When Day is Done

by When Day is Done (retail) (epub

  When the letter from Gordon had arrived, Kate had proudly showed it to Dr McAndrew, who had come to see her. He had seemed relieved although concerned about the box number. He was concerned that Kate was alone in the house, but she told him that she was not nervous. Secretly she hoped that Gordon might slip in to see her.

  She wrote to Beattie about Mildred’s death and the funeral, and Beattie sent an elaborate sympathy card and a wreath, and Essy to represent her at the funeral. Kate omitted to write to Lottie because she had told the Dysons about the funeral. Lottie was deeply offended and refused to take the time off for the funeral offered by her employers. The Barry sisters sent a wreath, including Lottie’s name on the card without her knowledge.

  Essy arrived early on the morning of the funeral and sat with Kate in the kitchen drinking tea. She told Kate that Beattie was taking a small house in Woolton. ‘Madam wants to move away from all her friends,’ she said. ‘Can’t bear them to pity her. I’ll be with her, of course, but we’ll only have a cook-general and a daily woman. Not what madam’s been used to at all.’

  ‘What about Rose?’ Kate asked, and Essy sniffed.

  ‘You may well ask. Your sister’s been no better than she should be all these years, in my opinion, going about with any Tom, Dick or Harry in officer’s uniform, but now if you please she’s decided to marry Robert Willis. More fool him, I say.’

  ‘Is that the older man with the lame leg?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Yes, he’s hung after her for years, but he’s got plenty of money, so now he suits, and she’s fallen on her feet, as usual.’

  ‘Poor Aunt Beattie,’ said Kate, thinking of her aunt’s kindness to her.

  ‘Yes, nothing worse than ingratitude,’ said Essy. ‘I always said your sister was selfish, but madam wouldn’t have it. She was always too trusting, poor lady. Well, at least she’ll always have me, and Rose’ll be paid back some day. God is not mocked.’ Kate thought it wise to say nothing.

  Essy had realised immediately that Kate was pregnant, but said nothing about it to Kate, or at that time to Beattie, and neither did Kate.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rose would not have agreed that she was fortunate and felt that she had been badly treated by fate. ‘Nothing ever goes right for me,’ she told Robert Willis. ‘Losing first my father then my mother when I was only a child, and falling into the clutches of Aunt Beattie.’

  ‘But your aunt loves you deeply,’ Robert protested. ‘She’s always done her best for you.’

  Rose pouted. ‘Best for herself, you mean. A neighbour once said Aunt Beattie wanted me for a toy, and she was right. She’s taken about as much account of my feelings and wishes as if I really was a toy.’

  Robert was a small, slight man, only inches taller than Rose due to the childhood illness which had left him lame, but he had a thin, intelligent face and a firm jaw. Much as he loved Rose, he would never agree with her if he thought she was wrong.

  Now he said firmly, ‘This has been a terrible blow to your aunt, Rose, having to leave this house. She feels it as much for you as she does for herself. She told me so, and that she’d always done her best for you.’

  ‘She would,’ said Rose. ‘She might even believe it, but it’s just not true. I have a good brain, Robert. My headmistress wanted me to go on to university. I could have been a doctor or a politician, anything, and been independent, and then none of this would have mattered.’

  Tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks, but she never became red-eyed and blotched as Kate did, and Robert took her in his arms and tenderly wiped away the tears.

  Once again he proposed to her, as he had done so often before, but this time she accepted him. ‘I feel safe with you, Robert,’ she said, nestling into his arms, and although he smiled ruefully he was filled with joy. The wedding was arranged for the third week in November so that Rose could be married from Greenfields.

  Rose felt it as a grievance for many years that the war ended only a week before the wedding. She went with Robert to join the exultant throngs celebrating in Lime Street, and he stayed firmly by her side throughout. She was thus unable to have the uninhibited good time she would have had with her girlfriends if the war had ended sooner.

  The fact that they were officially in mourning for Mildred also overshadowed the wedding in her eyes, and was another cause for complaint. ‘I was so beautiful,’ she often sighed in later years. ‘At any other time it would have been the wedding of the year.’

