I had a feeling that if I was where I belonged, at Court Road, then the poetry would come back. Poetry is like a stream that has to have a source.
It didn’t come back though. Sometimes I sat in front of a blank sheet of foolscap, but the spark had gone. I’d do a few doodles, and that was it. I wasn’t even reading much poetry any more. A lot of the new stuff just resembled cryptic crossword puzzle clues, the music was absent and there was no one writing with any passion any more. There were no equivalents to Rupert Brooke. I didn’t read anyone except for T. S. Eliot, and I couldn’t write like him. I often tried, and it came out stilted and pretentious.
Esther was just as furious as Daniel about having to leave Ceylon. She adored Preethi, her ayah, and Hugh Bassett had promised her a pet mongoose like the one that he had. It was extremely charming and naughty, and she often went to his house to visit it. Sometimes it came round to visit us, and I would find Esther playing with it on the terrace, as if it were a funny kind of cat. Hugh had commissioned a coolie to go out and find a baby one, but without success.
I suppose I was being very selfish, but what was eating me was the thought that when my father was dying, I would not be there to hold his hand and receive his blessing, and be the one to bend over and kiss his forehead, and close his eyes.
I did love my mother, tiresome though she became, and of course I loved my wonderful sisters, but I loved my father more than anyone. I don’t say ‘more than any man’ because the love I had for Ash and for Daniel was of a different order, and besides, I didn’t love them in the same way. Romantic love is not like daughterly love.
How can I put it? It was the thought of my father that put the warmest glow in my heart, and still does.
Daniel was right about one thing. Father was absolutely furious with me for demanding to come home. When we did, he summoned me to the dining room and gave me a tremendous dressing-down. He was actually shouting at me for ruining everything. He said I had been preposterously selfish and unreasonable, and I had wrecked things for Daniel and the children. Then when I began to cry, he let me explain that I was frightened he was going to die, and that was why I had to be here. He didn’t know what to say. He knew that his heart was very weak, but it doesn’t seem to have occurred to him that he might die young. He just said, ‘Oh, Rosie bairn, you shouldna have come hame just for me.’
Gran’mère Pitt came to visit because she wanted to see Daniel and the children, and especially Bertie, whom she’d never met before, and she simply cut me dead for a whole week. She spoke not one word to me, but just appraised me with a kind of contempt in her face, and passed the butter to me at table without even looking at me. It was very hard to take, being made to feel so guilty.
And when Father did suddenly drop dead on the golf course, I wasn’t with him at all. I was sitting at home at The Grampians, not writing poetry, but taking the place of my distracted mother as mistress of the house, cleaning the silver and making lists.
26
The Will
The five women went together to see the solicitor in Eltham. Christabel had come down from Gaskell’s estate in the north, Sophie had come from Blackheath in her own motor car, and Rosie and Ottilie came with their mother from The Grampians. Mrs McCosh was dressed entirely in black, and her steps were unsteady, so she leaned on Rosie’s arm.
The day was overcast, as suited their feelings, and they felt curiously numb as they stood outside the offices of Gilbert, Cadge and Catchpole in the high street. Rosie rang the bell, and looked dumbly at the shining brass plate.
Ottilie said, ‘I think it’s about to rain.’
Mrs McCosh said, ‘A lady must always wear a hat.’
‘I am wearing a hat, Mama.’
‘It’s a cloche hat.’
Unsure what to make of this, Ottilie said nothing.
‘I’m sure it’s very becoming,’ continued Mrs McCosh, leaving the ‘but’ unsaid. ‘At least you’re wearing a cloche hat.’
‘I am quite happy with an umbrella,’ said Christabel, who knew that this remark was directed towards her bareheadedness. She had bundled her hair up in a careless heap, and bound it together with a red strip of chiffon.
‘Well, you may be happy with just an umbrella…And I do believe you are beginning to become a little tubby. It’s most unlike you. You should perform callisthenics for half an hour each day at your age. Before an open window. Even in winter.’
They were greeted by Mr Horatio Cadge himself, a small, round-shouldered man with a worried expression, and wisps of greying hair on his otherwise bald head. He breathed with difficulty, having endured a gas attack in 1917, and his voice was thin and weak.
‘You are wearing a spotted bow tie,’ said Mrs McCosh.
‘I am indeed, Mrs McCosh.’
‘It’s a lovely tie,’ said Christabel, shooting a meaningful look at her mother.
‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,’ said Sophie brightly. ‘Sometimes it’s so hard to get it out. One needs to invest in so much eyewash. It’s most peeving and vexatious.’
The women sat before Mr Cadge who fumbled with the will as he drew it out of its envelope. He peered at them over his half-moon spectacles.
‘As you know, I, er, have tried to warn you that you may find the contents of this will, shall I say, dare I say, somewhat untoward, somewhat alarming. Indeed, I have tried to dissuade you from reading it at all. I do appeal to you to read it privately, and alone rather than together, so that you may…you may…compose yourselves before discussing it. Mr McCosh has not come up with, shall we say, a conventional approach to his bequests. It’s all most unusual.’
‘Mysterium tremendum,’ said Sophie.
