The Cobweb Cage

by Marina Oliver

  They settled into their old rooms and Marigold left Dick with his grandmother while she unpacked. Then he was put to bed, Betty once more in charge, and Marigold donned her best dress for dinner. It was important for her plan that she looked and felt confident, without giving Sophia any chance to criticise her.

  The dress was one Richard had bought her, of soft rose coloured silk, with a modest neckline and short sleeves. It didn't have the wider skirts and shorter hems now fashionable, but Marigold did not intend to waste her limited income on frivolous clothes for herself when her family needed so much.

  She chatted easily, giving Sophia details of Dick's progress. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Mr Endersby, while trying to appear indifferent, was listening just as eagerly. Good, that boded well.

  Kemp left the room once the dessert of apple pie and cream was served, leaving cheese and nuts on the table for them to help themselves.

  'I have a proposal to make,' Marigold said at once, before she could change her mind.

  Sophia looked at her in surprise. Marigold had altered since leaving here. Before she had been a pliable girl still, now she was a woman with a steely determination shining from her eyes.

  'A proposal? What can you mean?'

  'A bargain, perhaps,' Marigold said quietly. 'I need to provide for my family, I am the only one with the means to help them. I believe that in justice I should have the share of the firm that was Richard's, and it is possible a court would agree with me. But I have no money to start a legal battle, and no wish to do this for it would distress Richard.'

  'Richard is dead!' Sophia said harshly. 'Why can you not accept that and come here, where we have offered you and his son a home?'

  'I would, I did, but now my parents need me more. I cannot be in two places. The income I have is sufficient for us all at the moment, but it may not remain so, with rising prices and the sort of expenses that are necessary for helping my father. Besides, we rent the house from the colliery owners, and they want it back. I would like to set up a business which could provide us all with some income, but I have no capital and no way of borrowing money.'

  Mr Endersby was looking at her with open interest in his face.

  'What do you propose?' he asked. Any matter of business caught his attention as nothing else could.

  Marigold took a deep breath.

  'There is another consideration. Dick has been sickly since living in Hednesford.'

  'Dick? Ill? You never said!'

  'I didn't wish to worry you. They were minor, childish ailments, but I can see it is not as good for him living there in crowded conditions, as it was here at The Place.'

  'I should have been told! How could you be so unkind as to keep me in ignorance! Marigold, whatever our differences, whatever I thought of Richard's marriage, I love his son! He is the only thing left to me!'

  'I thought it kinder not to worry you. And as you have seen he's in perfect health now. But please let me explain my proposal.'

  'Yes, Sophia, let her go on,' Mr Endersby said, quite sharply for him.

  'I need money, you want Dick. I'm not suggesting a cold-blooded trade. I've agonised over what's best for us all. But if you will give me, outright, the money representing Richard's share of the firm, I will allow you to have Dick here and bring him up as you would wish Richard's son to be brought up, in his old home.'

  'You'd give up the child?'

  Sophia spoke haltingly as if she could not believe her ears.

  'Not legally, and not completely. I would want to visit him frequently, and be consulted before any major decisions, such as employing a new governess or sending him to school, were taken. I would want to know the people in whose charge he was placed, his nanny, and so on. I would not agree to Betty looking after him, for instance. And I would want him to visit me frequently. I would sign a paper agreeing to leave him in your charge until he is twenty-one, of age, and able to choose his own life, on those conditions.'

  'Of course. Oh, Marigold, thank you! You don't know what this means to me!'

  Don't I? Marigold thought. I'm giving you my child. I'm voluntarily separating myself from my own son, the only reminder I have of Richard, for money. It's been a hard, agonising decision. I am ashamed of myself, but it's the only way I can help Mom, take her and Pa out of the despair and ever-threatening poverty of their life. It's the only way I can make up to Ivy for the scars my negligence inflicted on her. And it's best for Dick himself, in the end, to escape from the sort of life I could provide for him. It would be difficult for a child while she was coping with a business venture, and he would have a better life here, a life he would have been born to had Richard still been at home.

