Mourning Doves

by Helen Forrester

  Slightly annoyed at this very personal remark, Albert merely nodded his head, and then eased the ladies out of the lift.

  In the café, Louise lifted her veil back and silently ate a petit four and drank a luke-warm cup of tea, while the philistine opposite her downed a rum baba and an equally chilled cup of tea. Cousin Albert, refusing tea, went to get a taxicab. The estate agent elected to go with him.

  A widow herself, Mrs Johnson felt very sorry about Louise’s grief, but did not know what to say. She rather wished, after all, she had not asked her to visit the house.

  Finally, when she could endure the silence no longer, she asked tentatively if Louise would be kind enough to furnish her with the names of reliable local workmen.

  Louise swallowed the last of the petit four, looked up and stared blankly at her.

  ‘You see, Mrs Gilmore, I’m from Manchester, where I’m already running one little nursing home. I don’t know Liverpool very well, so I’m anxious to know who to turn to. I also want to get reliable staff.’

  Louise nodded, and Mrs Johnson, feeling the need of some further explanation, went on, ‘Me hubby left me a thriving grocery shop and I ran it for a bit. But I’m no grocer. I’m a good nurse though, even if I says it myself – and I never gave it up altogether, even when I was married – so I sold the business and bought the Manchester nursing home – and it’s done real well. A Liverpool doctor came to see one of my patients, and he gave me the idea that I could start another one here.’

  She put down her cup and leaned back from the table. ‘So here I am.’

  By this time, Louise was diverted. She managed to remark, ‘How interesting. How will you run them both?’

  ‘Well, there’s lots of army nurses out of work at present – and there’s a real shortage of men for them to marry, so they’ve got to find work. I’ve a couple of real experienced nursing sisters workin’ for me in Manchester – and the visiting doctors trust them. I can spend some time getting your house ready – and I’ll see how we go.’

  Haltingly, Louise began to tell her of her own work amongst the deaf-blind. By the time Albert, puffing from his exertions, returned to tell them that a taxi awaited them and that the estate agent was already ensconced in it they were deeply engaged in conversation, and Louise was enduring the dropped aitches of Mrs Johnson with considerable fortitude.

  Women! He would never understand them, Albert thought, as he paid the bill.

  As they trailed up the unwashed front steps of the empty house and then waited while the estate agent, using his own key, unlocked the dusty front door, Louise wanted to cry. She was further distressed when they entered the vast emptiness of the hall.

  ‘I thought I’d divide the hall up into me office and a reception area,’ remarked Mrs Johnson prosaically as she looked slowly round it.

  From behind the veil came a heavy sigh, and then a sudden shriek.

  The service door at the back of the hall had opened silently, and, like a ghost, a white-haired woman clad in black stood before them. Her mouth agape with consternation, the woman stood transfixed as she faced the little group by the front door.

  ‘Oh, Ma’am!’ she gasped.

  An astonished Louise flung back her veil with an angry gesture. ‘Winnie! What on earth are you doing here?’

  Albert was equally surprised. The estate agent, who had been putting his key chain back into his waistcoat pocket, looked up in absolute bewilderment. Both Mrs Johnson and he knew Winnie as the temporary caretaker of the house and neither could understand the fuss.

  Sudden tears were running down Winnie’s face. She glanced desperately to either side, as if trying to escape.

  Louise repeated her question.

  Winnie licked her lips. She hung her head and said sullenly, ‘When you left, I’d got nowhere to go – though I tried hard to get a job.’

  ‘So?’ Louise forgot her sorrow at having to look once more at her empty home. Her property had been violated, taken advantage of, and she was very annoyed.

  ‘I thought you wouldn’t mind, Ma’am. You never moved the furniture out of my room – wasn’t worth it, you said. Likewise, the coal in the cellar.’ She twisted a grubby handkerchief in her hands. ‘I thought it would be useful to you if someone were in the house. It’d keep vandals from smashing the winders or even getting into the place. Till I got a live-in place, like.’

