Mourning Doves (22 page)

After a minute or two, he began, ‘Before I make an offer for the articles I mentioned, may I ask you a personal question, Miss Gilmore?’

Celia nodded nervous acquiescence.

‘Are you simply disposing of this surplus furniture because, perhaps, you have no room for it in your new house? Or do you need to really make a solid sum of money
out of it? Or are you thinking, perhaps, that you will begin a business buying and selling second-hand furniture, with this as your first stock?’

Celia’s surprise at the last question was apparent to the man before her. He said hastily, ‘I hope you’re not offended?’

‘Oh, no. The idea of a business had not occurred to me.’ She went on to tell him that the furniture was her mother’s, and she was sure Mother would be grateful for as much as she could obtain for it. ‘As for my running a business,’ she finished up with a shy laugh, ‘I have no experience at all – of anything.’

He smiled slightly, and then asked, ‘May I tell you what struck me when I saw some of the pieces that you have?’

‘Certainly.’

‘They are beautiful,’ he said flatly. ‘But they will take time to sell. And those that are big will have to be shown in a way to indicate that they would fit into a modern home. Hence my interest in making small pieces out of larger ones.’

Celia nodded, and waited for him to explain further. Before he did so, he shifted uneasily in his chair, and inquired, ‘Did Betty tell you anything about me – or my business?’

‘Only that you repaired furniture.’

‘Well. I’ve only recently been demobbed after serving for four years, and I don’t have much of a business yet. But I did finish my time as a journeyman – and I worked for furniture makers subsequently. I always did furniture repairs at home on the side, even tackling antiques, which demands a fair knowledge.

‘When I came home six months ago, I began to do repairs again, and I’m earning fairly steadily – but I’ve no capital.’

He looked at Celia slantwise. She was all attention. He said, ‘I’m telling you this because I have an idea which
may benefit both of us. But you should know my background first. I should mention, too, that I am still under treatment for the wound in my leg – and I can’t stand for long. So I have to find ways to supplement what I can manage to earn at my old trade by selling pieces like parsons’ tables which don’t have an immense amount of work in them.’

Celia was suffering from nervous strain. Please, Lord, she prayed, let him come to the point. Aloud, she said with real sympathy, ‘I hope your leg doesn’t hurt very much.’

He shrugged. ‘I have my good days and my bad days,’ he told her with a grin. ‘Do you want to know what I’m thinking?’

‘Oh, indeed I do.’

‘Well, you have a lot of fine furniture and need some money. I’m a skilled craftsman with a tiny shop just off Market Street – it’s got a nice front window facing Market Street. Though I don’t need the shop, except to show my tables occasionally, I need the work rooms behind it. I want to suggest to you that we team up. You have the shop and I’ll continue in the back. We share the rent. It will mean that we both have low overheads.’

Celia’s expression was rapt, as if she had suddenly seen sunlight after days of storm, but the word ‘overheads’ puzzled her and she frowned.

‘Overheads means rent, taxes, lighting. Things like that.’

The frown cleared, and she nodded.

Emboldened, he went on. ‘To give you some money to begin with, I would like to suggest that we sort out all the workaday stuff you’ve got in there – kitchen tables, older beds – anything that is not of much real value. Send the lot to a saleroom. An auctioneer will at least get something for it.’

‘Yes?’

‘The rest we move into the shed at the back of my shop. We put together sets and show them in the front window
as complete rooms, as far as we can. I’ll reduce the size of all the cabinets, sideboards, bookcases – the latter are too high to fit under the eight-foot ceilings in modern houses. Two of the five wardrobes you’ve got could have the drawers on which they stand removed and small feet put on instead – they’re mahogany – lovely wood – only need polishing. I could probably make hope chests out of the drawers.’

Celia was thrilled. She forgot about her mother. She had her hands clasped together as if in prayer, as she said impulsively, ‘What a wonderful idea!’

He laughed. He said, ‘There’s a catch in it.’

Her face fell.

‘Anything that I’ve altered or refinished, you pay me half of what you get.’

She was silent, and he added persuasively, ‘My work is very skilled work.’

‘I do understand that, Mr Philpotts. I’ll have to ask Mother,’ she said with some anxiety, and then she asked him, ‘Do you really think I can sell anything?’

‘With your nice manners, Miss? With the kind of clientele I have, why you could sell anything with patience. You’d soon learn a trick or two for selling. With a bit of luck, you’d be dealing with high-class buyers.’

She smiled prettily. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I think that’s the first compliment I’ve had in my life.’ Then again anxiety clouded over. ‘I’ve no idea what Mother will say about it.’

