Anna and Her Daughters

by D. E. Stevenson

  I could do nothing for her, nothing at all except sit beside her and listen and squeeze her hand.

  Presently Mother came in and we got her undressed and tucked her up in bed. She was quieter by that time and we tried to make her drink a cup of tea but she would not have it, so Mother gave her a little red pill and sat beside her until she went to sleep.

  *

  When at last we sat down to supper Mother and I were both exhausted. We had cooked bacon and eggs; but I don’t know why we had bothered because neither of us was hungry.

  “This day feels like a week,” I said miserably — and so it did. I could hardly believe it was only that morning I had gone into the kitchen and seen Mother beating up eggs for the cake.

  “I know,” said Mother. “But don’t worry too much.”

  “Not worry!” It was ridiculous for Mother to say ‘don’t worry’. She was worried to death.

  “I said, ‘not too much,’” she explained. “It’s no use. We can’t do anything about it.”

  “What are we going to do with her?” I asked. “That’s what’s worrying me more than anything.”

  “She’ll carry on with her job.”

  “At the Fergusons’?”

  “Yes, at the Fergusons’. We must make her do that, Jane. It suits her and there’s no earthly reason why she should give it up.” Mother smiled rather sadly and added, “‘Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.’”

  “It will take her ages to get over it.”

  “I don’t think so — not really. She’ll be better to-morrow because she’s got it off her chest. You see, Jane there are two kinds of people: there are the people who weep and wail when they’re in trouble and the people who shut it all up inside. People like Rosalie recover more quickly. It’s better for themselves but harder on their friends. You’re the kind that tholes in silence,” she added.

  I said nothing. There was nothing to say.

  “All the same,” continued Mother. “Even if you don’t weep and wail there are occasions when it’s quite a good thing to talk about things.” She hesitated and looked at me.

  For a moment I hesitated too, but only for a moment “It’s no use — talking,” I said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next few weeks were very uncomfortable; Rosalie recovered and went about as usual but she looked pale and wretched and was liable to dissolve into tears at unexpected moments. Fortunately she never suggested giving up her job at the Fergusons’; I think she found comfort in the children.

  Jean and Kenneth knew all about it. They were fond of Rosalie and had not been blind to what was happening at Ayr. Kenneth wanted to ‘speak to Ronnie’ but of course this would have been fatal, so Mother persuaded him to hold his peace.

  Presently a letter arrived from Helen saying she was not coming down for the week-end as arranged because Ronnie had offered to take her to St. Andrews on Saturday to spend the day with some friends; and Ronnie’s aunt, with whom he was staying, had invited her to lunch on Sunday. Kenneth had a letter from Ronnie containing the same news, but he had added in a hasty postscript that Helen was wonderful; he had never met anyone like Helen before.

  Jean brought the letter and showed it to Mother and said that Kenneth was upset about the whole affair — and what were they to do? Again Mother persuaded them to do nothing, but it took a lot of persuasion.

  All this was very difficult for Mother because Helen was her daughter — just as much as Rosalie — and if Helen, and Ronnie were fond of each other it was nobody’s business but their own. Mother saw quite clearly that Helen was not to blame for what had happened, nor Ronnie either for that matter, so the only thing to do was to make the best of it. Mother’s time was spent soothing people and she found it extremely wearing. I might have been more help but I was particularly busy at Mrs. Millard’s; Esmeralda’s biography was nearing completion and the publishers had written asking when it would be finished.

  Work at Mrs. Millard’s and troubles at home kept me so busy that I scarcely had a moment to myself and when we heard that The Mulberry Coach had been accepted by a publisher without the slightest hesitation I was not as excited as might have been expected. I was pleased, but my pleasure was shadowed.

  It was June by this time and we had not seen Helen for several weeks nor had we heard from her; but one afternoon, when I went home after a whole day of work with Mrs. Millard, I found Jean Ferguson having tea with Mother. They both looked up when I went in and there was a moment’s silence.

