by Betty Neels
The day was very much as she had expected; Eileen and her parents had hired a car to take them out to Grinzing where they intended to have lunch and Cordelia did the packing, ate a meal off a tray since the doctor wasn’t expected back until the evening, took herself for a quick walk afterwards and then settled down to the mundane tasks of writing labels, inspecting drawers and cupboards and checking to see that she had supplies of travel aids with her. They were to go on a mid-morning plane, she had been told and stay at a London hotel; ‘our plans are a bit vague,’ explained Mrs Kinneard, ‘We’ll have a little talk later on. We do depend on you, Cordelia.’ She had smiled very kindly and Cordelia had felt a pleasant glow because she was needed.
There was going to be no opportunity of seeing the doctor before she went, that was pretty plain by now; he hadn’t been at breakfast and although they would both be at dinner, they weren’t likely to talk to each other. Actually, she did see him later that afternoon, she was carrying a pile of freshly ironed undies of Mrs Kinneard’s from the kitchen to her bedroom ready to pack later on, when he came in. But he didn’t stop; just for a moment he paused when he saw her but beyond a brief nod, he had nothing to say and walked past her to his study. Just for a moment she was tempted to go after him, but only for a moment for what could she say when she got there? That she was in love with him? Ask him why he was so angry with her? If he were going to miss her and if he wanted to see her again? Such impossible silly questions. What a lot of things one thought and never uttered, she mused, arranging things tidily on Mrs Kinneard’s bed.
She was quite right, beyond the small attentions good manners demanded of him, Charles had barely spoken to her at dinner and when she had seen Eileen to bed Mrs Kinneard had begged her to pack the rest of her things. ‘I’m quite useless at that kind of thing,’ she explained, and ‘I’m sure you’re a dab hand at it.’
So she had folded clothes and packed them neatly and then gone to her room because she was pretty sure that she wasn’t expected downstairs again.
And in the morning she went down to breakfast to find that the doctor had been called to the hospital at an earlier hour. He came in just as she was leaving the table, gave her a cool good morning and applied himself to his breakfast.
The trip to the airport had been well organised; he drove his own car with his sister and niece, and Mr Kinneard followed behind in a hired car, with Cordelia and the luggage. Their goodbyes were brief; as he explained, he had to get back to the hospital, and they would be seeing each other again within a very short time. He didn’t say that to Cordelia, of course, but shook her hand and wished her a pleasant journey. It wasn’t until she was half way to England that she remembered that he hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye. It was a good thing that Eileen kept her so busy on the flight demanding her attention, wanting this and the other thing, that she had no time to think of herself.
It was that evening, after an over-excited Eileen had at last gone to her bed and the three of them were sitting over dinner in Brown’s Hotel, that Mrs Kinneard said cheerfully. ‘Well, we’ve made our plans, Cordelia, and I’m sure you’ll be glad to be free to go to your home.’
CHAPTER NINE
MRS KINNEARD’S words dropped like stones into Cordelia’s surprised head. She sat very still, suddenly and sharply aware of her elegant surroundings, the well appointed table, the delicious food; they had all dulled the pain of parting from Charles, now they were a mockery, making Mrs Kinneard’s remark even more shattering than it was. Had this all been discussed and arranged, she wondered, before she had left Vienna, and did Charles know? She drew a steadying breath. ‘I’m a little surprised,’ she said carefully. ‘When would you like me to leave?’
‘There, I knew you wouldn’t mind,’ declared Mrs Kinneard happily. ‘Here’s Henry saying I ought to give you a month’s notice and I don’t know what else, but Charles told me that you had a family and a home and you must be longing to see them and it again. It was coming over on the plane I had this splendid idea; we’ll go to Scotland, to Henry’s brother and his wife, straight away— Eileen will love it—she hasn’t seen her cousins for ages, then we can come back and stay with Mother for a few days and get Eileen settled in a school. She’s too old for a governess—you’ve been splendid, Cordelia, but I’m sure you’ll agree with me…’ She paused and then rattled on: ‘We thought we’d go up on the night train tomorrow—there’s no reason why we shouldn’t go and see Mother, Henry—just for an hour. You could hire a car. You don’t need to come, Cordelia—perhaps you’d get Eileen’s clothes sorted out—all those thin summer dresses—she’ll only need a few of them—we could travel light and send the rest down to Mother’s.’ She paused again while her husband watched her with a tolerant eye and Cordelia sat like a block of stone. ‘I have it; Cordelia will you stay tomorrow night here at the hotel and arrange for the luggage we don’t need to go to Mother’s? Henry will book the room for you for another night, won’t you dear?’
