‘Your aunt’s sent you to see where Old William is, I suppose? I was going to send word after the doctor’s gone.’ At this same instant the doctor appeared from another room, adding his voice to hers.
‘Your father-in-law’s a remarkable man, Edna!’
‘So it’s nothing serious then, doctor?’
‘No! Summat nor nowt, as they say. He’ll be back at work in a few days.’
‘Eh dear,’ sighed Edna, half in admiration, half in sorrow, for the old man’s youngest son, her husband, had perished during the war, along with their own boys. ‘He’ll outlive us all.’ She turned to Beata. ‘Oh well, there’s your answer, my dear. Tell your aunt sorry about the inconvenience.’
Finally allowed to speak, Beata panted, ‘She’s … Could the doctor come to our house, please?’ And her fearful gestures at the building across the field prompted swift action.
Alas, upon seeing Kit there was nothing to be done except to certify death and to placate the tearful child.
During all this Serena had remained incapable of speech, merely hovering about in the background as if trying to dissociate herself. But as the eldest, she was the one to whom the doctor spoke now. ‘Are you related to Mrs Treasure?’ Dressed in hat and gloves, she could just be a visitor.
The other’s reply slow in coming, Edna supplied the answer. ‘This is Kit’s niece, come from America – eh, she was so excited at seeing you! What an awful time for her to go.’
The doctor proceeded in kindly tone. ‘I’m sorry. Your aunt appears to have suffered a massive stroke, and not very long ago.’
Still tearful, Beata glanced at Serena for reaction, wondering whether to correct Edna over the relationship. But then the discovery that Aunt Kit was Serena’s mother had caused such a furore that she considered it wiser to remain silent. Still looking at the tall young woman she waited for her to cry, but her cousin remained dry-eyed.
Gaining little reaction from her, the doctor turned instead to Edna. ‘Could I leave everything in your expert hands?’
At her nod, he left.
Whilst Serena remained mute, Beata tendered a question. ‘What do we do now, missus? Should I go fetch Father?’
Edna spoke kindly. ‘Yes, my dear, but first I must give your aunt the last offices.’ She looked questioningly at Serena. ‘No disrespect, but she’s a bit on the large side for me to manage.’
For the first time Kit’s daughter appeared to understand the situation and what was being asked of her. A look of offence crossed her face. ‘I’m not doing it!’ And she made for the door, leaving it open so that those behind could witness her haughty departure, which was a shame for they might have been more sympathetic had they seen the tears rolling down her cheeks.
Feeling a wave of disgust for this callous treatment of an aunt she had loved so well, Beata bravely offered to assist, though was unsure what it involved.
Praising her, Edna said the two of them would still not be enough. ‘Run across and fetch our Dolly whilst I get started. Tell her to fetch my laying-out bag; she’ll know what I mean.’
When Beata returned with the well-built farm girl, Edna had already tied a handkerchief around Kit’s jaw to keep it closed and had placed pads of damp cotton wool over her eyes. She had paused to wait for help before removing Kit’s soiled clothes. It was a great struggle, brute strength needed even to lift one of Kit’s legs, but the three of them managed to do this whilst still maintaining her dignity. Working silently and with reverence, they straightened the large limbs and, under cover of an old sheet, washed the body all over.
‘You brush your aunt’s hair, dear,’ Edna advised Beata who, though her stomach squirmed with nerves, began to unpin Kit’s plaited hair, a mixture of grey and auburn.
During the brushing there came a jolt of shock at Edna’s deft insertion of clean rags into private orifices. Beata quickly averted her eyes, forcing herself to concentrate on the hair and in seconds the embarrassing moment was over and Kit’s body was being bound in strong calico from waist to thigh.
A good deal of sweat later, dressed in a white nightgown and socks, her arms folded over her breast and the eye pads and the handkerchief that had bound her jaw removed, Kit looked as if she were merely sleeping.
The countrywoman laid a gentle hand on Beata’s shoulder, uttering softly, ‘There you are, now you know the proper way to do it. Never forget that even when a person’s gone to her Maker her earthly body still needs to be treated with respect.’
