And yes, she would have had to take over; that old woman was like a leech: first, she had fastened on to her daughter; and then her granddaughter; and now her great-granddaughter; and not forgetting Andrew Jones.
But roll on Saturday, when he would put an end to Emma’s nightmare.
Seven
It was Saturday. It was over. Her daughter was married. There she was going up the stairs to change into her travelling clothes, not from a white wedding gown and veil, as she had often envisaged for her; no, she had been married in a blue silk suit with a grey cape; chic, very chic, but nothing romantic about it. There hadn’t seemed to be anything romantic about the wedding at all. It had been very matter-of-fact, not unlike her own at the registry office, even though the ceremony had been performed in the church and the wedding breakfast served in an hotel. Only twenty-five people sat down; Richard’s parents being dead, he had but one brother and he a bachelor.
Well, Peggy sighed, if the ceremony and the breakfast hadn’t been romantic, they would certainly have a romantic honeymoon in Venice. She looked through the open door towards the drawing room where Richard was standing talking to Henry and Charlie. Frank was sitting next to her mother on the couch, and they all had glasses in their hands. May was upstairs seeing to Great-Gran. She had volunteered to look after her during the time they were all out. She was good was May. She didn’t know what she would have done without her over the years, even while she knew she still had a tiny streak of resentment against her for being the stumbling block in Charlie’s life, and depriving her of grandchildren.
She would go upstairs and relieve her now, so that she could have a word with Emma.
When she reached the landing, she saw May at the far end of the corridor. She had one hand tightly across her mouth and on seeing her, she stopped and began to beckon frantically towards her. She didn’t move from where she was, and when Peggy neared her she grabbed her arm and pulled her back towards the door and into Mrs Funnell’s room. Then, closing the door while still holding on to Peggy, she made an effort to speak, and when she did it was a mutter: ‘She’s dead.’
‘Wh…at?’
‘She was sitting up, going on about…about the wedding, and nobody having asked her consent. You know how she does. Then she suddenly lay back and closed her eyes, and I said, “That’s it, have a sleep,” and her hand slid down by her side. She’s…she’s dead, Peggy.’
Peggy slowly walked towards the bed and reluctantly, it seemed, she lifted her great-grandmother’s hand and felt for a pulse; but there was no movement. The she lifted her eyelids. She was; she was dead.
‘Should I bring Richard up?’
Peggy swung round, seeming to come to life now, saying, ‘No. No. Neither of them must know. She’s not going to spoil the start of their life. You would think she had done it on purpose. Look, I’ll go and tell Emma she’s asleep and that it’s best not to waken her.’
‘But she might want to come in.’
‘Well, not if I can help it; but look.’ She turned back to the bed and, lifting the limp arms, she put them under the bedclothes and reluctantly she tucked the sheet under the drooping chin. Then turning to May, she said, ‘Leave her like that, and…and sit there just in case she peeps in, and you can say…’
‘Oh my God! Peggy, I can’t sit here.’
‘She’s dead, May; she can’t hurt you. You’ve been sitting here all day.’
‘Yes, yes of course. It’s the shock. Go ahead. Do what you have to do.’
Five minutes later, when the door opened and there stood Emma with Peggy by her side, she rose from the chair and, going towards them, said, ‘I wouldn’t disturb her, she’s…she’s’—she gulped—‘had a bad night, and she’s…she’s just dropped off. I…I…I wouldn’t waken her.’ She pressed them both out onto the landing again, and Emma said, ‘Won’t she get ratty, Auntie May, if I don’t say goodbye?’
‘Oh, well, y…y…you’—she couldn’t stop herself from stammering—‘y…you know her, she gets ratty about everything. But I’ll…explain. Oh, you do look lovely. I’ll…I’ll come down and see you off.’
Emma laughed and said, ‘I bet you don’t get to the bottom of the stairs before her bell rings.’
May and Peggy exchanged a quick glance, and Peggy said, ‘Come on with you; Richard is stamping about down there like a wild horse.’
They were only halfway down the stairs when Emma stopped and, looking at her mother, she said, ‘Oh, Mother, I’m…I’m so happy,’ and at this she threw her arms around Peggy, and Peggy, gasping, said, ‘Look out, else you’ll have us both down the stairs and on our backs.’ And there was a break in her voice as she finished, ‘Come on with you.’
