Seven for a Secret

Easter Flowers

Very soon after I went to live with my Aunt Sophie, I became acquainted with the strange sisters, Lucy and Flora Lane, and because of what I discovered, for ever after I called their cottage The House of the Seven Magpies.

I often marvel that I might never have known the place but for the trouble over the decoration of the church that long-ago Easter. But perhaps that is not exactly true and it was not entirely due to the flowers they just brought it to a head.

Aunt Sophie had been a rare visitor to our house till then, and there was never a mention of the rift between her and my mother. She lived in Wiltshire, which was a longish journey by train from London and then she would have to get from the capital to Middlemore in Surrey. I imagined she did not feel it worth the effort to come and see us, and my mother certainly thought the journey to Wiltshire too arduous for her, particularly when the result would be a none-too-felicitous encounter with Aunt Sophie.

Aunt Sophie was almost a stranger to me in those early days.

My mother and Aunt Sophie, though sisters, were as unlike each other as any two people could be.

My mother was tall and slim, beautiful too; her features looked as though they had been cut out of marble; her eyes were light blue and could be quite icy at times; her eyelashes were long, her eyebrows perfectly marked and her fine hair was always neatly coiled about her head. She was constantly letting everyone know even those in the household who were very well aware of it that she had not been brought up to live as she did, and it was only due to ‘circumstances’ that we were obliged to do so now.

Aunt Sophie was my mother’s elder sister. I think it was two years which separated them. She was of medium height, but plump, which made her look shorter; she had a round rosy face and little sharp brown eyes which looked rather like currants, and when she laughed they almost disappeared: it was a rather loud laugh which my mother said ‘grated’ on her nerves.

It was small wonder that they kept apart. On the rare occasions when my mother spoke of her, she invariably said that it was amazing that they had been brought up together.

We lived in what is known as ‘genteel poverty’ my mother, myself and two maids: Meg, a relic from those ‘better days’, and Amy, who was in her early teens, a Middlemore girl, from one of the cottages on the other side of the Common.

My mother was much occupied with keeping up appearances She had been brought up at Cedar Hall and I always thought it was unfortunate that this mansion was close enough to be perpetually in view.

There it stood, in all its grandeur, which seemed the greater when compared with Lavender House, our humble abode. Cedar Hall was the house in Middlemore. Church fetes were held on its lawn and one of its rooms was always made available for ecclesiastical meetings when necessary; and the carol singers assembled in the courtyard every Christmas Eve for mulled wine and mince pies when they gave their performance. There were many servants and it dominated the village.

My mother had two tragedies to suffer. Not only had she lost her old home, which had had to be sold when her father died and the extent of his debts had been revealed, but it had been bought by the Carters, who had amassed a fortune from selling sweets and tobacco in every town in England. They were undesirable on two counts they were vulgar and they were rich.

Every time she looked in the direction of Cedar Hall, my mother’s face would harden and her lips tighten, and the deep anger she felt was obvious; and of course that happened when she looked out of her bedroom window. We were all accustomed to the daily lament. It dominated our lives as well as hers.

Meg said: “It would have been better if we’d got right away. Looking at the old place all day don’t help much.”

One day I said to my mother: “Why don’t we move away? Somewhere where you don’t have to look at it all the time.”

I saw the horror in her face and, young as I was, I thought: She wants to be there. She couldn’t bear not to be. I could not understand then but I did later that she enjoyed her misery and resentment.

She wanted to continue as she had in the old days in Cedar Hall. She liked to participate in church matters taking a leading part in organizing bazaars and that sort of thing. It irritated her that the summer fete could not be held on our lawn.

Meg laughed at that and commented to Amy: “What! On six feet of grass!

Don’t make me laugh! “

There was a governess for me. In our position it was essential, said my mother. She could not afford to send me away to school and the idea of my attending the one in the village was quite out of the question.

There was only one alternative, so the governesses came. They did not stay long. References to past grandeur were no substitute for the lack of it in Lavender House. It had been Cottage when we came, Meg told me.

“Yes, for years it was Lavender Cottage, and painting ” House” over ” Cottage” did nothing more than that.”

My mother was not a very communicative person and although I heard a great deal about the glories of the past, she said very little about the subject which interested me most: that of my father.

When I asked her about him her lips tightened and she seemed more like a statue than ever just as I saw her look when she spoke of the Carters of Cedar Hall.

