Mourning Doves

by Helen Forrester

  ‘I suppose you’re right, Miss. I hope it doesn’t cost much.’

  She laughed. ‘Me, too,’ she agreed.

  She thanked Mr Philpotts, and Edna rose. Neither lady offered her hand to be shaken; although he had dropped his dirty rag in the workshop, Mr Philpotts’ hands looked too messy to shake.

  He grinned cheerfully at them as he unlocked the shop door into the street, and let them out. She was a proper little sweetie, she was, and her sister seemed a nice lady – no side.

  ‘See you next week,’ he said. For a second or two, he watched them wistfully, as they paused to put on their gloves before proceeding down the street. Thanks to the bloody Huns, he was never going to be any use to a woman again, he told himself bitterly. Perhaps it was a good thing that Alison had died in France, because he would not have been able to marry her, anyway.

  At the thought of Alison, he heaved a great sob which stuck in his throat until he thought he would choke. Sometimes life dealt you some rotten cards.

  Chapter Forty

  Cousin Albert descended on the little house by the sea like a slowly rolling avalanche. None of Louise’s excuses that she had to read to blind soldiers and go to Liverpool to talk to the director of the School for the Blind worked with Timothy’s stout trustee. Albert was determined to wind up her husband’s and her affairs without any unnecessary delays. He wanted to go back to his own gentle retirement of fishing in the Trent, painting water colours and being spoiled by his eager servant and friend who looked after him.

  The problem had been in dealing with Timothy’s debts, and making sure that no claims were made on his wife’s income. This had not been as difficult as he had at first imagined. Louise’s marriage contract made it quite clear that most of the contents of the house were part of her dowry, as well as the cottages in Birkenhead. And, in addition, when the house itself had long since been put in her name by Timothy, he had specified that he was transferring both house and contents to her, so that left no doubt as to her ownership of all the contents. He must have seen, over a number of years, the financial clouds gathering.

  ‘The house is as good as sold,’ Albert told her, ‘although it will be a few weeks before the legal aspects are completed. The lady wanting to start a nursing home has made a reasonable offer. She wants immediate possession.’

  ‘When shall I get some money?’ Louise asked anxiously.

  ‘Before the end of the summer,’ promised Albert. ‘As soon as I know the exact sum we shall have to invest, I will look for the best annuity I can get for you.’

  On the principle of pressing him to waste no time in doing this, Louise said, ‘Humph. I don’t know how I shall manage until then.’

  ‘Just have to manage on your rents,’ Albert told her blithely. He was not going to offer to lend her anything; he had already paid his cousin’s funeral expenses, and his expenses in dealing with the will were a loss to him – and that was enough.

  Louise wept a little. She was lucky that neither of her daughters had yet had a private session with Albert; otherwise, she would have had the question of the shop unloaded on her that same evening.

  As it was, she declared that life was too, too utterly hard, and took to her bed with a request that hot cocoa – and a glass of brandy, if they had any – be brought up to her.

  Later, she also asked for her dinner to be brought up. Celia understood the considerable load of grief opened up by Cousin Albert, so she kissed her and promised to do this.

  Her absence from the dinner table gave her daughters the opportunity to talk freely with Cousin Albert, as he sat, white linen table napkin tucked into his stiff, winged collar, and devoured the steak and kidney pie which Louise had prepared – like most middle-class women of her generation, she had, in her youth, been taught how to cook on the principle that, even if she employed a cook, the mistress of the house should be thoroughly conversant with all aspects of catering for a large family. Unfortunately, the custom had not continued into Edna and Celia’s generation; more of their youth had been spent practising on the piano, or on reading, painting or embroidery or writing letters, rather than toiling in the kitchen. In school, Edna had also learned to play tennis and lacrosse and to ballroom dance, while Celia danced attendance on Louise.

  It was Edna who now, almost gleefully, opened up the question of how to dispose of a barnful of furniture.

  Despite the doctor’s reassurance that she was quite well and capable, poor Celia was still scared, and she kept quiet.

