To Dream Again

by To Dream Again (retail) (epub)

  ‘We are here to read the last will and testament of Mrs Agnes Gertrude Lisburne, who died on the 3rd day of October, in the year of our Lord, 1923,’ began Mr Conway, adjusting the pince-nez on his nose. ‘I suggest we continue without further delay.’ He smoothed out the folded document before him and began to read. “I, Agnes Gertrude Lisburne, née Penthorp, being of sound mind…’

  His voice droned on, announcing the bequest of minor sums of money and personal mementoes to each of the servants, larger amounts to Rogers and the senior staff. Then came the division of her jewellery and more personal effects among the children, the bequest of her diamond brooch and the string of pearls that had once caused Peter such embarrassment to Mercy. To Peter was left the contents of the house, some mementoes of his late father and…

  Mercy sat expectantly, waiting for these relatively minor items to be dealt with first. Not that she had any expectations for herself. She had been surprised that Agnes had left her anything at all. No, her hopes were for Peter and the children.

  ‘… And finally the set of pearl and gold shirt-studs formerly the property of the late Mr Harold Lisburne. This being duly signed by me, Agnes Gertrude Lisburne, on this twelfth day of July.”’

  Mercy was astounded. That was the end of the will! Already the servants were leaving the dining-room. They were leaving silently because they were under the iron control of Rogers, but she could sense what a buzz of excitement they were holding back.

  ‘Is that all?’ she asked, astounded, when the three of them were alone.

  ‘I am afraid so,’ replied Mr Conway.

  ‘But what of her stocks and shares? Her house at Chelston? Her capital?’

  The solicitor looked anxiously at Peter, who simply waved a hand at him to continue.

  ‘I regret to say they are all gone, Mrs Lisburne.’

  ‘Gone? How? Why? They can’t be!’

  ‘I am afraid they are.’

  ‘Why was I never told?’ she demanded. ‘Why?’

  Peter looked uncomfortable. ‘I wanted to spare you,’ he said. ‘I hoped things would improve.’

  ‘But they haven’t, have they?’ she cried, incensed at being kept in ignorance of the state of their finances yet again. ‘How much longer did you intend to keep quiet about it?’

  Arthur Conway interrupted with a discreet cough. ‘Unfortunately the late Mrs Lisburne’s finances were the victims of the troubled times in which we live. The root of the trouble was that her husband, the late Mr Lisburne, invested most of his money in railways, mainly abroad. At the time these were splendid investments, of course. There was no way he could have envisaged the terrible events ahead.’

  ‘You mean the war has caused the trouble?’

  ‘Not really the war. You see, most of Mr Lisburne’s investments were in the Imperial Russian railway system.’

  ‘Russian? Surely—’

  ‘Yes!’ broke in Peter angrily. ‘There is no Imperial Russian Railway, not now the Bolsheviks have taken over and claimed everything.’

  ‘Then those stocks are worthless now?’

  ‘They’re waste paper.’

  Mercy considered for a moment. The Bolshevik Revolution happened in 1917, the year in which Peter had his thirtieth birthday. How ironic that he should gain his inheritance and then unknowingly lose it within months.

  ‘What has Agnes been living on since then?’ she asked.

  ‘Her capital,’ said Mr Conway. ‘That was why the Chelston house had to be sold. Also, she did have an annuity, so during her lifetime she had few worries.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that! At least we won’t be paupers.’

  Still angry, she rose to go. ‘Please sit down again, Mercy.’

  She took one look at Peter’s white face and sank back into her chair.

  Unnoticed, Mr Conway gathered up his things and crept away.

  ‘You haven’t told me the worst yet, have you?’ she said. Her eyes fixed on him with mounting concern. ‘Let me guess. It wasn’t just your mother’s money that was invested in Russian railways, was it? It was our money, too!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So what have we been living on for the last five years?’ ‘Our capital… and Mother’s annuity helped with the household expenses.’

  Mercy tried to speak, but distress and anger blocked her words.

  All she could do was to demand again, ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘And have you worried about something that was not your concern? Certainly not!’

