The Surplus Girls

by Polly Heron

‘We’re aware of that, thank you,’ Prudence said in the testy voice she reserved for tradesmen who thought a pair of middleaged spinsters didn’t know what was what. ‘What you have neglected to explain is how our inheriting Mother’s annuity somehow makes it appropriate that Lawrence should be given the house that belonged to her family.’

  ‘I would remind you, Miss Hesketh, that the will in question is your father’s, not your mother’s, and your father had three children. The house in Wilton Close started out in the hands of your mother’s family before becoming hers outright. She chose to leave it – quite properly, in my view – to her husband, and there her interest in it ceased. The house you insist upon referring to as your mother’s has in fact been your father’s since her early death. Naturally, your father wished to see all three of his children provided for. You and your sister have benefited from your mother’s annuity for – ahem – a considerable number of years. What more could you expect? Your father was entitled to leave the house, his house, to his son. What right-minded man wouldn’t?’

  ‘But Lawrence already has a house,’ cried Patience.

  ‘Rented,’ said Lawrence. ‘Not the same thing at all.’

  ‘And an income from his work,’ Patience went on doggedly. ‘If you take away our home, what will we be left with?’

  ‘The annuity.’

  ‘You say that as if it’s riches, and it isn’t. We…’ Her voice faded away. How vulgar to talk about money. They might be what Grandma Hesketh would have called the genteel poor, but they had their pride.

  ‘And Prudence’s salary,’ said Lawrence. ‘Don’t forget that. You’ll have ample between you to rent a couple of rooms. What more do you need, a pair of spinsters like you? I have a wife and family and that house will suit us very well.’

  ‘And then there’s the other way of looking at it,’ Mr Wardle said smoothly. ‘Had you two ladies come into the house, your brother could well have had grounds to contest the will. For the two of you to have the annuity as well as the house – well, that’s hardly fair, is it?’

  ‘This is an outrage,’ said Prudence.

  ‘I’ll take that as a professional compliment,’ said Mr Wardle, ‘though I believe you’ll find it isn’t an outrage. It is merely watertight.’

  ‘I don’t know how you talked Pa into this,’ Prudence flung at Lawrence.

  ‘Who says he needed persuading?’

  ‘I advise you to be careful what you say next, Miss Hesketh,’ Mr Wardle intervened. ‘It would be highly unwise to suggest—’

  ‘Let her suggest all she wants,’ said Lawrence. ‘There’s nothing quite like committing slander in the presence of a solicitor.’

  A charged silence rolled round the room before Prudence said stiffly, ‘If that’s everything, Mr Wardle, my sister and I will forego a formal reading of the will.’ She stood up. ‘Come along, Patience.’

  ‘Yes, run along, Patience,’ Lawrence said, ‘but before you do, there’s one more thing.’

  ‘Well?’ Prudence demanded.

  Lawrence puffed out his chest. ‘I intend to move my family into my new house and I’d be obliged if you would vacate it at your earliest convenience.’

  Belinda pressed her lips together, then released them. She couldn’t afford to look awkward or unsure, especially with her being older than the other candidates, not to mention lower class. Not that there was anyone to see her. After the two Miss Heskeths had been escorted upstairs, Mr Hathersage had invited her to come through. But before he could so much as wave her towards the chair, the young clerk with the boiled-ham cheeks had appeared at an inner doorway that led to a further room.

  ‘Mr Hathersage, I apologise for the interruption, sir, but would you mind?’

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Layton. I’ll return directly.’

  The door shut behind him. What should she do? He hadn’t actually invited her to take a seat: should she remain standing? The door to the hall was still open: ought she to close it?

  A few minutes passed. It felt ridiculous to remain standing so she sat and waited. And waited.

  At last the inner door opened and the clerk stuck his head out. ‘Fearfully sorry about this, miss. Mr Hathersage will be a while yet. Perhaps you could come back another time?’

  ‘No, I’ll wait.’ She couldn’t possibly have a second day off sick.

  Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she glanced through the open door. The two Hesketh ladies were on their way down – and something was obviously wrong. Miss Sharp had a face like thunder while Miss Softer’s eyes were fixed in a pained stare. She stumbled on the final step and grabbed the newel post to steady herself.

