by Comfort Me
‘On the other hand, I imagine the joy of being at home is more concentrated when it only comes at intervals,’ Jim said with a smile, and Captain Furlong smiled too, but still seemed thoughtful. He looked about for his wife and saw her sitting on a chair in the porch, sipping a glass of water, with several ladies fluttering about her.
‘Are you ready, my dear?’ he said, extending his arm, and she looked pathetically at the ladies.
‘Thank you all so much,’ she said in a die-away voice, then rose to her feet and tottered to the door, holding her husband’s arm.
‘Dr O’Brien is right. You do need more fresh air and exercise, my dear,’ Captain Furlong said. ‘The weather has not been conducive to it but it should improve now.’
Later, he studied Anna, then spoke to her about the concert. ‘Kate told me they had asked you,’ Anna said. ‘I will enjoy it. I used to go with Norah and Jim before Norah married.’
‘You seem to have lost all your companions in a short time,’ her father said kindly, and Anna’s eyes filled with tears.
She blinked them away. ‘I still see Norah at her shop. She does the church flowers and Brother Shaw gives me messages for her.’
She felt guilty about deceiving her father when he was being so kind but she was afraid he would ask why she went to the shop. She told Jim Deagan later and he laughed and said, ‘“The guilty flee when no man pursueth.” Your father probably never gave it a thought, Anna. He’d think you went to see Norah if he did. You worry too much.’
Norah had obtained a good price for the bell pull and other items for Mrs Drew but soon the demand for Anna’s work began to fall away. ‘They’re a fickle crowd, the women who were your customers,’ Norah told Anna. ‘Too much money and not enough to do and always on the lookout for something new. I believe hand-painted scarves and runners are the rage now. I’ll still be able to sell some of your work, Anna, but the demand will gradually die away.’
Anna hid her dismay. ‘It was good while it lasted,’ she said cheerfully, ‘I’m very grateful to you and your mother.’
‘No need to be grateful to me. You brought me trade,’ Norah said. ‘And Ma was pleased with herself for thinking of it.’
She laughed but Anna said, ‘She helped me when I needed it and in such a tactful way. Sometimes, you know, Norah, I feel sorry for myself but then I think how lucky I am to live next door to your ma and your family.’
‘Did you enjoy the concert?’ Norah asked and Anna told her about it enthusiastically. ‘Frank doesn’t like orchestral concerts,’ Norah said. ‘That’s why we didn’t go. He says he’s had to sit through too many because of his job to go to one willingly.’
She laughed but Anna thought privately that Frank could have endured the concert for Norah’s sake or at least suggested that she went with her family as she enjoyed them so much.
She walked home feeling low in spirits, partly because of Norah and partly because her source of income was closed. She still had a few shillings saved and Dorrie had sent her a sheet of stamps so she was able to send letters without her mother’s knowledge. I’ll have to make that money last and try to think of something else, she thought.
Her mother greeted her as soon as she arrived home with demands to know where she had been. ‘I went to see Norah Deagan,’ Anna said wearily.
‘Without my permission!’ her mother snapped. ‘While you are under this roof you’ll ask my permission. You were needed here.’
‘For what?’ Anna asked, but her mother ignored the question.
Instead she sneered, ‘Did you go to ask for tips on catching a man? She managed it late in the day but you don’t seem able to. All the fuss about that soldier and now – one thin letter a week.’ She laughed maliciously. ‘You thought you’d ride on Dorrie’s coat tails, didn’t you, but he couldn’t stomach you.’
Anna turned and fled, pursued by her mother’s malicious sniggers. In her room she flung herself on the bed and burst into tears. It was the last straw. All week she had worried about a comment Mrs O’Brien had innocently made about letters from Eugene.
The doctor’s wife had spoken to Anna about missing Isabel and said that the doctor sometimes went to London for medical conferences. ‘Perhaps the next time you and I can accompany him, Anna, for a little holiday,’ she said. ‘Eugene writes such wonderful descriptions of the scenes in London when his duties take him there, I feel quite frantic to see them, don’t you?’
