A Death in the Family

by Hazel Holt

  ‘They have a great deal of useful information on microfiche as well as original sources which, having, as I think I explained to you before, made a specific appointment to do so, I was able to examine.’

  ‘Excellent,’ I said. This interjection was acknowledged by a slight nod.

  ‘Now I have drawn up a new chart, which you will like to see.’ He unrolled a vast sheet of paper. I got up reluctantly and went over to look at it. It certainly looked very impressive and, given time and left to myself, I might have been able to make some sort of sense of it and even gain pleasure and information from it. Unfortunately, with Bernard instructing me in its intricacies in his most schoolmasterly manner I soon became hopelessly lost. I was suddenly reminded of various occasions at school when a patient schoolmistress tried to explain to me the theory and practice of algebra. At such moments a kind of shutter descends in my brain and although I may give the impression of taking in what is being said to me and even make what may sound like appropriate answers, they might just as well be addressing me in Swahili.

  ‘So you see,’ Bernard was saying, ‘I have been able to fill in a number of gaps – dates and even names – which were lacking before.’

  ‘That’s absolutely brilliant,’ I said enthusiastically. ‘What a terrific achievement.’

  Bernard looked gratified at my praise, though I sensed he may have felt my language wasn’t sedate enough for such a scholarly undertaking.

  ‘Really splendid,’ I added, that being a word that always went down well with academic colleagues.

  ‘I have had photocopies made of the family tree and all the relevant background information I have been able to obtain,’ Bernard said, handing me a rolled up document and a sheaf of papers. ‘One set for you and one each for Richard, Harry and Sybil. I intend visiting them within the next few days so that I can inform them about my findings. I have already seen Richard and Harry, I haven’t yet completed my research on Sybil’s branch of the family.’

  ‘I believe she’s Sister Veronica now,’ I said.

  ‘So I gather.’ There was an element of scorn in his voice.

  ‘Have you been to St Mary’s? It’s a sort of nursing home in the convent. The nuns look after elderly people there. I’ve never actually seen it – it’s tucked away in a valley the other side of Lynton.’

  Bernard made no comment, so I assumed he found the whole subject of Sybil’s way of life distasteful. He continued, ‘I will send copies of my findings to Hilda and Marjorie, and Cousin Frederick I will see when I return to Bristol.’

  ‘How is he?’ I asked. ‘It’s ages since I heard from him. I had a Christmas card from him last year, but no sort of news.’

  ‘He is quite well in himself,’ Bernard said, ‘but I fear he has had a great deal of trouble with that son of his. Of course Charles was spoilt by both of them when he was young and, after the divorce, when he went to live with Jessica, he led a very rackety sort of life – I cannot understand why she was given custody. Not that Frederick was much better, marrying again, someone so much younger than himself. No,’ he said shaking his head, ‘I am afraid that is not a branch of our family that we can be proud of.’

  I wondered momentarily whether he felt proud of Michael and me.

  ‘Oh well,’ I said vaguely, ‘as long as he’s still in the land of the living.’

  Bernard looked as if he was going to say something but then decided my comment wasn’t worth a reply.

  ‘Well, thank you very much for the family tree and all the other stuff,’ I said. ‘I’ll look forward to studying it when I have time to look at it properly.’

  Prompted by the thought that this might be the last time that I saw them I said, ‘Would you like a cup of tea or anything?’

  ‘No, thank you, Sheila, we must be on our way. I have to make a visit to the church at Combe Florey, where I think there may be a gravestone that might have some relevance.’

  ‘Combe Florey,’ I exclaimed. ‘That’s where the Reverend Sidney Smith was! Have you ever read his letters? The very best of nineteenth-century wit and wisdom, don’t you think? I adore him – how lovely to think that our family might have had some connection with his church.’

  Bernard seemed unimpressed with this literary reference, merely saying that the connection, if any, would be very slight.

  ‘When do you go back to Bristol?’ I asked.

