by Weaver, Pam
Lily pressed her dress and hung it carefully in the wardrobe. That was when she decided to exchange her brown handbag for her black one and found the letter. She stared at the writing on the front and felt the bulky corner. What was inside? She held it up to the light, but it didn’t help much. Who was that man? She’d never seen him before. Surely she would have known if he’d been a relative. She tried to recall what he’d looked like: smart, middle-aged; his dark hair was thinning, but he was quite good-looking for his age – not exactly handsome, but attractive. He had a soft voice and was well spoken. An educated man. He obviously knew Aunt Bea, but she’d had to tell him who Ruby was, so he must have been a very old acquaintance. She fingered the envelope again.
‘Cutler,’ came the dreaded voice, ‘bring Auntie some hot chocolate, will you?’
Down in the kitchen, Lily laid a small tray with a cup and saucer. The milk had boiled, so she poured a little onto the cocoa and worked it into a paste before adding the rest. The kettle was singing when she’d finished. Miss Rothermere liked her cocoa half-and-half. She didn’t know what made her do it, but when she held the envelope over the steam, the gum around the edge melted and the envelope opened quite easily. Inside, Lily found a letter written in a beautiful copperplate hand – the sort of handwriting her teacher at school had struggled to make her copy, although, when she tried, the letters were always jumbled. The bulky thing in the corner turned out to be a pretty locket on a silver chain. Then she heard Mrs Drury coming along the corridor, her heels tap-tapping on the linoleum floor. When Mrs Drury poked her head around the kitchen door, Lily was pouring boiling water into the cup.
Alone in her room and in her nightie, Lily held the locket to her neck and admired herself in the mirror. It was heart-shaped and bulky, but try as she might she couldn’t find the means to open it. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to open. The envelope, which she had shoved into her pocket when she’d heard Mrs Drury’s footsteps, had resealed itself. It didn’t look as if it had been tampered with at all. What should she do? She didn’t want to steam it open a second time. She might not be able to reseal it. What should she do with the locket? She looked at herself in the mirror again. It suited her so well. It would go nicely with her best dress. No … she couldn’t. It would be like stealing, and she wasn’t a thief. It did look good, though. Surely Aunt Bea wouldn’t mind if she borrowed it for a while. It belonged around the neck of someone young and pretty. She couldn’t imagine it on anyone as old as Aunt Bea, and Ruby wasn’t one for wearing jewellery. What was the point of leaving such a lovely locket languishing in a drawer? Anyway, if she didn’t say anything, how would Aunt Bea know?
CHAPTER 11
Rex Quinn stared out of the window to the street below. There was hardly anyone about and the few people who battled the elements pulled their coats around their bodies and hurried on. In the distance, the brown and churning sea crashed onto the beach, pulling the pebbles back with it. The Savoy was nice, but he wished he had booked into the hotel across the road. He would have had a better sea view from Warnes. No one was fishing today. The sky, the colour of pewter, glowered over the town with the threat of heavy rain. It was warm in his hotel room, but it looked cold outside and he hadn’t slept well. There was too much going on in his mind. Would she come? He turned and, picking up his dressing gown, washbag and towel, headed for the bathroom.
Later on, spruced up and ready for his meal, he sat facing the door. If she came, he wanted to see her at once. He was jumpy. Every time someone moved in the corridor, his head shot up. He’d ordered the morning papers, but even though he’d read the lead story a dozen times, he had no idea what it was about. His breakfast was generous, but he couldn’t really taste it. She must come.
He had no idea what to do with his day. The hotel manager suggested that he might like to motor out to Arundel or, if the weather improved, take a stroll along the Parade and see the devastation on the pier.
‘People came from miles around to see it,’ the manager smiled. ‘They say that in the week after the fire, over four thousand people paid their tuppence to walk along what was left of it.’ He chuckled. ‘I reckon it’s the only pier in the country that can manage to make thirty-four pounds in a week for half an attraction.’
Rex smiled thinly. He wouldn’t be going out. What if she came and he missed her?
‘Here for the boxing?’ one of his fellow guests asked him as they left the dining room and headed for the visitors’ lounge.
‘Boxing?’
