The Penningtons (4 page)

It took very little time for Daisy to decide that she was not going to rush up and down the stairs half a dozen times a day. Somehow she must persuade her employer to venture downstairs for at least part of the day and she broached the subject with her usual lack of tact.

‘You’re wearing me to a shadow,’ she told him next morning, ‘so let’s see how you get on with a trip downstairs.’

His look of horror was no worse than she had anticipated and she gave him an encouraging smile. ‘You might trip if you come down in your nightshirt so you’d best put on some proper clothes. I’ll sort some out for you and . . .’

‘No, no,no!’ he cried, genuinely alarmed by her suggestions. ‘Miss Dutton warned me never to try the stairs because I’d fall head over heels and break my neck!’ He stared at her, his eyes wide with fear, his lips trembling.

‘But that’s the trouble,’ she insisted. ‘That way you lose the use of your legs. My old grandmother went down that road and lost the use of her legs. So what if there’d been a fire? She’d have been burned to a crisp, not able to save herself by escaping down the stairs! You’d be in the same pickle, sir.’

Folding her arms she stared back at him, daring him to contradict. While he continued to mumble protests, she set about collecting his clothes and left them on the bed.

‘I won’t embarrass you by helping you put them on,’ she told him. ‘You take your time. Then we’ll see how you go, sir, sitting on the stairs, one step down and then another. See that way you won’t topple forward. No chance of you breaking your poor old neck!’

Ignoring the panic in his eyes she went down to the kitchen to wash up and then into the hall to telephone the butcher with an order for sausages, and catch the fish man to buy some cod for the promised fishcakes. Later she would walk along to Arnsby Farm where her father worked, and collect bacon and another half dozen eggs.

Monty’s descent by way of the stairs worked better than she had dared to hope and by midday he was installed in the sitting room with a glass of Miss Dutton’s home made ginger beer and looking distinctly nervous. While Daisy busied herself peeling potatoes he sat with the cat on his lap thinking about the turnaround in his life and hoping that when her mother recovered, Miss Dutton would reconsider and come back to him.

The next morning Hettie waited until she had the house to herself then telephoned her sister-in-law. Dilys came to the phone in an irritable frame of mind and said, ‘Yes. What is it?’

Hettie bridled. ‘What sort of greeting is that?’

‘I’m sorry. The fact is I’m not very happy at the moment. I have a rather bad headache.’

‘I don’t feel too well either but I didn’t snap your head off! It’s Albert. I told him about Miss Dutton deserting Montague and he’s now insisting we rush over to visit and make sure he’s all right. Talk about a fuss about nothing. What can happen to him? Monty’s not alone. He’s got that maid.’

Dilys closed her eyes. ‘Don’t go over there,’ she said firmly. ‘We shouldn’t do anything in a hurry. You know what your mother used to say about fools rushing in!’

‘Don’t worry, Dilys. Whatever my failings, I do not panic. As a matter of fact I was going to telephone you later to suggest that you and I meet and talk things over.’

‘Tell Albert we both have things to do and we can’t be expected to . . . Talk things over? What sort of things?’

Hettie counted to ten and fixed a smile on her face in the hope that she would sound calm and composed. ‘The point is, Dilys, that I think we should get together and think about Montague’s future. He’s getting to the stage where he might need help with . . . with family matters.’ She held her breath.

‘Family matters? But he doesn’t have any family. Cressida failed to produce an offspring. You know that as well as I do. What are you talking about?’

‘I mean money matters, Dilys. He’s a rich old man who is becoming rather vague. He has no children to inherit his wealth so . . . what will he do with it? Has he made a will, for instance? Who will he leave it to?’ She waited, silently urging her sister-in-law to understand.

In a changed voice Dilys said, ‘A cat’s home? Is that what you mean. Something like that.’

‘A charity of some kind, maybe, or even Miss Dutton!’

She heard Dilys’s sharp intake of breath.

‘Surely not. After her defection . . .’

‘She might change her mind. If her mother died, for instance, she might want her job back.’

‘So are you suggesting we get together and . . .’

Hettie crossed her fingers. Dilys had always been a little slow on the uptake, she thought with an impatient sigh.

Dilys continued, ‘. . . and organize a new housekeeper – as quickly as possible?’

