by Caron Allan
Dottie put out a hand to her, and Penny took it, squeezed it, and let it go. She said softly, wistfully, ‘We feel these things so keenly at that age, don’t we? Everything is life or death when you’re not quite sixteen.’ She sipped her cocoa. Then with a stronger voice, said, ‘Of course, it didn’t last. The boys were all drinking far too much and getting rowdy. Mike took liberties with Margaret, and she slapped him. Then Arthur kept sniping at Richard, they didn’t like each other at all. At the time, I wasn’t really aware of anything, you just accept things are the way they are, don’t you? But now, looking back, I realise how tense it was that night, and that there were undercurrents I was too young to understand. I was trailing around like a love-sick puppy after Gervase—poor Gervase! Reggie Parfitt was clinging onto Miranda’s very shadow, and at every opportunity Miranda was doing the same with Richard. Mike and Artie didn’t like that at all, and kept trying to separate them, or trying to annoy Richard so much he’d just up and leave.’
She took another sip of her cocoa, and cradling the cup, sat staring into the fire. At last she sighed heavily and sat back. Her eyes still held the distant look of reminiscence. With a sad smile she said, ‘Oh, Dottie, my perfect evening was nothing of the sort, was it? I just didn’t realise. It was like waiting for a bomb to go off. All the tension and the youthful emotions. But in the end, the evening simply fizzled out. The boys all drank so much they passed out or were ill in the shrubbery. Miranda and Richard quarrelled at some point then didn’t speak for the rest of the evening. Later he walked me back to the house, and everyone else drifted off home.’ She paused for a moment, and when Dottie turned to look at her, to see if she was going to say any more, Penny added softly, ‘And in the morning, one of the servants went out to the pavilion to clear up after our party, and found Richard hanging there, from the lowest branch of the big old copper beech tree.’
Chapter Eleven
DOTTIE SLEPT BADLY again that night. She had a lot on her mind. She was captivated by the wistful story of the night Richard Dawlish killed himself, and Penny’s sorrow touched her deeply, even though they didn’t especially like each other.
And Dottie was certain she knew why—they were in essence rivals for the attention of everyone who came to the house—not just Gervase. Penny loved to be the centre of attention, Dottie could see that now. With Dottie in the house, well, that was one more person to take the attention away from Penny.
Besides which, Penny had her sister and sister’s family to take up her time and attention, and any outsiders would just be in the way. Dottie was most definitely de trop at this time that was reserved for family and close friends. Like Richard Dawlish, she had served her purpose, and now she was no longer either needed or welcomed.
Eventually Dottie slept, glad she had only three more full days to get through.
Penny’s sister Miranda arrived with her family from Southampton via London, travelling from London by car to the family home in Nottinghamshire. Major Percival Parkes, Miranda’s husband, oversaw the loading of their luggage into the front of the car and the luggage space at the rear, and elected to do the driving himself, in the main so he could ignore his wife and squabbling children all squashed into the back seat, and fix his mind on the road ahead. Thus Major Parkes arrived at the Maynards’ in a mood of relaxed contentment, whilst his wife and children were all furious with one another.
Dottie felt that, in Miranda’s shoes, she’d have rather had a day or two in London to recover from the long journey from India, but the Maynards collectively appeared to feel that the perfect time for a long-awaited reunion with family and close friends was the very afternoon of the homecoming. Consequently, Gervase called to collect Penny at three o’clock and drove her, chattering and excited, to her parents’ home to meet the new arrivals.
Dottie was not invited to accompany them on this occasion. She didn’t particularly mind, but Penny seemed uncharacteristically embarrassed at this enforced neglect of her guest.
‘Of course, you will be very welcome to the formal dinner tomorrow. But this afternoon, we did just want it to be a gathering of the family and dearest friends. I do so want you to meet my sister, you’ve heard me talk so much about her.’
For the fourth time, Dottie assured Penny it didn’t matter in the slightest, that it was perfectly all right, and that she absolutely understood. Even as Gervase, his patience already worn thin, was holding the front door open for her, Penny continued in this vein, apologising and promising in equal measure. Dottie was relieved when they finally drove off.
She had a letter from Flora to read. She curled up in an armchair in the little morning room that overlooked the garden—a much pleasanter room, in Dottie’s opinion, than the overstuffed and dim drawing room at the front. Ripping open the envelope she began to read the letter that had been burning a hole in her pocket since it arrived at twelve o’clock.
First of all, Flora assured her they were all well, and that they’d finally settled on the name for Diana’s baby that they’d been pondering: Diana Dorothy. Flora wrote:
‘And she is the most darling little thing, and quite a little beauty. I’m sure she’s already grown, even though she’s only a week old. Hudson tells me I’m imagining it, but I know I’m not—I can see that her clothes are already getting a bit small, the sleeves too short and the buttons pulled tight across her chest. Hudson is proving to be something of a bully. Oh yes, she’s so, so efficient. But it’s a bit scary—I feel as though I’m part of some kind of scientific experiment—everything is so very carefully measured and weighed. I know one needs to be careful with tiny babies, but really, she takes it all too seriously. There’s no fun, and no enjoyment, and everything is done by a timetable. I’m not even allowed in my own nursery unless she says it’s the right time of day. In all honesty, I don’t know if I can put up with her much longer. Even Mother is a bit scared of her: and that should tell you all you need to know! George says it’s up to me. I think I will try to persuade her to be a bit more human, if at all possible, and if not, well, I shall have to find someone else. It may be the modern method to bring up one’s babies as scientifically correct as possible, but that’s not how I see motherhood at all.’
