Lettice & Victoria

by Susanna Johnston

  When the telephone rang he shuddered from shock.

  It could only be Archie or, more alarming, news from the hospital. He took the receiver and held it with a damp hand as a voice said, ‘All form of Christmas nonsense from The Old Keep. Don’t say you have overindulged and rendered yourself silent. What pagan feasts you do go in for.’

  ‘No. It’s Harold. I’m sorry. Archie can’t, I’m afraid. Not now. Oh dear. I’m sorry.’

  ‘What did I say? I’m always telling him that he’s just a motherless boy at heart. I’ll have a word with him, sober or otherwise.’

  ‘No. He can’t. He really can’t. He’s rather bad. Ill, I mean. Rather ill. I was fetching some things.’

  Lettice capped the mouthpiece and cried, loud and clear down the passage, ‘Archie’s ill.’ Uncupping, she wailed, ‘I’m sorry. I wish I’d known. Does anyone know – besides yourself, I mean?’

  She squinted as she thought with sour suspicion of Victoria.

  ‘There hasn’t been much time. It was only yesterday. He went to hospital yesterday. I was going to let you know.’

  ‘I won’t be cross but, another time, you must do so at once. That’s what friends are for and, as I said to Archie the other day, friendship is so important. One needs to remember this more and more with the sad changes that go on around us.’

  ‘Oh dear. Of course. I know. I’m sorry. Oh dear.’

  ‘Don’t be hard on yourself. You shall come for the New Year whatever happens. Even if poor Archie can’t make it. I’ll have to say that you rang me instead of the other way round or it would look bad.’

  Near to fainting, Harold sat down and wound a greasy curl around his thumb. How kind of Lettice to accept him, alone if necessary, for the New Year.

  Lettice, tense with humiliation, returned to the sitting room and broke the news of Archie’s illness.

  Joanna started to sing.

  Poor old Archie Thorne

  Soon we’ll have to mourn

  Hope he doesn’t yawn

  When the thread is shorn

  Unabashed by her stupefied audience, she continued.

  Poor old Archie Thorne

  Soon be dead and gorne.

  ‘Joanna. Go to your room. Stay there. Stay there for the rest of the day. Roland. Send her away.’

  Victoria gathered up Maudie and said that she had to return the car to Belinda. She was desperate to finish the scarf.

  In the evening, Joanna’s father insisted she should be released from her room.

  ‘Christmas comes but once a year,’ he reminded them.

  ‘After the way she behaved. On this day of all days. I know that youth will have its way – but disrespect is something else. This once I will give in and we’ll all try to remember somebody else who knew how to forgive.’

  When allowed down, Joanna said, ‘I’m terribly sorry. It’s just that I’ve got a bit sick of hearing about him. I mean – it’s been going on all my life and now Victoria has caught the bug. But it’s awful that he’s ill.’

  Lettice, well rehearsed, admonished, ‘I want you to learn, mark and inwardly digest this, Joanna. I am not the only one to notice – they said the same in your school report – that sometimes you forget that there are such people as your elders and betters. Archie definitely comes into this category and so, I hope, do I. Not that I recognise the generation gap.’

  Wearied by her speech she sank back into the faded pattern of her chair cover.

  Alice dwelled, ‘It’s odd how people with exactly the same background can turn out so very different.’

  Roland patted her head and said, ‘Clever girl.’

  No news of Archie came either to The Old Keep or to the stables until the following day.

  Harold rang Lettice. ‘There has been a marked improvement but he is very weak. Very weak indeed.’

  ‘Any hope for the New Year?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’

  ‘Keep me au fait and don’t forget that you are welcome, even on your own.’

  ‘I’m sure Archie would like a letter.’ He gave her the hospital address.

  Lettice wrote, ‘We are all distracted. Fond messages from Alice and Joanna – as from Roland and myself – that goes without saying. What can one say? Don’t allow yourself to worry about the New Year. I have promised Harold he shall come n’importe quoi and I am going to be very firm about your recuperation. You are to come here as soon as you are let out.’

  Harold rang Victoria. ‘There has been a marked improvement but he is very weak. Very weak indeed.’

