The girls made up the quarrel eventually and this evening Cordelia lent Annabel some clothes and did her hair very prettily instead of the hideous plaits. She really will be a beauty when she learns to stand properly and to stop scowling. Her eyes are remarkable. Poor thing, she felt self-conscious when everyone commented on the improvement. She frowned and grimaced until Jonno said she looked a fright, then she ran off in a storm of tears. She is inclined to do this. Sir Oswald was moved to make Cordelia a graceful little speech of appreciation and said she was an angel of good influence. Sister Imelda would be thunderstruck. He can do that sort of thing rather well.
I debated whether to mention Sir Oswald’s less attractive ways and thought better of it. Maria Alba always complained that the nuns were appallingly nosy and she was sure they went through her possessions when she was in the kitchen helping Sister Mary-Joseph. If they happened to read of Sir Oswald’s paedophilia they would be dreadfully shocked.
Maggie is not at all well. She has an ear infection and can’t get out of bed so we are doing the housework with the help of Mrs Whale. Imagine, all the ivory knife handles have to be rubbed with a cut lemon before being washed, to preserve them. And when I scorched a pillowcase Mrs Whale made a paste of something called Fuller’s Earth with washing soda, vinegar and onions. The paste got the mark out brilliantly. Just as well, as I managed to scorch quite few. After tea – Archie made a superb chocolate and prune cake – I had to clean the skirting boards on the landing with a skewer wrapped in a cloth to get into the corners. This is done once a week regardless of it being the holidays. In the kitchen there is a huge old gas stove that makes our boiler seem space-age. Every Thursday the burners are taken off and boiled in soda water, then scrubbed and dried.
But if one discounts the time taken, it is quite satisfying doing things incredibly carefully and well. Everything is saved. Old bits of soap are stuffed into a tin that is attached by string to the kitchen tap. You swizzle it around in the washing-up water and hang up again afterwards. I was dying to ask Mrs Whale if money was very tight. After all, what could a bottle of Supersuds cost? But of course it isn’t my business.
I must tell you something that happened that pleased me and then I’ll get some sleep and prepare myself for another day of arduous housework. Also I have to begin my article for the next ‘Spook Hall’.
I decided not to tell Maria Alba, who was extremely superstitious, that I had found the finger from Old Gally’s arm in Maggie’s handkerchief drawer. It had given me an unpleasant shock, like finding a scorpion in a shoe. Out of the case it did not look pathetic at all, but rather sinister. Also it left a nasty rust mark on one of the handkerchiefs, which had to be soaked off later in buttermilk. True to my mission as supernatural sleuth I screwed up my courage, picked it up without Maggie seeing, and put it in the pocket of my skirt. I needed to get hold of the key to put it back in its case but Maggie’s chatelaine was nowhere to be seen.
I’ve told you about Jonno, the son, who drinks and is grubby and generally a bit of a pain. We had a serious talk this afternoon and I’m beginning to think there is something very likeable about him after all. When he isn’t trying to be hard his eyes have a soft sweet expression. I think he’s one of those men who’s ashamed of being sensitive and so he covers it up with a brutish exterior. Well, anyway, I ticked him off about taking Maggie for granted and he took it without getting offended. He didn’t drink at all at supper – lovage soup and seakale soufflé, followed by almond pudding – and afterwards he disappeared. I thought he must have gone to hit the bottle. But when I went up to say good night to Maggie, I found Jonno in her room, reading aloud a romantic novel called Love is my Master, all about a Victorian maid who falls in love with the boss of an iron foundry who’s horribly scarred because he tried to save his brother who’d fallen into a vat of molten metal. But the fiancée of the dead brother is also in love with him and he feels guilty and – well, anyway, you get the gist. It was complete tosh but strangely enjoyable. I think Jonno enjoyed it too, though he’d never admit it. I could see Maggie was loving having him there. It’s my first serious attempt at moral reform of anyone and I’m amazed to have been so effective!