  'If – when Richard himself returns, of course, the agreement would be finished, for he might not wish it.'

  'You're not still deluding yourself he's still alive, are you?' Sophia asked, and it was the kindest tone she'd ever used to Marigold. 'My poor child, don't you think we'd have heard if he were a prisoner? He's one of the thousands whose fate won't ever be known.'

  'But if he's not dead? In time I hope to have made enough with my business to pay you back. But if Richard came home before then it would depend on what he wished to do. He must have a right to claim his son. And the share of the business would surely belong to him then anyway.'

  'Of course. Now to details,' Mr Endersby cut in. 'It will take a few weeks to raise the cash, but I could borrow on the strength of it if you need it immediately.'

  'I think your guarantee would be sufficient, thank you,' Marigold said gratefully. The worst was over. 'I have been consulting Mr Thane, my solicitor in Birmingham, and he agrees with me. He has drawn up various papers and is willing to discuss them with your legal advisors at any time.'

  'But what sort of business to you mean to start? A shop?'

  'None of us know how to run a shop,' Marigold said with a slight smile. 'No, there is a house for sale in Birmingham, in the Hagley Road near Five Ways. It is already let out in apartments, and I mean to convert it into a superior hotel. After all, Mom and I both know how to cater for the gentry, and Poppy is an excellent cook, besides having worked at the George Hotel. Are we agreed?'

  *

  Ivy walked along Colmore Row. She'd just come from the Art Gallery and was eager to do some sketches of the Grand Hotel. It was amazingly difficult to get it just right, and if she didn't get the spacing between the windows really exact the balance was wrong. It was far easier to draw something more elaborate like the shops in New Street or the huddles of mean houses in the dark, depressing courts in the poorer areas of the city.

  Standing in the lee of St. Philip's Cathedral opposite the Grand she leaned back and steadied her pad, then squinted up at the façade. After several attempts she was satisfied, and with a deep sigh moved on across the Churchyard towards the Bull Ring which was her main objective.

  She hadn't noticed the cold, and had been sheltered from the bitter March wind which blasted across the open space. But as she cut through Cherry Street she shivered violently. Even in the thick woollen coat Marigold had bought her she felt cold. She would draw inside the Market Hall today. The stallholders with their vast arrays of brightly coloured food offered another challenge.

  Ivy had found a host of new subjects during the weeks they had been in Birmingham. Although she returned still to her plants, and drew dozens of faces of the people she saw about her, she was fascinated by the variety of buildings in the city. At every opportunity when the weather permitted she was out of doors, drawing whatever took her fancy.

  'When can I go to the art school?' she had demanded the day after they had moved into the new hotel.

  'They won't accept you until you're a little older,' Marigold replied. 'But I asked Mr Thane and he suggested a school where they have a very good art teacher,' she hurried on, seeing Ivy's mouth droop ominously.

  'I don't want to go to school. They'll hate me. They'll make fun of my scars.'

  Marigold was prepared for
this argument.

  'I'm willing to make a bet with you,' she said calmly. 'If you wear high-necked blouses and keep your hair forward no-one will know. If you can hide it from them for a month and no-one says anything about it, I'll buy you a proper easel.'

  The struggle in Ivy's face was sharp but brief.

  'A proper easel? And an artist's palette?'

  Marigold breathed a sigh of relief.

  'Yes, if you want one. Do you want to do proper oil painting now?'

  'I couldn't afford the paints very often before, just pencils and crayons,' Ivy replied, and for a moment the memory of Poppy's theft of her hoard threatened her new happiness. Even though she could now have all she wanted that episode still rankled. 'What school?' she asked almost perfunctorily.

  'Miss Dawson's,' Marigold said. 'It's in Church Road, and there are girls from some of the best families in Edgbaston there, daughters of gentlemen. I want you to have the best there is, Ivy.'