  As he wiped his mouth and leaned back to await dessert, Cousin Albert saw the common sense of Celia’s attempting to earn a living. He was perfectly aware, from Louise’s grumbling letters to him, what the young woman had, since Timothy’s death, already achieved on her mother’s behalf. In the back of his mind, he had been haunted by an uncomfortable premonition that, if he outlived Louise, he could, in his old age, have to maintain a penniless Celia in his contented male household. Here was a chance to lay at least that ghost to rest.

  So Edna found the proposition received with rapt attention. Cousin Albert even smiled at silent Celia.

  Just like the Cheshire Cat, thought Celia, though she did not understand the reasons behind his instant approval of the scheme.

  As a dish of rice pudding and stewed prunes was set before him, he said, ‘As I see it, there are two problems which must be clarified before you can do anything. One, the furniture belongs not to Celia, but to her mother. I presume, also, that the business, at least in its early years, would not produce enough return to pay Celia an adequate recompense for her work and at the same time show a profit which Louise could enjoy?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Celia blurted out, with her mouth full. ‘If the furniture were mine, even from a small profit, I could give Mother something for my keep – I wouldn’t cost her so much.’ She swallowed, and went on more clearly, ‘Of course, every time I sold a piece, I would have to save some of the money so that I could buy new stock, wouldn’t I?’

  Cousin Albert beamed. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘We’ll make a business lady of you, I can see that.’

  He was fortunately unaware that, because of his patronising tone, Edna felt a strong desire to tread hard on his toes under the table. She forbore, however, and instead smiled sweetly at him.

  He carefully spat a prune stone out into his spoon and placed it on the edge of his dish. Then he went on. ‘Two, you also need an agreement between yourself and this Mr Philpotts regarding rent and any repairs he may do for you. What do you know of this gentleman?’

  They told him that he was well known locally as a decent, honest tradesman, who had recently been demobilised, wounded, from the army, and had just started up his business again. At this, Cousin Albert had a sudden hope that he might see Celia married off to such a person, which, from his own point of view, seemed even better.

  ‘Obvious solution. Louise should give you the furniture, dear Celia. She won’t ever need it again. The annuity I shall arrange for her, together with her rents, will give her an adequate income. She owns this house. Not bad at all.’ He emptied his plate, put down his spoon and heaved a sigh of satisfaction. He beamed, and helped himself to a piece of cheese from a board proffered by Edna, while he continued to address Celia. ‘Exactly what does the furniture consist of, my dear?’

  Celia told him, and then added, ‘There is some good china and her silver tea service, silver serving dishes and cake baskets, stacks of it – and all the old pictures that used to hang in the hall and in Father’s study. Mother chose the nice ones she wanted to hang in this house.’ She gestured vaguely towards the mantelpiece, over which hung an etching of Landseer’s A Stag at Bay.

  Cousin Albert glanced at the stag and grunted, ‘Humph.’ He looked round the room and found a couple of works featuring shaggy highland cattle standing in front of purple mountains. ‘I imagine that you could sell the ones in the barn to local people,’ he suggested.

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘I wonder if dear Louise wo
uld, perhaps, like to have the silver auctioned by a good Liverpool auctioneer. It would give her some money to carry her through until I have bought the annuity. If you think she would like that, I am sure that it can be arranged.’ He looked down at his dessert spoon and cheese knife. ‘I see she has retained her tableware.’

  Edna turned to Celia, and said, ‘That’s exactly what Mr Philpotts suggested; with regard to the silver he mentioned Sotheby’s. I think it’s a very good idea, Celia. The silver is probably the most valuable part of the whole collection. It may be out of date in design – but it is good – I seem to remember that it was very heavy.’

  Celia agreed. She said shyly, ‘I don’t want Mother to give me anything terribly valuable – only the furniture she doesn’t want. I would be very happy if the silver raised enough money to help her now.’ She laughed a little ruefully, when she added, ‘I doubt if Mama ever thought about its value. She’s always had it – the same as her friends had silverware. To her, it was simply too much clutter to store in this cottage.’

