Miss Martha Mary Crawford

by Catherine Cookson (Catherine Marchant)

  She’d had a deep dread in her for days that the findings of the will were not going to be pleasant. She had hinted as much to Roland, but he had pooh-poohed her fears, and had said he was at a loss to know why she must pinch and scrape so much.

  If it hadn’t been for the sorrow on the house and the sorrow in her heart she would have turned on him more than once during the past few days, for his overall manner irritated her.

  She rose to her feet, and the girls with her, when the door opened and Roland entered followed by Mr Paine.

  The solicitor was what could be termed an undersized man. He was no more than five foot three in height and thin with it. Every part of him was thin, his hands, his face, particularly his nose; even the high boots encasing his feet looked unusually narrow, but as though to belie what these might indicate with regard to his character, his manner was warm and kindly. After a moment, during which he nodded from one to the other, he turned to Roland and said, ‘Well, shall we begin?’

  ‘Do. Do.’ The brief reply sounded pompous.

  So they arranged themselves, the girls where they had been seated before, Roland in his father’s chair to one side of the fireplace as befitted his present station, and Mr Paine in a smaller chair at the other side.

  Placed before the chair was a small table on which Mr Paine now spread a bundle of documents, each tied with a red tape. Meticulously and slowly, he undid each bundle, and smoothed out the stiff crackling parchment; then he let his gaze rest on Roland for a moment before looking fully at Martha Mary and saying, ‘I feel it is my duty, and only a kindness to warn you, that there is little in these documents that has any bearing on the present monetary circumstances appertaining to your father. His will was made some ten years ago before your mother died, and at the time when there were then six businesses in the family; now there are but two, and these…’ He paused, blinked his eyes, rubbed the tip of his nose with the end of his forefinger, before adding, ‘But let me read the will as it stands first.’

  They all sat staring at him as they listened to the legally phrased words telling them that their father was leaving all his possessions to his wife should she survive him—the irony of this, which did not escape that analytical section of Martha’s mind, being that all her father’s possessions had primarily belonged to her mother—but in the case of her demise his son Roland would inherit.

  The reading of the will did not take long, and then Mr Paine paused, folded up the document, laid it aside, before picking up, one after the other, the remaining three parchments from the table. These he wagged gently in his hands before saying, ‘I’m afraid, dear people, that these consist of the real will, for they are mortgages on the two businesses and’—his eyes encircled them all now—‘this house, your home.’

  They stared at him. No-one spoke for a full minute; then Roland, his voice cracking on his words, said, ‘There’s no money?’ He coughed as if he were choking and put his hand to his mouth, and Mr Paine said, ‘Unfortunately not.’

  ‘None at all?’ It was Martha asking the question, and Mr Paine looked straight at her and said, ‘None at all, Miss Crawford. And I am very sorry to have to tell you this, but there are a large number of debts, some of them small, some of them not so small, no, not so small at all, but all demanding attention.’

  Martha now looked at her sisters. Nancy’s expression hadn’t changed very much except for a slight look of amazement in her eyes as she gazed back at Martha, but Mildred had turned actually pale. Her thick cream-coloured skin looked muddy, the flush that was always on her cheekbones was no longer in evidence. She looked as affected by the news as was her brother; only Martha seemed unmoved. It might have appeared to an onlooker that she’d had previous warning of the circumstances attending her father’s will, and in a way she had, yet at the same time she was shocked and not a little afraid; no money and the shops mortgaged, and, what was more, their home, this house that she loved, could now be in danger of being taken from them.

  She turned her eyes on Roland. He was the one who should do the talking, ask the questions, but he looked utterly shaken; and so he might, for this would mean that he could not next year go to the university. He had, she knew, set his heart on going to Oxford University. He was clever, in a way. She always tacked on this term whenever she thought of Roland’s cleverness, for his cleverness lay in only one direction and that was along the lines of history; in other ways he was, if not exactly ignorant, unlettered, for he read little beyond his subject. Moreover, he was inclined to be selfish. But she didn’t blame him for this latter fault for her father had always made a great fuss of him. He being the only son, she understood this to be natural, yet she had jibbed, and more so over the past year, at the fact that he was kept in ignorance of the true state of the household, for when he was at home the table was allowed to be lavish, and he never seemed short of money.

  She looked at him. He was so like their father, and in character too, for already he shied away from responsibility. But now he would have to stay at home and shoulder the responsibility that she herself had carried for so long.

  With the suddenness of a shock, the picture of her brother taking charge of the house and its affairs actually appalled her. She didn’t want to pass on the responsibility, however heavy, to him. Oh dear, dear! Her mind was in a turmoil. And Mr Paine was speaking again.

  ‘Your father has spent a great deal of money during the past four years.’

  ‘On what?’ The question coming from Roland was sharp now. He seemed to be recovering from the initial shock and there was a note of aggressiveness in his tone.