  Ivy had been at the school now for more than the stipulated month, and her easel was in pride of place in the small bedroom which was her own. The bed had been pushed to one side, and she referred to the room as her studio, grumbling that the window did not have a skylight with a northerly aspect, but vowing to herself that one day she would obtain that too.

  She was absorbed in her copying of the scene in the Market Hall, and didn't realise for some time that someone else had set up a small portable easel a short distance away, slightly behind her. As she stretched to relieve the stiffness in her shoulders he spoke.

  'Who taught you to draw?'

  Ivy swung round. He was elderly, with a flowing white beard and pale blue eyes. His ancient shabby Ulster was spattered with specks of paint, and a wide-brimmed hat was flung carelessly on the floor at his feet.

  'I taught myself, mostly.'

  'Remarkable. But do you have lessons? At school, for instance?'

  'I want to go to the art college. Are you an artist?' Ivy asked instead, and stepped back to look at his painting.

  She gasped with admiration. It was bold, in vivid colours, and though to a casual observer might seem rough and unformed, Ivy saw the intense feeling which had directed the brush strokes.

  'I teach at the college. Do you have lessons at school?' he persisted.

  Ivy shrugged. 'Miss Burton teaches us but we don't use oils, just water colours. That's good for my flowers and some of the people I do, but I want to start with oils and I can't get it right yet.'

  'How old are you?'

  'Eleven.'

  'Too young yet, I'm afraid, for the college, but we might be able to do something. You have a rare talent. Where do you live?'

  'In the Hagley Road. My sister is turning it into an hotel.'

  'May I come and see her? What's her name?'

  'Marigold Endersby. Would you really teach me? Do you mean it?'

  'I am not used to my word being doubted, young lady. Let us go straight away. Have you finished for today?'

  Ivy nodded. She was far too excited to continue. It looked as if her dream was coming true, and at last a real artist was soon to be giving her lessons.

  'Come on, let's go and find her straight away.'

  *

  Marigold surveyed the hall proudly. The last workman had just left, the last of the floors were polished, the last piece of furniture put in place.

  Sometimes she had wondered if her dream would ever be realised. The first obstacle she had met, unexpectedly, had been her family's opposition. It had taken more cajoling, pleading, and persuading to convince them her plan was feasible than it had done to get the money from the Endersbys.

  They, oddly, had seen nothing strange in her wish to start a business, and had indeed helped her by introducing her to people who might be useful. Perhaps it was that they were already in business, whereas for her parents it was a frightening new venture totally outside their experience.

  Mary had wept and pleaded with her not to give up Dick.

  'He's had a few colds, but everyone does. You all used to, and look at you now, strong and fit. Dick will be the same, you see. Besides, it's not right for a baby to be separated from his mother.'

  'I don't want to give him up, but he isn't thriving here, and he wouldn't be any better in any other house I could afford for us all. I've thought about it until my head's ready to burst, and I know it's the only way. He'll have the sort of life Richard would want for him. How can I face Richard when he comes back and say I was selfish, depriving is son of what should be his?'

  John had sunk into one of his blackest moods, hardly speaking for more than a week. When he did speak it was only to blame himself bitterly for bringing his family to such a pass.

  'How on earth shall we know how to go on?' Mary asked fearfully when she saw how implacable Marigold was.

  'Mom, it'll be no different from running a house like Old Ridge Court, except we shall be paid a great deal more for doing it!' she had explained.

  Mary remained unconvinced. It was too great a risk, it would swallow up all the money Marigold had so unexpectedly acquired.

  'I'm not borrowing money. In fact there would be enough money left, even if I lost every penny I put in, to buy us a house somewhere and still provide an income more than I could earn any other way. And if necessary Poppy and I could work and Ivy too, if she's old enough, and we wouldn't have to worry about the rent.'

  'We've never done anything like this before, neither Pa's family nor mine,' Mary said dubiously.

