of the small child?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Well I overheard my mother and Eva discuss Miss Hood a few weeks ago. It seems Miss Hood got involved with some actor when she worked in the theatre in London. She was a wardrobe mistress to Eva in those days. Well this actor came from the West Indies to play the part of Othello and to cut a long story short, she fell in love with him and she had a child. She thought they would get married but instead he took the little boy and disappeared back to Jamaica. The child was only about two at the time and Eva did all she could to help.’

  I was shocked. ‘What a terrible thing to happen to her.’ I tried to imagine how I would feel if someone went off with Lily. I would be devastated. ‘Did she ever find her child?’

  Maddie shook her head. ‘No. Eva even hired a private investigator but they had vanished. The investigator traced them to Jamaica but, by then, they had left and gone off to America and the trail went cold after that.’

  ‘She was cutting up the photograph on the day Mrs Barrie died. Why do you think she did that, Maddie?’

  Maddie didn’t have the answer. ‘I’m just a student nurse in the men’s surgical ward so I wouldn’t know anything about mental health.’

  Suddenly Jean was back at my side. ‘Ann, I’ve been told by yon man over there that we have to be at his office in Commercial Street next Wednesday.’ She pointed to a serious-looking elderly man who stood beside Mr Pringle, Dad and Grandad. ‘He’s a solicitor.’

  ‘We’ve to go to a solicitor’s office?’ I was perplexed.

  ‘Aye, next Wednesday at ten o’clock.’

  Maddie said, ‘Yes, that’s one of my father’s partners – Mr Chambers.’

  I looked at Maddie but she shrugged. ‘I don’t know anything,’ she said.

  Back at the Overgate, Granny was as puzzled as I was. Hattie, however, was agog with excitement. ‘You must be getting a wee memento, Ann,’ she chirped. ‘Maybe it’s another coat.’

  I was suddenly very angry. ‘Don’t mention that again, Hattie. That coat was the cause of all this tragedy, I’m sure about that.’

  Greg didn’t share this view but he knew all about my terrible nightmares – night terrors of heavy candlesticks and a ravaged-looking Miss Hood.

  It was the day after the funeral when he mentioned the visit to his parents’ house. ‘We can take Lily with us and go by bus. She will enjoy the change and maybe Rosie will have your handsome father all to herself for a couple of days.’

  How perceptive he was. It was true Dad was looking a lot cheerier these days and, although he still had his pint of beer on a Saturday, he seemed to want to stay in the house with us – and Rosie, of course, who was a regular visitor to the Hilltown. Yes, I thought, things were definitely looking up in that direction.

  As it turned out, the weekend was just the tonic I needed. The sun shone steadily and although the autumn air was crisp, the countryside was ablaze with multicoloured trees and fresh smokeless air. Lily was fascinated by the new scenery and she loved every minute of the visit, as I did.

  Mr and Mrs Borland lived a few miles from Trinafour. The house, built of grey stone, was situated by the side of a grass-covered hill and right beside a clear running stream. It was enchanting, especially to my city eyes.

  Mr Borland was a shepherd and, every morning, he set off early with his two dogs, Jassy and Jed. Lily went with him that first morning, just as far as the first sheep pen on the hill, but she arrived back in high spirits, her small face pink with pleasure and sunshine.

  Later I helped Greg’s mum make a gigantic high tea of bacon and eggs, home-made bread and scones and pancakes, all washed down with strong sweet tea. As I stood in the warm, homely kitchen, my memories of Miss Hood slowly receded in my mind. Afterwards we all sat around a big roaring fire, listening to the trees swaying in the wind and hearing stories of lost sheep and wild winters – the daily job of a shepherd in fact.

  ‘You must call me Barbara or Babs and Dad’s name is Dave,’ said Greg’s mum. It was obvious she was proud of her son because she never stopped singing his praises – much to his embarrassment.

  ‘We were both so proud when he went away to the university in Glasgow,’ she said.

  Dave nodded and I thought Greg blushed slightly. ‘Oh, stop it, Mum. Ann doesn’t want to hear about me. Heavens, it’ll be the family album soon.’

