Settling the Account (5 page)

‘Why not?’ Maudie asked, clearly indignant
at being deprived of the opportunity to spread more widely news
that had caused such interest at home.

‘Because that’s private, all that stuff
about who sleeps in what room. People don’t like to think that
everyone else knows their private business. If Uncle Charlie found
out you’d been telling people he’d go really crook.’

‘I
don’t care about him,’ Maudie
said. ‘I’m not scared of him.’

‘Maybe not, but it’s not you he’d go crook
at. It’s Aunt Amy, and probably Dave for telling you. You wouldn’t
want that, would you?’

Maudie considered the question. ‘No, I
wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘He’s so grumpy! I don’t want to get Aunt Amy
and Dave in trouble.’

‘That’s a good girl. And don’t you go
telling anyone else all our business, either. Now, get on and
finish your dinner! It’ll be getting cold with all your
chattering.’

The kitchen was briefly full of the sound of
utensils scraping against plates, then Maudie looked up from her
food once again.

‘Do you know,’ she said through a mouthful,
‘at Uncle Charlie’s place they’re not allowed to talk at the table?
Children, I mean. Only grown-ups can talk.’

‘Yes, I
do
know, and sometimes I
think it’s not such a bad idea,’ Lizzie said. ‘I might start it
here if you don’t get on with your dinner.’ She pointed a finger
warningly as Maudie opened her mouth to protest. ‘Not one more word
out of you till your plate’s clean, Edith Maud, or you’ll go to bed
with a sore backside and no pudding.’ Thus cowed, Maudie ate in
aggrieved silence.

When all the children were safely tucked up
in bed, Lizzie brought Frank’s pen and inkstand out to the kitchen,
along with some of his writing paper, and raised the subject of
Maudie’s revelation.

‘So Amy doesn’t sleep with the old so-and-so
any more’ she said. ‘I wonder how long
that’s
been going
on.’

‘Mmm. No wonder he’s so grumpy all the
time.’

‘Humph! He’s always been grumpy—even back
when she was having the children, and she must have been sharing
his bed then.’

‘That’s true,’ said Frank. ‘He didn’t know
when he was well off, eh? Sounds like he’s missed out now.’

‘He’s brought it on himself,’ Lizzie said.
‘The way he’s treated her over the years! I wish I knew how she’s
managed to get away with it, though.’

Frank dragged his chair close to hers and
slipped an arm around her. ‘Why?’ he asked, trying to sound stern
but failing badly. ‘You think you might like to try the same trick
with your old man?’

‘No, I’d sooner put up with you than bunk in
with Maudie and Beth. At least you don’t wet the bed like Beth, or
talk half the night like Maudie. Even if you are restless,’ she
added, smiling. ‘Amy’s got enough bedrooms to have one of her own.
I just can’t figure out how she’s managed to keep him out of
it.’

‘Ask her,’ said Frank.

Lizzie frowned in thought. ‘No, I don’t
think I’d better. I think she’d rather no one knew about it, so
I’ll pretend I don’t. And you make sure you don’t let it slip to
Charlie that you know, either—I bet he’d be really wild if he found
out anyone else knows what’s going on.’

‘Mmm, he’d feel a real idiot. Don’t worry, I
won’t let on about it—not that I wouldn’t like to see the old
so-and-so squirm. It’d only make trouble for Amy, though.’ He
traced a hand over the smooth curve of Lizzie’s cheek. ‘You know,
it must be driving him up the wall, having her there in the house
and not being able to touch her. I’d be round the bend if it was me
and you.’

‘You’ve forgotten something,’ Lizzie said.
Her meaning expression reminded him at once.

‘That’s right. He’s got the whores. And he
was already going there when Amy was still having babies, wasn’t
he? Well, I suppose he’ll just have to make do with whores now—must
be costing him a fortune. Anyway, what about this letter you want
me to help you with?’

Lizzie spread a sheet of paper in front of
her and dipped the pen in the inkstand. ‘I’ll write it because your
writing’s too messy, but you can help me think out how to put
it.’

‘So you got the address all right?’

‘Yes, it’s a place called Auburn Street. It
wasn’t easy getting it out of her, I can tell you. We had a bit of
a row.’

‘What happened to my meek and mild Lizzie,
then?’

