by Polly Heron
‘But not,’ said Prudence, ‘until after you’ve written a letter to your parents to say you’ve arrived here safely. If it goes by the evening post, they’ll receive it first thing tomorrow.’
She stood by, exercising great restraint, as Patience did her mother hen act on Lucy. Then she firmly led Patience downstairs.
‘Poor Lucy—’ Patience began.
‘Little minx, causing all this trouble.’ Her tone was calculated to put a damper on the gushing Patience was barely holding in check.
‘Be fair, Prudence,’ said Patience. ‘This isn’t like her. She’s a good girl.’
‘I’m as fond of her as you are, but we must forget about her for now. Our pupils are entitled to our full attention.’
That was easier said than done, though. What had happened to her single-minded concentration? She might be vexed with Lucy for behaving in a dramatic way, but there was a knot of concern in the pit of her stomach nonetheless. Drat the girl.
It was a relief when, at the close of lessons, Patience showed their pupils out. Prudence hovered at the foot of the stairs, hesitating before she called Lucy down. The pupil-lodgers had come back a while ago and would be in the small breakfast room that adjoined the kitchen, playing draughts or reading. Well, they would have to remain there a bit longer.
Lucy appeared at the bend in the stairs. ‘May I come down?’
‘Of course, dear,’ said Patience.
Prudence led the way to the sitting room. Lucy sat on the sofa. Patience sat beside her, her hand creeping towards Lucy’s. Prudence dealt her sister a hard look and Patience pulled her hand back into her lap.
‘So you’ve decided you want to learn office skills,’ Prudence said briskly. ‘I don’t propose to discuss that, as I can’t visualise your parents agreeing to it. The main question is, what are we to do with you tonight?’
Lucy paled. ‘I thought I was staying here.’
‘We have no choice about that, but where are we to put you? All our bedrooms are occupied.’
‘Lucy can share with me,’ Patience offered.
‘Certainly not.’ A young girl seeing a middle-aged lady in a state of undress? Absolutely not. ‘Aunt Patience can come in with me and you may have her bed.’
‘Thank you,’ Lucy said humbly. ‘Are you going to send me home in the morning?’
‘I rather think I shan’t need to,’ said Prudence. ‘I imagine your father will haul you home himself before the neighbours find out. We can all look forward to a jolly Saturday morning.’
‘Oh, Lucy,’ said Patience.
‘Don’t encourage her,’ said Prudence. ‘She’s a naughty girl who’s caused a rumpus.’
A light tap on the door heralded the arrival of the p.g.s.
‘We’re sorry to disturb you,’ Mrs Atwood began. ‘We know you’re in the middle of family business.’
Family business? Family crisis, more like.
‘The interruption is my fault,’ said Miss Watson. ‘If I’m to lose my room because your niece needs it, I’d rather be told immediately.’
Patience uttered a small cry. ‘Have you been fretting about that all evening?’
‘I would understand,’ said Miss Watson. ‘It’s family.’
Mrs Atwood looked Prudence straight in the eye. ‘There’s nothing more important than family, is there?’
It was as if she and Mrs Atwood were the only two in the room. Prudence shook off the impression. ‘I don’t intend to throw over my other responsibilities to accommodate the whim of a foolish girl. Miss Watson, that bedroom is yours until you cease to be a pupil. We have determined where my niece will spend tonight.’
‘Auntie Patience is giving up her bed,’ said Lucy.
‘I don’t wish to speak out of turn,’ said Mrs Atwood, which undoubtedly meant she was about to do that very thing, ‘but since I’m the one person with a double bed, I’d be happy for – Miss Hesketh, is it? – to share with me.’
‘We couldn’t ask it of you,’ Prudence said immediately.
‘Why not? I slept in some pretty wretched conditions in France during the war. I think I can manage to share a comfortable bed.’
The others clearly thought it a good idea. Even so, it wasn’t easy to agree. As landlady and tutor to Mrs Atwood, Prudence had no desire to accept a favour from her, but these were hardly ordinary circumstances.
‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, ‘though I’m not sure Lucy deserves such consideration.’
