A Little Death (15 page)

Edmund never spoke to me about Roland’s death. He wrote to me: ‘I expect you have heard about poor Roland by now. Well, the best always go soonest,’ and ended with a joke: ‘There isn’t a man here (or a horse) who doesn’t wish for peace.’ It was the one thing he wrote to me from France that actually meant anything. When Edmund was over there I missed him even more than when he was away at school or university, but I missed him most when he was right beside me at home. The war took him away from me and my battle was to bring him back. Because Edmund and I belong together. Before I was married, Edmund said to me, ‘I couldn’t have managed without you, you know.’

I said, ‘Well, I couldn’t have managed without you, either.’

Then he asked, ‘What would have happened if we’d been two different people?’

‘We’d have found each other.’

That’s why we’re going to die together.

I dreamed about Edmund so often when he was in France. I always woke up very frightened because I thought that if I’d dreamed of him it meant he’d been killed. I dreamed about the
Lusitania
, too, when we heard that it had been hit and so many people drowned, not soldiers but whole families. I dreamed about the drowned children, that there were rows of coffins beside the sea with their lids thrown off and for some reason I was walking around looking for Edmund, hoping to find him in one of the coffins. The dead children were wearing the clothes in which they’d drowned, the sea breeze was drying them, blowing their hair across their faces so it was hard to see who they were, but when I moved closer, they were all my brother Freddie. All of them, in different positions, different clothes, sometimes two in one coffin with their arms round each other, but always Freddie.

If Edmund had been killed in France I would have committed suicide. Every time I woke up from one of those dreams and thought he was dead, it was as if my life had crashed into a brick wall. I didn’t make any plans—no gun or pills or anything like that—but I would have found the means to do it. Of course, if I
had
died, Jimmy might still be alive today. He’d be eighty-one. An old man. And given the numbers that died in Flanders, that always seems much more likely than the other. I wonder what the odds were against it happening? If Teddy were here I’m sure he could have told me.

Hope House was Mr. James’s pride and joy. He said to me once, ‘I always had a dream of building a big house for the woman I loved.’ I thought it was the most romantic thing I’d ever heard. Mr. James told me that he could see the house as clear as anything in his head, every single room, he told me that was how the great architects had visions of palaces and churches; even if it was as big as St. Paul’s Cathedral, they would know every detail, how it had to be done. Well, of course, Mr. James wasn’t an architect himself so he had to get a man to come and draw the plans, but he stood right by that man and never let a thing go by unless he saw it was done right. As soon as he made his first big money he bought the land and had the building begun, at that time he never had enough money to finish, but he went along step by step—it took him twelve years all told, but he did it.

Hope House was much grander than Dennys. It looked like those places they show you in the magazines, when you get photographs of where the big film stars live in America, that’s what it looked like. When I first went there, I was so shook up by going in Mr. James’s car that by the time I arrived I didn’t care if it was the monkey house at the zoo, just so long as I could have a sit-down and a cup of tea, but I loved Hope House from the first moment I set eyes on it. It was all
set on different levels because of being built on the side of a hill, and it was made of brick, with big stone windows and wooden doors like you’d have on a castle, with iron studs and bars all up and down. But the funny thing was, it didn’t really look like a castle, it had a roof like a normal house with tiles and spiral brick chimneys. Mr. James told me he’d had them copied from the ones at Hampton Court, from the time of King Henry VIII, and that some of the other things were from medieval castles. So it wasn’t just in one style, but all different kinds—Mr. James said he wanted the best of every type of old building. You could see it from the road—that’s how I first saw it—but it was built well back and the lawn in the front was like a small hill in itself, with the house sitting on top of it. When you looked out of the front windows you could see for miles, because it was at Hampstead and the Heath was stretched out in front. Inside, it was all big rooms with tall ceilings and wood panelling. Mr. James had it carved specially in patterns from the olden days and he’d had big stone fireplaces built, with the chimney pieces going right up to the ceiling. And there were stone carvings and coats of arms all over, because Mr. James was very keen on those sorts of things. He’d had stone creatures made, too, lions and griffins, and they sat at the bottom of the main staircases—to be honest, I thought they were a bit silly; they always reminded me of big daft dogs sitting up to beg.