‘I just couldn’t do it, not with her!
Honestly, the things she comes out with.’ Lizzie frowned at the
memory. ‘It’s funny talking to her. It’s sort of like you’re
talking to someone in a story, or… well, I suppose it must be like
watching someone in a play. She sort of acts a part about how
life’s so hard on her and all that rubbish, and you don’t know when
you’re talking to the real her and when it’s someone else. Do you
know what I mean?’

‘No,’ Frank admitted. ‘She always seems
about the same. Always sour about things, anyway.’

‘She is! And the way she talks to
Sophie—you’d think Sophie was just her servant. Sophie’s silly
enough to take it, of course, so they get on all right.’ She shook
her head. ‘I don’t know, I think Aunt Susannah enjoys being
miserable. It lets her feel hard done by. I told her she should let
herself go a bit. I said she might enjoy herself if she did.’

‘I bet your Uncle Jack would enjoy it, too,’
Frank said with a wicked grin. ‘I don’t think he gets much fun out
of her. How much age is there between him and your pa?’

Lizzie shrugged. ‘Two years, I think. Maybe
a bit less.’

‘You wouldn’t think it, would you? Your pa
looks years and years younger than Jack. That’s the difference a
good wife makes, eh?’

‘Maybe.’ Lizzie gave a sidelong glance that
struck Frank as oddly shy. ‘Frank, do you think I’ve let myself go?
The way I look, I mean?’

Frank suppressed the urge to laugh, seeing
that the question was important to Lizzie. ‘Well, you’ve spread out
around the middle a bit. That’s better than being like Susannah,
though. She looks as if she’s got too many bones in her. A man’d
have to watch himself cuddling her, or the bony bits would be
digging in everywhere.’ He put both arms around Lizzie and
squeezed. ‘I like a good armful myself. As long as I can still get
my arms around you, you won’t hear me complaining.’

Lizzie yielded to his embrace, but she still
seemed distracted. ‘What would you have said if I’d asked you to
marry Amy?’

‘I’d have told you there’s a law in this
country that says a man can only have one wife, and you’re trouble
enough by yourself,’ Frank said. ‘What are you going on about?’

‘Don’t be stupid, Frank. I meant before we
got married—before Amy married Charlie. Would you have done it if
I’d asked you to?’

‘Of course I wouldn’t! What’s put that idea
in your head? Why would I have wanted to do that?’

‘Amy’s a lot prettier than I am. She hasn’t
got fat, either.’

Frank took Lizzie’s chin in his hand and
gently forced her face around till he could look in her eyes.
‘Lizzie, for a sensible woman you’re being pretty silly. I don’t
know what your Aunt Susannah’s been saying, but you should have
enough sense to take no notice. You know what my idea of a pretty
woman is? One with yellow hair and plenty of this to grab hold of.’
He took a soft handful of breast to illustrate his point. ‘You’re
the only woman around here like that—well, apart from your ma, and
she was already taken—so you’re the only one I ever thought of
marrying. And
I
won’t think you’re too hefty till I can’t
lift you up any more.’

‘But you can pull cows out of ditches, and
haul great fat sheep around and things,’ Lizzie protested.

‘That’s right,’ said Frank. ‘So you’re not
likely to get too heavy for me, are you?’

‘You great fool.’ Lizzie rested against his
encircling arms for a few moments. ‘Now, let’s get this letter
written or we’ll be up all night,’ she said briskly, sitting
upright once again.

‘All right,’ said Frank. ‘Then you can help
me figure out how to get a few more people interested in this
co-operative factory.’

‘Oh, I don’t know anything about that
stuff,’ said Lizzie.

‘You know how to get your own way. How about
giving me a few clues?’

‘All you need to do is explain it to them,
how a co-operative’s better than the sort of factory we’ve got now.
It sounds good sense when you tell me about it. I don’t know why
you don’t just get on and tell them all you’re going to have a
co-operative and that’s that.’

‘I’ve got to get them to agree, Lizzie,
that’s what a co-operative means. Well, maybe I’ll have another try
over the winter.’

‘You’d better, or I’ll never hear the end of
it. Never mind about your cows, let’s do this letter. I’m going to
tell the woman I’m Amy’s sister, that sounds better than just her
cousin.’

