Penningtons

by Pamela Oldfield

  Slowly and with deliberation, Daisy put down her knife and fork.

  ‘You said you liked my cooking.’

  ‘I said you were improving and you are but –’ he took a quick breath – ‘Hettie has asked us to feed the mourners here after Stanley’s funeral which is now planned for next Wednesday. Albert may not be fit enough to attend and he doesn’t want what he describes as a “houseful of people”. There will be a funeral lunch for the family and a few friends and acquaintances, with a menu which Hettie has planned and which would be beyond you.’

  ‘Such as what?’ Daisy’s tone was steely.

  ‘Such as a game pie, salmon in aspic, a vegetable terrine . . . Need I go on?’

  Daisy rolled her eyes but was forced to acknowledge defeat. A game pie would be beyond her, she had never cooked a salmon and she had no idea what a vegetable terrine looked like. It sounded like one of the dishes soup was served in but that couldn’t be right. Discouraged, she began to finish her food, dismayed to notice that the mash was lumpy and her second sausage a little burnt. Distracted of late in various ways, she had neglected to attempt new menus.

  ‘Miss Dutton will start here again on Monday,’ Monty told her, ‘in time to accomplish all that has to be prepared but I’ve told her about the progress you’ve made. You will be a great help to her, Daisy.’

  Suddenly Daisy imagined herself confiding in Miss Dutton about her newly discovered mystery past but almost as abruptly she knew it was out of the question. Miss Dutton would be an unsafe ‘confidante’. She was an inveterate chatterbox and knew too many local people. Daisy’s secret would leak out.

  For a few moments they ate in silence but then Daisy began to look forward to the notion of a funeral lunch – with game pie, salmon and whatever else he had listed. She could help Miss Dutton make it all and improve her own knowledge.

  She promised herself that when the time came for Steven to propose to her – if he ever did – she would be a superb cook.

  The day of the funeral dawned wet and cold and Miss Dutton sighed gloomily as she and Daisy carried crockery and cutlery into the dining room and set it on the sideboard alongside a pile of white damask serviettes.

  ‘Aren’t we going to lay the table?’ Daisy asked. ‘And what about place names. We went to a wedding once and—’

  ‘No.’ Miss Dutton ran a finger down the stack of plates to count them. ‘We don’t know how many people are coming so we’ll bring in a side table for the food to go on and people can help themselves and then find a chair at the table. It’s easier that way. Folk can sit next to whoever they want to.’

  ‘Is it all right to smile? I mean, it is a sad occasion.’

  ‘If you don’t overdo it. A polite smile rather than a cheerful grin, if you see what I mean.’

  Back in the kitchen Daisy glanced at the clock. Ten past two. The funeral service would have started. She tried to imagine the pews full of people, sombre in their best black. Would the church be full or empty, she wondered. Since poor Stanley was to be buried in unconsecrated ground, there might not be very many mourners. Would there be a choir? Was music allowed?

  ‘Stop daydreaming, Daisy, and carry the glasses into the dining room.’

  She had just reached the dining room when Monty appeared. He was dressed in a black suit and a shirt with a stiff white collar and looked very uncomfortable.

  ‘You look very nice, sir,’ Daisy told him.

  ‘Damned lot of fuss!’ he grumbled sheepishly.

  Miss Dutton darted a look in his direction. ‘A funeral’s a funeral, however you look at it,’ she reminded him. ‘You should be there. You’re his uncle. You’re family.’

  ‘I didn’t feel up to it and Dilys insisted I should stay at home. Thought I’d catch my death of cold – you know how chilly that church can be at this time of year – and then there’d be another funeral!’ He sat down on the chair at the top of the table.

  Miss Dutton frowned. ‘You’d best let Albert sit there,’ she suggested. ‘He was the boy’s father, after all.’

  ‘For all the good it did either of them!’

  He received another sharp look. ‘And don’t you go talking like that if the vicar comes back with the others.’ She turned to Daisy. ‘Fetch the flowers, Daisy, will you. We’ll put them in the middle of the table to cheer things up.’

  ‘But Mrs Pennington said they were to go in the hall.’

  ‘I’m in charge here. Not Mrs Pennington.’

  ‘But I thought—’

  ‘Don’t think, Daisy. Just do it, please.’ She frowned. ‘And while you’re in the kitchen take a look at the salmon. If it looks as if it’s drying out, put a clean damp cloth over it.’

  Daisy retired to the kitchen, halfway to a sulk. She didn’t envy Miss Dutton the responsibility of the funeral feast but, since her return to the household the previous day, Daisy felt that Monty had been snatched away from her. And this morning, Dilys had arrived and she had started making decisions for him.

