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.”