The Widows Club

by Dorothy Cannell

  “Where did you go?”

  Her skin turned dusty grey. Thrusting her chair back, she stood. “The Convent of St. Agnes, very pretty and secluded, near Little Hampton.” She was scooping up plates, piling one on top of the other.

  I got up and tried to take the china from her. “Ben and his father surmised you had gone on a religious retreat.”

  She was bundling the china and cutlery into the sink. “They were wrong. I wasn’t on retreat. I did housework in return for sanctuary. Yes, Giselle, you were right in thinking me reduced to a charwoman. I picked the convent in Little Hampton because I’d never visited there and I was afraid Eli could track me down if I went to one of my favourites.”

  “You should have come immediately to us.”

  She looked at me as if to say, C. of E. and not very bright. “And this the first place he’d look?”

  Thank God Ben had inherited none of his father’s sneakiness.

  “Magdalene, did you like the Convent of St. Agnes?”

  “It wasn’t like Maryville or Abbey Wood, but… I… can’t deny that I did.” She pressed a hand on the table, then began piling the sugar bowl on top of the butter dish. “The grounds of the convent are lovely. A nice view of the sea, and-like here-secluded. I grew so secure; I even began to think of petitioning the Holy Father for a special dispensation so I could enter. I can read your face Giselle, you think I’m a bit old to be a novice. But it’s women your age who keep saying it’s never too late to start a career.”

  “Oh, absolutely! But wouldn’t it be rather hard on Ben, having to call you Sister?”

  Magdalene either didn’t hear me or pretended she didn’t. She was clattering the dishes into the sink, butter, sugar, and all, while I stood by looking helpless.

  What had happened within the walls of St. Agnes to send my mother-in-law fleeing back to the outside world? Those earlier words of hers-“landing on your doorstep like a stray cat”-somehow did not have the ring of a woman who had awakened one morning and thought, Today I will pay my son and his new wife a visit.

  “Did someone recommend that particular convent?”

  “I’d recently overheard someone talking about it and thought it sounded nice. When the coach let me off at the gates, I got such a warm, peaceful feeling and I was welcomed so kindly. I never for the minute suspected…” Her small frame trembled. “It wasn’t until last evening that I made my dreadful discovery.”

  “Which was?” I was drying off the (still full) butter dish.

  “Eli always accuses me of hearing only what I wanted to hear…”

  My mind whirled with blood-spattered possibilities. I had once seen a film where the nuns at a convent on the Cornish coast had been in reality devil worshippers. They’d also been men. I took a step closer to my mother-in-law, instinctively hoping to shield her from her memories. That film-with the Reverend Mother whipping off her wimple and mask to reveal a goat’s head and rocking back and forth in uproarious glee, had sent me crawling under the cinema seats. Those being my fat days, I had become wedged.

  “You can’t mean that they-the nuns of St. Agnes-were from the other side?”

  “Oh, but I do,” she replied fervently. “They were Protestants.”

  16

  … “Ellie, how did you and your mother-in-law fill the hours until Ben’s return?” Hyacinth inquired.

  “I took her on a tour of the house. It may seem as though my emotions were on a pendulum, but by the time she’d done the white-glove test to every piece of furniture in her path, I was ready to get me to a convent.”

  “Were you able to find a bedroom to suit?” Primrose patted my hand.

  “Magdalene insisted on one of the turret rooms, in fact, the one from which Freddy had threatened to leap. She commented several times on the thickness of the door, the sturdiness of the iron bolt, and the view from the window. She even got a pair of binoculars out of her bag for a better look at the cliffs and lighthouse.”

  “Certainly the room sounds ideal.” Hyacinth reached in her bag for another pen.

  “In every way! Within easy hearing distance-immediately over Ben’s and my room. I was determined to make the best of everything, and I am sure Magdalene was equally determined on making a valiant effort to like me…”

  Magdalene told me my rust skirt and blouse suited me better than the pin-striped suit; she would take up the skirt hem. Had I ever thought of having my hair cut short and permed?