  Daisy considered the salmon, glorious in its slices of cucumber and radish curls and decided that when she married Steven they would serve a similar salmon. After helping herself to a couple of slices of cucumber she rearranged the rest to hide the gap, found a clean tea towel, dampened it under the tap and laid it over the fish. The large game pie contained chicken, ham and pheasant and Miss Dutton had grumbled that it had been ‘a bit of a swine’ to make! The vegetable terrine, with its neat layers, would be turned out at the last minute so that the aspic jelly did not melt.

  Daisy smiled, picked up the flowers and carried them along the passage to the dining room. Whatever she might think about the Pennington family, there was no doubt she was learning a lot from them.

  An hour later, the funeral repast had been enjoyed somewhat cautiously. The fact that Stanley had committed a sin by killing himself had meant a restricted service in the church and his coffin had been lowered into a grave dug in an area of unconsecrated ground. Now eleven people sat around the table, including two neighbours who had been recognized by the vicar as inveterate mourners.

  Most had drunk a little more than was good for them and Hettie was watching Albert like a hawk in case he decided to make a speech. She was trying to persuade Montague to do the honours but he refused point blank, insisting that he and Stanley ‘had never really got along’.

  ‘Someone should say something!’ Dilys agreed. ‘Whatever he did, he’s a Pennington. You’re his stepmother, Hettie. You say something about him.’

  ‘Say what? I didn’t even meet him. Really Dilys! He was long gone when I married Albert! You knew him better than I did!’

  Daisy and Miss Dutton, hovering in the doorway, tried not to show too much interest in the proceedings. The latter, however, was bathed in relief that the food had been well received. Miss Dutton had hoped that there might be plenty of leftovers that she and Daisy might enjoy in the privacy of the kitchen after everyone had gone but was disappointed to see that despite any reservations about the occasion, the mourners had made serious inroads into the pie and had demolished the salmon.

  Daisy was busy with her own thoughts which centred around Steven and a possible future together but which she felt might now be complicated by the traumatic revelations about her past.

  Suddenly Albert struggled unsteadily to his feet and someone tapped on the table with a spoon and called for silence. Hettie muttered ‘My Godfathers!’ and closed her eyes.

  ‘He wasn’t the best son a man could have . . .’ he began, ‘but then I wasn’t a very good father!’

  Hettie sprang to her feet but Dilys, sitting next to her pulled her back into her seat and hissed, ‘Let him have his say, Hettie!’

  Albert leaned forward, his hands resting on the table in front of him. His voice shook as he went on. ‘Things could have been better . . . should’ve been better but they weren’t . . .’

  Miss Dutton pulled Daisy out of the doorway into the passage and whispered, ‘We can hear it all from here. Be
st they needn’t see us listening.’

  ‘. . . Something wrong in his mind, poor boy . . .’ Albert’s voice was low and several people inclined their heads in an effort to hear what he was saying. ‘He went wrong but . . . but he didn’t deserve that miserable grave.’

  The vicar, obviously embarrassed, said something about ‘God’s will’ but a few dark glances in his direction reduced him to silence.

  Hettie, her face flushed, stood up and hurried towards her husband. ‘That’s enough, dear. You’re not really up to this. We know what you’re trying to say.’

  She tried to ease him back into his chair but he pushed her away so that she stumbled and almost fell.

  ‘Stanley was . . . We didn’t know how to help him and he . . .’ Tears filled his eyes and ran unchecked down his faded cheeks. ‘He wasn’t happy . . . I wish things had been different . . . I’m so dreadfully sorry!’ He sat down abruptly, weeping noisily, gulping for air and rubbing at his eyes.

  Hettie glanced round in desperation but nobody moved until Daisy darted back into the room. To Hettie she said firmly, ‘Let me help you get him up to the spare room. He can rest on the bed.’

  ‘To rest? Oh . . . yes!’ Hettie took one arm and Daisy took the other and they gently hauled him on to his feet and half carried him out, to sympathetic murmurs of understanding.

  The vicar stood, put his hands together and muttered an incomprehensible prayer before murmuring a ‘goodbye’ to everyone. Then he made his way slowly out of the room, nodding apologetically to Miss Dutton as she saw him out.

  That evening, Albert and Hettie had been taken home by taxi and Monty had retired early to bed. Miss Dutton and Daisy had cleared the table and washed up and sat together at the kitchen table sharing what was left of the pie, drinking what was left of the sherry and saying little.

  Several days later Daisy and her mother sat in the office at Marsh & Desmond, staring at each other in shock. The name of Daisy’s mother had been revealed and she now knew that she had once been Dorothea Pennington – Cressida’s illegitimate daughter. More of a shock still was the news that Albert was her father.

  Daisy leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes and tried to sort out the confusion that swept through her. So . . . Monty was Albert’s brother so that made Monty her uncle. But maybe not . . . Maybe because Monty was married to Cressida at the time of her birth, he was her legal father before the adoption. Or was he her stepfather? If Albert was her father then Hettie was her stepmother . . . and was Dilys her aunt?

  Her mother put a hand to her mouth and whispered, ‘The Penningtons! Of all people!’

