Rosemary Aitken

by Flowers for Miss Pengelly

  ‘Well, he says that we can get you out into a chair – he’s taking about tomorrow afternoon – but how he thinks I’m going to do that on my own I cannot think. You will simply have to wait till Joe comes home and that won’t be till six – won’t be what you’re hoping, but it will have to do.’

  Walter stared at her. ‘Why ever would we have to wait for Joe? I aren’t helpless, broken bones or no. If I’ve got you to lean on, I can get my damty self into a chair. Only a matter of standing up and turning round.’

  She shook her head. ‘Well that’s just where you’re wrong. The doctor says you’ll be as weak as water for a bit. It’s one thing to half-sit propped up with pillows like you’re doing now, but trying to get out of bed is something else, when you’ve been lying down for weeks. Might come over funny the first time, so he says – and if you fell over, what would I do then? I couldn’t lift you back, with your splint and everything – to say nothing of the fact that you could hurt your leg again. I aren’t risking that. No!’ She held her hand up as he started to protest. ‘We will simply have to wait for Joe – the first few days at least. So leave it go at that. Now, I’ve put the kettle on the hob. You want a cup of tea?’

  He nodded glumly and she went downstairs again. It was her idea of consolation, but it did not help him much. He listened glumly to the noises in the street – a horse and cart, two women gossiping – fretting that he could not sit out and watch it all. The street would be half-empty by the time that Joe came home, and even then the man would want his tea before he came to help the damty invalid. Pity he wasn’t on the early shift this week, like the men that he could hear approaching even now. And that was when he had his good idea.

  He was actually smiling when Madge came back again, bringing him his tea and a slice of still-warm hevva cake she’d made.

  ‘What’s up with you then? I thought you’d be wild. I hope you’re not intending to try to sweet-talk me and make me change my mind about letting you sit out? Well if that’s what you’re hoping, Walter, you can think again. I really mean it – I aren’t willing to risk it on my own.’

  He took a sip of sweetened tea and smacked his lips. ‘Well how don’t you ask one of the early shift to help? Young Peter Kellow now, he’s a willing lad, and he’s been here to see me of his own accord. I do b’lieve he would be tickled to be asked.’

  She shook her head. ‘Can’t go asking favours of a lad like that. Why would he want to help?’

  Walter had a very shrewd idea but he did not tell Madge. ‘Give him a morsel of your hevva cake and that would pay him more than ’andsome, I should say! Nobody living makes hevva cake like you.’ He knew that it was flattery, but the cake was very good and his Susan was dead so it was almost true.

  ‘Get on with you!’ Madge muttered, but she did not demur.

  He had judged correctly. Peter Kellow was delighted to be asked and volunteered to come in every day – though Walter remained privately convinced that it had more to do with Effie than with any hevva cake.

  Part Four

  October – November 1912

  One

  Effie was delighted to find Pa out of bed and in the chair, with his bad leg propped up before him on a kitchen stool. He was sitting by the window with a rug across his lap, and he was balancing a saucepan on the top of it so he could string and slice a pile of runner beans which had been heaped conveniently on the chest of drawers nearby.

  He waved the knife in greeting. ‘Making myself useful. At least I’m trying to. But I keep on dropping half the damty strings.’ He gestured to the floor. ‘Be an angel, Effie, and pick them up for me. There’s a bucket down there I’m supposed to drop them in, but they keep missing when I let them fall.’

  She came over to plant a kiss on his cheek then knelt down to collect the fragments, which were scattered all around the pail. ‘Can’t be easy when you can’t bend over. How’s the ankle coming on? Aunty Madge says they are going to let you walk on it next week, but I see you’ve got a pillow underneath it on the stool. Not very comfortable otherwise?’

  He shook his head and gave a rueful laugh. ‘Not very comfortable anyway. Dratted splint’s so heavy that it makes me thighs ache holding it like this. But don’t you go saying that to your Aunty Madge or she will have me back in bed before you can say Jack Robinson. I’ve had a job to make her let me stay here as it is – she keeps on saying it will tire me out. I only kept her quiet by offering to do the damty beans. And I insisted that the doctor said an hour, so Peter Kellow isn’t coming back till then.’

