Snapshots from Home, page 11
‘Is she unwell?’ Edie tried to gather her thoughts and focus on her hostess. ‘I assumed as much when I didn’t see her at school today.’
‘What?’ The woman stared. ‘Not in school today?’
Edie switched course in an instant. ‘Oh – no – I’m sorry, I was thinking of another girl.’
‘Good, because I sent her off to school as usual this morning. She walks with Teddy most days, except when he’s done something unspeakable like he did at the town hall on Saturday. Then she walks twenty steps ahead of him and pretends she doesn’t know who he is. I must thank you, my dear,’ she added, ‘for not snubbing us because of my son’s naughtiness.’
‘You mean, his views on the war?’
‘Yes. Teddy’s a veritable maelstrom of causes and opinions. He was exposed to it at university, of course. I sent him to Perth to become a lawyer and he got in with a crowd of revolutionaries. I confess I thought he’d grow out of it, but his convictions only seem to have become stronger. He got thrown out, you know. He was so distracted by demonstrations and speeches and writing papers and hanging about in the nastiest of meeting rooms with strident young men and women, he failed his exams and they tossed him out. So he came home to run the gallery and cause trouble in quiet little York.’
‘And Kitty feels … awkward about his opinions, at times?’
‘Mostly she ignores his carryings on, but every now and then, she goes into a passion and says he’s ruining her reputation and so on. But she loves him dearly, no denying that. Between you and me, dear, I believe Kitty cares a little too much about what people think.’
Edie had no reply. Kitty didn’t need an unconventional mother and a firebrand brother to draw attention to herself, but they must still cause her grief. Edie wasn’t surprised the child lapsed into embarrassment at times.
Mrs Macmillan stood. ‘I’m sorry, dear girl, but I need to dash off to the kitchen again. The crepes, you know? You’ll never guess how the crepe was invented! Antoine Blanchet – the actor – told me this. It all began with a charwoman in some awful century – I don’t know, to be sure, perhaps the twelfth? Well, she was making a nasty thin porridge and managed to drip some on the hot griddle and being poor and plaguey, she couldn’t bear to waste it so she et it up and wouldn’t you know? It was delicious! And thus was the crepe invented. Accidental genius! Now.’ She smoothed her dress and checked Edie’s wineglass. ‘Drink up, my dear. Teddy and Kitty shall be back anon, and I shall have le banquet upon the table in a trice!’
Kitty did not make an appearance at dinner.
‘She’s not feeling well, Mum,’ said Teddy, holding Edie’s chair out for her like a perfect gentleman. ‘I said I’d bring her some supper later, and see if she can stomach it.’
As soon as Mrs Macmillan had established that Kitty wasn’t seriously ill, she rallied. ‘It’s tiresome, and she’ll be sad to have missed your visit, Edie, but at least we can speak unrestrainedly.’ Her eyes sparkled a little. ‘Now, do try your soup.’
Mrs Macmillan’s cooking was extravagant and interesting, if not completely successful. The soup was slightly over-seasoned and the fish cooked with a profusion of unexpected herbs. However, it was a generous supper, considering the shortages, and the crepes were especially delicious.
‘There’s one thing Maria excels at,’ Mrs Macmillan confided when Edie praised them. ‘Eggs. She’s adored by our chickens. When they stop laying, she spends hours out there with the silly little things, stroking and holding them, singing them songs and making them feel so loved they can’t help but start laying again. She’s a miracle. When the bantam went broody, Maria was out there, removing eggs as soon as they were laid and putting cold towels under her to take her mind off her wish for chicks. It worked like a charm.’
‘It sounds like Maria has quite an affinity for chickens,’ said Edie, then regretted it when she saw Teddy’s eyes twinkling.
‘Just as you say!’ Mrs Macmillan was oblivious to her son’s poor manners. ‘She sings and cuddles them into civility – and she’s far nicer to them than to us. Now tell us, Miss Stark, all about yourself. Who are your father and mother?’