She said: “You have no father … now.”

There was something significant about the ‘now’ and the pause before it, so I protested: “But I had once.”

“Don’t be absurd, Frederica. Of course everyone had a father once.”

I had been called Frederica because there had been many Fredericks in the family of Cedar Hall. My mother had told me that there were six of them in the picture gallery there. I had heard of Sir Frederick, knighted on Bosworth Field; one who had distinguished himself at Waterloo; and another who had shone in the Royalist cause during the Civil War. Had I been a boy, I should have been Frederick. As it was, I must be Frederica, which I found inconvenient and inclined to be shortened to Freddie or even Fred, which had on more than one occasion led to obvious confusion.

“Did he die?” I asked.

“I have told you. You have no father now. That is an end of the matter.”

After that I knew there was some secret about him.

I did not remember ever seeing him. In fact, I could not remember living anywhere but in this house. The Common, the cottages, the church, all in the shadow of Cedar Hall, were part of my life till then.

I spent a great deal of time in the kitchen with Meg and Amy. They were more friendly than anyone else.

I was not allowed to make friends with the village people and as far as the Carters up at the hall were concerned, my mother was distantly polite with them.

I soon learned that my mother was a very unhappy woman. Now that I was getting older, Meg used to talk to me a good deal.

This life,” she said on one occasion, ‘is no life at all. Lavender House, my foot. Everyone knows it was Lavender Cottage. You can’t make a house grand by changing its name. I’ll tell you what. Miss Fred .. ” Although I was Miss Frederica in my mother’s hearing, when we were alone-Meg and I — I was plain Miss Fred or sometimes Miss Freddie.

Frederica, being one of those ‘outlandish’ names which Meg did not think much of, she could not be expected to use it more than was necessary.

“I’ll tell you what. Miss Fred. A spade’s a spade, no matter what fancy name you give it, and I reckon we’d be better off in a nice little house in Clapham … being just what we was and not what we’re pretending to be. There’d have been a little bit of life up there, too.”

Meg’s eyes were misty with longing. She had been brought up in the East End of London and was proud of it.

“A bit of life, there was up there, Saturday night in the markets with all them flares on the stalls. Cockles and mussels, winkles and whelks and jellied eels. What a treat, eh? And what is there here? Tell me that.”

“There’s the fete and the choral society.”

“Don’t make me laugh! A lot of stuck-ups trying to pretend they’re what they’re not. Give me London.”

Meg liked to talk of the great city. The horse buses that could take you right up to the West End. She’d been up there at Jubilee time.

That was something. Only a nipper she was then, before she’d been such an idiot and settled for a job in the country . that was before she’d worked at Cedar Hall. Seen the Queen in her carriage, she had.

Not all that to look at, but a Queen she was . and she’d let you know it.

“Yes, we could have lived up there instead of being down here. A nice little place. Bromley by Bow, perhaps. Stepney. You could have got something dirt cheap there. But we had to come here. Lavender House. Why, even the lavender’s no better than that we used to grow in our garden in Stepney. “

When Meg yearned for London life she would enlighten me considerably.

“You’ve been with my mother a long time, Meg,” I said.

“All of fifteen years.”

“And you would have known my father.”

She was looking back to the London markets and jellied eels on a Saturday night. She drew herself away from that delectable scene with reluctance.

“He was a one,” she said, and started to laugh.

“What sort of a one, Meg?” I said.

“Well, never you mind!” Her lips turned up at the corners and I could see that she was amused. It must have been due to memories of my father.

“I could have told her, I could.”

“What could you have told?”

“It couldn’t have lasted. I said to the cook we had a cook in those days, a bit of a tartar she was and I was nothing much, kitchen maid, that was me. I said to her, ” It won’t last. He’s not the sort to settle and she’s not the sort to put up with much. “

“What did she have to put up with?”

“Him, of course. And he had to put up with her. I said to Cook, ” That won’t work,” and I was right!”

“I don’t remember him.”

“You wouldn’t have been much more than a year old when he went.”

“Where did he go?”

“With her, I suppose … the other one.”

“Don’t you think it’s time I knew?”

“I reckon you’ll know when it is.”