‘Saturday night,’ said the man. ‘At the Egremont.’ He was dressed in a thick tweed suit and sported a tobacco-stained moustache, which he’d skilfully twirled into two points. ‘There’s a room on the first floor. Of course it’s not like the old days, but it’s got a cracking atmosphere. I used to go there as a lad with my grandfather. I saw some good fights there. I remember …’
Rex heard him talking, but he wasn’t listening. Surely Bea wouldn’t refuse to come. He began to worry about the girl; she’d seemed a bit air-headed, but she was a relative. Or so she’d said. What if she’d never passed the letter on? Oh God, he hadn’t thought of that before. He’d been an absolute fool to give it to her. He should have given it to Bea in person. The trouble was, he didn’t know how she would react, if he got that close to her. Not yet. It was too soon. What on earth had he been thinking of? The man had only been dead a week or so. Bea didn’t need to know he was here yet. This was hardly the time to settle old scores. The truth could wait for another day, or another weekend … couldn’t it?
The day of Nelson’s funeral was overcast, but dry. Albert Longman and three fishermen were the pall-bearers. There was a reasonable turn-out, although Ruby had a shrewd idea that most of the people were there out of sympathy for her mother, rather than paying respect to her father. Nelson’s waspish tongue had led to a falling-out with just about every fisherman along this part of the coast at one time or another.
The vicar of St Matthew’s, a man who had never met Nelson and hadn’t a clue about his life, painted a picture of a loving husband and devoted father. Had she been there, May might have recognized one of those terms, but nobody else did. The church was so still you could have heard a pin drop. The silence was broken only by the persistent cough of someone who was desperately trying to control it. Ruby turned her head and recognized Linton Carver, one of the lads from her father’s old regiment during the Great War.
They buried Nelson in the new cemetery at the bottom of Crockhurst Hill. Jim had come to the church, but not to the cemetery. He’d asked for the time off, but as he wasn’t related to Nelson, Mr Hayward, Jim’s boss, had only allowed him an hour and a half, so there wasn’t enough time to go to the graveside. It comforted Ruby to see Jim, and they exchanged a shy smile as he headed back to the studio.
Ruby thanked everyone at the graveside and shook Linton’s hand. Judging by his pallor, he was quite ill. ‘I’m sorry,’ she smiled. ‘I can see that you’re not too well. It was good of you to come.’
‘I was with him at Ypres.’ He patted his chest. ‘Us old comrades stuck together.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Ruby.
Albert Longman bumped into her. ‘Excuse me, Ruby. Your mother is sitting in the car. Shall I tell everybody to come back to yours?’
‘Yes, thank you, Albert,’ she said and, reaching out to touch Linton’s arm, she added, ‘You will come, won’t you, Mr Carver?’
‘Perhaps not, love,’ he said, patting his chest again. ‘Not feeling quite the ticket.’
‘Can we give you a lift?’ Ruby asked. ‘There’s room in the car.’
‘Much obliged, I’m sure,’ he replied.
There were some lovely flowers at the graveside, and even the girls at work had sent a wreath. She guessed that Winnie must have made it. The message was simple – RIP – and they’d all signed it: Edith, Phyllis and Doris. Of course none of them had been able to make the funeral. They would all be working, but for a fleeting moment Ruby thought she’d
caught sight of a lone woman patting her hair as she stood by the archway near the chapel. At the time she’d been distracted by the pall-bearers lifting the coffin and, when she’d turned her head to look, the woman had gone. She’d frowned. Why on earth had Mrs Fosdyke come to her father’s funeral? She didn’t know him; she’d never met him. Ruby frowned crossly. Surely Mrs Fosdyke wouldn’t go to all this trouble just to check up on her. On second thoughts, she wouldn’t put it past her. The old bag!
While her mother waited, Ruby pulled the little cards from the flowers and put them into her bag. She planned to give them to her mother later on. She straightened up and came face-to-face with a man she had never seen before.
He lifted his hat. ‘George Gore,’ he said. ‘Nice service.’
He explained that he too was an old soldier who had been in service with Nelson, and he had just travelled from Derbyshire to Worthing on business. When he’d arrived he’d realized that his old comrade-in-arms had drowned at sea.