Flora went on to say a good deal about what George had said to his father, and detailed all the funeral arrangements. There was some news about the members of staff, and then, right at the end, Flora ventured some remarks about William Hardy. Dottie supposed it was hardly a surprise that their mother should pass on what Dottie had told her about that morning on the train. Dottie sighed, and acknowledged it had been inevitable that Flora would hear all about it. Flora said, ‘Oh Dottie darling, I understand why you did what you did, and thank God you got off that train to go and find Diana. But are you completely certain you can’t ask William to forgive you and take you back? He is perfect for you, and I know the two of you would be so happy together. Think about it, Dottie. Don’t let mere pride ruin your whole life.’
After that Flora signed off, sending love and good wishes and begging for news. But Dottie read these last few lines with misty eyes. Did Flora think she had done something so very terrible? Clearly she did if she advised Dottie to beg William’s forgiveness. Did her whole family think she was in the wrong? But it wasn’t about pride, Dottie told herself. It was all about trust.
‘Is something wrong?’
Dottie leapt out of her skin, dashing away her tears and forcing her lips to smile at Margaret. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were still here. I was just—er—reading a letter.’
‘Upsetting news?’ Margaret came to perch on the edge of the sofa opposite Dottie, a thing which surprised but pleased her, knowing Margaret would never do it if Penny was at home. Here in Margaret, Dottie felt she had the start of a friendship.
She tried to laugh it off. ‘Oh well, you know how it is. News from home always sets me off.’
‘You’re quite sure you’re all right?’
Dottie nodded.
‘Want a cup of tea? Or something stronger?’
‘Tea would be nice, thank you.’
‘Why don’t you come and sit in the kitchen? It’s warmer in there. Even in the summer this room gets chilly in the afternoons sometimes. Or I could make up the fire for you?’
‘Oh no, don’t. I’ll come into the kitchen. Thanks.’ Dottie followed Margaret out and across the hall, and through the swinging baize-covered door to the kitchen at the back, situated in the wing opposite the morning room.
A small boy was sitting at the table drawing. He was long-limbed and fair, with blue eyes and something unmistakably reminiscent of the Parfitt men in the shape of his nose and chin.
Dottie couldn’t help wondering about his paternity again. She pulled out the chair next to him and sat talking to him about his drawing. As Margaret made a pot of tea, the boy, who told Dottie his name was Simon, invited her to help him with his picture. He was working on the mane and neck of a chestnut horse. Dottie began to supply stable doors and a nosebag hanging on a nail, to Simon’s delight.
When the tea was ready, Margaret brought it over to the table, and sat down with them. Leaning across the table, her head almost touching that of her son and contrasting her dark locks and his fair, she also took up a colouring pencil and set to work creating a small dog in the corner of the picture. The three of them drew and shaded in a companionable silence. When the picture was finished, they all admired it, and Margaret wrote Simon’s name on it in the top corner, the way they did at school, then pinned it on the wall with drawing pins.
Simon ran to play outside, and Dottie and Margaret resumed their seats at the table.
‘Does he have friends in the village?’ Dottie asked.
‘One or two, though I don’t really encourage it.’ There was a pause, and Dottie knew she was about to be taken into Margaret’s confidence. Margaret said, ‘Actually I’m thinking of moving away. Artie—Penny’s husband—left me something in his will. It means I can afford to send Simon to a proper school and get a nice little cottage somewhere nearby. I’m just waiting for the probate and everything to go through, it takes a while, doesn’t it? Then, well, I’ll leave. I probably won’t even give my notice. Penny treats me so badly I shan’t feel any compunction about leaving at short notice.’
If Dottie was astonished at this, she said nothing, merely regarding Margaret over her cup.
Like Penny, Margaret seemed to read a criticism into this, and her tone became defensive. ‘Well, what’s the point of staying here? I mean, it’s not as though my former friends want anything to do with me, and I hate the way I have to bow and scrape, and smile when she treats me like dirt.’
Dottie set her cup down. ‘It will be a new start for you—a wonderful opportunity. And a proper education for Simon will ensure his future. He will be able to get a profession and earn a decent living. It sounds like a good idea. Do you know how soon...?’