Anna had smiled and agreed but worried that Mrs O’Brien evidently received much longer and more informative letters from Eugene than she did. The doctor’s wife had gone on to say, ‘As Eugene says, London is the hub of the Empire so no wonder there are all these glittering occasions. Of course the King loves pageantry, they say. So different to his mother.’ Mrs O’Brien seemed to notice Anna’s silence and said with a smile, ‘I’m sure your letters are quite different,’ and changed the subject.
Now her mother’s comment about the thin letters had brought this worry to the forefront of her mind and she wept bitterly.
Anna had been there for some time, gradually becoming calmer, when she became conscious of hysterical screams from her mother and her aunt’s voice raised in anger. She stood up and saw her reflection in the mirror, her eyes swollen and her skin blotched with crying, so she poured water into the basin and began to splash her face, ignoring the sounds from below.
She had finished and was tidying her hair when there was a knock at the door and Nelly said quietly, ‘I’ve brung you a cup of tea, miss.’ Anna opened the door and Nelly came in, her eyes like saucers. ‘Did you hear that carry-on?’ she said. ‘Your ma having yisterics and Miss Clara shouting?’
‘Are they all right?’ Anna asked. ‘Had I better go down?’
Nelly shook her head vigorously. ‘No, you stay here and drink that tea,’ she said. ‘This has been brewing for days. It’s better out.’
Anna sipped the tea gratefully. ‘This is lovely, Nelly,’ she said and the maid sat beside her on the edge of the bed.
‘I don’t know what the missus said to you but Miss Clara went in and tackled her about it. That’s what started all this,’ she said.
‘I didn’t know Aunt Clara was in when I came home,’ Anna said.
‘Well, she went in and she was saying sumpn about you didn’t need to go out o’ the house to learn how to catch a man. You could ask the missus. She was an expert, after the way she trapped her poor brother. The missus started screaming and Miss Clara said she’d fooled the Captain for years with her lies but now he’d seen through her.’
‘Oh God, Nelly, this is serious,’ Anna said. ‘How can they live together after this?’
‘But there’s worse, miss,’ Nelly said with relish. ‘The missus said sumpn about a Mr Somebody and Miss Clara shouted at her that she was a wicked, evil woman who couldn’t bear to see anyone happy and God knew what He was doing when He made her lose them other babies. She wasn’t fit to live, never mind be a wife or a mother. I peeped in and Miss Clara was standing with her hands on her hips and I think she was crying and the missus was lying on the sofa, screeching and kicking her legs in the air.’
‘I’ll have to go down,’ Anna said agitatedly. ‘Someone will have to see to them.’
‘No, Miss Anna, not on no account,’ Nelly said firmly, laying a detaining hand on Anna. ‘Pretend you don’t know nothing and so will I. If they think there’s only them know they’ll have a better chance to sort it out some way to save their faces.’
‘That makes sense, Nelly,’ Anna admitted. ‘But they’ve never had a scene like this. I know they hate each other, but it’s always been so – so civilised!’
‘I know what you mean,’ Nelly said. She stood up. ‘What you wanna do now is stay up here outa the way. I’ll bring you sumpn to eat in a minute and tell you where they are.’
The house was quiet now but Anna sat uneasily, straining her ears to hear any sounds of distress. She knew Nelly’s advice was good but she wondered if her mother and a
unt would have physically attacked each other. The barriers of speech seemed to have come down with a vengeance.
Within a very short time Nelly returned with a plate of sandwiches, a piece of fruit cake and another cup of tea. ‘All quiet,’ she said cheerfully. ‘No sign of either of them. They must be in their rooms. And no blood or hair in the parlour.’
‘Thanks, Nelly,’ Anna said gratefully. ‘What about you?’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t starve,’ Nelly said, showing her broken teeth in a grin. ‘I’ll just clatter about in the kitchen so they know where I am if they want me.’ She came closer to Anna. ‘And don’t you worry. Nobody won’t hear nothing from me about all this. I’m not like some.’
‘I know, Nelly,’ Anna sighed. ‘I don’t know how you put up with us in this house.’
