Celia's House

by D. E. Stevenson

  “I’m glad you’re to be here, sir,” she said. “Oh, yes, I know all about it. Miss Dunne talked to me about it many a time. She knew I was safe to talk to. There’s some people will get a shock this afternoon when the will’s read, and serve them right. They never came here except to butter up—but Miss Dunne could see as far through a brick wall as most people. I was with her thirty years, Mr. Humphrey.”

  “I know,” he replied. “She spoke to me about you. She said you were a true friend.”

  “Did she say that?” Becky asked with a tremor in her carefully controlled voice. “It was nice. I won’t forget it, and it was good of you to tell me. She was a great lady. There was so much in her, so much interest. She was old, but she was never dull, not dull in herself nor dull to other people. You couldn’t be dull when you were with her, for she was so unexpected. You would think she was cross and all at once she would be laughing! Oh, she was a bit impatient sometimes, but never for long—and she was always just. Her heart was gold. The one thing she couldn’t stand was sham and affectation. She liked everything aboveboard; she liked people to look her in the face and say what they were thinking. That was why she couldn’t abide Mrs. Maurice with her soft, smarmy ways.”

  Humphrey glanced at the door.

  “It’s all right,” Becky assured him. “They’ve gone down the garden to decide where the new greenhouse is to be put.”

  Humphrey could not help smiling, and he saw there was the ghost of a smile lingering around Becky’s mouth. He said, “Everything will be kept the same.”

  “She didn’t mean that,” Becky said thoughtfully. “She knew there would have to be changes. She wouldn’t want you to feel tied, Mr. Humphrey. She said to me, just that very morning before she died, she said to me, ‘Changes are coming, Becky. They have to come, but I’m too old to like them.’ I’m glad I was with her at the last.”

  “So am I.”

  “Yes, she thought she’d be frightened, but she wasn’t frightened at all. I was pouring out her tea for her—she liked a cup of tea at eleven in the morning—and suddenly she said quite naturally, ‘I’m going now, Becky.’ She said it so natural that at first I didn’t know what she meant—I thought she meant she was going down the garden and I didn’t want her to—and then I looked at her and saw she was very white and I thought I would give her the medicine…but there wasn’t time. There wasn’t time for anything. She just looked up and smiled and she was gone. She wasn’t frightened.”

  “I’m glad,” Humphrey said uncertainly. There was a lump in his throat.

  “It was a good way to go,” said Becky, nodding. “I’ve been blaming myself for letting her do too much the day before, but maybe it was all for the best. She wanted to see the garden and she saw it. I’m not grieving for her; it’s for myself I’m grieving. She was a part of me—the best part. She’s spoiled me for other people; that’s the truth of it. Maybe I shan’t be long after her.”

  “You’re quite young, Becky,” Humphrey said.

  “I’m fifty-one,” said Becky. “It’s not old, but I feel like a hundred.”

  “I know you’re bound to feel like that, but perhaps—”

  “I’ve nothing to do,” she broke in desperately. “I’ve looked after her all these years, and now there’s nothing to do for her anymore.”

  Humphrey was silent for a few moments and then he said, “I should be very grateful if you’ll stay on here and look after things.”

  “I’ll see,” said Becky. “I didn’t think you’d be wanting me. I don’t quite know. Dunnian isn’t the same without her, but maybe another place would be worse. I’ll stay on a wee while and see how I feel—that is, if you’re sure Mrs. Humphrey will want me.”

  “Of course we shall want you.”

  She smiled. “Oh, well, I’ll stay till you get settled in. Maybe it will be difficult for Mrs. Humphrey at first, moving and getting settled in a strange place.”

  Humphrey was obliged to hide a smile. He thought of all the strange places to which Alice had moved, bag and baggage, with nobody at all to help her, and of all the arrivals (sometimes late at night) with the babies tired and cross after the journey. Alice had had to contend with unsympathetic landladies; she had been obliged to improvise and make things do. Nobody would think, to look at Alice, that she was a capable woman, but somehow or other she had “managed” and even in the most unlikely places she had created an atmosphere of home. Alice could move to Dunnian and settle in as easily as a bird settling onto its nest, but all the same it would be quite a good thing if Becky would stay and help her.