Frank refrained from pointing out that,
while it might sound better, it was nevertheless untrue, knowing
that this argument would hold little weight with Lizzie. He helped
her produce a letter that tactfully referred to the baby-farming
scandal and how this had distressed Lizzie’s ‘sister’; while making
it quite plain that the writer did not believe Mrs Crossley to be
in any way a baby farmer, the letter explained that Amy needed more
detailed reassurance that only Mrs Crossley could offer.

‘There,’ Lizzie said with satisfaction as
she laid down the pen. ‘That’s just right. We can post it when we
go into town on Thursday.’

‘I hope the woman writes back.’

‘She’d better,’ Lizzie said, a firm set to
her mouth. ‘If she doesn’t… well, I’ll just have to think of
something else.’

*

Any change to the normal routine of life in
a small town like Ruatane was likely to be greeted with interest by
its populace, and the arrival of a new vicar was no exception.
Reverend Hill had been in charge of the parish for as long as the
younger inhabitants could remember, and for weeks before the new
minister arrived speculation was rife on what he would be like, how
old he might be, his marital status and whether he would preach
more interesting sermons than his predecessor. Amy joined in the
speculations in a half-hearted way, glad of anything that might
distract her from the constant, nagging worry over what sort of
reply Lizzie would get to her letter.

Reverend Simons, it emerged, was a tall,
thin Englishman in his middle fifties, with a burning gaze in his
dark eyes and black hair that seemed to need constant smoothing as
an accompaniment to speaking, whenever the hand was not busy
illustrating his point with emphatic gestures. Within days of his
arrival the boys of the town had begun following him around, doing
their best to imitate the long-legged stride conducted at great
speed that seemed to be his invariable style of walking; at the
same time keeping a safe distance from the serious-looking walking
stick that Reverend Simons was apt to swing about him on these
solitary walks. The people of the town watched the minister closely
all during the first week of his residence, and on his first Sunday
the church was a good deal fuller than normal.

Those who were hoping for a change in the
usual placid pace of life were not disappointed. Reverend Simons
ascended the pulpit, smoothed back his hair, swept his gaze over
the congregation until several of those present began shifting
their feet uncomfortably and regretting their presence, then he
began preaching the most fiery sermon Ruatane had ever heard.

His subject was one they would all grow
increasingly familiar with over the ensuing weeks: the evils of the
demon drink, and the solemn duty each of them had to see that the
noxious substance had no place in their own homes. He illustrated
his point with descriptions of the consequences of alcohol so lurid
that several mothers felt the need to cover the ears of their
younger offspring; after the service these women agreed among
themselves what a pity it was that the minister had no wife to
instruct him in the need to temper his discourse according to his
audience. The congregation sat agog during the tirade, and at the
end of the service the owner of Ruatane’s small brewery, who was
also the proprietor and editor of the
Ruatane Herald
,
stormed out of the church red-faced and scowling.

Charlie sat dumbfounded through the sermon.
After the service he brushed past the new minister, ignoring the
hand outstretched for him to shake.

Amy hung back for long enough to say quietly
to Reverend Simons, ‘I enjoyed your sermon.’ ‘Enjoyed’ was not a
strong enough word; she had silently applauded every sentence, but
it was all she felt able to risk with Charlie’s disapproving back
only a few feet ahead.

‘Thank you, my dear,’ the minister said. Amy
found to her surprise that when not denouncing evil he had manners
that were almost courtly. ‘Perhaps you’d be interested in joining
the Temperance Society I intend setting up? It will be aimed at the
mutual improvement of all the members, and I’m sure you would be a
great asset to it.’

Amy glanced at Charlie and gave Reverend
Simons a rueful smile. ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to do that. I’d
like to, but… well, I’m a bit too busy at home.’ At that point
Charlie turned and gestured impatiently to her, and Amy had no
choice but to hurry after him.

‘What a load of crap,’ Charlie grumbled as
they drove home. ‘Carrying on as if it’s a crime for a man to have
a drop to quench his thirst. Bloody Englishman!’

Aside from such mutterings, Charlie seemed
inclined to give the new minister his version of the benefit of the
doubt after that first service. ‘He’s only coming out with all that
rot to impress the women and the other simple folk, what with him
being new to the place. He’ll stop his nonsense when he sees no one
with any sense is taking notice of him.’