  Edna interjected that Mr Philpotts felt that the silver in the little shop might attract thieves.

  ‘He’s right,’ agreed Cousin Albert. ‘I presume it is still packed up?’

  ‘Yes, in barrels.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Louise about it.’

  ‘Can you persuade her that it would be no disgrace for Celia to run her own shop?’ Edna asked. ‘I believe that her main objection is that it is improper for a lady to be in trade. And I also think she is shocked that Mr Philpotts, poor soul, will be in the same premises.’ She suppressed a small chuckle behind her table napkin. The gesture, however, was not missed by Cousin Albert; he saw her twinkling eyes and then Celia’s blush.

  He replied carefully, ‘Men and women are beginning to work together – in fact, they had to do so throughout the war. However much one may disapprove of it, a dignified young woman like Celia should have no problems.’

  ‘Dear Cousin Albert,’ Edna responded. ‘You really are so wise and sensible. I hope you can convince Mother.’

  The stout old gentleman beamed at her. He patted her hand and promised to do his best, as soon as Louise felt rested enough to receive him.

  Because she was stifling a laugh, Celia kept her eyes down. Really Edna was without shame!

  Chapter Forty-One

  It took time. But then women were so difficult to deal with.

  With grinding patience, the following morning, Cousin Albert agreed to visit the nursing home full of blind soldiers and listened to Louise’s belief that she should try, at least, to help them, particularly the two deaf-blind men.

  Safe in his personal cocoon, the war had, largely, passed Albert Gilmore by. With no sons to worry about, his worst anxieties were concerned with the steady rise of prices. It was almost as much of a shock to him to see the young men in whom Louise was interested as it had been to Louise herself. He was not an unkind man and was genuinely touched at the sight of the helpless men.

  In a vague way, he also understood her need for a reason to live, some honourable cause to work for in her lonely widowhood, and here were substitutes for her dead sons. The hugeness of her undertaking made him feel guilty that he had done nothing about the war, except be thankful not to be involved.

  That evening, he sat with her in the front sitting room and after discussing the visit to the nursing home, he turned the conversation to Celia and the need for single women to work nowadays. He mentioned a well-educated young woman cashier in his bank, who had, throughout the war, dealt with his banking needs.

  ‘Now, with demobilisation, of course, the men are returning, and poor Celia would not stand a chance of such employment. In fact, she will have the greatest difficulty in maintaining herself once you are gone. And I believe she is now at least twenty-four so she has not much chance of matrimony. A tiny business of her own, however, could make all the difference.’ He paused to sniff appreciatively at a glass of Timothy’s brandy, thoughtfully provided by Edna. Then he continued, ‘Beginning it in a very small way, with a small businessman to guide her while she learns to buy and sell, should mean that she won’t make any major mistakes.’

  He saw Louise stiffen in her chair, and before continuing in that vein, he said he wanted to speak to her about the silver.

  ‘Silver?’

  She listened open-mouthed while he suggested the plan he had already discussed with her daughters. Then she said, ‘We could simply send everything for auction.’

  ‘And spoil dear Celia’s chance? No, Louise. You don’t really need the furniture or the pictures or the china, or what they would bring in a sale. They would not fetch that much at auction anyway.

  ‘Now the silverware is different. From what I remember, the silver is outstanding in workmanship and weight. It is probably worth much, much more. Give Celia the chance with the furniture. Let her try at least. She may, at worst, learn something which will prepare her for the new world we are facing – and it will have cost you very little. Since, after a while, she may be earning quite well, she can help you with the upkeep of the home.’ He did not mention that he hoped she might marry – he considered that the idea of an artisan as a son-in-law would probably send Louise through the ceiling with an explosion of rage.

  It wasn’t that easy. Her old excuses that she needed Celia at home nearly defeated him. But he remembered that his own house was run by one manservant and a charwoman, so he suggested the employment of a daily woman to come in – that should be enough to keep a cottage going. Edna would have hugged him, had she heard him go on to suggest that she probably needed one anyway; Edna had for several days been putting off scrubbing the very dirty kitchen floor because she simply had not much idea of how to go about the job.

