‘Celia!’ Her mother’s voice held a warning note. ‘If Phyllis needs more help, it is up to Arthur to provide it. It is not for us to imply criticism of the family’s arrangements by offering to help.’
‘But, Mama …’
‘That’s quite enough. I don’t want to hear any more about it.’
‘Very well, Mama.’ Though the tea tray that Ethel had brought her had been removed, her full cup still stood on the table next to Edna’s chair. With trembling hands, she picked it up and walked over to the window, to stare at the rain-dashed panes while she drank the cold tea.
As she slowly put the cup and saucer down on a table crowded with family photographs in silver frames, Dorothy arrived with a larger tray, which she laid on the tea table beside Louise, and all three women remained quiet until she had left the room. Celia wondered if Louise and Edna had made up their quarrel over smoking the previous evening.
In the same strained silence the women sipped tea and nibbled scones, until Louise, anxious that her girls should not quarrel, introduced the reason for their visit to Phyllis, which was not really to inquire how the new mother fared.
‘That awful estate agent man called this morning, to say he was bringing a lady from Manchester, who had need of a large house in which to set up a nursing home. He apologised for rushing us, but he wanted to add this house to the list of those he proposed to show her this afternoon.’ Louise fumbled for her black handkerchief again. ‘Of course, I said no. It was too sudden.’
‘He’s not a very easy man to deny,’ interjected Edna reflectively. ‘I didn’t like him.’ She ached to smoke, and wondered how soon she could run up to her bedroom for a quick puff.
As if they had never had a cross word between them, Louise turned to her gratefully, ‘Neither do I, dear. He’s too forward.’ She turned back to Celia. ‘He said, however, that your father’s lawyer had impressed on him the need for speed. And he insisted that time and tide wait for no man – and that the lady was a very likely purchaser. But she had to return to Manchester tonight.’ She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘So I gave in.’
‘And we went to see your friend, to get out of his way.’ Edna’s expression as she looked into her empty teacup was sour, as if something unpleasant was passing under her nose.
‘And because it was my duty to visit Phyllis, particularly as she is calling the baby after dear Timothy,’ added Louise virtuously.
Celia realised that her mother was doing her best to keep the peace between Edna and herself, just as if they were still small girls quarrelling in the nursery. She picked up the olive branch. ‘You were enormously kind to her, Mama, when the baby came so unexpectedly. I am sure she will feel a lifelong obligation to you.’
Louise actually smiled at her younger daughter. She said primly, ‘I don’t know what else we could have done.’
‘Well, you did everything so graciously.’ Celia felt she could say this honestly; and then she asked, ‘When will the estate agent let you know what the result of the visit was?’
‘He left his card with a note on it to say he would call on us tomorrow afternoon, just to give us the Manchester lady’s reactions.’ She sighed. ‘On a Sunday afternoon!’
‘It’s not very nice, is it?’ This from Edna, who had not enjoyed her practically smokeless day while enduring her mother’s fairly constant laments.
‘We shall have returned from church, at least,’ said Celia, trying to comfort her mother about using the Lord’s day for selling houses. She decided that the estate agent’s insistence on speed opened the way for her to tell her mother about her discussions with Betty Aspen and the plumber. This she did, while Edna listened with some interest.
‘A real bathroom? Like we have here?’ exclaimed her mother. ‘That would be wonderful. Oh, what a relief!’
‘Well, perhaps not quite as grand as we have here, Mother. But Miss Aspen – I keep forgetting that she’s a widow and her real name is Mrs Houghton – assured me that it would be quite nice-looking. And less likely to freeze up in winter than an outside water closet would. She has promised an estimate on Monday – she’ll leave it at the cottage.’
‘How shall we pay for it?’ Louise asked helplessly.
‘If Cousin Albert agrees, we might pay for it out of the money we’ll get from this house. Otherwise, Mrs Houghton suggested that we could pay monthly to her father until we have paid it off.’