Edie said that her mother was dead and her father was an engineer, and they’d both come over from the old country as a young married couple.
That wasn’t enough detail for Mrs Macmillan. ‘What sort of families are they from?’ she wanted to know.
‘Mum,’ Teddy said warningly.
‘What? I’m simply curious – and Edie doesn’t mind, do you, dear girl?’
Edie was holding in her laughter – she’d never met a woman so openly inquisitive before. ‘My father’s family held an estate in Sussex, but unfortunately his parents died when he was a small boy and the property went into the care of his uncle. He was a man of bad character and went through the money at a terrific rate until there was nothing left, so he sold the estate and lost all that money, too. He ended up drinking himself to death and my father was sent to an orphanage at the age of twelve.’
Mrs Macmillan was agog. ‘Edie, this is dreadful! Do go on.’
Her father had only ever told her and Aubrey the barest bones of this tale; they’d learned more of it from Mrs Ruddick, who’d heard it from their mother. Indeed, Frederick would hate to know Edie was telling his story like this – but he was many miles away and would never associate with a woman like Mrs Macmillan, so Edie went on.
‘Father’d had a good education up until then and was determined to make something of himself. As soon as he could, he found an apprenticeship with a reputable engineer. Father is very good at his job – an excellent solver of mechanical and building problems. He became highly respected in his line of work, especially in railway design. Then he met my mother and they got married. She had a good dowry so—’
‘Did she indeed? What sort of family was she from?’
Edie cleared her throat, ignoring Teddy’s gaze. ‘My mother came from a lower part of society than my father. Her father was a butcher, I believe, but he could see the money being made in tallow – for soap, you know – and knew Britain didn’t have enough cattle-farming land to meet demand. He found a way to import tallow from Russia and rapidly became a wealthy man. He manufactured a lemon laundry soap which is still very popular today. My mother may not have had much of an education, but she was an only child and therefore her father endowed her with a fine fortune.’
‘How very intriguing! Quite a mixed parentage! How were you raised, Edie? Has your father ensured you have all the accomplishments?’
‘Mum!’ Teddy was exasperated now.
‘Oh, Teddy, stop stifling me. Edie, you don’t mind, do you?’
Edie, laughing again, said she didn’t. ‘He sent me to school in Perth. I learnt dancing, French, sketching and needlework, but he thinks music and singing somewhat frivolous and can’t abide having an instrument in the house, so unfortunately I didn’t take those extras.’
‘And where do you live?’ Edie said they lived in Guildford and Mrs Macmillan’s eyes lit up. ‘Are you near the great house?’
‘Woodbridge? Yes, quite near.’
‘What a lovely family. Poor Fanny Harper, losing both her boys at Gallipoli that way.’
Edie felt obliged to explain that her brother had been lost not long after Wilfred and Gresley Harper.
‘My poor dear girl,’ said Mrs Macmillan, growing grave. ‘Kitty told me you’d lost a brother. I’m so sorry. How old was he?’
‘Twenty-five,’ said Edie.
‘Heartbreaking. At Lone Pine, you say?’ Edie nodded. ‘And what was he like?’
‘He was a wonderful brother. Very lively, very humorous. But kind and sympathetic, too.’ There was both a sting and a glow in this opportunity to talk about Aubrey. ‘We learned to use a camera together and Aubrey was always encouraging me. He often said the student had surpassed the master; was convinced I should be working at a studio. He was helping me find a way to go to London—’ Edie stopped, realising she’d said more than she’d intended. She became conscious of Teddy’s eyes upon her.
‘London!’ exclaimed Mrs Macmillan. ‘I never went, myself, although I came very close when a great director saw one of my plays and tried to get me to go back to the old country with him to become a celebrated actress. But why didn’t you go, Edie? Did this awful war get in the way?’
‘Yes.’ Edie was relieved that Mrs Macmillan didn’t seem to think her overly ambitious.
‘Perhaps you’ll still go when the war’s at an end?’ said her hostess. ‘I heard a rumour that we might have news of an armistice within a couple of months.’