Nelly laughed. ‘I often think the same about you,’ she said.
‘I’d go this minute if I could,’ Anna said bitterly, ‘but I’ve no choice.’
‘Never mind. “Always darkest before the dawn,” my ma used to say,’ Nelly replied. She jerked her head towards the door. ‘This row might clear the air. Make things better.’
‘Thanks, Nelly, I don’t know what I’d have done without you,’ Anna said, as Nelly moved to the door.
Nelly looked back and winked. ‘Just lay low. That’s best,’ she said and went out, closing the door quietly behind her.
A little later Mrs Furlong rang for milk and aspirins in her bedroom and Nelly reported to Anna that when she took them up Mrs Furlong had ordered her to bring a plate of cold chicken and cold roast beef and some bread and butter, saying she must keep up her strength. She had also had coffee and three pieces of fruit cake.
‘She’ll live, then,’ Anna said dryly and she and Nelly giggled together.
Clara stayed in her room but the following morning she was in the kitchen as usual and the row was never mentioned, although Clara and her sister-in-law only spoke to each other when absolutely necessary.
Mrs Furlong seemed subdued and, for the moment, to have tired of her persecution of Anna, who found life much easier. Her aunt allowed her to help more in the house, although she spoke little, and Anna felt she had found a friend in Nelly, who had often seemed hostile to her until the night of the quarrel.
Nelly had not yet discovered the real cause of the argument but declared that she would, sooner or later.
The weather was pleasant now and every day Mrs Furlong took the walk she had promised her husband she would take, to the little park opposite their house, where she sat on a seat and gossiped with other idle ladies.
Nelly declared that the row had something to do with these sessions. ‘She come back one day like the cat that’d got at the cream,’ she said. ‘An’ she kep’ looking at Miss Clara. I’ll find out, never fear,’ she told Anna.
Anna had found another friend in James Hargreaves. She went alone now to ten o’clock Mass every Sunday, but always, as though by chance, James met her at the junction of Eastbourne and Westbourne Streets. They walked together along Shaw Street and down Langsdale Street together and James, who was now a collector, left her at the entrance to the church.
‘I was very sorry to hear about Captain Jenson,’ he said to her the first morning. ‘It was a tragedy for you, as well as for the Jenson family. You were friends with all of them, I know, not just Miss Jenson.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Anna said in a muffled voice. He was the first person who had understood that, or at least the first who had spoken to her of it, and when he added, ‘It was very hard to lose Miss Jenson’s company so soon after that of your sister,’ her tears overflowed.
James was aghast. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he stammered. ‘I’m so clumsy. I don’t know what to say to people.’
Anna quickly mopped her eyes and swallowed. ‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said, worried that she had made him feel bad. ‘It was just… you were so kind.’ She managed to smile at him. ‘No one else has understood. You said the right thing. You see, I didn’t feel I should grieve about that when they had such real sorrow to bear.’
‘I know I’m not good with people,’ he muttered. ‘I say the wrong thing.’
‘Not to me, anyway, Mr Hargreaves,’ Anna said. ‘You were very kind and understanding. I’m sorry it had that watery effect on me.’ She felt able to speak with less of her usual reserve because he seemed so vulnerable and they parted with a smile at the church door.
Because of that early misunderstanding they found that as time went on they were able to speak freely to each other about things that troubled them. Although neither of them attended the organised groups now, they walked to church services together and, walking home afterwards, often stood talking for a long time before going their separate ways.
Anna felt that in Nelly and James she had found two new friends in unexpected places.
Chapter Thirteen
James Hargreaves valued the meetings with Anna too. He had expected to start a happy life when he moved to the new house, but although he managed to rid himself of the nightmares about his mother and uncle, other baggage from his past was not so easily cast aside.
He still found it very difficult to mix with people and often felt that he had said something to offend them, although this was not always the case. Dr O’Brien had advised him to join some of the many guilds and societies attached to the church but when it came to walking into the room his courage failed him.