Anyway, darling, your last letter sounded so cheerful I was really pleased. I’m so glad you’ve changed your mind about Mother Superior. I must say I’ve never thought her capable of drowning even a fly, let alone all the girl babies of Bushey Heath. Take great care of your dear, dear self and I’ll write again very soon, Best love, Harriet.
I rose early the following morning to begin my list of tasks. Breakfast was late but no one listened to Sir Oswald’s complaints so in the end he shut up and concentrated on getting down as many oeufs frits à la Serbe, as he could – which are fried eggs on a pilaff of rice with onion and raisins. It was unusual but agreeable. After I had scrubbed out the game larder with carbolic, which smelled terrible and seemed to get into my clothes and hair as well as my skin, I went upstairs to fetch Maggie’s tray.
Mrs Whale was changing her bed and dusting her room. She straightened the pillows and tucked in her sheets so tightly that I wondered Maggie could breathe. Then she opened the window so wide that the fire smoked and all my efforts to warm the room were wasted.
‘It’ll get rid of the germs,’ she said, beating the armchair cushions until the air was thick with motes before gliding to the door with her customary cloistral step without once glancing in my direction. I was sorry for this for I was keen to be friendly and show her that her confession had kindled sympathy, rather than censure, in my breast.
‘Dear Janet,’ said Maggie fondly, as soon as she had gone. ‘I’m lucky to have someone so good to me.’
I closed the window and went to sit on Maggie’s bed so I wouldn’t have to shout as her deafness was, if anything, worse. ‘Mrs Whale told me about what happened, about being in prison and everything. I feel very sorry for her. What can it be like to have done something so dreadful that one’s life can never be the same again?’
Of course I was also thinking of my father. Everything always seemed to come back to him.
‘She was ever such a pretty girl. Always chosen for the May Queen. The boys went for her in a big way. They never thought anything of me on account of I had glasses and my teeth stuck out. Janet always had the lead part in plays and she was captain of tennis and rounders. She was clever too, top of the class. She got a place at the grammar school but her mother couldn’t afford the fares and the uniform so she went to the secondary modern with the rest of us. After she left school I didn’t see her again for years until she sent me a letter, out of the blue, explaining she’d been in prison and why. She couldn’t get a job because of it and her landlady had found out she’d been convicted of murder and told her to go. Such a sad letter, it made me cry to read it. I wrote back the same day and offered her a job and a home here with me. Funny, isn’t it, the way some are unlucky? Her dad – father, I should say – died, while mine went on to make a fortune in carpets. Our dad couldn’t go down the mine, see, on account of his chest was weak, so he went to work in a warehouse and he got on. He was always sharp and ready with an answer. He was a hard man but he meant to do right.’ Maggie sighed. ‘I were always that bit afraid of him. Mother worked here as cook before she married Dad. He hated her to talk of that after he made money. She was afraid of him too. That’s how it most often is, I reckon.’
‘My mother isn’t the least afraid of my father. If anything it’s the other way round.’
‘You don’t say?’ Maggie’s face looked especially defenceless without her spectacles. She smiled. ‘I should like to see that. People’s lives are so contrary, ain’t they? Who’d have thought that I’d be living here in comfort, married to a gentleman and a baronet, while Janet’s path’s was such a stony one? But no life’s without its thorns.’ She stirred restlessly on her pillow. ‘It was hard in the beginning being mistress of Pye Place. When Lady Pye died, the children’s mother, that is – eh, but she was a sweet soul
! – Dad knew how things were up at the big house. There weren’t no money and everything was to be sold up. Sir Oswald had married for love the first time, see. She was the rector’s daughter, respectable but poor. He always did like them tender and young.’ She gave me a quick glance from her soft eyes. ‘Well, that’s the way men are. Dad said if Sir Oswald married me he’d give him three-quarters of the carpet fortune flat down on the day of the wedding.’
‘Gosh! What did you think about that?’
‘I begged Dad not to do it. I knew I wasn’t good enough to fill the shoes of that lovely child. Ever so refined she was. I could have taken both her wrists in one of my great hands.’ Maggie spread out her fingers, thickened by work and red against the whiteness of the sheet. ‘But he never listened.’