Teddy gave a small snort. ‘There are still men to kill and resources to waste, Mum. Why would it end any time soon?’
She shook her head. ‘Oh, Teddy, you’re so cynical. Let me have my little bit of hope.’ She turned back to Edie. ‘Will you go to London, dear girl? When it’s all over?’
‘I doubt it,’ Edie said. ‘Although I’d love to see more – to meet people and be exposed to different sections of society. When Aubrey and I were younger …’ She hesitated, but Mrs Macmillan was watching her with such bright-eyed interest, she took heart and went on. ‘We used to play at being newspaper reporters. I would take the photos and he would write the articles. We wrote society news and made-up political intrigues and crimes committed by our poor unsuspecting neighbours. We even turned it into a real newspaper of sorts, the photos stuck down onto paper. It was very silly.’ She laughed.
‘How droll!’ Mrs Macmillan reached for the wine. ‘Imaginative children!’
‘You wanted to understand the world.’ Teddy’s expression was not at all scornful, as Edie had feared. His eyes were fixed on her face again. Chocolatey, Amelia had called them.
‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘Our father found one of our publications once.’
‘Was he amused?’ asked Mrs Macmillan.
Edie half-smiled. ‘No.’ They appeared to be waiting so she went on. ‘My father doesn’t indulge flights of fancy. Or unseemly conduct. Or wasting time or money.’ She stopped herself. She must put aside her wine. It was loosening her tongue.
Mrs Macmillan made a face. ‘He sounds like one of the stern species of fathers. I never could abide those.’
Edie thought she’d better explain her father’s flaws. ‘Father’s back was broken in the Boer War and he’s suffered with pain ever since. Amusement and enjoyment mustn’t come easily if you’re continually in pain.’
‘A convenient excuse,’ Mrs Macmillan remarked. ‘A bit of discomfort oughtn’t turn one into a tyrant.’ Somehow, she’d cut right to the truth of Frederick Stark. Edie ate her crepes, not answering. ‘I don’t wonder at you wanting to get away from him. At least you’re in York during school terms to give you a break.’
‘You’re making assumptions,’ Teddy told his mother.
‘Nonsense! I’m absolutely right, aren’t I, dear girl? I can see how it is. I hope you’ll still get off to London someday, Edie.’
Edie laughed. ‘There’s not much chance. All that work my brother did on our father, convincing him I could stay with distant cousins who live there and finish my education, go into society and move among people of consequence – all gone to waste.’
‘People of consequence? Your father wants you to make a good marriage?’ Teddy wore a teasing smile.
As civilly as possible, she ignored him. ‘I thought that, once I was in London, I could do as I pleased. Father would be too far away to know or do much about it. But he won’t let me go now – when the war’s over, I mean. And I can’t pay my own passage.’
‘Would you go of your own volition?’ Teddy leaned forwards, his face suddenly serious. ‘Without his consent – if you had the money?’
She met his gaze. ‘You might be shocked at the things women would do if they had their own means.’
Mrs Macmillan laughed gaily. ‘Or if they weren’t under the control of their fathers and husbands.’
‘That’s how things should be run,’ he said. ‘Men and women alike in control of their destinies, their work, their money. Labourers earning an income from the products they create instead of making a pittance from the men who own the manufacturing equipment. Maria keeping her own chickens and making a living from selling the meat and eggs. Miss Stark here running a photographic studio without having to answer to any man.’ He nodded at her. ‘You ought to save up your salary and pay your own passage to London.’
Edie stared. ‘And then do what? Without any introduction or friends to take me in, I’d be as helpless as a child over there.’
He shrugged. ‘You said you had cousins there. Stay with them. Introduce yourself at the studios. Ask for a little work until you build your position and can make your own way.’
Mrs Macmillan was giving Edie a private smile and Edie smiled back.
‘And earn half of what a man would earn?’ she said to him. ‘And be censured for going about without the protection of a man or family? Be laughed at as peculiar and unwomanly?’
