Crimson (16 page)

“No, it’s not teasing what you really enjoy, Billy, is tormenting people! I bet that when you were little, you pulled wings off butterflies, and legs off wasps, and … and…”

“Steady on, old girl. Save the drama for your plots.” Billy refilled his glass.

Elinor stormed out. In the entrance hall, Betty, the nanny, stood at the bottom of the stairs.

“Might I have a word with you, madam?” she asked. Betty’s normally plum-coloured cheeks had flushed almost to purple.

“Certainly, Betty. What’s upset you? Has one of the girls been naughty” I “It’s not the’ little girls, ma darn Betty said hesitantly.

“Perhaps you’d best come to the nursery and see for yourself, madam. Now that they dress themselves, I wouldn’t have noticed until bath time tonight, but Miranda pushed Clare in the lily pond, so I had to change her clothes.” In the sunny day nursery, Betty exhibited eight-year-old Clare, wearing white vest and navy knickers; Elinor could see the bruises on her upper arms.

“Maybe you could have a word with him. He doesn’t know his own strength, madam,” Betty said coldly. She pulled Clare’s hands forward; the nails were bitten to the 0,4ajek, and the surrounding skin was ragged from nervous

The befuddled Billy had rarely seen Elinor so angry as when she confronted him in his study about Clare’s bruises.

Elinor concluded, “If it happens once more, then you leave this house! You are never again to hurt any of them! I won’t have U.” Billy, for once, was horrified by what he had done: rd no idea that I was holding Clare so hard. I’d had a few and didn’t realize…”

“What do you think Edward would do to you if he could see Clare’s arm sT Elinor cried.

“You couldn’t bully him after he was big enough to lick you!” “Elinor, I’m truly sorry. What can I do to convince you? How do you suppose I fee lT Billy pleaded.

“I don’t care how you feel! Just make sure I never see a bruise on that child again!”

For once, Billy could not coax Elinor into forgiveness.

On the following morning, after a sleepless night, Elinor almost cancelled her business trip to London, but she knew that her publisher had taken a great deal of trouble to arrange two press interviews and lunch at the Savoy with the W. H. Smith fiction buyer.

As Elinor was driven to the station, she waved to the three little girls, but they did not notice. They sat in a circle under a magnolia tree: they had removed their sandals and socks, and-each child was bending her head down to her foot. Elinor smiled. It was their latest craze, a competition to see who could first get her toe in her mouth. Elinor found this sight reassuring.

Elinor caught the last train from London and returned home at about ten

o’clock. She found the house in darkness except for the lights in the hall. Her depression returned as she slowly mounted the polished stairs to her bedroom, where she quickly undressed and washed, wearily pulled on a peach chiffon nightgown, and fell into her bed.

At seven o’clock the next morning, Mabel burst into Elinor’s bedroom.

“Oh madam, something awful…” Elinor sat up abruptly.

“What’s happen ed?” “He’s in the hall, madam … He’s … lying there!” Elinor jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs. On the oriental carpet at the foot of the stairs, Billy, fully dressed, lay in a pool of vomit. An empty bottle of brandy lay near him. Billy’s eyes were open; they stared at the ceiling, the aquamarine now faded, the whites yellowing, bloodshot, and glazed.

Elinor knelt by Billy and felt his cheek, which was cold. There was dried blood on his left temple. He smelled of stale drink.

“Telephone the doctor,” Elinor told the maid.

“And keep the children upstairs.” Kneeling by her husband, she grasped his hand and stroked it. She remembered his face as she had first seen it. How she had loved that smiling young man she had met so long ago. But where had he gone? Softly she began to cry, her body racked with pain for Billy, for herself, for what might have been.

SUNDAY, 17 JULY 1949

“Who do them scissors belong toT Buzz asked, producing them from her pocket at the breakfast table.

“Come on! Own up!”

Annabel and Miranda looked at each other and kept silent.

Ten-year-old Clare, spooning yoghurt, casually said, “They’re from the nursery sewing box.”

“Colonel Bromley found them scissors in his greenhouse,” Buzz said tartly.

“He said someone someone not very tall had stolen his grapes.”

“Sneak!”

Annabel spat at Clare.

“Shut up, Annabel,” hissed Miranda, too late.