  The words were no sooner out of his mouth than his mother scurried away into a wooden cupboard.

  I hadn’t known about the university and I was pleased to hear about his achievements. ‘What did you study at Glasgow?’ I asked.

  He grinned in his lopsided manner. ‘What else? English Literature.’

  ‘Oh, how wonderful,’ I gasped. Still, I wasn’t surprised because Maddie had said he was a bookworm.

  Babs appeared from the depths of the cupboard with a small leather-bound book. It was full of small sepia-toned and black-and-white photos of the family, all taken over a period of about twenty years.

  There was Greg as a child and as a schoolboy and a studio portrait taken after his graduation – a serious-looking young man with a scroll in his hand.

  He laughed out loud. ‘So now you know my case history, Miss Neill. Do you still want to know me?’

  Lily clapped her hands. ‘Yes, yes, Greg. I want to come back and see the lambs. Dave said I could.’

  Babs gathered her up on to her lap and gave her a cuddle. ‘Of course you must come back – anytime you both want to.’ She smiled at me over Lily’s head and I was filled with emotion at this cosy domestic scene. I couldn’t help but wonder if it would have been the same for us had Mum lived. But she hadn’t so there was no use in thinking about it.

  Dave was speaking as he filled his pipe with tobacco from a well-worn pouch. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Ann, but Greg has told us about the awful situation at your work.’

  Greg threw him a warning look but the man was just trying to be sympathetic. Suddenly the spectre of Miss Hood returned to my mind. Dave was still talking but I wasn’t listening. Then the words Salvation Army stood out and I looked at him.

  ‘Does the Salvation Army come here?’ I said, quite mystified.

  Greg laughed. ‘Good Lord, no. It’s just that my cousin is a major in the Salvation Army in Dundee. We both went to Glasgow University and he’s now an accountant with a firm in Dundee. He loves the Army, just like Rosie.’

  ‘Well, Rosie doesn’t seem to attend so much these days.’ I didn’t mention that this could be Dad’s doing. Suddenly a memory emerged from the deep recesses of my mind – a memory from a few years ago. The memory was of Balgay cemetery under rain-filled skies and the young Salvation Army major who so movingly performed the service. The one I thought had been press-ganged by Rosie.

  ‘A Major Borland conducted my mum’s service,’ I said. ‘Would that be your cousin?’

  Greg nodded. ‘Certainly looks like it. I met up with him after the service and I remember him saying it was heart-breaking – two children left motherless. Was that you and Lily? To think I could have met you then.’ He smiled at me.

  ‘What a small world, Ann,’ said Babs. ‘But no more talk of sad things. Get the board games out, Dave, and we’ll take Lily on at Snakes and Ladders and Ludo.’

  Lily’s laughter was a joy to my ears as Greg and I sat quietly talking by the fire. Tomorrow it would be time to go h
ome to Dundee but for now, it was pleasant to sit and dream in the semi-darkness that lay beyond the golden circle of the oil lamp.

  Then on Wednesday, sharp at ten o’clock, I met Jean outside the solicitor’s office. A brass plaque at the end of the close stated that Jackson, Chambers & Pringle was to be found on the first floor. We gingerly ascended the stone stairs with their fancy wrought-iron banisters and finally arrived at a door with a frosted glass panel which had the firm’s name embellished on it in gold letters. This was where Maddie’s father worked.

  Inside, a well-groomed young woman arose from behind an imposing desk. A typist sat at another desk but she didn’t look up when we entered. We were ushered into a small booklined inner sanctum, the shelves of which were overflowing with thick binders and even thicker law books. A man sat in the chair by the window. To our surprise, it was Mr Potter. Jean still had her plaster on and she hobbled over to him. He turned his watery eyes to us and muttered, ‘A bad business this, missus. Aye a right bad business.’

  I stood stock-still, shock washing over me. But he muttered again, ‘I’m not meaning you, lass. No, it wasn’t your fault. It was that evil besom of a housekeeper.’

  Before I could answer, a middle-aged man, with a wrinkled scraggy-looking neck and a thin emaciated body that seemed to be dwarfed by his sober dark suit, entered and introduced himself. ‘I’m Mr Jackson, solicitor for the late Mrs Barrie’s estate.’

