Alone Beneath The Heaven (43 page)

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Authors: Rita Bradshaw

BOOK: Alone Beneath The Heaven
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‘Oh, Maggie.’ It was the first really good laugh Sarah had had in weeks. ‘You’re awful.’
 
‘Oh aye, I know it, hinny. You’re not the first to point it out.’
 
‘But how are you? That’s the main thing.’
 
‘Grand, lass, grand. Florrie’s booked me in for dancin’ lessons startin’ the morrer. Got me eye on one of them dresses that glitters like a Christmas tree an’ shows off all you’ve got up top.’
 
There was only one in all the world like Maggie, but how would the intrepid old woman take it if she mentioned her desire to search out her natural mother? And she would have to, sooner or later. She would hate Maggie, or Florrie for that matter, to think it in any way lessened the love she had for them, nothing could do that, but . . . She took another sip of coffee. Someone, somewhere, knew something, and since she had faced the fact that Rodney could only ever be a friend, and that she seemed destined to put all her dreams of a home and family into a career, the urge to find her blood kin had become even more urgent. She would have to mention it to Maggie, and soon - bring it out into the open and see how Maggie reacted.
 
As Hilda came bustling in from the small coldstore at the back of the house, where she kept most of the extra provisions donated from the farm at Fenwick, Sarah finished the coffee in one gulp. She had a million things to do this morning, the first being a quick inspection of Eileen’s progress in dusting and cleaning the morning room before Lady Margaret was down, and she couldn’t stand dreaming a moment longer.
 
She had left the kitchen and was passing through the hall on her way to the morning room, when Lady Margaret’s voice sounded from upstairs, calling, ‘
Sarah?
Oh, Sarah, come quickly. Please . . .’
 
She thought, at first, that Lady Harris was merely sleeping.
 
The aristocratic old face was settled in lines of quiet repose, and there was a slight smile on her lips as she lay, her hands folded on the white linen counterpane and her small head barely making a dent in the copious pillows behind her.
 
‘Lady Harris?’ She approached the bed, going so far as to lift one frail hand before the truth hit her, and then she turned to where Lady Margaret was standing at the end of the bed, her palm across her mouth and her eyes wide and staring.
 
‘She’s . . . she’s . . .’
 
‘Lady Margaret, come and sit down.’
 
‘Sarah, she’s . . .’
 
‘I know, I know. Please, Lady Margaret, you can do nothing here. Come and sit down and I’ll telephone the doctor, while Hilda makes you a cup of tea.’
 
‘But I can’t believe it, Sarah. She was talking about getting up today for a few hours only last night. We played cards for a while, and she was laughing and joking. She was the best she’s been in weeks. She can’t be . . .’ The faltering voice stopped abruptly as the hand came across her mouth again, but more tightly this time, as though it would stifle the truth that was nevertheless terribly real in the motionless figure beneath the bedclothes.
 
‘If she could have chosen, this is the way she would have preferred it.’ Sarah crossed the room swiftly, taking the tall stiff figure in her arms as she continued, ‘You know how independent she was, Lady Margaret. She would have hated to have to endure an illness that robbed her of her liberty; look how irritable she’s been the last weeks at being confined to bed. This way is so much better for her, to die with dignity, but I know it’s an awful shock for you.’
 
‘Yes, yes . . .’ It was a moan, and followed by a sound deep in her throat that was distressing to hear. ‘Oh, Sarah, we had such a short time of getting to know each other.’ She had drawn away from Sarah as she spoke, and now Lady Margaret clutched at an upholstered bedroom chair behind her, sinking down on to the velvet-cushioned seat as she said, ‘But you are quite right of course, she would have preferred it this way and that is the main thing, isn’t it?’
 
It was said in the manner of a child, and now Sarah answered as a mother might as she said, ‘Of course it is, and I know she would expect you to be strong.’
 
Lady Margaret nodded, her eyes limpid with moisture. ‘She always admired
your
strength, Sarah, what she called your Boadicea spirit. I . . . I haven’t got that, I know I haven’t, it wouldn’t have allowed me to marry Sir Geoffrey if I had.’
 
