The House

by A. O'Connor

  “I think I’ll go home to London for Christmas.” The words were said before she had even thought about it.

  “Splendid idea!” said Prudence happily.

  After Prudence had dropped Clara off at the train station for her to make the long journey back to London for Christmas she returned to the house and arranged to meet the local dressmaker, Mrs Carter.

  She led Mrs Carter upstairs, into Clara and Pierce’s bedroom, and into the adjoining dressing room.

  “These are the garments,” announced Prudence, pointingto the rows of exquisite dresses belonging to Clara. “I want them all taken in a size.”

  “All of them?” checked Mrs Carter.

  “Yes, and you’ve two weeks to do it.”

  Chapter fifty-nine

  London had changed in the few months she had been away and Clara was taken aback. Even though she knew things had to change with the war going on, she still expected it all to be the same somehow. It was true for her grandmother and family’s reports, the whole country did revolve around the war now. It was all anybody talked about. Her brother as a doctor had been run off his feet working in a hospital treating wounded soldiers. There were many friends back from the front for Christmas and she tried to meet as many as possible. They all seemed to be thrilled that she was writing to them. She felt embarrassed when everyone asked her how Pierce was doing. She had no news to give them.

  She was out having tea with her friend Captain Daniel Miller.

  “I met your husband, Pierce, over there,” said Daniel.

  Clara’s face lit up “Really? Where?”

  “In a little village called Amiens, just near the trenches. We had a night off and a few of us were in a local hostelry. He was there.”

  Clara sat forward anxious. “How was he?”

  “He seemed fine. Very much in control.”

  “I’m so worried about him.”

  “I shouldn’t worry about Pierce Armstrong. He’s built a reputation for himself. He’s fairly fearless, from what I hear. Doesn’t say much, but doesn’t need to.”

  She sighed and sat back. “When do you return to the front?”

  “Day after tomorrow. . . Can’t say I’m looking forward to it.” Daniel smiled, embarrassed. “We’re not all as brave as your husband.”

  She reached forward and clutched his hand tightly.

  Clara was walking through the back gardens of her family home in Chelsea, deep in thought. There was a hard frost and the fountain had frozen over.

  She started to break the ice to allow the robins perched around have some water.

  “I’m off home, Clara!” her grandmother called to her from the house and Clara walked through the gardens towards her.

  “All right, grandmother. I’ll phone you tomorrow.”

  Louisa looked at her granddaughter. “When do you return to Ireland?”

  “Next week – if I return.”

  Louisa looked perplexed. “And why wouldn’t you return?”

  “Because I’m not happy there.”

  “Of course you’re not happy. You’ve got a husband fighting at the front. There’s a war going on. There would be something wrong with you if you were happy.”

  “A husband fighting at the front who never writes to me. Ever. Not once. Not since he left. He writes to his sister all the time. But not so much as a card to me!” Clara’s voice broke with emotion.

  Louisa looked shocked. “And you write to him?”

  “Of course! All the time! I’m at my wits’ end.”

  “Well Pierce Armstrong was never going to be an emotional type, Clara. You knew that when you got engaged to him.”

  “I don’t want an emotional type. But I don’t want a block of ice either . . . I can’t stand any of it. I feel like an unwanted guest in the house. Prudence goes out of her way to make me feel unwelcome.”

  “It’s not her house. It’s yours. You are the mistress of the house.”

  “You trying telling Prudence that.”

  “No! You tell her.”

  “I can’t tell her anything. I’ve nobody there. I’ve no friends. I chat to the locals and the servants, otherwise I’d go mad.”

  “You were warned by us all before you married, Clara, about the problems you were facing.”

  “I know. All of it wouldn’t matter if I had Pierce. But because of this damned war I don’t have him anymore.”

  Louisa grabbed her shoulders. “Everyone is suffering because of the war, Clara, and we all must just get on with it. There are many people in far worse situations than you. What of your poor brother? Imagine the horrors he’s seeing every day arriving back from the front to the hospital! Now, I didn’t approve of this marriage, but you’ve made your decision and you can’t come running back home just because the going gets tough. You are now Clara, Lady Armstrong, with a husband who is being very brave on the front from all the accounts I’ve heard. Think of how it would look if you didn’t go home! It would be scandalous. It would look like you were abandoning your husband while he fights the enemy. It’s out of the question. You need to go back to the house, be mistress of the house, and establish your new life there, in whatever guise it takes. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Grandmother.”

  Chapter sixty

  When Clara arrived back at Armstrong House in January 1916, she was determined to take her grandmother’s words to heart. She looked up at the house, beautiful in the snow.

  “This is my home,” she whispered to herself. “My home.”

  She walked up the steps and let herself in the front door. The hall felt chilly and she walked into the drawing room where she saw Prudence sitting in front of the fire.

  “Ah you’re back! How was it?”

  “It was nice seeing everyone again. There were soldiers everywhere back on leave. London, Dublin. The trains full of them.”