  We followed him into his office, a larger room with a window overlooking the street. It was a haven of silence except for the muffled voices rising up from the street.

  Mr Jackson said, ‘We have handled Mrs Barrie’s affairs ever since her arrival at Broughty Ferry – not so much me as my late father. He knew Mrs Barrie well and he conducted most of her business affairs but now the estate is in my hands.’ As if running out of words, he sat down and began to polish his spectacles. ‘Please sit down, ladies and Mr Potter.’

  He coughed and I tried hard not to smile because it sounded just as I had always imagined a solicitor would cough – discreetly and delicately. He began to read from a document which he held in his surprisingly muscular hands. His voice was formal, almost as if he were reading some official document. ‘It is my duty to inform you that, under the terms of the last will and testament of the late Eva Caroline Barrie, the sum of one year’s wages is to be paid to Mr Archibald Potter, Mrs Jean Peters and Miss Ann Neill.’

  Jean gasped while I felt faint. ‘That was very good of Mrs Barrie to think of us,’ she said, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

  We wondered if we should rise but the solicitor waggled his hand. ‘There is more,’ he said in his stuffy formal tone. ‘To Mr Archibald Potter I leave the sum of six hundred pounds and all the garden tools and any plants he wishes to take in full appreciation of all his hard work and dedication. To Mrs Jean Peters I leave the sum of six hundred pounds plus the choice of anything from the house, also in appreciation of her hard work and dedication.’

  I felt so pleased for them. This windfall would be such a blessing for them. Then, to my utter surprise, he looked at me. ‘To Miss Ann Neill in loving appreciation of all her kindness in bringing alive my favourite reading material, I leave the sum of six hundred pounds plus all the books in the house – the leather-bound books and the novels – in the fond hope that she will remember an old lady.’

  For a moment, I thought I was going to burst into tears and I tried hard to remain composed.

  Jean, however, was unable to contain herself. She wiped her brow with large handkerchief. ‘Mr Jackson, may I say that Mrs Barrie was the nicest woman I’ve ever met and it was a pleasure to work for her. Bless her,’ said Jean while I nodded dumbly. ‘She was always kind to Ann and me and we’ll never forget her.’

  There was no way I would ever forget her and, now she had left me this wonderful legacy, never, as long as I lived, would I forget her.

  As usual, Mr Potter was as calm as ever. ‘Aye, she was a real nice woman, was the missus. It was a pleasure to do her garden. She never interfered – not like some I could mention,’ he said darkly.

  His words brought back the memory of Miss Hood. ‘Mr Jackson, is Miss Hood in a hospital?’ I asked.

  He gave me a questioning look over the top of his spectacles. ‘Mr Pringle wants to see you all after this meeting.’

  We were then ushered from his office to another identical one which also faced the street. This was Maddie’s dad’s domain. He made us all welcome and ordered tea to be brought in.

  When we were sitting with our cups and saucers, I said, ‘Mr Pringle, is Miss Hood in the Royal Infirmary?’

  ‘No, she isn’t,’ he said.

  I cheered up. ‘Oh, I’m so glad she’s better. I’ve been really worried about her since that day at the Ferry. Is she living in her cottage in Monifieth? Or at Whitegate Lodge?’

  Jean and Mr Potter looked as mystified as I was.

  Mr Pringle looked at me sadly. ‘Miss Hood was admitted to a mental asylum on the night of Mrs Barrie’s death. She’s in Westlea and has been there ever since. I doubt if she’ll ever get out again.’

  This statement hit me like a sledgehammer. ‘Oh, surely she’ll get home sometime?’ Then I thought, what did I know about mental illness? Surely it was hard not to have any hope of release ever. My voice sounded choked. ‘But she’ll be cured … I mean someday?’

  He shook his head sadly. ‘No, Ann, she won’t.’

  I was upset. ‘This was all my doing, Mr Pringle. If I hadn’t confronted her about my coat, then this could all have been avoided.’