  ‘In about ten days’ time. I have a flexible arrangement with the owner of the cottage we are renting since I wasn’t sure how long my research would take, and there are several things of some interest that I need to investigate further. That reminds me. I would like to keep the photographs you kindly lent me for a little longer, if that is convenient. I will, of course, return them as soon as I have finished with them.

  ‘No, that’s fine. Keep them as long as you like, they only sit there in the spare room doing nothing.’

  Bernard gathered up his papers and Janet shut her notebook, preparing to go.

  ‘Oh, by the way,’ I said, ‘thank you so much for giving that talk at Brunswick Lodge. It was very much appreciated.’

  Bernard gave a slight smile. ‘I think they found something of interest in what I was saying. The study of genealogy is growing and people are increasingly aware of its importance in their lives. It is, as I am sure you would agree, fundamental to our knowledge of ourselves to be aware of the roots from which we have sprung and it can add to our understanding not only of ourselves, but of those around us.’

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ I said, knowing just how Queen Victoria felt when she said that Gladstone addressed her as if she was a public meeting. ‘And I’m sure Anthea was very grateful to you for stepping into the breach.’

  ‘Your friend, Mrs Russell,’ Bernard said repressively, ‘does seem to possess a very forceful personality. I suppose that it is necessary to adopt that somewhat abrasive manner to get things done in certain circumstances.’

  I smiled weakly. ‘She’s very efficient – I don’t know what Brunswick Lodge would do without her.’

  ‘Well, goodbye Sheila. I will be in touch should I manage to glean any more information.’

  With this ominous promise they departed. I put the family tree and the other papers away in my desk and went outside again to finish my task, feeling that a little fresh air would help to blow away the irritated mood Bernard always left me in. Alas, while I’d been indoors the wind had got up again and my carefully garnered leaves had been blown all over the garden.

  ‘Actually,’ I said to Michael and Thea the next day, ‘I’m sure it’s all very interesting and, one day, when I have the time, I’m going to sit down and have a good look at all the stuff he left. It’s just the way he goes on!’

  ‘I hope’, Michael said anxiously, ‘you managed to head him off from me.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I know my maternal duty. He did ask about you but I made it quite clear that you had no information about the family, didn’t want to know anything and were probably about to leave the country at any minute. No, actually, it’s my generation he wants to cross-question. We still have the old photos, letters and other stuff. He’s right, I suppose – your generation will probably throw the whole lot out.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Ma, that’s not fair. I’m really quite interested. I used to love listening to Gran’s stories about when she was young and I’d hate Alice to grow up not knowing anything about her family.’

  ‘You’re lucky really,’ Thea said. ‘I often wish I knew more about my family. One day perhaps, when I have the time I’ll try to go into it. I believe it’s much easier now that things are online.’

  ‘That’s it,’ I said. ‘Time. Where does it go? I always thought that when I was older, when I was retired, I’d do all sorts of things. Read all the novels of Disraeli, things like that.’

  ‘That’s the problem, though,’ Thea said with a smile, ‘women never do retire, do they? A woman’s work is never done and all that.’

  ‘Oh come on,’ Mich
ael said, ‘I do my bit around the house!’

  ‘I know you do, you’re very good,’ Thea said, ‘and I’m so lucky to be able to be at home all day, but still there always seems to be something I never get round to.’

  ‘“All work expands to fill the time available”,’ I quoted. ‘Which reminds me that I’d better get going if I’m going to get my shopping done before lunch.’ I picked up my bag and prepared to go. ‘It’s stupid to go shopping on a Saturday, it’s always so crowded, but somehow I never got around to it in the week. Time again!’

  I was just considering the ripeness or otherwise of a couple of avocados (so difficult to light on the exact day when they are ripe but not going over) when someone behind me said, ‘Sheila! Long time no see!’ I turned round to see Pam, Harry Prior’s wife. ‘So glad I bumped into you,’ she continued, ‘we were just talking about you last night.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘We wondered whether this chap Bernard – some sort of cousin, isn’t he? – had been in touch with you?’