Edna opened her mouth to say kindly that she had a little ready money, but Celia cut her off by telling Louise about the barn, the rent of which Betty would also let her know on Monday.
‘You see, Mama, if it does not cost much to store the furniture so close to the cottage, you can take your time in deciding, finally, what you would like to retain – and if something does not fit, we have somewhere to put it until it can be sold.’
Edna interjected that she had furniture coming from Brazil, which would arrive in about three months’ time. It would be coming in on a freighter bound for Liverpool. ‘I shall need somewhere to store it, if I remain up here – though Papa Fellowes has offered me a home with his family. The barn would be convenient for me, too.’
Louise leaned across the fireplace to take Edna’s hand and squeeze it. ‘My dear,’ she said, ‘you know that I would wish you to be with us.’
Celia dutifully echoed this, though she felt that life with Edna could be miserable. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, as she sought to control her feelings. She had, of course, no inkling of the turmoil of emotion through which Edna was going.
‘Perhaps you and Mama could share the rent of the barn, and that would make it very inexpensive, I am sure,’ she suggested.
While her mother nodded agreement to it, Edna considered the suggestion. Then she said reluctantly, ‘I don’t think I have to worry about small expenses. Papa Fellowes had the will which Paul made when we were married. He never changed it; he left me everything that he possessed. He was his father’s junior partner and it means that money will come to me from the company.’
And thank God for that, she told herself; if she was never able to see Vital again, it was some comfort that she would be financially independent – simply because arrogant, self-centred Paul had never dreamed of dying young; he had made the original will only after his father had suggested it.
Her mother gave a sigh of relief. ‘I am so thankful, dear, that Paul took care of you so well. We would have shared what we have with you. But it gives you much more freedom if you are independent.’
Celia opened her mouth to snap that she had absolutely nothing to share. She did not, however, want to upset her mother again, so she compressed her lips, kept her hands in her lap and said no more. A woman can learn, said Betty Houghton, who was well on her way to holding down a man’s job. But where could she herself start to learn anything that would give her a chance of freedom?
Edna agreed dully that she was fortunate. She shifted uneasily in her chair, and sighed. She said slowly, ‘I have no idea, as yet, what my income will be. Papa Fellowes has promised to send me a cheque each month until Paul’s will has been probated. After that, I shall be considered a shareholder in the company, and I will be sent dividends according to the profits made each year.’
Louise nodded. ‘It’s a very big company,’ she remarked. ‘You should do well.’
‘Papa Fellowes warned me that, though the company is doing extremely well now, sometimes such companies have huge financial losses, and there is no income for a while. He advised that I should save as much as I can in the good years and invest the savings conservatively, so that I will always have some income.’ She thought for a moment, and then added, ‘He said that he will be sending me enough until the will is probated for me to live on independently, if I am careful.’
‘He really has your interests at heart, doesn’t he?’ Louise said warmly. ‘He must be very fond of you.’
‘Both Mama and Papa have always been extremely kind to me,’ Edna responded. ‘You’ll r
emember them quite well, of course, from when they lived in Liverpool many years ago.’ She felt a burst of guilt, as if the failure of her marriage had been her own fault and she was cheating her affectionate in-laws. She wanted to cry. Instead, she turned firmly to her sister, and said through tight lips, ‘I would like to see the cottage.’
Celia, who had been listening with envy to the story of Mr Fellowes’ generosity and good sense, was immediately alert. The request suggested that Louise had explained, as far as she was able, their financial situation and the grim necessity of selling the house. Edna had, therefore, presumably accepted the fact of her father’s bankruptcy.
Celia had begun to think of the cottage as her own domain. But if Edna wanted to live with them, then she would naturally want to see the place. She said reluctantly, ‘You could come with me – I shall go out on Monday to see Mrs Houghton and to discuss her estimates – and arrange with her for workmen to be let in. I was hoping you, Mama, would come with me – because you would have to decide if you wished the work to go forward.’
