Coral Glynn

by Peter Cameron

  “I’m worried that I am—not in a position to marry Major Hart.”

  “Whatever do you mean? Do you mean because of class? None of that matters anymore, darling. And Clement had quite given up on marrying any girl at all, you see, so—”

  “No,” said Coral. “It isn’t that.”

  “Then whatever is it?”

  “I’m with child,” said Coral.

  “Coral! Whatever do you mean? Do you mean that you are pregnant?”

  “Yes,” said Coral. “And I don’t know what to do…”

  “But whose … Is it Clement’s? Don’t tell me he’s … or that you’ve—”

  “No,” said Coral. “It isn’t his. It can’t possibly be.”

  “Then whose is it? Have you got a beau somewhere?”

  “No,” said Coral. “At my previous position—it was with a family; the children had scarlet fever, all three of them, and they needed a nurse, and the husband—”

  “Oh, darling—did he force himself upon you?”

  “Yes,” said Coral.

  “Oh, how awful,” said Dolly. “You poor thing. Aren’t men brutes? I’m so lucky with Robin, I forget how horrible most men are, as bad as dogs—”

  “What can I do?” asked Coral. “What should I do?”

  “Well, that depends,” said Dolly. “First of all, you mustn’t cry. Men can always tell when women have been crying, I expect because they’re so often the cause of it. Let me get you a hankie.”

  Dolly opened her bag and extracted a handkerchief. She handed it to Coral and watched Coral dab at her eyes and blow her nose and then said, “How far gone are you?”

  “About three months,” said Coral.

  “Do you want to get rid of it?”

  “I don’t know,” said Coral. “I don’t know what to do…”

  “Couldn’t you do it yourself? You are a nurse, after all.”

  “I suppose,” said Coral, “but it’s dangerous.”

  “I know a girl who got one, and she was fine,” said Dolly. “She just wept all the time.”

  “Do you know someone who—”

  “Oh, darling, forget about all that. Just marry him, marry Clement and it will all be fine. Everyone will think it’s his, and perhaps he will, too. Men are so stupid about babies.”

  “You don’t think I should tell him?”

  “Tell him? Of course not! Just go ahead with everything, marry him, and it will all work itself out.”

  “But what if he finds out?”

  “People don’t find out things they’d rather not. And if he does, you’ll be married and there’s nothing he can do about it without embarrassing himself.”

  “You’re sure I shouldn’t tell him?” asked Coral.

  “I’ve never been surer of anything,” said Dolly. “Trust me, darling. Just put it all out of your mind. Oh, you poor dear. Really, you mustn’t let anything ruin your happy occasion. We get so little happiness in life, you know.”

  They sat in silence for a moment and then Coral stood. “If you’ll help me Dolly, I’ll put on the dress.”

  “Of course!” said Dolly. “That is what I am here for, darling. Now, have you got new under things?”

  “No,” said Coral. “Just the dress and stockings.”

  “Oh, darling, you should have new under things—”

  “It’s all right,” said Coral. “I don’t need them. I only need—”

  The door was knocked upon and Dolly called out, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, ma’am,” said the maid. “Major Hart and Mr. Lofting are downstairs. They say it is time for you to go.”

  “Tell them we’ll be there in a moment!” Dolly shouted at the door.

  * * *

  There was no weeping at the wedding. The car Major Hart had hired could only accommodate the four members of the bridal party, so Mrs Coppard stayed behind at The Black Swan to supervise the preparations for the wedding luncheon. And perhaps, even if Mrs Coppard had accompanied the bridal party to the magistrate’s office, she might not have shed a single tear, for there was nothing sentimental or lovely about the ceremony. Sensing this deficiency and feeling short-changed, Dolly asked if she might sing “Two Roses in a Garden Grew,” but the magistrate would not allow it, and so the ceremony remained unadorned by feeling.