  ‘Come along, Patience,’ said Miss Sharp.

  Miss Softer – Patience – looked like she could do with a breather. Belinda rose and went into the hall.

  ‘Excuse me, but are you all right? Do you need to sit down? Not there,’ she added hurriedly, as the two ladies glanced at the row of wooden seats. ‘In here.’ She indicated the office. ‘I’m sure Mr Hathersage won’t mind. And perhaps something to drink?’ Mr Hathersage wouldn’t begrudge his masters’ clients a glass of water, surely.

  ‘Little as I wish to remain on these premises,’ said Miss Sharp, ‘a cup of tea would be most welcome.’

  Panic streaked through her. ‘I’m – I’m sorry. I meant a glass of water.’

  Miss Sharp gave her a look which combined outrage with disgust, at the very moment that the inner door opened and Mr Hathersage appeared.

  ‘Ladies, may I be of assistance?’

  ‘No, you may not,’ replied Miss Sharp, ‘unless you wish to train your staff to have better manners. A glass of water, indeed! Come, Patience.’

  ‘Member of staff? This young person is not employed here, I assure you.’

  But Miss Sharp wasn’t interested. Taking her sister by the arm, she led her out. Mr Hathersage bustled after them, brushing past Belinda as if she was of no consequence whatsoever, and opened the front door for them, blustering apologies for whatever impertinence they had suffered at the hands of that young person.

  The front door shut and he came back into the office. Belinda had heard of people looking down their nose at you, but she had always taken it to be no more than a form of words. Now, however, she knew it to be the literal truth. Mr Hathersage sneered at her down the length of his nose.

  ‘How dare you thrust yourself forward in such an objectionable manner?’

  ‘I only offered the lady a glass of water, sir. She looked upset.’

  ‘That is none of your concern. No wonder you have been unable to secure an office junior position by your age, if that is how you behave. Kindly leave the premises.’

  Belinda stared. All she had done was offer comfort to a lady in distress. Was that such a crime?

  You could have been an office girl.

  No, she couldn’t. Not if it meant not caring about others.

  Chapter Five

  THE FRONT DOOR clicked shut as Prudence left the house. Standing at the window, Patience watched her sister set off for work. Prudence had made arrangements to go to the office at half past ten, straight after the meeting at the solicitor’s, but instead she had felt obliged to bring Patience home, so now she was late. Patience huffed a sigh, hating herself for getting into a state. Yet who could blame her after the devastating news Mr Wardle had delivered?

  What were they going to do? They had lived in this house all their lives. She felt cold right down to her bones. She went upstairs to remove her funeral dress, stowing it away on its padded hanger before donning her plain everyday dress. A plain dress for a plain person. She looked at herself in the dressing-table mirror. Worse than plain today. Haggard. Oh, Pa, how could you?

  Being plain had never bothered Prudence, but it bothered Patience, and if that made her shallow, then so be it. Prudence was thin and upright, her facial features clearly defined – sharp, some might say. Patience was thin too, but there was nothing sharp about her. She was all soft edges. That summed up her
life: blurred round the edges. She hadn’t had the life she had longed for.

  A thin, plain old maid, that was what she was. Soon to be a thin, plain, homeless old maid.

  Fear rolled through her. She went downstairs. Unhooking her apron from the back of the kitchen door, she put it over her head and tied it behind her back before seeing to the downstairs fires. Thursday was brass day. Was it still brass day even though they were about to lose their home? But what else was she to do, if not this?

  She laid a sheet of newspaper on the kitchen table, along with the Brasso and a couple of cloths. Then she fetched the first batch of ornaments. The brass had been Mother’s, and her mother’s before that, so it ought to feel special, but it wasn’t half so appealing as dainty porcelain would have been, preferably with roses or forget-me-nots painted on with a delicate brush.

  She had barely started when the doorbell rang, followed, as she entered the hall, by a loud rat-tat on the knocker. Pulling her apron over her head, she opened the door.

  Lawrence pushed his way in. ‘You took your time answering.’ He marched into the sitting room. ‘Ah, there it is. Good, good.’