With a pile of soiled linen burning in the yard, Edna invited Beata to stay at her house for the night, saying she and Dolly would tend Kit’s stock until Old William was back on his feet.
Beata was unsure. ‘I should really go and let my family know.’ ‘Won’t that young woman have informed them?’ asked Edna. ‘She went haring off quick enough.’
Feeling rather resentful of her cousin, Beata shook her head and made childish supposition. ‘She’ll be back in America by now.’
* * *
But, despite her fury over the disclosure that Kit had been her natural mother, and also with the family who had kept this secret from her, Serena had gone only as far as London, to the hotel in which she had first stayed upon her arrival. Here she was to fester for the next few days, cursing and crying, livid with Kit for dying and robbing her of answers – for not only had she been duped over her mother but the identity of her father too – whilst in Yorkshire a search was being made for her in order to inform her of the funeral arrangements. It was only right that she be there.
It was mere speculation that caused Probyn to suggest that she might be in the capital and he rummaged through Kit’s things in order to find the name of the hotel where she had originally stayed. Armed only with this, Kit’s solicitor telephoned the hotel and found, amazingly, that she was indeed there. Uttering profound commiserations, he had further invited her to come to his office after the funeral.
Serena was cool. ‘Does there have to be a reading? I already know she left me everything.’
Astounded by her callousness, he insisted she come. ‘No, there was no stipulation that there had to be a reading but there is a letter I may need to show—’
‘Can’t you post it?’
‘No, I’m afraid I cannot!’ The voice was even angrier now. ‘Shall we say tomorrow afternoon directly following the funeral? It would be more convenient than arranging two separate visits for every—’
‘Very well, I’ll be there.’ Serena hung up.
Again the Kilmasters gathered to mourn the demise of yet another of their number, though there were few tears left to shed for poor Kit after so many losses, favourite though she might have been. Relieved that Serena had been found and naturally assuming she would be here, they were disturbed when she did not turn up.
Later, before going back to their homes across the county, a number of them were to visit the solicitor’s office for the reading of Kit’s will.
There was another shock awaiting.
‘Well, you’ve got a nerve!’ First into the room, Gwen was astounded to find her American niece already seated here, her gasp of affront echoed by all who accompanied her. The only one not dressed in black, Serena’s bright clothes served as a gross insult to the woman who had borne her. ‘If you could manage to drag yourself here, why not Kit’s funeral?’
Serena ignored Gwen, in fact ignored all her relatives, directing her brown eyes straight ahead across the huge mahogany desk at the solicitor on the other side of it.
‘Mr Shadwell, if everyone’s here may we now begin?’
‘I asked you a question!’ roared Gwen, poking Serena in the shoulder. ‘You stuck up little madam!’
‘I didn’t go because I chose not to,’ came the terse reply.
‘No, but you’re here to see how much she’s left you!’ retorted Gwen. ‘Well, to my mind, anyone who hasn’t the decency to attend their own mother’s funeral doesn’t deserve a penny!’
There was a horrified intake of breath from
the others, all eyes upon Serena.
Remarkably, she stayed composed, still not looking at Gwen even now.
‘Didn’t know that, did you, clever-clogs?’ Oblivious to the young woman’s indifference and the others’ hissed requests for discretion, Gwen could not be silenced. ‘Kit wasn’t your aunt but your mother!’
Serena’s already strained features became even more taut, as did her grip upon the handle of her lizard-skin bag. ‘She was not my mother.’
‘Oh, yes she was!’ Gwen formed a knowing sneer.
Her niece heaved. ‘If you are referring to the fact that the person in question gave birth to me,’ she could not bring herself to utter Kit’s name, felt only contempt for the woman who had abandoned her at birth, ‘then I have already been made aware of it by the person herself.’
Gwen was flabbergasted, as were the rest of her kin. ‘What – Kit told you?’
There was a curt nod.
‘When?’ enquired Probyn, as shocked as anyone.
