‘Yes, madam, my twenty-first. My friends have come down from Scotland especially.’
The mistress was firm but polite. ‘That’s most unfortunate indeed, but I was not aware of this and I’m afraid you can’t be spared.’
And that was that. No last-minute change of heart, no surprise party as on her sixteenth. She had just time to rush a letter off to Lucy and hope that her friend would receive it in this afternoon’s post. After being so elevated by the receipt of the watch and the pension, her spirits had a long way to fall.
Lucy did receive the letter and popped by to offer Beata her condolences later that day, the worst thing of all being that she and Harry must return to Scotland tomorrow so there would be no chance for the friends to celebrate.
Beata was sad, yet not resentful, sighing in her calm, quiet way, ‘Ah well, that’s just the way of things for those of us in service. You and Harry will have to make sure you enjoy it on my behalf.’ And with no further time to spare she went back to the preparation of the dinner party.
At least at the end of a very busy evening she did receive sincere thanks from her mistress, plus seven and sixpence as a birthday gift. Still, it did not make up for her ruined birthday and, laying there at bedtime thinking of Tom, whom even now she missed dreadfully, she would have given every penny away just to have him back.
* * *
After Mass on Sunday, she returned the watch to its donor with the explanation that she had not been given the chance to wear it after all.
Gussie displayed compassion, pressing the dainty timepiece back into her sister’s hand. ‘Keep it then. There’ll be lots of other chances to go out for you. Where would I wear it?’
Her attempts to surrender it meeting with refusal, Beata gave up and thanked her sister, who was leaning against a wall as if for support. ‘You look right pale, what’s wrong?’
‘I just feel a bit…’ Gussie’s response tailed away and she suddenly keeled over.
Those still leaving church rushed to help, two men carrying her to a nearby house with an anxious Beata hurrying alongside.
Soon coming round, Gussie was given a cup of sweet tea, then pressed for an explanation by her sister.
‘It’s summat nor nowt,’ said Gussie, her colour slowly returning. ‘Probably ’cause I’ve been fasting before I took communion.’
The woman whose house it was exclaimed, ‘Oh, now I recognize you. You’re the lass who cleans for Mr Melody.’
Seeing Beata’s lips purse in disapproval, Gussie tried to make light of her role. ‘Well, I’ve given him a tiny bit of help…’
But once recovered and outside she was forced to admit to Beata that she had been going on a regular basis for the past year. ‘Right! I’m taking you to the doctor,’ insisted Beata.
‘Oh, don’t make a fuss, Beat.’ Gussie looked cross. ‘He’ll be having a lie-in.’
‘Tomorrow then!’ retorted Beata. ‘And I’m hearing no argument. I’ll be round after breakfast to make sure you go.’
And so she was, pouncing on Gussie before she had a chance to go off to her second job.
Once in the surgery, Beata having explained why she had brought her sister here, Gussie apologized for taking up the doctor’s precious time. ‘I feel such a fraud, passing out like that. I suppose it’s only to be expected from time to time with what I’m carrying.’
‘And what might that be?’ enquired the doctor, stethoscope at the ready.
‘Tuberculosis.’ Gussie opened her blouse.
A look of cynicism from her examiner. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Dr Ball-Dodd, about ten years ago.’
After deeper questioning, the physician gave his guarded opinion, ‘Well, perhaps that was the general consensus at that time, but medical knowledge has come a long way since then. The only thing wrong with you is a poor diet.’
At first staggered by the news, Gussie tried not to show that she disbelieved him.
‘On the basis of what you’ve told me there are no symptoms of tuberculosis whatsoever. However, you are in dire need of protein.’ Intuiting the expression on her face he added, ‘It can be arranged for you to receive an allowance to purchase this.’
Hope sparked in Gussie’s eye. ‘So, it might be possible for me to have healthy children, Doctor?’
‘As long as you build yourself up first, I see no reason why not.’ ‘And I won’t pass on TB to them?’
‘Not when you don’t have it.’