I knew that that morning there had been a coolness between Meg and my mother, who had said the beef was touch. Meg had retorted that if we didn’t have the best beef it was likely to be tough, to which my mother had replied that it should have been cooked a little longer. Meg was on the point of giving notice, which was her strongest weapon in these conflicts. Where would we get another Meg? It was good to have someone who had been in the family for years. As for Meg, I guessed she did not want the bother of moving. It was a threat to be used in moments of crisis: and neither of them could be sure that, if driven to extremity, the other might not take action, and either one could find herself in a position from which it would be undignified to retreat.

The trouble had been smoothed over, but Meg was still resentful; and at such times it was easier to extract information from her.

“Do you know, I’m nearly thirteen years old, Meg?” I said.

“Of course I know it.”

“I reckon I’m old enough.”

“You’ve got a sharp head on your shoulders. Miss Fred. I will say that for you. And you don’t take after her.”

I knew Meg had a certain tenderness for me. I had heard her refer to me when talking to Amy as ‘that poor mite’.

“I think I ought to know about my father,” I went on.

“Fathers,” she said, lapsing into her own past, which was a habit with her.

“They can be funny things. You get the doting sort and there’s some who are ready with the strap at the flicker of an eyelid. I had one of them. Say a word he thought out of place and he’d be unstrapping his belt and you’d be in for it. Saturday nights … well, he was fond of the liquor, he was, and when he was rolling drunk you kept out of his way. There’s fathers for you.”

“That must have been awful, Meg. Tell me about mine.”

“He was very good-looking. I will say that for him. They was a handsome pair. They used to go to these regimental balls. They’d look a picture, the two of them together.

Your mother hadn’t got that sour look then well, not all the time.

We used to go to the window and watch them get into the carriage, him in his uniform . ” Her eyes glistened and she shook her head.

“Regimental balls?” I prompted.

“Well, he was a soldier, wasn’t he? Cook used to say he was high up in the Army … an officer … Major or something. Oh, but he was a handsome fellow. He had what you call the roving eye.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, he liked looking round.”

“What at?”

She gave me a little push and I could see that she was not going to pursue that line of the conversation, so I said hastily: “What happened to him? Did he go to war?”

“Not that I know of. There wasn’t a war, was there? So he couldn’t go to it. We moved about a bit. They do in the Army. You settle in and then you’re up and off. There’s marching and bands and things like that. It was quite a life.”

“And you went with them?”

“Oh yes. I was with her before she married. A grand wedding, it was . from Cedar Hall. I can see her coming out of the church. It wasn’t the Reverend Mathers then. Now who was it?”

“Never mind. What happened?”

“They went off on their honeymoon … and then we were in quarters wherever the regiment was. Hadn’t been married more than three months when your grandfather died. And there was all that fuss about Cedar Hall being sold up and the Carters coming. Well, I could see it wasn’t going to last. He wasn’t the sort for married life. There was someone”

“You mean after he married my mother?”

“That don’t make no difference to some. They can’t help it, like.”

It was getting very interesting and I was afraid something would happen to stop the flow, that she would suddenly remember my age and that she was talking too much.

“Well, you were on the way and that made a difference too. She couldn’t go dancing around, could she?”

And then? ” I said.

“It went on. You were born but still it wasn’t right. There were rumours. She didn’t want to do anything about it. She was always the one for keeping up appearances.”

“What do you mean, Meg?”

“Well, she knew about this other one. She was jolly, she was. A bit of a flirt. Well, that suited him, didn’t it? She had a husband, though.

He caught them . in the act, you might say. There was a regular scandal. There was a divorce and I think in time he married her. And they lived happy ever after . perhaps. Your mother never got over it. If Cedars hadn’t been sold she could have gone back there and it might not have been so bad. But there wasn’t much left after the sale and debts had been paid. It was shared between her and Miss Sophie.

Miss Sophie bought that house of hers and your mother got this. She had something from your father, of course . but you see how things are. “

“He’s still alive?”

“Alive and kicking, I reckon. Your mother never got over it. She don’t talk about it. If only she could have gone back to Cedar Hall, I reckon it wouldn’t have been so bad. Now, don’t you whisper a word of this. But you asked about your father and everyone has a right to know who they are.”

“I wonder if I shall ever see him.”

She shook her head.

“He wouldn’t come here, dear. But I can tell you this. A nicer gentleman you couldn’t wish to meet. It was just that . well, you know how it is with some people. They just don’t fit.

Then comes the parting of the ways. And here we were, in Lavender Cottage . I beg its pardon Lavender House. “

Having told me so much, Meg found it difficult to stop, and whenever I could escape from the governess of the moment, I would seek her out.