  She had collected half of the errant bean strings by this time but she sat up in astonishment at this. ‘Peter Kellow? What has Peter got to do with it?’

  Pa was smiling at her with his eyebrows arched. ‘Oh, he’s been very good since I’ve been laid up in bed. Been to see me of his own accord and talked about the mine. Did me a power of good. And when he heard Madge needed help to get me in and out the chair, he was only too happy to give a bit of a hand. Nice boy is Peter. Don’t know if you ever run into him these days?’

  She felt herself turn scarlet and she turned away again, pretending that she was busy hunting beans. She said, in a carefully casual tone of voice, ‘I have come across him lately once or twice – they sent him to fetch me when you had your accident – though I hadn’t spoken to him, up to then, for absolutely years.’ She crawled away to reach another fragment of a pod.

  ‘Came to fetch you, did he?’ Pa said, in a way that made her think that he had known that all along. ‘That was nice of him. You’ll want to thank him when he comes back here, then, I’ll be bound.’ He dropped his hand on to her head and ruffled up her hair. ‘And don’t think I haven’t noticed. It’s clear he’s sweet on you. And you’ve got my blessing if you’re thinking to walk out with him.’ He gave a rather rueful sort of laugh. ‘Without you’ve got admirers in town I haven’t heard about. Joe’s certain that you have, but I said you’d have told me if there was anything.’

  Effie shook her head. This was the last thing she wanted to discuss with Pa today. She thought a moment before saying carefully, ‘Well there was a young fellow I took a fancy to, but that’s all over now.’

  Pa was silent for a moment and then said in an altered tone of voice. ‘Don’t you tell me that he’s led you up the garden path, or leg or no leg I’ll go after him.’

  It was clear he meant it, but it sounded comical and Effie was actually able to give a little laugh before she answered, quite light-heartedly, ‘No, nothing of the kind. More the other way about. I thought a lot of Alex but it would not have done – and in the end I had to tell him so.’ She had simplified the story but that was the gist of it.

  She was avoiding looking at her father all this time but she could tell from his voice that he was staring searchingly at her. ‘What do you mean exactly, “it would not have done”. What was it? He was twice your age? Some artist type or something, who was not respectable?’ She shook her head at each suggestion as he spoke but finally he voiced what must have been his great anxiety. ‘You’re not going to tell me that he was a married man?’

  It was a relief to Effie to be able to laugh his fears aside. ‘No, ’course I wouldn’t get mixed up in anything like that! Alex was nothing if not respectable. That was the trouble really, he was too well-off. You should have heard him talk about his family – servants and stables and that sort of thing and his father something important in the army once. I couldn’t very well have brought him home to this! He wasn’t really suitable for somebody like me.’

  ‘And you never told me?’ Pa sounded really hurt. ‘I would like to have met him, any road, if you really cared for him.’

  ‘Well actually you did meet him,’ Effie said. ‘Though I hardly knew him then. He was that young policeman who came out to the mine. There, I’ve said it, but it doesn’t matter now in any case. It never came to being serious – he was only just a friend – and after what I said he saw the sense of it and he has started seeing someone else.’ She
straightened up and put the bean strings in the pail. ‘So let’s not talk about it any more.’

  He reached across and took her hand in his. He was not given to such gestures and there was a moment of special closeness before he murmured in his gentlest voice, ‘I’m some glad you told me, Effie, though I can see it gives you pain. I don’t like having secrets between the two of us.’

  She sat down close beside him on the corner of the bed. ‘And no more do I.’ She paused to squeeze his fingers apologetically, then added with a little laugh, ‘But don’t for pity’s sake go telling Uncle Joe. You can just imagine what he’d say if he knew! Consorting with a policeman – and a wealthy one at that! I would never hear the last of—’ She broke off at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. ‘But let’s change the subject – here comes Aunty Madge. Why don’t we let her find us talking about how much you’re enjoying your change of view?’