  ‘Not my concern? How can you say that?’

  ‘It was up to me to handle our finances. The responsibility, and the blame lie with me.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, we’re man and wife! We should share such problems!’ In spite of her words she felt resentful. ‘Oh Peter! The refurbishing of the house and the refit for the boat. Why did you go ahead with them when you knew this had happened?’

  ‘I didn’t think the revolution would last! I was sure the Bolsheviks would be overthrown and things in Russia would return to normality eventually.’

  ‘Oh Peter, Peter, Peter!’ Mercy could only shake her head in disbelief at such misplaced optimism. ‘Well, Tango will have to go, and Jasmine, too. We can’t afford to keep them now.’

  ‘They’ve already been sold.’

  ‘And still you said nothing to me?’ Mercy exploded into anger. ‘What else is there? There’s bound to be other things you’re keeping to yourself. We’re no doubt up to the eyes in debt, are we?’

  ‘No, we’re not!’ Peter snapped. ‘That’s one thing I’ve struggled against. I remembered how distressed you were about it last time.’

  ‘I suppose I must be grateful for that. Have you told me all the bad news, or do you plan to surprise me with something else?’

  ‘There is one more thing.’

  ‘I guessed there would be!’

  Peter took a deep breath.

  ‘I had hoped… in fact, I was relying on Mother’s annuity to help us out… I didn’t realize… I’ve only just discovered it was for her lifetime only. It ceased on her death.’

  Mercy’s anger faded as swiftly as it had arisen, driven away by mounting fear.

  ‘Then what income have we?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘And capital? Or assets?’

  ‘None. Only the house.’

  ‘Then what are we going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ The words were spoken in utter despair. ‘Oh God! We’re in such a mess, and it’s all my fault! I was a fool, putting such trust in things going back to how they were. I should have known the world would change. But I wanted everything to be beautiful and perfect for us. The war years were so hard, with me away and you struggling here alone. I couldn’t bear to see you living in a shabby house, or deprived of the lovely things I know you enjoy. When we were first married, one of my greatest pleasures was to give you the beautiful things you’d never had. I wanted to go on giving, making sure you never had to do without again. And now it’s all gone wrong. We’re ruined, and I am to blame!’

  The desolation in his voice wrenched at her heart, making her regret her harsh words and angry tone. Again he had kept things from her, but he had done it to protect her. Amidst her anger, distress and shock she had to remember that, no matter how misguidedly, he had borne all this trouble alone for her sake. She held out her arms to him, holding him close, her head pressed tightly against his chest.

  ‘The only thing I blame you for is remaining silent for so long. You should have shared these problems with me, not kept them to yourself. Never once did I have the slightest inkling you had so much worry on your mind. It was wrong of you, my darling, but I know you were only trying to protect me, and I love you all the more for it.’

  ‘Do you?’ He sounded so surprised and relieved. ‘I was convinced that you’d despise me for making such a mess of it.’

  ‘No, never that!’ she whispered, her arms encircling him even more tightly.

  The
y clung together, speechless in their anxiety. It was Mercy who spoke first.

  ‘We’d better start working out our future, don’t you think? We do own the house, don’t we? It hasn’t been mortgaged?’

  ‘Not yet, thank heaven! It’s still ours.’

  ‘Then why are we worrying? At least we’ve got something left.’

  Td like to hold on to the house, if we can. Maybe we could rent it out, and go to live abroad for a while. They say Kenya’s a marvellous place, lots of opportunities, wonderful climate.’

  ‘Kenya!’ Mercy was taken aback at the enormity of the idea. ‘It’s such a long way, and what would we do?’

  ‘Farming out there seems pretty popular.’

  ‘We’d need money to start us off!’ Even to her own ears her words sounded defeatist and she knew despondency would get them nowhere. ‘Well, if we’re setting out to have a new life in a new country we’ll have to get ourselves organized,’ she said more heartily. ‘We’d better start by reading every book about Kenya we can lay our hands on, to see what we’re letting ourselves in for. And adventures don’t come cheap. We must see how much money we can raise. The staff will have to go; that will be the hard part. We won’t need all this furniture in Kenya, though. We’ll pick out what we want to keep and sell the rest.’