She was not averse really. She enjoyed gossiping. I learned that she would like to be in a house with many servants. Her sister was in such a place, down in Somerset.

“There’s a butler, housekeeper, kitchen maids, parlour maids … the lot. And they keep their carriage so there’s stables and what not.

There’s a lot going on in a place like that. And this . well, it’s neither one thing or the other. “

“I wonder why you stay here, Meg.”

“Well, you can jump out of the frying-pan into the fire.”

“So this is the frying-pan!”

“You might call it that.”

“Tell me about my father.”

“I’ve told you, haven’t I? Don’t you go letting on to your ma what I’ve told you. But I reckon it was right you should know … something. One day she’ll tell you … her side, of course. But I reckon he had something to put up with, and there’s always two sides to a question. He was one for a bit of fun. All the servants liked him. He was always jolly with them.”

“You seem to be on his side.”

“You couldn’t help it really. That other woman and all that. I reckon he was provoked in a way … your mother being what she is … and him being what he is …”

While I was talking to Meg on one occasion my mother came into the kitchen. She looked startled to see me there.

“Meg,” she said.

“I want to discuss tonight’s menu with you.”

Meg raised her eyes to the ceiling and I escaped. There had been a small sirloin of beef yesterday, so there must be cold beef today, but my mother always came to the kitchen to discuss the menu with Meg. She would have liked to send for her, but there was no one to send but Amy and that would mean taking Amy away from whatever her duty was and she was rather slow in any case. There were no bells in Lavender House and installing them would have been expensive. As for fixing a regular time for the meetings, that would not have been convenient, for, as Meg said, she was rushed off her feet and couldn’t be tied down to times for this or that. So there was now no recourse but for my mother to go to the kitchen.

I wondered afresh whether it would be possible to explain to my mother that it was rather ludicrous to behave like the lady of a large establishment when ours was far from that. I thought of the words of Robert Burns:

‘O wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us To see ourselves as others see us. ”

What a gift that would be-and particularly to my mother. If she had had it, perhaps her husband would not have left her and I would know my father. I saw him as a merry man with twinkling eyes which aroused an answering response in people like Meg.

On another occasion I had seen Meg preen herself in a certain way, as she did when she mentioned my father. This was for Mr. Burr in the butcher’s shop, shouting “Buy, buy, buy’ while he chopped up meat on his chopping-board. He was jaunty; he wore a blue and white striped apron and a straw hat cocked at a rakish angle. His eyes danced as he joked with his customers; they were mostly women.

Meg said his remarks were ‘near the bone’ but they made you laugh for all that.

On one occasion she said to him: “You get along with you. And mind your p’s and q’s, young man.”

He winked and said: “On your high horse today, missus? You come along with me into my back parlour and we’ll change all that.”

“Saucy young devil,” retorted Meg, twinkling.

And my father was the sort of man who could make her look as she did when in the company of Mr. Burr, the butcher.

That was significant and gave me something to think about.

I was on the way to the vicarage to take a note to the Reverend John Mathers. My mother often communicated in this way when she was displeased.

This was due to some misunderstanding about the flower arrangements for the church. Last year, she complained, they were a great disappointment. Mrs. Carter and Miss Allder really had no idea. What could you expect from a jumped-up shopkeeper who had made a fortune by selling sweets and tobacco? Her display had been positively vulgar. As for Miss Allder, she was a poor simpering creature with a fixation on the curate and quite clearly Mrs. Carter’s puppet. It was absurd, when my mother had had a vast experience in decorating the church in the days when she lived in Cedar Hall and when the gentry had had some influence on church matters.

I knew my mother would suffer acutely over this, which was of no importance whatever, because she saw it as an affront to her dignity and that was of the utmost importance to her. She had written several versions of the note to the Reverend Mathers, torn them up and worked herself into a rage. It was the kind of occasion which created in her a state of tension out of all proportion to the matter concerned.

Ever since my conversation with Meg about my father, I had tried to lure her to talk of him, but I could not discover very much, though I did get the impression that she was on his side rather than that of my mother.

It was a lovely spring day. I crossed the Common past the seat by the pond on which sat two old men whom I knew by sight because they were there most days. They were two farm labourers, or had been, for they were too old to work now and spent their days sitting talking. I called a good-morning to them as I passed.