  ‘Indeed he has,’ I said. ‘You too?’

  Pam nodded. ‘You said that with feeling. Do I gather you’re as fed up with him as we were?’

  ‘Fed up is putting it mildly. The man’s an incubus!’

  Pam laughed. ‘I’m not quite sure what an incubus is, but I’m sure he’s that all right. No, honestly, he turned up at the most inconvenient time and stayed for ages. And then, just when we thought we’d got rid of him, he came back a couple of days later.’

  ‘He does that,’ I agreed, ‘several times. Was his wife Janet with him?’

  ‘No, just him, and that was quite enough. I mean, as if we’re interested. Poor Harry is working from morning till night – out in the fields and with the animals. Josh is at home now. He’s left agricultural college and is working on the farm, but still there’s always masses to do with just the two of them – we can’t possibly afford any full-time help, well, you know what it’s like. So the last thing Harry needed was this Bernard person wittering away about family trees and census reports and stuff like that!’

  ‘And,’ I said, ‘he’s completely impervious to any sort of hint – getting rid of him is pretty well impossible.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Pam said. ‘I had to come right out and more or less ask him to go. I do bed and breakfast now – it’s something I can do to help out the old finances – and the lot I had in wanted an evening meal, so I simply had to get on.’

  ‘You do have to be really rude,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t quite manage that but Cousin Hilda was – you remember her, up in London. Practically told him never to darken her doors again! That saw him off.’

  Pam laughed. ‘I should jolly well think it would. I only ever met her once and I was absolutely terrified. But good for her!’

  ‘I’m sure’, I said, ‘that there’s some quite interesting stuff in all his research, but it’s something I’d like to look at leisurely, in my own time, not with Bernard hovering over me.’

  ‘That’s more or less what Harry said. This Bernard brought a lot of papers for us to see the second time he came, but Harry just shoved them in a drawer in the sideboard.’

  ‘He’s still around,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have another visit from him because he’s got some old photos of mine that he’s got to return.’

  ‘If he comes back to us,’ Pam said, ‘Harry will go and hide with the cows and I’ll pretend to be out.’

  I laughed. ‘He’ll just come back again, but it’s worth a try.’ I looked at her loaded trolley. ‘You’ve been doing a big shop. Have you still got some B&B visitors? It must be practically the end of the season for you.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, it’s almost finished now – just one lot at the moment, then we get a bit of a surge at half-term, then close down till spring, thank goodness.’

  ‘It must be really hard work,’ I said. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’

  ‘Oh, well, we soldier on. It is pretty tiring, for all of us really, but Harry couldn’t bear to be anywhere else or do anything else. He took over from his father and he hopes Josh will take over from him.’

  ‘And do you think he will?’

  ‘Well, Josh has always loved helping around the farm, ever since he was tiny. I don’t think it’s ever occurred to him to do anything else, though goodness knows how we can keep going the way things are nowadays.’

  ‘It’s not a good time to be in farming,’ I said sympathetically. ‘How about Matt?’ I asked. ‘Does he want to be a farmer too?’

  ‘Matt? Good heavens no. He’s reading law at Bristol. We hope he’s going to be a high-flyer and restore the family fortunes. Your Michael’s a solicitor, isn’t he? Does he enjoy it?’

  ‘On the whole, yes – he’s working for Peter’s old firm so I suppose you could say that he’s following in his father’s footsteps too. Mind you, Thea, that’s his wife, who was a solicitor too, gave up when Alice was born.’

  ‘Oh, have you got a grandchild, how marvellous. I can’t wait for my two to produce offspring. How old is she?’

  ‘She’s four and a half,’ I said. ‘But very grown up for her age.’ I laughed. ‘Oh dear, I sound like a typical doting grandmother, don’t I? But she is a great joy – I’m very lucky they live so near so that I can watch Alice grow up.’

  Pam looked at her watch. ‘Goodness, is that the time? I must get a move on. It’s been great seeing you, Sheila. Do come and see us soon – it’d be good to have a proper chat. Bring Alice to see the cows.’

