The Ever Open Door

by Glenice Crossland

  She was stripping the bed the next morning when Emily Simms arrived. ‘Why didn’t yer fetch me, yer silly lass?’

  ‘There was no point in waking you. Mr Baraclough let me use his phone … the shop was just opening anyway for the men going on the morning shift. Dr Sellars came as soon as I called, there was nothing for you to do.’

  ‘Well, how are yer feeling? In shock, I expect. It’s always the same. You’re waiting for it to happen, and then when it does it hits you just as hard. Did yer get any sleep?’

  ‘Not really. I got home about quarter to six, just as Jim was setting off for work. I’m okay, but I’m going to miss him. The Jessops sort of adopted me when I was a little girl – I suppose it was with them being childless.’

  ‘And no wonder they took to you. I don’t know what they’d ’ave done without yer when that poor woman lost the use of her legs. All the same, Clara shouldn’t ’ave expected yer to see to him for all those years.’

  ‘It was a pleasure, Walter appreciated everything I did.’ Sally bundled up the bedding, then she picked up a vase from the window ledge and stroked the cream, rose-patterned porcelain lovingly.

  ‘Almost a hundred years of memories in these ornaments,’ she sighed, ‘and what’s to become of them now?’ She replaced the vase and picked up a copper kettle from the hearth. ‘And those brasses, they were Mrs Jessops’ pride. She used to Brasso them every Wednesday.’

  Emily sniffed as she placed a cup of tea in front of Sally.

  ‘I expect that greedy bitch Charlotte’ll not wait long to get her hands on everything, especially the pictures. Do yer know, she even had the cheek to bring a valuer in once to see how much they were worth? Her uncle soon showed him the door. She’ll ’ave everything sold off in no time, just you see.’ Emily took a sip of tea. ‘Still, I blame them really, they allus spoiled her rotten. Do yer know, they even put her through art college, and what a waste of money that was!’

  ‘Art college? I didn’t know about that.’

  ‘Well, she told ’em she wanted to be a dress designer. Oh, aye, full of big ideas Charlotte was. Supposed to be artistic. Well, she ended up traipsing about ’aving her picture taken in all the big shops such as Cole Brothers. A model, that’s what she called ’erself. Oh, I’m not saying she wasn’t beautiful enough, but so vain with it! Happy as a pig in muck when she was parading about all dolled up.’ Emily lowered her voice. ‘Especially in front of young men. The rumour was that she took ’er clothes off for ’em to paint pictures of ’er. She was no more a dress designer than I am.’

  Sally couldn’t help smiling at Emily’s indignant expression.

  ‘By the looks of your embroidery, I bet you’d make a marvellous dress designer.’ Then she frowned. ‘They never mentioned paying for college for her.’

  ‘Well, they wouldn’t. Bought her a gold watch – second-hand, I admit – but still. Paid for holidays too. And just look how she repaid them. Neglected them completely in their old age. Have yer let ’er know ’e’s gone?’

  ‘Yes, and what a performance that was. The number I had was for Brady Scott, Charlotte’s husband. Well, the man who answered wasn’t Brady Scott but her new husband. She’s divorced and married again apparently. Well, I apologised for ringing so early and he fetched Charlotte.’

  ‘And I bet the first thing she asked was how much had Walter left?’

  ‘Not quite, but she didn’t sound very upset. I asked her about making arrangements and told her he wanted the Co-op. She just slammed down the phone. Probably thought it was nothing to do with me. Well, I couldn’t just leave him lying there so I contacted them myself. I did give her the name of the solicitor he mentioned, so what she does now is no concern of mine.’

  ‘Except that if you called the Co-op, you’ll be lumbered with the bill.’

  Sally was horrified. ‘Oh, Mrs Simms, how much will it be?’ She wondered what Jim would say.

  ‘Well, when I buried my husband it cost twenty pounds but that was six years ago. I dare say it will have gone up quite a bit since then.’

  ‘So much?’

  ‘There’s the coffin, the grave opening, bearers and the gloves for them to wear. Then there’s the funeral cards and flowers.’ Emily was on her favourite subject. ‘It soon mounts up. No doubt there’ll be some insurance money, though.’