Richard and the others now came out of the drawing room and there followed general exclamations of how beautiful the bride looked. But not from Richard; he said nothing, but his eyes told Emma all she wanted to know, and she was now kissed in turn by Henry and Frank, and Charlie, and her grandmother and May, and lastly by Peggy, and all her mother could say to her was, ‘Be happy, dear. Be happy.’ And Emma, with tears in her eyes, could make no reply, only nod. Then she was seated by Richard’s side and they were moving off amid waves and calls of, ‘Have a good time. Safe journey.’
When the car disappeared down the drive, Peggy was the first to turn away and hurry into the house, and when they were all once again assembled in the drawing room, she went to the fireplace and stood with her back to it and clutched a handful of the bodice of her dress and moved it up and down as if trying to pull it from her body.
It was Charlie who spoke first, saying, ‘What is it? She’ll be all right. She’ll be happy. But…but what’s the matter?’
She looked at him, then at her mother and said, ‘She’s dead. Great-Gran’s dead…she’s dead.’ She watched her mother now sink slowly onto the couch and she heard Henry say, ‘No, no,’ and Frank say, ‘But you were with her.’ He was addressing his wife, and May nodded as she answered, ‘Yes; one minute she…she was sitting up, going off the deep end about nobody taking any notice of her; I mean, asking her permission, like, about the wedding, then she lay back and she just went, like that’—she gave a gentle snap with her fingers, and repeated—‘like that,’ not knowing that Richard had made a similar gesture of foretelling the old woman’s demise.
‘You should have called Richard.’
Peggy’s head jerked towards her mother and now her voice was almost a shout as she said, ‘And spoil their happiness, an’ all?’
‘Don’t shout at me, girl.’
‘That’s what you forget, Mam, and I don’t have to remind you yet again, that I am no girl. And I’ll tell you something else: those two are not going to hear about this business until they return. This will be one fortnight in their lives during which this family won’t impinge its troubles on them.’
‘My God!’ Lizzie got to her feet. ‘I’ve seen changes in people over the years, but never as much as in you.’
‘We’ve been through all this before, Mam, about changes and why there’s been changes. So we won’t go into that. But I shall go now and phone Doctor Rice.’
As Peggy marched out of the room Lizzie shook her head and looked at the men, saying woefully now, ‘I just don’t know what’s come over her lately,’ to which May retorted, ‘Well, you should, Lizzie; you had years of it yourself.’
It looked as if Lizzie was going to come back at May, too, but thought better of it.
When Peggy returned to the room she said, ‘He’ll be along within half an hour.’
Both Henry and Frank had been about to say something when they stopped and they, with the rest of the company, stared at Peggy, who was now looking directly at Charlie and, her face bright and smiling, saying, ‘I’m free, Charlie. I’m free. Free of this house, free to live my own life for the rest of it. Do you understand that, Charlie? Free! Free!’
As Charlie moved towards Peggy, his hand outstretched, Lizzie sprang up from the couch saying, ‘My God! I�
�ve heard everything now. Of all the tactless remarks to make, and at this moment. Talk about lack of feeling.’
‘Yes, talking about lack of feeling, Mam, let’s stop being hypocrites for once. You’ve wished her dead for years and you can’t deny it. Now what you’ll be worried about is the will.’ And turning abruptly about she again left the room, leaving them all, with the exception of Charlie, open-mouthed; for he had followed Peggy from the room and along the passage and into the study. And there he took her into his arms, and as the sobs shook her body he comforted her, saying, ‘There, there. It’s all over. As you say, you’re free. Oh, Peggy!’ He lifted up her wet face and, looking into her streaming eyes, he said, ‘You know I’ve loved you since I was a lad. I don’t know at what stage of a lad I began to love you, but I’ve never stopped loving you since. And if a love can grow deeper with the years, mine has, but I’ve never loved or admired you more than I did a minute ago when you stood up to your mother and spoke the truth, because the next bone of contention will be the will. But whether the old girl has left you a penny or not, it doesn’t matter—she might have left it all to the Salvation Army; I wouldn’t put it past her—but there’s one thing I’m sure of: we’re going to be married. We were in any case, but we’re leaving here, this house, and we’ll settle some place, even though we may be spending half our lives travelling. I’ll take you to places you’ve never dreamed of. You know’—he held her away from him—‘you’ve hardly left this town all your life. A few trips to Harrogate, that’s the limit of your travelling. Well, all that’s going to be altered, and the sooner the better. Roll on the reading of the will and the high jinks to follow.’ He pulled her into his arms again and kissed her hard; then he said, ‘What do you bet she leaves it equally between the Salvation Army and the Dogs’ Home?’