  Hurrying behind, she found him stroking the lid of Pa’s beloved old bureau as if it were a favoured dog. He pulled out the runners and lowered the lid to rest on them. Then he gave a humph of vexation.

  ‘Look at all this!’ His hand swept across Pa’s papers, notebooks and goodness knows what else spilling out of the pigeon-holes. ‘I thought you’d have cleared his things away by now.’ He jerked open one of the drawers underneath. ‘What have you been doing since he died? Nothing useful, by the looks of it.’

  ‘Lawrence, what are you doing?’

  ‘What does it look like?’ He shoved the drawer shut. ‘I’m taking what’s mine. Don’t stand there gawping. Empty all this rubbish from the bureau. The van will be here soon.’

  ‘The van..?’ Was she actually wringing her hands? She dropped them to her sides, then found them clutching at her side-seams.

  ‘How else do you imagine we’re going to transport everything? It’s hardly going to fit in the motor. Is that bowfronted chest of drawers still in Pa’s room? I’ll want that too.’

  ‘Don’t forget the pearl-handled fish-knives.’

  Patience spun round to face Evelyn, beautifully turned out from her droopy-brimmed hat trimmed with a huge bow, and her cape-collared green wool coat handsomely adorned with embroidered braid to her slender leather shoes with their pointed toes. How she managed to cram her feet into them was anybody’s guess.

  ‘Good, you’ve got an apron,’ said Evelyn. ‘You’ll be able to box things up for us. Didn’t I tell you she’d be sensible about it, Lawrence? Shall we?’

  The next thing Patience knew, the two of them were storming all over the house, throwing doors open and exclaiming in delight. All she could do was flutter after them, feeling hopeless and ineffectual in their superbly confident wake.

  ‘The walnut bed and matching wardrobe and dressing table in your father’s old room. Such a handsome set.’

  ‘The painting of the seaside village. Our Lucy will love that…’

  ‘This mirror – and that blanket chest…’ crowed Evelyn.

  ‘The clock on the window sill on the half-landing – and the monk’s bench in the hall. We can always flog it if we don’t want it.’

  ‘The dining table and chairs,’ cried Evelyn. ‘I’ve always admired the carving.’

  ‘The barometer…’

  ‘The epergne…’

  ‘The what?’ Lawrence asked.

  ‘This.’

  Patience was just in time to see Evelyn making elegant waving motions with her pudgy hands, like a conjurer’s assistant presenting an item to the audience.

  ‘That old thing?’ said Lawrence. ‘It’s hideous.’

  ‘Only because your sisters fill it with bits of string and old tram tickets and pencil stubs. Properly polished up, with fruit in the dish and flowers in the little vases, it’ll make a splendid centrepiece for our dining table.’

  ‘Our new dining table.’ Lawrence ran his hands over the back of a dining chair.

  ‘And don’t forget the dinner service,’ Evelyn added, beaming. ‘Where is it, Patience?’

  ‘In the sideboard. Our everyday crockery is in the kitchen cupboard.’

  ‘So you never use the good stuff?’

  ‘We save it for best,’ said Patience.

  Evelyn looked at Lawrence. ‘That means they never use it. You see, we’re doing them a favour, really, taking it off their hands.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ If it made her look stupid to ask so late in the proceedings, then she would just have to look stupid.

  ‘What does it look like?’ said Lawrence and muttered something under his breath, which brought a flush to Patience’s cheeks even though she didn’t hear it.

  ‘Poor little Patience,’ said Evelyn. ‘You do understand that the house is ours now, don’t you, dear? The contents are ours as well, so we’re taking a few things away; you know, clearing the decks to make it easier for you and Prudence to pack up and move out. Do you still have the silver teapot and tea-caddy?’

  ‘You’re… taking our things? You can’t do that.’ Or could they?

  ‘We’re taking our things, dear,’ cooed Evelyn. ‘Where’s Prudence? At the office? There you are, then. That shows how sensible she is being about this. Now you must be sensible too.’ Evelyn draped an arm around Patience’s shoulders and squeezed. ‘Do you think you can do that? There’s a good girl.’