  The move from Greenfields was made early in January. Robert had taken most of the responsibility from Beattie, and with a sensible man to deal with instead of a hostile and often hysterical woman, the solicitor was able to deal rapidly with the details.

  Rose had stayed away from Greenfields, saying that she was too busy settling into her new home in Sandfield Park, but at Robert’s insistence she accompanied Beattie to her new home in Woolton. Essy was waiting for them in the small house, which had been made as comfortable as possible with Beattie’s treasured possessions. Robert remained at Greenfields to attend to matters there.

  Beattie had wept all the way in the cab, and Rose had comforted her. Now Essy watched grimly as Rose assisted her aunt into the house, brushing Essy aside, then exerted herself to charm and console the old lady. ‘There’s so much to do in Robert’s house and it’s all so new to me,’ she told Beattie. ‘I’ll need your advice, Auntie. I haven’t got anyone like Essy to help me.’ She flashed a smile at Essy, but the maid remained unmoved.

  When Robert arrived to take Rose home, Beattie collapsed into grateful tears. ‘What would I have done without you, Robert? You’ve been so good to me,’ she wept. ‘And my darling Rose, so kind, helping me through this dreadful day.’ She held Rose’s hand, and Rose bent and pressed her cheek against Beattie’s. Robert smiled proudly.

  Essy watched Rose holding her aunt’s hand, her husband’s arm around her while he smiled tenderly at her, and thought of Kate alone in the deserted guesthouse. Her own sister, but never even given a thought by Rose. She’d treat madam the same way if her husband would let her, but for now it suited her to smarm her way round her. I’ll make sure madam sees through her, though, thought Essy.

  Mildred’s solicitor, Mr Burton, came to her funeral, then back to the house, and as soon as Essy had gone he took out his briefcase. ‘I believe that you’ve heard from your fiancé, Miss Drew,’ he said. ‘That makes my task much easier. I’m afraid that although you are named as beneficiary in your aunt’s will, Mrs Williams left little but debts.’

  ‘Debts!’ Kate echoed blankly.

  ‘Yes, if this house and its contents are sold there will be enough to pay the debts, but very little left, so I’m glad that your future is secure,’ he said. Kate sat in stunned silence while he explained. ‘Mrs Williams gambled in stocks and shares. According to my uncle, our senior partner, her father did also. Sometimes they did very well, at other times they lost, and I’m afraid that the war has meant that Mrs Williams has lost steadily for some years.’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ Kate murmured. ‘My aunt never discussed her business affairs with me.’

  ‘A pity,’ the solicitor said. ‘She remortgaged the house but fortunately not for its full value, and houses will be at a premium now. I’ll need to make an inventory, but that can wait for a few days.’ He smiled at Kate. ‘A disappointment, but fortunately your future is assured, Dr McAndrew tells me. May I wish you every happiness, Miss Drew.’

  Kate smiled and shook hands, wondering what exactly the doctor had told him. No wonder Mildred would tell me nothing, she thought, but she was not worried, confident that Gordon would soon return. She had written again to the box number, telling him of Mildred’s death and her debts.

  For Kate, the end of the war meant mainly the end of Gordon’s secret work and his speedy return to her. Dr McAndrew called from time to time, and Kate began to dread telling him that Gordon had not arrived, although she still believed that he would.

  But Kate’s letter
about the baby and Beattie’s troubles had alarmed Gordon, and when she wrote about Mildred’s tangled affairs he decided that the time had come to move on.

  He cancelled the box number, emptied his safe deposit box at the bank and travelled to Hull. In a busy port with a shifting population it would be easier to merge and reappear with a new name and a new identity, he thought. He still had most of the money he had brought from London, and had added to it by robbery in Liverpool and Manchester. There would be no need to sell the stolen jewellery just yet. When the time was right he would move back to London.

  Kate’s pregnancy was still not obvious, although she was nearly seven months gone, but the doctor decided that something must be done. Although he and Mr Burton thought that Gordon had vanished, he said nothing to disillusion Kate. Instead he said kindly, ‘You must leave here soon, Kate. I’ve arranged for you to stay in a mother and baby home until the child is born.’