I turned into the lane which led to the vicarage. The country was very beautiful at this time of the year when the horse chestnut trees were in flower and the wild violets and wood sorrel were growing under the hedges. What a contrast to Meg’s jellied eels in the markets!

I laughed to myself. I supposed it was rather amusing in a way-my mother yearning for grandeur, and Meg longing for the streets of London. Perhaps people were inclined to want what they did not have.

And there was the vicarage-a long grey stone house with a pleasant garden in front of it and the graveyard stretching out beyond it.

The vicar received me in an untidy sitting-room with mullioned windows looking out on the graveyard. He was at a desk littered with papers.

“Ah, Miss Hammond,” he said, pushing up his glasses until they rested on his forehead. He was a mild man and I immediately noticed a look of apprehension in his rather watery grey eyes. He was a man of peace and he guessed that there might be some threat to that happy state, which often happened after a communication from my mother. When I told him I had a note from her, his fears were confirmed.

I handed it to him.

“I think there is a reply to come,” I said gently.

“Oh, yes … yes.” He pulled his spectacles down to his nose and turned slightly so that I should not see his reaction to my mother’s words.

“Dear, dear,” he said, and his eyes were full of consternation.

“It is regarding the Easter flowers. Mrs. Carter has provided them and naturally …”

“Of course,” I said.

“And sheer … has asked Miss Allder to help her arrange them, and I believe Miss Allder has agreed to do so. So you see …”

“Yes, I see. I understand perfectly.”

He smiled at me gratefully.

“And so … if you will convey my apologies to your mother and … er explain that … the matter is out of my hands, I think there is no need to write.”

Knowing my mother as I did, I felt sorry for him.

“I will explain,” I said.

“Thank you. Miss Hammond. Please do convey my regrets.”

“I will,” I promised him.

I came out of the vicarage but did not hurry home. I knew there would be a storm. I felt impatient. What could it matter who did the flowers? Why did she care so much? It was not the flowers. It was that eternal bogey. In the days of influence she would have provided the flowers. She would have decided whether they should adorn the pulpit or the altar. It all seemed so trivial. I felt both angry with and sorry for her.

So I loitered, turning over in my mind how I would break the news.

She was waiting for me.

“You’ve been a long time. Well… have you got his reply?”

“There wasn’t any need to write,” I said.

Then I told her.

“Mrs. Carter had already provided the flowers and Miss Allder is helping her arrange them because she has already asked her.”

She stared at me as though I were announcing some great disaster.

“No!” she cried.

“I am afraid that is what he said. He is very unhappy about it and really seems sorry that you are upset ” Oh, how dare he! How dare he! ”

“Well, you see, he explained that he couldn’t do anything else since Mrs. Carter provided the flowers.”

“That vulgar woman!”

“It is not the vicar’s fault.”

“Not his fault!”

Her usually pale face was suffused with a purple colour. She was shaking and her lips were quivering.

“Really, Mama,” I said.

“It is only the Easter flowers. What does it matter?”

She had closed her eyes. I could see a pulse beating rapidly in her forehead. She gasped and swayed. I ran to her and caught her just before she would have fallen. I noticed there was froth on her lips.

I wanted to shout. This is absurd. This is ridiculous. But I was suddenly frightened. This was something more than rage.

Fortunately there was a big easy chair nearby. I eased her into it and called for Meg.

Meg and I, with Amy’s help, got my mother to bed.

The doctor arrived and Meg took him in to my mother while I stood on the stairs listening.

Miss Glover, my governess, came out and saw me.

“What is it?”

“My mother has been taken ill.”

Miss Glover tried to look sympathetic, but not very successfully. She was another of those who were only staying until she found something better.

She went with me into the sitting-room to await the doctor’s departure.

I heard him come down with Meg and say: “I’ll look in this afternoon.

Then we’ll see. “

Meg thanked him and then she came into the sitting-j room where we were waiting.

She looked at me, her eyes full of anxiety. I knew that it was for me rather than for my mother.

“What has happened?” asked Miss Glover.

“He says it’s a seizure … a stroke.”

“What’s that?” I asked, j “It’s bad. But we don’t know yet. We’ll have to wait and see.” “How dreadful,” said Miss Glover.

“Is sheer … ?”

“He doesn’t seem to be sure. He’s coming back. She’s … pretty bad.”

“Is she all right by herself?” I asked.