Eight
The funeral had taken place at ten o’clock. They had returned home at eleven and had a light meal. The solicitor, accompanied by a clerk carrying a heavy portfolio, had arrived at two o’clock and his business was not concluded until four o’clock. Besides them, only Lizzie and Henry and Peggy had been present.
The contents of Mrs Funnell’s will had caused surprise, to say the least, and Lizzie almost to faint and Peggy to cry inwardly, ‘Oh, no, no. What am I going to do?’
By eight o’clock that evening she knew what she was going to do, and there were assembled in the drawing room her mother and stepfather, Frank and May, and Charlie.
Her mother had not spoken to her since the solicitor had left the house, when she’d had to be helped upstairs by Henry to lie down and calm down, but she was saying now and vehemently, ‘I could contest it.’
‘Yes, you could do that, but from what I understand from the solicitor you’d come off badly.’
‘It’s scandalous, vicious. I looked after her for sixteen years; and not only that, I had to put up with your father, and…and she knew what I went through.’
‘What you went through with my father, Mother, was nothing compared with what you and Great-Gran contrived to make me go through by insisting that I marry Andrew Jones, when I begged you not to let it happen to me. And what I’ve gone through since didn’t affect you. Well now, as a way of payment it seems she has left it all to me, on conditions. But, of course, knowing her, she wouldn’t rest in her grave if she thought she hadn’t caused complications.’
‘Almost a quarter of a million pounds!’—Lizzie’s voice was almost at hysteria point again—‘and the works, besides the bonds and the property that none of us knew anything about. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair.’ She looked up at Henry, and he, quietly but with a tinge of bitterness in his voice, said, ‘No, it isn’t fair, dear, it isn’t fair. But listen to what Peggy has to say.’
Peggy was staring at her mother; and her face was tight as she brought her words through almost closed lips: ‘You think it isn’t fair what’s happened to you. Well, I think it isn’t fair what’s happened to me. Great-Gran’s left me a very rich woman if, and it is a big if. I always told her that I wanted to get away from this house, but she’s fixed me there, for if I leave it within the next ten years I don’t get a penny. Charlie was partly right when jokingly he said to me earlier that she could leave it between the Salvation Army and the Dogs’ Home. Well, among other charities, she has mentioned the Salvation Army. My first reaction was to let the money go to the Salvation Army and the Dogs’ Home, for it wasn’t going to tie me here; but then May pointed out something: it says nothing in the will about my taking long holidays away from here, as I remember the wording of the will, only that this was to be my residence.’ She looked at May now. ‘So I have decided, May, it will still be my residence between times when I’m not travelling.’ She now turned to Charlie. ‘And as May also pointed out, I can have the place ripped out inside and re-done to my own taste, make it into a modern interior. There’s nothing in the will to say I can’t do that. This being so, the money, the business, and the rest are mine. I am, as I said, a very rich woman; but I don’t want to be a very rich woman, so I’ve decided to share it. I’m quartering it. Mother, you’ll have a quarter of the money and a percentage of the profits from the works.’
Lizzie’s head wagged now and her lips were pressed tightly together before she said, ‘A quarter. That’s very kind of you; a quarter.’
‘It is very kind of me, Mother. Think on it; it is very kind of me. I’m dividing the money into four.’
‘Four? Who are the others? There’s only yourself and Emma.’
‘Yes, there’s myself and Emma and two others.’ She now turned and looked at May. ‘There is May, and you, Mother.’
