Bell Timson

by Marguerite Steen

  “My God, and then I’ll have two of you to drive me crazy.” But I was glad to think of having the child at home. She was a real little companion, and I never met anyone more contented or determined to get all the good she could out of life. I unhooked her arm and gave her a kiss and a slap.

  “Mum, I want you to buy me a wife for Beech.”

  “Thinking of breeding?” The idea was not a bad one. Beech had turned into a beautiful dog and had taken a second at Cruft’s, much to Jo’s triumph 2nd delight. She nodded eagerly.

  “I bet I’d make a success of it. You always say I’m like Grandfather, and I’m fonder of dogs than anything. I’ve got to have something to do when I come home, and there’s quite an income to be made out of breeding if one goes in for it properly.”

  I remembered some kennels the duke had recommended, and a very pretty little spaniel bitch he had shown me, which would certainly make a good mate for Beech. To tell you the truth, I was nearly as much attracted by the prospect as Jo, for the love and care of animals was bred in me, and I was pleased to see it coming out in her.

  “It’s a full-time job if you mean to make money out of it,” I warned her.

  “I know that,” Jo answered cheerfully. “I don’t care. When I come home, Mum, I want to settle down; I shan’t mind about holidays when I’ve got the pups to look after. I haven’t got any brains, so I haven’t got to bother about a career!”

  I felt like saying, “Thank God to that!” I knew my Jo, and her solid, reliable character that underlay all the harum-scarum foolishness of her school days, and I felt warm and comforted at the thought of having one of my girls by me, to share her interests with me and come to me for the advice which, fortunately, I was able to give.

  I loved Kay dearly, but there is no denying she often hurt me, and it seemed sometimes that the harder I tried the further I got from understanding her and the more bitterly we quarreled — usually over trifles which, when one looked back afterward, seemed of unbelievably little importance, really, to have given rise to the violent tempers and unkind words we both gave way to. And yet — she was often so sweet and affectionate that she made one feel one would do anything for her. She had made friends with a family of young people, and especially of one of the girls, Mary, who was up at Oxford, studying for her degree. In the vacations she was always at Mary’s, meeting Mary’s friends from college, and what we had to swallow about life in the university was nobody’s business. She was always moaning about not having been allowed to take her Matric, and how the only thing she had ever wanted to do was to go to college, and how lucky Mary was — until she made Susan and me quite miserable.

  I almost felt an old woman by the time Kathleen had her twenty-first birthday. It happened to coincide with a first night of Cissie’s — who had been persuaded to play the lead in a musical someone had written specially for her — and I gave a supper party at the Savoy, to which she came on afterward, bringing most of the principals. George was there, and some of Kathleen’s and Jo’s friends, and Pixie Carpenter, and we had the Pinafore Room and made it a regular “do.” Kay looked sweet in an ice-blue chiffon I had chosen for her; the silly child had actually wanted to wear black! I lost my temper with Jo, that time, for backing her up. “It’s Kay’s twenty-first, and if she wants to be sophisticated I do think you might let her, Mummy!” As if anybody was ever heard of, wearing black at a twenty-first party! I went off and ordered the ice-blue from Handley Seymour’s, and she really looked lovely — although of course she elected to have one of her moods, and one would have thought the party had nothing to do with her. However, that was Kathleen’s way; she wasn’t a mixer, like Jo and me. And in spite of acting like a little ghost I’m sure she enjoyed it. It was the first big party we had ever given.

  She now had her own allowance, and I had given her a hundred pounds extra, to spend as she liked. I had done very well that year, and I was delighted, for the moment one wants to give a good present is usually the moment one is short. Kay went off to stay with a school friend in Berkshire, and when she came back she was all over herself with excitement.

  “Mummy, I’ve bought a cottage!”

  “Whatever for?”

  “I just wanted it. It’s a heavenly little place — not much bigger than a doll’s house — but it’s early Tudor, and it’s got those enormous beams that curve round a bit because they came out of one of the old fighting ships. I adore it!”

