The Penningtons (2 page)

‘Good morning, Mr Pennington. I’m Daisy, the housemaid.’

They stared at each other for a moment, each trying to adjust to the new state of affairs. Montague Pennington saw a young woman, barely seventeen, her hair pinned into an untidy bun below a small white cap. She was plump but not fat, wholesome rather than pretty and she smiled nervously. As she approached the bed he saw that her eyes were pale brown, her teeth were good and her apron was clean. He recalled vague memories of the occasional glimpse of her on the rare occasions when Miss Dutton was too busy elsewhere to answer his bell.

He relaxed slightly. ‘Good morning, Daisy. We find ourselves in a bit of a pickle.’

‘Yes sir, we do.’ Her gaze took in his dressing gown thrown across the bedside chair and the small table which held a water jug (empty), tumbler, pills, crumpled handkerchief and a half hunter watch. A quick glance around the room presented closed windows with dingy curtains and dead coals in the fireplace. There was an upholstered armchair in one corner but it was piled with books, folded wrapping paper, board games and a pair of binoculars. Hardly a cosy room, she reflected. ‘I think we should alert your family, sir. One of them could arrange for a new housekeeper. Miss Dutton says she’ll never be able to come back.’

His face fell. ‘Never coming back? But when her mother recovers . . .?’

‘She seems to think it will take months and maybe the leg will never be healed.’

‘I never thought she’d leave me.’ He smiled sadly. ‘She was very good to me. She looked after me.’

But not very well, thought Daisy. The lace curtains needed a wash, there was no smell of polish and a few dead flies decorated the window sill.

After an awkward silence he said, ‘They won’t be at all pleased – the family, I mean. They lead busy lives, all of them. My sister Dilys is on her own now, since her husband died. She is on various committees of some kind, to do with the poor and needy . . . and Hettie plays bridge – she’s very good – and I understand she and Albert entertain a lot. And she has Albert to look after and the house to run and always has trouble with the servants. Poor Hettie.’

‘You certainly don’t see much of them.’

‘No.’ He brightened. ‘But they never forget my birthday.’ He pointed to the dressing gown. ‘That was a present from Albert and Hettie. It’s from Harrods. When I commented on it Hettie said, “Only the best for you, Montague!” I thought that was very sweet of her.’ His smile faded suddenly. ‘Oh dear! There’s the matter of the weekly housekeeping money. Miss Dutton always collected it from the solicitor for me. I gave her a letter to show to the cashier – an authorization. They will have to be notified.’

Daisy shrugged. ‘One of the family could do all that.’ He made no answer. ‘Should I telephone them, sir? You could tell me how to do it.’

He sighed heavily. ‘I’ll have to give it some thought but in the meantime could you bring up my breakfast tray. Miss Dutton makes me bread and milk and . . .’

‘I’ve watched her. I can do it. And a small pot of tea. Is that it?’

He nodded. ‘And I need some more water for my tablets. I find it difficult to swallow them dry.’

Daisy picked up the water jug and the glass and made her way downstairs. She had an uneasy feeling about her employer. Had Miss Dutton been neglecting him?

Hettie Pennington was in the garden just before eleven that morning, talking to the gardener about the apple tree. ‘I’m very disappointed, Mr Trew. The apples are so small this year.’

Mr Trew, short, and weather-beaten by years of outdoor work, shook his head. ‘I did warn you, ma’am, back in April. They need thinning out. I told you at the time but you said no. You was quite definite about it.’

‘Thinning out? You said no such thing, Mr Trew.’

‘Oh but I did, ma’am! Young Clarence was here at the time, making a bonfire, and he heard me. I said quite clear that it was going to be a bumper crop but we needed to . . .’

‘Bumper crop? What nonsense!’ Hettie tossed her head. She was tall and thin with cold grey eyes. ‘Are you doubting my word, Mr Trew?’

‘See, this is exactly what we got, ma’am,’ he continued stolidly. ‘A bumper crop of
small
apples. If we’d thinned them when I suggested it . . .’

A maid appeared at the back door and called ‘Telephone!’

Hettie rolled her eyes. ‘Will that silly girl ever learn?’ she demanded of nobody in particular. To the gardener she said, ‘Pick some. Fill the small wheelbarrow. Cook might be able to make apple jelly with them.’

