Mourning Doves (25 page)

Downstairs in the living room, Edna received the information with a very startled expression.

She slowly dropped a handful of chopped carrots into a saucepan on the fire. Then she grinned mischievously and gave a derisive hoot, as she stirred the mixture of vegetables and leftover chicken.

‘You mean to say that Mother has found a cause, a real honest-to-goodness cause?’

‘It looks like it.’

Wooden spoon poised over the pan, Edna stood rubbing her chin thoughtfully with her other hand, and left a long smudge of flour on her face. Then she said slowly, ‘It’ll be the making of her, if she can do it. I wonder if she realises what a huge undertaking it will be?’ She looked disparagingly down at the chicken stew she had concocted, and added ruefully, ‘She’ll have no time for matters domestic – we’ll get that job.’ With a dripping wooden spoon, she gestured round the little room. Gravy flew from it and hissed as the liquid hit the hot range. The smell of burning was added to the stuffy atmosphere.

Celia laughed a little helplessly. ‘I suppose we’ll manage somehow. She doesn’t do anything much now. Frankly, I think we should encourage her as much as possible – because it is a very real cause, Edna,’ she said, and went to wash the lettuce brought in by their neighbour.

She felt very tired and wondered how many more responsibilities she could undertake. Edna had said that she
would try to get the garden cleared of its overgrowth for her – but that was only the beginning. It had to be planted, weeded, raked, hedges cut. How could she do it? Tend a shop? Help Edna with the washing, ironing, cleaning, shopping, cooking, et cetera, and, on top of all that, do all the errands that Louise would now expect her to do in connection with this new interest. Edna could not do everything at home – and, in any case, Edna had hinted that she might set up a home of her own, once Paul’s will had been probated. If she did that, the work for Celia would be overwhelming.

As she spread the cloth on the table, she wondered wistfully if she would ever have any leisure, even for a walk or to read a book. Or to visit Phyllis Woodcock.

It was almost certain that Louise would, indeed, use her as her secretary in her new endeavours, much as she had done during her father’s lifetime – and how could she refuse when the need of the men her mother had met was so acute?

As promised, Celia went to the library that evening, and came home with a number of addresses of organisations which might help the deaf and another list of charities interested in the blind, but nothing in connection with those doubly handicapped.

Within the next two days, Louise wrote letters of inquiry to all the addresses provided by the librarian, seeking a clue to any charity which might know how the deaf-blind could be helped. Was there a form of signing, she inquired, for the deaf-blind, similar in principle to that used by the deaf?

She also received a further letter from Cousin Albert to say that he would arrive at the cottage on the following Monday and would stay at least three days, while he dealt with the estate agent selling her house and with the affairs of Timothy’s estate.

It caused no little turmoil in the cottage, when Louise insisted that Celia double up with Edna. She was to remove her clothes from the small wardrobe in the hall bedroom and see that everything was clean for her second cousin.

‘Mother!’ wailed Edna. ‘Can’t he stay in a hotel in Liverpool?’

‘Apparently not,’ Louise snapped back. ‘He’s probably trying to save himself expense.’

Celia did not say anything. She did not want to offend her mother before discussing Mr Philpotts’ offer with her.

She had not yet found an opportunity to broach the subject; it seemed as if Louise was either closeted in the tiny front sitting room writing, or had gone to Hoylake.

Much to Edna’s annoyance, and adding to Celia’s sense of being besieged by work, Louise had demanded that a fire be lit in the, as yet unused, front room, and that her lap desk be brought down and put on the tea table there.

Edna fought a noisy battle about the cost and work of making two fires each day – and lost. Louise was adamant that the work she was about to do was a priority over everything else.

Even Edna never considered telling her that if she wanted a fire in the room, she should make it and clear it up herself. Neither sister could visualise Louise doing such a menial task.

The same postal delivery that brought Cousin Albert’s letter also brought two letters from Brazil for Edna.

Louise picked them up from the hall floor as she came down for breakfast, and she scanned the envelopes with some curiosity before handing them to Edna.

She seated herself at the table and began to open Cousin Albert’s letter. ‘Who are your letters from?’ she asked. ‘This one is from Albert.’

‘Just friends,’ Edna replied and slipped them both, unopened, into her skirt pocket. Inwardly, she steamed with irritation. Mother had no right to inquire who her
correspondents were. She was a widow and entitled to her privacy. Celia was still a spinster and subject to her mother, but not Edna.

