Anna and Her Daughters

by D. E. Stevenson

  It was nine o’clock when we arrived in the taxi with our bag and baggage; the light was fading slowly into lovely twilight with a tinge of green in the sky. The hedge had been trimmed, the garden was tidy and well-cared-for. I found the key hanging beneath the bird-table (the enormous iron key which was more like the key of a jail than a cottage) and pushed it into the door.

  A note was lying on the hall table:

  Couldn’t wait. Had to go home. Will be there early to-morrow. Tongue and sallad in the fridge. Botles in your beds. Yours respectably Elizabeth Gow.

  “Nice,” said Margaret smiling.

  It was nice. It was especially nice because there was no flowery welcome. Mrs. Gow had merely scrubbed the little house and polished it until it shone, put ‘botles’ in our beds and left our supper ready. We were tired of flowery speeches and the bowings and scrapings of hotel managers and stewards and waiters. We had come home to people who showed their feelings by deeds, not words.

  We did not say much ourselves but when we were sitting at supper Margaret broke the silence.

  “I’m going to breed dogs, Jane,” said Margaret suddenly. “Spaniels, I think; they’re so soft and silky — and so kind. You’ll have your writing of course, and I shall breed dogs. I’ve always wanted to. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Of course I did not mind! Dear Margaret, she could breed elephants if that would make her happy.

  “I shall do all the housekeeping, of course,” continued Margaret. “I like housekeeping; that will give you plenty of time to write, and to walk over the hills for inspiration.”

  “I’ll exercise the dogs,” I told her … and we both laughed.

  *

  Before we could settle down to the quiet life we had planned it was necessary to see our family. Murrayfield Gardens was our first visit and there we found all we had expected of peaceful happiness. Mother and Andrew were very pleased to see us and welcomed us warmly — but not rapturously. It was easy to see that they were everything to each other and that other people did not matter to them quite as much as before. As Margaret put it, they were ‘almost stodgy’.

  Margaret did not come with me when I went to see Rosalie at Mount Charles. Sir Edward sent the car for me so I went over in state and the whole family was waiting on the doorstep to greet me. There was no red carpet visible, but I felt it was there. Rosalie flung herself into my arms and hugged me ecstatically; nice little Sir Edward kissed me in a brotherly manner, and the three children greeted me affectionately as ‘Aunt Jane’.

  There was plenty to talk about as we sat round the dining-room table having lunch. They told me about the wedding and I told them about our tour. The two boys wanted to know if I had seen any Red Indians (they were at the Fennimore Cooper stage) and fortunately I was able to tell them that I had seen and spoken to several with painted faces and feather head dresses. This raised me to the height of admiration. I noticed that their behaviour was exemplary; they were friendly and polite, they talked neither too much nor too little. In fact they were small editions of their father whose manners I had always admired.

  Sir Edward beamed happily through his flashing spectacles and beamed especially happily upon his wife. She was the queen with four adoring subjects to anticipate her slightest wish; to shut the window in case she might feel a draught or to run and fetch her a handkerchief from the right-hand top drawer of her dressing-table. Quite honestly their solicitude would have driven me mad, but Rosalie seemed to enjoy it.

  After lunch Sir Edward shepherded the children away and left us to chat — and Rosalie chattered in her usual uninhibited manner.

  “Aren’t they sweet, Jane?” said Rosalie. “They love me, you know. They all love me and it makes me feel safe. I’ve never felt really safe since we left Wintringham Square. They’re pleased with all I do, so I don’t do silly things any more. Helen used to make me feel all wrong — and nasty.”

  I nodded to show that I understood.

  “It was the same with you,” she added.

  “The same with me?”

  “You weren’t very nice when Helen was there,” said Rosalie frankly.

  This was a new idea to me … but perhaps she was right.

  “They think I’m nice — so I am nice,” added Rosalie with a sigh of perfect bliss.

  It was as simple as that.

