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905The wonderful John will rule the roost. He, of course, will be over the rnoon at the news. Father's right hand; he takes too much on himself, I think. Anyway, I'll go and say goodbye to Grandma, and I'll come down tomorrow again before I leave for Oxford.* He bent and kissed her cheek, then went out.

Standing alone in the room, Amy thought. No, her mother hadn't cried, and she had lost her husband; and she herself had lost a husband, but she wanted to cry, almost scream, and for many reasons, not the least of them being that she was never going to return to that house again.

12It was a fortnight later. Joseph was at home in his office. He was sitting at one side of the desk and John was seated at the other, and Joseph was saying, 'Well, John, I've worked it all out. Now I'll put it to you plainly. There are eight indoor servants, and three men and a boy in the yard and the garden. I'm not counting the farm, because William gives himself a small wage and sees to his man and the boy there out of the profit from the market. But as I see it, my responsibilities for the wages alone come to about three hundred and seventy pounds a year, that is not counting their insurance, or the buying of the food and the renewing of uniforms. Now to cover that, I would need at least six hundred a year. Up till now that has been met by Mr Filmore. I can see no way of my

907paying that amount out of what I have in resources. I was left, as I think you know, two thousand by my uncle, and I had less than a thousand saved of my own. The money that comes from the business I have to use for the education of the family. I've always seen to that myself, and that will have to go on, and my earnings barely cover it because, as you know, with the exception of William who, as I said, sees to himself, and Alice who is shortly to be married, there are four still to be met: and Jonathan, as far as I can see now, is going to need supporting for some long time. From his present college he hopes to go on to yet another. But we can forget about the needs of the family; it's the needs of the staff that is forcing me to say what I must, John, and that is, I've got to cut down drastically. Anyway, with Kitty and Bertha at boarding school, Alice soon to be gone, Malcolm at college, it leaves only Willie and me in the house.

Now, I've no need to say to you that seven indoor servants is a little more than is required for two people, even taking in the holidays when the girls come back. So, who is to go and who is to stay? It's an awful decision and you've got

908to help me in this. Outside, Ron will be pensioned off, the boy will do the yard work, but only one gardener can remain.''Sir,' said John now, 'it would be impossible for me to say who has to stay and who has to go, because we have been as one family for years; the cook and the girls have practically grown old here, well, if not old, elderly. As for a man getting a post, there seem to be fifty applicants for one job, no matter what kind. As you know, there are men still walking the road from the war, begging even for work that they would have considered degrading before they went to fight for King and country. It is all very sad. But, sir, there's something I want to tell you. We've been expecting something like this, knowing of your circumstances. So, I called a meeting of all the staff a few days ago and there's one thing they all agreed to: that this was a very large house with fifteen main bedrooms besides the attics, and counting the rooms on the ground floor, and excluding servants' quarters, and the basement which runs the length of the house, the cellars and the annexe, not counting these, there are thirty-four main rooms altogether and all

909could be put to use. The idea came through something you said to me a week ago, sir. You said you intended to bring your friend, who will be an invalid, here, and also her mother to look after her. We discussed which room would be appropriate for a bedroom and we decided that the games room could be turned into such because it has French windows leading on to the side terrace and the gardens. Isn't that so, sir?*'Yes, John, that is so.''Well, then, as I put it to the others, and they all agreed, that what you could do for one invalid you could do for another. It could be a thriving business, sir. And I know of two such in Newcastle which house retired ladies or gentlemen who are past the age of seeing to themselves.