Was that unkind of her? She didn’t want to be unkind, but she wanted to be in control and sometimes a sharp word helped achieve that. Nevertheless, she was dismayed to see a sheen of tears in Lucy’s eyes. Humiliation at her aunt’s words or gratitude for Mrs Atwood’s kindness? The latter, Prudence hoped. The last thing she wanted was to make the child cry.
And that was another thing. Whatever else Lucy was, she wasn’t a cry-baby. What was going on?
‘The breakfast room table isn’t big enough,’ said Patience when Prudence came downstairs the next morning, ‘so I’m setting the table in the dining room.’
‘I’m helping,’ added Lucy.
‘I should think so too,’ said Prudence.
She noted the flush of colour that rose in her niece’s face. Had it been mean to put her in her place? But what else did the child expect, after turning their household upside down? It wouldn’t do her any harm to feel uncomfortable. The simple fact that she had thought she could get away with it proved what Prudence had always believed, that Lawrence and Evelyn spoiled those two girls. Finishing school – honestly! Walking round with books on their heads and learning how to choose menus and arrange flowers. What about lessons in maths so they could divide up the household budget and measure for curtains? What about learning how to store winter woollies with a sheet of newspaper lining the base of the drawer to repel moths, or how to protect the house from mice, or how to mend a teapot handle and all those other bits of domestic economy at which Patience had become so adept over the years?
But Lucy and Felicity Hesketh would never need to acquire such knowledge, not if their well-heeled parents channelled them into solid middle-class marriages that set them up for life, not to mention casting a glowing light on Lawrence’s quest to become an alderman. Imagine it. All those bigwigs and their glossy wives on the bride’s side of the church, while the faded, old-fashioned spinster aunts sat straight-backed in the family pews at the front.
Was she jealous? Of Lawrence’s comfortable life? Of everything he provided for his wife and daughters? It would be fatuous to suggest she relished being hard up, but neither did she hanker after cocktails and canapés with the social elite. Intelligent conversation and a few hands of whist with her long-standing friend Miss Kirby on a Saturday evening was more in her line.
‘How did everyone sleep?’ asked Patience.
‘Like a top, thanks,’ Mrs Atwood said promptly.
‘Did you really?’ Lucy asked. ‘I’m afraid I tossed and turned a bit.’
Mrs Atwood lifted one shoulder in a shrug. ‘I wasn’t aware of it.’ She turned to Prudence. ‘We know you have family matters to sort out, so Miss Watson and I will make ourselves scarce.’
Prudence forced herself to nod, though her neck almost cracked with the effort. It was bad enough that the pupil-lodgers were aware of this upset – that in itself set worms wriggling beneath her skin – but to have them absenting themselves as a kindness… It was too much. The only antidote was to assert herself.
‘Make the most of today,’ she advised. ‘It’ll be your final free Saturday. By next weekend we’ll have found you unpaid positions where you’ll be able to spend a few hours each Saturday using some of the skills we’re teaching you.’
Miss Watson and Mrs Atwood didn’t hang about after breakfast – which was just as well, as the sound of a motor car entering Wilton Close was heard shortly after they departed.
Lucy chewed her lip.
Patience pressed her hand. ‘Don’t worry, Lucy dear. I’m su
re Daddy won’t be angry, just concerned.’
‘Make yourself useful, Lucy,’ Prudence commanded. ‘Make the beds while the adults discuss this.’
‘I’m an adult.’
‘You haven’t behaved like one. Please do as you’re told.’
Lucy dragged herself to her feet, but she scampered upstairs quickly enough when Patience said, ‘I’ll let them in.’
A moment later Evelyn bustled into the sitting room, her loose-fitting pale-green coat with its large cape-collar swirling impressively. Her dark-green silk hat sported a colossal bow on one side but, no matter how smartly decked out she was, there was no disguising the worry in her pudgy features. It was the same with Lawrence. Tall and lean, he cut a fine figure in his double-breasted suit and silk tie, but his cheeks were more hollow than usual. If Prudence had expected to feel any satisfaction at seeing the customary complacency stripped from her brother and sister-in-law’s features, she was disappointed.
Lawrence looked round. ‘Where is she?’
‘Upstairs,’ said Prudence. ‘I thought we could talk about this without her.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about. She’s coming home.’