She beamed at them both, sure that she was delighting Cordelia and at the same time getting her own way. Just like her daughter thought Cordelia, but I can’t help liking her.
‘And now you must be dying to get to bed,’ went on Mrs Kinneard, ‘we’ll have breakfast at half-past eight, shall we Henry? You can arrange about getting a car in a minute or two.’
Cordelia said good night and went up to her room; a most comfortable one with it’s own bathroom and every comfort she could have wished for. Hers for another night, and then what? Perhaps it would be as well not to think about that for the moment; she would have time to decide what was best to be done while she was on her own the next day. She lay in a hot bath until it cooled, her mind mercifully numb, and once in bed, fell asleep almost immediately.
Eileen, dancing in and out of her room the next morning, gave no sign of knowing her mother’s plans and Cordelia forebore from mentioning them. In a way, she could see the sense of Mrs Kinneard’s decision, Eileen would be going to school in the autumn, anyway, and a governess would be superfluous; to make the break now, when there was so much to distract her, was a good idea. And nothing was said at breakfast, only that they would be going to see her grandmother and staying there for lunch. ‘And Cordelia says she’ll stay and get our clothes sorted out; we don’t want to take everything to Scotland with us, besides,’ added Mrs Kinneard cunningly, ‘There are some splendid shops in Edinburgh.’
So presently they drove away in the hired car and Cordelia went back to their rooms and started on the lengthy task of sorting out the right clothes for Eileen and re-packing them and then going along to Mrs Kinneard’s room where she found the clothes that the lady needed to take with her piled on the bed ready to be packed in a suitcase, which meant unpacking two other cases in order to fit everything in. This done, she went downstairs to fetch labels from the desk and write Lady Trescombe’s address on them and ask the best way to get them sent. By train, she was told, a taxi to Waterloo and then hand them in at the goods office there.
The receptionist was helpful and friendly. She said, ‘You do know that your bill’s been paid until after breakfast tomorrow? If you could leave your room by ten o’clock?’ She smiled, ‘the porter will get you a taxi if you need one for the luggage tomorrow.’
Cordelia was grateful. ‘Thank you. I think perhaps I’ll take it along this evening, that’ll give me more time to get my own things packed in the morning.’
The girl agreed. ‘If you go around half-past seven there won’t be much traffic—the dining room is open until half-past nine, you’ll have plenty of time.’
Cordelia made a good lunch, realising that it would be foolish to give way to a weak wish to eat nothing when common sense urged her to take advantage of the excellent food offered; the future was uncertain for the moment; she had enough money to keep her going for a few weeks if she lived carefully, but living was expensive in London. She would have to find an employment agency the very next day—there would be a fee to pay for that too… She
went back to her room and for once was thankful that the paucity of her wardrobe made packing a simple matter. Everything could go with her in her case and overnight bag. She counted her money once more, took forty pounds of it and put it in the zip pocket of the overnight bag, and put the rest into her purse. At least she wasn’t destitute and she was prepared to take any job offered. To go back to her stepmother’s was unthinkable and there was no one else. Charles’ handsome unsmiling face blotted out her thoughts for a moment, but she brushed it firmly aside; there was no room for him in her life; Vienna had been a lovely dream and she had been lucky to have had it.