Hope House had a beautiful garden, too. That was got to from the drawing room, through big double doors with leaded glass. It was all terraces; you went out to a flat part paved with stones and a pool with a fountain, full of goldfish as big as your hand. There were stone steps up the middle of the garden with these terraces on either side, with the lawns sloping down to
thick holly hedges at the bottom of each one. At the top there was a lovely bower, with a sunken garden behind, and further up a summerhouse, and a stone circle with poles round and great ropes strung between like a giant’s skipping ropes, and roses twining round them.

I was all by myself for the first couple of days I was there, but I didn’t mind, I had a lovely time getting a good look at everything. A lot of people who’ve been in service will tell you it was a terrible life and in some ways they’d be right, although there’s less respect nowadays and people seem to think they’ve a right to complain about every little thing. But one thing I’ll never regret: that I had the chance to live in a beautiful house with lovely things in it, because that was the only way someone like me could learn about the better things in life. Even if we couldn’t have them ourselves, we could appreciate them as well as anybody and I’m grateful for that.

Mr. James told me he’d promised himself never to marry until his house was finished. He wanted it all to be perfect, you see. We both did, Mr. James and me, we wanted it perfect. But when Mr. James told me about his house, I got a little thought come buzzing round me like a fly that wouldn’t leave me alone. What it was was this: you can dream up as many houses as there’s fish in the sea, and build them, but you can’t design a human being. Perhaps Mr. James had an idea of a wife and Miss Georgina seemed to suit, I don’t know, but you can’t design a wife, although I’m sure a lot of men would wish it. They’d probably design one with no tongue in her mouth, or with just the one big lip so the mouth couldn’t open to scold them. Well, there I was, thinking it’s a new start, a new life, for Miss Georgina and for me, how good it’s going to be, but all the time I knew that Mr. James didn’t really know what she was
like. Because I’d watched the way Miss Georgina showed herself to him, how she hid her will from him. I suppose I thought she would change, being married and away from her father, although she didn’t have a notion of how a lady should behave and it worried me that if she decided she didn’t want to learn she wouldn’t, because I’ve never met anyone with so strong a will as Miss Georgina. But it didn’t go wrong for want of wishing, I’ll tell you that. And one thing I was sure of was that she’d change when the children came.

I never gave old Mr. Lomax a thought, I was so wrapped up in my work at Hope House. Because Mr. James had chosen me when he could have had anyone, and I was determined not to let him down. I was going to have it all running like clockwork and more than once I had occasion to bless Mrs. Mattie for all she’d taught me. I’d quite a few girls under me and that took a bit of getting used to, giving orders, because I never had that before. Mr. James never had a butler; the only male servants apart from the gardeners were his valet and the chauffeur, Mr. Herbert. Looking back, I’d say that it was a happy time, in the main, because Miss Georgina seemed to take to being married quite well when you consider what had gone before. She and Mr. James came back happy and smiling enough from the honeymoon, and she was soon settled in and going on like the Queen of Sheba, never so happy as when she had three or four to attend to her every need. She’d had a lady’s maid engaged for her, Elspeth Jones, and she never let the poor girl alone for a moment.

I don’t know what Mr. James thought about it all, but he was that much in love with Miss Georgina, he never seemed to mind
what
she did. It was only where the house and garden were concerned: he wanted her to love them as much as he did, but unless it was clothes,
she wasn’t really interested. I remember they were having breakfast one morning and there she was, sitting at the dining-room table, beautifully dressed as usual, and Mr. James had his coffee cup in his hand, standing at the window looking out at the garden. I was in there and I heard him say to her, ‘How about planting some lilies under the terraces? Would you like that?’ And he turned round for her answer. You could see it was important to him what she thought. But all she said was, ‘Whatever you like, James,’ as if it was boring her even to think about it.

He said, ‘If you don’t like lilies, we can plant something else.’

‘For heaven’s sake, James, it’s all the same to me. I can’t tell an oak tree from a daisy.’

‘I could show you—there’s a book.’

‘Oh, no, don’t bother about it. I’m sure it’ll look beautiful, whatever you do.’