Louise’s expression was one of nervous dismay. ‘How on earth would I know what should be done – and how much it should cost?’
‘Well, Cousin Albert is not here to advise you, so I don’t know who else to ask – and it is you who will have to pay for anything which is done.’
Louise clutched at a straw. ‘What about Mr Billings?’
‘You could, of course, ask him to check the estimates,’ Celia responded. Then she added doubtfully, ‘I think he might make a charge for doing it – and I can’t imagine his turning down estimates from a man he is obviously well acquainted with.’
Louise turned to Edna. ‘What do you think, dear?’
Celia waited to be condemned, but Edna said absently, ‘Me? I have been out of the country so long that I would not have the least idea. All I know is that everything seems terribly expensive, compared to what it was in 1913. I suppose it’s because of the war.’
Celia agreed that her sister’s observation was correct. She knew because she kept the housekeeping book for her mother and she had, as the war progressed, watched the butcher’s and baker’s bills go steadily up. Her mother had had to ask Father a number of times for an increase in housekeeping money. Then she thought suddenly, that’s one thing I know. How to keep a simple account book and file all the receipts neatly, so that Father could look at them. She told herself not to be silly – anybody could do that.
Since they seemed to have silently agreed that there was no one to make the decision about repair costs, Celia knew she would have to plunge in and accept Betty Houghton’s calculations. She deferred the debate about having a bathroom put in until Betty could tell Louise, on Monday, exactly what she envisaged.
It was agreed that all three ladies would make the journey to Meols on Monday.
Like a good chairwoman of the Knitting Committee they had belonged to during the war, Celia brought up the next subject on her agenda, by asking her mother to tell her what Mr Carruthers at the bank had had to say.
Except for payments to tradesmen, Louise had never discussed money with Celia, and she did not seem to be very keen to do so now. She did not immediately reply.
Celia urged, ‘We need to know, Mama, whether we have any immediate money to pay workmen. I still have most of the five pounds you gave me, though I have paid the sweep.’ She suddenly remembered the plumber, and told her mother how he had come and had also promised an estimate, on Monday, for the work he could do. ‘That would be a way of checking at least part of Betty Houghton’s estimate, wouldn’t it?’
The information about the plumber was received by Louise with evident relief. In answer to the question, she said that Mr Carruthers had given her so much information about banking that her mind was quite in a tizzy. She was, however, clear that there was at least twenty pounds in her account and, in addition, she had paid in Mr Billings’ cheque for nine pounds and eight shillings.
To Celia, nearly thirty pounds, together with the remaining bit of housekeeping Louise still had for the month of March, was a great deal of money, and she said so to Louise. Her own allowance from her father worked out at less than two pounds for an entire year. If there were only the two of them to maintain, and they could move into the cottage, she knew that the money in the bank would go quite a long way.
Edna simply wrinkled her nose and said nothing. She did not want to commit herself to anything much financially, until she knew what amount Papa Fellowes was going to send her.
‘And was he able to give you the name of a solicitor?’ Celia asked.
‘Yes, indeed. He very kindly took me down the street to introduce me.’ Louise’s voice rang with approbation. ‘Mr Little of Hart, Howard and Little. Such a handsome young man. Like George, he served in the navy and was actually once sunk by a submarine. He has only been home for a year. He was most sympathetic about dear George and Tom.’
Celia hoped that the young man’s law was as good as his looks. I don’t care if he looks like a Gorgon’s head, she decided, if only he will keep us from falling into some unexpected abyss.
Her mother continued. ‘He says I must never sign anything without first showing it to him.’
‘Sensible advice,’ remarked Edna to no one in particular.
‘What does he charge?’ asked Celia.
‘Oh, I could never be so vulgar as to ask a gentleman, such as he is, what he charges! He will no doubt send us a bill.’
Though she felt that some snaillike progress had been made, Celia had a strong desire to scream. She was deadly tired from the long day; and her mother’s silly attitude towards the lawyer added to her underlying fear that she would never manage to get her safely into a new home.