Beata saw a look of absolute rapture pass over her sister’s face, her own passions aroused too that poor Gussie had been misled into giving up the man she had loved because of ill-educated assumption, made to feel like a pariah all these years when there had been nothing wrong with her.
But at least the mistake had been discovered in time to prevent Gussie from wasting her life and Beata opined as they left the surgery, ‘I bet you’re glad I forced you to come now, aren’t you?’ Eyes sparkling, Gussie agreed, and was to babble her relief all the way along the street to Aunt Lizzie’s, where they had a celebratory pot of tea, nothing able to wipe that look of contentment from her face. It was still firmly fixed when her sister made to leave some half an hour later.
But, Beata noticed, behind that serene expression there was something else too, some secret. On her way down the street, she determined to probe her sister the next time they met.
* * *
She was not to discover what the secret might be – in fact, was to forget all about it – for that same day after lunch Mrs Druce made the important announcement that the family would be moving to Chester. She hoped very much that her loyal cook would accompany them. After recovering from the shock, Beata seriously considered this. She had no wish to desert Gussie who, with her overdeveloped sense of Christian charity, might be at risk of overwork and needed someone to curb this. Nor did she wish to leave her other relatives. She would also be going alone, for Sadie had turned the offer down.
But in general the Druce family had been very good to her and with over two and a half million people unemployed it might be unwise to forfeit her job. Things were very unsettled in the outside world. The public having no confidence in any political party, a Coalition Government was now running the show, though it did not appear to matter who was at the helm, none seemed competent to control the unemployment situation. There had been talk of a national disaster and proposals to cut dole money in order to avert it, the unfortunate victims responding with protest marches across the country, all to no avail, for even before Beata had time to make up her mind the crisis came to a head, the pound devalued overnight and Britain was once again hit by strikes. Only a fool would relinquish her job in such a climate.
Knowing the goodbyes would be dreadful, to couch the blow of leaving she organized a shopping trip with her sisters, thinking herself very fortunate to be able to do so when many around her were suffering; new clothes and shoes for her new life and gifts for those left behind, such generosity inflicting alarming cracks in her nest egg. There was also the grand purchase of the piano. Gussie, who had been given the chore of making the payments in its owner’s absence, opined it was daft to have it sitting in Aunt Lizzie’s parlour whilst Beata was down in Chester. Maybe so, but Beata said she would not be there for ever and if she did not buy it now then she never would, and just to get her money’s worth she gave the piano a good old trouncing on her last evening amongst her family.
Even amid such fun the goodbyes were still emotional. But afterwards there was so much hard work that she barely had time to be sad as she helped pack all the Druces’ belongings into tea chests, then to unload them at the other end. It was, she decided, rather exciting.
Chester was a very handsome city and not dissimilar to York, with its city walls and historical monuments. Beata tried very hard to adjust. After all, her work was the same wherever she might be, what did it matter what lay beyond the kitchen? But however brief a time she might spend outside the house, she could never quite forget that this p
lace was not home. Risky or no, after only a month she was forced to give in to her heart, hand in her notice and return to her Yorkshire roots.
Colonel and Mrs Druce were sorry to see her go but gave her an excellent reference. Armed with this, Beata travelled first up to Scotland to be godmother to Lucy’s baby girl, then back to enjoy Christmas with her family, and, whilst nothing permanent was offered, she was more than able to survive on a number of temporary jobs via the Servants’ Registry.
In between engagements, she tended Aunt Lizzie or went over to Leeds to help at Aunt Ethel’s, this sparing Gussie, whose protein diet had apparently lasted all of three weeks before the five shilling allowance was withdrawn, some faceless official decreeing that she no longer needed it, though her pallor said otherwise. Deficiency or no, Gus was still paying more than a little attention to the Melody family, so prompting Beata to act in her stead, the expeditions to Leeds also giving her the opportunity to see her brother Joe, who had rarely put himself out to visit her but was pleased to see her all the same.
‘Ships that pass in the night,’ she joked when, on her latest excursion, they met on the threshold, Joe on his way back to the office after dinner.
‘Sorry, I daren’t stop, Beat.’ Shrugging on his mackintosh, he brushed past her and onwards towards the gate.