I saw his thumb that was on the saucer come down tight like a clamp, and he turned round to look at the garden again and didn’t say any more. She never even noticed he was angry, or if she did she gave no sign. But that was typical—with the house, Mr. James liked to choose everything himself, down to the smallest detail; he would ask her what she thought of such-and-such a pattern or material or something and she’d always say, ‘Oh, do what you like, don’t ask me,’ or ‘I don’t know, why don’t you ask Edmund?’ Mr. James never said one word of reproach, or if he did, it wasn’t in my hearing. If Master Edmund was there, or Miss Louisa, when she paid a visit, I’d see them talk to Mr. James about his plans and look at his drawings, but you could see him looking round for Miss Georgina, hoping she’d join in—after all it was her home, not just some hotel she was staying in. I never understood why she couldn’t just
pretend
to be interested, it would have made all the difference to him. But she’s never been much of a one for considering other people’s feelings.

There was a picture painted of Miss Georgina and Miss Louisa. Mr. James paid for it to be done. I can’t recall the name of the artist, but I do remember someone remarking it was an old-fashioned style—I think that was because you could see what it was supposed to be! Mr. James was very particular to the artist that it must be done in a certain way: three-quarters of the face showing, side by side and both looking in the same direction, neither of them wearing a scrap of jewellery and loose hair all tumbled behind, because that was before the new short hair came in. The picture used to hang in the library at Hope House. I suppose it must have been taken down when we left, but I don’t know what happened to it. Perhaps it ended up here, but I’ll never see it again, it’ll be buried under heaps of stuff by now. It’s a lovely picture, though, with the one dark and the other one fair. Mr. James was thrilled with it.

I always hoped that Master Edmund and Miss Louisa might get married. I know they had blood they shared from being cousins, but if ever two people could have been happy together I’m sure it was the two of them. Master Edmund would always turn up when the artist was working so that he could see Miss Louisa, and I remember thinking that he must ask her very soon. When the Great War came, all the boys were asking their sweethearts to wed before they went to fight and there wasn’t one of us at Hope House that didn’t think Master Edmund would propose to Miss Louisa, but he never did.

I think Miss Louisa would have liked to go as a nurse, but her father wouldn’t have it, so she went to the Hospital Supply Depot instead—they’d got one set
up in the Finchley Road, so she came to live at Hope House and went up there every day to help make up bandages and pyjamas for the wounded soldiers. Quite a few of the big places near us were requisitioned for hospitals and convalescent homes, and a lot of the things they made went to those. That was when I first came to know Miss Louisa, really. Every afternoon when she’d come back from her work, and instead of going into the drawing room to have tea with Miss Georgina, she used to come and knock on the door of my little sitting room instead. It had a big desk so I could do my lists and accounts, but I kept it nice and cheerful with flowers and a couple of comfy chairs, and it had a lovely view out over the Heath. I remember the first time Miss Louisa came in, I was surprised.

‘Is there something the matter, Miss?’

But she said, ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ Mind? I was pleased as punch! She was so natural about the way she spoke and she used to get so excited. ‘We’ve got a new target this week, Ada,’ and then she’d tell me how many dressings they’d made and who’d done the most. She thought it was a great lark trying to beat all the others. Miss Louisa had her bandages, but the only thing I remember Miss Georgina doing was that she learned to drive a car. That was a shocker, seeing ladies driving cars, even vans, some of them. Driving along ever so pleased with themselves: ‘Releasing a man for the Front,’ they said—and half of them still keeping on the chauffeur as well. But I used to love those chats I had with Miss Louisa. I don’t know that I ever said very much, it was more listening, really, that I did, but it was always a pleasure. I used to rush through my afternoon’s work so that I’d be sitting ready in my housekeeper’s room at half past four when Miss Louisa came
in, to look as if I was making a list or something, but I was just holding the pen, really. I always made up the tray myself for her tea, and I used to tell the girl, ‘You bring that in at five-and-twenty to, not one minute later.’ I used to look forward to that all day, tea with Miss Louisa. And she still steps down to see me, every time she comes here. She remembers my birthday, too. I had a present last time she came, a lovely brooch. It’s shaped like a thistle, with a purple stone and the leaves done in silver all round. It comes from Scotland, that’s where she bought it. I’ve not worn it yet, not had the chance. I’m saving it for a special occasion.