  On his return from London, Ben entered the kitchen with a smile on his face and a bunch of daffodils in his hand. Magdalene spilled her cup of tea at the sight of him; her pinched face tightened, her eyes brimmed with tears. Ben stood absolutely still, coat hanging open, briefcase dangling from one hand, the daffs from the other, until she crossed the floor to him, arms extended.

  I took the briefcase and the flowers and nobody noticed. Ben picked up his mother so her feet hung inches above the floor and smiled down into her face.

  “Where the hell have you been, Mum? I’ve been worried to death about you. This afternoon I staged a sit-in at Scotland Yard, until I finally got someone to listen to my story about your disappearance. Now I’ll have to get in touch and tell them they can get back to their filing.”

  He’d never said a word to me about going to Scotland Yard, which was exceptionally dear of him. He hadn’t wanted me to get panicky. For weeks he’d been telling me he had no doubts at all that his mother was safe and well.

  “I couldn’t write to you, son. You would have read between the lines. It was easier with Paris; I didn’t get teary and smudge the postcards. One of the nuns posted them for me when she went to different towns on business.” Magdalene broke off as Ben set her down. “That’s right, let me look at you, son. Oh my, you don’t look well. Are you sure you’ve been getting enough sleep?”

  “Plenty.” He eased out of his coat. Feeling like a coat-rack, I took hold of it, shifting the flowers and the briefcase to my other hand. “But you could be right, Mum, about the way I look; I have been overdoing it a bit. These last few days I’ve had this damn sore finger, and all the way home on the train it’s been throbbing to beat the band.”

  He held out his hand to her, and I could see the finger was very inflamed. I started to speak Dr. Melrose’s name, but was drowned out by Magdalene pulling a chair away from the kitchen table and ordering Ben to sit down. It was decidedly touching the way he smiled up at her.

  “You shouldn’t have gone to London, son; all that way in a bumpy train and then breathing in that sooty station air.” Magdalene smoothed back Ben’s curls from his forehead and cradled his hand in hers.

  “I believe soot-or rather, a speck of coal-may have been the cause of the infection.” Ben patted a chair for me to join them. “Remember the other day when I was bringing up coal for your bedroom fire, Ellie?”

  It was evening, not day, and couldn’t he have said I was confined to bed with a cold, so as not to make it sound like I had lolled in bed with chocs and a book while he rushed up and down the stairs with coal buckets?

  “A little bit of coal dust shouldn’t have done this, son.”

  “Not of itself, Mum.” Ben took his finger back. “But Ellie’s cat had just scratched me.”

  What a rotten sneak! I dropped the daffs, the briefcase, and Ben’s coat on the table in that order.

  “And the animal is still running loose about the place?” Magdalene’s sparrow eyes lit on me. Ben gave his finger back to her and gravely watched her turn it. Not, it would seem from his yelp, quite gently enough.

  “Careful, Mum! I can’t afford to become incapacitated, with the restaurant opening in four days. As it is I’m going to have to work in gloves.”

  And sterilize your hands in boiling water before each use, I thought.

  “You should have stayed in bed today, son, and had the doctor. I’m sure Giselle wouldn’t have begrudged taking her turn waiting on you.”

  “Of course she wouldn’t.” My husband swept me into an embraciv
e smile. “But, Mum, when I tell you who it was I met in London today you will be glad I went. Remember Angelica Evangeline Brady, the gorgeous girl who lived at the house on the corner?” Ben outlined the gorgeous parts with his hands. “Well, get this for coincidence.” He gripped the table with his good hand and rocked back in his chair. “She is the editor who is working on my book.”

  “She is Mr. A. E. Brady?” I gasped.

  “Ellie, she never signed herself Mr., you added that bit.”

  I did hope in his enthusiasm that he didn’t rock himself off the chair; I might accidentally step on his finger.

  Hair wisping about her face like bird down, Magdalene clasped her hands. Was she praying there was still time to get her son’s unfortunate marriage annulled?

  “Beautiful Angie Brady? She was utterly heartbroken when you went to study in France. Sid Fowler had to take the poor girl out and about to console her.”

  “Decent of him.” Ben quirked an eyebrow at me. “Mum, did Ellie tell you that good old Sid is now living down here?”