Buzz knew that further questioning was pointless because freckle-faced Miranda would never sneak on her sister, the two were inseparable, but although Miranda was the younger, it was always she who thought up the devilry and led the way, while Annabel trotted after her. Buzz said firmly, “You two young ‘uns go round and apologize to Colonel Bromley, and ask if you can do any odd jobs in his garden this morning.”

“Sneak,” Annabel hissed again at Clare.

Buzz looked crossly at Clare.

“You should have stopped them.” Clare ran a hand through her short, dark hair.

“But I didn’t know …” As the eldest, Clare was often unfairly blamed for their naughtiness.

“That’s what you always say,” Buzz scolded.

“If you didn’t, you shoulda done, so you must share their punishment.”

“It’s not fair!” howled Clare.

“They’re always getting me into trouble! And Annabel always gets off lightest!”

Buzz knew that this was true and she knew why. Buzz, an inconspicuous and plain child, had seen early in life that pretty, selfconfident little girls like Annabel, with charming, flirty ways, could wriggle their way out of trouble.

“Life is unfair, Clare,” Buzz said, “and the sooner you find out, the better.” Clare scowled. Buzz had lived with them long enough for Clare to know that she never changed her mind or relented, as Gran did.

After Billy’s death two years earlier, Buzz had immediately gone down to Starlings, intending to stay with Elinor for a week. She never returned to her hated stenographic job in the City of London. Buzz now handled Elinor’s secretarial work, ran the household, and organized the details of Elinor’s life for a considerably larger salary than she had been paid by the grocery-chain head office. Furthermore, she was no longer lonely, no longer hungry for affection.

Buzz was meticulously efficient and irritatingly critical, and a constant but amicable battle was waged between Elinor and Buzz, the only person who dared criticize Elinor, and who wasn’t particularly tactful about doing so. To each of the women, these minor arguments were proof of affection. Their friendship could withstand the squalls.

Buzz protected Elinor from outsiders with common sense and bulldog ferocity. Immediately after Billy’s death, such protection had been necessary to deal with the bureaucratic requirements; the extravagantly vulpine suggestions of the undertaker, who naturally wanted as expensive a funeral as possible; and the crowd of reporters that had appeared.

In due course, the coroner concluded that, while intoxicated, Mr. William O’Dare had fractured his neck in a fall Jrom a staircase, vomited while unconscious, and been asphyxiated by his vomit. The verdict was death by misadventure.

Elinor had appeared to be dazed after Billy’s death. In public, she did not shed one tear: she stared into space and asked to be left alone. Buzz knew why; she had seen mortally wounded men, fresh from the battlefield, who could not feel pain because they had been anaesthetized by shock. The young local doctor had confirmed Buzz’s diagnosis to her as she showed him to the front door.

“It’s often the case with widows,” he said.

“They literally cwwot feel anything until they can accept the death, which may be long after the loss of the husband.”

“I’d have called it good riddance,” Buzz muttered.

The doctor decided to ignore this.

“You can expect Mrs. O’Dare to be totally unlike her normal self-she may be bewildered, disoriented, and frightened by her own feelings. If she had recently quarrelled with her husband she might even feel guilty, because now they can never kiss and make UP.

Looking at Buzz’s face and remembering stories he had heard about Billy, the doctor added, “Especially if sheer … felt resentment towards Mr. O’Dare or had … hmm … sometimes wished him dead … I hear he was a difficult man.” He paused.

“On the other hand, don’t be surprised if Mrs. O’Dare’s mind now blanks out all bad memories of her husband, exaggerates the good ones, and starts to view him as a wonderful person, in which case it is kindest not to contradict her.”

“She’s been doing that for years,” Buzz said sourly.

in the days that followed the funeral, Elinor felt numb and cold, permanently weary: her movements slowed down, as if she were sleepwalking, and any movement seemed to take a lot of effort. She

felt wizened, as if the juice had been squeezed from her body. For the first time in her life, she felt old.

After a few such days, Buzz shooed Elinor to her desk. Thanks to this, and to her own imagination, Elinor was able to escape from her misery: it was difficult to think about anything else when writing the first draft of a novel.

Elinor’s romances were never out-and-out bodice rippers each sexual chase was described in detail, but once the heroine was in the hero’s arms, only a row of dots followed. Although breasts heaved frequently and there was a great deal of panting, the heroine always even if only by a hairbreadth went a virgin to the marriage bed never described that she was about to share with the dark, winged-eye browed aristocratic gentleman on the book jacket, who was called Peregrine or Torquil and lived on some vast country estate: Elinor’s heroines never married mechanics.

