The Sunday Girls

by Maureen Reynolds

  She walked over to the hall table and picked up one of the heavy candlesticks. She was speaking to herself while inspecting it. I thought she was looking to see if I had dusted it properly but she carried it over to where I was standing with my back to the stairs. As she raised it, I was suddenly aware how deranged she was. It was as if a mist was lifted from my eyes and all her strange habits fell into place. I couldn’t believe my eyes as she pranced towards me and I was transfixed to the spot. Her thin colourless mouth was crooning a tuneless melody. I didn’t feel afraid but I was perplexed. Surely she didn’t intend to hit me with the candlestick – not in broad daylight and in Mrs Barrie’s front hall?

  ‘Miss Hood, give me that candlestick.’ I held out my hand and looked her straight in the eye. I was now convinced she was ill and I wished I hadn’t tackled her – even though she deserved it. She was still an old woman and I was brought up always to respect my elders.

  Without warning she brought it down with a loud crash. It missed my head by half an inch and smashed into the banister, splintering the wood with its force. She raised it again. ‘I won’t miss this time,’ she crooned.

  ‘Put it down,’ a firm voice called from over my shoulder. ‘Put it down, Lottie.’ It was Mrs Barrie.

  The housekeeper’s eyes cleared slightly. ‘I’m just chastising this little madam. She can’t do her work so she deserves a beating.’ She cradled the candlestick in her hand.

  I heard the clock chime twelve and I realised in dismay that this confrontation had lasted a good half hour. I was also sorry that my raised voice must have disturbed Mrs Barrie. She looked like a frail, pale-skinned porcelain doll as she stood at the top of the stairs, her blue-veined hands clutching the wooden banister. I rushed upwards to help her descend the stairs but Miss Hood barred my way, raising the candlestick as if to strike again.

  Mrs Barrie shouted at her and I was taken aback by the anger in her normally quiet voice. ‘I’ve told you to put that down, Lottie. Come up to my room.’

  ‘It wasn’t me who started this, Eva. It was this miserable little twerp, accusing me of stealing and burning a nonexistent coat – the little liar. Now, if she had mentioned the coat you gave her, then I wouldn’t have minded but she had to sneak about like a thief in the night.’ Miss Hood was defiant. She was so sure Mrs Barrie would believe her and, at that moment, I was of the same opinion.

  Miss Hood was so beside herself with anger and bitterness that she hadn’t noticed her mistake. With one breath, she called the coat nonexistent and, with the next breath, she admitted its existence.

  Mrs Barrie held out her hand and took the candlestick. She placed it on the stairs. ‘Come up to my room, Lottie.’ She made her way back up the stairs with the now sullen housekeeper in tow. When she reached the top landing, Mrs Barrie stopped and looked down at me. ‘It’s all right, Ann, don’t worry – I overheard everything.’

  I tried to explain but she held up her hand and went into her room. I thought about finishing my chores but the voices from the bedroom kept me glued to the staircase. I thought the bedroom door must be open because Mrs Barrie’s voice carried right down into the hall and I heard her say, ‘I gave you a good position here, Lottie. You had the best of everything and a good salary but that wasn’t enough, was it? You’ve driven a lot of good staff away from this house over the years – don’t think I haven’t noticed. Mrs Peters is still here because she isn’t afraid of you and now it’s young Ann’s turn. Just because she isn’t afraid of you either, you have made her life here so miserable. She’s a motherless girl with a young sister to support. How could you do this, Lottie?’

  Lottie’s answer was inaudible. I was also quite surprised by Mrs Barrie’s assumption that I was unafraid of the housekeeper because, on the contrary, up until today when I had the courage to face her, I was constantly afraid of her.

  Suddenly Miss Hood gave a piercing scream and I jumped up in alarm.Then I heard Mrs Barrie shout at her, ‘For heaven’s sake, go to your room and calm down.’

  I heard a door slam then total silence. I don’t know how long I sat on the stairs. I was thinking how happy I had been a few short hours ago. There was no sign of the cook and it looked like she was having another impromptu day off. I wondered about making some lunch for us all but I didn’t want to incur the housekeeper’s wrath should she appear downstairs and see I had taken over her domain.