  ‘She’d like that, and so would I. I’ll give you a ring.’

  As I watched Pam’s tall, sturdy figure moving towards the checkout, I thought about how hard her life must be and about the effort she and Harry were making, against all the odds, to keep the farm going. Keeping it in the family. And I thought how Bernard’s appearance in Taviscombe, irritating though it was, had made me think much more about families in general and my family, in all its ramifications, in particular.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Every year I intend to put my bulbs in nice and early so that I’ll have something flowering for Christmas, but every year, although, in a fit of enthusiasm, I buy them right at the beginning of September, they hang about in brown paper bags until I can find a moment to do something about them. To be fair, it is quite a business; getting the bulb fibre out, trying to remember where I stored the containers, and eventually covering the kitchen table with sheets of newspaper and finally getting down to it. Not helped, of course, by Foss, always passionately interested in anything unusual taking place in the kitchen. When he discovered that a hyacinth bulb was notionally round and would, propelled by an inquisitive paw, roll right off the table, and that by swishing his tail he could sweep quite large amounts of bulb fibre onto the floor, I decided that enough was enough and put him out. Turning my back on the window where his indignant face was reproaching me, I got to work.

  I was just firming the earth on a bowl of jonquils when, to my annoyance, the phone rang. Somehow I was not surprised to find that it was Bernard.

  ‘Ah, Sheila. I am proposing to return the photographs to you this evening, together with most of the additional material I have been able to find. I say most because I have not yet been able to make full copies of my notes. Janet, I regret to say, has not been well these last few days and has had to stay indoors.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘I hope it was nothing serious.’

  ‘Some sort of virus, I believe,’ he said dismissively. ‘Most annoying – I have had to make all the preliminary notes from source myself and now I am having to spend time writing them up. So I will not be able to return the photographs and the other material to you myself. Janet will bring them round to you this evening.’

  ‘This evening?’

  ‘About eight o’clock. If,’ he added perfunctorily, ‘that is convenient for you.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said resignedly, ‘that’ll be all right. If you’re sure she’s quite recovered – I mean, I could collect t
hem from you if she’s still under the weather.’

  ‘No, Janet is perfectly recovered.’

  But when Janet arrived, right on the dot of eight, I thought she looked far from well. Normally pale and washed-out-looking, she looked positively ghost-like.

  ‘Do come in,’ I said. ‘I’ve got the fire on – you look frozen.’

  ‘It is quite autumnal,’ she said. ‘This heavy rain and a cold wind.’

  I took her coat and sat her down in a chair near the fire.

  ‘What can I get you, to warm you up?’ I asked. ‘Some herbal tea, or something stronger – a glass of sherry or a gin and tonic?’

  ‘A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you so much.’ She held out a package. ‘Bernard was very anxious to get the photographs back to you safely. He was most grateful to you for letting him borrow them.’

  ‘Glad to help,’ I said and put the package down on the table by the window.

  Just then Foss, attracted by the sound of voices, came in and made straight for Janet, leaping up onto her lap and settling down apparently for the evening.

  ‘Goodness,’ I said, ‘you are honoured. He doesn’t usually take to people he doesn’t know. Do put him down if he’s too much for you.’

  ‘No, no, really,’ she said smiling. ‘I’m delighted. I love cats. I often wish – but it isn’t really possible…’ She bent over and began to stroke Foss, firmly along his backbone, in just the way he likes.

  As I made the tea (herbal for Janet and Indian for me) I thought how she was transformed when she smiled, and I thought, with pity, that she probably didn’t have all that much in her life to smile about. She accepted the tea gratefully and drank it sitting awkwardly so as not to disturb Foss.

  ‘Bernard said you haven’t been well,’ I said. ‘Are you sure you’re properly recovered?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m fine really – a bit weak, but nothing to speak of. Bernard,’ she gave a little nervous laugh, quite different from her smile, ‘Bernard doesn’t like me to be ill.’