“He’s given her something. He said she won’t know any thing about it… yet. He’s going to come back and bring young Dr. Egham with him.”

“It sounds terrible,” I said.

“She must be really ill.”

Meg looked at me mournfully and said: “I think she must be.”

Miss Glover said: “Well, if there’s nothing I can do …”

She left us. She was not really interested. There had been a letter for her in the post that morning. I guessed it was an offer of a new post more suited to her expectations than teaching a girl in a cottage even though it called itself a house employed by someone who had the airs of a great lady without the means to substantiate her claim.

I was beginning to read people’s thoughts.

I was glad when she went. Meg really cared.

“What does it all mean?” I asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine, love. She’s pretty ill, I reckon. My Aunt Jane had one of them strokes. Couldn’t move all down one side.

Couldn’t talk either . only mumble. She went on for a year like that. Just like a baby, she was. “

“Oh no … no.”

“Well, sometimes they don’t recover. It can happen to any one of us at any time. You might be going about your business and the Lord will see fit to strike you down.”

I kept thinking of my mother, so dignified, so proud of her breeding, so angry and bitter about the turn of her fortunes; and I was filled with pity for her. I understood then more than I ever had and I wanted to be able to tell her that I did.

A terrible fear had come to me that I should never now be able to and anger surged over me. It was all due to those stupid Easter flowers.

It was her anger which had done this to her. Oh no! It was more than the flowers. It had been growing within her-all that anger, the bitterness, the resentment. The flowers had just brought her to that climax of the years of envy and pent-up rage against fate.

When the doctor came back he had brought Dr. Egham with him. They were with my mother for a long time. Meg was in attendance and afterwards they all came down to the sitting-room and sent for me.

Dr. Canton looked at me in a kindly way which made me fear the worst.

“Your mother is very ill,” he said.

“There is a possibility that she may recover. If she does, I am afraid she will be severely handicapped. She will need attention.” He looked at me dubiously and then he turned more hopefully to Meg.

“We will wait a few days. Much could be revealed then. Is there any relative?”

“I have an aunt,” I told him.

“My mother’s sister.”

His face brightened.

“Is she far away?”

“She is in Wiltshire.”

“I think you should let her know the circumstances immediately.”

I nodded.

“Well then,” he went on.

“We’ll wait and see … say till the end of the week. The situation should have clarified by then.”

Dr. Egham smiled at me encouragingly and Dr. Canton laid a hand on my shoulder, patting me soothingly. I felt too bewildered for tears but they were near.

“We’ll hope for the best,” said Dr. Canton.

“And in the meantime, let your aunt know what has happened.”

He turned his gaze on Meg.

“There is nothing much you can do. If there should be any change, let me know. I’ll look in tomorrow.”

When they had gone, Meg and I looked at each other in silence.

We were both wondering what was going to happen to us.

At the end of the week Aunt Sophie arrived. My delight at seeing her was so great that I flung myself into her arms.

She returned my embrace; her currant eyes, creased up with emotion, were slightly moist.

“My dear child,” she said.

“What a to-do this is. Your poor mother.

We’ll have to see what can be done about all this. “

I said: “Here’s Meg.”

“Hello, Meg. This has been a great blow to you all, I know. Never mind. We’ll sort something out.”

“Would you like to go to your room first. Miss Cardingham?” asked Meg.

“Perhaps. Just dump this bag. What a journey!”

“Then I expect you will want to see Mrs. Hammond.”

“That seems a good idea. How is she now?”

“She doesn’t seem to know much about anything. She might not recognize you. Miss Cardingham.”

“Well, I’ll go and wash my hands. Dirty things, trains. Then we’ll get to work. You come with me, Frederica.”

We went to the room which had been prepared for her and Meg left us together.

“She’s a good woman, that one,” said Aunt Sophie, nodding at the door through which Meg had just departed.

“Oh yes.”

“Must be a worry for her. We’ll have to see what’s got to be done.

What does the doctor say? “

“He doesn’t think there is much hope of her recovering completely.

They think there may have to be someone to look after her. “

She nodded.

“Well, I’m here now.” She smiled at me ruefully.

“Poor dear … such young shoulders. You must be … how old?”

“Thirteen,” I said.

“Hm,” she murmured.

Amy brought up hot water and she washed while I sat on the bed and watched her. As she dried her hands, she looked out of the window and grimaced.

“The old homestead,” she said.

