Love or Duty (5 page)

Sarah returned home just as Louise had managed to get Polly sufficiently organized to peel some potatoes for supper. The sight of her sister standing at the big scrubbed table in the kitchen, wrapped in one of Cook’s large white aprons and busily buttering thin slices of bread for Mother’s tea took her aback for a moment. But she soon recovered on being told that she would be allowed to eat her tea in the kitchen – in defiance of Dora’s strict injunction that Cook’s accident must not be an excuse for any slackening of standards on Louise’s part.

Louise took Dora’s tray up herself, hoping that her stepmother would remain in her room until Father returned from business. Boredom had fled and she found she was, rather guiltily, enjoying the crisis. Sarah, eating her tea in the kitchen and listening round-eyed to Polly’s dramatic description of the accident, seemed to think it was rather fun too, despite her sympathy for poor Cookie.

When Dr Tate called in on his way back from the hospital his face was grave. Miss Rogers had broken her hip, a very serious injury in a woman of her years. Louise looked startled for a moment. She hadn’t heard Cookie referred to as Miss Rogers for a long time. She had lived with the family for so long, since before Louise had been born, and no one called her by her real name any more. It was sad really, Louise reflected – as if the doctor were talking about someone else. She hastily gave her attention to what he was saying, her heart sinking when he told her it was unlikely Miss Rogers would make a full recovery. She would probably not be able to work again.

‘I’m sorry about the meal, Father,’ Louise apologized as they finished their supper of cold meat and pickles with mashed potatoes. ‘It was the best I could do in the circumstances.’

Stanley looked up from his plate. ‘There’s no need to apologize. It was delicious.’ He took another mouthful and laid his knife and fork neatly on the plate. ‘We must all pull together in a crisis, mustn’t we, my dear?’ He looked across at Dora, who was picking at her food. ‘How long is Cookie going to be laid up?’ he asked.

Louise had already told him what the doctor had said and her earlier conviction that he hadn’t really been listening was confirmed. It wasn’t like Father to be so vague but she had noticed it a lot lately. His mind always seemed to be elsewhere and she had often caught him sitting at his desk in the study gazing out of the window.

When Dora answered sharply that she had already informed him of the need to look for a replacement cook, he shook his head. ‘Oh no, my dear, that won’t do at all. We can’t possibly take on someone else.’

Louise smiled. Father obviously hadn’t understood and thought this was only a temporary hitch in the smooth running of the household. She also knew he had rather a soft spot for Bessie Rogers, not to mention her
delicious
pastry. Before she could speak however, Dora put him in the picture.

‘I thought I had explained, Stanley. Cook will not be coming back. It’s time she retired anyway. I’ll get on to the agency in the morning and start interviewing replacements.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Dora.’ Stanley’s voice was firm and his wife’s eyes widened. He cut off her protest with a raised hand. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. I hate to say this, but the time has come for us to make certain economies. I had hoped to avoid anything as drastic as cutting the staff and of course I wouldn’t dream of turning Cook away from what, after all, has been her home for nearly thirty years. But in a way this accident has happened at a rather opportune moment.’

Louise gasped. ‘Opportune? Father, have you forgotten that poor Cookie is lying in hospital in great pain?’

‘Forgive me, Louise. I didn’t mean to sound callous.’ He pushed his plate away and ran his hands through his hair. ‘Oh dear. I wish I hadn’t had to spring this on you.’ He took a deep breath. ‘The fact is, things are not going well with the business. I’m sure it’s only temporary but, until things look up – we shall have to be careful.’

‘I don’t understand, Stanley. What about your investments?’ Dora’s face was white and her plump hand went to her throat.

Hesitantly, Stanley explained that the nationwide slump had begun to affect his business. And the Wall Street crash some years before, which was still affecting Britain, had sent his shares plummeting.

‘But surely, Father, the building trade is thriving, despite other industries suffering from the slump? There are houses going up in Holton all the time,’ Louise protested.

‘That’s true, my dear. But building is only one aspect of my business interests and I’m afraid one can no longer afford to subsidise the other.’

Dora gave a little sob and Stanley hastened to reassure her. ‘As I said, my love, it’s only a temporary setback. Things will pick up soon. But you can understand why I cannot contemplate engaging another cook at the moment. And I’ve also been thinking of letting Fred go. We will just have to manage for the time being.’

Louise and Sarah were walking along the seafront towards the bandstand. Since Cookie’s accident and the tightening of the family purse strings, Dora had taken refuge in ill health once more. Today she was indulging in one of her ‘heads’ and Louise had found it difficult to bite her tongue. Her
stepmother’s
constant carping was beginning to get on her nerves and she had invented an errand in town just to get out of the house for a while.

She stopped and leaned on the promenade railing, gazing out to sea at the passing ships in the Channel. To her right the Isle of Wight was a hazy smudge of blue on the horizon. How she wished she was on one of those ships – anywhere but here in Holton Regis. Even accompanying Keith Willis to Africa would have been preferable to this boring existence, Louise told herself, flicking a stray strand of hair off her face. But even that means of escape was denied her. She had gently but firmly refused his proposal of marriage and he had left a couple of weeks ago. Besides, it had been made clear to her that her duty was at home now.