  “I’ve plenty to live on,” Becky was saying. “There’s no need for you to worry about me. Miss Dunne took out an annuity for me and I get it paid every month. It was her own idea: she wanted me to be independent, so she said. I could take a wee house in Ryddelton and be quite comfortable too.”

  “You must do exactly as you like,” Humphrey told her. He wondered if he ought to thank her for all she had done, for looking after Aunt Celia so well, but somehow he felt it would be an impertinence. Aunt Celia had meant so much more to Becky than to himself. Becky was the only person on earth who was really deeply grieved at Aunt Celia’s death; it was a personal loss to Becky as it could not be to him. He sighed and added, “I wish I had known her better.”

  Becky nodded. “I wish you had. She was well worth knowing, but it couldn’t be helped. Sailors have to go where they’re sent. She often spoke of you, Mr. Humphrey, and she always had the little photograph of the children on the table beside her bed. She used to look at the picture and say, ‘The boy is a Dunne. I like the look of him, Becky.’ It’s a pity she couldn’t have seen the children, isn’t it?”

  “She didn’t like children, Becky.”

  “She’d have liked to see them,” Becky declared. “Especially Master Mark.”

  Chapter Eight

  Aftermath

  Alice was lying on her bed with a hot water bottle at her feet and a handkerchief, soaked in eau de cologne, on her forehead. The blinds were drawn down and the window was open at the bottom. It was very peaceful; she could hear the whisper of the river in the distance, and the blind was making a slight tapping noise against the window, but apart from these gentle noises there was no sound at all. She felt relaxed and the pain in her head began to subside. It’s nice to be taken care of like this, thought Alice. Becky was really kind. Somehow or other Alice was aware that Becky had enjoyed taking care of her.

  The door opened very quietly and Alice knew, by the sounds of movement in the room, that Becky—or somebody—had come in. She hoped it was Becky, for even Humphrey would be less welcome at the moment.

  “Is that you, Becky?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’ve brought you a wee cup of tea,” Becky replied in a low voice. “D’you think you could take a wee cup of tea, Mrs. Dunne?”

  Alice thought she could. She raised herself a bit and Becky slipped another pillow behind her head and settled the tray. “There,” Becky said cheerfully. “There we are. You’re looking a wee bit better already. A cup of tea will be just the thing. I’ll pour it out for you, shall I?”

  “You might lock the door, Becky,” said Alice, looking toward it apprehensively.

  “Lock the door?”

  “I’ve just thought…perhaps she might come up…”

  “They’ve gone,” said Becky, nodding significantly.

  “Gone away!”

  “Yes, just this minute. I was watching from the stair window. They couldn’t get the motorcar to start and then suddenly it started and away they went. I wouldn’t trust myself to one of those machines for a good deal.”

  “Oh dear, it was awful,” Alice said with a groan.

  “Don’t think about it,” advised Becky. “Drink up your tea and don’t think about it anymore. It’s over now. We won’t see them again in a hurry.”

  “You do
n’t think they’ll come back?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “He said he was going to see his lawyer. He said he would bring his lawyer here—”

  “His lawyer couldn’t do a thing. What could he do? You may be sure Mr. Wanlock has made everything watertight. That’s what Miss Dunne used to say, ‘I’ve told him to make it watertight,’ she said. No, no, there’s little need to worry. Mr. Maurice said a good deal, but it was just talk.”

  “Talk!” exclaimed Alice, moving her head on the pillow. It seemed a colorless word to describe the terrific row that had taken place. She shuddered as she thought of it. The scene rose before her eyes and made her feel quite sick. Loud voices and angry words were bad enough at any time and in any place, but here and now, in the cloistered peace of Dunnian library with the mistress of Dunnian only just that moment in her grave, they had seemed like desecration. Alice had known that Maurice and Nina would be angry and disappointed, but she had never imagined that they would behave “like that.” It was like a scene in the nursery; only of course a thousand times worse, for these were not children. Oddly enough, it was Mr. Wanlock who had come in for most of the abuse.

