The Most Precious Thing (41 page)
Olive relaxed back in her chair. ‘I’m glad we’ve had this little talk though, it’s cleared the air, so to speak. I can’t be doing with secrets, not in a family, leastways, and I suppose you’ve always wondered, knowing how Carrie worshipped the ground Alec walked on at one time.’
What on earth was the woman talking about? Margaret smoothed a fold in the skirt of her dress in order to break the hold of her mother-in-law’s intense gaze. Carrie had no time for Alec, she behaved quite differently with him--
The penny dropped and her hand became still, her eyes frozen on the material beneath her fingers. Olive was saying that Alec and Carrie had . . .
No.
No.
For a moment she thought she had spoken out loud but when Olive remained silent, she knew the shout had been in her head. Her mind raced. You’ve always known he didn’t love you, always, and here’s the answer. And look how he is with Matthew. He’s not the same with Veronica, he’s not. All the time you’ve told yourself it’s because Matthew is a boy and he can relate better to him, but it’s not that. You’ve seen him looking at Carrie in that certain way. All right, he looks at lots of women and women look at him, but Carrie never does. Never. She avoids him. She dislikes him. And why? Because he got her pregnant. It must have been about the time Alec proposed marriage. Oh no, no, I can’t bear this. I can’t bear it. And she’s so beautiful, so bonny.
Margaret raised her head and met Olive’s eyes, and what she read in them provided confirmation. For both women.
Oh aye, the lass knew all right, it was written all over her face, Olive thought with some satisfaction. Perhaps she’d always suspected something wasn’t right but hadn’t tumbled. Well, you wouldn’t, would you, in the normal run of things and her thinking the lad was David’s son, but this should put a spoke in Carrie McDarmount’s wheel. Thinking she could come here and pretend to be concerned about Margaret. Her card was marked now. If she knew one thing about Margaret it was that she was besotted with her husband; Carrie would find the door closed against her if she took it into her head to try and cause more trouble. Suggesting she should be packed off to Walter’s like a sack of taties! Olive sniffed loudly. Carrie must think she was daft.
‘Well, I’m for bed, lass.’ It was the kindest tone Olive had ever used towards her daughter-in-law, but Margaret was unaware of it. Her mind was still grappling with the enormity of tonight’s revelations.
‘What? Oh, yes . . . Goodnight.’
It was vague, but Olive did not take offence. Margaret had plenty to think about now, and no doubt many things which had occurred over the years would take on a new meaning - as they had done with her when she had first realised the significance of it all. It was amazing but sometimes you completely missed what was right under your nose.
It was snowing again when Margaret stepped out of the house two hours later. Olive and Freda Browell had long since retired and Margaret had been in her quarters for over an hour, but she had spent the time sitting on her bed staring vacantly into space. Now she stood in the snow like someone dazed, looking first one way and then the other as though she did not recognise where she was. In spite of the severe weather she was wearing no hat and coat, and her shoes were more suited to the drawing room than the conditions outside.
When she began to walk down the drive she moved slowly, her lips working as though she was talking although no sound left her mouth. In the white empty street she turned to face Seaham, and then her steps became more purposeful. In the months following her engagement to Alec and before their marriage, they had often borrowed her father’s horse and trap and taken a picnic to Seaham. It had been a nice drive and they had rarely met anyone they knew, unlike the times they had stayed in town or ventured on the beach at Seaburn, Roker or Whitburn, and since her marriage Margaret had often looked back on those times as the happiest in her life.
By keeping to the coast road Margaret was able to avoid meeting anyone in the blackout, flitting through the whirling snow with a speed which would have amazed her doctors. When she reached the first stretch of beach, however, she received a shock. The sands were protected by barbed wire and anti-aircraft guns; naval guns and barrage balloons were in the harbour. She was just approaching the harbour when someone called to her, and a member of the Home Guard and two women in khaki uniforms appeared out of a building to her left.
‘Where do you think you’re going, love?’
It was the man who spoke and his voice was kind, but Margaret couldn’t answer him except to say, ‘It’s all so different, nothing is the same.’
One of the women came closer to her. ‘You’re frozen, lass. Where’s your hat and coat?’ she said, just as kindly.
Then the sirens began to sound.
‘Here, you come with us.’ The man caught hold of her arm but Margaret surprised him and herself with the speed and force with which she shook herself free.
‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘I have to find him.’
‘Find him? Find who, love?’
‘My husband. He’s here. I need to talk to him.’
She saw the three glance at each other, and then another man, an elderly one this time, in Home Guard uniform joined them. ‘What’s up?’
The first woman said, ‘She’s looking for her husband,’ but the other one made a gesture with her fingers against the side of her head.
They thought she was mentally disordered. Margaret stared at them. All she wanted to do was find Alec and ask him . . . What was it she needed to ask him? She couldn’t remember now but it was important. She knew it was important. ‘It’s important.’ She spoke to the older man. ‘It’s very important.’
‘Course it is.’ He smiled at her, his soldier’s cap already coated with a layer of snow. ‘So why don’t you come and tell me all about it in this nice shelter we’ve got, and then perhaps we can go and find your husband once this little lot is over. How’s that? He might even be in the shelter for all we know.’
‘Might he?’ Margaret smiled. She hoped so.
They were just feet from their objective when a high-pitched whistling sound caused Margaret to glance upwards. The elderly veteran flung himself over her, pulling her and himself to the ground.
The shelter received a direct hit and exploded, throwing up debris and burying Margaret and her valiant oldtimer under bricks and rubble. Within fifteen minutes firemen had uncovered the bodies, but unlike those in the shelter, Margaret’s and the old gentleman’s were whole and largely unmarked. There was no sign of life.
Chapter Nineteen
‘I shouldn’t have left her side. I knew she wasn’t herself, I should have slept on the couch in her bedroom and kept an eye on her.’