‘I think Mother does it on purpose,’ Sarah said, echoing Louise’s thoughts.

‘Oh, Sarah, that’s a wicked thing to say.’ How could she tell her sister she felt exactly the same?

‘Well, it’s a funny thing that she’s perfectly all right when she wants to come up to London with me. But when it comes to helping you in the kitchen she’s just too poorly.’ Sarah clapped a hand to her forehead, closed her eyes and said, ‘Oh, my poor head’, in perfect imitation of her mother.

Louise tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. ‘You’re a wicked little minx. It’s not poor Mother’s fault that she’s sickly.’

‘Well, anyone would think Cookie broke her hip just to inconvenience
her
,’ Sarah said.

‘Really, Sarah, you should show more respect,’ Louise said, conscious of her big sister role, although she could not help inwardly agreeing.

She turned away from the railing, pulling at Sarah’s arm. ‘Come on, we’d better get back.’

They started to walk sedately along the seafront, each deep in thought. But Sarah couldn’t stay subdued for long and Louise was too tired to remonstrate when the younger girl ran ahead and started to hop and skip between the pink and beige paving slabs of the promenade. Despite insisting that she was grown-up now, Sarah sometimes reverted to childish
behaviour
. What harm did it do, Louise asked herself. There was no one about and besides, the poor girl was constantly being reprimanded for her
unladylike
behaviour. Louise sometimes seriously doubted that Dora had ever been young herself.

On impulse she ran after her sister and ‘hopscotched’ along beside her, clutching at her prim navy-blue hat and laughing. She was looking down at the paving stones and didn’t see the figure until it was too late. Gasping apologies, she looked up into the laughing blue eyes of young Dr Tate.

W
hen they reached Steyne House, Louise was relieved to learn that Dora was still lying down. She sent Sarah upstairs to see if Mother was awake and ready for tea, then stood in the cool dim hall taking deep breaths. She had to get her feelings under control before going to the kitchen to speak to Polly.

The encounter with Andrew Tate had left her breathless and confused. Sarah’s stifled giggles hadn’t helped.

What must he have thought of such a display of hoydenish behaviour in public? And, she admitted to herself, looking at her flushed face in the hall mirror and smoothing her tangled hair, his opinion did matter – very much. Not that she stood any chance at all with the tall good-looking young doctor. The nurses at his London hospital must be falling over themselves for his attention. He could take his pick so why should he take any interest in a dull homebody like her with nothing to recommend her?

With a sigh for her foolish thoughts she bit her lip, patted her hair into place once more and went into the kitchen where Polly was getting into a state over the tea. Her hand had healed but she was still a little clumsy.

‘Sarah will take the mistress’s tray up to her,’ Louise said.

‘It’s all right, Miss. I can manage.’ Polly indicated the cooling tray where several little fairy cakes displayed their blackened tops. ‘What shall I do about those?’

‘Don’t worry about it, Polly. It wasn’t your fault. Just butter a couple of those scones left from yesterday and put a dish of jam on the tray. That will have to do.’ Polly nodded and spread a clean cloth on the tray.

Sarah came in as she finished and eyed the scones. ‘No cake?’ she said.

The maid looked nervous but Louise interrupted. ‘If Mother says anything, tell her Polly hasn’t had time to cook anything else.’ As Sarah left with the tray, she turned to Polly. ‘We’re doing our best, aren’t we?’

‘Yes, Miss.’

But the scared look didn’t leave Polly’s face and Louise heaved another sigh. They
were
doing their best, but Mother didn’t seem to appreciate it. And poor Polly was bearing the brunt of her discontent. Like Cookie, she had been with the Charltons for years and Louise regarded her as almost one of the family. And she was a good worker, even if a bit slow and inclined to get flustered. She just needed someone to tell her what to do and she would willingly get on with it. But she seemed totally unable to make any decisions for herself. Take the cakes today – Louise had said she wouldn’t be long and would take them out of the oven on her return. But she’d lingered on the seafront, totally forgetting the cakes. And Polly, fearful of a reprimand, had waited till she smelt burning before making a decision – too late.

Louise picked up one of the burnt cakes and smiled. They weren’t that bad she decided and with a burst of inspiration set about cutting the black bits off. Then she got some butter and icing sugar and creamed them together, spreading the mixture over the remains of the buns and
sandwiching
them together. She arranged them on a paper doily on one of the pretty serving plates and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

‘Thought you said there were no cakes,’ Sarah said, coming back into the room and grabbing one off the plate. ‘You’re getting to be quite a good cook, Sis,’ she said through a mouthful.

Louise grinned and pointed to the bits she had cut off. Within seconds both girls were laughing till tears ran down their cheeks.

‘Oh, Sarah, it’s not that funny,’ Louise gasped when she could speak again.

Polly shook her head. ‘What’s got into you two?’

Sarah pointed to the burnt cake and started to laugh again.