The inference of Edna’s casual reply was not lost on Celia, who was quickly eating her breakfast egg, and she felt a pang of envy. It must be wonderful to be free, she thought.

‘Edna, you’d better see that we have enough food in the house to feed Albert, in addition to us,’ Louise ordered, as she put Albert’s letter back into its envelope.

‘Do you have any money?’ Edna inquired quietly.

Louise looked startled. ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘I’ve a little left over from the rents which Mr Billings sent me.’

Since moving into the cottage Edna had found herself paying for almost all their day-to-day needs and she felt that this was the moment to bring it home to Louise that she must pay her share. Her inquiry made Louise bite her lip and then promise to give her something for groceries.

The discovery that it would probably cost all Louise had in her purse to feed an extra mouth strengthened Celia’s idea that, if permitted, she should try to earn enough to contribute to the housekeeping. She would delay no longer. She would, that evening, talk to Mother about it.

Carrying a brass coal hod of additional coal for her mother’s fire, Celia knocked tentatively at the sitting-room door and was told in a querulous voice to come in.

Louise was running her hand along the large bookcase which took up one wall of the tiny room. She glanced round at her whey-faced daughter, and asked, ‘Do you know where your father’s books by Philip Oppenheim are? The boys apparently like his novels.’

‘Yes, Mother. They’re in a box in Betty’s barn. We decided we would never read them again.’ She squatted down on the hearth rug and, with the aid of a pair of tongs, added a few lumps of coal to the fire.

‘Well, bring them back. I need them.’

‘Yes, Mother.’ The thought of carrying baskets full of books back from Hoylake made her back ache even more; Oppenheim was a very prolific writer.

As Celia rose stiffly from the hearth rug, Louise returned to the littered tea table. She sat down in front of it and scanned the list of things she felt she had to do, which seemed to be constantly beside her and never to grow any smaller. She did, however, now cross off Oppenheim.

Celia carefully placed the coal hod beside the end of the fender, clasped her hands tightly in front of her over her grubby apron and turned towards Louise.

‘Mother, I need to talk to you about Mr Philpotts and the furniture.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, Mother. I must let Mr Philpotts have an answer to a suggestion he has made.’ Celia stood woodenly before her, hoping that she herself wouldn’t break down with sheer fright. Two days’ contemplation of Mr Philpotts’ offer had convinced her of the common sense of it. And with a little money, she could be independent, even if she was a spinster.

Louise asked impatiently, ‘Well?’

Celia had rehearsed very carefully what she would say, and she explained quite clearly what the idea was. She finished up by saying, ‘The crux is that all the furniture is yours, not mine, and if we go into a modest partnership, such as Mr Philpotts has suggested, there should be some kind of written agreement that I may act for you – unless you would like to start a business yourself, of course.’

‘Tut! I shall be much too busy. In any case it would be totally infra dig.’

Celia gritted her teeth. ‘Very well, Mother. When I spoke to Edna about it, she suggested that you might allow me to own the furniture – as the capital, so to speak, to start a business in antiques and collectibles. I would hope, Mama, to make enough, in the long term, so that you did not have to keep me; I could contribute regularly to the household, and then you would reap a financial benefit from the investment.’

Too terrified to go on for the moment, she paused as she saw the gathering storm in Louise’s expression. Then she added uncomfortably, ‘Edna says it is essential that I learn to earn my living – because I shall be alone when you … er … pass on.’

‘Keep a shop!’ Louise was trembling with affronted dignity – and with an underlying fear that she would lose her hold over Celia, who would be most useful, not only at home, but as a general runabout in connection with the work Louise was undertaking. ‘How insulting that this
man should suggest it – and who is he, anyway, to interfere in our affairs?’

‘He’s just a small businessman. Basically, he has floor space to let in front of his workshop – and he’d like to share the rent with someone.’

Inwardly Celia prayed, God don’t let me panic until I’m through this. She took a big breath, and went on determinedly, ‘As I said, he’s a furniture repairer and French polisher, and his kind of clients are likely to be people who appreciate good furniture; they may be interested in what we have for sale.’

Louise’s chest swelled with indignation. She slammed down her pen and a blot of ink flew on to the carpet. She replied furiously, ‘I’m surprised that you did not dismiss him on the spot. I won’t hear of it. My good name – your father’s good name – on a shop? A most repellent idea!’