  ‘Oh, I do hope so.’ Sally could control her emotions no longer. What with being up all night and the uncertainty over what to do, she suddenly began to panic. Emily recognised the symptoms of delayed shock and brought out the bottle of brandy, kept for emergencies. ‘Here, get some of this down yer, then we’re going to lock up and go home. You’ve a dinner to cook for that husband of yours, and your little lass’ll be wanting her mam.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ Sally was still trembling. ‘But I ought to ring the solicitor Walter mentioned. The trouble is, Charlotte’s the next-of-kin and might take offence if I interfere.’

  ‘Interfere? He’d still be laid ’ere in his blooming bed if yer hadn’t! You’re right, though. He can’t stop in the chapel of rest for ever. Somebody’ll ’ave to arrange his funeral.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Simms, what if he was just rambling on and he hasn’t made a will at all?’

  ‘Oh, he has, love. I remember I was witness to it, soon after Mrs Jessops died. Not that I know what was in it, I never was one to pry.’

  ‘Goodness. And I thought it was just talk. Do you know what else he said? He said Charlotte Scott was to get nothing.’

  ‘Eeh!’ Emily had a huge grin on her face. ‘That’ll be an eye opener for her. There’ll be ructions when she finds out … a right nasty piece of work, that one.’

  ‘I’ve never met her,’ Sally said, nervously.

  ‘Well, you won’t ’ave. As soon as they had to tighten the purse strings, you couldn’t see her for dust. Never set foot in the door again. Mind you, that should ’ave been a relief. My Albert wasn’t far wrong when ’e said Charlotte ’ad a few slates missing.’

  ‘She couldn’t have been that daft, if she knew how to get everything out of them.’

  Emily gathered up the tea cups. ‘No! But the way she carried on … stamping her foot, paddying … I felt so sorry when I heard she’d married young Brady Scott, and him such a talented young man. Trouble was, with her being so beautiful and ’im being an artist, ’e must ’ave found it difficult to resist her.’

  ‘I’ve seen photographs of her. They must have doted on her once, they had an albumful.’

  ‘Aye, well, I imagine she’ll be past her best. She must be in her fifties by now.’

  Sally went towards a picture hanging in the alcove. ‘Are these the ones she had valued?’

  ‘Goodness me, no, they’re just prints. Not that I know much about such things. The ones of value are the watercolours on the landing, in the gilt frames.’

  ‘Oh! Well, I much prefer these.’ The two prints Sally found so fascinating each portrayed a pretty girl in twenties-style clothing with a dog at her heels. At the bottom of each picture were the names, Blanche and Joyce. ‘The girls are pretty but it’s the dogs I love,’ Sally said. ‘I don’t know much about art but I reckon the artist must have been extremely talented. Mr Jessops told me the originals were watercolours. I’d have loved to have seen them.’

  ‘Can’t say I’m keen on ’em meself.’ Mrs Simms thought there was something a bit weird about the way the eyes of the dogs seemed to follow you round the room. ‘Shouldn’t want ’em on my wall.’

  ‘Well, I love them, even if they aren’t worth much.’

  Mrs Simms sighed. ‘I remember Charlotte had her eye on the vases, too. Austrian Crown porcelain, they are.’

  ‘Goodness!’ Sally gasped. ‘Then there’s the jewellery … let’s have a look at it.’

  ‘Don’t tell me it’s still ’ere?’ Emily’s mouth gaped open. ‘The times ’e’s told yer to take it ’ome for safe-keeping.’

  Sally went to the old chair in the corner. ‘I couldn’t,’ she said. �
�It wasn’t mine to take.’ She lifted the cushion from the chair bottom and felt inside the upholstery underneath, foraging about and bringing out a small leather box. Emily came and sat beside her as she opened it.

  ‘Just look,’ Sally whispered. ‘These rings must be worth a fortune, especially the engagement ring. Seventy years old at least. And the gold chains … feel the weight of them.’ She handed the chains to Emily. ‘How much do you think they’re worth?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but with those half-sovereigns … I remember Clara once saying that because they were Australian they were more valuable.’

  ‘Goodness!’ Sally said as she replaced the jewellery in its hiding place. ‘Mrs Simms …’

  ‘Yes, love?’

  ‘Mr Jessops said everything was to be mine. I expect he was delirious.’