  She fell silent.

  The estate agent said hastily that he had been under the impression that that was exactly what Mrs Gilmore had intended. He had felt it was an extremely good idea. He had met Winnie on his first inspection of the home. She had said then that she was the cook and had served Mrs Gilmore for many years, and she had showed him round the kitchens and cellars. Mrs Gilmore might possibly recall that she was out when he came.

  Mrs Gilmore did recall her unhappy visit to Phyllis’s house on that day. She sniffed. It may very well have been a sensible idea, but Winnie had no right to take advantage of her like that.

  ‘I still feel that her presence is very reprehensible. You had decent notice, Winnie, and you should have left on the day agreed as soon as the cleaning was completed.’

  Winnie said shamefacedly, ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  ‘You are to pack your bag and go, before we leave this house. You are trespassing.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  Mrs Johnson had watched the exchange with fascination. The woman had held her temper admirably in the face of her employer’s anger. And she was the cook? On her previous visits, Winnie had always discreetly withdrawn to her attic bedroom, and Mrs Johnson had thought her to be an old, trusted nanny, and had never really talked to her. The estate agent had explained that she was temporarily caretaking the house, which was the explanation of her presence given to him by Winnie.

  Winnie slowly turned and went back down the kitchen staircase, where her straw trunk lay in a cupboard. It held everything she owned, and she had kept it downstairs so that she could move out quickly when the house changed hands.

  In the vast, practically empty kitchen, she sat down on a solitary straight chair, put her hands over her face and sobbed aloud. She felt she had no friend in the world who could help her. Mrs Gilmore was a soulless bitch.

  Meanwhile, Louise and Mrs Johnson went slowly round the house. Much of the curtaining had been included in the price of the house, and Mrs Johnson assured Louise that it would be a comfort to ‘the boys’ because it would keep out both cold in the winter and too much light in the summer.

  In the bathroom, Mrs Johnson explained that each ward would have its own washstands, chamber pots and bedpans, and the invalids would mostly need bed baths. So one bathroom would probably be enough.

  They discussed plumbers and painters and gas men and gardeners, until Louise became quite absorbed in the project, and Albert, finding an abandoned chair in a front bedroom, decided resignedly that he would sit there until they had finished.

  As they descended to the basement kitchens, Mrs Johnson said she would make the servants’ sitting room into another ward. It looked out on to the brick-lined area, a sunken yard alongside the basement which allowed light into the room. ‘I could put some pots of geraniums out there, and it would be a nice place for men who can be lifted out of bed to sit in the fresh air. I believe in fresh air.’

  ‘There is a large garden,’ Louise reminded her.

  ‘Oh, I’ll grow a pile of fresh vegetables in that, though I’ll keep a tiny lawn with flowers for the boys.’

  Winnie heard the conversation as they came down the stairs, and she hastily wiped her face and picked up her hat from the cupboard. As they entered, she jabbed in her hatpins, and then glanced sulkily up at the ladies.

  Mrs Johnson smiled kindly at her, and said, ‘Oh, Winnie. I would like to have a word with you before you go.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am. Shall I wait here?’

  ‘Please do.’

  In that second, Louise realised that the house was truly not hers any more, and that Mrs Joh
nson now had every right to give orders in it. She wanted to expostulate, however, that Winnie was her servant and that she would say what she was to do. But she equally suddenly realised that this was no longer so; she had, long since, dismissed her.

  She thought she would choke, as Winnie smiled suddenly at the new owner. Winnie sensed that she had just found herself a new job.

  They inspected the area and the steps that led from it up to the garden.

  Louise felt she had had enough. She pulled her veil over her face and said she must go home. They rejoined the estate agent patiently standing in the hall. He gave the entire collection of keys to the house to the new owner, with the remark that Winnie had additional keys to the back door and the back garden gate.

  ‘I’ll get them from her,’ replied Mrs Johnson placidly.

