‘Miss Gilmore,’ she exclaimed. ‘While you have workmen on the premises, have it removed. It will give you much more wall space. Later on, you might be able to have a gas stove installed.’
Celia’s first thought was of how much it would cost. She dithered.
As if reading her thoughts, Betty urged, ‘It could be done quite economically – you’ll never manage to get it clean and shiny again. It looks as if it has not been used for years and years.’
With visions of spending hours cleaning weighed against being indebted to Aspens’ for months, Celia plunged, and ordered, a little breathlessly, ‘Yes, please take it out.’
Betty knew Eddie Fairbanks, and, next, without hesitation, she asked if she could borrow his ladder. To Celia’s astonishment, while Eddie held it for her, she climbed it fearlessly, her black skirt swinging round the calves of her plump legs, as she examined the roof, its gutters and downpipes and the chimneys. She announced, as she came down, after taking a final look at the back half of the roof, that someone had repaired the latter not too long before. ‘And they did the gutters and downpipes. The chimney could do with repointing, but it’s not too bad.’
‘It would be Mr Billings, the agent, who saw to the roof, I think,’ Celia told her. She felt glad that Mr Billings had, to a degree, watched over the fabric of the cottage for her mother. It reinforced the idea that he was a man of integrity.
Betty ploughed through overgrown bushes which had taken over the little flowerbed which ran along the walls of the house, to look at something she called the damp courses, and said that they, too, had been kept clear. Flushed and panting, she emerged near the back door.
As she paused to catch her breath, she looked down the length of the garden and spotted the outside lavatory. She sniffed disparagingly at it. ‘Your biggest problem is that – and the water supply,’ she announced. ‘The rest is easy.’
Eddie was standing patiently near them, in case Betty wanted the ladder again, and he interjected with the information that he had his water from the mains and a good flush lavatory outside his back door. ‘The earl got it done for me before I moved in,’ he said proudly.
‘A plumber’s coming to look at the pump this morning,’ Celia told them. ‘I hope he can do the same for us.’
‘Me dad could probably do that for you – and give you a better price,’ Betty said promptly, as she took out a notebook and pencil and began to add to the notes she had made of her measurements. ‘It pays to get more than one price.’
Celia saw the sense of this. In fact, later on, she often recounted the story of Betty’s intrepidness at scaling the ladder, and said that Betty had, that very morning, taught her some of the basic principles of business.
While Eddie repositioned his ladder in order to clean the upstairs windows, and Dorothy came to the back door to tell him that she had the necessary paper, rags and vinegar to do the job, Celia was further surprised when Betty went outside the front gate and began to hunt through the foot-high grass and the straggling hedge.
She pulled out a clump of grass, and said with satisfaction, ‘There it is.’
Celia squatted down by her, and watched as she cleared earth and roots from round a brass, embossed disc, like a small lid set in a ring of some other metal. ‘You’ve got a water supply this far, anyway,’ she said triumphantly. ‘They’ll know at the Town Hall if there’s any piping into the house. I’m surprised whoever lived here wasn’t connected at the same time as Mr Fairbanks was.’
‘Maybe Aunt Felicity couldn’t afford it – or Father wouldn’t do it for tenants – he never wanted this house – said it was a nuisance,’ Celia explained. ‘But Mother can be very wooden when she wants to be, and she wanted it kept in the family. I can remember vaguely Father talking about selling it.’
‘Get the water laid on,’ advised Betty. She pointed to one of the upstairs windows. ‘If you were prepared to sacrifice the back bedroom above the kitchen, Dad could probably put a bathroom and lavatory in it for you. A bathroom would add to the value of the house.’ She turned to Eddie Fairbanks and inquired, ‘Do you have a cesspool – or are you connected to the main drains somehow?’
‘Cesspool. The earl had it dug when the lavatory were put in.’
‘So the cesspool belongs to the earl?’
‘Oh, aye. It will, no doubt, since he owns the land. He had it cleaned out recently.’
‘So Mrs Gilmore would need to have her own dug?’
