She went to the sideboard and opened the door. Both cupboards had been filled with fussy, gilt-rimmed, rose-patterned china. The drawers were packed to the brim with hand-embroidered tablecloths and napkins.
‘Aren’t you glad now that I told you to wait before buying anything?’ Peter asked smugly.
‘I’m just wondering where we’re going to put our wedding presents.’
‘I expect you’ll find somewhere,’ he said airily. ‘Let’s have tea. The sooner I get started on that sermon, the sooner I’ll be free to enjoy our first evening in our new home.’
Mrs Mack must have heard them go into the sitting room because a few minutes later she wheeled in a trolley and set it next to where they sat huddled, as close to the fire as they could position the uncomfortable chairs.
‘Would you like me to pour the tea, Mrs Slater?’
‘No, thank you, Mrs Mack.’ Edyth knew she was being irritable and unreasonable, but she couldn’t wait for the woman to leave the room.
‘Mrs Richards always liked me to pour, sugar and milk the tea, and serve it.’
‘I’ll pour, thank you, Mrs Mack,’ Edyth reiterated firmly, recalling what Aunt Alice had said about starting as she meant to go on, and deciding it could apply just as easily to the housekeeper as Peter’s mother.
‘In that case, if that’s everything for now, Mrs Slater, I’ll get on in the kitchen.’ The housekeeper made sure they knew that her feelings had been hurt.
‘It is. Thank you, Mrs Mack.’ Edyth poured the tea but her hand shook.
‘I’ve made up the beds in the back and front bedrooms, Reverend Slater. Shall I make up the bed in the master bedroom for Mrs Slater senior?’
‘No, thank you, Mrs Mack, my mother won’t be arriving for a week.’
‘Then I’ll keep the sheets and blankets in the linen cupboard so they’ll get a good airing.’ She shuffled out of the room.
‘You told Mrs Mack that your mother was moving in with us?’
She helped me to arrange the furniture and put things away in the cupboards. I hope you don’t mind but I gave Mother the largest bedroom. Your parents have bought us that small modern suite and as Mother’s is so much bulkier; it made sense to give her more space. And she wanted her desk in there as well as her washstand. I tried telling her that we had a bathroom, but she insisted she couldn’t do without her washstand. Besides, the largest bedroom is at the back so it will be quieter for her. Mine is at the front but as I’ll be the one to get up when people call in the night, it won’t matter so much if I’m disturbed.’
‘Yours?’ She suddenly recalled Mrs Mack mentioning that she had made up two beds. One in the front bedroom and one in the back.
‘I’m used to sleeping alone.’
‘Peter …’
‘And I’ll more often than not work late at night and early in the morning. Apart from writing sermons, people will want to see me at all sorts of odd hours. Especially if they are working. Being a vicar is not a job one works nine until five, Edyth.’ Seeing her hand poised over the sugar bowl, he said, ‘I take two sugars and a splash of milk.’
‘After the number of times you’ve drunk tea in my parents’ house, I know. Peter, about the bedrooms –’
‘We’ll talk about them when we go upstairs to look at the arrangements I’ve made. If you don’t like them, we’ll change them.’ He took the tea she handed him and helped himself to a cracker and cheese. ‘Hardly a sumptuous repast for our first meal in our home,’ she said, ‘but at least Mrs Mack has promised us a hot meal for dinner.’
Peter took a bite and made a face. Edyth picked up a cracker and examined it.
‘Don’t eat it, Peter. The cracker’s so old it’s soggy.’ She poked at it, then sniffed it. ‘The butter’s rancid, the cheese too strong and,’ she sipped her tea, ‘the tea’s stewed.’
Peter shrugged his shoulders. ‘Mrs Mack’s catering, I’m afraid.’
‘And you told her she could keep her job!’ she exclaimed crossly.
‘She’s been here so long …’
Edyth was beginning to feel that it had been days not hours since they had entered the house. The place was dirty, cold, and unwelcoming for all that it had been freshly decorated. The food their housekeeper had served was stale and obviously of inferior quality even when it had been fresh, and to top it all, Peter had announced that he wanted separate bedrooms. Her temper finally snapped. As the housekeeper was the easiest target she chose to fire her first broadside at her. ‘Mrs Mack will either mend her ways or go.’