‘We’re here now,’ said Rosie.
‘Shall we get on with it?’ said Christabel. ‘All I need to know is that Mama will be well taken care of.’
‘My dear,’ protested Mrs McCosh, ‘you really should not conclude a sentence with a preposition.’
‘It’s something one has to put up with. And be ready for,’ said Sophie.
‘And you shouldn’t start a sentence with a conjunction,’ declared Mrs McCosh.
‘Mrs McCosh is well looked after by the will, I am glad to say,’ said Mr Cadge. ‘It’s in one way fortunate that he died when he did, because his finances were, shall we say, somewhat cyclical, and he departed at a very high point. If you don’t mind, shall we start on this most…difficult…not to say embarrassing task?’
The women nodded, and the solicitor coughed into his hand to clear his throat, and read:
‘This is the last will and testament of me Hamilton McCosh in the county of Kent.
I revoke all former Wills made by me
I appoint Messrs Gilbert, Cadge and Catchpole solicitors of Eltham in Kent to be the executors and trustees of my Will
To my mistress Eliza Sarah Girdlestone of 17 Eaglesfield Road in Shooters Hill I devise and bequeath the sum of two thousand pounds whereof one thousand is to be divided equally amongst my four children by her and I devise and bequeath to her the house in which she lives
To my mistress Molly Heycock of 81 Rowley Avenue in Sidcup I devise and bequeath the sum of one thousand and seven hundred and fifty pounds whereof seven hundred and fifty is to be divided equally between my three children by her and I devise and bequeath to her the house in which she lives
To my mistress Agnes Whiteley Rump of 5 Robin Hood Lane in Bexleyheath I devise and bequeath the sum of one thousand pounds and the house in which she lives
To Agatha my daughter by my deceased mistress Patricia Feakes of 26 Parkside Avenue in Barnehurst I devise and bequeath the sum of five hundred pounds and my house in Notwithstanding in the county of Surrey
To my former mistress Marianne Theresa Goodin of 42 Links View in Dartford I devise and bequeath the sum of one
thousand and five hundred pounds of which five hundred pounds is to be divided equally between my two children by her
To my mistress Rebecca Esther Weinstein of 9 Park Road in Chislehurst I leave the sum of one thousand pounds and the house in which she lives
I give to my wife Caroline Wentworth McCosh my furniture wearing apparel and all other effects in and about my residence at my death absolutely subject to the payment of my funeral and testamentary expenses and debts (other than mortgage debts)
I devise and bequeath all my real and personal estate not hereinbefore otherwise disposed of unto my trustee UPON TRUST that my trustee shall sell call in and convert into money the same or such part thereof as shall not consist of money and shall with and out of the moneys produced by such sale calling in and conversion pay my mortgage debts and shall stand possessed of the residue of the said moneys IN TRUST to invest the same in any investments authorised by law for the investment of trust moneys with power for my trustees at discretion to change such investments for others of a like nature and shall stand possessed of the investments for the time being representing the same and of annual income thereof UPON TRUST to pay the said income to my said wife during her life and after her death I direct that the capital and income of the fund shall be held IN TRUST for such of my legitimate daughters by my said wife as shall be living at my death in equal shares
I declare that my trustee may postpone the sale and conversion of my residuary estate or any part thereof for so long as he shall think fit and that rents profits and income to accrue from and after my decease of and from such part of my residuary estate as shall for the time being remain unsold and unconverted shall after payment thereout of all incidental expenses and outgoings fall into and form part of my residuary trust moneys
IN WITNESS thereof I have hereunto set my hand this twelfth day of December One thousand nine hundred and twenty-two. Signed by the above named Hamilton McEwan McCosh as his last Will in the presence of us both being present at the same time who in his presence and in the presence of each other have hereunto subscribed our names as witnesses.’
After Mr Cadge had finished, he pushed the will across the desk and Rosie took it up.
‘I can’t believe that Daniel witnessed it,’ she said. ‘And Fairhead too. Sophie, did you know about Daniel and Fairhead witnessing this?’
‘Oh yes, he told me.’
‘He actually read this and witnessed it?’
‘Oh no, neither of them actually read it. They just signed the end when Daddy asked them to.’
‘I don’t think it’s the done thing to read it when you’re witnessing it,’ said Ottilie.
‘I was going to kill both of them,’ said Rosie.
‘The 12th of December in 1922 was very sharp. A very cold wind,’ said Mrs McCosh abstractedly.
‘Fancy remembering that,’ said Christabel.
‘It seems that we have ten or eleven half-brothers and -sisters,’ said Christabel softly, looking around at the others.
‘It’s all completely nonplussing,’ said Sophie. ‘What a pother. Do we have to get to know them, do you think?’
‘Let’s just be us,’ said Rosie. ‘I’d be much happier if it was just us.’
‘Me too,’ said Ottilie. ‘I just want to remember Daddy as ours.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to avoid being curious,’ said Christabel.
Sophie suggested, ‘Perhaps you should do a scouting expedition, and report back to us.’