“And she had that in view all the time!”

I nodded.

“It used to upset her.”

“I know. Pity she couldn’t get right away from it.”

“She didn’t want to.”

“I know my sister. Oh well, too late now.” She had turned to me with a tender smile.

“Thirteen. It’s too young for such burdens. You ought to be enjoying yourself. Only young once.” It was a feature of hers to speak in jerks, I discovered, and her thoughts often went off at a tangent.

“Never mind,” she continued.

“What’s done is done. Got to go on. Don’t you fret. Old Aunt Sophie will find a way. Meg’s been with you a long time.”

“Always,” I told her.

She nodded towards the window.

“She was with us over there. Good woman. Not so many of them about.”

I took her to see my mother, who I was sure would not recognize her. I found it almost unbearable to look at my mother. Her eyes stared vacantly before her; her lips moved. I fancied she was trying to say something but neither of us could understand the mumbling which came from her lips.

We did not stay with her long. There was no point.

“Poor Caroline,” said Aunt Sophie.

“To think she had come to that. I hope she doesn’t know it. It would distress her so much.” , Then she turned to me and put an arm round me. j “Don’t worry, dear child. We’ll do something.”

I felt a great deal better since the arrival of Aunt Sophie; When Dr. Canton called he was obviously delighted to see Aunt Sophie there, and after he had examined my mother he had a long talk with her.

When he left. Aunt Sophie took me to her room and there she explained the position to me.

“I know you are very young,” she said, ‘but sometimes these things are thrust upon us . no matter how old we are, they just happen. Now I am going to be frank. Your mother is very ill indeed. She needs expert attention. Meg’s a good woman and a strong one, but she couldn’t manage it on her own. I’ve been thinking a lot about this. Now, we could have a nurse to live in. That would not be easy. She would have to be fed and looked after. There is another alternative. Your mother could go into a nursing home where she would have expert care. There is one not far from where I live. We could get her in there. “

“Would it cost a great deal?”

“Ah, there is a shrewd head on those shoulders, I see.” Aunt Sophie laughed the laugh which had grated on my mother’s nerves but which was soothing music to me. It was the first time I had heard it since she had arrived.

“Yes, my dear, it would cost. Indeed it would. I do not live in such straitened circumstances as your mother. I have a small house and one servant my good and faithful Lily.

I do not have to keep up appearances. I am content in my little house.

We have a big garden and grow our own vegetables. Compared with your mother though on a similar income, for we shared what was left of our poor father’s estate I live in comparative comfort. Not rich enough to support your mother in a nursing home, I fear, but I have a plan. “

She looked at me with great tenderness.

“I have always had a soft spot for you, Frederica. What a dignified name that is. Just what your mother would give you, of course. I always call you Freddie to myself.”

I said: “It sounds … friendly.” And I was thinking: I hope she won’t go away. I wanted to cling to her, to beg her to stay. She brought hope that everything was not as bad as it had seemed.

“All right,” she went on.

“Freddie it is. Now, listen. You’re thirteen. You can’t live here on your own, that’s clear. I’m going to suggest if you like the idea that you come back with me. I’m the only one you’ve got. Isn’t much choice, I fear.”

I smiled at her wanly.

“Well, I’m not so bad and I’ve got a notion that we’d get on.”

I said: “What about… ?”

“I’m coming to that. It’s a bit of an upheaval. Meg and the young girl. They’ll have to look for other places. The house could be sold.

The proceeds would pay for your mother’s care . and with that and the little income she has, we might get by. You come with me. Frankly, Freddie, I can’t see any other way. I’ve talked to the doctor. He thinks it’s a good idea. Well, not only a good idea, but the only one we’ve got that makes any sense. “

I could not speak. I felt that my life was breaking up about me.

She was watching me intently. She said: “I’ve an idea you wouldn’t find it too bad. Lily can be a bit shrill sometimes, but she means well. She’s one of the best and I’m not such a bad old thing. I’ve always liked young people. “

I found myself clinging to her.

There, there,” she soothed.

Meg said: “It’ll be hard after all these years, but she’s rights It’s the only thing. I couldn’t manage the other and I couldn’t abide having nurses in the house. They can bej fussy wanting this, that and the other, not only for the patient but for themselves as well.

The worst thing will be parting with you. Miss Fred. “

“You will have to find another post, Meg.”