  ‘But what if Gordon comes back and I’m not here?’ Kate said in dismay.

  The doctor looked sceptical but he only said, ‘You can send your new address to Manchester, and I’ll also leave it with Mr Burton. You can’t just drift on, Kate. Some arrangements must be made.’

  ‘I know, Doctor,’ Kate said humbly. ‘I just can’t seem to think straight lately.’ She showed him a letter from the solicitor which told her that the house would soon be sold and advised her to make her own plans.

  ‘Yes, well, it had to come,’ he said. ‘Now, the home is run by the Salvation Army, and they have a nursing home for private patients too. The girls in the home pay for their keep by doing the domestic work of the nursing home. You won’t object to doing that, will you, Kate?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Kate said. ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

  ‘Good. We’ve got to consider the baby. You’ll both be looked after there.’ Dr McAndrew added that he would arrange for her to enter the home on the following Monday.

  Some of the girls in the home resented having to work for the more fortunate mothers in the nursing home, but Kate was pleased to be able to earn her keep. Mr Burton told her that after everything was settled there would be a small nest egg for her for after the baby’s birth. Babies were usually adopted from the home, but Kate was determined to keep hers.

  Kate’s baby was born on New Year’s Day, tiny and perfectly formed but stillborn. He was so tiny that he fitted into the palm of the midwife, who said sympathetically to Kate, ‘God has been good to you. Even if he survived he could never have lived a normal life. Better to lose him now.’ The woman who was helping added piously, ‘Praise the Lord. He has given and He has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.’

  Kate said nothing but only held out her cupped hands, and the midwife placed the baby in them. She sat gazing at her tiny son as though to imprint his image on her brain, until the midwife took him back. ‘Can he be baptised?’ Kate asked. ‘I’d like him called Gordon,’ and the woman murmured agreement.

  Dr McAndrew came to see Kate and she asked him if she had contributed to the baby’s death. ‘I didn’t eat enough. I didn’t know,’ she said, but he assured her that she was not to blame.

  ‘A baby takes what he needs from the mother even at the expense of the mother’s health,’ he said. ‘There was something wrong from the start. I’m surprised you went so near to your full term.’

  He told her that he had found her a job as an orderly in a nursing home in Waterloo. ‘And before you ask, I’ve given Burton the address,’ he said.

  ‘Is it with babies?’ Kate asked.

  ‘No. You want to get away from babies for a while,’ he said. ‘It’s for elderly people and rich hypochondriacs. I don’t know what orderly means. Probably a general dogsbody, but it’ll give you a breathing space while you look around.’ Neither of them realised then that the breathing space would stretch to ten years.

  Kate settled quickly into her new job, and was so willing and pleasant that she was soon a general favourite with staff and patients alike. It was only when she was alone that she grieved for her tiny baby, and for Gordon. She was now convinced that he had been killed in the course of his secret dangerous work, but she felt none of the intensity of grief for him that she had felt at Henry’s death. Gradually the sharpness of her sorrow for Henry faded, and he became again a dear memory which brought her comfort.

  Kate had long come to terms with her rejection by Rose. She had found the old hat and jacket in Gordon’s wardrobe when she was clearing the house, and for the first time remembered how she had been dressed on that fateful day. Rose might not even have recognised her, she thought. Nevertheless, neither Rose nor Beattie had made any contact with her, and in her present circumstances Kate was too proud to get in touch with them.

  She had written to both Josie and Nell to explain her silence and received affectionate letters by return of post. Josie reproached her for not telling her sooner. ‘You know I would have come to you,’ she wrote. ‘Michael sends his love and is as upset as me that you went through that on your own. I’d like to box Lottie’s ears.’ Nell, who was now a district nurse, wrote that she wished she had followed her instincts and come to look for Kate, and she urged her to keep in touch. ‘If not, I’ll come down on you like the wrath of God,’ she wrote.