  But it wasn’t Aunty Madge who tapped the door a minute later. It was Peter Kellow, dressed up for visiting, his face and neck still glowing where he’d scrubbed them red and his ginger hair still damp with washing. He had even scraped the mine-dust from underneath his nails, and had clearly made an effort before coming here tonight, quite different from the day he’d come to get her from Penzance. You would never call him handsome, even now, but you had to admit that he did look quite nice when he cleaned up a bit.

  He coloured with pleasure when he saw that she was there. ‘Miss Pengelly – Effie!’ he exclaimed at once. ‘I was hoping you would come. How wonderful to see you. And you too, sir, of course.’

  It was a bit discourteous in a sick-room, but Pa didn’t seem to mind. In fact he chuckled. ‘Don’t mind me, young man. I don’t need glasses to see what interests you!’

  Peter was instantly contrite. ‘I came to help your sister put you back to bed, but she’s putting jam tarts in the oven for your tea so she suggested that Effie could lend a hand instead – it’s only to help steady you, sir, after all.’

  ‘Call me Walter, boy, for heaven’s sake!’ Pa said gruffly. ‘You’ve seen me in me night-shirt and bare feet and knees – you can’t call me sir for ever more.’

  It was a great concession for a person of his age to somebody who wasn’t in his family or his pare. Peter knew it too. He turned a brighter ginger than his hair. ‘Thank you, Mr Pengelly, sir. I mean Walter, sir,’ he muttered in confusion and made everybody laugh.

  It was Pa who really brought things back to normal, though. ‘Well, come on, you two. I’ve done these damty beans. If you’ll just take the saucepan and the knife . . .’ He handed them to Effie, who put them safely down. ‘You can help me to my feet and get me into bed before Madge comes and makes a fuss.’

  Effie took her place on the left-hand side of Pa while Peter went around towards the window side and they pulled the rug back while Pa swung his leg down from the stool and then leaned on their shoulders as they heaved him to his feet.

  It was the first time that Effie had seen him try to stand and she was not prepared for how unsteady he appeared to be. But she did manage to support him as they helped him turn around and manoeuvre himself a little further up the bed. Peter had the wit to turn the blankets back and Pa was able to lean back on the bolster and put his good leg in before they helped him raise the splinted one.

  Effie saw him wincing and she bit her lip. It was going to be a good few days before he walked, she thought, and she almost told him so, but Peter caught her eye. He gave her a look which told her what she should have seen herself – that she wouldn’t help her father by saying things like that. She nodded, gratefully.

  ‘Well, there you are again!’ She made her voice sound bright. ‘Tucked up cosy and ready for your tea. I’ll just take these beans downstairs for Aunty Madge – she will be wanting to salt them for Christmas I expect, so I can give a hand and leave you two fellows to chat about the mine.’ She seized the pail and saucepan and the piece of newspaper on which the beans had stood, and suited the action to her words.

  Peter was looking at her with dismay but she shook her head at him. It was not that she wanted to get away from him, as he appeared to think; it was simply that the tears were standing in her eyes and she didn’t want her Pa to realize.

  She explained that to Peter when he came down again and he was very nice. Said that he’d noticed and completely understood but that her Pa was waiting for her now. So she hurried back and talked to him herself, fifteen to the dozen – all the funny things that she could think of telling him – until it was time to catch the late horse-bus back into Penzance.

  Major Knight seemed determined to be especially genial today. He had not only sent the carriage down, as promised, but as soon as the butler had taken Alex’s coat and hat, the Major had come out to greet him warmly in the hall and invite him into his private study for a brandy before lunch. ‘The ladies won’t be joining us for half an hour or so. Titivating themselves up as usual, I suppose, eh what?’ he said, expansively, leading the way into the room.

  Alex had never been invited in there before and he wondered to what he owed the privilege today. It was obviously the Major’s personal retreat, with leather easy chairs, an enormous bearskin rug, crossed African spears above the fireplace, and a collection of sporting trophies and regimental photographs on all the other walls. The Major sent the manservant away and poured the drinks himself, from a glass decanter in a sort of wooden frame device which unlocked with a key, saying as he did so, ‘You like my little sanctum, eh? Well, bottoms up – good health and all that.’ He raised his glass and sank into the deepest chair.