  ‘That I couldn’t say, sir.’ Mr Paine’s reply had an official ring to it now. ‘He did not take me into his confidence as to what he needed the money for. Only one thing I do know, none of it was used to lighten the mortgages. He may have paid off some debts privately, but I have no knowledge in that direction.’

  ‘Well, what are we to do? What do you advise?’

  Mr Paine now raised his eyebrows as he looked back at Roland, then said, ‘That will need to be gone into, but…but to start with, it’s a matter of priorities. If you want to save your home and remain here then I would advise that the chandler’s business be sold. It is a good property, situated near the market which is in its favour; it has a number of storerooms above which could be turned into a habitable house. Yes, yes—’ he nodded—‘it would likely bring a reasonable price, and with the profit you might be able to clear some of the debts, and so save court proceedings, besides which you could continue the mortgage payments on the house and the bookshop. I would not advise selling the bookshop, it is placed in an excellent situation within a short distance of the Abbey, and the Abbey gets many visitors and I think, as you know—’ he now addressed himself solely to Martha—‘people are reading more these days, even the ordinary folk, and I can see the business of bookselling naturally advancing. No, I would keep the bookshop; but, of course, in the end it will be up to you what you decide.’ He did not look straight at Roland now but moved his gaze between him and Martha.

  Martha, bending slightly forward, wetted her lips before she said, ‘Great-Uncle James in Newcastle, could…could we…could we not appeal to him for help? Father has been at his beck and call for years, surely he would…’

  Mr Paine had been looking at her, in fact staring at her as she spoke, and now he sneezed violently, then coughed, spluttering into his handkerchief as he did so until Martha, putting her hand out towards Nancy, said, ‘Bring a glass of water, quickly.’

  When Mr Paine had drunk deeply of the water he wiped his eyes, then his nose, then his lips, then gathering up the papers hastily, he said, ‘Well, I think this is all we can do at the moment. I would talk it over between yourselves and when you come to a decision perhaps you would care to call in and see me.’

  His last remark was addressed to Roland but he didn’t wait for an answer. He now rose to his feet and, picking up his papers, said, ‘I’m afraid I must away if I want to reach
home before dark. And then, of course, there is Mr Ducat to be considered.’

  They were all on their feet and no-one spoke for a moment until Martha, looking at Roland, said, ‘Mr Ducat should be thanked; will…will I see to it, or will you?’

  ‘You see to it.’ Roland’s voice and manner indicated that his thoughts at the moment were far away. So she turned swiftly and went out of the room, through the almost dark hall and into the dining room.

  On her entry Lawrence Ducat rose hastily to his feet from where he had been sitting close to the fire. He was a tall young man in his late twenties with a round pale face, light brown hair that receded from his high forehead in small waving kinks; his eyes were a clear grey and his mouth full-lipped; altogether he was a young man of very attractive appearance; added to this he had a particular charm of manner, but slightly overdone in courtesy, as his bow towards Martha showed now.

  ‘Miss Martha.’ Her name held a deep warmth, and his extended arm seemed almost to lift her towards a chair, and for a moment like one mesmerised she was about to sit down, then changed her mind and said, ‘There…there is little time, Mr Ducat. Mr Paine is eager to get back to town before darkness sets in. But…but I just wanted to thank you for your sympathy and kindness in our bereavement.’

  Again he said her name, ‘Miss Martha,’ and with it took a step towards her until there was only the distance of three foot between them before he went on, ‘I have done nothing, nothing to be thanked for, nothing as yet, but I would like to tell you now, you must call upon my services at any time…any time at all.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Ducat.’ She held out her hand which he took in both of his and held it as he looked deeply into her eyes, the meaning in his in no way veiled, and then he asked softly, ‘May I inquire if Master Roland has any plans for the future? I mean, is he to take over the businesses or return to school…university? I understand from your father that he was to go to Oxford next year. Such an honour, such an honour.’

  She bowed her head now, then said slowly, ‘I…I can confide in you, Mr Ducat, because you know to a certain extent something of our financial affairs, but I’m afraid our resources at the present moment are very low. There is a possibility that one of the businesses will have to go.’

  His silence brought her head up and she made haste to say, ‘But Mr Paine advises that we keep the bookshop. Even if we have to leave here and…and take a smaller place, he advises that we keep the bookshop.’

  There was a perceptible slackening of his grip on her hand. She looked into his face and saw that he was as much surprised at the financial turn of events as the rest of the family had been a few minutes earlier. His concern touched her and she waited for him to speak.

  When he did his words were few but his tone conveyed his sympathy. ‘I am deeply sorry for your situation, Miss Martha, and I will do all I can to further the business of the establishment.’

  He had once or twice before referred to the bookshop as the establishment, as if it were on a par and even bigger than some of the finest businesses in the town, and particularly so than its only other rival, Cunningham’s. Although it was an older established firm than Cunningham’s and the literature it stocked was wider and touched on more scholastic subjects, the premises themselves were not half as large as Cunningham’s, nor did they deal with the sidelines of Cunningham’s, such as stationery and newspapers and such.