Mr Cadge coughed politely, and the women stood up, taking the hint. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he said. ‘I am sorry, very sorry indeed, if this has all been something of a shock. Normally a man, you know, a man finds another way to cater for these, um, irregularities, and then of course there’s no, there’s no…’
‘You mean it all stays under wraps, even after death?’ asked Ottilie.
‘Oh yes, oh yes. Really, it’s greatly preferable if it is, as you say, under wraps. If it’s any comfort to you, if I may make the suggestion, your father had to choose between being a dishonourable rascal or an honourable one, and he, of course, as you might expect if you knew him as well as I did, took the latter course, although much against my best advice. Please do allow me to show you out, and I shall keep you informed of the progress in executing the will. Good day, good day, good day.’
To the astonishment of the sisters, Mrs McCosh set off immediately towards the florist, saying, ‘We must have fresh flowers for his grave. Yesterday they were looking quite past their best.’
‘Are you going to carry on visiting it every day?’ asked Ottilie.
‘Of course. Why on earth wouldn’t I?’
‘Just to be respectable?’
‘Of course not. I have never cared for respectability, as you know. I shall go out of loyalty. And gratitude. He bought me the most beautiful violin. And a complete leather-bound set of Thackeray for our thirtieth anniversary. And we had a great many very enjoyable games of golf.’
‘When I was in the Snapshot League,’ said Christabel, ‘I did get to know an awful lot of out-of-the-way places.’
‘And?’ said Rosie.
‘Well, I can’t help noticing that all these women live next to golf courses.’
‘How very like Daddy,’ said Sophie, ‘always a man for two birds with one stone. Duopoulic but monopetric. But polypoulic really, if you think about it.’
‘Sophie, you’re talking to yourself,’ said Ottilie.
‘He was never a man with only one thing on his mind,’ said Mrs McCosh proudly.
At St John’s, Mrs McCosh laid a new spray of flowers on the grave. ‘One day I’ll be in there with him,’ she said, ‘and it’ll be me and not anyone else.’
* * *
—
That evening they sat together by the fire in silence, still trying to come to terms with the bewildering revelations of that morning. Rosie was reading her prayer book, and Mrs McCosh was studying a little book entitled How to Manage Without Servants whilst Sophie and Christabel played mah-jong. Ottilie sat quietly with her hands in her lap, apparently doing nothing.
‘Why are you reading that book?’ she asked her mother.
‘Because we don’t have any servants.’
‘But we still have Cookie. And the Honourable Mary.’
‘Mary is a companion. And Cookie is hardly one of the servants.’
‘She’s a permanent fixture, like the plumbing,’ said Sophie, ‘or the banisters.’
‘Mama,’ said Rosie suddenly, ‘why aren’t you more upset? About Daddy. What he got up to. I mean, I would have expected –’
‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs McCosh. ‘I was perfectly happy with four children. Four was quite enough. Just right. And your father and I were somewhat dissimilar in some respects. Under those circumstances, a wife has to make allowances.’
‘You knew all along?’ asked Ottilie incredulously.
‘A lady does not know more than she chooses to know or needs to know. I dare say I would have been quite furious and humiliated to find that one of his mistresses was a Jewess, but it’s too late to make a fuss now, and it does go to show how very broad-minded he was. At least he had the decency not to encumber you with any Jewish siblings. Apart from that, he was a very good husband.’
‘What?’ cried Rosie. ‘How can you possibly say that? He broke his vows!’
‘He was a wonderful father to you,’ replied Mrs McCosh. ‘I am certain he was a good father to all his other progeny. He was always a very kind and affectionate husband who respected my wishes even when he mocked them. And, as I said, we did have some glorious rounds of golf.’
* * *
—
Six weeks after Hamilton McCosh had been piped to his grave to the tune of ‘The Flowers of the Forest’ Rosie was in the house alone when a letter for Danie
l was delivered, from Ceylon, and she recognised Hugh Bassett’s handwriting. She took the letter to the conservatory and held it up to the sunlight, but could not make out the writing inside, so she went down into the kitchen and put the kettle on the hob. When it began to steam she held the fold of the envelope near the spout, and then very carefully began to prise it open. The soggy paper ripped suddenly, and she realised she had gone too far. She hesitated, wondering what to do, but as there was no turning back, she tore the envelope open and read the letter.
My dear Daniel,
I have news for you of some import, and I am sorry that I did not inform you of this before, but I had no idea until yesterday that anything was afoot.
I am certain you would want to know that Samadara has had a son that she has called Beloved Daniel. I have no doubt that you did not know of her condition when you left, and that you will be as surprised by this news as I was. I anticipate that you will be both shocked and delighted.
This throws up tremendous complications for you, but I would like you to know that, whatever happens, I shall ensure that both of them are as comfortable as possible. I actually have no idea if this is still your forwarding address, or if you will ever receive this letter. I can only hope. My intention is to look after the child and his mother as if I were you, and as I know you would want. I shall ensure that he goes to Hill House and receives an excellent education, and I shall try to find a suitable match for Samadara, after some consultation with her family. They seem to be reasonably pleased by the arrival, because they know that he will make their economic position more secure, and will eventually find a post in the Civil Service, or some such thing.
So Much Life Left Over Page 16