  Mr Desmond said soothingly, ‘I know this has come as a great shock, Miss Letts, but the Penningtons are a very well respected family. Very well known in Bath.’

  ‘Do they know about me?’ Daisy asked, dreading the answer.

  ‘No. They are quite unaware of the—’

  ‘Do they have to know?’

  Her mother said, ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of, Dais.’ And put out a hand to rest it on her daughter’s arm.

  Mr Desmond said, ‘I’m sure they would be delighted to know that . . .’ He broke off, frowning.

  ‘To know that Albert and Cressida were . . . were lovers?’ Daisy blinked. Albert and the wonderful Cressida who everyone admired?

  Completely at a loss, Martha tutted. ‘It would certainly set the cat among the pigeons.’

  Mr Desmond shrugged. ‘Presumably Albert knew nothing about his child. It will cause quite a stir if you wish him to be told. Or decide to confront him.’

  Daisy struggled to see the ramifications of such a disclosure. ‘But then they would all know about Cressida not being so perfect . . . and Hettie would be upset and furious with her husband.’ She put a hand to her head which felt as if it were somehow spinning out of control. ‘Monty would never forgive his brother . . . Oh Lord!’

  Martha shook her head. ‘I hate to think . . .’ she began. ‘Listen Dais, they don’t have to be told anything. If Cressida wanted to keep it all a secret and she obviously did . . . Well!’ She shrugged. ‘You can keep the secret and so can I and so can your pa. You can think it over for a while.’ She turned to the solicitor. ‘Mr Desmond won’t say anything, will you?’

  ‘Most certainly not. That would be quite unethical.’ He looked at Daisy over his spectacles and cleared his throat. ‘There is a small amount of money left for you – a little over four hundred pounds. Unless you wish otherwise we can open a bank account for you and transfer the money which we have been holding in our account on your behalf.’

  ‘Four hundred pounds?’ It was a fortune, Daisy thought dazedly.

  ‘And this letter is for you, Miss Letts.’ The solicitor handed her a slim envelope. ‘From Cressida Pennington. I suggest you have had enough shocks for one day so why don’t you take it home with you and read it when you feel calmer?’

  Before Daisy could answer, her mother said, ‘Good idea. What d’you think, Dais?’

  Daisy took the envelope and swallowed hard, suddenly unable to speak. Finally she said, ‘Maybe, Ma, when we get home and Pa is back from work, you could read it aloud for us – one mother for another.’

  Martha brushed tears from her eyes and smiled at her daughter. ‘Thank you, Dais. I’d love to.’

  The letter was short and to the point.

  Dear Dorothea,

  This is to tell you that I love you and to say how sorry I am for any hurt my actions and this revelation might bring you later. Please forgive me. I know that you have had loving parents and for that I am deeply grateful. God bless and keep you.

  Your loving mother, Cressida Pennington.

  Daisy shared the letter with Steven next time they met, as they walked alongside the river, and he marvelled at the convoluted series of events which had brought him and Daisy together.

  ‘Do you think it was meant to be?’ Daisy asked him, relieved by his positive attitude towards the Pennington history.

  ‘Of course it was meant!’

  ‘So everything is the same . . . between you and me?’

  ‘I certainly hope so!’ To prove it he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

  Daisy, lost in her own new and bewildering world, missed the significance of the first kiss. ‘I shall stop working for Monty,’ she told him. ‘He has Miss Dutton and he doesn’t need me and I can’t bear to see them all, day in, day out, knowing what I know about them.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s what you want, Daisy? It can’t be an easy decision.’

  She nodded her head firmly. ‘I’ve talked to Ma and Pa and they agree it’s up to me – and that’s what I think is best. I don’t want the Penningtons to know anything about what happened.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m still Daisy Letts. I don’t want to be a Pennington. The truth is, Steven, that the Penningtons aren’t a very nice family – not nearly as nice as mine! And I can easily get another job.’

  ‘But you have a lot of money now, Daisy.’

  ‘I know but I don’t want to think about that just yet. It’s a bit of a worry, in some ways.’

  ‘A big responsibility, I’m sure.’

  ‘Yes.’ She regarded him earnestly. ‘You may think me very odd but I’d like to be a housemaid for a few more years. I’m happy as I am and I don’t want big changes in my life. Does that make any sense to you?’

  Steven smiled. ‘You might want to marry one day – that would be a big change!’

  Daisy laughed. ‘That big change I could manage!’ she told him, ‘When the time is right!’

  ‘And the man is right?’ He looked at her hopefully.

  ‘And that!’ She squeezed his hand.

  He slipped an arm round her shoulder and kissed her again and this time she did understand the significance of it – and kissed him in return. As they walked on in a happy, thoughtful silence, Daisy was overcome by a deep sense of gratitude. She had been born a Pennington and brought up as Daisy Letts but would one day she would change her name again. To Ander
s? It certainly had a very nice ring to it, she decided, smiling.