  ‘You mean, you’ll come?’

  ‘Try and stop me!’

  She held out her hands to him, and he grasped them, too full of emotion to speak.

  * * *

  It was a bad time for selling. Mercy’s jewellery fetched very little and paintings and furniture went for a fraction of their value. ‘Trade is slack,’ was the usual cry, alternated with, ‘There’s no demand for such old-fashioned pieces these days.’ Even the car did not reach the price they had hoped. Worse still, no suitable tenant came forward to rent the Villa Dorata.

  ‘It’s no use, we’re going to have to sell the house,’ said Peter reluctantly. ‘There’s no other way. I only hope finding a buyer is easier than finding a tenant. I’ll tell the estate agent to put it on the market immediately.’

  Their meagre finances were dwindling alarmingly so Peter tried hard to find a job, but there were too many men in the same situation. Time and again he was turned down.

  ‘We’ll just have to make our start in Kenya a bit less ambitious,’ said Mercy, when he returned home after yet another fruitless interview.

  ‘Less ambitious? If we cut back our plans much more I can see us reduced to living in a mud hut with a strip of beans to cultivate,’ he replied bitterly.

  ‘Many successful people have started with less.’ Mercy was determined to be optimistic, though it took a great deal of effort. If she were honest the thought of going to Africa made her heart sink. She knew enough about farming in England to realize how difficult it could be to wrest a living from the soil. She doubted if it would be much easier in Africa, especially with insufficient capital and no experience. The trouble was she could think of no alternative.

  ‘I nearly forgot, here’s a nice fat envelope for you from the Colonial Office.’ Somehow she kept her voice cheerful. ‘It will be the information you asked for about growing sisal and coffee in Kenya.’

  ‘I’ll read it after dinner.’

  Peter took the package and threw it disconsolately on to the table that held their growing collection of books, maps and pamphlets about Kenya.

  Mercy was making the dinner when an urgent ringing at the front doorbell pierced the stillness of the kitchen. It had been years since she had done any cooking, and she was enjoying herself. The long trek to the front door was less enjoyable. She had never before appreciated how far it was from the servants’ quarters. The last person she expected to find on the doorstep was Joey – an undeniably angry Joey.

  ‘Right, I want to know what all this is about!’ he declared, waving a newspaper under her nose.

  She was as taken aback by his arrival as his forceful greeting.

  This is what I mean!’ Joey stabbed his forefinger at a page of the newspaper. ‘Is this your house, in the “For Sale” column, or is it not?’

  ‘Yes, certainly it is… Why, what’s the matter? Oh, do come in, we can’t talk on the doorstep!’ She stood back, and Joey limped into the hall.

  ‘You ask what’s the matter! You! I like that!’ Joey flourished the paper angrily once more. ‘Come on now, Sis. What’s happened? Why are you selling?’

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Peter came hurrying downstairs. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘It’s my brother, Joey. Don’t you recognize him?’

  ‘Ah yes! Well brother or no brother, I won’t have you shouting at my wife!’ Peter snapped. ‘So you can mend your manners now or get out!’

  ‘I’ll get out when I’ve had a few answers, and not before. I want to know what’s happened to make you need to sell this place,’ retorted Joey.

  ‘Do you indeed? Then let me point out to you it’s none of your business. Now get out!’ Peter’s face was white with anger.

  ‘It is my business! Mercy’s my sister, and if she’s in some sort of trouble I want to know about it!’

  ‘Do you indeed!’ The two men were facing up to one another so belligerently Mercy was afraid they would come to blows.

  ‘Oh, do calm down, the pair of you, and stop being silly,’ she said, unconsciously adopting the same tone of voice she used on the boys when they were squabbling.

  For a moment longer her husband and her brother continued to glare at one another, then Joey suddenly grinned.

