Memories of You (10 page)

‘And you have your breakfast in bed.'

‘That's right. Well, this morning I thought I would take breakfast with Elise, here by the fire. It's nice and cosy.'

‘You couldn't resist playing with your new toy.'

‘Hugh!' Mrs Partington sounded shocked. ‘
Pas devant!
You must not talk like that. I do not regard Elise as a toy. I regard her as a daughter.'

‘Forgive me, sweetheart. That was thoughtless. It seems I must get used to having a child in the house.'

‘Yes, you must.' She smiled up at him. ‘Have you had your breakfast?'

‘A very good one, thank you. A pair of Craster kippers on the bone, nice and smoky, and with a couple of poached eggs on top.'

‘Ugh! Are you surprised that I don't take breakfast with you more often?'

‘No, my love, but I do miss your company.'

‘Well, why don't I ring for Susan and get her to bring you a cup and a fresh pot of coffee. We can sit here together like a proper little family.'

‘Very well. Anything to please you, my darling.'

Elsie had listened wide-eyed, fascinated by the way they talked. They called each other
my love
,
my darling
and
sweetheart
and behaved almost as though they were children rather than proper grown-up people.

Once Susan had brought the coffee for Mr Partington they seemed to forget about her. Mrs Partington began to tease her husband about the time he spent at somewhere called the office. ‘Honestly, Hugh, dawn till dusk every day.'

‘A slight exaggeration, Selma, and in any case I only do it for you, to make sure that we can afford anything your heart desires.'

‘But why do you have to do everything yourself? Surely you must learn to delegate.'

Mr Partington laughed. ‘Delegate? Where did you learn such a big word?'

His wife smiled but Elsie thought she was just a little bit cross when she replied. ‘I wish you wouldn't think of me as a complete fool,' she said. ‘I do have a brain in my head and believe it or not I actually read the stuffy newspapers that you have delivered.'

‘No, I don't think of you as a fool, Selma. It is I who am the fool for not wishing to see you as you are. I like the illusion of a dear little wife to be protected from the hurly-burly of the world.'

‘Oh, you can protect me all you like. I don't mind that. Just remember now and then that I'm a grown-up, not a sweet little child-wife.'

Elsie was beginning to get bored. She had drunk her milk and eaten her egg and all the toast soldiers. It had been a good breakfast but she realized she was still hungry. She wondered if she was allowed to ring for Susan and ask for more. There was a bell pull at the side of the fireplace. She was staring at it when Mrs Partington suddenly noticed that all the plates were empty.

‘Oh, what a good little girl,' she said. ‘To eat up all her breakfast like that. Would you like some more toast, Elise? And perhaps some apricot preserve.'

Elsie wasn't sure what apricot preserve was but she guessed it would be something like marmalade. And no doubt the toast would be hot and spread with butter. They had rarely had butter on their toast at home although her mother sometimes mixed some in with the margarine. But for breakfast most mornings they had mostly had bread and dripping or porridge made with water and just a little milk to pour on and cool it down.

‘Yes, please,' she said. ‘And may I ring the bell for Susan?'

Mrs Partington raised her eyebrows and laughed. ‘Of course you may, my pet. Isn't she just too sweet, Hugh? Have you time for another pot of coffee?'

‘Not really but it's so cosy here by the fire with you that I think I'll say yes.'

‘There you are. I knew you would like us being a proper family.'

‘Is that what we are?'

‘Of course. You, me and our daughter, Elise. A proper family.'

Elsie stared at them but they were looking at each other in the sort of way her brother Joe would have called soppy. For the moment she was excluded and she wasn't sure if she liked that. Mrs Partington was so beautiful and so kind and she had brought her here to this lovely house where she was to live forever and ever and it seemed that she was to be their daughter.

She didn't find that strange. After all she had no mother now and she couldn't remember their father at all. And everybody should have a mother and father, shouldn't they? She wondered briefly if her brothers would find a new father and mother. Surely they would want to have the same ones. And Helen. What about Helen? Perhaps not. After all, she was nearly grown up and Elsie wasn't sure if grown-ups needed parents the way children did.

She tucked into the toast and apricot preserve. She decided it was delicious. And Susan had brought some more hot milk. The milk was all right but she wondered if she would be allowed to have coffee. Her mother had sometimes made what she called a coffee dash by adding something from a bottle to a cup of warm milk. The bottle had a label showing two men sitting by a camp fire drinking coffee. One was dressed in a kilt so he must be Scottish and the other had a funny cloth wrapped round his head. Joe had told her that this was a turban and the men were soldiers and this was what soldiers drank to keep their strength up.

Helen had laughed at this. ‘That's what they want you to think, Joe,' she'd said. ‘Don't be fooled by the advertising.'

That conversation had been above Elsie's head but she remembered it fondly and she wondered if the coffee that Mr and Mrs Partington had would taste just as delicious. Now they were talking about someone called Miss Chambers and someone else called Miss Barton. Apparently these two ladies were coming today and Mrs Partington was going to interview them – whatever that meant.

She was just spreading apricot preserve on the last piece of toast when she realized they had stopped talking. She looked up to find them smiling at her.

‘Mr Partington is going to work now,' Mrs Partington said. ‘But he wanted to ask you something.'

For a moment Elsie was alarmed. She remembered that Mr Partington had not seemed as keen to have her here as his wife had been. Was this going to be some sort of test and if she didn't give the right answers she would have to leave?

‘What is it?' she asked.

‘Don't look so worried, moppet,' he said. ‘I only want to know if you think you'll be happy here.'

‘Oh, yes,' Elsie said. ‘I'm sure I shall be.'

‘Right then. Duty calls.' He rose and to Elsie's embarrassment he pulled his wife up into his arms and kissed her.