‘Perhaps we could sit down and have a chat first.’ Patience spoke in her usual gentle way. ‘Please. I’ve lain awake most of the night worrying – as I’m sure you have, Evelyn.’
Evelyn gravitated towards the sofa, unbuttoning her lightweight linen coat and thrusting it in Patience’s general direction for her to take charge of.
‘I don’t know what’s come over her,’ Evelyn declared. ‘The first we knew of it was when we found the note last night, saying she had gone to be your pupil-lodger. That’s absurd, of course, with her background.’
A devil stirred inside Prudence. ‘The world at large believes the business school is your idea, Lawrence. What greater accolade could there be than that you send your beloved child here?’
‘My daughter isn’t a surplus girl,’ Lawrence snapped. ‘I support her in comfort and style and Evelyn ensures she meets the right sort of people.’
‘Tony Palmerston and the Bambrook boy are clearly taken with her.’ Evelyn gave her shoulders a proud wriggle.
‘Even if she wanted to work,’ said Lawrence, ‘she couldn’t. It would reflect poorly on me.’
‘Which, naturally, is the most important thing,’ Prudence murmured, then widened her eyes innocently when Lawrence glared in her direction.
‘So,’ said Evelyn, ‘if you’ll kindly call her downstairs, we’ll be on our way.’
‘May I make a suggestion?’ said Patience. ‘Why not leave her here for a visit? She’s obviously in a tizzy over something. I don’t imagine for one moment she really intended to join the business school. That was just an excuse. But if she’s going to say silly things like that, wouldn’t it be preferable if she said them here than in front of your friends? Your social connections are important, Lawrence.’
‘She can’t stay,’ said Prudence. ‘We have nowhere to put her.’
Patience’s smile was as sweet as ever, but there was steel in her eyes. ‘Actually, we have. Mrs Atwood has offered to share her room. Such a generous offer, I thought.’
‘We can’t ask a paying guest to share,’ Prudence objected.
‘She offered.’
‘If Lucy were to stay for a visit – if, I say,’ said Evelyn, ‘she would naturally require her own room. The box-room is a reasonable size. Perhaps if you—’
‘We already have,’ said Prudence. ‘There’s a p.g. in there.’
‘Ye gods,’ said Lawrence. ‘Have you got others camping in the attic?’
Patience turned to Evelyn. ‘Won’t you let her stay, just for now? You know I’ll make a fuss of her. That might be all she needs to get her over this little bump.’
‘What bump?’ Lawrence demanded. ‘There is no bump.’
‘All I know is, this is where she wants to be,’ said Patience. ‘Can’t we humour her, for the time being? It would be such a pleasure for Prudence and me to have her here.’
And somehow or other it was agreed, though Prudence wasn’t entirely sure how. She suspected Lawrence and Evelyn weren’t sure either.
‘Thank you, Mummy and Daddy,’ Lucy burbled when she was informed. ‘I’ll go and unpack properly.’
‘Not until Mrs Atwood gets home,’ said Prudence. ‘She’ll show you where you may put your things.’
Later, she advised Mrs Atwood, ‘I suggest you set ground rules. Lucy is more accustomed to getting her own way than I should like.’ It was the closest she could come to expressing her disapproval of the arrangement without uttering the words.
But Mrs Atwood failed to treat the situation with the gravity it deserved. ‘I’m old enough and ugly enough to cope. She’s little more than a child, after all.’
‘I’m not having her sitting around doing nothing all day,’ Prudence told Patience. ‘You wanted her here, so it’s your job to keep her busy.’
‘That won’t be a problem. She’s promised to help me think of telephone lessons for our pupils; she’s to come shopping with me every morning and walk Mrs Morgan’s spaniel every afternoon; and she’ll help me clean the brights.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’
Polishing the silver and crystal was certain to send Lucy scuttling home to her life of luxury.
Chapter Fourteen
‘BUT MR ABRAMS, sir, it’s not fair if us girls aren’t allowed.’ Pigtails dangling either side of a face flushed with annoyance, young Matilda Graham gave Aaron a look that suggested that, should she become a teacher when she grew up, she would have no trouble quelling a class of sixty with a single glance. ‘It’s not our fault the boys have penknives as part of their uniform and we have sewing kits. We’re just as capable of hacking away bits of plant.’