“I’ve already written to my sister in Somerset. There’s that big house there and she did say they was always wanting people. Didn’t know what it might be … but anything will do for a start. I’ve always wanted to be in that sort of house. Well, I started off at Cedars, didn’t I?

I’ve mentioned to Amy, there might be something for her. “

“Oh, Meg, I shall miss you so!”

“I’ll miss you, love. But life’s like that. Changing all the time. And I reckon you’ll be all right with Miss Sophie. I remember her from the old days. A bit of a caution, she was. Hoyden sometimes, but her heart’s in the right place, and that’s what counts. It’ll be more lively with her than it was with your ma.”

“I do hope everything is going to be all right.”

“It will be. As soon as she come here, she seemed to throw a light on a dark subject, as they say. We’ve got to face the truth. Your ma is not going to get any better. She’s got to have proper care and she’ll get it in this place. You’ll be able to go and see her often. It couldn’t be better. Trust Miss Sophie. She was always the one to get things done.”

It was true. The house was up for sale. It was a pleasant place and there were prospective buyers. Aunt Sophie was practical in the extreme. She said the servants must stay there until they found posts. They could not be turned out.

There was good luck in that direction. Meg’s sister wrote that there was a place for Meg. It was only housemaid, but it was something and there was a chance to ‘work her way up’. There was nothing as yet for Amy but there were many big houses in the neighbourhood and the servants were friendly with one another and she had heard that a twee ny was wanted in one of them. She would speak for her and a recommendation went a long way.

We were very optimistic and our hopes were not disappointed.

It was as though Aunt Sophie had come like a fairy godmother and waved her magic wand.

I said to her one day: “What of my father?”

Her expression changed slightly. It became what I could only call watchful.

“What of him?” she asked, rather sharply for her.

“Should he be told?”

She was thoughtful for a while, then she shook her head.

“After all,” I pointed out, ‘he is her husband . and my father. “

“Well, all that was finished, you know. They divorced.”

“Yes, but he is still that, isn’t he … he is at least my father.”

“It is all a long time ago.”

“It must be about twelve years.”

“He will have a new life now.”

“With a new family.”

“Perhaps.”

“So you think he wouldn’t be interested in me?”

She was smiling and her face was tender.

I said: “You liked him, didn’t you?”

“Most people did. Of course, he was not very serious … ever.”

I waited for her to go on, and as she did not, I said: “Do you think he ought to be told? Or do you think he wouldn’t want to be reminded of us? ”

” It could be . uncomfortable. When people divorce they sometimes become enemies. He was the sort who didn’t like trouble . who turned away from it. No, dear, let’s forget all that. You’re coming back with me. ” } I was thoughtful, wondering about him. She laid her hand over mine.

“They say, ” Let sleeping dogs lie”,” sh<( said. j “I have heard that.” “Well, if you wake them up, there can be a lot of barking and perhaps unpleasantness. Let’s go back to Wiltshire.! See how you like it there. You’ll have to go to school or something. There is your education, isn’t there? These j things are important. You and I have a lot of decisions to come to. We don’t want to burden ourselves with what’ has gone before. We have to go marching on. That was your mother’s trouble. Looking back all the time. It’s no good, Freddie.

I’ve a notion you and I will do very well together. “

“Oh yes. Aunt Sophie. I don’t know what to say to you. You came here after all those years and you’ve made it all seem so much easier.”

“That’s the ticket. I must say, I feel pleased about acquiring a niece all to myself.”

“Dearest Aunt Sophie, I feel very happy to have my aunt.”

Then we kissed and clung together, and I felt a wonderful sense of security creeping over me.

A great deal happened in the next few weeks. There was an auction of the furniture which raised more than we had hoped for, for among it were some treasures which my mother had brought with her from Cedar Hall.

Meg and Amy left for Somerset and the house was up for sale.

My mother was taken to the nursing home in Devizes, which was not very far from Aunt Sophie’s house, so that we could visit her at least once a week. Aunt Sophie told me she had what was tantamount to her own carriage.

“No more than a dogcart really, and it belongs to old Joe Jobbings who does an hour or so a week in our garden, and he’ll take us wherever we want to go.”

Lavender House was up for sale. I took my last look at Cedar Hall with no regrets, as I blamed its proximity with its continual reminders of lost grandeur and ‘better days’ for my mother’s condition; and I left with Aunt Sophie for my new home in Wiltshire.