‘Well, a flush lavatory outside, like mine, still has to be connected up to something!’ Eddie Fairbanks took off his cap and scratched his head, while he considered this fact. Then he said doubtfully, ‘You could ask the earl’s agent if Mrs Gilmore’s drains could be connected to it for the time being. There’s a rumour in the village that some new houses are to be built just by; probably they will be connected with the main drains at the end of the lane – and if that’s true, you and the earl could ask that these houses be connected at the same time. In fact, the Town Hall may insist on the connection to a drain. They don’t believe in cesspools nowadays.’
‘I’ll find out from the Town Hall about the drainage and the water for you,’ Betty promised.
‘Would a loo and bathroom cost very much?’
‘It wouldn’t be cheap.’ Celia’s face fell, and Betty said cautiously. ‘Me dad might be willing for you to pay by instalments – like monthly, and he might have secondhand bathroom fitments in stock which are still good – that would cut the cost a lot.’
Celia thought about this for a moment, as they walked towards the front door, and then she said, ‘Once we sell our big Liverpool house, Mama should be able to pay all of the bill. I’ll talk to Father’s trustee about it.’
Betty nodded, and then Celia asked her, ‘Would he mind telling me what it would cost for a bathroom, separate from the general repairs, even if we didn’t have the work done?’
‘He wouldn’t mind. You don’t get all the jobs you tender for. He’d give you two prices, if you like. One for a sink and taps and connections in the kitchen and an outside loo, and one for a complete bathroom with a loo in the house – and the kitchen taps the same.’ She smiled, and added, ‘And removing the range!’
Though she was worried at the possible cost, Celia was enchanted. ‘Ask him, please,’ she breathed. Then she inquired, ‘Would you mind, since I have a plumber coming, if I got a price from him, too?’
‘No. You would be accepting the advice I gave you just now!’ She laughed, and Celia, finding her enthusiasm infectious, laughed as she had not done for weeks.
Delighted with themselves, they did some extra measurements and talked about painting the interior economically. Then, as Betty put her notebook back into her big black handbag, Celia told her about her mother’s fine early nineteenth-century furniture – and that some of the pieces were too large to go into the cottage. ‘Anyway, we have far too much of it – and china and curtains.’
‘Will you sell it?’
‘We’ll have to. At first, I suggested to Mother that we get it auctioned, and she was quite miserable. Basically, I think both of us felt that we would not get good prices for it.’ Celia paused to look at Betty’s alert, friendly face, and then, gaining confidence, she plunged into a description of an idea she had had when visiting the Aspens’ building yard.
‘You remember, when I came to see you yesterday, you were cleaning out a kind of barn – where the car had been stored?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Betty sounded surprised.
‘I was wondering – I thought it might be easier for Mother, if we stored most of the furniture, so that she had a chance to consider what would look best in her new home – we need to vacate our present house fairly soon. I was thinking that we could sell piece by piece what we did not want and get a better price for it.’
Betty grinned, ‘And you’d like to put it in our barn?’
‘Yes. Do you think that Mr Aspen would rent it? I don’t think I can pay very much.’
‘I don’t think he’s any immediate plans to use it, to be honest. It was a matter of cashing in on the car more than anything.’ The smile left her face, as, in her turn, she confided, ‘Father thought that now is the time to sell it, while there’s a possible market and it’s still in good shape. He wants me to have the money as a nest egg, seeing as my hubby built it.’
She looked, for a moment, so desolate, that Celia instinctively put her arm round her shoulder to comfort her. ‘Never mind,’ she said pointlessly.
Betty bit her lip, and then, steadying herself, said, ‘I’m so sorry. It comes over me at times.’
Celia smiled and, as if she had known her for years, hugged her gently. ‘Of course it does. I do understand.’
‘I’ll ask me dad for you.’
‘Thank you. I haven’t talked to Mother yet, because my sister arrived from South America yesterday, and there has not been much opportunity. I believe that the idea would be agreeable to her.’
Betty had gathered up her courage again and had begun to move towards the lane, so Celia let her arm drop. ‘And now I think of it, my sister may have stuff coming from Salvador that she may want to store, too.’