  Hearing the sounds of departure, Albert came slowly down the stairs. Farewells were said, and he escorted a very frustrated Louise down the steps to the waiting taxi.

  ‘Tell the taxi driver to come back for me, when he’s finished with you,’ Mrs Johnson shouted after them.

  The taxi driver heard and tipped his hat in acknowledgement. Albert merely nodded.

  In the cab, Louise exploded. ‘So that’s how Winnie was able to come and go. Celia never collected her house keys from her. Stupid girl!’

  Albert sighed, and began the slow task of calming her down. To divert her attention, he spoke of the impending sale of the silverware which would, he was sure, do much to alleviate her present impoverished situation.

  That evening, Celia got a resounding scolding for forgetting to collect all the keys of the old house, and subsequently wept silently in her bedroom.

  A few days later, the silver was valued and a reserve price put on it prior to auction. Once it was sold, Louise had a respectable bank account – in a local bank, with a charming young manager, Mr Gwynn-Jones, who quite put Mr Carruthers in the shade – and Edna got her charwoman.

  With regard to the proposed antique shop, Celia was, at first, frightened to death at the sudden realisation of the responsibilities she was taking on.

  Supported by Edna’s, Betty Houghton’s and John Philpotts’ encouragement, however, and a second visit to see Dr Mason to have her prescription of Dr Parrish’s Food renewed, she began slowly to bloom. Dr Mason did not fail to notice a certain new liveliness in her, and took the time to discover the source of it.

  She sat back in her chair, and told Celia, ‘I know you can do it!’ And privately hoped to God that she was right.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  ‘Mr Fairbanks says to come to dig your garden – a shillin’ for three hours.’

  As Edna faced the blond giant standing on the back step, she dried her hands on her apron and stared at him – white knights sometimes arrive in strange disguises.

  Absolutely calm pale-blue eyes stared amiably back at her. ‘It’s a right mess!’ He gestured over his shoulder with a huge, grubby thumb. ‘I looked at it. Want the bushes took out as well?’

  Edna swallowed, and found her voice. ‘Yes, please. And your name is …?’

  ‘Ethelred. What’s yours?’

  Though she was shaken by his impudence, she answered him, ‘Mrs Fellowes.’

  Ethelred smiled hugely and stuck his thumbs in his leather belt. ‘Now we know each other, like me mam told me we would.’

  Edna smiled a little stiffly, and asked, ‘Do you have a spade, Ethelred?’ She knew that some gardening tools had accidentally been sent to the barn instead of to the cottage. They had yet to be retrieved.

  Ethelred’s face crumpled up like a baby’s about to cry. ‘No,’ he said sadly. Then he brightened as if enlightenment had dawned. ‘Mam said if you didn’t have one, Mr Fairbanks would lend us one.’

  ‘Good,’ said Edna, whipping off her apron. ‘Let’s go next door and ask him.’ She walked round the outside of their cottage, Ethelred ambling behind her, like a friendly dog being taken for a walk. She thankfully handed him over to Eddie, who offered to instruct the boy in exactly what should be done.

  Since Edna had no ideas about the garden, she readily accepted the offer.

  Ethelred was not the fastest worker, but once a job was explained to him, he went at it steadily. He received with excessive pleasure a large mug of cocoa at mid-morning and quaffed it happily as he stood in the sunshine. Then he handed the mug back to Edna, and announced, ‘I’m goin’ to pee,’ and strode straight through the wild hedge at the bottom of the garden on to the common behind it. Still buttoning his fly, he returned to removing the sod and bushes off the original garden beds before actually turning the soil over. At the very bottom of the garden a pile of rubbish began to grow.

  ‘When I’m done I’ll make a good bonfire of it,’ he promised Edna cheerfully. ‘We can roast some potatoes in it.’

  Edna prayed that he would not accidentally set the house on fire.