Patiently Celia fought back. ‘The shop does not have to have our name on it, Mother. We could call it something neutral, like Hoylake Fine Furniture.’

‘I won’t have it. Edna is quite wrong to encourage you. No girl of mine is going to serve in a shop. Anyway, you aren’t capable of running anything.’

The latter remark stung.

The insult quelled Celia’s panic. It was replaced by honest rage.

‘Mother! You’re most unfair,’ she almost shouted. ‘Who fixed up this cottage? Who found workmen and made it habitable? Who arranged the removal – and did most of the packing?

‘I did, without much help from you. Who is going to have to plant the garden and make it decent? I shall – because you won’t.’ Her voice rose to a shriek. ‘I know that the ex-soldiers need your help – but I need an atom of help, too. I know you’re in mourning – and Edna and I have done our best to help you. But there’s a limit.’ She unclasped her hands and banged them flat on the table.
‘You’d like to keep me tied to your apron strings until you die – and then you won’t care what happens to me because you’ll be dead and won’t have need of me any more. Mr Philpotts and Edna have suggested a future for me and an investment of your discarded furniture – that’s all.’

More shattered by this unexpected explosion than she liked to admit, Louise sat up straight and glared at the girl.

‘Be quiet! You’re behaving like a silly child. This idea of a shop is lunatic. I have no doubt that Edna will look after you when I’m gone – you’re not capable of looking after yourself.’

At her last words, Celia’s temper died. Reimplanted in her was the haunting fear that there was something the matter with her, that she was not normal in some way and was, therefore, incapable – and had been kept at home because of it. Since her father’s death, she had done her utmost to cope with the many problems it had presented, and she had considered that she had, in the circumstances, done rather well, but perhaps other people would have done much better. She had no yardstick by which to measure her performance.

Now, she went a ghastly white, and clutched her arms across her waist as if she had been struck in the stomach. Then with bent head she stumbled to the door, opened it and went out into the hall. She hooked her toe in the door and slammed it behind her.

She nearly ran into Edna, hurrying from the living room.

‘Hello,’ Edna greeted her, obviously relieved to see Celia on her feet. ‘I heard you shriek – thought you’d fallen down the stairs. Are you hurt?’ She touched Celia’s white cheek. ‘You look absolutely awful!’

Celia looked into her sister’s concerned face. She mourned, ‘Oh, Edna, help me,’ as she fell into her arms.

Edna gripped her stricken sister firmly, and said, ‘Come into the living room and lie on the old settee. Shall I call Mother?’

‘No,’ Celia gasped, and stumbled to the settee, where she collapsed and curled herself into a tight knot.

Puzzled, Edna took one of Celia’s clenched hands and chafed it, while she glanced over her face for bruises or some other injury. Then she pulled a knitted blanket down from the back of the settee and covered her. She turned and ran to the back kitchen for a glass of water.

‘Here, sip this,’ she ordered Celia and lifted her head so that she could do so. She eased the glass between Celia’s chattering teeth, and water slopped over her. The shock of its icy coldness soaking through her black blouse seemed to ease the poor girl’s rigor, and she gasped, ‘Thanks.’ Then she whispered pitifully, ‘I’m so frightened, Edna. Mother’s so angry.’

‘Were you asking her about Mr Philpotts?’

‘Yes. About my having the furniture. I don’t think she cares very much whether or not I have the furniture – but she was so put out at the suggestion that we could start a shop, and that I should work in it. She was really shocked.’

‘That’s just like Mother.’ Edna sounded slightly amused, as she leaned over to put the water glass down on the table. ‘But that shouldn’t throw you into a panic, dear. It could make you angry, of course – but you shouldn’t be so upset just by that.’

Celia gave a big sobbing sigh. Through her chattering teeth, she said, ‘It was what she said at the end that hit me – and she’s said it so many times in my life – that I’m not capable of doing anything. And I wondered again if I’m kept at home because I’m mentally lacking – or because I’ve got tuberculosis – or something.’

‘Ridiculous! Ever since I came home, you have steadily proved it. The only thing that is the matter with you is that you have never been taught anything, except to say, “Yes, Papa” and “Yes, Mama” like a talking doll. I am sure you could do very well, with Mr Philpotts to help you out to begin with.’