Betty paused to look again at Celia. ‘My goodness! You’ll have enough to stock a shop.’
Celia giggled. ‘That’ll be the day,’ she said disparagingly. ‘I’m not trained for anything.’
‘Nonsense,’ responded Betty with unexpected briskness. ‘Women can do lots of things, if they have to. I never saw a woman ploughing, for instance, until the war began and there was no ploughman to do it.’
‘That’s true. I remember Great-aunt Blodwyn complaining that she had lost her ploughman to the army. His wife ploughed for her.’
‘And Dad’s training me to be a builder’s clerk and maybe run the business one day when he feels too old – because it’s going to take time for little Alfred to grow up and be able to do it.’
‘Ah, but you’re clever, Miss Aspen – and capable.’
‘Tush, I didn’t know anything much till Dad took me into the office, to fill in until he could get another man – and then found there were almost none left of the right age and experience. You could learn anything, if you set your mind to it.’ Her eyes danced as she said this, as if she were suggesting something naughty.
‘Well, thank you.’ Celia felt hugely gratified at the compliment.
Although the plumber from the village, when he arrived, was shown politely round the cottage and asked for an estimate, Celia knew in her heart that Betty had impressed her so favourably that she would give the work to the Aspens. She already sensed that, in Betty, she had made a real friend.
That night, as they sat round the kitchen fire drinking their bedtime cocoa, Dorothy told Winnie, who was nursing Tommy Atkins on her lap, that she had never before seen Miss Celia look so happy.
‘Then why is she up in her bedroom crying her eyes out?’ asked Ethel in surprise. ‘I saw her, when I went up to put the hot water bottles in the beds, just now. She were lying on her bed. But I could hear her when I were in the passage – and I didn’t know what to do.’
‘You shouldn’t have gone in, Ethel. You should know that by now.’
‘I thought maybe she hurt herself. Banged her head on something perhaps. How was I to know?’
‘She was probably just tired out. It’s not our business, Ethel. In service, you got to keep your eyes down and mind your own business.’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Ethel replied sullenly, and returned to sipping her cocoa.
Dorothy said, ‘Maybe her mam or Miss Edna has been at her again. It’s a pity, because, you know, it were as if that Miss Aspen put new life into her,’ she said.
‘One of the few times she’s been out of her mother’s sight, I’d say. Most times, she’s never had a chance to be herself,’ responded Winnie dryly.
Chapter Twenty-One
When Celia and Dorothy had returned from Meols at about five o’clock, Ethel had told them that the Missus and Miss Edna had gone to see how Mrs Woodcock was.
While Dorothy clattered downstairs to the basement kitchen, Celia took off her outer clothes and went into the sitting room, where a good fire blazed.
Though Celia would herself have enjoyed visiting Phyllis, she was relieved that her mother had kindly performed this duty, and that, though she should go soon, it did not have to be that particular evening. She badly needed time to talk over with her mother her ideas regarding their new home, and to hear what the bank manager had said to her.
She was also anxious to know what plans, if any, Edna had for her future. Would she want to live with her mother and herself ?
Celia dreaded the answer to this question. Secretly, she chastised herself for not longing to share her home with her poor bereaved sister. You are supposed to love your sister – want to help her whenever she needs help, she told herself again and again. But, on Lime Street Station, she had felt the sting of Edna’s remarks, though they were not much different from snubs she had received from Edna ever since she could remember.
Angrily, she asked herself, why doesn’t she show me some affection? And promptly blamed the lack on her own shortcomings, that she was dull and stupid and not worthy of love. That Edna’s attitude towards her might have been automatic, learned long ago from their mother, did not occur to her. She tried to comfort herself by remembering how Edna had held her hand in the taxi.
Without being asked, Winnie sent her up a tray of tea. It was brought upstairs by Ethel, who carefully put it down on a side table within reach of Celia. ‘Dorothy’s just getting washed and changed into her afternoon uniform, Miss,’ she said, as she took the lid off the pot and gave the contents an energetic stir. ‘So Winnie said to me to bring it up to you.’