‘You dare to cry,’ she told herself fiercely and blew her ordinary little nose with an equal fierceness. She had herself nicely in hand by the time the Kinneards returned and a good thing too, for it was instantly obvious that Eileen had been told of her mother’s plans and had taken exception to them. She hurled herself at Cordelia and flung her arms round her. ‘You’re not to go away,’ she raged, ‘Why must you go home? Why can’t you stay with me? It’s weeks before I’ll have to go to school, you could go home then…?’
‘I’ve told you darling,’ said her mother, ‘Cordelia’s mother needs her at home, and she wants to go—it would be very unkind of us to keep her. You’re fond of her, aren’t you? That’s all the more reason for trying to understand.’ She added: ‘She’s not going far away, you know; of course you’ll see her again. We’ll find a lovely present in Edinburgh and send it, and you can write… Now shall we have some tea? We shall have dinner on the train, you’ll enjoy that and Uncle Roger will be waiting for us at Edinburgh…’
‘I don’t want to go,’ declared Eileen, ‘and I don’t want any tea…’
Cordelia kissed one tear stained cheek. ‘I do,’ she said cheerfully, ‘and while we are having it I want to hear all about Scotland and your cousins there. You must write to me, though I bet you’ll have so many things to do that you won’t have the time…picnics, and riding and making friends, and of course you’ll go shopping with your mother. There are some lovely shops…’
‘You’ve been to Edinburgh?’ Eileen stopped howling to ask.
Cordelia remembered very clearly going down Princes Street with her father stopping to look in every window and having anything she fancied bought for her. ‘Oh, yes— I’ve visited it twice, a long time ago, but I’m sure the shops are just as fine.’
Eileen cheered up a good deal after that, they sat in the lounge having a leisurely tea and then it was time to send for the luggage call a taxi and say goodbye. Eileen almost strangled her with her goodbye hugs and Cordelia hugged her back; perhaps it was as well that they weren’t to see each other again, despite Mrs Kinneard’s vague promises, Eileen was part of Vienna, and best forgotten together with all her other dreams. Mrs Kinneard kissed her too, delighted that she had got her own way without Cordelia making a fuss—such a nice girl—she had told her husband, ‘she’ll get a job in no time at all, and she has got her family…’
Mr Kinneard, who allowed his wife to do exactly what she liked, agreed, shook Cordelia’s hand, gave her an envelope, and ushered his family into the taxi. Cordelia didn’t linger on the hotel steps; she had the luggage to see to, besides the porter was looking at her with a sympathetic eye—the same man who had wanted to get her a taxi that day when she had come for an interview with Lady Trescombe. She gave him a quick smile and went upstairs. In her room she opened the envelope. The week’s salary she was due, and another week besides. A cheque she would have to cash in the morning. There were notes too; enough, she supposed to get the luggage to the station and despatched.
She put the cheque in her handbag, then she went downstairs again, asked to have the Kinneard’s luggage brought down and a taxi fetched and went off to Waterloo Station. It took a little time to settle matters, but once done she got on a bus which would take her near the hotel. Now she had only herself to think of; perhaps the hotel would let her leave her case there while she looked for a room and once she had that, she could go to an agency and take the first thing they offered. She sat deep in thought in the crowded bus, squashed between a stout woman and a weedy young man with long hair, there was a fourth person on the seat meant for three, but she hardly noticed that. In Oxford Street several people got off and even more got on but she was oblivious of the jostling. She got off, in company with half a dozen others, at the New Bond Street stop, almost swept back on to the bus by the impatient tide of people wanting to get on. It was when she reached the pavement and her fellow passengers ebbed away that she discovered that her handbag had been neatly slit open and was now empty.
It was a mistake to cry out quite loudly that she had been robbed; the few remaining people near her melted away with mutters of ‘Hard luck,’ or ‘you’d better go to the police station.’ Someone called out ‘I shouldn’t bother, Miss—it happens all the time.’
She began to walk towards Dover Street, debating whether it would be of any use to report the theft and decided that it wouldn’t; the only thing which could identify her was the cheque made out in her name. She had no bank account so that anyone could forge her name; even her medical card and passport were in her overnight bag. And a good thing too. So that left her with forty pounds and thank heaven she had taken that out of her handbag… She reached the hotel, went to her room and changed her dress and went down to her dinner. She ate splendidly aware that she wasn’t likely to get another meal like it for some time, and presently went to bed; so much had happened in the past few days that none of it seemed quite true.