  It was Mrs Barrie’s bell that broke the silence in the house. Then it rang again but this time it seemed more strident but maybe I was imaging it. I waited for Miss Hood to come out of her room because she never let a summons from her mistress to go unheeded but the bell rang again. Its sharp peals drifted down the stairs, shattering the tomb-like silence. I ran quickly upstairs and knocked loudly on Miss Hood’s door.

  ‘Miss Hood, Miss Hood, are you in there? Mrs Barrie is ringing her bell.’ I knocked again but it was as if the house was deserted except for the bell.

  Emboldened by worry, I turned the doorknob, something I would never have done before. ‘Miss Hood,’ I called.

  I thought the room was empty because it was in total darkness. The thick curtains were pulled across the window, giving the room a kaleidoscope of dark shadows. I marched over and yanked the curtains apart. Miss Hood was sitting on her bed, still crooning strangely. She had a small pair of scissors in her hand and she was cutting something up into tiny fragments.

  I went over and shook her. ‘Miss Hood, Mrs Barrie is ringing her bell – she wants you.’

  The housekeeper looked at me but went on cutting the small square. I recognised the photograph of the small coloured child. I started to speak again but she stopped me. The crooning was now replaced by a firm tone. ‘I no longer work here so go and answer the bell yourself. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, no, Miss Hood, I just wanted to be happy in my job but maybe we’ll get on better after this.’ I hoped so.

  The bell rang again but she ignored it, turning her attention once more to the shredded photograph. In a panic, I ran to Mrs Barrie’s room and saw to my horror that she was lying on the floor. For one terrible minute I thought the housekeeper had hit her but she whispered, ‘Get the doctor, Ann. I’ve got these awful pains again.’

  I ran back to Miss Hood. ‘Quickly, send for the doctor. It’s Mrs Barrie and I think it’s her heart.’

  This made her leap to her feet and she loped out of the room. She tried to lift Mrs Barrie into a chair but the old lady groaned weakly. ‘Get the doctor, Lottie. It’s my heart trouble again.’

  Lottie smiled. ‘Of course it’s not your heart trouble, Eva. It’ll just be a touch of indigestion. Now let’s get you into a chair.’

  I ran over. ‘Leave her alone. Tell me the doctor’s number – quickly.’

  Lottie started her crooning again and I watched as the colour drained from Mrs Barrie’s face. I went over to the bureau to look for the number. I knew his name and where he lived but as to his telephone number … well, that was a mystery.

  I silently cursed Miss Hood for keeping all these things a secret. Everything of importance in this house was now locked away in her addled brain. I tried hard not to panic, striving to think what Granny would do in this situation. The answer was Mrs Barrie. I knelt down beside her. ‘Can you hear me, Mrs Barrie? Where do you keep the doctor’s number?’

  Her eyes fluttered open and she weakly pointed in the direction of the bedside cabinet. Meanwhile, Miss Hood sat in a chair and gazed into space. I ignored her as I rummaged in the drawer, giving a silent prayer when I found the slim book. I ran down the stairs two at a time and reached the telephone in the hall. Thankfully, I had used it a couple of times when Jean had needed some supplies from the shops.

  I got the doctor’s wife. ‘It’s Mrs Barrie from Whitegate Lodge,’ I cried, ‘I think it’s her heart.’

  The woman sounded shocked and I heard her call her husband who took the phone from her. ‘Is that you, Miss Hood?’

  ‘No, it’s Ann Neil
l, the housemaid – Miss Hood’s not well either. Please come quickly.’

  He was inside the house within five minutes. I led him to the bedroom and helped him lift Mrs Barrie on to the bed. She looked so white that I thought she was dead but the doctor felt a slight pulse.

  Miss Hood sat in her chair, ignoring us both. Apart from one queer glance in her direction, the doctor gave all his attention to the desperately ill woman. Thankfully he didn’t ask questions as he ministered to his patient but I felt so guilty. If I hadn’t tackled Miss Hood, then this wouldn’t have happened.

  The doctor left the room and made a sign for me to follow. ‘I’m going to put Mrs Barrie into hospital. I suspect a massive heart attack and she will need all the specialist care of a hospital.’ He didn’t mention the housekeeper and I was at a loss to explain her condition.

  The doctor was on the telephone when Mrs Barrie called out. I went over and held her hand. ‘What is it?’ I asked gently.