  “You influenced her,” Maurice had roared. “She was in her dotage and you persuaded her to alter her will.”

  Mr. Wanlock might have replied that Miss Dunne was not a person who could be influenced, but he had said nothing. He sat quite still in his chair with his mouth buttoned up.

  “You knew all the time—all of you,” Nina had stormed. “You were laughing at us, I suppose, thinking you had made fools of us, but it isn’t settled yet. We’ll see who are the fools. We’ll see—”

  “Really, Nina!” Mrs. Lacey had exclaimed, her soft voice breaking in upon Nina’s ravings. “Really, Nina, one would think…we all know this is a disappointment to you, but surely there’s no need to shout like that. The servants, Nina…”

  But Nina was past caring what the servants thought. “You knew too,” she declared, turning upon Cousin Henrietta like a fury. “You took good care that your bequest wasn’t cut out of the new will…”

  “I knew nothing,” Cousin Henrietta replied with spirit. “I shan’t say I’m not glad of the money, because it will make a lot of difference, but—”

  “You knew she intended to humiliate Maurice and me.”

  “I knew nothing,” repeated Cousin Henrietta. “I knew nothing at all about it, but I think Aunt Celia was very wise to leave the place to Humphrey.”

  “It was just like her,” cried Nina. “Horrible, deceitful old woman! When I think of all I’ve done for her—and all the times I’ve stayed in this nasty shabby old house—”

  “Really, Nina—”

  “It’s Humphrey’s fault,” she declared. “Yes, I can see the whole thing. That’s why he came here in June, to wheedle the old lady, to flatter her and insinuate himself into her good graces…”

  She had raged on, but Humphrey had not replied. His face had gone hard, hard like a stone, only his eyes had blazed.

  When Nina had finished, Maurice began again, “I shall see my lawyer,” he declared, spluttering with rage.

  “You had better see your doctor as well,” put in Cousin Henrietta, raising her voice above the din. “You are not at all a good color, Maurice; I would be afraid of apoplexy if I were you.”

  It was at this point that Alice had left the room (she had gotten up and gone, and nobody had noticed her departure). She had been obliged to leave the room because she was almost certain she was going to faint.

  “It was awful,” said Alice again.

  “It sounded awful,” said Becky, nodding. “I could hear the noise from the top landing.”

  “She said Humphrey was a snake in the grass.”

  “Did she?” Becky asked soothingly. “Well, who cares what she says. Mr. Humphrey is a very nice gentleman indeed.”

  “She was the worst,” declared Alice.

  “She would be,” agreed Becky, “but never mind. They’ve gone away. You have another cup of tea and forget about it.”

  “I can’t,” Alice said. “I shall never forget it, Becky, never so long as I live. The house didn’t like it.”

  “The house?”

  “No,” said Alice, shaking her head. “It was wrong anywhere, but worse here. Dunnian didn’t like it.”

  Becky looked at her in some alarm. “You shouldn’t have gone down,” she declared. “You shouldn’t have been there—”

  “I know, but I wanted to be there, in case—but I wasn’t any use at all. Mrs. Lacey was far more use than I was.”

  “She’s a warrior,” said Becky, smiling. “She’s a wee bit like Miss Dunne—knows her mind and isn’t afraid to speak it.”

  There was silence and then Alice said, “What are they doing now?”

  “They’re having tea on the terrace—the three of them—you can hear them talking if you listen.”

  Alice listened. She heard the sound of voices and the chink of teacups…and suddenly she heard Humphrey’s laugh. It was a deep-throated laugh, wholehearted and infectious, and the sound of it comforted Alice considerably. If Humphrey could laugh like that…

  “You see—they’re laughing,” said Becky as she took away the tray.