  * * *

  An awkward scene awaited the bridal party back at The Black Swan, where Major Hart had reserved a private dining room for their luncheon. It was a problem of size: the room was too large. It contained a long rectangular table set for sixteen, with seven places down each side and one at either end. Mrs Coppard, had, in the absence of any other suitable hostess, taken it upon herself to arrange the seating, and had put Mrs Prence, Mrs Henderson, and the pansy from the flower shop along one side with two empty places on either side of Mrs Henderson. She suggested that Robin and Dolly sit at the far ends of the other side, Robin next to the bride at one end and Dolly next to the groom at the other. She would take the middle seat, opposite Mrs Henderson.

  Mrs Henderson, who felt stranded in the middle of the table with only Mrs Coppard directly across from her for company, said, “Perhaps it would be jollier if we cleared away the extra settings and shifted everyone down towards one end of the table?”

  “Oh, no,” said Mrs Coppard. “That would never do. It’s a wedding luncheon, so the bride and groom must have the seats of honour.”

  “Perhaps they could sit beside each other at one end, and we could group ourselves about them,” suggested Mrs Henderson. “That would be more convivial, and then we needn’t shout to each other.”

  “There is no need for anyone to shout,” said Mrs Coppard. “I think this arrangement suits us fine. And it will do nicely for the photographs, instead of us all lumped up together.”

  Mrs Henderson resigned herself to the trial the luncheon had quickly become and said no more. The bridal party arrived, and when they were all correspondingly seated, a waiter appeared with a magnum of champagne and went round the table, filling everyone’s coupe. He was young and terrified and had apparently been told that each squat glass must be filled to its brim. Everyone sat in silence while this feat was slowly and painstakingly achieved. Little beads of quivering perspiration appeared on the waiter’s forehead. Watching him was like watching a medical student suture a wound.

  When the waiter had scurried out of the room, Robin stood and attempted to raise his glass, but its brimming abundance made this impossible, so he bent down and sipped preventively from it and, so tamed, managed to hold it before him. “A toast,” he said, “to Clement and Coral: May their days be long and their loads be light, with peaceful days and fruitful nights!”

  Everyone agreed to this toast by leaning over and sipping in a delicate feline way at their champagne. No one dared to raise his or her glass. When Clement sat down, Dolly popped up as if some sort of valve connected them. “I tried to sing this song at the ceremony but the magistrate thought he was too good for it, so I shall sing for you all now. Mother, have you got your pitch pipe?”

  “I know I put it in here,” said Mrs Coppard. She picked her bag off the floor and rummaged through it, extracting a brush, a banana, the flask, and eventually a pitch pipe, which she held to her lips.

  “C major,” Dolly said.

  “I know,” said Mrs Coppard, “just let me find it.” She found and blew the pitch and Dolly began to sing “Two Roses in a Garden Grew.” As she was the kind of singer who riveted attention upon herself, no one noticed that during her song the door had quietly opened and Inspector Hoke stepped into the private dining room. He, too, appeared to be raptly entranced by Dolly’s performance and was the only one who applauded its conclusion. This had the effect of diverting everyone’s attention away from Dolly and onto himself.

  “Brava, Mrs Lofting!” he said. “A beautiful song, beautifully sung, by a beautiful woman.”

  It was odd that it was Coral, not Major Hart, who stood up. “What do you want?” she asked Inspector
Hoke.

  “Ah, Miss Glynn,” he said. “Although I suppose by now it is Mrs Hart, isn’t it? Congratulations.”

  “What is it you want?” asked Coral.

  “Just a word with you, if you would be so kind.”

  Major Hart stood up then and said, “What’s this about, Hoke? We’ve just been married, for God’s sake.”

  “A thousand pardons, Major Hart, and a thousand good wishes to you and your bride. Perhaps we might have a private word in the corridor?”

  “Certainly not,” said the Major. He walked the length of the table and put his arms on Coral’s shoulders. “Sit, my dear,” he told her. “This is our wedding day, Hoke. It is neither the time nor the place for your interference.”

  “It was only a brief word that I wanted,” said the Inspector.

  “Then come to us tomorrow, at Hart House, as you should have originally done,” said Major Hart. “We shall be available to speak with you then.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot wait that long,” said Inspector Hoke. “I know the timing is unfortunate but I must speak with Miss Glynn—Mrs Hart—today.”

  “This evening, then,” said the Major. “Five o’clock.”