‘You’re too hard on yourself.’
 
‘No, no I’m not.’ Sarah watched her close her eyes for a moment before she opened them wide and said, ‘But I have the courage to face my mistakes and learn from them, so that is a start, is it not? I had told my mother-in-law that I did not intend to take Sir Geoffrey back, and she understood, and I shall keep to that. Lady Harris was against a divorce - the scandal, you know - but I am content to let the separation continue indefinitely. It is what she would have wanted.’
 
Sarah stared at her before her eyes moved back to the bed, and her thoughts were tinged with bitterness. Lady Harris might have been a champion of the underdog, a campaigner for women’s rights and all the rest of it, but she was prepared to sacrifice any chance of Lady Margaret meeting someone else and being happy, for the sake of the family name. Which was worse, when all was said and done: letting a new life ebb away in a nameless tomb in Sunderland’s slums, or asking someone, in the name of love, to commit themselves to a loveless state for the rest of their life? Both done in the name of respectability, no doubt, and both heartless.
 
Sarah turned from the bed, and her voice reflected none of her previous thoughts as she said softly, ‘Society is changing all the time, Lady Margaret, and I think the war has blown away a lot of the old concepts of what is acceptable and what is not. On some matters, like the one you have just spoken of, I think it is only you who can make the decision as to what is right and wrong.’ And then her voice became brisker as she added, ‘Come out of here now, and we’ll call the doctor together.’
 
‘Sarah?’ They had reached the door when the hand at her elbow drew her round, and then she saw Lady Margaret’s face was awash with tears as the older woman said, ‘I don’t know how Lady Harris’s passing will affect my financial position, but I want to make it clear at the outset, before all the arrangements take us over, that I would like you and Rebecca to stay with the children and myself. I should imagine Geoffrey will take possession of both this property and Fenwick once he is able to do so, and I cannot live under the same roof as him again. It will mean my circumstances are considerably reduced,’ Lady Margaret swallowed hard, ‘but I have a little money of my own, a legacy from my grandmother, so I am not entirely destitute. I just wanted you to know . . .’
 
‘Lady Margaret, of course I’ll stay for a while if you want me to.’ Sarah pressed the hand on her arm as she added, ‘I can’t speak for Rebecca, but I should imagine she will say the same.’
 
‘Thank you.’ Lady Margaret was obviously struggling for composure, her bottom lip trembling as she turned to look one last time at the little figure in the vast bed, and then she took a deep breath, turning as she said, ‘And now we had better call Dr Lake. Poor Charles, this will be a shock for him too, he was very fond of her, you know.’
 
Once on the landing, Sarah said, ‘Shall I call Hilda and Eileen into the morning room before you telephone Dr Lake? I suppose Hilda will take this hard.’
 
‘Oh yes, yes, of course. And bring in a tray of tea with you, Sarah, I think we could all do with it. I . . . I suppose I shall need to inform Geoffrey too?’ Lady Margaret turned to look at her, and their faces reflected the same thought. There were changes ahead, and knowing Sir Geoffrey, he would not make them easy or pleasant for any of the occupants of Emery Place.
 
Chapter Twenty-one
 
‘I don’t believe it, lass, I don’t believe it.’ Maggie’s face was a picture of incredulity. ‘Twenty thousand pounds, you say? I don’t believe it.’
 
‘She doesn’t believe it.’ Sarah was laughing as she looked to Florrie, but there was no answering smile on the old northerner’s face as she too stared dazedly at her, her mouth agape and her eyes wide with surprise.
 
‘It’s true, Maggie.’ Sarah turned back to Maggie, and now her voice was quiet when she said, ‘It was in Lady Harris’s will, in black and white, and that’s not all. She’s left Fenwick in trust for William, with Lady Margaret and her solicitors as trustees, and Lady Margaret is to get this London home with a great deal of money besides. Constance was left some property in Devon along with a sum of money, which again is in trust for her until she is twenty-one.’
 
‘And him? The son?’
 
‘Sir Geoffrey received an allowance for life. A very handsome one, but of course in comparison to what he expected . . .’
 