Hettie hesitated. ‘That, yes, but I’m more worried about his money. Is he, do you think, still alert enough in his mind, to deal with such things? His solicitor, for instance, might need to talk with him and is he . . . is he fit enough
mentally
?’

She heard Dilys sigh. ‘Don’t you think you should talk to Albert about this? He’s always very defensive about his brother and he might say we’re imagining it. I must say I hadn’t realized that Montague was in such a state but then it’s some time since we last saw him and even then, if you recall, Miss Dutton shooed us out very quickly saying he was tired and had had a sleepless night.’ Her voice brightened suddenly. ‘Should we talk to his doctor, do you think?’

‘No!’ It came out more forcefully than Hettie had intended. ‘Well, later maybe but all I want for the moment is for us to go over there and maybe interview a couple of housekeepers for him and at the same time see how he is.’

‘And bring Albert into the equation later if it seems necessary?’

‘Naturally. Now we’re seeing eye to eye, Dilys. I’m so glad we’re of one mind and, as you say, we’ll keep it between ourselves for the moment. No need to worry Albert.’

With the plan launched they agreed a date when the two of them would meet in Miss Maude’s Teashop and move things a step further. Hettie knew of an agency which might provide a housekeeper and Dilys had agreed to apply there and see what transpired. As Hettie hung up the receiver she breathed a sigh of satisfaction. Dilys had taken the bait.

The offices of the Placewell Agency were small but meticulously tidy. It was owned by Mabel Gillworthy who attended each day until twelve noon when she was replaced by one or other of her two part-time assistants. On the following Monday afternoon at three o’clock precisely, a Miss Robbins turned from her typewriter to greet the next client.

‘Miss Maynard?’ she asked, smiling.

‘It’s
Mrs
Maynard. I explained to Miss Gillworthy that my sister-in-law and I are trying to find a trustworthy housekeeper for my brother who is . . .’

‘Do please sit down, Mrs Maynard. I’m Miss Robbins. I have your notes and requirements to hand and have two people in mind who might suit your brother.’ Her smile lit up an otherwise plain face which might have been improved by a less severe hairstyle. She looked about thirty.

Dilys Maynard narrowed her eyes. ‘May I ask how long you have held this position?’

‘I have worked for Miss Gillworthy since the turn of the century – that is, for two years.’ Her smile faltered a little at what she saw as a lightly veiled criticism.

Dilys sat down. ‘I ask because the women you recommend must be of the highest moral calibre and I want to feel certain that I can trust your judgement. My brother is very frail, frequently forgetful, and suffers with his digestion so needs a delicate diet. He may also need help dressing as he is, I suspect, a semi-invalid. He’s sixty-eight and has been alone for four years since his wife died. He’s almost bedridden and . . .’

‘Ah!’ Alerted, Miss Robbins held up a tentative hand. ‘We may have a slight problem, Mrs Maynard.’

‘A problem?’ Dilys asked indignantly. ‘Miss Gillworthy appeared quite satisfied by our requirements. She seemed to think you could find a suitable . . .’

‘The problem is the state of your brother’s health, Mrs Maynard. Have you considered that a nurse might be better than a housekeeper? It sounds to me that your brother . . .’

‘I know exactly what my brother needs, Miss Robbins. He has managed for years with a housekeeper. He isn’t
ill
therefore a nurse would find very little to do.’

Miss Robbins bit back a sharp reply. She was beginning to dislike the client but tried not to show it. ‘We are properly trained to offer advice when we feel it is necessary.’

‘But I haven’t asked for advice. I have merely said that I want to be able to trust your judgement.’

‘I see. Then let us investigate this further. We can now dispense with one of the names I had selected for you to look at.’ Miss Robbins hid her sense of triumph at the immediate change in the client’s attitude. Holding up the card she held in her hand she said, ‘Miss Adams has specified “no nursing”. In my opinion an elderly man who is already almost bedridden will need help dressing and maybe washing and possibly other bodily functions may prove problematic.’

‘I’ve already told you that the last housekeeper . . .’

Miss Robbins intervened. ‘Like you, our ladies rely on our judgement, Mrs Maynard. I would never recommend Miss Adams for the position you offer. I would feel I was deceiving her. No nursing. Never mind.’ She replaced the card in her folder.