‘I’ll be here when you get back – Eh, have you seen anything of our Duke yet?’
‘No, still no sighting,’ he called over his shoulder.
‘We’ll have to get the bloodhounds in.’ At the age of seventeen their brother had simply walked out of Aunt Wyn’s and no one had seen hide nor hair of him since.
Joe slammed the gate and strode away. ‘He always was a queer bugger. Our Mims is here, though.’
Delighted, Beata went in to find Mims perched on the arm of Aunt Ethel’s chair, leaning affectionately towards the elderly woman, the pair of them looking at some old photographs.
‘By heck, that’s a change,’ she murmured as her youngest sister came forward to greet her. ‘You used to be freetened to death of her.’
‘She’s less scary nowadays,’ smiled Mims. ‘I rather like old people.’
Beata raised her voice for the benefit of Ethel, who had grown hard of hearing. ‘Hello, Aunt. I’ve come to clean up for you! Where would you like me to start?’
‘Millicent’s done most of it,’ said Ethel, her grey head turning slowly to look around for jobs that might need attending. ‘But my Wandering Jew’s looking a bit glum. You can give it a drink, if you like.’
Beata obliged, as she did so commenting on the artificial silk tunic Mims wore. ‘That’s a nice jumper. I like the colour.’
‘Bois de rose.’ Mims pronounced it ‘boys’, not out of ignorance but to make the other laugh, which she did.
‘Anyway, what are you doing here? Are you on holiday?’
Mims gave a rueful grin. ‘No, I ran away. I detested it.’
Her sister frowned. ‘I thought you liked the farm.’
‘Oh, that was ages ago, Beat! Yes I did love it but I was homesick so I went back to Aunty Merry’s, then I went to Appleton Hall for training in domestic service, then I got a job as a maid but I hated the people I worked for so I climbed out of the window.’ She sniggered.
Aunt Ethel tapped her niece’s knee. ‘Eh, you’re just like our Kit. She couldn’t keep a job either. Still,’ she smiled, ‘it’s nice to have you young people about. I do miss your uncle.’
Mims dealt her a sympathetic pat and, saying she would go and wash the dinner pots, she went to the scullery.
After tending Ethel’s plant and a few other items, Beata asked, ‘How’s your bunion treating you, Aunt?’
‘It feels as if I’ve got Mount Etna in my shoe,’ complained Ethel, with tortoise-like movements lifting her long dress to peer down at the offending foot.
‘Let me see if I can make it more comfy.’ Gathering bandages and lint, Beata got down on her knees, removed the old-fashioned shoe and, as discreetly as possible, rolled down her aunt’s stocking.
Whilst one niece worked on her foot, Ethel called rather croakily to the other, ‘Did I tell you I’ve had a letter from your Aunt Wyn? She thought you might like to go and look after her and Uncle Teddy in exchange for board and lodgings.’
Remembering what Duke had told them about Wyn’s slavedriving, Mims muttered under her breath, ‘I’m not taking her geese to shite.’
Old Ethel cupped her ear and frowned at Beata, ‘What did she say?’
Unable to prevent herself from chuckling at her sister’s rude statement, Beata struggled to reply. ‘I think she said she might. What exactly does she want doing, Aunt?’
‘Oh, just general duties,’ answered Ethel. ‘She’s a bit under the weather and finding it hard to manage the house as well as Uncle Teddy. He’s diabetic, you know.’
With the old lady’s foot made comfortable, Beata went into the scullery to wash her hands, saying in reproachful voice to Mims, ‘One of us should go. She is Father’s sister and they all came to our rescue when we needed them.’
Scrubbing at caked-on gravy, Mims was insistent it wasn’t going to be her. ‘If it was anybody else I might, but I don’t like Wyn.’
‘You told me only a minute ago that you liked old folk,’ teased Beata.
‘Wouldn’t matter what age she was, she’s just one of those people.’
‘You’ve only met her a couple of times.’
‘A couple of times too many.’ Mims set another dripping crock on the draining board with a gesture of finality. ‘Anyway, I’ve already been promised another job. I’m just waiting for the other girl to work her notice.’ Asked where, she added, ‘In service again. But beggars can’t be choosers.’