  “I’ll tell you something very queer,” continued Rosalie confidentially. “Lady Fisher — I mean Edward’s first wife — wasn’t very kind. She wasn’t nice to Edward and she was quite horrid to the children. Edward told me himself and I could hardly believe it! Fancy anyone being unkind to them!”

  “It seems queer,” I admitted.

  “Edward told me,” repeated Rosalie, opening her eyes very wide. “I can’t tell you about it, because Edward wouldn’t like it — but she wasn’t kind!”

  Rosalie was so devoted to the children that she was the ideal stepmother, the very person to become possessed of a ready-made family, but when I said something like this she contradicted me.

  “It’s only half-made,” she declared. “Edward and I think it would be awfully nice for Ted and Billy and Alex to have some dear little brothers and sisters — three would be perfect. Anna and Gerald and Jane,” added Rosalie with a dreamy smile.

  “Nice of you to —” I began.

  But Rosalie was not listening. “I think —” said Rosalie.

  “I have a sort of feeling that Anna may be here in time for Christmas. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

  We went on talking and Rosalie told me that she had liked Edward for quite a long time — ever since she had come to nurse the children when they were stricken with measles — and he had liked her too but had not said a word because he thought he was too old.

  “Poor darling, as if that mattered!” said Rosalie fondly.

  It was not until he heard that she was making plans to go for a tour round the world that he had managed to summon up his courage to propose. “So that was why I changed my mind about going with you,” she explained. “I mean he hadn’t actually proposed then, but I knew he was going to. Kenneth and Jean were so kind about it and made it all so pleasant and easy … but I mustn’t talk any more about myself, I want to hear about you.”

  There was not much to tell her about me for although I had travelled far I felt that Rosalie had travelled farther.

  When it was time for me to go Sir Edward suggested sending me home in the car, but it was such a lovely evening that I preferred to walk. He walked with me to the gate.

  “How do you think she is looking?” he asked anxiously.

  I told him I had never seen her looking better.

  “Good! Good!” he exclaimed. “I think she’s a little fatter — and of course that means she’s happy and contented.”

  Personally I thought she was putting on weight too quickly but who was I to say so? If he wanted his Rosalie to be fat it was none of my business.

  “I was just a little afraid at first,” he continued. “She’s so young — so very much younger than I am — but I’m doing my best to think of things to please her. I’ve got her a little car for her birthday — she’ll like that, I’m sure. I can easily teach her to drive. It will make her independent; she can go out when she likes. If you could possibly tell me of anything else she wants …” he gazed at me searchingly, and waited.

  “She’s got everything she wants,” I told him. “She just wants to be loved.”

  There were tears in his eyes. “Nobody could help loving Rosalie,” he said.

  As I walked home over the hill I remembered how Mother had worried about Rosalie’s future and had wished that Rosalie could learn to stand upon her own feet … but there was no need for Rosalie to stand upon her feet; she was cushioned upon a feather mattress.

  *

  Having seen Mother and Rosalie it seemed natural to visit Helen as well, and as I had business in London — connected with The Mulberry Coach — it was possible to kill two birds with one stone, so I wrote
to Helen and said I was coming, expecting an invitation to stay at the flat. The invitation came but it was luke-warm. They could have me to stay if I did not mind roughing it but she and Ronnie thought I would be much more comfortable in a hotel. Of course they wanted to see me and they would arrange to have me to supper or meet me at a restaurant whichever I would rather … and perhaps I would like to go to a play.

  The letter was a trifle damping, but I told myself firmly that I would much rather stay at a hotel, so I took a room in a moderately-priced but comfortable hotel, recommended by Mrs. Hunter. I wanted to see Helen, and she had said she wanted to see me, but when I rang up and tried to fix a meeting it seemed a little difficult.

  “I’m so busy,” complained Helen. “It would have been better if you could have come next week. To-morrow is hopeless; I’m having my hair set in the morning and I’ve got to go out to lunch and then on to a bridge-party. Wednesday is Nurse’s day off. On Thursday Vera is coming up from the country and I’m taking her to a matinée. You see how difficult it is, Jane.”