‘We’re so glad you could come, Mr Gore,’ said Ruby. ‘My father never talked about his experiences during the war, but he would have been pleased that one of his old friends had come to pay his respects.’
‘I can’t say I’m a friend,’ said George mysteriously.
‘Oh?’ said Ruby, slightly taken aback.
Albert Longman interrupted them. ‘Excuse me again, Ruby, but I’ve just come to say goodbye. I have to get back to the office.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Ruby, taking his offered handshake. His skin was warm and clammy and it took all her strength not to shudder. ‘Thank you so much for all your kindness. Without Percy, I don’t know what we would have done without you.’ She meant it. She might not like Albert much, but he had been a solid rock to both her and her mother. She became aware of George Gore again. ‘This is an old acquaintance of my father,’ she said. ‘He’s come a long way to pay his respects.’
Albert gave him a polite nod.
‘We were together at Bellewaarde Ridge,’ said George, averting his eyes.
Albert stepped aside, distracted by the wreath sent by the girls at Warnes. He leaned over to read the card.
‘That’s near Ypres, isn’t it?’ Ruby said to George Gore. The name was familiar, but only because her mother had once told her that her father had been there. ‘Are you staying in Worthing?’
‘Yes,’ said George. His voice was flat. ‘I’m in the area for a couple of weeks.’
‘Thank you for taking the trouble to come,’ said Ruby.
‘Give my respects to your mother.’ He lifted his hat again and was gone.
Ruby was puzzled. Why come all this way if her father wasn’t even a friend?
‘I’d best be off now,’ said Albert, suddenly standing so close to her that he made her jump. ‘Remember, if you want me, you know where to find me.’
Ruby looked down as she walked away. She hoped he wasn’t getting any ideas.
The mourners regrouped at Newlands Road.
‘What’s happened to Percy?’ Aunt Vinny’s conspiratorial whisper in the kitchen was directed at Ruby, while Bea was out of earshot. The two of them were waiting for the kettle to boil again. It didn’t take much to empty the teapot, for it wasn’t up to coping with large numbers of people.
Ruby shrugged. ‘Jim Searle went looking for him for us,’ she said, ‘but nobody seems to know where he is.’
‘I thought it might be deliberate,’ said Aunt Vinny. ‘Nelson never was much of a father to him.’
‘That didn’t stop Percy trying to please him,’ said Bea, coming into the room. ‘All his life that boy did his best to make his father proud of him.’
‘You should have told him,’ Aunt Vinny said darkly.
‘Vinny!’ Bea snapped.
Her sister was unrepentant. ‘He had a right to know.’
‘A right to know what?’ said Ruby.
‘Nothing,’ said Bea. ‘And it’s none of your business either, Vinny.’
Aunt Vinny slammed the teapot lid down and swirled the teapot. ‘It never should have happened.’
‘Vinny, I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,’ said Bea stiffly. ‘Ruby, hurry up and get that tea out there.’ She thrust a full tray of teacups at her daughter. ‘Go on, go on – everybody’s dying of thirst.’
Ruby found herself being pushed out of the kitchen and the door closed sharply behind her. She smiled as she handed out the teas, and made a valiant effort to ignore the sound of angry voices coming from the kitchen.
Cousin Lily hung back as people left the house, offering to help clear up in the kitchen. Bea excused herself and went upstairs. With Ruby at the shallow stone sink and Lily holding the tea towel, the cousins worked steadily, and gradually the pile of plates, cups and saucers stacked on the wooden draining board dwindled.
‘What are you going to do, now that Miss Rothermere has gone away? Ruby asked.
‘I’ve put my name down at the domestic agency,’ said Lily.
‘Which one?’
‘The Central in Warwick Street,’ said Lily. ‘Mr Drury gave me a good reference, so I should have no trouble finding another post.’
‘You could end up going abroad,’ Ruby said wistfully.
‘Why on earth would I want to do that?’ asked Lily.
‘Of course,’ said Ruby, ‘I forgot about your engagement. You won’t want to be parted from Hubert for too long, will you?’
‘I don’t think I shall marry Hubert,’ said Lily.
Ruby feigned surprise. ‘Oh?’