‘I’ll go to Aunt Wyn’s then,’ decided Beata. ‘Just till she gets back on her feet.’
* * *
Aunt Wyn lived in a village near Southport where the local inhabitants were mostly fishermen and shrimpers, but she herself dwelled in better style in a modern bungalow with two bedrooms, two living rooms, a large kitchen and a rambling garden. Tantalized by the smell of the sea, Beata was given little time to visit it, being otherwise occupied with driving the geese to the pond, taking a course in home nursing and running around after her elderly relatives. She was not quite alone in her task, for a woman came in to do all the heavy cleaning, but, added to the highly responsible assignment of administering medication and providing a suitable diet for the diabetic, it was rather more than the general duties she had been led to believe. Uncle Teddy was a portly silver-haired teddy bear, quite affable though it was a pity, thought Beata, that he was as tight-fisted as his wife. In illness both were very demanding and it was a mercy they were ensconced in the same bed and that there were no stairs, for she was constantly tramping back and forth between rooms.
Even in her sixties Probyn’s sibling was still a handsome woman except for the beakish nose possessed by all her sisters. However, this attractiveness did not extend to her nature. Having had few dealings with Aunt Wyn, Beata had nevertheless long been aware of her miserly streak but was shocked to discover what a snob she was too. Barely had she set foot through the door than Wyn was interrogating her as to the people she had worked for and also her friends.
‘There are some better-class people round here but you’ll have to pick your mark.’ She crooked a finger to summon her niece closer to the bed, then wagged it as she put forth her creed. ‘Never make friends with those who are a lower station than you. Always aspire to those who are better.’
Beata replied dutifully that she would, though came to regard Wyn as quite an unpleasant creature, daily evidence emerging of her meanness. The house was crammed with fine furniture and porcelain, her aunt wore good clothes and jewellery too, but when Beata made admiring comment on this Wyn was quick to bemoan the couple’s lack of finance. ‘I hope you’re not expecting payment. Uncle Teddy suffered dreadfully in the Wall Street Crash. We were almost destitute at one point.’
; ‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Aunt.’ Beata felt offended.
‘We already pay Margaret to do the cleaning so it’s not as if you’ve much to do to earn your keep.’
Aunt Wyn affected to be frail, but, so strenuously were these objections delivered that Beata guessed there was little wrong with her constitution; she was simply angling for a little personal cosseting after looking after her husband for so long. Uncle Teddy, already hampered by diabetes and laid further low by a cold, was obviously more deserving of attention and Beata was careful to adhere to his strict diet, although she noticed that his affliction did not prevent him from enjoying a dram with the local clergy who gathered here once a week, not just the Catholic priest but various denominations, this leading her to believe that Teddy might be hedging his bets to secure a place in heaven.
Kind-hearted soul that she was, Beata was willing to give both her care, but it was a lonely life and she was relieved when Aunt Wyn decided she had had enough bed rest and progressed to a chair at her husband’s side. However, the fact that she looked much better meant nothing to Wyn, who was none too keen when Beata mentioned leaving.
‘I’m not even back on my feet and you expect me to look after Uncle Teddy on my own?’ she scolded.
‘I didn’t mean right this minute, Aunt.’
‘It could be weeks before your uncle feels able to leave his bed.’
‘Of course I’ll stay until you’re both fully recuperated.’
Wyn delivered a rather ungracious nod. ‘Well, I would hope so. Now, do you think you could bring yourself to making your aunt and uncle a pot of tea?’
‘Of course.’
But just when Beata had reached the kitchen door, Wyn called out. ‘Before you do that, fetch me those grapes, will you?’
Trailing back, Beata carried the fruit bowl to her aunt and placed it within reach of both invalids on Teddy’s bedside table.
‘Too sweet for your uncle,’ said Wyn, and hugged the bowl to her.
When Beata returned with the tray of tea Wyn was still stuffing her face with grapes, cheeks bulging like a greedy hamster.
A Different Kind of Love Page 64