  “I could look in and see you on Wednesday,” I suggested.

  “Oh no!” cried Helen. “Val is frightfully shy and tiresome. I can’t possibly have you when Nurse is out. Friday might be possible. I’ve got an appointment with Madame Peridot in the morning and a cocktail party in the evening, but I think I could meet you somewhere for lunch. Would that do?”

  I felt like saying not to bother but I swallowed my pride and said it would do.

  The following day when I returned to the hotel after an afternoon’s shopping I found Ronnie waiting for me in the lounge. I saw him before he saw me and I thought he looked sad and worried — which was unusual to say the least of it. Ronnie had always glowed with health and vigour; he had always seemed full of high spirits; his vitality had been one of his charms. Then he saw me and smiled and looked more like himself.

  “Jane, how nice to see you!” he exclaimed. “It seems ages — it is ages of course. I haven’t seen you since you became a famous author. I loved The Mulberry Coach!”

  “I’m glad, Ronnie.”

  “It was very naughty of you not to come to us.”

  “Oh well, I’ve got business to see to —”

  “But you could have come to us and done your business. You could have been perfectly free. You’ve never seen the flat, have you? It’s a nice little flat and quite convenient for tubes and buses — and we’ve got a spare room and everything,” said Ronnie earnestly. “Honestly, Jane, when I heard you were coming to London — and not to us — I felt quite hurt.”

  “I’m sorry. I just thought it would be easier —”

  “Well, never mind. We’ll fix up for you to come for a meal — lunch or tea or whatever suits you best. You must see Val, of course. He’s rather a pet,” said his father smiling fondly.

  “Yes, I want to see Val.”

  “Fix it up with Helen,” said Ronnie nodding.

  “She seems to have a good many engagements,” I began.

  Ronnie’s face clouded. “Far too many,” he declared. “She does far too much and it isn’t good for her to get overtired. She’s got caught up in a whirl and doesn’t seem able to stop; last winter she was ill, off and on, for weeks.”

  “Ronnie, is she really delicate?”

  “We’re all delicate,” declared Ronnie with a quizzical smile. “We’ve all got a weak spot — at least I never met anyone who hadn’t. Helen’s weak spot is her chest. Damp and cold and fog and all the late nights and rushing madly from place to place all day are the worst things for her. If only she would take care of herself there would be no need to worry — but she doesn’t take care of herself — so the only thing to do is to leave London.”

  “Leave London!”

  “Yes, didn’t Helen tell you? The idea is to go abroad. You can have a better standard of living for much less expense; you can have a bungalow and a lovely garden and servants. We might manage to keep a car — which would be nice. Helen seems to think she would like it.”

  “Where is this earthly paradise?” I asked. Ronnie had spoken as if it were a real place and not just a dream.

  Ronnie admitted that the place was real. There was a post vacant in a hospital in Kenya and he could have it if he wanted. He explained that in addition to the usual hospital work he would be expected to help in the laboratory where the doctor in charge was conducting bacteriological research.

  “You would like that, Ronnie!”

  “Yes, it would be interesting. Of course it’s a leap in the dark; Helen might not like it. She thinks she would like it, but we can’t tell what sort of place it is until we get there. The climate is good — and there would be no smog.” He hesitated and then added, “And I might be able to save a little money for Val’s education. We don’t seem to be able to save a penny here.”

  I was not surprised. If Helen was getting clothes from Madame Peridot …

  He rose and said he must go — it was later than he had thought — but when he was half-way to the door he turned and came back.

  “I suppose Helen did ask you to stay at the flat?” he asked, looking at me searchingly.

  “Oh yes,” I said.

  “But not very — enthusiastically, perhaps?”

  I laughed and said, “Don’t worry, Ronnie. I’m quite comfortable here and I don’t like being a bother. Helen and I are going to meet on Friday and have lunch together.”

  “So you won’t be coming to the flat at all?”

  I did not answer.