  “Very well,” said the Inspector. “I am sorry to have interrupted your party. Sometimes the duties of a policeman are unpleasant.”

  “No doubt,” said Major Hart. “We’ll see you this evening.”

  When the Inspector had withdrawn and closed the door behind him, Major Hart returned to his place and picked up his glass of champagne. “I ask you all to stand and make a toast to my beautiful wife.”

  Everyone stood and raised his or her glass of champagne.

  Major Hart said, “I had resigned myself to being alone in my life, and miserable. I wish to toast the woman who has changed all of that—the woman whom I love, and to whom I am forever indebted. To Coral!”

  “To Coral!” everyone echoed, and this time they were able to raise their glasses and drink heartily from them.

  * * *

  Mrs Prence brought their tea into the library and lay the tray on the low table in front of the fire. “Thank you, Mary,” Major Hart said from behind the scrim of his newspaper. He had already thrown the first page into the fire, where the flames had hungrily devoured the headline:

  CLUES FOUND IN SAP GREEN FOREST

  POLICE CLOSING IN

  Mrs Prence stepped away from the table and stood there for a moment, apparently at her wit’s end. When it became clear that the Major was not aware of her continuing presence, she cleared her throat and said, “Excuse me, sir.”

  Major Hart folded his paper onto his lap and said, “What is it, Mary?”

  “I’m not one for toasts,” said Mrs Prence. “Not like those others at the luncheon. Or songs, for that matter. But I did want to say, sir, to you and Mrs Hart, that I wish you a very happy life together.”

  “That’s very kind of you to say, Mary,” said the Major. “Isn’t it, Coral?”

  “Yes,” said Coral. “Thank you, Mrs Prence.”

  “This is for you, ma’am,” said Mrs Prence. She took a little cloisonné box off the tea tray and handed it to Coral.

  “Oh, Mrs Prence,” said Coral. “I couldn’t accept it.”

  “Don’t be silly, Coral,” said the Major. “Of course you may.”

  “It’s very sweet,” said Coral. “And I love little boxes.”

  “The gift is inside,” said Mrs Prence. “Along with the box, of course. Open it.”

  Coral unscrewed the top off the box. Inside of it lay a pair of garish gold and ruby earrings. “Oh, they’re beautiful!” she exclaimed.

  “Very pretty,” said Major Hart.

  “They belonged to my grandmother,” explained Mrs Prence. “My mother’s mother. She had a bit of Gypsy blood in her and did like pretty things. Them’s real rubies, she always claimed, although they could be just bits of coloured glass, I suppose.”

  “Oh, but if they belonged to your grandmother, you should keep them,” said Coral. “They’re heirlooms.”

  “They’re no use to me,” said Mrs Prence. “I wouldn’t pierce my ears for all the tea in China, nor would I wear them if I did. But I thought they might suit you very well, ma’am.”

  Coral thought it would be churlish to point out that her ears were also unpierced. “Well, they’re very pretty and I shall treasure them,” she said, tucking them back into the little box. “Thank you.”

  “Very kind of you, Mary,” said the Major. “Will you join us for a cup of tea?”

  “Oh, no, sir. I’ve got the supper to make. I thought after that big stuffing luncheon, my egg and cheese ramekins might be nice?”

  “Splendid,” said the Major. “Will you pour, Coral?”

  Mrs Prence left the room and the Major disappeared behind his newspaper. Coral poured tea into the cups and then realised she had not the least idea how the Major took his tea. It seemed a strange question to ask one’s husband, and it made her think of everything else she didn’t know about him—or rather, how very little she did know. There he sat across from her, close enough to touch. It would come to that soon enough, she thought. Tonight. In the huge old canopied bed his mother had so recently died in. She had been shocked when he told her this was to be their room; she had imagined that its door would be closed and never reopened, the room and its contents forgotten. But of course it was the master bedroom. There was a new quilted coverlet on the bed, and yet, the old lady’s clothes still hung in the wardrobes, and her ancient under things lay perennially undisturbed, like hard-packed drifts of snow, in the bureau drawers.

  “How do you like your tea?” she asked her husband.