  “Goodness! The food must have been good in London by the look of you!” declared Prudence in a shocked tone.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You must have done nothing except eat. You’ve piled on the weight.”

  “Have I?” Clara said, concerned, as she went to the mirror and checked out her appearance.

  “You’d want to watch that. Pierce simply cannot stand overweight women.”

  “I’d hardly call myself overweight,” Clara looked down at her svelte figure.

  “Well, you mightn’t. But everyone else will. Of course they’re too polite to say it.”

  “Unlike you,” said Clara as she left the room.

  Later in her dressing room, she struggled into a dress which would not close. Certainly, the dresses she had taken with her to London had begun to feel a little snug – she really had indulged in all the wonderful food, to say nothing of chocolates – but she’d had no idea of the extent of the problem! Prudence must be right, thought Clara. She had put on weight. She resolved to go on a strict diet.

  Clara sat combing her hair in the mirror while a young housemaid Molly hung up her clothes.

  “Is there anything else, my lady?” asked Molly.

  “Thank you, no.”

  Molly opened the door and stepped out.

  “Oh!” called Clara. “Can you make sure the water is heated? I’ll be having a bath this evening.”

  “Certainly, ma’am,” Molly said, closing the door behind her.

  Prudence had been coming down the corridor and overheard this exchange.

  “Molly, leave the heating system alone and do not put on the hot water,” instructed Prudence.

  “But the bath will be cold for Lady Armstrong,” objected Molly.

  “So?”

  “So – what’ll I say when she asks why it’s cold.”

  “You tell her the system is on the blink, you silly girl,” answered Prudence. “And do the same in future if she asks for hot water for the bath.”

  Clara turned off the hot tap and stepped into the bath she had filled. She gasped with shock as she found the water was free
zing. She quickly climbed out and, putting on her dressing gown, walked into the main bedroom and rang for the maid. A minute later Molly arrived.

  “Molly, I thought I asked you to put on the hot water?”

  “Yes, my lady. Sorry, my lady. It’s just the system is on the . . . blink!” Molly said the word as if she didn’t understand what it meant.

  “I see. Oh dear! Well, have some water heated in pots and brought up to warm the bath somewhat in that case,” sighed Clara.

  “What seems to be the problem with the water? It never seems to be hot when I want a bath?” asked Clara as she stopped Prudence in the hall.

  Prudence was dressed in her hunting outfit having just returned from a day out with the local hunt.

  “Yes, it’s not working very well at the moment. That happens periodically unfortunately,” said Prudence, taking off her hat and throwing it on the sideboard. “It’s tiresome, especially in the winter.”

  “And how long has it been like that?”

  “Since around . . . 1896, I’d say.”

  “1896! Well, why don’t you have the wretched thing fixed!”

  “All that costs money, Clara. And since you didn’t bring any dowry with you, you’ll have to continue to suffer like the rest of us. Think of the poor soldiers at the front, and what they would give to have the luxury of even a cold bath.” Prudence walked onand up the stairs.

  Before going to bed Prudence put on the heating system to ensure she had a hot bath in the morning, and made sure she had all the hot water used up before Clara woke.

  Chapter sixty-one

  Clara walked down Castlewest’s main street after leaving the post office where she had posted another letter to Pierce. She was contemplating a quick drink in Cassidy’s before returning to the house when she heard her name being called. She looked across the street to see Emily Foxe waving over to her. Clara waved back and waited for a moment between the cars and horses so that she could cross the street to her.

  “Hello there, stranger!” smiled Emily, kissing her cheek.

  “Nice to see you again.”

  “Any news from the front? I hear from our Felix Pierce is quite the hero.”

  “Yes, so I believe,” Clara smiled, trying not to show her real feelings. “How is Felix getting on over there?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Emily looked worried and lowered her voice. “Goodness, if his stammer was bad before you should hear it now! The constant shelling has made his stutter horrendous. He was desperately disappointed you didn’t come to his homecoming dinner. He wanted to talk to you all about Pierce and the great job he’s been doing.”

  Clara was confused. “What homecoming dinner?”

  “The dinner party we threw for Felix of course. You know, it really isn’t good for you to stay up at the house all the time being a recluse. You need to get out and mix with us all. You’ve a patriotic duty to keep the home fires burning –”

  “Emily, what are you talking about? How could I go to Felix’s dinner if I wasn’t invited or informed about it?”

  “But you were invited, Clara. I sent my footman to your house with the invite especially. Others have sent you invitations too. We all know what pressure you’re under with Pierce being away but, forgive me for saying it, a response is expected when people leave messages or phone the house or send invitations. You shouldn’t just ignore us. People will try to be friendly only for so long and then they’ll give up.”

  “Emily, I’m very sorry, I didn’t get Felix’s invitation or any others. Please apologise on my behalf to anybody who may have sent me an invitation. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get home.”

  Clara turned and headed back to her car, feeling a mixture of confusion and anger.

  Fennell stood before Clara in the drawing room.

  “It’s been brought to my attention that messages have not been passed on to me. I am not being told when there are phone calls for me. And messages delivered to the door are not being given to me.”