‘Well, you should explain to her that, this way, she’ll probably get the best return, although it’ll be slow. There’s a clientele round here who know good furniture when they see it. In addition, you should advertise as far as Chester and suchlike places. When they come to me for repairs, they’ll see what you’ve got. And you could have your tables laid with your Crown Derby dinner services – it would look good.’

‘What about the pictures? We seem to have quite a lot of them.’

‘Now that’s something I don’t pretend to know anything about. You could get an art dealer to look at them, if you think they’re good.’

Celia abandoned thought of the paintings, for the moment. She was more worried about her mother’s reactions. It would not be the thought of selling the furniture that would strike her, but the dreadful indignity of a daughter, granddaughter of a baronet, becoming a shopkeeper. She would be horrified at the very idea.

Louise had always referred to Celia’s father as being in commerce – not trade. Trade was vulgar. Celia wondered how she could even broach to her the subject of owning a shop.

Celia’s sudden hope died. ‘Mother will never agree to it – she’ll send it all to an auctioneer first.’

Mr Philpotts rose slowly and stretched his sturdy form to its full height. ‘Go – ask her,’ he said. ‘Nothing try, nothing have. I’ve a good name in this village – I’ll not cheat her.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t. Betty would not have introduced us, if she had not felt that you would really help us.’

‘Aye, I’ve known Betty and her dad – and her mam – since I was a little lad. Will you ask your mam?’

‘I will,’ Celia replied slowly, though the thought of doing so filled her with nameless terror. She put out her hand to shake Mr Philpotts’ hand in farewell. He held it tightly for a moment, and then said, ‘Don’t be scared – I think we’ll both benefit. Let me know how you get on.’

She licked her lips, and nodded agreement. Through her hand he could feel her trembling before he slowly dropped it.

She stood, framed by the open barn doors, and watched him drag his way across the yard, to pause a moment to
look in at the office door. She saw him wave to Betty and then continue out of the yard. Then she sat down suddenly on one of the chairs and cried from sheer nervous tension.

When Celia arrived back at the cottage, Edna was seated by the living-room fire. She had a black skirt on her knee and a mouth full of pins. As Celia took off her hat and laid it on the table, she greeted her through her clenched teeth by saying, ‘You are just in time to pin up this hem for me. All my skirts are too long for English fashions.’ Then, after hastily removing the pins from her mouth, she inquired sharply, ‘Have you been crying?’

‘Yes, I did have a little weep.’ Celia pulled her cotton handkerchief out of her sleeve and quickly wiped her eyes. Then she sat down opposite Edna, her hands clenched on her knees, and burst forth, ‘I’m so scared of what Mother is going to say, Edna. I don’t know how to ask her.’

Edna dropped the skirt off her lap and on to the floor and laid the pin cushion on it. ‘What on earth do you mean? What now? Was the Philpotts man rude to you?’ she asked.

‘Oh, no, Edna. He was very nice indeed. He’s not a gentleman; he’s a skilled artisan. But I think you might like him.’ She poured out the details of Mr Philpotts’ offer.

‘He’s offered me a partnership in a little business, in effect, Edna,’ she finished up. ‘But it is Mother who will have to be the partner – because it’s her furniture. But you know Mother. She’d burst into tears every time she looked at her furniture, and she’d be horrified at the idea of serving in a shop, and she won’t want me there, either.’ She
shrugged her shoulders helplessly. ‘Even if she agrees, she’ll never do a stroke to help. It is I who will have to be at the shop all day, every day. And I can’t do that and be here to look after her and help you with the house and the washing and the cooking and the cleaning – and do the garden.’

She wrung her hands in despair. ‘What shall I do? I hardly know how to even begin with Mother.’

At that moment, the back door opened and Eddie Fairbanks called, ‘Anybody home?’

Edna responded immediately that he was to come in. They heard his boots clomp as he kicked them off by the door and then he walked in in his socks. Celia’s first thought was to thank heaven that Mother was not there to see a next-door neighbour in her living room without shoes on.

He beamed cheerfully at both sisters. He had been thinning out his seedlings and was carrying tiny fresh lettuces and some spring onions on a piece of newspaper.

‘Thought you might like these,’ he said. ‘They’re a bit muddy with the rain we had in the night, but they’re real crisp. Where will I put them?’

He gazed at the two women seated by the fire, and realised that he had walked in at a difficult moment. Miss Celia looked as if she had been crying. Eyes and nose were red.

‘I’ll put them on the draining board,’ he said hastily and prepared to retreat to the kitchen.

It was quick-witted Edna who insisted he stay and have a cup of tea. So the lettuces were disposed of in the kitchen, and Celia pushed a dining chair round so that he could join them by the fire.