‘Thank you, Ethel.’ Celia forced her thoughts away from Edna, and inquired, ‘How did you get on at your interview yesterday?’
‘I won’t know for a day or two, Miss. The lady has one or two others to see – before she makes up her mind, like.’
Since Celia seemed interested, she felt encouraged to go on. ‘You see, Miss, I haven’t any official experience with children – that was the trouble. But I’m the second one in a family of thirteen.’ She laughed. ‘Coming to work for Mrs Gilmore was the first time I haven’t been knee-deep in kids – and truth to tell, it feels lonely without them.’
‘It might be a little different dealing with children in a house in West Derby,’ Celia warned. It was a wealthy neighbourhood with a very different standard of living from that of Ethel’s family in the north end of the city.
‘Oh, aye. I’d have to bath the little terrors every night, no doubt – and be for ever changing nappies – much more than me mam and I could do for our kids. It took Mam all her time to feed them, never mind anything else.’
‘How many children did this lady have?’
‘Just had her second – she’s got a two-year-old as well. She’s hardly got started yet.
‘And, Miss, there’s a day nursery and a night nursery. And, you know, Miss, I’d sleep in the same room as the babies and it would be warm because there’d be a fire to keep the babies warm. And I wouldn’t have to clean – other help is kept.’ She paused for breath, and finished up by saying wistfully, ‘I hope I get it, Miss.’
Suddenly aware, from Ethel’s remark, that there was no heating in the bedrooms of the Gilmore servants, Celia said, ‘I hope you do, Ethel. I am sure Mother will give you an excellent reference.’
Through the open door into the hall, Celia glimpsed a neatly uniformed Dorothy run to answer the front door. As soon as she opened it, there was a flurry of wet umbrellas being shaken and voices protesting a sudden shower.
Ethel turned guiltily.
‘The Missus! And me talking like this!’ She slipped out of the room as quietly as a cat, and Celia doubted if Louise even noticed her as she passed through to the basement stairs.
Celia smiled as she poured out her tea. She took a quick sip, and then went into
the hall to greet her mother.
Both ladies were struggling out of damp jackets and hats; Edna was saying that the veiling and satin trimmings of their hats were ruined by spots of rain. Dorothy was putting their umbrellas into the umbrella stand. She promised, at the same time, to take the hats and coats downstairs to be dried in the kitchen. But Edna handed Celia her hat, and said, ‘Put this somewhere to dry. Lay it on its crown to keep the crown flat.’
Celia looked at it, and said, ‘I’d better take the veiling off and spread it out. I think it will have to be restiffened with a little gum water.’ Her response to her sister’s request had been automatic, and she immediately regretted it. She wanted to say, ‘Do it yourself, when you are pressing your dresses.’ But her courage failed her.
‘I don’t know how to do it,’ Edna was continuing to Celia.
Her unthinking mother chimed in, ‘Oh, Celia is very good at such things. Would you iron mine at the same time, dear?’
The memory of her interesting and satisfying day was wiped out. Seething with indignation, she obediently took her mother’s bonnet as well as Edna’s hat, and said, ‘I’ll put them in the laundry room downstairs, and deal with them tomorrow.’ And I’ll deliberately forget about them, she thought angrily.
In the unlit laundry room, however, she stood and cried. Then she blew her nose and went back upstairs, to find her mother demanding more tea from Dorothy, and Edna saying that it had been a horrible visit; Phyllis’s house looked positively unkempt and it stank of babies.
In the middle of the chaos, Phyllis had been lying on her unmade bed with a baby at her breast and a little boy howling beside her.
‘And she didn’t even get Lily to make a cup of tea for us,’ added Louise. ‘It’s a good thing her mother is arriving tomorrow to help her.’
Celia was outraged. She forgot her tears, and said maliciously to Edna, ‘I hope that you took little Eric up and comforted him and, at least, made her bed comfortable for her.’
Edna was seating herself by the fire and spreading out her damp skirt round her to dry. She froze for a moment, and then, as if she had not heard Celia’s remark, she said, ‘I think I had better go up and change immediately we have had tea.’
Mourning Doves Page 15