  I had not seen her so happy for years. The idea that she wanted to get away from us all and be by herself hurt a little, but I resolved to wait and see how things turned out. I felt fairly sure this was only another craze and that a short, sharp dose of early Tudor would send Miss Kathleen gratefully back to the comforts of her home.

  It wanted “a few things doing to it,” she said, and Jo and I were not to come down until it was ready; it was to be a “surprise.” Su the place was littered up with patterns of curtain material, color cards, and bits of carpet; and boxes of china and glass started arriving and had to be stored in all sorts of places where Susan kept falling over them and stubbing her poor shins in the dark. Then Kay got an invitation to join a party of young people who were going on a trip to the Dolomites and said she would really get down to it when she got back.

  One evening I said to Jo, “I wonder what sort of a place this is they’ve wished off on Katie?”

  To my surprise Jo didn’t seem very interested, but as I guessed Kathleen would have told her more than she had told me I thought I might as well get some information.

  “What did she pay for it?” I persisted.

  “I don’t know.” But the tone made me give her a sharp look; her face was red, and she looked uncomfortable — as well she might.

  “Jo, that’s a fib!”

  “Well, Mummy, why don’t you ask Kay? It’s her cottage.”

  “As Kay doesn’t happen to be here I can’t ask her, can I? There’s no harm in a simple question, is there?” I spoke rather sharply, feeling sore with Jo for siding against me with Kay.

  “No, there isn’t; but as it’s Kay’s business, I expect she’d rather tell you all about it herself,” mumbled Jo.

  “Don’t be so ridiculous! I suppose they’ve pushed off some tumble-down hovel on her because it’s picturesque.’“

  “Oh, she’ll be getting it all put right before she moves in,” said Jo, so hurriedly that I knew I had hit the mark.

  “M’m. I’d like to see Katie’s notion of putting right’! ... I’ll tell you what, Jo; we’ll take a run down in the car and have a look at this early Tudor discovery.”

  “Why, Mummy, it’s sure to be all right! Kay knows the sort of thing she likes, and she’s so looking forward to showing it to us herself when it’s ready.”

  But the very reluctance Jo showed to the idea of our going down to Berkshire had decided me; I knew something about early Tudor drains, and quite enough about Kathleen’s delicate throat and chest not to trust the combination of the three. In spite of Jo’s bringing up every reason she could think of why I should not go down, and flatly refusing to accompany me, I was having no arguments; I ordered Judd, and down I went to the country.

  It was ye olde olde, all right — but, I was relieved to see, genuine. Not a drain or a sign of sanitation of course. I found out where the local surveyor’s office was and asked for an immediate report.

  “As a matter of fact,” the young man I interviewed told me, “I can give you one right away. We had to get one out for a prospective tenant in the spring. Frankly, he decided not to buy as the necessary alterations were going to come to a good deal more than the place is worth. It’s the same with most of the laborers’ cottages in this part of the country; the people round here have a very primitive standard of living — I suppose the centuries have hardened them to it.”

  “What about drainage?” I asked.

  “Oh, the usual,” he said airily. “There’s a cesspit that has to be emptied every few weeks —”

  “But ther
e must be a main drain somewhere? There’s quite a few good-class houses round here; they can’t all run on the cesspit system.”

  “Oh no. But to run the drain from the cottage into the main and do away with the pit would cost quite a lot; it’s the best part of half a mile — that’s why Miss Timson got the place for sixty pounds.” He seemed amused.

  “What about a water closet?”

  He shook his head.

  “Not enough pressure. Most of them use the old-fashioned earth privy. Of course you could have an El-san,” he said hopefully. “The water situation is really rather difficult,” he confided. “Baths, for instance; you have to pump the water, and in summer the wells are usually dry. Drinking water? No, I wouldn’t recommend it — not without boiling, that is.”

  I could see Kathleen boiling water.