  'I don't like it, but I'm a helpless cripple, and you will do what you like with me, drag me all over the country, and I won't be able to object,' John said dolefully, and Marigold wanted to scream with frustration.

  She didn't. She pointed out that the colliery owners were making them move out to provide room for some of the Belgian refugees who were now working in the pits in place of the young men who had preferred to enlist. They would have to find somewhere else anyway.

  She won Poppy's support by pointing out that she would no longer have to work for someone else, but if they did well would soon be able to employ others to do the hard work and just supervise them. Ivy, her eyes on the art college in Birmingham, very close to the proposed hotel, didn't need winning over.

  It was, in the end, Ivy's enthusiasm which swung Mary into reluctant acceptance.

  'I hate leaving Hednesford, it's been home almost all my married life,' she said one evening as they sat round the fire. 'But I mustn't stand in your way. And Ivy will be able to go to drawing classes. Leave Pa to me, I'll persuade him.'

  'Mom, you won't regret it, I promise!' Marigold flung her arms round her mother's neck. 'It's the start of a better life for all of us, the chance to make some money, to get out of this drabness and make more of our lives.'

  'Even Pa?'

  'Yes, even Pa!' Marigold declared. 'I know he's crippled but he's still alive. He'll be better when he has something to look forward to. He can do his carving, he might go to art classes too! And although he has his pals here from the pit, and they call in sometimes, he'd make new friends. He's that sort of man. And in Birmingham there'd be a different sort of people, more like what you wanted us to be long ago when you taught us to speak properly and wouldn't let us copy everyone else.'

  'Are you being a snob?' Mary asked.

  'No, I honestly don't think so. I like some of the people round here, such as the Taskers, and I heartily disliked some of the people I met at Oxford! But there's nothing wrong with ambition and wanting to live better is ambition, like wanting to become foreman or go on the stage and become famous.'

  She had prevailed, even her father became involved in the planning, and as soon as the house was hers they moved in to supervise the necessary alterations.

  Now they were ready to open. With Mr Endersby's help they had advertised in the Birmingham papers, as well as the county ones, and this brought several replies.

  'I'd advise against permanent guests,' Mr Endersby suggested. 'However much you ask for ref
erences there will always be people who prove difficult, and other problems. After a while they begin to expect privileges and you are not yet experienced enough to face up to that sort of pressure. It may mean you have to advertise more frequently, but you will be able to charge more and people will come back. If you make a few mistakes and lose a few customers that cannot be helped. Better lose a casual visitor than one who has lived in the hotel for many weeks or months.'

  Marigold had been astonished and delighted to find that in her father-in-law she had found a friend. Silent and withdrawn at his own home, preoccupied with business, he developed a keen interest in her own venture. Indeed he confided that to some extent he was bored with the Pottery business and would like to try his hand at something else.

  'I need a challenge,' he said with an embarrassed laugh. 'But there is one thing you must let me do. Don't object, for it will be an advertisement for me. I will equip the hotel with Endersby china. It will be a feature, Mrs Endersby the proprietor, with Endersby china.'

  Marigold immediately saw the value of this and thanked him warmly.

  'It will be something for people to talk about, perhaps ask. I wonder? You make many other things than plates and cups, ordinary table ware. The figurines, for example. Like that marvellous collection you have in the library at The Place. Would you let me have a showcase and sell them?'

  'There's no call for such figures now,' Mr Endersby said regretfully. 'But I'll get my designers working on something small, which we can try in single pieces first, and if they are successful we can expand production.'

  He had made some decorated plates and mugs, with pictures of Birmingham notables such as the Chamberlains. They occupied pride of place in the entrance hall, in a special cabinet with a discreet price list and a notice explaining they had been specially created for Endersby's Hotel.

  'If people believe they are buying something rare they will pay a great deal more for them,' Mr Endersby insisted, and settled on a price Marigold thought outrageously high. She could always reduce it if no one bought, she consoled herself.