  ‘We’d better do as she says, otherwise she’s quite capable of giving us both a clip across the ear,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have rushed in here like a bull in a china shop, it was just seeing the advert so unexpectedly.’ He turned to Mercy. ‘You promised, Mercy! You promised you’d come to me if you needed help. And you didn’t!’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry… Look, our dinner’s nearly ready. Come and have something to eat with us, and we’ll talk.’

  ‘I’d like to…’ Joey looked questioningly towards Peter, who gave a stiff nod of agreement.

  ‘That’s settled then! Come on!’ said Mercy.

  Joey followed her, with Peter bringing up the rear. They ate in the small room which had once been Rogers’s domain. Joey’s eyebrows rose when he saw the modest surroundings. They rose even further when Mercy served up the meal, but he said nothing, not until they had begun eating.

  ‘Right!’ he said. ‘No servants, and selling the family home! That’s got to mean money trouble! So what happened? I’m not being nosey or interfering,’ he said to Peter. ‘I want to help.’

  ‘It’s kind of you,’ Peter answered quietly, clearly reluctant to discuss their affairs with anyone, even Mercy’s brother. ‘All the same, there’s nothing you can do.’ He did not add that Joey was hardly qualified to advise him on financial matters, but the thought hung unspoken on the air.

  ‘How do you know until you tell me the problem?’ Joey insisted.

  ‘Peter’s right.’ Mercy laid down her knife and fork with a gesture of despair. ‘You wouldn’t be able to help. We’ve had a bit of bad luck, and to cut a long story short, all our capital has gone.’

  ‘In that case what you need is something to tide you over, until you get on your feet again.’ Joey leaned forward eagerly. ‘I’ve got a bit tucked away. I was planning to buy the house next door and expand Seaton’s, but you’re welcome to it. It’s not a fortune, only a few hundred. Still, it should help.’

  ‘Oh Joey, we couldn’t take your money,’ Mercy said, deeply touched.

  ‘Why not? I took yours!’ Joey said cheerily. ‘And very useful it was. You’ve a share in the business, don’t forget. Without you two I would never have got started. So why shouldn’t I come to your rescue, for a change?’

  ‘We appreciate the gesture,’ broke in Peter. ‘Nevertheless, we must say no. We’ve made up our minds to sell the house and go out to Kenya, to try our hand at farming.’

>   ‘Kenya? Farming?’ Joey stared at him incredulously. ‘Do you know anything about farming? Or Kenya, for that matter?’

  ‘Not much. No doubt we’ll soon learn,’ Peter replied. Joey’s sharp gaze went from his sister’s face to that of her husband, and he said, ‘If you’ll forgive me for saying so, neither of you looks overjoyed at the prospect. It’s a big step to take and a long way to go for something you’re not keen about. Isn’t there something else you could do? Something less drastic?’

  ‘Such as?’ demanded Mercy gloomily.

  ‘You’ve thought of letting the place?’

  ‘Yes, and got no response. To be honest we’ll be lucky to get a buyer, and I don’t see us getting anywhere near the asking price,’ she said, her gloom increasing.

  ‘And what will you do if the house doesn’t sell?’

  ‘I don’t know, honestly I don’t! I suppose we can always take in lodgers.’ Mercy said with bitter humour. After a moment she looked up. ‘That’s not a bad idea, you know,’ she said. ‘We’ve enough bedrooms and plenty of space. A family guest-house! Something modest!’

  ‘That’s an idea!’ Joey regarded her eagerly. ‘But a family guest-house? It can be a lot of hard work for a very poor return. No one knows that better than me!’ ‘Then we’d better make it an hotel,’ said Mercy.

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth there was a dramatic silence.

  ‘Now that is a good idea!’ Joey was staring at her, his face suddenly tense.

  ‘A top-class hotel, with the best of everything, catering for the cream of society!’ Mercy’s imagination was catching fire.

  ‘Right,’ agreed Joey. ‘Make it really smart! Have the latest in everything!’

  ‘And superb food, and comfortable bedrooms…’

  ‘With washbasins…’

  ‘Maybe even a cocktail lounge!’

  ‘What, in each bedroom?’

  ‘No, you fool! You know what I mean!’