‘I honestly can’t think of anyone I respect more than you,’ I said. ‘Please don’t ever think you’re not good enough for anybody.’
But Maggie seemed not to hear me. She had gone back into the past.
‘Well, he took the money and he married me. I felt a right fool going up the aisle, all decked out in finery.’ Maggie rolled her head to stare at the window as though the events of that day were pictured there. ‘I was glad I couldn’t see the faces of the people in church, on account of I wasn’t wearing my glasses. They were gentry and what they must have thought of me, a common girl with a face like a plough horse crowned with orange-blossom, eh, I was scarlet as a turkey-cock with shame. I heard one or two tittering behind their hands but I couldn’t blame them.’
‘Oh, Maggie!’ I was rendered practically speechless by the pathos of the scene.
‘There was the wedding breakfast after, of course,’ Maggie continued as though I had not spoken. ‘That was worse in a way. But he tried. I’ll give him that. He didn’t go off with his smart friends. No, he stood by me and tried to make conversation but I was so awkward. I couldn’t look at him for thinking what should come that night, when they’d all gone home. I’d never known a man, see, so it was doubly bad.’ She turned her head on the pillow to look at me. ‘I’m not upsetting you, talking about such things?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, he stood his ground and no doubt he was thinking of it too, poor thing. Eh, what a contrast, that little lass and me! He introduced me to all and sundry and they said how-do politely and flew away to talk to their own kind, like they were rooks and I were a scarecrow. All except Rupert. He brought me a dish of strawberries and took me out into the garden and we walked up and down together while he chatted of this and that and slowly, like, I started to feel easy with him. He asked me the names of flowers and I knew that. I’ve always had a soft spot for flowers. That gave me back a little bit of my own pride, see. He told me about himself, just as though we were friends, and what he’d seen and done in the world. Eh, I could have stayed out there with him all day and been happy.’ Maggie’s worn features were transformed by the recollection. ‘Rupert was a young gentleman and handsome as a film star. He said he liked being out with me in the garden better than indoors talking to the fine folk. I didn’t believe him but I loved him for it.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘There’s some as think I’m a simpleton because I’m not educated but I can tell they look down on me for all it’s Lady Pye this, Lady Pye that. I’ve learned not to let it hurt me. But Rupert’s always been good to me. And what for? I asked meself time and time again.’ Maggie turned to look at me again. ‘I reckon it were sympathy. He saw how bad I felt and something in him came up to meet it.’ She nodded her head. ‘Yes, when all’s said and done that’s what saves mankind from being bad. ’Taint making paintings and bridges and books and that, though that’s good in itself, but pride could do that. No, it’s wanting to do something for someone cause you mind their hurt.’
I took Maggie’s hand in mine. She gave it a little squeeze. ‘Well, I thought of Rupert’s kindness when it came to the night-time – to comfort me, like. I lay in bed with the lights out in a brand-new nightdress from Tarrant’s – all slippery and cold, it was – and I was shivering, afraid of … Well, you know, dear. And worse, I was afeard he’d hate me for not being her, pretty and tiny with loving things to whisper. My head was going round and round, just like it is now. He came in and got into bed. Then I heard him weeping. “What’s up?” I said. He said, “I can’t do it. I’m so sorry.” Then we lay side by side for the rest of the night, not speaking. I never slept a wink; nor, I don’t think, did he. When it got light he started to snore and I got up and went down to make up the fires. That same day I moved my things up here, and here I’ve lain since.’