  From his bowed position Mr Ducat was now extending an arm towards the door, and she inclined her head towards him and went down the room and into the hall where Mr Paine was already standing waiting, Roland beside him.

  She now thanked Mr Paine, and his final words to her were, ‘Call upon me at any time you need assistance.’

  He might have addressed this remark to Roland but he spoke to her as if she, and she alone, carried the burden of the responsibility her father had left …

  The cab had gone from the drive; the front door closed; they walked side by side back to the drawing room where Mildred and Nancy were waiting for them, and it was Mildred who voiced her thoughts first. Looking at Roland she asked pointedly, ‘What are we going to do? If there’s no money what are we going to do? Will we have to sell the house? It’s dreadful, dreadful. How’s it come about?’

  ‘Quiet!’ Roland’s voice was almost a snarl. ‘How do I know what we’re going to do? I haven’t had time to think.’

  Mildred, not in the least intimidated by her brother’s tone, went on, ‘You’ll have to remain at home now and see to the business, and improve our position.’

  On this, Roland swung round on her. It was as if they were back in the nursery years ago, these two, snapping at each other, and as Martha looked at them she thought that neither of them seemed to have grown with the years; they were so alike in character they could be almost one.

  As she stared at her brother she felt she was seeing her father as he might have been when a young man; yet her father would never have been surly or selfish. Wouldn’t he? Her mind was questioning her last words. What had he spent the money on during these past years? Why had one business after another been sold? It was true he had kept Roland at school, but after all what was a hundred pounds or so a year?

  ‘If we kept a cow and cleared the back garden and grew all our own vegetables and had hens…’

  Three pairs of eyes were now looking at Nancy, Martha’s in soft understanding; but Roland’s and Mildred’s gazes held combined scorn, and Roland cried at her, ‘Don’t talk such rot! And look; go on, the both of you, get out, I want to talk to Martha.’

  ‘Why should we? It concerns us all.’

  ‘All right, it concerns us all.’ He stuck out his chin towards Mildred. ‘So we’ll decide first of all that to help finances you find employment; you can take Miss Streaton’s place in the shop. Yes, that’s a good idea, isn’t it, Martha?’

  Martha saw that he actually meant what he said, and she herself could see that there was something in the suggestion. She looked at Mildred whose mouth was in a wide indignant gape, but before Mildred could express her ire Nancy had grabbed hold of her hand, saying urgently, ‘Come on, Mildred. Come on.’ And she tugged at her sister who now appeared to be speechless, and so led her from the room—even while Mildred strained her head over her shoulder as she glared back at Roland.

  Roland now nodded at Martha, and as if he were already the man of the house and in complete charge of affairs he stretched his neck out of his collar and pursed his lips for a moment before saying, ‘That would bring madam down to earth. And she wants bringing down to earth.’

  ‘We all want bringing down to earth.’

  Her flat remark, combined with her expression as she looked back at him seemed to deflate him somewhat and cause his shoulders to slump and his chin to sink. He slowly sat down and, putting his elbows on his knees, his hands gripped between them, he looked up at her and said, ‘This is some fix, isn’t it? What are we going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  His tone now one of sudden bitterness, he said, ‘It’s scandalous. What did he do with the money? Where’s it gone?’

  ‘Why didn’t you ask him?’ She noted that they were both speaking of their father without respect.

  ‘There didn’t seem any need.’

  ‘No? But you knew as well as we did that he let the other businesses go one by one.’

  ‘I thought it was because of trade. When he spoke of it he called it the result of the rise in wholesale prices or some such, but he always seemed to have money.’

  ‘Yes, yes, he did.’ She nodded slowly at him. ‘For you he always seemed to have money.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Exactly what I said, Roland. Even when the household bills could not be paid you never went short; he saw to that.’

  ‘Well, how was I to know that things weren’t as usual? When I came home everything appeared…’

  ‘Yes, everything appeared normal. All the while you were home there was a good table.’
/>   ‘You mean…you mean you all went short?’

  ‘Yes, I mean just that.’

  ‘But…but father liked his food.’

  ‘Father was only here for supper, and not every night; he dined in the eating house at Hexham. And as you know he visited Great-Uncle James twice a month and for two, three, sometimes four days at a time. Even more so of late.’

  ‘I didn’t know he went so often.’ His brows were gathered into a deep furrow.

  ‘He hoped to be left his estate. He didn’t actually say so but he indicated as much. That’s why he’s kept going there all these years.’

  ‘Then as you said to Mr Paine, Great-Uncle James should be able to help us, shouldn’t he?’ He leant towards her now, his long face, the paleness of which was accentuated by his black suit, bright with the hope.

  She did not answer immediately, then she said slowly, ‘One would imagine so, but I’ve been thinking since I suggested it to Mr Paine that if Father had to sell the businesses it doesn’t appear that Great-Uncle is a man one could appeal to for a helping hand in a financial crisis. It appears to me now that he has been holding out his benefits all these years as a bait so that Father would attend him to the end.’