  ‘Eeh, lass, I ’ope it is. There’s nobody more deserving of it.’ She glanced round the room. ‘Eeh, and all this lovely furniture. Well, I know most of it is past its best but other pieces, like the bedroom suite, now that’s lovely. I’ve never seen one as nice in all me born days.’

  ‘Do you really like it?’

  ‘Oh, I can see it now after Clara had polished it. It used to shine like glass.’

  Sally frowned. ‘I suppose I ought to have polished it more often. Anyway, if it is mine, you shall have it.’

  ‘Eeh, no, I wasn’t hinting at that.’

  ‘I know, but Mr Jessops would have liked you to have it.’

  ‘Well! I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘No good saying anything; they’re probably Charlotte’s anyway. So what shall I do? Go to the solicitor or leave it to her?’

  ‘Go and see ’em, I would.’

  ‘It seems a bit mercenary, so soon, but someone will have to arrange things.’

  Emily fetched Sally’s coat. ‘Come on, yer going ’ome now. I’m surprised that man of yours ’asn’t found ’imself another bedmate, the way you carry on.’

  Emily’s attempt to take Sally’s mind off things seemed to work. ‘Come on then, I’ll go to the solicitor’s later.’

  ‘And I’ll see yer tomorrer, unless that spoiled bitch has decided to take charge.’

  Emily picked up the almost-full brandy bottle. ‘Here, take this home. It’ll warm you up on cold winter nights. Mind you, you’ve already got Jim. We could all do with a nice handsome lover to put us cold feet on!’

  Sally laughed. ‘Well, you can’t have mine.’

  They locked up carefully; they wouldn’t like anything to happen to old Walter’s belongings. Sally carried the bundle of bedding. Nobody would want it after it had been on a dying man’s bed. Although, if she washed and ironed the sheets, they could come in handy for Betty … They were all good quality stuff. She smiled to herself. On second thoughts, she would leave the ironing of them to Betty – she knew how much her sister-in-law enjoyed that.

  Amy Butler had to admit Betty was making an effort. She’d decided to learn how to cook and was in the process of mixing a batter for Yorkshire puddings. She emptied flour into the mixing bowl and added the egg and milk and water. Daisy was standing on a stool, watching her critically, Amy hovering nearby waiting.

  ‘Oh, Aunty Betty, you won’t be able to get the lumps out now.’

  ‘Of course I shall, I haven’t mixed it yet.’

  ‘Yes, but you’ve put all the water in at once.’

  Betty began to beat as vigorously as laziness would allow. The flour had congealed into hard lumps which wouldn’t dissolve, no matter how she tried.

  ‘You should mix the egg in first until it goes smooth. Then the milk and water, a little bit at a time. It won’t work now.’

  Betty felt her face growing hot. She could have slapped Daisy. It wasn’t fair, a four-year-old telling her how to cook!

  Amy listened to what was happening and felt proud that her grand-daughter had obviously helped her mother to cook Sunday dinner. She also felt ashamed that she had never taken time to do that with her own daughter while she was Daisy’s age. But then, she had had other things occupying her mind. She wondered how she could salvage her daughter’s pride, knowing just like Daisy did that no amount of mixing would remove the lumps from the batter at this stage.

  ‘Betty,’ she called, ‘I forgot to tell yer not to use the flour out of the old bag. Oh, well, it’s my fault, I should ’ave told yer. You’ll just ’ave to throw it away and start again. A shame to waste it but there it is.’

  Betty didn’t need telling twice. She was out of the door and pouring the batter down the drain before her mother noticed the lumps. She began again, under Daisy’s instruction. The batter turned golden-coloured and smooth as silk.

  ‘What was the matter with the old flour?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘Oh, it might ’ave been my imagination but I thought it looked as though a mouse had been at it.’ Amy smiled to herself. If the lass was willing to learn it was up to her to encourage, not embarrass. A good thing Daisy had been here, though, otherwise Betty would have been beating till kingdom come.

  Daisy liked sleeping at Aunty Enid’s, even though Pat and Norah talked about scary ghosts and told her a story about a wicked witch who locked children in a cage. She wasn’t scared when she was in bed with Norah. Besides, there was no tree outside the window to send scary shadows swaying on the wall, or cupboard where Daisy imagined all the monsters in Millington lived. Last night they had played dressing up, with curtains and nightgowns and Aunty Enid’s high-heeled shoes. They had used the paper flowers as a bouquet and Pat had pushed Baby Doll down her knickers and pretended to be Betty Butler getting married.