The silence which fell between the three women was broken by the sound of Dorothy banging the hall gong, to indicate that it was time to dress for dinner.
Edna rose with obvious relief. She looked down ruefully at her skirt, which, after being so damp, would certainly need pressing. She wondered if she could push her ironing on to the washerwoman, who, she had learned from Ethel, came to the house on Mondays; the woman could do it while they were in Meols. Ethel had murmured shyly that she would probably expect to be paid a bit more for the extra work, and Edna had accepted this suggestion.
Louise looked up at her and then at Celia, who had also risen. ‘Will the estate agent expect tea when he comes tomorrow?’ she asked, with a quaver in her voice.
‘I have no idea,’ replied Celia, who felt she could face no more.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Three weeks later, a triumphant Ethel gave three days’ notice, packed her small tin suitcase with her few belongings and, on the third day, went home to her mother, to spend a little while with her, before starting her new job as nursemaid.
Louise was very resentful of such short notice. ‘Such impudence!’ she exclaimed. ‘She was smirking all over her face, as she told me. I felt like refusing to pay her her last week’s wages!’
Amid the chaos to which the dining room had been reduced, they were carefully wrapping crockery in newspaper before laying it in wooden barrels ready for the movers. Celia paused, a huge gravy boat in one hand. Shocked, she exclaimed, ‘You didn’t actually do that, did you, Mama?’
Her mother bridled. ‘No, but I threatened to – and it frightened her. I can’t stand impudence.’
‘Her mother depends on her sending most of her wages home,’ Celia said unhappily. ‘I am sure she was scared.’
‘Well, I finally gave it to her. Good riddance to bad rubbish.’
Celia thought of the warm friendly youngster who had cheerfully done all the rough work of a big house. Was that all the thanks you got when people did not want you any more?
She shivered at the idea, and then slowly placed the gravy boat in a barrel, which would be stored in the Aspen barn until its contents were sold. What would three women do with twelve place settings of Crown Derby – in a cottage? she had asked her mother.
‘We may have important visitors,’ declared Louise loftily.
In despair, Celia expostulated, ‘But we are already taking three sets of six with us!’
Louise agreed to the china being stored. ‘But not sold, mind you!’
‘It’s a good thing we’ve got the barn,’ Celia remarked. ‘The workmen are still in the cottage, because they’ve yet to paint the parlour – though Betty persuaded Mr Aspen to do a fast job for us, specially.’
‘A fast job sounds most unladylike.’
‘That’s what Betty called it.’ Celia’s lips compressed tightly, as she swallowed her irritation.
‘And really, dear, I don’t think you should be on first-name terms with a workman’s daughter.’
Celia longed to snap back that Betty was proving to be an excellent friend, but restrained herself. It was useless to debate the matter; Betty was indisputably working-class.
As they packed, upstairs in her bedroom Edna wrote to her father-in-law in Southampton to notify him of her impending change of address. As she sealed the letter, she thought about writing to Vital. They had said farewell in the belief that they would never get the chance to meet again. It was wiser to leave it thus, she knew; and yet, the real pain inside her swelled at the idea of becoming lost to him for ever if he had no address for her.
She seized another sheet of paper and quickly scribbled a few lines on it to say that she expected to live with her mother for the time being and gave the cottage address. She added that she would be grateful if he would send on any letters addressed to her Brazilian home. That, at least, she thought, was a reasonable request, should anyone else chance to see the letter. She flung herself on to her bed; she did not cry – she was past that. She reached for her cigarettes.
While Celia strove to complete the packing of the best china, her thoughts turned to her old friends in the kitchen. Dorothy would not start her new employment as a cook-general with a family across the road for a day or two, so she had been glad, Celia knew, to stay on. She hoped that Louise would manage to pay any wages due to her, though the woman would probably be thankful enough just to be fed and housed until she started her new job.
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