‘Edyth, please, I told you, she’s a friend of the Bishop’s cousin –’
‘Then the Bishop or his cousin can offer her a position in their house,’ she said flatly.
‘She’s been here for over forty years.’
‘No wonder. If she serves food like this she’ll see out any number of incumbents in this vicarage.’
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll go and work in my study.’ He left his chair.
‘You promised to show me the rest of the house.’
‘So I did. But first I need to put away the books I took to Swansea.’
Edyth almost asked why, then thought better of it. She had far more serious things to discuss with Peter than when he should or shouldn’t put his books away. ‘The door to your study is the one immediately left of the front door?’
‘It is.’
‘And the kitchen is at the end of the passage opposite the front door?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I’ll come and find you after I’ve spoken to Mrs Mack.’
‘Don’t upset her, Edyth.’
‘Why? We pay her wages to do a job, don’t we?’
‘Yes, of course, but –’
‘She needs taking in hand, Peter. It’s plain that she’s been doing exactly as she likes. She can’t serve food like this and expect to stay in our employment.’ She left her chair, and after resolving to dig out a thick sweater from the trunks she’d had sent from home, she placed the dishes and teapot back on the trolley and wheeled it down the freezing corridor.
Mrs Mack was sitting in one of two deep-cushioned comfortable chairs next to the brand-new range, a recipe book and a brown medicine bottle on her lap, and a faraway look in her eye. There was a strong smell of paint, and Edyth could see that the room had recently been refurbished. There were green and white painted cupboards, a large sink with a gas geyser for hot water above it, a scrubbed-down pine table and sturdy pine chairs, which she guessed had also belonged to Peter’s mother, and, to add insult to injury, the room was deliciously warm, in sharp contrast to the rest of the house.
Mrs Mack jumped up when Edyth wheeled in the trolley. She held up the medicine bottle. ‘I have a sore throat.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ The news didn’t make Edyth feel any more sympathetic towards the woman. Inedible food was unacceptable, whatever the condition of the person who’d prepared it.
Mrs Mack looked at the untouched trolley. ‘Is something wrong, madam?’
‘Mrs Slater will do, Mrs Mack. And yes, there is. The tea is stewed, the cheese and biscuits are stale, and the butter is rancid.’ Edyth went to the pantry.
‘Can I help you with something, Mrs Slater?’
‘I’m checking the stocks.’ Edyth opened the door. Lifting the cover from the milk churn on the marble slab next to the door, she sniffed the contents. Then she looked at the meat safe, and the rest of the shelves.
‘There is very little food here. None of it is fresh and all of it is poor quality.’
‘Mrs Richards never complained about my housekeeping or marketing, Mrs Slater,’ Mrs Mack protested in an injured voice. ‘I don’t know what you’re used to, but a vicar’s household is not a rich one. I have had to practise certain economies over the years.’
‘You need no longer concern yourself with marketing economies, Mrs Mack. I will buy all our groceries from now on.’ Edyth took a toasting fork from the rack of utensils. ‘Please fill th
e kettle and boil it, Mrs Mack, and make a fresh pot of tea. The one you served us is undrinkable. In the meantime, I’ll see if this cheese tastes any better toasted.’
Edyth balanced the tray on her knee and entered Peter’s study. ‘I’m not sure this is any better, Peter, but I’ve done the best I can with what’s in the larder. If there are shops open, I’ll go out –’
‘Edyth, what on earth do you think you’re doing?’
‘Bringing you tea and cheese on toast,’ she answered in confusion.
‘Never, never walk into my study without knocking.’
As her father’s study door was always open to the entire family she stared at him in amazement. ‘But, Peter, we’re married –’
‘And I could have visitors. A newly bereaved widow, a couple about to embark on marriage, parishioners entrusting me with confidential information. Imagine how they would feel if my wife waltzed in without as much as by your leave to bring me tea.’
Feeling justly rebuked, Edyth murmured, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think.’