  • • •

  Alice felt so much better that she was able to come down to dinner, and what a different meal it was from last night! They were all cheerful, almost gay; it was as if a cloud had vanished from the sky. Even Mr. Wanlock came out of his shell and became quite human and jovial. He told funny stories—quite proper ones, of course—and made them all laugh heartily. During the fish course when Humphrey and his cousin were talking of something else, Mr. Wanlock leaned forward and said to Alice, “Are you thinking of sending the children to Margate, Mrs. Dunne?” and Alice saw the joke at once and replied, “Some doctors believe in hill air, Mr. Wanlock.”

  “What’s the joke?” Humphrey inquired when he saw them laughing, but Mr. Wanlock would not tell him. “It’s a private joke,” he said. “A private joke between Mrs. Dunne and me; you wouldn’t understand it.”

  Alice had impressed Mr. Wanlock very favorably; she was exactly the sort of woman he admired and he was of the opinion that Humphrey had been extremely fortunate. Some naval men married impossible women. If Mr. Wanlock had known Alice before, he would not have tried to persuade old Miss Dunne to leave the property to Maurice—no indeed. He would have concentrated all his efforts on the other point and tried to persuade her to entail Dunnian instead of leaving it to an unborn child. And who can say that I might not have succeeded, Mr. Wanlock thought. By the time Mr. Wanlock had argued the first point and been defeated, he had used up all his ammunition (so to speak) and had had his failure to hamper him and to destroy his morale. It really was most unfortunate; however…

  “There are several little details to be settled,” said Mr. Wanlock, smiling at Alice in a friendly way. “Perhaps you would rather leave it for a day or two. I must return to Edinburgh tomorrow, I’m afraid, but I could come back on Monday.”

  “I’m going south tomorrow,” Alice said.

  “But, Alice!” exclaimed her husband. “There are all sorts of things to be settled—”

  “I can be back by the middle of next week.”

  “But why—”

  “I’m going south to fetch the children.”

  “To bring them here?”

  “Yes, of course. It will take me three days to pack. I can be back here on Wednesday.”

  “You can’t,” Humphrey declared. “There are all sorts of things to be done. The place isn’t ready for them.”

  “It looks quite ready to me.”

  “You mean you’re going to settle in without doing anything?”

  Alice nodded.

  “We’re going to put in electric light,” Humphrey said patiently. “We’re going to put
in another bathroom; Mr. Wanlock is going to see a builder about it.”

  “It will make a considerable mess,” Mr. Wanlock explained.

  “But, Humphrey—”

  “Aunt Celia told me she wanted me to do it, Alice.”

  “Yes, and we will,” said Alice. “We’ll do it all. We’ll put in two more bathrooms and a new kitchen range, and we’ll make another window in the servants’ hall. The pantry must have a new sink and—oh, there are several other things that want doing.”

  “Well then,” said Humphrey, somewhat surprised at having the wind taken out of his sails in this fashion. “Well then, Alice—”

  “But we aren’t going to do it now,” said Alice firmly. “There isn’t time. We’ll move in at once and leave all the alterations until next year.”

  “She’s right, you know,” said Cousin Henrietta. “Alice is absolutely right. You should move into the house, bag and baggage.”

  “You mean in case Maurice—”

  “Yes, possession is nine points of the law—and, besides, when you’ve lived here for a bit you’ll know exactly what you want to do.”

  “I know I’m right,” Alice declared. “Portsmouth has never suited the children. They need a change and I’m going to bring them here.”

  “I’ll come south and help you, of course,” said Humphrey.

  Part Two

  Children in the House

  Chapter Nine

  Mark

  It seemed to Mark that they had been on the train for days and days. At first he had asked continually, “Are we nearly there?” But after a bit he had given up asking—he had given up hope of ever reaching Dunnian—and then, quite suddenly, Daddy had gotten up and begun to take the things down from the rack, and Mummy collected her belongings and stowed them into her bag. Edith was asleep—she was cross when they wakened her—and Baby was asleep too, but she woke up by herself and stared around with big blue eyes.