  The work was hard and the pay low in Kate’s new job, but she had always worked hard and her wants were few, so she settled down contentedly, deciding that one phase of her life was over and this quiet life suited her. She liked the situation of the nursing home, close to the sandy shore of Waterloo. Often she walked there, gathering shells for a resident who did shell work, or watched the magnificent sunsets over the Mersey estuary. Other times when she was off duty she walked up to the Carnegie Library in College Road. She enjoyed being able to read in peace without the constant demands of the guesthouse, and she and Nell exchanged their views on the books in their letters.

  A few of the patients were arrogant and demanding, but Kate’s inner serenity made it possible for her to bear with them, and she liked most of the residents. Patients and staff came and went but Kate lived there happily for nearly ten years. During that time she went twice to Ireland for holidays with Josie and her growing family.

  Michael met her off the boat from Liverpool with a donkey and trap, and when they arrived at the farm Kate could see why Josie was so happy. The affection of all the family was poured out on Kate too, and Michael’s mother pressed food on her every time she saw her. ‘I’ve always been thin,’ Kate protested, but old Mrs Malloy was unconvinced. Kate thoroughly enjoyed herself and was happy for Josie.

  By the time of her first visit Josie had a son and a daughter, and by the next holiday twin boys had been added. Later there were two more girls, and Kate was regarded as an aunt by all of them. Kate’s only sadness was the rift with Rose and Beattie, but she felt that it was their choice and was too proud to try to mend the breach.

  During the years before his marriage Robert had been only on the periphery of Rose’s life, and he had never met Kate. He knew that Rose had a sister who made brief, infrequent visits, but that the aunt she lived with never visited. At the time of Mildred’s funeral Beattie tearfully told Robert that Mildred had been very unkind to her and had cut herself off for no reason.

  Robert asked Rose about Kate, but she only said briefly, ‘She’s very like Aunt Mildred and I think she’s become as odd as her too. She never comes here now.’ Tears threatened every time Robert mentioned Kate, so he avoided the subject, thinking that a family quarrel was not his business. It was her own guilty conscience which made Rose unwilling to talk about Kate but Robert was unaware of that.

  Rose believed that when she was married she would have everything her own way because Robert was so besotted with her, and he was certainly a most indulgent husband, until his principles were involved. Then he was unbending, and Rose was surprised to find herself meekly agreeing to act according to his high standards.

  She had intended to drop visits to Beattie after her move to
the smaller house in Woolton. ‘Every time she sees me she bursts into tears. Might keep her drier if I stay away,’ she said flippantly, but Robert did not smile.

  ‘It must be very hard for your aunt to adjust, Rose,’ he said quietly. ‘She needs our visits. We’ll go on Sunday.’

  Rose was annoyed, yet her respect for Robert grew, and she quickly learned to hide the cynical, worldly side of her character from him.

  Beattie was pathetically grateful for the visits, and it was second nature to Rose to charm whoever she was with, but Essy was not fooled. She watched Rose grimly and never missed an opportunity to criticise the girl when she was alone with Beattie.

  Rose and Robert’s first son was born in July 1920. Robert had been intensely worried about Rose during her pregnancy. He surrounded her with every possible luxury and consulted an eminent doctor about her.

  The doctor was unsympathetic. ‘She’s a perfectly healthy young woman,’ he said. ‘There’s no need for all this fuss. Pregnancy is not an illness. All she needs is more exercise.’

  Robert gave Rose an edited version of the doctor’s remarks and she was very indignant. ‘Only a man would talk like that,’ she declared. ‘I know how ill I feel.’ She wanted Robert to change to another doctor, but he told her that the man he had consulted was at the top of his profession, with top fees.

  ‘You know I want only the best for you, darling,’ he said. ‘Trust me.’

  Rose agreed, pleased to be able to boast of her top doctor to her friends. She was in a different set now, the young married wives of successful local businessmen, and some of them were frankly envious of the luxury surrounding Rose. ‘Almost worth having a baby for all this,’ one said to her, but Rose replied plaintively, ‘It’s easy to see that you’ve never had one.’

  After the birth of the baby, who was christened Richard Robert, Rose was slow to recover. She had a monthly nurse to care for her and the baby, but even after she left her bed, Rose only lay all day on a sofa in a becoming gown. Robert paid the nurse handsomely to stay for another month, but the doctor told him bluntly that he was wrong.