‘No harm was done this time, but please, always knock in future, even if you think that I am alone. It is as well that you don’t develop bad habits.’
She set the tray on his desk. ‘I’m going upstairs to look at the bedrooms and bathrooms. You’ll join me?’
‘As soon as I’ve eaten this.’ He shuffled through the letters he had been opening. She had been dismissed, and she felt exactly as she had done when the headmistress of the grammar school had told her to leave after a particularly unpleasant interview.
‘I heard you on the stairs, Mrs Slater.’ Mrs Mack joined Edyth on the landing as she was looking at the doors and debating which one to open first. ‘Reverend Slater had the bedroom suite your parents bought you put into this bedroom.’ She opened the door to a back bedroom. It was situated above the sitting room and just as gloomy because the wall of the church extended beyond the height of the window. The pale beech wood suite would have looked better set against plainer wallpaper, but the bed linen was all wrong. The bed was covered in a crimson draped and gathered satin bedspread. Edyth turned it back. The linen was thick and coarse.
‘I’d like this bed made up with the linen we were given as wedding presents, Mrs Mack,’ she said shortly.
‘I made the beds up according to Reverend Slater’s instructions, Mrs Slater. He knew exactly where he wanted everything to go.’
Edyth saw her trunks and packing cases stacked in the corner of the room. She was tired after travelling but she was determined to unpack all their things in the morning and set them out. ‘Show me the other bedrooms, please, Mrs Mack.’
‘Mrs Slater senior will be next door to you, Mrs Slater.’ The housekeeper opened the door on a room Edyth suspected had been arranged exactly like another in a vicarage in Mumbles many years earlier. The bed was a four-poster. The writing desk, chest on chest of drawers, washstand, bedside cabinet and wardrobe were all of dark-stained mahogany, the bedspread a carbon copy of the one in her bedroom, only in navy-blue.
‘This is Mother’s room.’ She looked up. Peter was in the doorway.
‘So I understand. That will be all, Mrs Mack. Reverend Slater and I would like to eat as soon as dinner is ready, please.’
‘Soup and hotpot won’t be hurried, Mrs Slater.’
‘As soon as you can make it, Mrs Mack,’ Edyth repeated in a strained voice.
She waited until she heard the housekeeper walking over the tiled hall before turning to Peter. ‘Did you give orders for the beds to be made up in your mother’s linen?’
‘Of course. I assumed that you’d want to unpack our wedding presents yourself. Surely it won’t hurt to use Mother’s linen for a week or two until you have a chance to get the house as you want it?’
‘No, of course it won’t.’
‘You’re tired, Edyth, it’s the strain of the last week,’ he avoided mentioning David’s name, ‘and the travelling, coupled with the unfamiliarity of the house. You’re determined to find fault with everything because it’s so different from your parents’ house and Mrs Mack’s ways are not the same as Mari’s. But don’t worry, you’ll soon settle in.’
‘I hope so.’
She wished she could be as convinced as Peter seemed to be. But she wasn’t accustomed to Mrs Mack’s ideas of ‘economies’ on food or cleaning, and she had a feeling she would never accept them as adequate.
Peter wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she rested her head against him for a moment. If only he would always hold her this way. She moved closer to him and he stepped back.
‘Come and see the bathroom. It’s so clean and bright.’
‘Bright?’
‘I’ll grant you the two bedrooms on this side of the house are gloomy, but then all you and Mother will be doing is sleeping in them.’ He opened the door to the bathroom, which was tiled in black and white chequerboard tiles. He was right, it was clean and bright, and smelled of soap.
She rubbed her finger around the bath. ‘This at least looks clean,’ she commented.
‘It should do. The people who installed it cleaned it. I told Mrs Mack that she should continue to use the washstand in her attic room and the outside lavatory, to leave the bathroom solely for our use. Is that all right?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’
The bedroom Peter had reserved for his own use was lighter and brighter than the two at the back of the house. It was so spartanly furnished it reminded Edyth of Micah Holsten’s room, with a single bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers, bookcase and small desk all in oak, and a crucifix above the bed. Then she realised none of the furniture was new.