In one particular home they have their own room and quite a bit of their own furniture, I understand, around them. I have a friend who is a gardener at Lady Harris's establishment on the outskirts of Newcastle, and Lady Harris's father is in such a home and apparently is very happy. I had a talk with my friend about it.'Joseph did not speak, but gnawed on his bottom lip for a few seconds; and then lie 910laughed, and when John laughed with him, saying, 'It could be done, sir,* Joseph said, 'Yes, yes indeed, John, it could be done, but . . . but at the moment I'm amazed at your suggestion. It would never have crossed my mind, and yet it should, because I sold a house last year not half the size of this for exactly the same purpose.''Well, what do you say, sir?''What do I say, John? What do I say? I just don't know. The only thing that strikes me at the moment is that it would keep us all together and that we couldn't lose much by it. There would have to be alterations, I suppose.''No, sir, but there would have to be an addition, and that would be a lift up to the first floor. But that could be in an alcove to the side of the stairs where the clothes closet is now. It would be a simple job, sir/Joseph started to laugh again and was about to say something when John put in, 'If you only had two or three clients, sir, it would cover expenses. And the people who can afford to take up residence in places like this can afford to pay well, and if things improved you could have at least ten bedrooms

911occupied, even more if you wanted. But as I said, the idea stemmed from you in the first place, sir, and your talking of bringing your friend here. By the way, when will that be, sir?'Tm not sure now. I thought it might have been next week, but they are talking about another operation.''Will she eventually be able to walk, sir?'Tm not sure, John; nor are the doctors. I think this business of operations is just trial and error. But one good thing, she is much brighter in herself and is looking forward to getting out of hospital. So she'll submit to anything that's going to happen.''We will look forward to her arrival, sir.*'That is good of you, John. Knowing the circumstances, that is very good, very good of you all.''May I be bold enough, sir, to enquire if the mistress has decided to live with her mother?''As far as I can gather, John, that's her decision. Otherwise I wouldn't have thought about bringing my friend here. And I may tell you now, I'm going to ask my wife for a divorce.*

912Tm sorry, sir ... well, what I mean is, that all this had to happen.''So am I, John, so am I. But there's one thing that I'm glad about and that is, in the main ... I say, in the main, my family understand the situation; and as I've pointed out before, there will be only Willie and I in the house. Well, that's just as it is at present, isn't it, as Alice is staying with her mother for the time being and the rest have returned to school. Anyway, you can tell the staff, if we can work out this new plan, things will remain as they were.'They will be delighted to hear it, sir, delighted. And thank you.'As John rose to his feet, so did Joseph, and he, too, said, 'Thank you. Thank you, John. And let me say straightaway, I am very grateful, not only for your loyalty but also for your caring.'And to this John answered, 'It's always been a pleasure to serve you, sir, and I hope it will continue for a long time.' And on this, with a small inclination of his head, he went out.Slowly Joseph walked towards the win-913dow and looked out onto the garden where the trees were turning to russet, and he thought, An old people's home; and immediately his mind went to Bertha.I

13'Well, that's final: you'll never go back there again. How dare he! Just how dare he openly flaunt public censure and talk of bringing his woman into the house! And then turning it into a boarding house.*'Apparently, Mother, as Malcolm says, it's for elderly people, monied people.''What else did he say? You were long enough on the telephone.''Just that he was angry, Mother; that he couldn't go into details because he didn't know them. He had just had a letter from Willie.''Well!' Bridget, seated on the couch, looked at her daughter's back, where she was standing before the fire, her head bent apparently staring down at it, and she said, That's final. Oh, yes, that's final. You must 915put in for a divorce immediately. You have the grounds staring you in the face.'After a moment, and Amy having made no response, her mother demanded, 'Well, why don't you say something? Surely you have an opinion on the matter.'Amy did not immediately turn round but when she did her slow movement was so different from her usual self-assertive manner, and her voice, too, was without force as she said,

*Yes, Mammy, I have an opinion, a number of opinions.''Well, what are you going to do about it?'Tm going to think about it.'Think!' Bridget's fingers were drumming on the side of the chair. 'Girl, the time has passed for thinking, it's for acting.''Yes, as you say, Mammy, it's a time for acting.' And at this she walked out of the room and took the familiar stairs to her bedroom.She had been born in this house, she had been brought up in this house, but oh, how she had come to hate it over the past weeks. The monotony, the dullness, her mother buried in her sorrow. It was odd, but the only time she had shown any evidence of her

916old self was when she had told her the details of the phone conversation between herself and Malcolm. She could go the whole day and hardly speak. As for having nothing to do, it was as if she hadn't any properties at all to see to.She sat down now on the side of her bed and, like a child, she rocked herself. He was cruel, cruel. He could have taken that woman to the other house . . . anywhere.