‘I don’t like your tone, Miss Robbins!’ The client was reddening with irritation. ‘Placewell Agency sent Miss Dutton to us originally and she has never complained that she had been misled. Not one word!’

Miss Robbins managed a frosty smile. ‘Is that so, Mrs Maynard? When did she first work for your brother?’

‘She was with him for years. I don’t know exactly.’ The hands clutching her purse were white with tension.

‘That explains it. When she first came your brother was almost certainly a much fitter man so Miss Dutton was simply his housekeeper. In the intervening years he has obviously deteriorated.’ She made a great show of studying the second card. ‘Now let’s have a look at the second choice I found for you.’ She held up the card. ‘Mrs Amy Torrance – a charming woman in her forties. She’s a first-class cook, used to complete household management including servants . . . extra qualifications are floral arrangements, wedding catering . . .’ She nodded.

‘Wedding catering? How ridiculous!’ Obviously exasperated, Dilys rolled her eyes.

‘But with all that expertise she is naturally very expensive.’ She turned the card over. ‘Ah! I almost missed this – she is very emphatic about her church attendance every Sunday morning and no dogs or children.’

Dilys was breathing rapidly and her mouth was a thin line of repressed anger. ‘You must have more than two people to offer me!’

‘I’m afraid there are no others at present but we could give you a call if anyone else is added to the list. Good staff are always hard to find, Mrs Maynard – and just as hard to place.’

Dilys glared at her but Miss Robbins’ professional smile was firmly in place.

‘Perhaps your best option would be a nurse and a part-time housekeeper. I could show you . . .’

‘No thank you! You have wasted enough of my time!’ She stood up. ‘I shall speak to my sister-in-law and we will direct our enquiries elsewhere. I think you have been less than helpful and I don’t care for your attitude. I shall write to your employer to tell her so. Good afternoon!’

She swept from the office and Miss Robbins watched her go with mixed feelings. She muttered, ‘God help your brother with a woman like you for a sister!’ and turned back to her typewriter.

Dilys walked along the street in deep displeasure. The arrogance of the young woman, she thought. She was now on her way to meet Hettie at Miss Maude’s Teashop and had expected to have the names and details of at least two housekeepers for them to consider. Instead she had nothing to show for her efforts and had been casually treated by an impertinent young madam. No doubt Hettie would have something scathing to say about her failure.

Miss Maude’s Teashop had always been a favourite meeting place of theirs. The sandwiches were wafer thin, the biscuits home-made and not too hard for ageing teeth, and the selection of cakes so tempting that Dilys regularly succumbed and had two. When she reached the tea shop Hettie had not arrived so she chose a table by the window from which they could watch passers-by, and settled herself to await her sister. It was a small, cosy place in which to chat with polished wooden tables and chairs, walls decorated with shelves full of quaint pottery and half a dozen water colours painted by local artists.

Her thoughts drifted to the matter in hand and from there to the Pennington family in general. Not a very productive group, she reflected with some regret. Hardly a united family – two brothers and a sister and only two children between them. Yet their maternal aunt had had three children and their Uncle Henry, on their father’s side, had married twice and fathered eight.

A waitress approached, complete with gingham apron and a neat cap. Dilys ordered a plate of mixed sandwiches for two and a selection of cakes. ‘Including two cream slices, please.’

The waitress smiled. ‘They are always a favourite with our customers.’

‘I’m waiting for my sister and we both like them.’

At the thought of the little feast to come, she felt marginally better and by the time Hettie arrived Dilys was smiling.

After their greetings, the pot of tea and the sandwiches arrived.

‘You be mother,’ said Hettie and they were soon enjoying cucumber sandwiches while Dilys explained what had happened.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ her sister-in-law told her, ‘because this morning Albert searched through the advertisements and found a woman who wants a job as a housekeeper and she sounds reasonable. I cut it out for you.’ She produced the small slip of paper and handed it to Dilys.

Respectable woman, late thirties, seeks employment as housekeeper within Bath area. Good references and further details on application.

A telephone number followed.

Dilys looked puzzled. ‘If she can afford a telephone, why does she need a job as a housekeeper?’

‘Dilys! Trust you to pour cold water on it!’