  Fennell looked uncomfortable and embarrassed.

  “Well?” asked Clara.

  “I’m very sorry, Lady Armstrong. I don’t know what to say if this has been happening.”

  “Well, who has been answering the phone and who has been taking in the messages? Which one of the servants? Would it not be you? Is that not your job?”

  “I do not know.”

  “It’s simply not acceptable for this to happen and I’m extremely annoyed. In future ensure that all messages are given directly and promptly to me, do I make myself clear?”

  “Very good, my lady.”

  Clara was visibly upset. “Then you may go.”

  Clara marched into the library where Prudence was at work at the desk.

  “Prudence, I’m very angry with Fennell. Phone messages and invitations have been coming here and I’ve not been given them.”

  “What a shame.”

  “Well, it’s more than a shame. It’s scandalous that the servants have been falling down with their duties.”

  “Scandalous? Dear Clara – the war in the Flanders is scandalous. The Rape of Belgium is scandalous. Food shortages are scandalous. Indeed, the cost of living and the price of a loaf of bread arescandalous. But a few messages not being passed on hardly constitutes scandal. Pierce said you had a predisposition for exaggerating.”

  Clara felt shocked to hear of Pierce using this description of her. Shocked to hear he had used any description of her. She was angered. “Regardless of my choice of adjectives, Prudence, I expect the servants to do their job, war or no war.”

  Prudence sat back in her chair, a smug smile on her face. “Oh what a spoilt little thing you are! In case you hadn’t realised we are considerably down on servants as half of them have gone off to war. This has meant the workload of each servant has increased considerably. And I’m sure nobody has time to play at being your social secretary.”

  “I understand that – but –”

  “Good, then we’ll say no more about it.” Prudence took up her fountain pen and began to concentrate on the work in front of her again.

  Clara was openingher letters in the parlour. She tore open one letter and saw the Chelsea address. As she read the letter she saw it was from the father of her friend DanielMiller. He was writing to her to inform her that Daniel had been killed in action. He thanked her for the friendship she had shown Daniel over the years and wished her the best. She stared at the letter in disbelief as she remembered having lunch with him at his club at Christmas. She crumpled the letter in a ball and held it tightly, thinking of such a young life full of vitality wiped out in a second. As time wore on she became very agitated every day as she waited for the post. If she hadn’t heard from a soldier for a while she became anxious that something had happened to him. Then when she finally received a letter and there was a logical reason that there was delay in the post or he’d had his position moved she felt such relief. But with others she would receive a letter from his relative or a friend or her own family telling her the unfortunate man had been killed. It was as if reality was suspended as the roll call of her friends being killed kept coming.

  Chapter sixty-two

  Dear Clara,

  I do hope you’re feeling better since Christmas, and you’re settling in back at the house. I still have to give you a wedding present and I’ve decided what it is. You talked about all the portraits hanging in the house of Pierce’s family. And I think it would be fitting for your portrait as the new Lady Armstrong to be hanging amongst them, pride of place. This should make you realise you have as much right to be there as any of them before you.

  I’ve made enquiries and I’ve commissioned an up-and-coming local artist called Johnny Seymour who lives locally to you to do your portrait. I have it on excellent authority that he is magnificent. Your beauty deserves to be captured for eternity in art, and at the same time it will give you something to do until this dreadful war is over. I’ll be in contact with the details sho
rtly.

  Your loving grandmother,

  Louisa

  “Johnny Seymour!” Clara gasped loudly.

  It was very appropriate of her grandmother to be arranging Clara’s position on a wallamong the other Lady Armstrongs that came before her. Louisa knew Clara’s love of painting and that this would mean a great deal to her. Louisa was obviously trying to cheer her up. But to employ Johnny Seymour of all artists! She thought about the man and was nervous about him painting her and nervous to be in his company for any length of time. Yet the thought elated her as well. She had always wanted her portrait to be done, and Johnny seemed fascinating company.

  “We may be having somebody spending some time at the house here,” Clara informed Prudence.

  “May? Please be definite.”

  “My grandmother has arranged for an artist to paint my portrait as a wedding present.”

  Prudence stared at Clara with a disbelieving smirk. “A portrait! There’s many a thing this house needs, but one thing it doesn’t need is a painting of you!”

  “Well, my grandmother begs to differ.”

  “Your grandmother doesn’t have to live with the faulty heating system. Why not get her to give you a plumber for a wedding present rather than an artist? Far more practical.”

  Clara smiled dreamily at Prudence. “Ah but, you see, it’s not ‘our’ wedding present, it’s mine. And I was never practical, not in the least.”

  “The mind boggles, it really does!” Prudence shook her head, bewildered.

  “The artist is . . .” Clara coughed lightly. “Johnny Seymour.”

  “Johnny Seymour!” Prudence’s screech could be heard all the way down to the kitchen.

  Fennell entered the drawing room.

  “Em, Mr Johnny Seymour here to see you, my lady.”

  “Oh!” Clara got a start. “Give me a minute, then show him in.”