  “Oh well, it can’t be helped,” said Ronnie with a sigh. “And anyhow I’ll see you at Ryddelton. We must all go to Ryddelton for a few days before we go to Kenya, to say good-bye to Ken and Jean and the children. I’ll see you then, and you’ll see Val. Ken will be pleased when he hears I’m going to do some bacteriological research. Bye Jane, I must fly …”

  As I watched him cross the room on his way to the door I decided that it would be better if I did not see Ronnie again; better for me. When he and Helen came to Ryddelton I could go to Edinburgh … or somewhere.

  *

  Helen was late for our lunch appointment, but I had managed to reserve a table in the crowded restaurant and I was sitting waiting for her when she came in. She was as beautiful as ever, and her clothes were perfection, and as she made her way towards me between the tables a great many people turned their heads and gazed at her. She did not notice the stares for she was used to admiration; probably she would have noticed if people had not stared.

  “Hallo, Jane!” she said, smiling in a friendly manner. “It’s nice to see you — and you’re looking very well. You’ll never be pretty but you’ve got quite an air.”

  “Thank you for those kind words,” I said, laughing.

  Helen had set the note for our meeting and it continued in the same key. She told me about the move to Kenya and I did not say I had heard about it already. It was obvious that Ronnie had not mentioned his visit to me at the hotel.

  “Just think, Jane!” said Helen. “A lovely bungalow and a garden and lots of servants! It will be delightful … and I believe Adruna is quite a fair-sized place so there will be plenty to do. I mean you can have a very good time in a place like that. Vera went out to Kenya last winter to stay with her sister and she says there were parties and picnics and amateur theatricals and all sorts of gaieties. Of course I must get a nurse for Val, but there will be no difficulty about that.”

  She went on talking about it, and I listened. It was not until we had finished and I had paid the bill that she asked if I had seen Rosalie.

  “That was a funny marriage!” said Helen, laughing. “I wonder how long it will last.”

  “For ever, I hope,” I replied seriously. “They have taken each other for better for worse — and they’re blissfully happy.”

  “Oh Jane, you are a queer old stick!” declared Helen. “Where are my gloves? I always lose my gloves.”

  The waiter handed them to her and was rewarded with a radiant smi
le.

  “Well, good-bye, Jane,” said Helen. “I’ll write to you from Adruna and tell you all about it.”

  “Are you coming up to Ryddelton before you go?” I asked.

  “Goodness, no! Why should we? There won’t be time. I must get clothes, and things —” said Helen. She kissed me and added, “Thank you for the nice lunch.”

  The last I saw of her was her graceful figure threading its way to the door and the heads turning, and the eyes staring at her as she went.

  *

  Naturally I had been keeping an eye on publishers’ lists for The Biography of Lady Esmeralda Pie but something must have delayed its publication, for Margaret and I had been home nearly a year when the advance notices appeared. Almost immediately afterwards I received a copy of the book, from the author, inscribed “J.H. from A.M.” There was no letter and no address. Of course I could have written to Mrs. Millard care of her publishers but I decided not to, for if she had wanted a ‘thank-you-letter’ she would have enclosed her address.

  I had known the book was good but I had been too near it to see it in proper perspective. I saw now that it was far better than I remembered. The background was colourful and bore the stamp of authenticity. Esmeralda herself was a four dimensional figure, human and somehow lovable despite her many sins. The style was pungent, witty and polished and ran so smoothly that one could not lay the book down; I was not surprised when it was received by the critics with a chorus of praise. The book was too expensive to be a popular success but it certainly was a succès d’estime.

  Several reporters from daily newspapers found their way to Timble Cottage and endeavoured to pump me about the book and its author:

  “We understand you were Mrs. Millard’s secretary? It must have been a very interesting post.”

  “Our readers would like to know something about Mrs. Millard.”

  “Was she pleasant to work with?”

  “Are the letters absolutely authentic?”

  “Did Mrs. Millard do a great deal of research?”

  “Where is Mrs. Millard now?”