  He shook his head. ‘That is the reason I’ve brought you all here. To explain what’s behind Miss Hood’s condition. Years ago Miss Hood had a broken love affair. She had an illegitimate child, a boy, and the child was taken away from her by the father. Eva, Mrs Barrie, tried all she could to help at the time but, over the years, Eva lost touch with her. Then, out of the blue, a letter arrived explaining how Miss Hood had tried to kill herself. And that was when Eva brought her to the Ferry in order to look after her because it was clear, even then, that she was mentally ill. Eva thought she could look after her and she would be safe while under her roof.’

  He stopped to let us digest this terrible news. ‘Everything went well to start with even although Miss Hood got rid of a lot of staff in the beginning. Then you started work, Mrs Peters, and she knew she couldn’t bully you or Mr Potter. My wife and I are kicking ourselves for introducing Ann into this situation but we thought Miss Hood had settled down. Mrs Barrie however was growing increasingly worried about you, Ann. She wrote a letter to me a week before she died and she wanted my help in getting Miss Hood to retire. She would have a good pension and she already owned her own cottage. Miss Hood went berserk at this news and Eva was on the point of telling Ann to leave – for your own safety, my dear.’

  ‘Why did you not tell me or Jean about this, Mr Pringle? We could have made allowances for her and I would have understood her malice towards me.’

  He shook his head. ‘Eva wanted to protect her and we think Miss Hood was beyond any help by this time.’

  Jean and I looked at one another. This was how the lovely Mrs Barrie would act – to protect her housekeeper.

  When we were outside, I said to Jean and Mr Potter, ‘Even although I didn’t cause her mental condition, that fight must have put her over the edge, Jean. That’s why she’s now in a mental hospital.’

  Jean was annoyed but firm. ‘Now don’t you be daft, Ann. We’ve all been blessed by our wonderful bequests from a lovely lady so just you enjoy the money and the books and not give yon housekeeper another thought.’ She turned to the gardener. ‘What do you say, Mr Potter?’

  ‘Aye, she’s right. Yon besom was a horrible woman. She might have been deferential to the missus but she was an evil, wilful woman to everybody else.’

  Although this advice was good, trying to put the terrible guilt from my mind wasn’t easy. I was over the moon about my legacy and the lovely books
but I still felt it was partially my fault the housekeeper was in the hospital – no matter what anyone said.

  That evening, in the midst of my confusion, Maddie and Danny turned up at the house. Danny was teasing me. ‘I see you’re a rich heiress now, Ann. Maybe I should be getting married to you instead of waiting till Maddie finishes her training for our wedding.’

  I was happy for both of them but couldn’t help but feel how our paths had diverged. ‘Oh, that’s good news.’

  Maddie made a face. ‘But until that blissful time I’ll have to endure the infirmary’s semolina pudding. The good old 365.’

  I knew I should be feeling happy. With my money, I was going to ensure my family would be as comfy as possible – especially after the hardships we had endured. Dad had settled into a relationship with Rosie, Lily was growing up fast and, now that I was no longer at work, the added burden of my sister was lifted from my grandparents. Then there was Maddie and Danny with their forthcoming engagement. And last, but not least, was Greg – dear Greg. I should have been overwhelmed with happiness but the spectre of Miss Hood kept appearing in my mind.

  The nightmares were getting worse as I relived that terrible day over and over again. One night, while strolling home from the pictures, I turned to Greg. ‘I’m going to see Miss Hood – just to satisfy myself that she doesn’t hold me responsible for her situation.’

  He didn’t look happy about this. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea, Ann.’

  ‘I have to go, Greg – even although I’m afraid of what I’ll hear,’ I said to him. ‘I keep thinking about it and I can’t go on like this, with all these nightmares and guilty feelings.’

  He gave me a stern look. ‘Well, you can go on one condition – that I come with you.’

  ‘I can’t drag you into this nightmare, Greg – it’s my problem.’

  He gave me another stern look and I realised how nice it was to be able to lean on him. ‘All right, I’d be grateful for the lift as I don’t know if any buses or trams go to this hospital.’ I knew I had to keep calling it a hospital because my mind couldn’t cope with the term ‘asylum’.