Serena deigned to glance at him coldly. ‘Does it really matter? A couple of days ago, if you must know.’
Things were falling into place now. Kit’s neighbour had mentioned that Serena had been there but had inexplicably rushed away. They had assumed this sudden evacuation to be out of grief, but obviously a row had occurred between mother and daughter that had upset Kit so much it had killed her. There were murmurings now between the relatives as the solicitor asked for calm.
Dumbfounded, it took a moment for Gwen to form her words, which emerged as a reproachful hiss. ‘You knew she was your mother and still you didn’t even bother to atten—’
‘She was not my mother and I’ll thank you not to refer to her as such! A mother is there to cherish her children, not to desert them.’
‘She didn’t desert you, you daft little twerp!’ An angry Gwen bent over the seated figure to spit her reply. ‘Kit sacrificed her own needs to give you a better life!’
Wearing a look of distaste, Serena averted her face to escape the smell of the old lady’s camphor-ridden apparel.
But Gwen was undeterred. ‘Heaven knows I’ve had to take our Kit to task over the years but all credit to her in this instance!’
For once Gwen’s long-suffering victims were forced to praise her defence of Kit. Someone had to represent their much-loved aunt in the face of such disdain.
‘She thought the world of you,’ scolded Probyn. ‘It broke her heart to give you up.’
Others were too emotional to speak, though their angry tears sufficed as condemnation.
With all against her, a red-faced Serena beseeched the solicitor, ‘Is it really necessary for me to be here?’
‘Well, as you are the major beneficiary—’
‘'What?’ It came as a combined screech from Kit’s relatives.
‘Please, may we just get on with it?’ begged Serena.
After an interval of embarrassed shuffling the solicitor requested that everyone compose themselves. Whilst they were doing this he handed over Kit’s letter to Serena, which she dropped unopened into her bag. Thereafter, the uncomfortable man attempted to read out the will as quickly as he could.
What he had said earlier turned out to be the truth; apart from a few modest bequests to her surviving sisters, nieces and nephew, the bulk of Kit’s estate went to Serena. Immediately the reading was over Kit’s daughter rose. ‘If that’s all…’
‘Isn’t it enough?’ scoffed Gwen.
Eyes upon Serena’s face, knowing that her composed façade must surely conceal a maelstrom of emotion, Probyn sought to put himself in the young woman’s place. To learn at such a late stage that the folk you thought of as Mother and Father were impostors must be a dreadful blow. Everyone here had been party to the deception and one of them could at least extend sympathy. ‘Serena, we know very little about your real father but if there’s any way we can—’
‘I’ve heard all I want to know.’ Serena’s wrath was not merely at the Kilmasters; her father’s kin had been equally deceitful; she would not be seeing them again either. Oh dear God, what was she to do now, this person without identity, this nobody?
But she would not show these people how much they had hurt her. About to make a proud exit, not the slightest crack in her features to betray her agony, she paused only long enough to inform the solicitor, ‘I shall, of course, be putting everything up for sale. I want no further contact with this family – and I shall entrust you to make sure that they take nothing more than the items left to them.’ Gwen made a loud interjection and would have hit Serena given half the chance but her nephew held her back.
‘You can send the proceeds to me in America,’ concluded Serena, then stalked out, leaving a collection of astonished faces behind her.
17
‘Well, I don’t reckon we’ll see much of her again,’ sighed Probyn to Clem and Augusta after relaying the episode when he got home. ‘What a to-do.’ He looked sadly at Beata who, since Kit’s death, had been forced to remain here though this could not continue. ‘Aunt Meredith says you can go and live with her for the time being. I’ll put you on the train tomorrow. With a bit of luck it won’t be for long.’ His mind had wandered to Charlotte’s impending visit, which it had been wont to do even through all the recent upset. The sooner he proposed his idea, the better for all.
‘So did Aunt Kit leave you nowt, Father?’ asked Clem.
‘Aye, she left me the portrait of my sister Beata. I’d better be quick and collect it or Serena will snaffle that too.’