‘By, lass.’ Maggie let herself sprawl in the seat at the kitchen table, and then her voice came in a penetrating whisper as she asked, ‘An’ the old one, the cook? Did she get anythin’?’
 
‘Hilda? Oh yes, of course, Lady Harris thought the world of Hilda. You’ll meet her later. She hasn’t been feeling too well, what with the shock of Lady Harris and the funeral and so on, and as Lady Margaret and the children are staying on at Fenwick for a while, she rests in the afternoons.’
 
‘An’ you’re sure Lady Margaret don’t mind us comin’ here? We expected to stay in a boardin’ house, didn’t we, Florrie, but I was of a mind to see the bairn before she’s much older. They change so quick at this age.’
 
Maggie grinned as Florrie cut in with, ‘She was of a mind? That’s an understatement if ever I heard one. She’s been on about nothing else but the bairn since coming out of the infirmary, I can tell you.’
 
‘She’s a bonny little lass.’ Maggie inclined her head as she repeated, her voice softer now, ‘Aye, she’s bonny, an’ - thank the good Lord - I can see nothin’ of her da in her.’
 
Sarah nodded her agreement, glancing at the door through which Rebecca had disappeared some minutes earlier, Lucy-Ann having become fractious at missing her afternoon nap. ‘Rebecca dotes on her, and Lucy-Ann is so good. It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it? We all thought Rebecca being pregnant was such a problem, but it’s been the thing that has aided her recovery more than anything. She’s getting so confident in herself since Lucy-Ann has been born, and it’s more than Willie not being around. Of course she was a bit weepy in the early days, but lately if she’s not singing out loud, she’s humming. It’s lovely to hear her.’
 
‘Aye, there’s nothin’ like a bairn for bringin’ joy, it’ll be the makin’ of the lass, you mark my words.’ And then Maggie returned to her original question as she asked again, ‘An’ you say Lady Margaret was of a mind to have us here?’
 
‘It was her suggestion, along with clearing out the room Sir Geoffrey used to use as his study when he was here and making it into a bed-sitting-room for the pair of you, so you wouldn’t find the stairs a problem, Maggie. She wouldn’t have proposed that if she had minded, now would she?’
 
‘She suggested that? Aw . . .’ The last syllable was directed at Florrie, and carried both relief and pleasure, which Florrie replied to as she said, ‘There you are, I told you, didn’t I? All that whittling about her being one of the nobs and all.’
 
‘You weren’t worried about staying here?’ Sarah looked from Maggie to Florrie, and then back to Maggie again. ‘But why?’
 
‘I . . . I didn’t want to let you down, lass.’ Maggie’s voice was low, her head bowed, as she fiddled with the remains of a piece of cake on the plate in front of her. ‘I know me faults, none better, an’ you’re doin’ all right here. I didn’t want Lady Margaret to think . . . Well, you’re not like me, you’re a cut above—’
 
‘
Maggie
.’ Sarah stared at her unbelieving. ‘You were worried I’d be
ashamed
of you?’ Her voice had risen on the last three words, and now, as Maggie said, ‘No, no, not that, not really,’ Sarah came back with, ‘It’d better not be, Maggie McLevy, because I would never forgive you if you thought that. You and Florrie’ - she stretched out her arms wide towards them both to emphasize the point - ‘you are part of me, a big part of me, the best part. Don’t you understand that? You do, don’t you?’
 
‘Aye, lass, course we do.’ It was Florrie who had spoken, and as Sarah glanced at her and then at the bowed head of the big fat woman sitting next to her, she said again, ‘Maggie? You do, don’t you?’
 
‘Aw, hinny.’ Maggie’s eyes lifted to hers, and Sarah saw they were wet. ‘I’m a daft old biddy, that’s the truth of it. But aye, I know how you feel, lass, I do. It’s just that that last do, with Matron Cox, knocked the stuffin’ out of me a bit, an’ there’s still the odd day where I don’t feel quite like meself.’ And then, as Sarah’s arms came round her and she pressed the old woman close, Maggie cried, ‘Mind me hair, lass, mind me hair. The blighter cost me a fortune in that posh shop in Brixton Street afore I come.’

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