  She gazed at me with her lovely, tired-looking eyes and whispered, ‘Where is the doctor, Ann?’

  I went into the hall to call him and he hurried up to her room. ‘I’m going to put you in hospital, Mrs Barrie,’ he explained but she shook her head.

  ‘No, it’s better I stay here.’

  He tried to talk her out of this but her mind was made up. She called me over again. ‘Go and make us all a cup of tea, Ann – I want to talk to the doctor and Lottie.’

  I held her hand for a minute then left her. As I pottered around the deserted kitchen, placing things on the tea tray, I felt tears sting my eyes. ‘Please, please God,’ I prayed, ‘please let Mrs Barrie get well again.’

  Sadly my prayers weren’t answered and, as I was taking the tea tray into the bedroom, the solemn-faced doctor was placing the sheet over her head.

  ‘No, no,’ I cried out, ‘not Mrs Barrie.’

  He was sympathetic. ‘This could have happened at any time because her heart was weak and has been for years.’

  ‘But it was my fault, doctor,’ I cried out in anguish.

  ‘No, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Mrs Barrie told me the whole story and, believe me, this is the way she always wanted to die – quickly.’ He picked up his bag, went over to Miss Hood and put a comforting arm around her shoulder.

  Later, Mr Pringle arrived in his car, followed soon after by the undertaker. He was a small officious man with a dark, sombre suit and a deferential manner – a bit like Uriah Heep, I thought. He was soon closeted with Maddie’s dad in Mrs Barrie’s bedroom.

  I sat in the kitchen, ill with worry. I hoped Miss Hood was in her own room but, now she was under the care of the doctor, I knew she was in good hands.

  The undertaker, Mr Chapman, crept quietly about the house. Later on I came face to face with him on the stairs and he blinked nervously at me, his two hands clasped under his nose. He stepped smartly to one side to let me pass, his back almost brushing the wallpaper. This action was unnecessary since the staircase was wide enough to accommodate a bus.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. I remember Mr Potter coming back into the house, carefully wiping his feet before going into the lounge. He was wearing a pair of clean shoes but I thought he must have forgotten he wasn’t wearing his usual mud-caked boots, hence the wiping of his feet. It’s strange, I thought, how grief affects people. Here I was, broken-hearted over Mrs Barrie’s death, and I was noticing stupid things like Mr Potter’s shoes and Mr Chapman’s hands. It was the same after Mum’s death when I recalled the salty tears.

  Mr Potter hadn’t closed the lounge door properly. I could hear the low murmured voices of the two men. Mr Pringle was questioning the gardener and I was dismayed to hear the words ‘fire’ and ‘burning parcel’. Although it was too late, I now realised I should have kept my mouth shut. It was ironic that after being as quiet as a mouse for most of my life, I should now emerge from my shell of timidity and cause all this needless grief. A few minutes later, Mr Pringle emerged from the lounge with Mr Potter and they both went in search of the undertaker. They both then stood at the door and said their goodbyes to Mr Pringle.

  Maddie’s dad then turned to me, his face full of sympathy. ‘You had better pack your belongings, Ann,’ he said sadly.

  I did as I was told, gazing in sadness at my lovely room in the tower. How happy I had been here, even with the animosity of Miss Hood. I was aware Mr Pringle was waiting in the hall so I knew I couldn’t linger. When I emerged from the back stairs, he was ready to leave. He looked so careworn and I realised that money didn’t protect one from sorrow.

  ‘I’ll take you home, Ann. There’s nothing left to do here. Eva … Mrs Barrie has been taken to the funeral home so I have to lock up the house.’

  I was taken aback. There was no mention of the housekeeper. ‘What about Miss Hood? I’m really worried about her.’

  He put on his gloves. ‘Miss Hood is fine, Ann. She has also left and is in good hands. Before we leave the Ferry we must go and see Mrs Peters as she won’t know about Mrs Barrie’s death.’

  Oh, Jean! I had forgotten about her in my own grief. Poor Jean. Like me, she would be broken-hearted but it was best that Mr Pringle should be the one to break the bad news. He was a sympathetic man but he wouldn’t break down in tears. I felt my own tears weren’t very far away but I wanted to keep some dignity in front of Maddie’s father.