When he had gone Mrs Partington sat down again and poured herself the last of the coffee. She took a sip and then leaned forward. ‘We've started well, haven't we, Elise?'

‘Yes,' Elsie said although she wasn't quite sure what Mrs Partington meant.

‘And you do understand that I want you to think of yourself as Elise from now on? Elise Partington sounds much better than Elsie Partington, doesn't it?'

‘Yes, I suppose so.'

‘There's no suppose about it. Take my word for it, it does.' In saying this Mrs Partington revealed that quick flash of impatience that Elsie had noticed before and which had so worried her. She stared down at her empty plate on the table and wondered how she could make Mrs Partington smile again.

‘I'm glad you're going to call me Elise,' she said. ‘But what am I to call you? You said you would tell me.'

Mrs Partington's smile returned and she leaned forward. ‘You are going to live here as our little girl. My husband and I already think of you as our daughter. What do you think you should call me?'

Elsie hesitated. When her real mother had been alive she had called her Mam or Ma but somehow that didn't seem right for Mrs Partington. And then something stirred in her memory, something from the storybooks that Helen had read to her. Books about children who lived in big houses and whose parents had servants just like the Partingtons did. Her face cleared.

‘Mama,' she said. ‘Shall I call you Mama?'

The smile on Mrs Partington's face was the only answer Elsie needed.

 

The following week Helen was having breakfast with Eva. They were talking quietly because Aunt Jane had scolded them, saying their morning chatter carried all the way upstairs and woke her up too soon.

‘You could always look them up in the telephone directory. People like that are bound to have a telephone,' Eva said.

‘But so will all the other Partingtons.'

‘There can't be that many with a telephone, and in any case from the sounds of it all you'll hev to do is look out for the grandest address in town.'

Helen and Eva sat companionably at the table in the kitchen. This morning Eva had made porridge and had livened it up with a spoonful of black treacle. In the short while Helen had been at her aunt's house the two girls had become friends. Well, almost friends, Helen thought. They could be chatting quite happily about nothing in particular when suddenly Eva would close her mouth, thin her lips and go silent.

After a while Helen realized this usually occurred after one of Eva's regular tirades about ‘the missus'. She remembers I am her niece, Helen thought, but surely she can't think I am cut from the same cloth. However, this morning her aunt's maid was in a friendly mood.

‘Another cup of tea?' she asked. ‘Hot and sweet to warm your cockles on a cold morning.'

‘Where would I find a telephone directory? In the library?'

‘I daresay. But why not try a telephone box?'

‘Of course.'

‘Eeh, sometimes you're not very bright for a girl that gans to the grammar school, are you?'

Helen laughed. ‘No, I'm not. I'm certainly not as sensible as you are.'

‘Get away with you! But now that you mention it I don't think what you propose to do is at all sensible. Or right for that matter.'

‘Why not?'

‘Lissen to me. Your little sister has been taken in by very rich people. Her life is going to be very different from yours and mine. And you said yourself that she seemed to take to Mrs Partington when she came to get her.'

‘Well, yes, she did. But I haven't seen her since then, have I?'

‘Nor should you. For once I agree with your aunt. It would only upset little Elsie if you suddenly reminded her of things she can't have any more.'

‘Things she can't have?'

‘Your mam and you and your brothers all together in your snug little house. The bairn is young enough to let those memories fade.'

‘But I don't want them to!'

‘Can't you see that's cruel? I'm not saying your little sister will forget everything entirely. She hev happy memories that she'll bring out and hev a look at now and then. But meanwhile if you really love her you'll let her get on with her new life.'

Helen stared at Eva. The girl's homely young face seemed to take on the aspect of a kindly old woman. ‘You're very wise, Eva,' she said.

‘Aye, I'm a pupil from the school of life, me. Now drink up your tea and haddaway. You divven't want to be late for school, do you?'

‘No.'

‘Shall I put that doll back in your room?'

‘No.'

‘What do you mean, “No”? Surely after all that's been said you don't still plan to take it to your sister, do you?'

‘Perhaps not. But I have to be sure. I know it's only an old doll but I made it for her and she must be missing her.'

‘Mebbe she did at first – until she got used to all the new dolls she'll hev now. And hevn't you listened to a single word I've said? For God's sake let it be, Helen, and let the bairn get on with her new life.'

Eva rose abruptly and clattered the dirty dishes into the sink. Helen stuffed Maisie into her school satchel and slipping on her coat she left without another word. She was sorry that she and Eva were at odds with each other, and on the way to school she went over everything they had talked about. She thought about it again all morning at school and twice was scolded for being inattentive. By the time lunchtime came she had almost made her mind up but she had to be sure. And there was only one way of achieving that.

Instead of staying in the café for lunch, Helen bought a sandwich to take out and hurried along to the nearest telephone box to consult the directory. Eva had been right; there weren't many Partingtons with telephones. The two who looked the most likely had the initials E and H. They didn't live very far from each other and if she dashed she would just have time to at least look at the houses before hurrying back to school.

Not much later she found herself lurking in the gravelled driveway of a house opposite what surely must be the grandest house in Newcastle. Set a little way back from the road, surrounded by gardens that looked more like a municipal park, the Partington residence was more country mansion than townhouse.

The first Partington address she had passed had been grand enough – a tall terraced house with steps leading up to the front door and another set leading down to an area below the level of the pavement where no doubt the servants' entrance was. Helen had stopped briefly to look at it and then hurried on. The grand terrace gave way to large villas with highly cultivated gardens and finally she had arrived at Redebank, the address listed in the phone directory as being that of H. Partington.

But what should she do? March up to the door and ask to see Mrs Partington? Then ask her to give Elsie her doll? Her aunt had told her that on no account must she do that. Helen remembered her aunt's anger when she had asked if she could have the Partingtons' address.