  The brandy was absolutely excellent, far better than anything usually offered after lunch. This was another unaccustomed honour and Alex felt more and more uneasy as he took the other armchair on the far side of the fire, shadowed by a gigantic fern plant in a huge brass pot. All this affability was not the Major’s general style. He was leading up to something, Alex felt quite sure, and he had an uncomfortable suspicion that he might know what it was.

  He braced himself for an embarrassing exchange. He wasn’t ready to be asked what his intentions were towards Miss Caroline. He didn’t really have any, if the truth were told. He found things satisfactory exactly as they were: an undemanding conversation over a pleasant lunch followed by a gallop on a splendid horse. But how could he explain this to his host – or indeed to Caroline, who was no doubt entertaining other hopes of him?

  The Major put his glass down and cleared his throat a touch. ‘I wanted to have a quiet word with you, before we went in to lunch.’

  This was it, then! Alex gulped more brandy than he’d intended to, and almost ended up by spluttering. But he managed to contain it and murmur – though his voice came out unusually hoarse – ‘Of course, sir. What was it about?’

  The Major surprised him by broaching something else. ‘Fact is, I happened to run into Old Broughton yesterday – you remember I mentioned that I saw him now and then?’ He made that little throat-clearing noise again. ‘Found myself sitting next to him at some charity affair. I took the opportunity to put in a word for you.’ He leaned back and looked at his guest expectantly.

  ‘That’s extremely . . .’ Alex said, and let the sentence lapse. Here was another dilemma he wasn’t ready for. If he expressed undying gratitude, as the Major was obviously expecting him to do, he might invite the same thing to occur again. And the truth was that he did not welcome it. He had fought for years to stand on his own feet, without his parents pulling strings for him behind the scenes, and now here was someone else’s father doing it. Or trying to at least; it was possible that it would have the opposite effect. The Borough Chief of Police (Alex could not think of him as ‘Old Broughton’ even now) had never been a military man and was said to have delivered a famous diatribe against ‘these ex-army johnnies trying to pull rank and interfering with the running of the civilian force’.

  But Alex could hardly say that either. He would offend his host, so he sought words that seemed decently po
lite. ‘That was so unlooked for, Major, I don’t know what to say,’ he settled on at last, which had the advantage of being true at least.

  The Major took it as an expression of delight. ‘Oh, don’t bother to thank me. It’s of no account at all. It was the least that I could do. After all, I’ve known the chap for years. Caroline’s been urging me for weeks to speak to him.’

  Alex took another gulp to stay his nerves. He felt the liquid fire running through his veins and it emboldened him. ‘It was kind of you to think of it, Major Knight, of course. But I doubt that the Borough Commissioner would even recognize my name. He does not have much to do with us junior constables.’

  Knight tossed back his brandy with a practised hand. ‘But my dear fellow, that’s just where you are wrong. Old Broughton knew exactly who you were – especially when I pointed out that you’d topped the entrance test. Said oh yes, you’d done exceptionally well and he had been keeping an eye on your progress ever since. Apparently your training sergeant speaks very well of you in his regular reports.’

  Alex murmured something deprecating in reply.

  ‘Asked him outright what future prospects were and he told me, if you kept on doing well, you could expect promotion in due course and even have a village station of your own, with its own accommodation, within a year or two.’ Knight warmed his brandy in his hands and slowly drained the glass. ‘No doubt that’s the sort of thing that you were aiming for?’

  ‘That was my ambition, certainly.’ Alex saw where this was leading and made a bold attempt to parry the attack. ‘But you appreciate that it would take me several years before I could think of . . .’

  The Major waved a hand to cut him off. ‘A little police house in the country with perhaps a maid to help? And perhaps a sergeant’s posting somewhere after that? It sounds idyllic in the abstract, I agree. But it’s not the sort of life my daughter is accustomed to and I warn you that I think that she would find it difficult – though she will be of age quite shortly and wilful enough to defy my judgement I am sure.’ He leaned forward sharply in the chair. ‘No, my boy,