  Before entering the car, I looked long and hard at Whitegate Lodge, making sure all its details were in my mind’s eye. I had a terrible feeling that I would never see it again. And I was right – I never went back.

  15

  Mrs Barrie’s funeral was a very sad occasion. This sadness lay in my heart like a heavy weight. The little church in the Ferry was packed with mourners and I felt the dark cloud of collective grief hang in the air. It was so tangible, I felt I could grasp it in my hand.

  Some people sat with their heads bowed and others were talking in soft whispers. It was a struggle not to cry and I was grateful that Dad and Grandad had come with me – dear Grandad who sat so solemnly in his best but slightly threadbare jacket. Their heads were both bare.

  Greg had wanted to come but, at the last moment, he couldn’t get away. However, I was glad in a perverse sort of way because I wanted to say farewell to Mrs Barrie on my own and not be distracted by his presence.

  Jean arrived with her husband and she hobbled over to where we were sitting. We made room for them in the pew and Jean sighed deeply as she sat down. We exchanged a quick look and she squeezed my arm but we didn’t speak. I felt, if I opened my mouth, a torrent of tears would erupt and I wouldn’t be able to stop them.

  Maddie sat with her parents in the front pew, along with some distant cousins of Mrs Barrie. This tight knot of elderly ladies were all dressed from head to toe in black but they had reached the age when death didn’t seem to be the tragedy that was felt by someone younger.

  Mrs Barrie had been such a lovely popular woman and most of the community were present in the church – shopkeepers, business folk and neighbours alike. However there was one person missing and this puzzled me.Where was Miss Hood? My eyes roamed around the church but I couldn’t see her. Perhaps, I thought, she was sitting behind one of the stone pillars.

  The minister appeared and I forgot about Miss Hood as I let the man’s solemn words wash over me – words that were accompanied by the heady scents from the myriad wreaths that sat on the coffin and spilled down on to the altar steps. The wreaths were made from autumn flowers – large-headed chrysanthemums in deep shades of yellow, bronze, red and russet, russet like my coat. I swallowed hard and pushed the dreadful memory out of my mind – at least for the moment.

  Outside, in the charming little graveyard, a coolish autumn breeze swirled around our legs. As the coffin was laid in the ground, I could no longer hold back my tears and I felt their warmth as they streaked down my face. I had cried a lot since that terrible day but Granny had tried to make me understand that the problem had been Miss Hood’s, not mine.
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  ‘She made your life a misery, Ann, and all you did was finally stick up for yourself. You’ll soon see that for yourself. Mrs Barrie was a wonderful woman and you’ll always have your lovely memories of her. Just think of all the nice things she did for you and vice versa. After all, she did enjoy you reading her stories, didn’t she?’

  Granny was right. As I stood beside Jean, Dad and Grandad on the damp turf of the cemetery, I knew I would never be able to read a detective novel again without thinking of our wonderful times in the cosy morning room or on the sun-dappled grass in the garden.

  I looked up and saw the Pringles moving towards the minister. Maddie came over. She looked cold and miserable and her hands were thrust deep into her coat pockets. Like Greg, Danny had also been unable to get away from work to come to the funeral and that possibly explained Maddie’s miserable expression. That and the fact that she had been deeply attached to Mrs Barrie, her godmother.

  Still, she cheered up a bit when she reached me and she tucked her arm through mine as we walked towards the gates.

  ‘Maddie, do you know what’s happened to Miss Hood?’ I asked but she shook her head.

  ‘I don’t know, Ann. I did hear she wasn’t well and is maybe in hospital but she isn’t in the Royal infirmary. Maybe she’s in some private hospital.’

  ‘You heard about what happened? The day Mrs Barrie died?’

  She nodded miserably then said, ‘I know Dad wants to speak to you, Ann, to explain everything, but what a terrible time you must have had at Whitegate Lodge.’

  I thought she was on the verge of tears. I could feel the cold seeping through my shoes and I also tried hard not to burst into tears. ‘It was fine until Jean broke her leg,’ I said truthfully. ‘At least it was bearable but, when Jean left, it got worse and worse and, of course, my coat didn’t help. Miss Hood took such a spite at my having it. Poor Mrs Barrie …’ Tears threatened to erupt again and I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my grey coat – Hattie’s coat.