  Before getting better Archie got worse and Harold continued to inform both Lettice and Victoria. He rang them each day and provided them with the same information and Victoria, fearing outbursts, allowed Lettice to believe she broke the news.

  ‘Too sweet. Dear Harold rings every evening. He knows how important we are to Archie and I’ve promised to hand all information on to you.’

  Archie, from his bed, was gentle. Victoria, exhausted after a long drive, sat beside him as he promised to talk to Lettice on the telephone. ‘Far better that I should tell her myself that you have visited me – or have I spoken to her already? We won’t think about it again. Poor Lettice. Beneath it all she has a kind heart though not, I think, a very warm one.’

  ‘You forget things on purpose.’

  ‘But of course.’

  ‘Could you explain her for me again? Like you did after Roland’s exhibition. As far as I’m concerned she’s foul.’

  ‘Shall I try? I did warn you not to expect me at my best either physically or intellectually.’

  ‘I’m selfish. Let’s leave it until you’re better.’

  ‘As you say. Try to remember one thing though. You have had a terrible time and you expect others to have courage equal to your own. You make no allowance for an important and unavoidable fact. That of age. There are differences between the problems of the young and the problems of the not so young. Now. Tell me about Christmas. Was it perfectly frightful?’

  ‘Fairly bad.’

  ‘Did you admire the Christmas dress?’

  They laughed until Archie coughed.

  Harold appeared at the foot of the bed and told them that it was late.

  Tears splashed as she drove home. It took her six hours.

  She went to the farmhouse in the morning to thank Belinda for her help and to reclaim Maudie. Belinda told her of their disagreeable evening at The Old Keep and advised, ‘Jack says you must ignore her. Her jealous outbreaks are too pathetic to be taken seriously. Terror of being left out consumes her. I know how it can feel but I react differently. At first I get cross, but then I sort of fizzle out.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Victoria said, ‘but it’s going to be uphill work.’

  The day before, Lettice had told Victoria that there was not a hope for the New Year. ‘He’s not even well enough for visitors. Apart from Harold.’

  Jack and Belinda had been expected to dine with Lettice and Roland on New Year’s Eve – an unusual concession when outside visitors were staying in the house. Lettice rang Belinda.

  ‘I’ve completely lost heart about the New Year. It seems cruel to celebrate without Archie. Come and have a cosy evening here – just ourselves – before then.

  They went and Lettice made several points.

  ‘We’ve never thanked you both properly for all you have done for Victoria and the babe. I’ve been almost guilty of burying the subject for fear that it might be proving too much for you both. She’s such a strange girl.’

  ‘We love having her and to feel that the stables are being used.’

  ‘Do you find her – what shall I say – a little unfathomable?’

  ‘No. Not at all. She’s wonderful.’

  ‘It’s known to be a difficult relationship – mother and daughter-in-law. You wait till your Arthur gets married! Of course it’s twice as difficult for me without the irreplaceable link.’

  Thinking of his dead son and of the two Bobb
ies, Roland spoke, ‘It’s not as though she’d taken our granddaughter away.’

  Decorations were left over from Christmas.

  Lettice, peeping through a table arrangement of crisp dried flowers, asked, ‘Where has she gone? I tried to ring her several times today and drew a complete blank. Do you know, either of you, where she might be?’

  Arthur’s old nurse was staying at Jack and Belinda’s farmhouse and had, once again, taken charge of Maudie for the day while Victoria drove to the sick bed.

  The daffodil trilled. ‘That will be Harold. He always rings at this time with news of Archie.’

  It was Archie himself.

  ‘At last,’ he said. ‘At last, like Edward the Eighth, I can say a few words for myself. But only just.’ He broke off and coughed. ‘I’m sorry. What a perfectly frightful noise. I simply can’t help it.’

  ‘Don’t try to stop. Cough it up. I mean to say – have your cough. I’ll wait as long as you like.’

  ‘That’s better. And I’m better. At least I think I am. I was cheered by my visitor today. What a wonderful girl Victoria is!’