But to bring her back into Grove House! It was an insult. But she wouldn't divorce him. She wouldn't divorce him.Her rocking stopped, and now her joined hands were gripped tightly between her knees. He was all she had in life, all she wanted, had ever wanted, that was the pity of it. If she had only turned her thoughts to other things, people. If she had even concentrated on the children. But he had been right about the children, for each one of them had seemed to take him further away from her. She should have had sense, she should have played a game; other women did. But she could see nothing but him; he was a kind of madness with her. She felt at times she would go mad, like that awful Henrietta.

917What was she to do? There was nothing she could do, was there? She would be stuck here with her mother until she died.Oh! The prospect brought her from the bed. And that could be years ahead, during which time her mother would get older and more taciturn. She wouldn't be able to stand it ...Bridget, too, had come upstairs to her room, and she was standing holding a silverframed photograph of Douglas: 'My darling,' she was saying. 'Oh, my darling, how I miss you. And I've forgiven you for deceiving me. But as you thought you were doing something for the best, now you must understand, my dear, that I am about to do something for the best, too. You were mistaken about the character of Joseph Skinner: he is like his father, a bad man, in fact I cannot look at him but I see his father. You always said that Malcolm was more like your brother, but I think you were mistaken there, dear, too. So, please bear with me and try to understand what I'm about to do. I will be with you soon because I cannot bear this life without you/

She now kissed the photograph and laid it back on the bedside 918table. Following this, she picked up the phone from the same table and dialled Mr Kemp's office in Newcastle, and there made an appointment with him for three o'clock that same day,'Yes, I know what I'm doing, Mr Kemp. You have known me all these years, and have you ever thought that I didn't know what I was doing?''No, Mrs Filmore, I have never thought that; but you have recently suffered a great loss, a heavy bereavement, and I wonder if you might not, after consideration and at a later date , . ,*'I've given you an outline of what I mean to do, Mr Kemp. Now will you please take it down and then you can turn it into your own jargon ready for me to sign at your earliest convenience . . , please. So we will begin.'. . . And she began:'On my demise I leave to each of my grandchildren one thousand pounds upon their reaching the age of twenty-one. To my eldest grandson, Malcolm Skinner, I leave ten thousand pounds when he reaches the age of thirty. I leave two hundred pounds to 919each of my servants . . . you have their names already, Mr Kemp. And to my daughter, if at my demise she has become divorced from her husband, Joseph Skinner, I leave my entire fortune, but on condition only that she in no way spends any of the money to aid Joseph Skinner, nor under any condition does she return to Grove House. If she violates one or other of these conditions then my entire estate goes into a trust fund. . (which I hope you will set up, Mr jKemp.) The monies to be distributed wisely for the needs of hospitals and the sick situated in this county. However, if my daughter 'does not conform to my wishes I will still provide for her in that she may have the use of Meadow House as long as she lives, together with a sum of five hundred pounds a year. But this allowance is hers only as long as she occupies the house.'She had stopped speaking for some minutes before Mr Kemp stopped writing, and when he laid his pen down he looked across at this woman whom, following his father, he had served for years. He had never imagined her being vindictive, but this was the most vindictive epistle that he had ever

920penned. And it was all against Mr Skinner. If anyone was asking his opinion he would have said that what Mr Douglas Filmore had done was what was due to his nephew, whether in or out of law. But definitely he had known from the first that it was against his wife's wishes. Yet, he could never imagine Mrs Filmore taking this attitude, but taken it she had and so therefore he would have to obey her orders.

But it would go so very much against the grain, for in trying to penalize Mr Skinner she was acting against her own daughter. Did she not understand that? He was about to put this to her tactfully, when she said,