Seething with what she considered Mr Trew’s insolence, Hettie wished she could sack him but he had been with her for nearly three years and that was a record. Most of her gardeners left within a year.

In the hall she snatched up the telephone and held the receiver to her ear. ‘Who is this?’

‘It’s Daisy. I’m Mont— I mean I’m Mr Pennington’s housemaid. I thought you should know that . . .’

‘Put Miss Dutton on at once. Housemaid indeed!’ She sniffed.

‘Miss Dutton’s not here. She’s had to . . .’

‘What do you mean she’s not there? Where is she?’

‘She’s left. Gone home to nurse her mother.’

‘How very inconsiderate. Montague relies on her for everything. For how long?’

‘Forever. Given in her notice. I thought you should know. I thought maybe you’d . . .’

‘He’ll have to replace her. Tell him to ask around. There’s always someone who wants a job. Ask Miss Dutton. She might know someone who would step in . . . Are you still there?’

‘Yes. I was hoping you’d be able to sort out a few matters.’

‘Naturally I would if I had a moment to myself but at the moment it’s quite impossible. We have the decorators coming tomorrow to put up the new wallpaper for the third bedroom, not to mention four friends coming to dinner tonight and Albert and I have tickets for the Theatre Royal the day after tomorrow.’ She gave a theatrical sigh. ‘’Twas always thus! You could ask Dilys. She’s on her own and has plenty of time although she would like us to believe otherwise. Montague has her telephone number. Now you must excuse me . . . What did you say your name was? Maisie?’

‘Daisy. Daisy Letts.’

‘Thank you for letting me know, Daisy. I’m sorry I can’t be more help.’

‘But what about tonight and all the other nights? I’m a daily. Miss Dutton lived in.’

‘A
daily?
Good heavens, girl, use your common sense. You’ll have to stay full time for the moment. You can’t leave my brother on his own during the night. Anything might happen. Make up a bed in one of the spare rooms.’

Hettie replaced the receiver. ‘Sort out a few matters?’ she repeated. ‘What impudence. Daisy is going to have to explain herself. Sort out a few matters, indeed! I have better things to do with my time.’

She stood thoughtfully for a moment or two then made her way into the large sitting room where Albert, her husband, was settled in a deep armchair with a glass of malt whisky in his right hand.

‘Before you ask,’ she said, ‘that was one of Montague’s minions – Daisy or Maisie or some such – asking if I would help sort out their problems for them. And before you ask, “Which problems are they?” it’s the disappearance of their housekeeper who has apparently left them high and dry to go and nurse a sick mother. The selfish nature of some people never ceases to amaze me.’

‘Damned awkward for poor old Montague!’

‘Most certainly but hardly our business.’ She smiled. ‘I referred her to Dilys. Let her play fairy godmother!’

Albert downed the last of his whisky. ‘What could we do anyway?’

‘Exactly. And why should we? What has he ever done for us?’

Her husband frowned. ‘Now steady on, old thing. When have we ever asked Montague for help?’

‘Exactly. But if we did he’d refuse.’

‘We don’t know that! He’s my brother, Hettie, and I know him better than you do.’

She gave him a strange look, opened her mouth to speak then changed her mind and closed it.

Alerted, he said, ‘What’s that about?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Come on, old thing. Spit it out!’

‘I’ve always suspected that there was something going on between those two – Montague and Miss Dutton – and before you protest I’ll tell you why. One year when we called in on his birthday I went upstairs and caught Miss Dutton coming out of his bedroom. She didn’t see me but I saw her . . .’

‘And . . .?’

‘She threw him a kiss!’

‘Miss Dutton? Never!’ He glowered at her. ‘My brother and the housekeeper? I don’t believe it.’

Hettie sat down on the arm of the opposite chair. ‘Well, it’s the truth. So then I wondered what she was playing at and I thought he’d probably promised her something in his will. We all know he’s got plenty of money, thanks to your stupidity.’ She gave him a venomous look.

‘Now don’t bring that up again, Hettie. Montague followed Father into the family business and I chose not to. We all understood what was at stake. He is the oldest child and was due to inherit. When he dies what’s left will come to me.’

‘It made him wealthy,’ she said bitterly. ‘And Cressida added to it!’

‘Ah! Cressida.’ He glanced down at his hands. ‘No one expected her to inherit so quickly. No one could have known that her father’s ticker was in such a state. Give her her due, Hettie, she was devoted to her parents. You’ve never been fair to Cressida. She nursed her parents, married Montague and ended up nursing him.’