  Then Mother said, “Jean has come to tell us that Helen and Ronnie are engaged. He rang up and told them at lunchtime. I expect Helen will ring up to-night.”

  “Oh!” I exclaimed — and then I added, “That’s good news, isn’t it? We all love Ronnie.”

  “Yes, of course,” agreed Mother. “It will be lovely to have dear Ronnie as a son-in-law.”

  Jean said nothing but I could see from her face that she was angry, and I wondered why. Just lately she and Kenneth had been more resigned and had accepted the fact that if the engagement took place the only thing to do was to make the best of it. The situation was so difficult that I did not know what to say, but I had to say something.

  “Oh well,” I said, trying to speak lightly. “We’ve seen it coming, haven’t we? I don’t suppose they’ll be married for some time —”

  “Early next month,” said Jean … and then she burst out, “I can’t pretend to be pleased. Helen isn’t the right girl! I don’t want her for Ronnie! Oh, I know it’s dreadful of me to talk like this but honestly I can’t help it. Helen is completely selfish — she cares for nothing except herself — she’ll ruin his whole life — that’s what will happen. She’s made him give up that post at Eastringford!”

  “Oh no!” I cried.

  “Oh yes, she has! I’ve just been telling your Mother about it. Ken is absolutely furious; I’ve never seen Ken so angry. Ken says it’s madness to throw up the post. Ronnie is a brilliant bacteriologist, he only wants experience and this would have been the most marvellous experience for him. It was an honour for him to have been chosen — at his age — to work on these new experiments; he’s not likely to get such a chance again … and Helen has made him give it up!”

  Mother and I were silent.

  “Oh, of course it’s all glossed over,” continued Jean bitterly. “Ronnie says it’s his own choice and Helen has nothing to do with it — but we know better than that! He was looking forward to it tremendously; he could talk of little else. Ronnie knew it was his great opportunity and he kept on saying how extraordinarily lucky he had been. Now he says the salary wouldn’t be enough and he could get a better-paid post at one of the London hospitals. Well, of course he could! We knew that from the beginning — but money isn’t everything!”

  “But that’s dreadful!” I exclaimed. “Can’t we do something? Surely if we explained to Helen — perhaps Helen doesn’t know.”

  “Helen!” cried Jean. “Helen knows as well as I do. She doesn’t care a bit about his career. All Helen cares about is herself and her own comfort. Helen wants to live in London and have a good time … besides it’s too late to alter it now. The thing’s done. He’s written and given it up.” She rose and added, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. I shouldn’t have come here while I was in such a raging temper. I had better go home.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Mother. What else could she say?

  “Oh, I know,” said Jean. “It isn’t your fault — but it’s all so miserable — the Eastringford post — and Rosalie — and everything.” Her anger had gone and she was nearly in tears. “It’s all so — miserable,” she repeated. “And Ronnie is such a darling. I love Ronnie as if — as if he were my very own brother. Ken and I have always been so proud of him. If only it had been Rosalie! Rosalie would never have — made him — do this.”

  “Rosalie —” began Mother in sudden anxiety.

  “I’ve told her,” said Jean. “It’s
no good trying to hide it. She took it extraordinarily well. She just said she knew it would happen. I’ll go back to the children and let her come home.” Jean kissed Mother and added, “It won’t make any difference — to us. Will it?”

  “I hope not,” said Mother. She was very fond of Jean.

  *

  Soon after this Helen gave up her work in Edinburgh and came home.

  “There’s a lot to do,” she said. “We shall have to find a flat in London and I must get busy with my trousseau.”

  “Has Ronnie got a post in London?” asked Mother.

  “Oh yes,” replied Helen, but she did not tell us what it was.

  Rosalie was now staying all day with the Fergusons (they were finding her very useful) so the two girls only met at breakfast. This was a great relief to Mother who had been wondering what she would do with them both in the house together, and what she would do when Ronnie came down from Edinburgh to spend the day. Rosalie could not always go to bed with a streaming cold, as she had done the first time the engaged couple came down from Edinburgh to lunch.