Now Elinor chose Paris as the glamorous setting for her next novel Paris in the year 1870, when the city was besieged by the German army. Happily she turned to planning the romantic situation, the problems that would confront the lovers, and the solutions. Always, in Elinor’s novels, it appeared that the heroine would be forced to choose between two ghastly alternatives; always the plot twisted ingeniously at this point, to provide the heroine with a third alternative and eventual eternal happiness. In Paris with her heroine, Elinor would once again forget the misery of reality.

Immediately after their grandfather’s death, the three small sisters howled for days. Clare wept from guilt as much as sorrow, blaming herself for her grandfather’s death. It must have been that last spell the mixture of primrose, violet roots, and sheep droppings. She must have wished too hard.

Miranda bellowed in sympathy, and then asked for the recipe.

“Long after her sisters had dried their tears, Annabel continued to sob; she was afraid to go to bed in the dark and woke screaming every night.

“She’s the softy of those three,” Nanny explained to Buzz.

Buzz knew that Annabel wasn’t the only inhabitant of Starlings who had a soft heart. The former ambulance driver did not find it difficult to be firm: she dealt briskly with truculent plumbers, lazy domestic staff, and insolent girls behind shop counters who never ignored her. Buzz dealt with life’s small exasperations as she dealt with buzzing gnats: she swatted at them, then dismissed them.

But after Billy died, like a punch-drunk boxer, Elinor found it difficult to stand up for herself. Her timid and unaggressive behaviour and her obvious wish to avoid an argument let alone a row left her vulnerable.

“Nell, you shouldn’t let people walk all over you,” Buzz scolded one morning as they stood in the hall.

“You’re a ruddy sight too generous and helpful.” She gazed through the window at a purple figure disappearing down the drive.

“You’ve just given your new coat to Doreen, haven’t you?” “I know she stole the spoons, but she said she was sorry” Elinor said defensively.

“And it’s such a cold morning for July. She was wearing only a flimsy cardigan.”

“She’s ruddy lucky not to be in prison. And she could have worn the green coat you gave her last year. You’re a mug, Nell.” Elinor scowled; she preferred to see herself as warmhearted.

“And while we’re on the subject, why the hell did you bail out Stinker Baldwin?” Buzz asked, referring to the village drunk.

“His wife came to see me, with three of the children. She said it was

his birthday next week.” -B throw her a look of scorn.

“A ruddy good reason for getting drunk and beating her up again. Stinker should always be in prison on his birthday. Did you give her money?” Elinor hesitated.

“Just a little.”

“There you go again! And I’ll bet you thought of some good reason to do such a daft thing.”

“Is it so wrong to give the poor woman a little money?” “Yes. Because she’ll drink it just like Stinker! You’d have done better to give her food in a basket.”

“It would have humiliated her,” Elinor said, rationalizing her impulsive action.

“Rubbish! She’ll soon be back for more cash!” Buzz knew how easily Elinor was able to identify with the wretched, and how quickly the wretched realized it.

“Well, I can afford to give it,” Elinor said.

“Not at the rate you’re going, my girl! I’ve just balanced your chequebook! We send a cheque off to every blinking begging letter that drops on the mat! You haven’t enough money or time to solve all the problems of the world and it ain’t your job.”

“I only try to help people.”

“Charity begins at home, Lady Bountiful. You’re a soft touch, Nell. The girls can twist you round their little finger. I punish ‘em for stealing grapes, so they run off to you and you dry their tears, cancel the punishment, and give ‘em chocolates. You’re far too lenient with ‘em, Nell they’re getting spoilt rotten.”

“You see, I can’t help remembering … that the poor little things have no parents.”

“Poor they ain’t!” Buzz scoffed.

“You should put a stop to their weaknesses, not encourage ‘em.” he following morning, Buzz came into the breakfast room, shuffling envelopes.

“Only one for you today, Nell.

And I’ve had a long letter from Bertha Higby.” Buzz still corresponded with the mother of her dead fiance, Ginger Higby; in 1922, the family had emigrated to Cleveland, Ohio, where eventually Mr. Higby opened a hardware store. Reading excerpts from Bertha Higby’s letter, Buzz did not notice Elinor’s face until the door burst open and the three girls bounced into the breakfast room.