‘Dear Maggie. I hope you haven’t been too sad about – about not having –’
‘Nay, lass. It was a relief, to say truth. I’m not that kind that men should love me. I’ve had my happiness looking after this dear house and him too. I love him, you know, oh yes, in my own way. I should hate for hurt to come to him. He’s got old and fat and sad under my eyes and I’m ever so sorry, for he were a noble gentleman once. I remember well how he looked twenty sommat years ago, coming out of the church with that little girl, like a fairy, on his arm.’ Maggie seemed to take pleasure in the memory. ‘And now the carpet money’s near run out, it’s my duty to see he’s looked after in the way he’s used to. Yes, my life has its satisfactions, no doubt of that. It’s those children as bother me. But last night, Jonno, you know what he said?’ Maggie’s eyes sparkled with sudden tears. ‘He said, “Maggie,” he said, “you’ve been a brick and I’ve been an idiot. I hope you’ll forgive me.” And I said,’ Maggie’s voice became fractured as she recalled the emotion of the moment, “Jonno,” I said, “I hope you’ll forgive me for standing in her place. I didn’t want to do it but they was too much for me and I had to.” He understood right enough what I meant though he didn’t say nothing, just went red as though he were touched where it hurt. So he picked up my book and began reading the story, and it was like we’d taken a vow to do better between us.’
I stood up reluctantly, aware of a thousand jobs to do. ‘Let’s hope things will be better from now on. But it all depends on him not drinking.’
‘I feel it will,’ said Maggie. ‘I don’t know why but I feel certain of it.’
As it happened, what I attributed to optimism born of delirium turned out to be right. Jonno appeared in the hall just as I was on my way to polish the library floor. I looked at my watch. It was only ten o’clock. Furthermore, he looked clean, his ponytail and beard were combed and his nose was chainless. I knew from my dealings with Bron that one must never rush to praise or back-sliding will inevitably follow, so I gave him the mop and the jar of beeswax. He grumbled a little but I was firm. Then I detailed Cordelia and Annabel to dust the drawing room, brushing aside their protests in a brisk authoritative way.
Somehow, by default, the running of the household had fallen to me. Trifling though the latitude for exercising it might be, it was my first taste of anything like power. I found bossing other people about such a delightful novelty that I had to remind myself of Lord Acton’s famous axiom about its tendency to corrupt. When Miss Tipple, forced to get out of her chair or be dusted by Cordelia, asked if there was anything she could do to help, I led her to the scullery and brought her knives, forks, spoons, salts and pepper-pots and silver wadding. She sat happily for hours, rubbing and rising. I overheard her singing ‘Pale Hands I Love, Beside the Shalimar’ in a wobbling soprano. It occurred to me that one of the worst things about being old must be the feeling of being no use to anyone.
I quickly discovered one of the major problems of captaincy: that one’s crew members have widely dissimilar capabilities. Miss Tipple cleaned the silver beautifully and begged to be allowed to tackle the ship from the centre of the dining table, which she took apart and reassembled with the dedication of those Indian craftsmen who paint prayers on a grain of rice. But it was apparent that Jonno had never cleaned anything other than his own teeth before, and had no idea how to go about it. For one thin
g he began polishing the floor at the door instead of in the far corner of the room and then there was so much wax on the threshold that it almost sucked off one’s shoes. I sent him to help Archie, who was getting temperamental about the lack of a sous chef, and finished the floor myself.
While I was disinfecting the telephone, I happened to see a note in Maggie’s careful copperplate. Reasoning that it could not be private if left in so public a place, I read it. ‘Porter and soup. Dinner, Thurs.’ I remembered that porter was a vile drink which Mr Barrett had forced his invalid daughter, Elizabeth, to drink everyday before she wisely ran away to Italy and added Browning to her name.
‘Ah,’ said Maggie, when I took the cryptic note up to her for explanation, ‘it was a lady that rang but I couldn’t rightly hear what she was saying. It was a day or two ago and my ears were bad. I wrote it down and hoped the meaning would come to me. Most likely it was a shop about an order.’
I screwed up the note and forgot about it.
‘If I have to clean one more blinking thing I’m going to run away.’ Cordelia looked at me accusingly over lunch – a very good gratin of haricot beans with leek fritters. ‘You ought to have a big drum so you can beat out the rhythm while we slave, like in the galley-ship in Ben Hur when Jack Hawkins orders Charlton Heston’s leg to be unchained and saves him from being drowned. My favourite bit’s when he finds out his mother and sister are lepers, and they have to live in this cave with some really grim people without noses and fingers …’
Clouds among the Stars Page 46