  I was really at my wit’s end. I didn’t want the child to think I was always spoiling her pleasure, and of course the cottage was very pretty, with its thatched roof and a few orchard trees in front; I could quite see how it had taken her fancy. But I could smell mice, and I knew those old fireplaces; they fill the place with smoke and give out no heat unless the wind happens to be in the right direction. There was a lot of damp too. I asked the surveyor if he could recommend me to any local workmen.

  It ended in my giving them carte blanche. By the time the drainage was put right, a bathroom and lavatory put in, the damp got rid of, fireplaces bricked up and small modern grates put in, and all the old windows and doors reputtied, that cottage was going to cost about four times what Kathleen paid for it, but it would be fit for a human being to live in.

  I told Jo about it when I got back, but she only looked uneasy and muttered something about Ambers puppies having started to arrive; so, although I could have done with a little praise and appreciation, I had to be satisfied. After all, there was no getting sense out of Father when a mare was foaling.

  I knew the cottage would not be quite ready when Kathleen got back, but I thought I would say nothing and leave her to make the discoveries for herself. She looked very well, after her holiday, seemed pleased to be home, and asked if she might borrow the car to take down a lot of the things she had been buying for the cottage.

  Jo and I were having dinner when she came back. I heard her go up to wash her hands, and presently she came down and took her place quietly at the table. She was quite pleasant, said the drive had been lovely, the country looked beautiful, and it was so mild after the Dolomites. I couldn’t put up with this for long — I really did want to know what she thought of all the things I had done for her cottage — or with the extraordinary way Jo was behaving: looking at Kathleen out of the corners of her eyes and mumbling into her plate. So at last I said:

  “And what about the cottage?”

  She took her cigarette case out of her pocket. I was sorry she had taken to smoking, but I couldn’t say anything; they were all doing it, and I smoked like a chimney myself. Kay lit a cigarette and blew out the match before replying.

  “Very nice. I’ve made three-forty on it.”

  “What did you say?” I did not understand her.

  “I’ve sold it to some people for four hundred pounds.”

  “Well, Kathleen,” I said when I had taken this in. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever know what you’ll take it into your head to do next.”

  She gave me a smile I shall never forget.

  “I don’t suppose you ever will, Mummy.”

  And that was all she ever said.

  It was Cissie who rang me up at two o’clock in the morning (any hour after midnight was the same to Cissie) to tell me Brockett Chase was empty. “And there are about fifty people after it with their tongues hanging out. If you don’t have it I’ll buy it myself; I bet I can make a good turnover.”

  I had been thinking for some time about moving from Silverdale. It was a nice little house, and we had been happy there; but, speaking candidly, I knew I could afford better, and it seemed fair to the girls, now they were growing up, to provide them with a better background than a little semidetached villa in the suburbs. I was in an awkward position, for it is one thing to have people know you are what they call “warm” and another to stab it in their eye. I happened to know there had been quite a bit of winking and nudging over Judd and the Bentley; people living in houses like Silverdale don’t usually run to a big saloon car and a man in uniform. My connection with Avenue House was, of course, a matter of common knowledge, and I made no secret of the fact that I was going in in a small way for house property and, tipped off by Lady Solness, had picked up some quite valuable little Thames Valley places that brought me in big summer rents and let well enough in the winter to pay our very moderate expenses at Sutton.

  But I had to be careful because of the Inland Revenue. They did not know about my flutters in the stock market or the sums which, acting upon the duke’s advice, I was salting away here and there — a good deal of it out of the country; and I was careful about what I paid into the bank, even going so far, now and again, as to run a little overdraft, just, as the duke said, for the hell of it! I gave myself a careful margin, and for the most part kept well inside it; because it was most important that there should be no record of my earnings — an easy matter to arrange, since, for my private work, I always insisted upon being paid in notes not exceeding ten pounds in value. I knew that my only crime would lie in being caught, and of this I never had a moment’s apprehension; but for the girls, I would never have given it a thought. Meanwhile the less curiosity my conduct and way of living roused the further the danger receded.