‘I don’t see what’s to laugh at. Anyway you’d better stop that racket or you’ll have the mistress complaining her head’s aching again.’ Polly raised her eyes to the ceiling and pursed her lips.

‘I’m sorry,’ Louise apologized, turning to Sarah. ‘How is she?’

‘Not very happy. She was grumbling about Polly. I didn’t stay to listen.’

‘Oh dear, Polly. Did she smell the cakes burning?’

‘It wasn’t that, Miss. She was all right till I told her that young Dr Tate called and I sent him away saying she wasn’t up to receiving callers. She said it wasn’t up to me to decide.’ Polly looked aggrieved. ‘Well, how was I to know, Miss? You wasn’t here to ask.’

Louise’s heart had jumped at the mention of Andrew – Polly had
specified
young
Dr Tate hadn’t she? If only she’d been home when he called. But he hadn’t mentioned his visit when she had quite literally bumped into him earlier on – merely asked how her mother was.

True, she had been so flustered she hadn’t really taken in what he’d said. And the foolish notion that he had called to see her, not her stepmother, was quickly squashed. He had walked on quickly after exchanging the usual
pleasantries
demanded by good manners. No, he wasn’t interested in her at all.

Andrew Tate strode along the promenade until he reached the end, descending the steps onto the shingle where several fishing boats were drawn up. He walked on, his steps crunching on the loose stones, past the boats and the dilapidated fishermen’s cottages behind them until he came to the estuary, a vast expanse of sand dunes and mud flats. He usually enjoyed these walks by the sea at Holton Regis, drawing the fresh sea air into his lungs and purging them of the smoke and fetid smells of the
poverty-stricken
area of London where he worked. There was poverty here too, of course, but somehow it didn’t seem to carry the same air of degradation and hopelessness that he encountered in the city.

Today however his thoughts were not on his surroundings. Louise had already been in his thoughts and he had been disappointed to find she was not in when he called at Steyne House. A few words with his uncle after Polly’s accident had made him revise his opinion of Louise Charlton and he wanted to apologize for his earlier rudeness. The maid’s nervousness had been on account of Mrs Charlton who would not tolerate any sign of what she called slacking. ‘Louise will do her best to help out until Polly’s hand heals,’ he’d said.

Now, as he thought of her, brown eyes sparkling with animation, her hat askew and her hair escaping in endearing tendrils around her face, he wished he’d stayed to talk to her. But her cheeks, already flushed pink with the fresh sea air had darkened to a deeper shade of red as she bumped into him and, to spare her further embarrassment, he had walked quickly on after greeting the sisters and exchanging a few polite words.

He’d been so deep in thought that it was his fault she’d almost knocked him down. His face had creased in a spontaneous smile of pleasure when he realized who it was. But fearful that Louise might think he was laughing at her, he had schooled his expression to mere politeness, pretending he hadn’t noticed her running and jumping as if she were the same age as her sister. He made his escape when he noticed the younger girl struggling to control her giggles.

Now, he turned back towards the town, scuffing his feet in the pebbles and cursing his own reserve. He might tell himself he didn’t want to
embarrass
her, but deep down he knew it was fear of making another mistake that had stopped him from making more of the encounter.

Uncle George had assured him she was nothing like Celia and, hard as it was to leave those who needed him in his busy London clinic, he had jumped at the chance to return when his uncle had asked him to fill in for a few days. Last time he had looked after the practice, when Uncle George had been ill, he had begrudged the time spent away from London. As he’d told Celia during their last acrimonious exchange, he hadn’t studied hard all those years to qualify as a doctor just to pander to the whims of the Dora Charltons of this world. And he had gently refused when his uncle had told him he was ready to retire and wanted Andrew to take over from him. A few days as locum was a different matter – especially as it gave him the chance see Louise Charlton.

Anxious to make amends for his hasty judgement, he’d attended the church social in the hopes of getting to get to know Louise better. But, although he’d managed one dance with her, she had been monopolized by the curate, who had not disguised his proprietary interest in her. His only consolation was that the Reverend Willis had now left Holton Regis.

Heartened by the news, he had called at Steyne House, with the excuse of inquiring after Mrs Charlton’s health. It had been a disappointment to be told by the maid that Miss Charlton was not at home and that the mistress was sleeping.

Glancing at his watch he quickened his steps, realizing he would be late for evening surgery. He walked quickly along the tree-lined avenue with its substantial Victorian villas set back from the road and turned into the High Street, which ran parallel to the seafront. His uncle’s house was near the end past the shops, a double-fronted Georgian town house with a separate entrance to the surgery, which had been converted from the adjacent coach house.

As she took his hat and coat, the receptionist informed him that there were already several people waiting. He smiled at her and went quickly through to his uncle’s consulting room.

‘Give me a minute to get my breath back, then send the first one in,’ he said.

By the time he had dealt with the first patient of the evening, he had succeeded in putting all thoughts of Louise Charlton out of his head. When it came to his work, the patients came first. Absorbed in their problems the surgery hours passed quickly.

Uncle George was due back tomorrow and he would have to go back to London, but he would make an effort to see Louise before he left. Who knew when he’d have a chance to return?