  “No.” A change came over Magdalene’s face, but I didn’t analyse it. I moved behind Ben so he couldn’t analyse mine. Holding the back of the chair I asked in an even voice, “Sweetheart, when did you first know that A.E.B. was an old flame?”

  He tipped a little further back, head resting against me, an uninjured finger sidling up my arm. “A few weeks ago. I’m sure I said something at the time.” He gave a nonchalant chuckle while Magdalene sat summing up the situation.

  “No, you didn’t.” I released the chair.

  “Far too small a point to call me on, Ellie.” Ben braced himself on the table with his elbows and stood. The set of his shoulders said, Not in front of Mum, Ellie. And my inner voice intoned, A good wife doesn’t object to a bit of deceit by default now and then. After all, I had known, on overhearing that pre-Christmas conversation between Ben and Freddy that things were being kept from me-for my own good.

  Magdalene picked up the kettle. “If I’m interfering, tell me-but I’ve always believed that a couple’s lives prior to marriage are their own.”

  Ben’s blue-green gaze brushed mine. “Ellie and I concur completely.”

  What an incredibly vicious thing to say! Strangled by words I dare not say, I backed with outward casualness toward the hall door. This man, to whom I had bared my soul, knew full well that I had not indulged in “life prior to marriage.” The handsome lad who had serenaded outside my bedroom window one winter night didn’t count. It had been the wrong window. I willed Ben to look at me, to see the anguish in my eyes, but he was donning an apron, urging his mother to tell all while he got dinner, with one hand behind his back.

  “Ellie, will you pour the three of us a sherry?”

  I pried myself off the doorknob, but Magdalene didn’t want a drink, and Ben said it being a special occasion he would join her in not having one.

  “Then if you will both excuse me, I will go and check Tobias’s medical file and see if he is prone to rabies.” My voice wobbled, but it didn’t matter. Mother and son were deep in reminiscences.

  As I closed the door behind me, I heard Magdalene say, “She seems a decent enough sort of girl, son. I suppose you might have done rather worse these days. She could even be pretty if only she’d do something about her weight.”

  I seethed all the way upstairs, flung open the bedroom door, and stared myself down in the full-length mirror. The scales kept saying I was losing weight but I didn’t believe them. They were a popular brand. Could they be both popular and truthful? Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fattest of them all? Surprisingly my blouse and skirt still fit, but I had bought them big so I could wallow around inside and feel extra virtuous. Time to cut back on calories.

  Flopped out on the bed, I contemplated telephoning Dorcas and begging her to get herself and Jonas on a plane. Oh, to hear her dear voice saying something wonderfully bracing like, Men will be goats, now and then. But I didn’t want Dorcas unhappy, which she would be if she guessed my fear. Was it over-that lovely early glow of our marriage? The cherished belief in Happy Ever After? I had been so sure that marriage was like a diet-you worked at it following the rules of diligence, perseverance, and restraint-it worked.

  Ben came into the bedroom about five minutes later. I was back in front of the mirror, head tilted to one side, hair falling over my shoulders. I jumped as his lips brushed my neck. The maroon velvet curtains cast shadows on the reflection of our faces.

  “Ellie, isn’t it wonderful having Mum here, safe and sound?”

  “Wonderful.” It was incredible; he was oblivious to my misery, my sense of deep betrayal over Mr. Angelica Brady. He was rubbing my shoulder with one hand, the other dangling by his side. I focused on the need for Dr. Melrose to examine the inflamed finger, so my voice didn’t jump around too much when I spoke.

  “I am sure your motives were pure in regard to the beautiful Angelica. You probably thought I would leap to all sorts of silly conclusions and wished to spare me.”

  “That’s right.” His fingers tightened, his eyes met mine in the mirror. “I don’t think you have fully recovered from your Vanessa fixation. Simply because I once concurred with your statement that she was beautiful, you decided I wanted to marry her. Living in Vanessa’s shadow, Ellie, has led you to feel threatened by any attractive woman, especially where I am concerned.”

  How despicably arrogant! How despicably true! My eyes swerved away from his.