‘This was your furniture when you were a boy?’ she asked.
‘It was.’
‘But most of the time you’ll sleep in my bedroom?’
‘That’s the doorbell. I told Mrs Mack to ask the carriers to put most of the things that were transported from your parents’ house into the box room. But you’ll have to wait to see them. We’re about to have our first visitor.’ He left the room and ran downstairs without answering her question.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Edyth, come downstairs. Quickly, please,’ Peter called above a hubbub of voices in the hall.
Edyth ran down the stairs to see him ushering in a delegation of a score or more small children, who were being shepherded by three older girls. If the knife-edge, ironed creases on the boys’ shorts, their pressed shirt collars and the starched frills on the girls’ frocks were anything to go by, they were in their Sunday best. The smallest girl was carrying a bunch of flowers almost as large as herself, and another was struggling beneath the weight of a basket of fruit. Behind the group stood a dozen men of varying ages in dark suits, white shirts and sober ties.
‘The church council and Sunday school have come to welcome you to your new home, Edyth.’ Peter beamed at everyone.
‘Please, do come in,’ she invited. ‘I’ll call Mrs Mack. Hopefully we can find some biscuits for the children.’ She made the offer out of politeness. There had been tins in the pantry, but after she’d spoken she realised it was doubtful that anything edible lurked in their depths.
‘No, please, Mrs Slater.’ One of the girls stepped forward.
‘This is Prudence Smart, she’s only fifteen but she teaches the infants’ class in our Sunday school, Edyth.’ Peter moved to make room for the men to enter alongside the children. Rain was hammering down, and they closed their umbrellas outside, shaking the worst of the water from them before depositing them in a brass umbrella stand in dire need of polishing.
Edyth shook the girl’s hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Prudence.’
‘Please, don’t put yourself out for us, Mrs Slater. My mother said you must have a hundred and one things to do in the house. The last thing we want to do is hold you up, but if you can spare a few minutes, the children have been practising a hymn they’d like to sing for you.’
Edyth tried not to look reli
eved. ‘In that case, all of you must come to tea another day.’
‘Soon?’ the little girl holding the flowers asked hopefully.
‘Very soon, in the next week or two,’ Edyth promised.
‘Will there be jelly and blancmange?’ a small boy asked.
‘Nigel!’ Prudence reprimanded.
‘It’s all right.’ Edyth stroked the boy’s curly hair. ‘There most certainly will be jelly and blancmange, Nigel.’ She made a mental note to add both to the shopping list she intended to write that evening. She took the flowers and basket of fruit. ‘For Reverend Slater and me? How very nice and thoughtful. You’re spoiling us.’ She stood next to Peter while the children sang ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’.
Halfway through their rendition, which was amazingly accomplished considering they had no instrumental accompaniment, she felt the weight of Peter’s arm around her waist. She leaned against him, wondering if this was what he intended their life to be; public shows of affection concealing private remoteness in separate bedrooms. Surely not. But every time she thought of Harry and Mary, Bella and Toby, and her parents, she knew something was wrong between them.
‘That was charming. Don’t you think so, Edyth?’ Peter nudged her.
Edyth realised the children had stopped singing. She clapped enthusiastically, hoping they hadn’t noticed that her mind was elsewhere. ‘Absolutely charming,’ she reiterated. ‘I look forward to getting to know all of you during the coming weeks. Thank you again for these beautiful flowers and the fruit.’
‘See you tomorrow in Sunday school, Mrs Slater.’ The older girls rounded up the children and led them outside.
‘My study is too small to accommodate the full council, so we’ll use the dining room for our meeting. That’s if you don’t mind, Edyth?’
‘Not at all, Peter. Don’t forget to set a match to the fire.’ She only wished the room was cleaner and more welcoming.
‘This is Anthony Jones, the youngest member and secretary of the council.’ He introduced her to a fair-haired, good-looking young man. Edyth knew she had seen him before, but it took her a few moments to recall that he was one of the policemen who had rounded up Anna Hughes and the other ‘ladies’ the night she had arrived at the vicarage.
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