‘Oh no!’ May’s disbelief was expressed in the wagging of her head. ‘No, no, lass! You can’t do that.’
‘I can do that, May. You have been a friend to everybody in this house for years: you stood by my mother, although she seems to have forgotten that; you certainly stood by me. You also had hopes, great hopes for your son. Well, he has fulfilled them in one way, but not in another. You and I know what I mean, but you never turned against me because of it; you’ve always been there. And of all the people I’m pleased to share the money with, you are the best because Emma would never have been short of money; Richard would be in a position to see to that.’
‘I’ve heard everything now,’ Lizzie said and got to her feet, at which Peggy turned on her, crying, ‘All right! If this doesn’t satisfy you, there’s nothing yet in writing. I’ll divide it into three; you might feel better if you have nothing whatever to thank me for.’
‘I should have nothing to thank you for, girl, if I was getting my rights.’
‘Be quiet, Lizzie! Be quiet.’ Henry put his hand on his wife’s shoulder, while looking at Peggy and saying quietly, ‘Thank you, Peggy. I think you’re being very fair, more than fair. And I understand the position you’re in.’
‘Thank you, Henry. It’s good to hear you say so.’
As Lizzie shrugged herself from her husband’s hold and marched from the room, May, after glancing at Peggy, hurried after her. And in the hall she caught her by the arm, saying, ‘I knew nothing about this. I never dreamt. And I know how you feel, Lizzie.’
‘Do you, May?’
‘Yes, yes, I do.’
The tears now spurted out of Lizzie’s eyes as she muttered, ‘’Tisn’t fair. ’Tisn’t fair.’
‘No, your grandmother was never fair, but Peggy is. She didn’t want that money, Lizzie. All she wanted was to get away with Charlie, leave this house and start up a life of her own, that’s all she wanted. She’s said so again and again. But she’s been chained here for years. You know she has. But now there are escape routes for her. So…so try to be happy for her.’
‘It’s all right for you, May’—Lizzie was walking towards the door, Henry by her side now—‘you hadn’t to put up with Grandmother.’
‘No, perhaps not; but it’s all in the past now, so try to make the best of it.’
May remained standing at the door until Lizzi
e and Henry had got into the car; she then closed it and stood leaning against it for a moment. How people changed. Lizzie would never forgive Peggy; it would always stick in her neck. Yet, really, she should be thinking herself lucky that she’d got anything. Peggy could have kept the lot, but what had she done? She had divided it up, and even given her a share. Eeh! She couldn’t really believe that: no more begging and scraping, making ends meet to keep respectable. She was lucky. Eeh! She was lucky. She hurried back into the breakfast room now and, going straight to Peggy, she took her hand and she said, ‘Peggy, that was something you needn’t have done. You owe me nothing, because, like Charlie, I’ve loved you since you were a bairn. But to think that you’ve shared that fortune with me, it’s like a miracle happening. Thank you, lass. Oh, thank you.’ She put her arms around her and held her close, and Peggy said in a small voice and on a broken laugh, ‘It’s in payment for Charlie.’
Nine
Apart from the uncontested divorce, two incidents occurred that seemed to close the final chapters on Peggy’s way of life and leave the way clear for the new one she was about to start tomorrow, when she would accompany Charlie for the first time abroad. The past weeks had been filled with business meetings with the solicitor and the working out of documents with regard to the division of her money. A fortnight before, Charlie and she had been married and had spent a few days of their honeymoon touring the south coast. Since then, the time had been mostly spent in poring over diagrams for the reconstruction of the house, deciding on colours and wallpapers; also the buying of furniture that was to await their return, mostly beds and carpets. All this, in their absence, was to be supervised by May and Frank because they would be away for at least six weeks, as Charlie had engagements in France, Germany and Spain.
She was going into Newcastle to pick up a suit that she was having altered. She was going in by train, and had left her car in the station car park and was walking towards the station entrance when a woman, coming through the opening, hesitated as she looked at her, then stopped and said, ‘Mrs Jones.’ Then after a second added, ‘You don’t recognise me, then? I’m…I’m Rosie, Rosie Milburn. I’ve…I’ve always wanted to meet you and say something.’
The House of Women Page 25