  “All right, I did care for Angie very much at one time, and I enjoyed seeing her today, professionally and otherwise, but I didn’t feel the least twinge of regret for what might have been.”

  Whoopee! Had she grown taller than he since last they met?

  “Ellie, I didn’t tell you about her earlier because I felt you already had enough on your plate-this business with Mum and Poppa, Dorcas and Jonas leaving, and”-he pulled me back against him-“your weight.”

  “We’ll have to see about a medal for chivalry.” I ducked under his arm and grabbed a pillow off the bed. “Am I correct in assuming you informed your mother that I was at one time enormous?”

  Ben paced in front of the fireplace, head down. “Ellie, don’t drag Mum into this. She has already been subjected to enough. You and I have been heading for a confrontation. We’ve been sieving the lumps out of our relationship, trying to keep everything smooth and creamy, and I guess that can’t be done.” He stopped midstep. “I was wrong, not telling you about Angie, but I’m not exactly ecstatic about the way you conduct yourself with Rowland. Think I didn’t notice”-his voice went all cutesy-“the way you almost broke your arm off picking up his pipe when he dropped it yesterday?”

  “I did not want a hole burnt in the carpet.”

  “Sure!” Ben went back to pacing. “And while we are on the subject, do you really go to church for his sermons, or is it the frisk of his cassock as he steps out of the pulpit that pleases you?” A long pause, with both of us staring at the ceiling. “Ellie, if we are going to make this work…”

  “If?” I retreated behind a brittle laugh. “Having your mother here should add a few lumps. In between polishing her halo, she can provide me with endless hours of enjoyment listening to her petty criticisms.” My last words lacked total conviction. Magdalene skirted the letter of criticism. In the instance of my skirt, she hadn’t said it was too long, she had merely offered to hem it.

  Ben, this man I no longer knew, pounced within three inches of the bed. “Don’t you speak about my mother that way. She has been through hell!”

  “I couldn’t agree more, if your father takes after you.”

  He headed for the door, then turned back. “Since the day you and I met, I have been wading through your crazy relatives. Now, if it doesn’t take too much time away from them, I am going downstairs to cook dinner for my mother. Join us if you wish.”

  Ben bunked down the hallway. I clung to the door jamb, and snarled after him:

  “Do we include Freddy a
mong my crazy relatives? Don’t you know you two are the talk of the neighborhood? The Dark Horse expects to go bankrupt if you two desist from stopping in for a quick one on your way home from Abigail’s!”

  Ben swung around. He looked like one of those robots, the vicious kind that sizzle you with their eyes. “I refuse to apologise for stopping in at the pub once or twice a week for a pint and a game of darts. Freddy needs to let off steam about Jill and-”

  “Her petulant insistence on marriage?”

  “Will you let me finish! I was about to say that the one thing my parents denied me was a brother. Sid sometimes joins us. He’s been rather edgy of late, and what are friends for? Marriage isn’t intended as a prison, is it? Do you find me interrogating you on each and every one of your activities?”

  “I don’t have any activities.” My smile was the last word in nonchalance. Unfortunately it threatened to tear my face apart.

  “Oh, no?” He folded his arms. “Mum mentioned in passing that you were wearing male attire when she arrived and that the trouser cuffs were rolled up, meaning they weren’t mine. Mum didn’t mention a clerical collar, but even had she, I would not become hysterical.”

  I closed my eyes and got this lovely picture of me slowly strangling his mother. “There is a perfectly reasonable explanation-”

  Ben lifted his hand as though stopping traffic in Leicester Square. “I don’t need explanations, Ellie. My feeling for you is based on trust.” Whereupon he tapped his watch; this meeting having run beyond its allotted span, he sped down the stairs to dine with Mum.

  I doubt he had once looked at his watch while with A.E. Brady. Leaning over the bannister rail I could hear noises from the kitchen. Laughter probably. Never mind. There were still some pleasures to be squeezed from life. Feeling as if I would suffocate, I opened the bathroom door, slid down onto the floor in a huddle, and flung my hair over my face. That way no one would hear me gulping down noisy sobs. I didn’t want anyone to feel guilty.