‘Mrs Browell, don’t blame yourself. You were marvellous to her, wonderful. Everyone knows that. Come on, please. You’ll make yourself ill.’ Carrie found she was virtually holding the housekeeper up as they walked away from the graveside, and she signalled to David who was a few yards behind her to come and take Mrs Browell’s other arm.
As he reached them, Freda Browell gave way to racking sobs. ‘Miss Margaret, oh, Miss Margaret. What am I going to do? She wasn’t just a mistress to me, she was more like the daughter I never had. And Mr Sutton told me he knew I’d look after her while he was away. What’s he going to say to me now? And we don’t know how he is. And then there’s Mr Reed. What’s happened, Mrs Sutton? Everything has changed. It’s terrible, terrible.’
Carrie could give little comfort because she agreed with her. It had been a terrible shock to them all when they’d received the news that Margaret had disappeared, apparently in the middle of the night, and then within twenty-four hours the police had called with the grim news that they suspected they had found Margaret’s body at Seaham. Mrs Browell had been in such a state she hadn’t been able to accompany Olive to identify the body, but David had gone with his mother while Carrie and Lillian had sat with Mrs Browell at the house. And then, before Olive and David returned, a telegram arrived. It informed them Alec was a prisoner of war.
Mr Reed, who had collapsed with a suspected heart attack at the report of his daughter’s disappearance, did not live to hear the news of her death confirmed; he passed away with a second massive attack just hours after the first. Two deaths, which made Alec a very rich man, but what good were all the riches in the world if a man was incarcerated in one of those terrible camps they were reading about in the newspapers? Carrie shivered, but it was caused by a chill within rather than the bitter wind cutting through the bleak cemetery.
And now Olive had declared herself to be permanently in residence at the Ridings, Alec’s house, telling all and sundry she intended to keep it functioning as normal so it would be just as Alec remembered it when ‘the dear boy comes home’.
Olive was very much the mistress of the occasion today, Carrie thought, glancing over the head of the weeping Mrs Browell and watching as Olive talked to the local vicar, for all the world as if she was the lady of the manor. And Mrs Browell must have been thinking along the same lines because she raised her tear-washed face and said brokenly, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Sutton, but I can’t stay on at the house, not with Mr Sutton’s mother. She’s made it very plain she thinks I ought to look for alternative employment, and to be truthful I would have anyway. I . . . I can’t get on with her.’
You and the rest of the world. Carrie nodded, saying, ‘I understand, Mrs Browell.’
‘Miss Margaret wasn’t the same after Mr Sutton’s mother walked through the door,’ Mrs Browell continued, wiping her face with her handkerchief. ‘I might be saying it as shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. That woman scared madam to death, her nerves went all to pieces the last few days before she . . . before . . .’
‘Come on, Mrs Browell. Let’s go back and have a hot cup of tea, yes?’ Carrie gently led the sobbing housekeeper to the waiting car which had formed part of the long black funeral cortège. David and Walter were executors of Margaret’s will in Alec’s absence, something Alec had arranged when he had suspected his call-up was imminent, and so all the family were going back to the house - much to Olive’s chagrin.
Margaret’s will was very simple. In the event of her dying before her beloved husband, she left everything to Alec, with a proviso that the sum of five hundred pounds be given to Mrs Freda Browell whom she considered her dear friend and companion. Freda was also left some fine pieces of jewellery, and a small terraced property in Bishopwearmouth. She could either continue to rent it out as was currently the case, sell it, or live in it herself.
‘That’s it.’ The solicitor looked round at them all, his glance taking in Freda Browell who was holding on to Carrie’s hand very tightly and looked rigid with shock. ‘The bulk of the estate is Mr Sutton’s, but there is a paragraph which states that both Mr and Mrs Sutton have agreed that Mrs Browell is welcome to stay on at the Ridings as housekeeper for as long as Mr Sutton lives on the premises. If you take this course’ - he now was speaking directly to Mrs Browell - ‘an adequate allowance will be made each month for you to keep the house in order for Mr Sutton’s return. Otherwise we will shut the establishment until further notice.’
Carrie dared not glance at David or any of the others, but when Renee brought out a handkerchief and pretended to blow her nose, hiding her mouth in the process, she knew that her sister was enjoying the position Olive now found herself in as much as she was. In one fell swoop, Margaret had given Mrs Browell the upper hand in a way she could never have envisaged when the will had been drawn up. Olive’s goose was well and truly cooked. If she wanted to stay on in Alec’s house she would have to stomach a large helping of humble pie.
Even in her grief Mrs Browell clearly appreciated the irony of the turnaround in her and Olive’s circumstances because she said quietly, ‘Could I let you know what I intend to do in a few days’ time, Mr Greer, when I’ve had a chance to reflect? Of course if I decide to stay on here some help would be useful’ - a strangled sound came from Olive - ‘but I’m really not sure.’
Renee glanced at Carrie at this point and Carrie read her sister’s face like a book. She was applauding Freda’s stance.
‘Of course.’ The small man rose to his feet, brushing an imaginary spot from his immaculate jacket as he said, ‘I will take my leave but not before I offer you all my condolences again. Mrs Sutton was a truly fine and gentle soul, a lady in every sense of the word.’
‘Yes, she was. Thank you.’ As the oldest brother present it was Walter who replied.
When they all left a little while later, it was Mrs Browell who saw them out, her mantle already one of gracious host. Olive was standing just behind her and looked as if she was going to burst a blood vessel when Mrs Browell said to Carrie, ‘Thank you for being so supportive,’ and took her hand. ‘Whatever I decide, I do hope we can keep in touch, Mrs Sutton, and if I stay on here, you and the rest of the family are welcome at any time, any time at all.’
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