  Lettice, near prostration, moaned, ‘How good of you. You shouldn’t have let her in. Somebody should protect you.’

  ‘Protect me from enjoying myself?’

  ‘From visitors.’

  ‘Oh surely not. She’s the first I’ve had apart from Harold. I needed distraction and simply suggested she should come.’

  Lettice struggled along and repeatedly reminded him of her invitation for his recuperation.

  ‘It is very kind,’ he answered. ‘I shall have to see. Can I let you know? I will tell you as soon as I possibly can.’

  Seated, Lettice peered at Belinda through the flower arrangement. ‘Did you know where she had gone? Who’s looking after Maudie? Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘I was going to when the telephone went.’

  Two days later a letter came for Victoria from Archie.

  ‘I cannot tell you how much good you did me. Aren’t you wonderful! I had almost forgotten how wonderful you were! Almost but not quite. The evening of the day that you came I was told that I could go back to the lodgings where I now am. I love the scarf and am immensely touched that you should have made it for me. I admire your skill. I get up early before breakfast and put it on with my dressing gown and walk about my bedroom and sitting room wearing it, as I am doing now – apart from walking. Your constant sympathy is keeping me alive – but only just. I have been given some pills to send me to sleep – not permanently of course. Against all principles I have decided to take them. The nights have been perfectly horrid. Lettice is being relentless about my convalescence; reminding me constantly of the value of friendship. It looks as if I am to be transported to The Old Keep, willy-nilly, in a week or so. Can I rely on seeing you there daily?’

  A week later, they were transported, willy-nilly, in a hired car to The Old Keep.

  Archie was sent, immediately, to his room and, as he looked about, wondered if he was in his right mind. He called for Harold – wanting a second opinion. A fire glowed in a small hearth. That was not all. By his bed, on a Regency whatnot, he thought he saw a bottle of whisky, a reel of white cotton – needle piercing it at right angles – a torch, matches, biscuits and other objects that his mind could not absorb.

  Harold smiled. ‘Isn’t Lettice wonderful. Musical sheets have even been set out at the pianola.’

  Lettice approached. ‘Can I come in – just to see if needs are answered.’ There was an electric kettle under her arm.

  ‘Needs I never knew of. Aren’t you marvellous.’

  ‘I suddenly thought of a kettle.’

  ‘I could have muddled through without one. What does Harold say?’

  ‘Surely yes. Surely you could. You always do.’

  ‘Aren’t bachelors bliss! Everybody needs an electric kettle. What if you want to refill your hotty in the middle of the night?’

  ‘My what?’

  ‘Hotty. Hot-water bottle. We always call them hotties. A family expression.’

  ‘Very well. I shall accept your offer and refill my hotty.’

  At Belinda’s stables Victoria blinked and swallowed as she pictured Archie so near – settling in.

  Rushing it, Lettice had said, ‘Not a mouse shall cross the threshold until I give the all-clear.’

  Harold retired early in the evening and Archie drank three quarters of the contents of the whisky bottle – helping down a sleeping pill.

  The next day, Lettice told Harold that the country air was already doing Archie good. ‘Midday and he’s still asleep.’

  At lunchtime he emerged and said he was feeling the benefit.

  ‘The fare is going to be simple. Vital after illness. No concessions to gracious living.’

  ‘Is your daughter-in-law going to visit us?’

  Squint-eyed, Lettice replied, ‘No exceptions for a day or two.’ Cautious when Archie didn’t reply she, with every nerve aflame, said, ‘But why not ring her up?’

  ‘Later on. Is this boiled fish?’

  ‘As the doctor himself would have ordered.’

  That night Archie found that the bottle, one third full of whisky, had been replaced by a full one. Drinking more than he had done the night before, his pill slipped down easily.

  A day or two went by. Harold walked in the woods and Archie barely surfaced.

  With Archie close by but kept at bay, Victoria, gripped with misery, took her tears to Belinda. Dabbing at them with the red spotted rag, she asked what to do.

  ‘Nothing, of course.’ Victoria smiled. Belinda said, ‘You may think me very harsh but there is nothing you can do.’