  Afterwards, Cousin Albert felt that he had come through the equivalent of negotiating the post-war international peace proposals – but with greater success. He hoped that he had removed for ever the chance of having to endure women relatives in his home.

  He stayed an extra week while he did his best to arrange everything so that Celia got legal ownership of the contents of Ben Aspen’s barn and a shop sublet to her by John Philpotts. He also got the couple to sign a simple agreement regarding any repairs and refurbishing John did on the furniture for her; it was not perfect, but he thought that it would be workable.

  He then took Louise to Liverpool to see her husband’s solicitor regarding the legal details of the house sale and to meet the purchaser of her home, Mrs Dora Johnson, and the estate agent. Carried along by Cousin Albert’s male self-confidence and the sense that he understood the sale of a house, she forgot completely Celia’s warnings about her need for a solicitor to look after her own interests, and the charming Mr Little, to whom Mr Carruthers had sent her.

  As she followed the grim-faced purchaser and the agent into Mr Barnett’s office, she whispered to Albert that she hated selling the house to such a common woman.

  Fearing she would make a fuss in the lawyer’s office, Cousin Albert hastily whispered assurances into her ear that, though the lady did not sound her aitches, she was a very worthy, experienced nurse and one could respect the work she proposed to do.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  A veiled Louise and a businesslike Mrs Johnson signed their way through a sheaf of papers laid before them by Mr Barnett. Firmly guided by him, Louise put her name to every page without reading it or raising a single objection, exactly as Cousin Albert had taken for granted she would do.

  The two ladies afterwards politely shook hands, and Cousin Albert shook the solicitor’s hand. He breathed a sigh of relief that he would shortly have Louise off his hands. The house was sold.

  Mr Barnett got up from his desk and bowed everyone out of his office.

  In the outer office, Mrs Johnson paused, and said hesitantly to the other three that, if Mrs Gilmore could kindly spare the time, she would very much like to go over the house with Louise, while they were both in Liverpool. ‘And you could tell me which chimneys s
moke at times, like, and how long the hot water boiler takes to heat and how much water it holds – maybe I should have a bigger one installed. I am sure you could make some very useful suggestions regarding the adaptation of the house to nursing.’

  Louise turned to Albert. ‘Oh, Albert,’ she wailed, ‘I couldn’t bear to look at the house.’

  Over her head, Mrs Johnson mouthed, ‘It would save me a lot of time if she would.’

  Albert sighed, and said to the black veil, ‘I know it would be difficult for you, my dear Louise. We have to remember, however, that Mrs Johnson hopes to help men who have been badly wounded and need care until they can be admitted to a more permanent military institution. She naturally wants them to be as comfortable as possible.’

  Mrs Johnson beamed at him. A sob came from under the veil.

  He looked desperately round at the agent for inspiration, but before they could think of any way to persuade Louise, Mrs Johnson, a nurse with long experience, chimed in, in dulcet tones, to suggest that poor Mrs Gilmore might feel a bit easier if she had a nice hot cup of tea and a little rest in the tea shop across the road, before going to the house. ‘It would set her up like nothing else would.’ She smiled at the veil, and then added persuasively, ‘I wouldn’t keep her long at the house, but it would help to speed things up if Mrs G. would tell me a few details about it.’

  Cousin Albert had put his arm round Louise’s shoulders, and he could feel her cringe at being referred to as Mrs G. He felt that he should refuse and should take her home. But Louise, suddenly aware of cohorts of wounded in dire need of comfort, said, with a sniff, that if advising about chimneys would help our dear wounded, she would certainly make the trip.

  Hugely relieved, Cousin Albert swept them into the lift. They were propelled down to the ground floor by an elderly, uniformed, one-armed lift man who, seeing yet another forlorn, veiled widow, leaning on Albert’s arm, pulled the lift’s ropes with care and brought them to a particularly gentle stop at street level. ‘Poor dear!’ he said to Albert. ‘Lost ‘er boys? I see ’em nearly every day.’