Hettie tossed her head. ‘She should have married someone her own age.’

‘Montague was only twenty years older.’

‘Twenty years’ difference! My point exactly!’

‘He was a good husband to her,’ Albert protested.

‘No he wasn’t. She wanted a large family – she said so many times. Your brother was too old.’

‘What has age got to do with it?’

‘Well then, the problem must have lain with Cressida.’ She gave him a triumphant look.

‘Not everyone is blessed with a family, Hettie.
We
only have one child.’

‘
I
only have one child. You have two but your first attempt is nothing to boast about!’

Albert made no reply. The child by his first marriage had turned out badly and they rarely mentioned him. The child he shared with Hettie was a source of lesser disappointment but a disappointment nonetheless. George Albert, now in his twenty-fifth year, had left Cambridge University in his last term to marry a French student (against his parents’ wishes) and was now farming in Brittany. Albert and George had once been close but Hettie had resented the closeness and George had responded by leaving them at the earliest opportunity – first to go to college and then to enter a hasty marriage with Monique.

The familiar recriminations never failed to upset Albert and Hettie, and they now lapsed into a cold silence until Albert remembered the mention of Miss Dutton and his brother.

‘As for Montague and Miss Dutton,’ he blustered. ‘He must have been lonely after Cressida died but really, if you are right . . . that housekeeper! That’s extraordinary. There’s no way you could call the woman desirable. A suet pudding tied round the middle with string!’ He shrugged dismissively. ‘Good-hearted, maybe but, I mean, after Cressida . . .’

‘Oh yes. I forgot.’ She glared at him. ‘You have always had a soft spot for the wonderful Cressida!’

‘So you said, dear! It was news to me.’ He gave her his practised innocent look.

Hettie went on regardless. ‘And don’t forget he’s been housebound for years. You know what they say – beggars can’t be choosers. It will be interesting to see whether or not he leaves her anything in his will – a “little something” for past favours!’ She raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

Albert shook his head. ‘You have a wonderful imagination, my dear. It has always impressed me.’

She recognized the sarcasm but ignored it. ‘We shall see, shall we not?’

‘Miss Dutton?’ He shook his head again in disbelief. ‘Not the Montague I know – and he
is
my brother!’

‘And he has been getting rather vague of late. We did pass comment about it on his birthday, if you remember.’

He frowned. ‘Vague? No. I don’t recall him being vague.’

‘Forgetful then. You never notice these things.’

‘I think I know him better than you do.’

‘Rose-coloured spectacles, Albert!’ Hettie laughed. ‘Anyway. it may all be immaterial now because Miss Dutton has blotted her copybook by leaving him stranded. Left him in the lurch, so to speak. Ruined her chances of a bequest, I should imagine. Poor old Montague.’ She watched him closely for a moment, anticipating a reaction but there was none forthcoming so she smiled sweetly and dropped the subject.

Daisy went back upstairs feeling very uneasy. Her employer had been right about Hettie. Would his sister be any better, she wondered.

Moments later she stood beside his bed, having told him the results of her telephone call. ‘So shall I try the other one?’ she asked.

The old man pursed his lips. He had finished his bread and milk and the cup of tea and waved them away impatiently. ‘Dilys? Hmm. Yes, give her a call.’

Daisy retrieved the tray and made her way towards the door.

‘Look in our telephone book under Maynard.’ He instructed. ‘John Maynard was a very decent sort of chap. Poor man. Called before his time, as they say. Still, he left Dilys well provided for. I did hope she would eventually remarry – she’s a handsome woman in some lights although I shouldn’t say so since she’s my sister, but there. She’s had offers and turned them down. That’s the trouble with money, it makes a woman independent. Still, give her a call.’

As she reached the door he asked, ‘What’s for lunch?’

‘Lunch? Lord knows, sir. I’ll have to look in the larder. Miss Dutton never said nothing about lunch – nor supper, neither – but then she hardly had the time. So upset about her mother.’

He looked at her hopefully. ‘You can cook, I take it.’

‘I don’t know, sir. I’ve never tried but it can’t be that difficult, can it. I’ll manage for a few days until the new housekeeper gets here.’ She gave him a cheery smile. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t let you starve.’

‘I should jolly well hope not. What’s your name? I did know it but my memory’s not as good as it was.’