  No, I had no sort of shame about what I was doing, and I have none today. If anyone likes to be cynical and say I could afford, on the money I was making, to be shameless, I would just like to tell them that for every pound I made I gave away thousands in value, for which I never made a penny. I remembered Dr. Lavigne, and the people he saved and comforted, and I am grateful today for the blessings of humble people to whom what I have done for them means more than it ever meant to the wealthy ones whom — I don’t mind admitting it — I plundered. Human need goes beyond moral values in my opinion; and if I have ever wanted any reward for the risks I have taken, I get it in seeing the people I have helped walking about with their heads up and looking their neighbors straight in the eye, when they might be crawling round corners, or even worse than that.

  Still, Brockett was a bit of a plunge, and I hesitated, until I went over and had a look at the place for myself. I knew the house vaguely, as it was near Cissie’s, and I had always rather admired the bit of it you can see from the gates and across the palings that cut it off from the main road.

  But when we went over it I knew I had come to the end of my journey. It was a small Regency villa, of a type of which you find plenty of examples along the Thames; almost perfect of its kind, and neither too large nor too small for a family like ours. The rooms were large and well proportioned — especially on the ground floor — and the last tenants had left it in beautiful condition; there was no need to spend a penny, except on the domestic quarters, which were well modernized. There was a little lodge, the garage, some stabling at the back (which Jo claimed at once for her kennels), and room enough for two tennis courts without cutting the garden up like a public recreation ground. It reminded me — except that it was much prettier — of the Cedars; it had that comfortable, old-fashioned solidity and the lofty rooms which I have always preferred to the modern taste for low ceilings.

  Well, I arranged for a mortgage and took the place over as it stood, lock, stock, and barrel. I asked Susan if she would be willing to stay on with us as housekeeper and left it to her to engage a small staff. We moved in there in September 1928, and I felt like saying, “Home at last!” I wished Mother had been alive that day.

  Kathleen always says, “It’s easy to see why Mother bought Brockett!” She means the drawing room, which is certainly my favorite room. Into each of the four corners is built a little alcove, with shelves and conc
ealed lighting: the perfect arrangement for showing off china or objets d’art. Years ago I found a little painted snuffbox that started me off, and ever since I have been picking up bits here and there — some of which are really valuable, though I think the dealers saw me coming once or twice. But I had quite a collection of pretty and unusual things by the time we went to Brockett, and I got any amount of pleasure out of arranging them where people could look at and admire them. I still had Mr. Somervell’s little soapstone lady, by the way; she had certainly fulfilled her promise of keeping poverty away from the house. I offered her to Kathleen for her sitting room, but as she did not seem to care about her I gave her a little bracket to herself in a corner. I’ve got a streak of superstition about me somewhere, and it comes out now and again in things like that.

  The house was always full of company — the girls’ or mine — and people told me I should soon be getting ready to welcome a son-in-law. But Jo was too wrapped up in her kennels to have time for boys, and Kathleen kept me worrying about her because she never seemed to look at a man unless he was elderly or married or tied up in some way that put marriage out of the question. One time it looked as if there was going to be trouble about a man in the neighborhood who started neglecting his wife and running after Katie; I soon put a stop to that. Of course the child was not to blame; she was really very attractive, although perhaps I should not say it — some people even called her distinguished, which is a word I like the sound of, and it seemed to suit my Kathleen. Her hair had darkened as she grew older, but it was a good bronzy shade and, need I say, always cut in the newest style; she had a beautiful figure and, like all the girls, she used far too much lipstick — especially as her mouth was on the big side and the rest of her features (excepting her eyes) inclined to be small. Whatever were the latest fashion, in hats or furs or jewelry, Katie had to have them; and she never seemed to wear the same thing twice running; she was a great spender, was my Kathleen!