  Though Ethelred’s mind might lack a tack or two, he proved to be wonderfully helpful when the two women began to fix up the shop. He was a gentle creature and became very fond of Edna. When she handed him a yard broom, to sweep out the shop, he kept on going right into John Philpotts’ workshop and Edna had to persuade him that it was not her domain. She suggested that, perhaps, he would kindly sweep the pavement round the corner shop and also the front doorstep. This latter job took rather longer, since he knew absolutely everybody passing by, and some of them stopped to ask him what he was doing. He had a very sociable morning.

  Urged on by Betty, Ben Aspen quoted Celia a very small sum for lending one of his labourers for a couple of mornings to paint the interior of the shop. The price of the white paint was included. Since Celia did not as yet have any money, Betty simply added the charge to what the Gilmores owed for work on the cottage.

  Ethelred helped to sort out from the barn the shabbier furniture which was to be sent for auction, and the auctioneer took it away in a lorry. After a closed van came from Liverpool to collect the barrels of silver, Celia was able to retrieve a couple of carpets which had been stacked at the back of the barn. She laid them on the newly scrubbed shop floor.

  Edna and Celia had never been so tired in their lives. They found they worked quite well together, though they often disagreed about detail. As promised, Edna paid Ethelred for his work in the garden, and then lent Celia enough to pay him for his help in connection with the shop.

  ‘We simply cannot function without him,’ she said flatly.

  Celia was glad to see Edna’s complexion improve in the fresh sea air, which was inescapable in blustery Hoylake. She was naturally a dark woman, but she lost much of the unhealthy yellow look which life in the Tropics had given her. Because she smoked less, she was also eating better and her figure filled out. She seemed to enjoy helping Celia set up her little shop, and spent more and more time there.

  She got on very well with John Philpotts, and sometimes talked to him about her life in Brazil.

  Because Edna had been married, John felt more at ease talking to her, rather than to Celia, and, from a number of small hints, Edna guessed that he was impotent as a result of his wounds.

  Neither woman would allow John to move furniture; they feared that he would damage his already wounded leg.

  ‘I have to move pieces in the course of my own work,’ he protested. But they laughed and told him they were not going to make a beast of burden of him. They did, however, borrow a small trolley cart, which he himself used for moving furniture round his workshop, and, since Ethelred had obviously become their devoted slave, John left the lifting to him.

  Having Edna with her eased Celia’s first days with John Philpotts, and her shyness slowly ebbed away. With regard to Ethelred, his almost childlike attitude made her protective of him; she never considered him as an adult male. He had, however, tremendous physical strength and was a real asset. He could lift almost anything.

  Celia chose with care the first stock she wanted to show in her shop. When a small furniture remover from the vi
llage moved it over to the new premises for her, she got him to bring as much of the rest as could be squashed into the storage shed at the back of John’s yard without damaging it.

  There was still an alarming amount left in the barn, so she asked the furniture remover to stack it neatly to one side, and then went to see Betty about keeping it there.

  Betty laughed, and said, ‘Leave Father to me. It’ll be all right for a while.’ Then she recommended a sign writer to paint the name of the shop on the front of it. It was christened by the three of them, Celia’s Antiques and Collectibles.

  With over twenty-five pounds from the auction of the mass of everyday furniture from the maids’ bedrooms, the kitchen, the servants’ sitting room in the basement, the back hall and the back staircase, not to speak of a hefty stone angel which had stood in the back garden for years, she was able to pay for the remover and for the sign.

  ‘I still owe you an awful lot, Edna,’ she wailed. Then she added, ‘You know, the angel drew the best bids.’

  ‘Most appropriate, and don’t worry about the money – I don’t have many expenses. I can wait,’ replied Edna cheerfully. ‘Papa Fellowes sent me a cheque for this month.’

  The outside of the shop got a good hose down from Ethelred and, when it was dry, Celia polished the front door and Edna cleaned the windows.

  The day before she was to open, Eddie Fairbanks brought her, on a little trailer attached to his bicycle, two heavy white flowerpots crowded with red geraniums. He placed one on either side of the front door.

  The whole place looked very pretty in the early summer sunshine.