  Helen’s trousseau was a very elaborate affair, she had bought yards of peach-coloured nylon and was making frilly nightdresses and petticoats. She had always enjoyed making ‘pretties’ for herself, even before the ‘earthquake’.

  The wedding was to be in July; Helen wanted to have it in London, but Mother said no.

  “It would cost far too much,” explained Mother. “I simply haven’t got the money. You can be married in Ryddelton and we’ll have a small reception at Tocher House.”

  “And ask all your friends!” said Helen scornfully. “That would be nice for you. My friends happen to live in London.”

  Mother said nothing but her eyes filled with tears.

  Of course it was true, but there was no need to say it so unkindly. (The fact was the atmosphere at Timble Cottage was like tinder and only required a spark to set it ablaze. We were all living on our nerves and all, except Helen, knew the cause.)

  A few days later Helen received a letter from Aunt Thelma; it arrived when we were at breakfast and when she had read it she passed it round the table without saying a word. There was a look of triumph on her face which made me feel uneasy so I got up and read it over Mother’s shoulder.

  Aunt Thelma said that she and Uncle Leonard were glad to hear Helen was to be married soon as they did not believe in long engagements. They had talked over Helen’s suggestion and would be very pleased to have the reception in their house. They would give it to Helen as a wedding present. It was natural that Helen should want to be married in London and ask all her own friends but the reception must be limited. Fifty guests would be as many as they could manage. Aunt Thelma added that they would be very pleased to have Helen to stay (and she had better come at least ten days before the wedding and help with the preparations) but there would not be room for us all so perhaps the rest of the family could stay with friends or make other arrangements.

  “Very kind of them,” said Mother, and went on eating her breakfast.

  I could see she was upset and I was not surprised. There were all sorts of reasons why she should be upset. For one thing she did not like asking Aunt Thelma to have the reception at her house; for another the whole affair had been taken out of her hands and she would only be a guest at her daughter’s wedding; last but not least it would be hard for Mother to go back to London and meet all the people she had known before and to be aware that they were pitying her for her changed conditions.

  Having got her own way Helen became cheerful and pleasant and at once began to talk about which of her friends should be asked to the reception.

  “Only fifty!” she said. “It will be terribly difficult. I’m sure we could have more if Aunt Thelma moved all the furniture out of the drawing-room and opened those double-doors. I can see about that when I’m staying with her. Rosalie must be my bridesmaid, of course. I shall only have one — or perhaps I had better have Vera as well.”

  Rosalie said nothing. She was staring at her plate.

  “I would rather you didn’t have Rosalie,” said Mother.

  “Not have Rosalie!” exclaimed Helen in amazement.

  “No, not Rosalie,” repeated Mother. She took up the spoon to help herself to marmalade and I saw that her hand was shaking.

  “But of course Rosalie must be my bridesmaid!” cried Helen. “She’s the obvious choice! She’s my sister!”

  “You can have Jane —” began Mother.

  “Really, Mother, I think you’re mad!” cried Helen. “Rosalie would be just right. She and Vera would look charming together. Jane would be quite wrong. She’s far too tall and gawky.” She turned to me and added, “You wouldn’t enjoy it a bit, would you?”

  “No, I shouldn’t,” I replied firmly. It was not my line at all. The mere idea of mincing up the aisle decked out in garments of Helen’s choosing gave me the shudders. Carrying a bouquet! Wearing a wreath of roses on my hair!

  “I wouldn’t enjoy it either,” said Rosalie in a low voice.

  “You wouldn’t enjoy it either! Why ever not?”

  “I don’t think I can come at all,” said Rosalie desperately. “I mean the children would miss me. I mean Jean really needs me to — to look after them — and — and —”

  “Surely Jean would let you off to go to your sister’s wedding!”

  “But they’ll want to go,” I said. “Kenneth is Ronnie’s brother. It’s Ronnie’s wedding just as much as yours.”

  “Jane is right,” declared Mother. “ Ronnie is sure to want Kenneth and Jean to come to the wedding so Rosalie will have to stay and look after Deb and Sally.”