Following her sister’s lead, Celia said sweetly, ‘Do sit down, Mr Fairbanks.’ Then she turned to push the hob with the kettle on it over the blazing fire.

Edna was already getting teacups out of the small sideboard.
She inquired brightly, ‘Do you know a man called John Philpotts – lives in Hoylake?’

Eddie looked surprised. ‘Sure I do – cabinetmaker and French polisher? Nice lad. Lost his fiancée in France – she was an ambulance driver or similar. He came back wounded, to be told about her death, poor lad. How is he – and how did you come to meet him?’

Celia answered him shyly. ‘I was talking to him today, Mr Fairbanks. About Mother’s furniture.’

‘Oh, aye?’

Celia glanced at Edna inquiringly, and Edna said, ‘Tell Mr Fairbanks about his suggestion. If he knows the man he can give an opinion.’ She came, teapot in hand, to sit down until the kettle boiled.

Eddie nodded, and wondered what John Philpotts had been up to.

Celia’s agreement sounded doubtful, and she evaded the issue by inquiring where Louise was. ‘Is she napping?’

‘No. She was complaining that she was completely fed up, so I suggested a walk on the promenade at Hoylake. She was going to take the train to Hoylake Station. I thought the fresh air would help her.’

Celia swallowed. She was going to have to go through her story three times, she realised. She sat slowly down on her chair and looked shyly up at the old man. He was smiling at her, so she went on to tell him about her morning interview.

She finished up by saying, ‘Betty said it might lead to a very nice occupation for me – as an antique dealer.’

While Eddie stirred his cup of tea, he considered the matter carefully. Finally, he said, ‘It depends what your mam thinks, doesn’t it?

‘The only piece of advice I would like to give you is to have a written agreement with John as to exactly what each of you is going to do and how the money will be split. The family solicitor nearest to here is, I think, in West
Kirby – but that’s only the next station after Hoylake – it’s not far. He’d make it right for you. And being local, Miss Celia, he won’t charge as much as a big Liverpool man might; it could save you a pile of trouble later on.’ He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then assured her, ‘It’s not that you can’t trust John – he’s a decent fella – but, as time passes, you tend to forget exactly what you agreed – or change things without thinking, like. Then you might quarrel. It’s human nature.’

‘Would you like to do what this Philpotts man suggests, Celia?’ Edna asked with real curiosity.

Celia hesitated, and then said, ‘Well, I don’t know. I suppose I would learn how to sell things – and that might help me to get another job – though what Mother would say if I worked in a shop, I shudder to think.

‘I can’t do what Mr Philpotts suggests – that is, use our furniture as a basis on which to launch a continuing business – because I won’t have the money, will I? It will be Mother’s.’

Eddie had not worked for forty years for a lord without understanding to perfection the social gradations of his society. He said cautiously, ‘It’s no disgrace to work for a living, love, if that’s what you want to do. And your mam might be prepared to share the proceeds of the sales with you – so you could save most of it and buy more furniture to sell. You’d never make a fortune, but there’s others as make a living that way.’

Edna said, ‘My furniture will arrive from South America in about two months’ time. I shall not need all of it, even if I set up a home of my own. I’ll give you what I don’t need for your shop. It is handmade and carved very nicely.’

Celia looked at her open-mouthed. ‘Would you really?’

‘Well, of course I would. I don’t have to worry about every penny, and you haven’t a cent to bless yourself with. And, if truth were told, it wouldn’t hurt Mother to let you have the proceeds of the furniture sale.’

Eddie studied a tea leaf floating around in his cup. And these people think they’re hard up, he considered. They don’t know they’re born. Miss Celia was unlucky, now. He’d seen such women before. He’d heard that a lot of them like her, when their family didn’t want them any more, had been shipped off to Canada or Australia to marry pioneers they’d never seen.

He felt very sorry for her, and there she was, looking at him with wide scared blue eyes as if she knew already what life had in store for her, poor little lass. Even her sister’s kind offer did not seem to have taken the fear out of her.

Regardless of speaking in front of their plebeian visitor, Edna was continuing her tirade about her mother. She went on, ‘If you are earning, you can eventually contribute to the household – so Mother will not have to keep you.’

‘Oh, aye. That’s true,’ interjected Eddie. He took Celia’s hand and said, as if to his own daughter, ‘Don’t be so frightened, luv. Your mam may be quite pleased at the idea.’

Celia seriously felt that her mother would never be pleased at anything she did or said. But this was her own special friend speaking, a friend she had made by herself, and she gained a little courage from him.

Edna smiled at the pair of them. She hoped that Eddie Fairbanks would still be with them when her mother returned. Louise was more likely to keep her temper, if an acquaintance were present. To that end, she asked him to give her his cup so that she could refill it.