‘We’re not entirely suited,’ said Lily with a sigh. ‘I know he’ll be absolutely devastated, but it can’t be helped.’
Ruby suppressed a small smile. ‘Be careful you don’t get yourself a reputation,’ she warned mildly.
‘Of course I will,’ said Lily. ‘What about you? With Uncle Nelson gone, will you stay at Warnes?’
‘For a bit,’ said Ruby putting the tea leaves into the slop bucket underneath the sink and rinsing the teapot. ‘But it’s not a great wage.’
‘I don’t know how you do it,’ said Lily. ‘Such long hours, and having to go back again in the evenings. You have to stay so late. You can’t go dancing or to the pictures. I’d hate it.’
‘I do go to the pictures,’ Ruby chuckled. ‘I don’t always see the whole film, but I do go to the pictures.’
They had started putting Bea’s best china back into the bottom of the sideboard.
‘What about May?’ asked Lily.
‘Seven years old?’ Ruby grinned. ‘She’s a bit young to send out to work.’
‘Uncle Nelson wanted her to have piano lessons and stuff,’ said Lily.
Ruby was brought up short. ‘Did he?’ This was the first she’d heard of it. How come Cousin Lily knew something she didn’t? Suppressing her irritation, she said, ‘How do you know?’
‘I was there when he told her,’ said Lily. ‘She was very excited.’
Ruby straightened up and closed the sideboard doors. ‘I don’t know how we’re going to manage that, without Father’s income,’ she said. ‘May will have to wait a while.’
‘Is she still with Susan Marley?’ Lily called, as she took the dirty tea towel into the scullery and lobbed it into the copper, ready to boil.
‘She comes back tomorrow,’ said Ruby. ‘Mum didn’t want her upset by the funeral.’
‘But she knows her father is dead?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘My mum can’t understand why Percy’s not here,’ said Lily. ‘I must say, I’m a bit surprised too.’
‘We can’t find him,’ said Ruby. She knew it sounded like a lame excuse, but Jim had assured her that he had been back to the BUF building in Warwick Street time and time again, but no one knew where Percy was … or they weren’t saying.
Ruby and Lily smiled at each other awkwardly. They’d been together for all the big events of life – births, weddings and now a funeral – but they had little in common. That wasn’t to say they did
n’t like each other. They got on well enough, but their conversation was stilted and awkward. Their mothers, who were sisters, had a rather volatile relationship, which might have explained the cousins’ awkwardness. Bea and Vinny were always terse and abrupt when they met, but let anyone criticize the other behind their back and they would fly. It seemed they loved each other fiercely, but found it hard to show it. Nobody really understood why, nor did they trouble to find out. It was just the way it was.
Ruby was looking at Lily’s dress. There was a rustle every time she moved. It clung to her body like smoky clouds and the fabric rose on her hip, giving it an air of sophistication. Even in deepest black, Lily was pretty. Ruby knew that the dress was most likely second-hand but, with her trim figure, Lily was able to pick up some choice frocks.
‘Can I go up and see Aunt Bea before I go?’
‘She may be asleep,’ Ruby cautioned.
‘I won’t be a minute,’ said Lily, grabbing her handbag.
Ruby didn’t argue. She was feeling tired herself and wanted to sit down for a while. It had been a long and exhausting day, but she’d wanted to write to Miss Russell to thank her for the two pounds she’d given her the last time they’d met, only she couldn’t find her address anywhere. It was a shame because Imogen’s generosity meant that Nelson’s funeral costs were all but met.
‘I’m sure I left it on the dresser,’ she told herself. ‘It was right here, by the teapot.’ She moved the best teapot to one side, lifting the lid and peering inside, but the slip of paper wasn’t there. Frustrated, she sighed. If she’d lost that address, she couldn’t write to Miss Russell and eventually they’d lose touch altogether.
Bea was lying on the top of her bed, but she wasn’t asleep. She lay staring at the ceiling. She had taken her mourning dress off, and it was thrown carelessly over the chair. She was in her petticoat, with the floral eiderdown pulled over her to keep herself warm in the chilly bedroom. They only heated one room in the house, although today there was a fire in the front parlour as well. She turned her head as Lily knocked on the door softly.