Margaret’s shoulders lost their tension. She smiled. ‘I don’t know. As soon as the money comes through. The solicitor said it should only be another month or thereabouts, it’s been going on a while already. Sorry I snapped. You’ve no idea how horrid I’ve become. You do, you know, when you feel as though everyone and everything is against you. And when people you’ve known since the nursery turn against you, or throw accusations at you.’ She looked out to the garden to where Simon was executing some complex manoeuvre with a football. ‘Yes, a fresh start. That’s just what we need. Simon’s future will be provided for, and I can settle down somewhere and not feel like everyone is looking down their noses at me. I’ve got to get away. I plan to call myself Mrs Scott. No one will ever know I was never married. I can’t tell you how I long to be respectable again! I’m sick of being judged all the time.’
Dottie nodded. ‘I imagine you are.’
‘Please don’t say anything to Mrs—to Penny. I haven’t told her yet. I’m waiting for the right time. She’s going to be so busy with Miranda coming back. In any case, she’s not talking to me because she’s heard from the solicitor about Artie’s will. I know she thinks it was significant that he left me money, but it wasn’t. He just felt sorry for me, and they had plenty to spare. Anyway, I’ll tell her in a few days. I know she’ll go off the deep end, and she’ll make my life hell, so the longer I leave it, the better.’
When Penny arrived back from her parents’, there was only just time for her to change before the car came to take them to Gervase’s home for dinner. She insisted on Dottie accompanying her upstairs so that she could impart the information she was practically bursting to tell her.
Dottie helped her to smooth down the navy-blue dress that had caught on her bun of hair at the back. Penny was too impatient of everything, her words almost stumbling over each other as she scrambled to give Dottie an account of the afternoon.
Dottie persuaded her to sit at the dressing table and began to arrange her hair in a ‘different’, in other words a more becoming, style. As Dottie curled and combed, Penny prattled on, revelling in the attention.
It became clear that she was reaching the climax of her story when she grabbed Dottie’s arm, and with a giggle in her voice, said, ‘But you should have seen Reggie Parfitt’s face! When Mummy was making the introductions, poor old Reggie came forward at last and said, ‘Hello old girl!’ and Miranda said—oh, Dottie dear, you’ll love this—Miranda said, ‘Oh I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.’’ Penny broke off in gales of laughter.
Dottie, who had only been half-listening, was confused. ‘But I thought...?’
‘Well yes, of course! She’d just forgotten him for some reason. But his face! Oh my dear, you should have been there. He actually looked quite ill. If he’d been a woman, I think he would have burst into tears. Oh Dottie, I could have died laughing!’ And she proceeded to laugh again.
Dottie thought it was very cruel. Not for the first time it was clear that the Maynard sisters had malicious streak that delighted in the misery of others. She smiled politely, so as not to offend her hostess, but felt a deep sympathy for Reggie, who seemed to have been the target of their malice for the afternoon.
‘At any rate,’ Penny concluded, ‘poor old Reggie got put in his place. But he should have expected it from Miranda. She threw him over for Richard fifteen years ago, and now she’s a married woman, so it’s like she thrown him over, all over again. We girls can’t let these men just walk all over us!’
‘Hmm,’ Dottie said. She hoped her non-committal response would satisfy Penny’s idea of female solidarity. She couldn’t help feeling it was a good thing that dinner this evening would be a small affair, with just Gervase, Penny and herself. Dottie wasn’t looking forward to meeting Miranda Parkes at the dinner the next day.
But she just said, ‘And how was your sister? It must be wonderful to see her again after so long.’
‘Oh it is! Thank you for asking, Dottie dear, she is quite well, as are her family. A little tired, of course, that’s only to be expected after such a long journey. But such dear little children. It’s so delightful to hear the sound of children’s feet scampering about the house, up and down the stairs, in and out of every room, and of course there’s nothing like the wonderful laughter of little ones that can be heard everywhere, no matter how far away they are. And so playful and energetic—kicking the ball in the hall and on the stairs, and running in and out constantly. Really they never seem to tire, do they?’
Dottie almost laughed. Clearly Penny hadn’t enjoyed her nephew and niece as much as she claimed. But now Penny was blotting her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘Arthur and I were never blessed with children.’
Dottie managed not to roll her eyes. ‘What a shame.’ She needn’t say more, Penny could talk for both of them.
‘Indeed. Such a high calling. How I should have loved to be a mother.’ The way she said it made Dottie imagine a capital M for Mother. She made a vague sound of agreement. Her thoughts were back in the room with Diana, watching as she placed her first and last kis
s on her baby’s cheek. Her small knowledge of motherhood didn’t quite chime with this sentimental drawing room version. She certainly couldn’t picture Penny panting and groaning as she pushed a baby into the world.
‘Alas it is too late for me!’ Penny said. Dottie was in two minds whether she should either agree or contradict. She could imagine Penny wanting both her pity and commiseration at her supposed advanced age and lack of a husband. But Dottie felt she might also be expected to say to Penny that there was plenty of time for that, that she could in due course, marry again, and of course, a vehement denial that Penny was too old. Doubtless in Penny’s mind she already had Gervase lined up for that. Conversing with Penny was like walking a tightrope. In the end Dottie opted for a sad smile, and simply waited.
Yet after a pause Penny said, ‘I’m afraid I’ve had rather a falling-out with Gervase. It’s his own fault. You know how he can be sometimes—so sure he is right all the time.’