‘But, no money?’
‘Oh, I wasn’t expecting anything. No … no.’ Probyn tweaked at his trouser leg. Again his sad blue-grey eyes came up to take in Beata. ‘Though I thought she might have left our Beata a bob or two. She was more of a daughter to her than Serena ever was. Eh, if you could have heard the things she said, Clem…’ He sucked in his breath and shook his head to project disgust. ‘Shocking, it was.’
Beata wondered if she should say anything about Kit having been about to change her will, but then decided not to. What good would it do now? There had been no mention of the Villa Garcia thimble that Aunt Kit had promised would be hers. But this did not upset her as much as the loss of her aunt.
She came to stand at her father’s knee. ‘I’ll miss Aunty Kit.’
‘So will I, deary,’ he answered quietly, pulling her onto his lap in a rare show of tenderness. ‘We all will. But Aunt Meredith’ll make you welcome, so don’t worry.’
After waving Beata off on the train to her new home, Probyn felt rather despondent upon returning to work, though his mood was soon bolstered at the thought of his meeting with Charlotte in a few days’ time.
Following his aunt’s demise and all the unpleasantness that had followed, it was a rather different atmosphere on Sunday from the gaiety of the Victory celebrations. Nevertheless, Probyn greeted his guest warmly when she arrived.
Charlotte was at first surprised to find everyone else absent, though Probyn hastened to tell her that Gussie and Clem, who were both out with friends, would be home for tea.
At her look of relief, he guessed what was going through her mind; it might appear odd to the neighbours that he had invited a woman to his house, albeit a friend of long-standing.
That it might appear equally suspicious to his son and daughter Probyn had not even considered, and, at the sight of their startled faces when they returned for tea and found Aunt Charlotte sitting next to him on the sofa chatting perfectly naturally, he was driven to blush.
‘I did tell you your aunt was coming.’ He said it almost defensively, coming to his feet.
Yes, he had, but there was something he had not told them. Something had changed here. Brother and sister glanced at each other.
Then, realizing that he wore a look of disapproval, Clem shook it away. ‘Yes, I’d just forgotten, what with the funeral. Hello, Aunt Charlotte.’ Augusta too reverted to her normally friendly attitude.
Slightly abashed, Charlotte greeted th
em both warmly, any further discomfort wiped away by the serving of a lovely tea, which Probyn had prepared himself.
Later, with his son and daughter washing up in the scullery, Charlotte leaned over to whisper to Probyn. ‘Why do I feel guilty?’
‘Don’t worry, you’re not on your own.’ He too spoke with lowered voice. ‘I’m sorry, I should have arranged for them to be here when you arrived. I never thought how it might look. I’m just so used to having you around.’
‘Like a battered old piece of furniture,’ smiled Charlotte.
‘Stop running yourself down,’ he scolded.
‘Well, as your Aunt Gwen kindly pointed out, they’re not exactly queuing up to marry me.’
‘You don’t want to take any notice of her! Anyway, I thought it was your choice not to marry after losing George.’
‘It was.’ Charlotte shrugged.
To Probyn this gesture held significance and he pressed the matter. ‘So, you might change your mind then?’
Charlotte skimmed over this, ‘Oh, who knows? What about you, Probe?’
Pausing over their task, Augusta and Clem strained to listen, but their father’s words were delivered in a tone so hushed that they heard only a muffled murmur.
‘I miss Grace terribly … but if I thought anybody’d take me I’m sure she’d understand if it meant her children could be back together.’
Charlotte had become wary. His words were loaded with meaning, yet afraid of causing embarrassment to both if she had misunderstood, she merely nodded.
‘Then, you don’t think it’s too soon?’
She weighed her words: ‘It would depend on what type of person you were asking.’
This line of conversation was abruptly severed as Clem and Augusta re-entered and sat down.
Brightening, Charlotte set off on a new topic. ‘I’ll bet there aren’t many households where the son washes the pots.’
A Different Kind of Love Page 35