If the men had realised that he needed help they would have done more to welcome him but to them he merely seemed taciturn and unwilling to join in the activities.
He was the only single man in the office apart from a lively young commodore of a local sailing club, who often regaled them with stories of his exploits at the weekend and his conquests among the lady members. One of the older men turned to James one day and said kindly, ‘I’m sure you have just as good a social life, Mr Hargreaves, although quieter.’
James smiled and agreed and it was assumed that he had a busy social life centred round his church. He was popular in the office, a reliable worker and a ready listener to fishing stories or tales of the marvels of children.
He should have been completely happy but for no reason a black cloud of misery seemed to settle on his mind and nothing he could do would move it. Frances cooked delicious meals which he enjoyed, and he should have gained weight, but he remained thin because this canker seemed to be eating away inside him.
Dr O’Brien told him that he was physically fit but he also told him that he would need patience to rid himself of ‘the black dog’. ‘You’ve recovered physically from the years with your mother but mentally takes longer,’ he said bluntly. ‘Enjoy your good days and wait for the bad days to get fewer.’
The bright house and the fact that Frances was completely happy made James feel better. Frances had control of a generous housekeeping allowance and she enjoyed going into the shops near her home and being greeted by the butcher or the fishmonger saying deferentially, ‘Good morning, Miss O’Neill,’ then showing her luxury cuts of meat or fish.
If her sister-in-law or one of her cronies was in the shop, Frances enjoyed herself even more. One day her brother’s wife came in when the butcher was showing her some Scotch beef. ‘Beautiful. The very best,’ he was saying. ‘A bit dearer, of course, but I know you don’t mind that, Miss O’Neill.’
‘No, indeed,’ Frances said grandly. ‘But I think you need a large joint to get the full flavour for a roast. What does that weigh?’
‘This!’ the butcher said in amazement. He placed it on the scales. ‘Twelve pounds, three ounces, Miss O’Neill.’
Frances was conscious of the silent shoppers and her brother’s wife breathing heavily near her shoulder. ‘I’ll take it,’ she said recklessly.
A hum of conversation broke out but Frances spoke to no one. A tray of lamb cutlets was reverently held before her and she chose what she needed, then paid the butcher’s wife in gold. She was ushered to the door by the butcher, who was
assuring her that her meat would be delivered whenever it suited her, and she left, greeting a few friends, but ignoring her sister-in-law.
Her joy and triumph lasted until after the meat was delivered and she saw the size of the joint on the kitchen table. ‘I’ve been a fool,’ she told James later. ‘I’ve bought a joint of meat weighing twelve pounds! We’ll never finish it in a month of Sundays. All to show off in front of my brother’s wife.’
‘The meat’s not off, is it?’ asked James.
‘Oh, no, it’s beautiful.’ Frances assured him.
‘Then why are you worrying?’ he replied.
‘The waste, we’ll never eat it. I should never have bought it. If we have the roast, then cold meat on Sunday night, then again on Monday we won’t be half through it.’
James was about to make a joke about feeding the neighbourhood cats but he saw that Frances was really upset. He drew her down beside him.
‘Look, Frances,’ he said gently, ‘the housekeeping money is yours to do what you like with. I’ve got a warm, clean and comfortable home and the very best food. I’m very happy with the way you spend the money. If you need more you know it’s there but I don’t like to see you upsetting yourself over a bit of meat. If you’re worried about waste there must be someone who can help us out with it.’
‘There is,’ Frances said. ‘My Aunt Polly was the only one who was ever kind to me when I was a kid. She’s bedridden now, living with her daughter, May, and May’s already got an invalid husband and a tribe of kids. They’re very near starving and this’d be a lifeline for them but I’m not robbing you to feed my relations.’
‘For God’s sake,’ James said, ‘there’s the solution. If you’re worried about waste, pass the meat and anything else on, if they don’t mind, but don’t let’s talk any more about it or the flaming beef will choke me.’
The meat was as delicious as the butcher had promised and James and Frances enjoyed it roasted with Yorkshire puddings, roast and boiled, several varieties of vegetables and rich gravy.