  ‘Can’t I send a note?’

  ‘He’ll know why you don’t – if you don’t.’

  ‘He’d ignore that.’

  ‘Not entirely. Only to avoid trouble. Certainly to the extent of not contacting you while he’s staying with Lettice.’

  Then, taking pity, Belinda said, ‘But I’ll ring her. Just to enquire. I’ll leave you out of it.’

  Victoria was furiously angry. Archie should have warned or protected her. Perhaps she had been unimaginative but he had given encouragement and had never advised her to exercise restraint.

  Before dialling, Belinda warned, ‘Don’t hope for much.’

  Lettice, racing to answer, told Archie, ‘I wish I’d had it disconnected while you were here.’

  ‘Not on my account, I hope. However, since you didn’t, I won’t fuss.’

  Lettice lost his words as she answered Belinda’s call. ‘How kind. I meant to ring you but all my energies have been taken up with nursing.’ Then, silencing Archie, ‘Virtue is getting her reward. Roses are beginning to blossom on his cheeks again.’

  It was true that Archie’s colour was unnaturally high. He felt extremely ill and planned to discuss the matter with Harold at the earliest opportunity.

  In the fully furnished bedroom, he sat down near the window and convulsed into coughing.

  ‘It’s no good. A doctor must be called.’ White with worry, Harold went to Lettice. ‘Is there a doctor? A good one? Archie is unwell.’

  ‘Why didn’t he say?’

  ‘He did. A minute ago. Can you call one, please?’

  A feeble jangle came from the cowbell in Archie’s room. Harold mounted the stairs, taking them in threes. During the seconds that had passed since clasping the bell, Archie had fallen asleep. The pianola vibrated in rhythm with his snores.

  Harold sat beside him until a car drew up.

  The doctor, unfamiliar with his patient, insisted that Archie be returned to hospital. ‘It could be pleurisy,’ he said. ‘Also, this is a little awkward. Does he drink to excess?’

  Harold hustled him out. Rain had been pouring down since daybreak and the roads were wet.

  Archie, horizontal, and Harold, upright, spent what seemed like hours in the ambulance.

  Victoria, in the wet, pushed Maudie’s pram along the farm track towards a wid
er road. She jumped at the noise of a hooter. Lettice’s car advanced. Stopping, she wound the window down and popped a plumed head through the gap.

  ‘I was en route for the stables. Pining for a chat.’

  Victoria had to walk back with Maudie. It would only take ten minutes. They would meet up at the stables.

  ‘What a fiasco,’ Lettice wailed when they were reunited. ‘Archie has been borne away in an ambulance.’

  As had often happened to Lettice’s victims, Victoria found, quite suddenly, that she had lost the will to struggle.

  ‘The doctor rang me after they’d left and suggested that Archie was drunk. I have trained Lily to see that there’s always a whisky bottle by the spare-room bed but only today did I discover that she had been replacing Archie’s each morning.’ Lettice began to sob and, as she sobbed, she threw herself about on the sofa.

  Victoria, dry-eyed, handed her Archie’s filthy handkerchief saying, quietly, ‘You can keep it. Keep it as long as you like.’

  Part Four

  It was a few weeks later and Archie, apart from the ill effects of sporadic drinking bouts, was in excellent health.

  ‘Harold. Isn’t it time we asked Victoria here once again?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘You were very full of her praises.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Do you have to be so heavy?’

  ‘No. No. By all means. Let her come.’

  ‘Lettice has subsided and I’d enjoy it.’

  Archie wrote. ‘A lot of fluid has passed through my lungs since we spoke. I am now rather well and wish to entertain you here. So does Harold.’

  Victoria had been feeling low and accepted at once. A packet had come for her accompanied by a note from Mungo. ‘One thinks one mentioned that one wanted you to have a little keepsake. Something that belonged to Laurence. One has pondered a lot on the question and has stumbled on something appropriate. This watercolour that you so skilfully created. One admits that it is a wrench for one to part with it but feel that it should, by right, be yours. One’s sorry that one had to remove the frame. Perhaps one day, if you are ever in these parts, you might like to collect it.’