Aaron swallowed a smile. ‘There are plenty of folk who’d say hacking isn’t ladylike.’
‘But, sir…’
‘Fortunately for you, I’m not one of them. I see no reason why girls shouldn’t join in, if I can lay my hands on enough gardening knives.’
It was a fine afternoon at the tail-end of June. It would be July on Saturday. School was over for the day and most of the St Anthony’s children were in the playground. It was a shame the whole area was tarmacadamed. Some grass would have made it more appealing, but tarmac was sensible. The only concession to nature was the trees growing at intervals round the edge, their roots causing the tarmac to swell.
Aaron had decided that hacking back the ivy would start in the corner of the girls’ playground and would progress all along the Church Road part of the wall, then turn the corner along High Lane. He had no shortage of volunteers. Picking six lads from the eager group, he promised the rest that everyone would get a turn in due course. As the boys melted reluctantly away, Aaron selected four girls.
Seeing young Matilda opening her mouth to object to there being fewer girls, he forestalled her with, ‘I’ve got only four gardening knives – for now. Maybe I’ll pick up a few more at the ironmonger’s. But two girls can have the job of filling these sacks with what we cut off.’ He showed the children how to cut the stems, then stationed them along the section of wall. ‘Stay where I put you and make sure you cut only the stems and not your fingers.’
There was a ripple of laughter. They got started. He watched them for a couple of minutes before setting to work himself.
A bearded face appeared over the wall.
‘Well, look at this. I see you’ve made a start at last, Abrams.’
‘Bunny! Good to see you. Business gone well today?’
When he smiled, Bunny’s yellowing teeth showed between his beard and his neatly trimmed moustache. ‘Sold out. Shall I lend a hand for half an hour? I did say I’d help once you ran out of excuses not to get going.’
‘Cheek!’ Aaron grinned back. Bunny was a good sort, who would do anything for anyone. ‘Come on in.’
‘I’ll park my wagon inside, if it’s all the same t
o you.’
Bunny pushed his hot-potato barrow through the gates and put the brake on. Drawn by the sight of the black metal boiler, the children flooded towards him, the boys leaving their playground to rush across.
‘Bunny’s brought us hot potatoes for tea,’ called a bright spark and a ragged cheer went up.
‘No, he hasn’t.’ Aaron raised his voice. ‘He’s here to help with the ivy. Back to your games, you lot.’
With a groan, they dispersed, the girls to their French skipping and circle games, each with its own song, the boys to British bulldog and cricket.
‘Let’s have a butcher’s.’ Bunny peered over the shoulders of the children hard at work. ‘You look like you’re fighting your way through to Sleeping Beauty’s castle. Here, you two lads, make room for a little ’un. What are your names?’
‘Layton One and Layton Two, mister,’ said Mikey.
‘No need to call me mister. Everyone calls me Bunny, always have, always will. I’m Mr Rabbit, you see.’
‘Really?’ young Jacob asked.
‘That’s for me to know and you to find out. Now budge up and let me get cutting.’
It was surprisingly hard work, with all those strong stems intertwined and clinging tenaciously to the brickwork. Messy too, with clouds of dust that smelled of soil and age filming the air around them, to say nothing of the creepy-crawlies being flicked here, there and everywhere by the chopping, snipping and sawing.
‘Ugh! Disgusting!’
Of all the times for her to turn up, here was Mrs Wardle coming through the gates, waving her hand in front of her face as if she couldn’t breathe – and wasn’t that Miss Watson from the sweet shop with her?
‘Mr Abrams,’ boomed Mrs Wardle. ‘What is going on here?’
He stepped away from the wall, mopping his brow with the back of his hand. ‘We’re clearing the ivy. It’ll undermine the brickwork if we don’t get rid of it.’
‘I don’t mean that.’ Mrs Wardle was pink and puffed up. ‘I mean, just look at these children.’
Aaron gazed round with a grin of pure pride. ‘It’s good for them. They’re in the fresh air, doing something useful – and making a good fist of it, I might add.’ Mrs Wardle’s puffed-up pinkness wasn’t subsiding. ‘If it’s the blades you’re worried about, it’s good for them to learn to use tools properly.’