She still had her arm round her tiny sister. Now she hugged her close, while she considered the situation. Then she said, ‘I think you need to be reassured by somebody outside the family. I noticed, when I was out, that there is a lady doctor who practises in Hoylake. You could tell a lady everything that has happened to you – much more easily than you could a male doctor. I think another woman would understand.’ She smiled and hugged her sister closer. ‘I am sure that she would reassure you that you are sane, though I don’t think you’re very well physically – we’ve all been under great strain and you have had to do a great deal – I simply don’t know how Mother can say that you’re incapable.’

She smiled down at Celia, and she could feel the younger woman’s body beginning to relax. ‘Let’s go to see the doctor tomorrow,’ she soothed. ‘She probably has a morning surgery.’

‘I can’t pay her.’

‘I know that – but I can. Between us, in case of emergency, Paul and I were carrying a fair amount of cash with us when we left Brazil. I changed it into English sovereigns when I arrived, and, thanks to Papa Fellowes, I have not had to spend much of it, except to help Mother out with her housekeeping. I can certainly afford a few shillings to pay for a doctor for you.’

As Celia began to protest, Edna stifled her objections by saying that she could accept the fee as an advance birthday present. ‘Don’t worry,’ she added. ‘My income will be quite adequate as soon as the will business is settled. If a doctor can lift this cloud from your mind, I think it will be the best birthday present I can give you.’

‘It would, Edna. It really would. Do you think the doctor could? Could we go to her without telling Mother?’

‘Certainly. She’s going to read to her boys tomorrow morning and then help to take the two deaf-blind ones for a walk.’ Edna laughed softly. ‘We’ll leave the housework – just forget about it.’

Celia struggled to sit up, and Edna loosened her hold on her. ‘What am I going to do about Mr Philpotts?’

‘Well, I think we should talk to Cousin Albert, when he comes on Monday. He may see how sensible John Philpotts’ suggestion is – and understand that in the end Mother won’t lose financially. If anyone can talk sense into her, I think he can.

‘She has to realise that you’re a human being, her daughter as much as I am. She must consider your future.’

‘I never thought of Cousin Albert.’

‘Well, at least he’s a man, and Mother may listen to a man.’

‘You’re being wonderfully kind, Edna,’ Celia said gently. ‘I’m so grateful.’

Edna made a face. ‘I’m making up for past sins. I never realised until recently what was happening to you. I was at school for years and you were just the younger sister at home. Quite honestly, I thought you liked helping Mother, and I was dreadfully self-centred anyway. For myself, I knew that to please Father I had to net a husband – a suitably well-off one. Then I was all excitement about meeting Paul – and then I went to Brazil. And, frankly, when I came back, I was quite distraught myself – my whole life seems to have gone to pieces, and England seems so different.’

Celia swung her feet carefully to the floor. She put one hand gently on Edna’s shoulder. ‘It must be dreadful for you, you poor dear,’ she said with sympathy. Then she went on dejectedly, ‘We didn’t really see much of each other, did we?’ She sat looking down at her slippered feet, and then, after reflection, said, ‘I always thought Mother would bring me out and arrange for me to meet someone to marry, like you, as soon as I was old enough. Then the war came and both Mother and Father kept putting me off – and Father wouldn’t hear of my becoming a nurse or anything. And that further convinced me that there must
be something wrong with me, because a lot of untrained girls went to nurse the wounded.’

She looked up at Edna. ‘You know, he threatened that if I left home, he would cut me off without a penny. And in the end, it was so ironical – he never did make any provision for me.’

‘I think that was awful.’

Celia reverted to the question of her physical health. ‘I’ve never seen a doctor in my life, not even when I caught Spanish flu,’ she confided. Then she glanced apprehensively at the door into the hall. ‘I’m so scared, Edna. I thought Mother would come after me – but she hasn’t.’

‘She must have thought that she has settled the matter with her refusal – and that you just had a childish tantrum which you will have forgotten by morning.’ She began to laugh, and soon Celia was giggling, too.

In perfect imitation of their old nanny, Edna said reprovingly, ‘“Now, Miss Celia, no lady allows her temper to get the better of her. A gentle answer turneth away wrath, remember.”’ Then she added in her own voice, ‘It can also make people think you are a doormat. Now, off you go to bed before she wipes her feet on you again.’