He shook his head. ‘We’re in modern times, Miss Stark. There are likeminded people all over the world who would support and assist you. It’s not so strange for a woman to have a career or make her own way in the world.’
‘Name me three.’
Teddy paused and thought. ‘Mrs Thielemann here in town. Her husband put his grocery shop in her name when he was at risk of bankruptcy, then years later, after he left her, he tried to get it back. The court said no, that it was hers fair and square, and now she happily runs her store by herself.’
Edie had heard this story. ‘I imagine that’s quite an unusual case, Mr Macmillan. And anyway, she has the store because he put it in her name, not because she had the means to start it up herself.’
‘Rebecca Lukans, then,’ he said. ‘She owned a steel mill in America.’
His mother chuckled. ‘Oh, my dear boy, despite your modern ideas, you’re still such a man. Women only go into business if they’re forced to. Mrs Lukans didn’t run her steel mill because she wished it! Her father and husband died and she had to get herself out of debt. Now, think of Mrs Hastings here in town, selling her firelighting things. Do you think she’d be trudging about collecting pinecones and drying out horse dung if she had a man’s protection? Do you think Edna Tarnock would be running her refreshment stand at the station if she had anything to support herself?’
Teddy had a bit of a smile on his face. ‘All right, Mum. I know it’s harder for women, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.’
Edie concealed her annoyance. It was outrageous for him to be saying things like this – with his tolerant mother and plenty of money and comfortable position as a man in a world where the only industry that truly welcomed women traded in their bodies. She stood up. Teddy also got to his feet, not unconventional enough to allow a lady to stand without being ready to assist. Hypocrite.
‘I’d like to take Kitty some food,’ she said to Mrs Macmillan. ‘Do I have your permission?’
‘You’re a sweet girl. Teddy, make up a plate for your sister and show Edie upstairs.’
Edie knocked at Kitty’s door but all she heard was a soft noise. She looked at Teddy.
‘You can go in,’ he said, his voice quiet.
Kitty was sitting at her window, gazing out into the darkness.
Edie placed the plate on the dresser. ‘I’ve brought you something to eat.’
‘Thank you.’ Kitty spoke gravely. There was evidence of crying on her face and she kept her eyes turned away.
‘Did you run away from school today, Kitty?’
The girl nodded. ‘I went to the Lombards’ barn and sat with the animals instead.’
‘You mustn’t do that again. You need never be afraid of facing me, no matter what you’ve done.’ Kitty kept her head bowed. ‘I’m not angry about your lie, Kitty. We all have secrets we’d rather not talk about. I understand why you don’t want people to know all about your brother. He has some very unconventional ideas. But that doesn’t reflect on you, you know.’
‘Yes, it does. The other girls won’t play with me.’
‘That must be hard to bear, dear, but there are some who play with you at school, at least. And you are very resourceful and good at playing your own games, which is lucky. And I’m sure it will pass. If you go on being who you want to be, living by the values in your heart, people will respect you.’
‘But they still don’t like me.’
‘I like you. I’m glad of your assistance with my League work and I enjoy spending time with you and your mother …’ She gritted her teeth. ‘Your family.’
Kitty raised her head. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice trembled.
Edie held out her arms and the girl scrambled across to fling herself into them.
‘What secrets do you have?’ she mumbled against Edie’s chest.
Edie laughed. ‘They wouldn’t be secrets if I told.’
‘But do you have anything you don’t want people to know about your family?’ Kitty persisted, raising her gaze wetly to Edie’s face. ‘Something that makes you want to tell a fantastical story instead of telling the truth?’
Edie disengaged herself. ‘My family is my own private business, but I’ll tell you the fantastical story I would tell people – keeping in mind that it would be very wrong of me to do so. But Kitty, by telling you this, I’m entering into an agreement with you. If I tell you my lie, you must agree not to lie to people again.’
‘Never? No lies at all?’
‘Little lies that make people feel better are all right. Such as complimenting a peculiar hat.’