  “Oh, really!” exclaimed Helen. “So Rosalie can’t come to my wedding because of those horrible children! And what about you, Jane? I suppose you can’t come either?”

  “It will be difficult,” I said. “Mrs. Millard is terribly busy, but I expect she would let me off for two or three days.”

  “I’ve got a funny sort of family!” cried Helen furiously. “None of you think of me! You’re jealous because I’m going to have a proper wedding in London! Yes, you’re jealous, that’s what it is! You sit there as glum as owls and pour cold water on the whole thing! But I don’t care. If you don’t want to come to the wedding you can stay away — all of you. If neither of my sisters wants to be my bridesmaid I can ask someone else. There are lots of girls who will jump at it.” She pushed back her chair violently and got up and left the room banging the door behind her.

  “She’s angry —” exclaimed Rosalie, bursting into tears.

  “Poor Helen,” said Mother sadly.

  Another person might have said ‘poor Rosalie’ but Mother was always sorry for people with blinkers.

  Chapter Fifteen

  *

  I did not want to go to Helen’s wedding any more than Rosalie but I could not let Mother go by herself. At first Jean and Kenneth decided that they would come too, and Rosalie was to stay with the children, but these arrangements were upset at the last minute by Deb developing measles. Jean refused to leave her and Kenneth seized the excuse to remain at home himself. He was still angry with Helen — and almost more angry with Ronnie — so any excuse for not going to the wedding was better than none. Of course the change of plan meant that Rosalie could have come to the wedding, but this was never mentioned.

  When I told Mrs. Millard about the wedding she offered me a week’s holiday — and then withdrew the offer. I suppose she saw in her usual perspicacious way that I was not very enthusiastic about it.

  “I can’t spare you,” she declared. “I’m a selfish old woman.”

  “I think I shall have to go,” I said doubtfully.

  “Three days then,” said Mrs. Millard. “You’ll get three days’ holiday — no more and no less. If you don’t report for duty on Friday morning you’ll get the sack.”

  “Oh, thank you. That will be marvellous!” I exclaimed. “We can go on Tuesday and come back on Thursday and miss the pa
rty.”

  “The party would be intolerable?”

  “It’s a question of clothes,” I said. “I mean we couldn’t wear the same clothes as we’re going to wear at the wedding —”

  “Jane,” interrupted Mrs. Millard. “There’s no need to pretend to me. For one thing it’s useless, I know you too well, and for another thing I know all about it. Oh I’m not a witch! You see I’ve met your future brother-in-law (Dr. Ferguson introduced him to me) and of course I recognised him at once. Dr. Ferguson said his name was Ronnie, but I knew better.”

  “ I don’t know what you mean!”

  “His name is Ralph.”

  I said hastily, “It was just — dreams. There was nothing —”

  “Just dreams,” said Mrs. Millard with a sigh. “Oh well, I’ve had dreams too. The best thing to banish a dream is to fill your life full of hard work.” She hesitated for a moment and then added, “You may not believe me but hard work brings its own reward. It’s a good second-best.”

  She said no more and neither did I.

  Rosalie came to the station to see us off. She had been in better spirits since Helen had gone to London, but as the train drew off she dissolved into tears and we left her standing weeping upon the platform. Mother, herself, was not very far from tears and sat gazing out of the window with a face of tragedy.

  “Anyone would think we were going to a funeral,” I said crossly.

  “Anyone would,” agreed Mother with a faint smile. “You’re quite right, Jane. I’ll cheer up in a minute or two. It’s just that I’m so worried about Rosalie. When I think of the future I wonder what will happen to her. Will she ever be able to stand on her own feet? Life bears hardly on people like Rosalie.”

  I was still a bit cross so I said, “Yes, it’s better to be tough and callous and selfish.”

  “Oh Jane, what a dreadful thing to say! It isn’t like you!” She hesitated and then asked, “Was it Mrs. Millard?”

  “But she didn’t mean it,” I said hastily. “She says things like that — things that she doesn’t really mean. It’s a sort of joke.”