She was up early and after breakfast arranged with the receptionist to leave her case at the hotel and fetch it later in the day. At the door the same porter was on duty. ‘Call you a cab, Miss?’ He asked cheerfully.
She shook her head. ‘No, thank you, but I wonder if you could tell me whereabouts Wyngate Street is? It’s off Oxford Street…’
She knew that because she had looked up the addresses of several agencies and somehow ‘Mrs Sharp’s Agency’ sounded respectable…
‘Other end of Oxford Street, Miss.’ He added: ‘Not much of a neighbourhood, were you looking for somewhere special?’
She told him and he nodded. ‘There’s a bus from the corner,’ he advised her. She tipped him; even the modest tips she had handed out had made alarming inroads into the forty pounds. She cheered herself up with the thought that her excellent breakfast would keep her going until the evening; a cup of coffee would be enough at lunchtime, the thing was to get a job and find a room.
Wyngate Street was narrow and gloomy and airless but luckily the agency was at the end nearest Oxford Street. She climbed the narrow stairs following the sign on the grimey front door, and obedient to the card with ‘Ring First’, pressed the bell beside another, even dirtier door on the second landing. The room she entered was in need of a coat of paint and the services of a window cleaner, not to mention a scrubbing brush on the linoleumed floor. There were four or five women sitting round the walls and Cordelia, receiving no reply to her good morning, sat herself down. Half an hour passed before it was her turn and she opened another door to Mrs Sharp’s office.
Mrs Sharp was stout, of uncertain age and boot faced. She looked prepared to snap off Cordelia’s head and listened with a faint sneering smile to Cordelia’s request for a job.
‘Nothing on the books,’ she said finally, ‘you can’t type and you can’t do shorthand and you’ve no experience as a sales girl. The class of person to employ a governess or companion is away on holiday. Come back tomorrow, I might have something then. That’ll be ten pounds.’
‘What for?’ Asked Cordelia, taken aback.
‘Why for putting you on the books, of course. Most agencies want twenty pounds nowadays.’
Cordelia handed over the money. ‘I’ll come back in the morning Mrs Sharp. I need a job badly…’
‘They all say that. It’s you inexperienced educated young ladies who are so hard to please.’
‘I assure you that
I’m not difficult Mrs Sharp, is there anywhere near here where I could get a room? I have very little money.’
‘A room? Well yes, there is Mrs Dyson, about ten minutes from here up the other end of the street. Third turning on the left, number six. She’ll let you have a room but you have to feed yourself. Forty pounds a week. Come in tomorrow about eleven.’
She didn’t raise her head from the form she was filling in as Cordelia wished her good morning.
The third turning on the left was slightly better than Wyngate Street, the houses were red brick, flat faced and without even a small strip of garden, but Cordelia had hardly expected that. At least the curtains at number six’s windows looked tolerably clean. She banged the knocker and an old woman opened the door.
‘Mrs Dyson? Mrs Sharp told me that you might have a room for me, just while I wait for a job?’
‘Come in dearie, yer lucky, the second floor back’s empty.’ She began mounting the stairs slowly and Cordelia followed, trying not to notice the smell of cooking and cats and stale air. But the room, when they reached it, was clean, furnished with an iron bedstead, a plastic covered table and chair, a chest of drawers with a book in place of one castor, and a gas ring. There were two shelves holding a saucepan, a kettle and a large enamel jug and a worn rug by the bed.
‘Fifty pounds and look after yourself,’ said Mrs Dyson.
‘Mrs Sharp told me that you charged forty pounds.’
The old woman shrugged. ‘Oh, well, since yer’s a nice young lady, yer can ‘ave it fer forty…money in advance.’
She held out a hand and Cordelia took out the money.
‘No receipt, dearie, don’t ‘old with ’em, but I’m honest and I can see yer are. There’s a key to the door, what about yer luggage?’