  He poked his head around the edge of the newspaper and said, “What?”

  “Your tea. How do you like it?”

  “Ah,” he said. “Milk, no sugar, please.”

  She dripped milk into one of the cups of tea and handed it to him.

  “Many thanks,” he said. He put the saucer down on the table and reopened the newspaper before him. She sipped her tea and looked around the room. I live here now, she thought. All of this is mine. But it made no sense, it was like thinking that Timbuktu was hers. She was sure she would always feel a foreigner here. But then, she had never felt at home anywhere. In the past few years her itinerant nursing had made her an interloper in one home after another, arriving in each home along with the damp stain of sickness or the dark shadow of death, an unwelcome but necessary guest, tolerated but never embraced. So it was impossible for Coral to imagine sitting in a room and not feeling imposed upon it.

  When the Major had finished his tea, she lifted the pot and said, “More?”

  “Is it still warm?” he asked.

  The pot felt only faintly warm. “Not very,” she said. “Would you like a fresh pot?”

  “No,” he said. “What time is it? Perhaps I’ll have a drink.” He looked at his watch. “It’s almost five,” he said. “That damned Hoke will be here any minute.”

  Coral stood and picked up the tray.

  “Leave that,” he said. “Mrs Prence will clear it all away.”

  “I’d like to go down and have a word with her,” said Coral.

  “Awfully nice of her to give you that jewellry. And speaking of which, I have to get you a ring, haven’t I?”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Of course I do. You’re a married lady. You must wear a ring.”

  “What about you? Shouldn’t you have one as well?”

  “Oh, it’s different for men,” he said. “I’ve got this ring.” He showed her the signet ring on his pinkie finger. “It was my father’s. That’s all the jewellry I want. We’ll have to go into town—there’s a decent jeweller’s there, I believe. Or perhaps you’d like Mother’s band? Of course it’s all yours now, her jewellry.”

  “I think if I am to wear a ring, I would like it to be my own.”

  “Of course,” he said. “We’ll go to town on Monday.”

  * * *<
br />
  Mrs Prence was beating eggs with barely suppressed fury when Coral appeared in the kitchen with the tea tray.

  “You had only need ring,” she said, “and I would have come up for it.”

  “I know,” said Coral. “But I wanted to come down. And thank you for the lovely gift. It was very kind of you. And I wanted to say … that I am sorry about before, about the unpleasantness between us.”

  “I’m sure it is a thing of the past,” said Mrs Prence.

  “Yes. I know that this is your home,” said Coral, “and I want you to be happy here. I want you to go on doing things as you always have—unless, of course, there are changes you would like to make. I don’t pretend to have any experience running a house. But if there is anything I can do to help you, please let me know.”

  “I’m sure I can manage. I always have.”

  They heard the bell at the front door.

  “Who can that be?” asked Mrs Prence.

  “It’s probably Inspector Hoke,” said Coral.

  “Ah, yes,” said Mrs Prence. “He wants to talk to you about that nasty business in the woods, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes,” said Coral.

  “You mustn’t be afraid of him,” said Mrs Prence. “He is a very kind man. If you have nothing to hide, you must tell him everything you know.”

  “Of course I will,” said Coral.

  * * *

  Inspector Hoke was shaking rain from his coat in the front hall when Coral emerged from the kitchen. Major Hart was standing nearby, looking vacant.

  “Let me hang that up for you, Inspector Hoke,” Coral said. She opened the closet door and withdrew a hanger.

  “Thank you kindly,” said the Inspector, “but it’s a bit damp. I’ll spare you the trouble.” He took the hanger from her and fitted it into his coat, then hung it in the closet, shifting the coats nearest to it away. He closed the closet door and brushed his hands together. “Good evening, Mrs Hart. My apologies for interrupting your luncheon this afternoon. I trust that it proceeded merrily?”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Coral.

  “Now, where could we sit and chat for a moment?”

  “There is a fire in the library,” said Coral, and indicated the open door.

  They all three entered the library. The Inspector and Coral sat and the Major stood beside the drinks cart. “I was just about to make myself a drink,” he said. “Would you like something, Inspector?”