  Evelyn released her and Patience stumbled on watery legs into the hall. Any moment now, the promised van would roll up and her home would be dismantled before her eyes. Why did this have to happen when Prudence wasn’t here? Prudence wouldn’t let Lawrence and Evelyn walk all over her. Even if she couldn’t legally stop them taking items they now owned, she would at the very least have had a jolly good argument over it.

  Patience shivered. A row was the last thing she wanted. She was the gentle one of the family, the peacemaker. The weak one.

  Was that why Lawrence was here now, in Prudence’s absence? Because he knew that soppy little Patience was no match for him? Well, she wasn’t having that. She might be gentle, but she absolutely was not going to be walked over. It was up to her to do what needed doing.

  Whatever that was.

  Her thoughts seemed to be all squished together in her head and if there was a sensible idea in there, she couldn’t find it. She might as well slump onto the monk’s bench and drop her head into her hands. But she couldn’t, she mustn’t. There must be something she could do.

  And there it was, crystal-clear in her mind, a possible answer to this vile situation. Would it work?

  Lawrence and Evelyn were still in the dining room. Patience heaved herself to her feet and stood in the doorway. Evelyn was on her knees, rooting around in the sideboard cupboard.

  ‘Lawrence,’ said Patience, ‘don’t you think you should move your motor further along? You know, to make room for the van. You’re parked right outside and your removal people might find it more convenient if they could park there.’

  ‘Good point. Give yourself a pat on the back, Patience. It’s good to see you taking this on the chin.’

  He threw open the front door and disappeared. Goodness, he had fallen for it. Now for Evelyn.

  ‘Did I hear you mention the fish-knives, Evelyn? Here they are.’ Patience extracted the box from the sideboard drawer and thrust it into her sister-in-law’s surprised hands. ‘Don’t you think it ought to be put in the motor rather than the van? So much safer.’

  ‘Really, I—’

  ‘Let’s take it before Lawrence locks the motor again, and I’ll bring the epergne.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’

  Patience grasped the epergne. It was heavy and awkwardly shaped; the cut-glass dishes and vases were going to come adrift if she wasn’t careful. Lawrence had left the front door open. With a polite smile, Patience let Evel
yn precede her. Evelyn stepped from the porch onto the path. Heart hammering, Patience stayed in the porch.

  ‘Evelyn – take this, will you?’

  She pushed the hideous object into Evelyn’s arms. Evelyn did a little dance, trying to cope with the knife-box and the epergne, which made ominous tinkling sounds. Patience jumped back into the hall and slammed the door, then raced like a mad thing to make sure the back door was locked. The doorbell rang and didn’t stop ringing. The knocker clattered.

  She ventured through to the sitting room, nearly jumping out of her skin as Lawrence appeared at the window and banged his fist on the glass. She did the only thing she could think of: she drew the curtains. Then she sank into a chair, breathing rapidly.

  The doorbell stopped ringing. There was no more knocking. She held her breath, not daring to let it go because that might make her relax and that wouldn’t be a safe thing to do, not yet. If ever.

  Then came the metallic whisper that usually heralded the arrival of the post.

  ‘Patience!’ Lawrence shouted through the letter-box. ‘Don’t be an idiot. Open the door this minute.’

  She didn’t move a muscle.

  ‘Have it your own way. But you’ll open up soon enough when I come back with the police.’

  *

  ‘Lawrence did what?’ Prudence demanded. Freshly returned from work, she stood in the hall, still in her hat and coat, Patience having been unable to hold back even long enough for her to shed her outdoor things. ‘How dare he force his way in and try to make off with our possessions?’

  ‘He said – well, actually Evelyn said – it all belongs to them now.’

  ‘But you outfoxed them, you clever old thing. I didn’t know you had it in you.’

  Patience felt a glow of satisfaction. Prudence didn’t hand out compliments lightly. Life was a serious business for Prudence. Well, it was for Patience too, but whereas she might have enjoyed some fun, Prudence couldn’t be bothered with flibberty-gibberty stuff like that. Was it a lifetime of office work that had endowed her with that air of authority? No. She had been born with it.

  ‘Lawrence was fearfully angry,’ said Patience. ‘He threatened to send for the police.’