  ‘Why is Baby Doll making your tummy fat?’ Daisy didn’t like Baby Doll being hidden away like that.

  ‘Because your Aunty Betty’s having a baby!’ Norah said. ‘She doesn’t know where babies come from,’ she giggled then.

  ‘I do! They come in the nurse’s black bag. Baby Celia did.’

  The two elder girls rolled about laughing at this.

  ‘Babies grow in your stomach, from a teeny-weeny seed.’

  Daisy didn’t know if Pat was teasing her or not. ‘Well, who planted the seed in Betty then?’

  Pat smiled knowingly but Norah looked uncertain.

  ‘You’ll find out when you’re bigger,’ her older cousin said.

  ‘But where did the seed come from?’ asked Norah.

  ‘I’ve told you, you’ll find out sooner or later.’

  Daisy didn’t mind not knowing so long as Norah didn’t know either.

  ‘Can I have Baby Doll back now?’ she said. ‘I’m going to sleep.’

  Before she dropped off she told her cousins sleepily, ‘I expect Aunty Betty ate the seed by mistake, that must be why she doesn’t want the baby.’

  Charlotte Kaye paced the living-room, impatient for her husband to come home. Her new husband was becoming as unreliable as her first. At least with Brady Scott she’d known where he was; the studio had been his second home. Charlotte smirked. By the time she’d dragged him through the divorce courts, it had become his only home. She glanced around her. Oh, yes, she’d landed on her feet here all right, and it had been so easy. All she’d had to do was put a few bruises about her body, turn on the tears – and lie through her eye teeth. Poor Brady, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, had been devastated and almost ruined. And all the time she had been carrying on with Mark! Of course, divorces still took a long time to finalise, but Brady’s money had hurried things along nicely, and now she was married for the second time.

  Mark was more exciting than poor, boring Brady, whose only interest had been painting. The trouble was, Mark hadn’t the talent for making money that Brady had had. That was why she needed Uncle Walter’s inheritance. She had depended upon it, relied on it being there as soon as he had gone. And now that Butler woman had fallen for the lot!

  Where was her husband? He was too handsome, that was the trouble, not to be trusted. She went to the mirror over the fire. The lines on her face stood out in the electr
ic light. There was a lot to be said for gas light, it was kinder. A few years ago it had only been daylight in which those lines could be detected. Charlotte was ageing. Would her husband still want her when her looks were gone? After all, she was forty-seven, and he was twelve years her junior. Where the hell was he?

  She heard his key in the door and Mark came in, grinning and rubbing his hands, smelling of alcohol. ‘What’s for dinner?’

  Charlotte picked up a Capo di Monte figurine off the display cabinet and threw it at the wall. ‘Dinner? Get your own bloody dinner.’ Her voice rose to a screech. ‘The bastard … the spiteful old bastard!’

  ‘Who? What are you ranting on about?’

  ‘Uncle Walter. He’s died at last, after ninety-nine bloody years. I’ve waited and waited, and then he’s gone and left it to that woman. Not even a relative, and he’s left her the lot.’

  Mark sank lazily into the deep leather sofa. ‘I thought you said there was no money left?’

  ‘I’m not on about the money, that was the least of it. The house, that’s what I’m on about. Then there’s all the stuff in it. Some of the things in that place are worth a small fortune. Aunt Clara’s jewellery alone … then there are a couple of paintings, books – some of them first editions, more than a hundred years old – and the porcelain vases and clocks, one with masonic symbols. I tell you, they’re worth a fortune.’

  ‘You could contest the will.’

  ‘No good, I’ve already tried. The old fool’s definitely stated that I’m to get nothing.’

  Mark laughed. ‘Well! Could you blame him?’

  ‘I’ll tell you this for nothing, she’s not getting away with it.’

  ‘What do you intend doing?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something.’ Charlotte went to the cocktail cabinet and fixed herself a gin and tonic. She never even considered making one for her handsome young husband. Charlotte Kaye never thought of anyone except herself.

  Sally was washed, changed and had dinner prepared when Jim came home.

  ‘How are you?’ he enquired as he took off his jacket.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Apart from the shock.’