The Caxley Chronicles (19 page)

Beside the tree, dwarfed by its dusky height, Queen Victoria gazed regally across the cobbles.

'She would have approved,' Sep murmured aloud. 'Yes, she would have approved.'

Nevertheless, it was cold comfort.

C
HRISTMAS WAS
a muted affair, for both the Howard and North families. There was the usual visit to church and chapel, the mammoth Christmas dinner, the ritual of the tree at tea time, and for those at Rose Lodge the welcome diversion of Edward's excitement.

On Boxing Day Winnie and the children went to tea in the market square and it was then that she learnt of Sep's generous provision for her family. Leslie's salary would be paid automatically into her bank account. The cottage was hers, rent free, for as long as she cared to make use of it.

Sep explained it all to her in the privacy of the dining room when the rest of the party were playing 'Hunt the Thimble', for Edward's benefit, next door. The table was still littered with the remains of Christmas crackers and tea time debris. The magnificent cake, made by Sep's own hands, towered amid the wreckage, the candles still gave out a faint acrid whiff.

Winnie was greatly touched by this overwhelming generosity, and tried to say so, but Sep would not hear her.

'It's little enough,' he said, 'and my pleasure'.

Winnie broke the news to her parents as soon as she returned home. They too were loud in their praises of Sep's conduct. Secretly, Hilda felt a pang of shame for her past off-handedness
towards Sep and Edna. She must do what she could to make amends, she determined.

Bender's first feeling was of great relief. He had been much worried by his responsibilities towards Winnie and her children. She was welcome to make her home with them, though the house would be devilishly cramped, he had to admit. But his salary simply could not be stretched to giving Winnie an allowance, and the thought of Edward's education and Joan's in the years to come had made him shudder. He was on the point of going to Sep and telling him to force his son to pay a weekly maintenance sum. Thank goodness he had never done it! In the face of this liberal open-handedness, Bender was overcome. He had never thought to be beholden to Sep Howard, but he was glad to be, in the circumstances.

It was now that Bertie came forward with his proposal. He had been thinking for some time of buying a house. Now that Mary was growing up, and her hobbies took up a large amount of room, he felt that it was time he provided for himself. Hilda began to protest when he broached the subject, but Bertie was firm.

'Mamma, I have reached the ripe old age of twenty-eight. You were good enough to take me in and look after me when I really needed it. But I've no excuse now. I'm as fit as the rest of you and I should dearly love to have a little place of my own to invite you to whenever you wanted to come.'

Hilda was partly mollified, and when he went on to point out that he would need advice on furnishing his establishment, she began to be quite reconciled to the idea.

Bertie went on to suggest that Winnie might like to housekeep for him. They had always got on well together, and he
would do his best to keep a fatherly eye on Edward and Joan. He had been told of a house for sale just off Caxley High Street, with a small garden sloping down to the Cax. It was not far from his work, and would be convenient for Winnie for shopping and visiting her Caxley friends.

'And remember,' continued Bertie, 'young Edward will be starting school in a few months' time. There is plenty of choice in Caxley. He's a good two miles to walk if he stays at the cottage.'

This was perfectly true, and had not occurred to Winnie in her present distraught condition. She liked the idea immensely, and appreciated Bertie's kindness. There would be no quarrelling in the household, she felt sure.

And so it was arranged. The house that Bertie had found was approached from a little lane off the busy High Street. It was a red-brick, four square house, solidly built with good rooms and large windows. It was certainly more commodious than a bachelor would normally choose, and Winnie realized that it had been bought mainly for her benefit.

She told Sep at once about Bertie's proposal and he agreed that it was the best possible arrangement. The cottage would be welcomed by one of his men, he knew, but Winnie's needs had come first.

She had hardly left him before Bender crossed the market square and entered the shop.

'Come through,' said Sep, guessing his errand. The two men settled themselves in Sep's tiny office. It was hardly big enough to house the neat oak desk and the rows of books on the shelves around the walls, but at least they had privacy.

'You know why I'm here, Sep. You're being uncommonly
good to our Winnie. It's appreciated, you know. To tell the truth, I couldn't help her much myself, as things are.'

'Say nothing, please. I'm too much ashamed of Leslie's behaviour to talk about it. This is the least I can do. She may be your daughter, Bender, but her children are my grandchildren. I do it for their sakes as much as Winnie's.'

'Ah! It's a bad business!' agreed Bender, shaking his massive head. 'And no hope of patching it up, as far as I can see.'

'Perhaps it's as well,' replied Sep. 'I blinded myself to the boy's faults. I face that now. He'll be no good to any woman, as that poor creature he's with will soon find out. No, I think Winnie's well rid of him.'

'And you've heard of Bertie's plans?'

'Yes, indeed. Winnie's just been here, and I'm all in favour! That boy of yours is solid gold, Bender.'

'He's a good chap,' nodded Bender. 'Bit of an old stick-in-the-mud, I sometimes think, but better that way than the other!'

'Definitely,' replied Sep, with a little chilliness. Bender felt that he may have put his foot in it. He rose hastily.

'Must get back to the shop.' He held out his hand and ground Sep's small one painfully in it.

'Bless you, Sep. We've got every reason to be grateful. Winnie's happiness means a lot to us.'

'I'm glad to be able to help,' said Sep sincerely, putting his damaged hand behind him and opening the door with the other.

He watched the vast figure cross the market place, then hurried back soberly to his duties, well content. For the first time in his life he had been able to succour Bender.

***

After weeks of occupation by bricklayers, carpenters, plumbers, plasterers, decorators and their assorted minions, the house was ready and Bertie and Winnie moved in.

The garden was still a tangle of weeds and overgrown plants, but tall tulips peered from the undergrowth in the borders and the lilac was in fine bloom. Bertie strolled about his new kingdom in proud happiness. It was a fine place to own and the neglected garden would give him a rewarding hobby. He paced down the mossy gravel path to the tall hedge at the end. Let into it was a wooden gate, in sore need of painting, which opened on to the tow-path of the winding Cax.

It was this aspect of his property that gave Bertie the greatest satisfaction. All his life he had loved the river. Its rippling had soothed him to sleep as a boy. In the dark, pain-filled nights of the war, when his absent foot throbbed and leapt as though it were still in the bed with him, he had imagined himself sitting by the shining water, cooling his feet among the waving reeds and the silver bubbles which encrusted them. Its memory had helped to keep him sane in the nightmare world. Now it was here for him to enjoy for the rest of his life. He gazed at it with affection. Here he would saunter in the evenings while the gnats danced above the surface and the swallows skimmed after them. Here he would sit on long hot afternoons listening to the noisy boys splashing in the distance. He might take up fishing seriously. It was a good occupation for a man with a gammy leg and young Edward already had a taste for trout.

He returned to the garden and made his way towards the house. Someone was hanging curtains upstairs and for one wild ecstatic moment he imagined that it was Kathy. If only it
could be! But he thrust the thought from him. No use crying for the moon! He was damned lucky to have all this—and dear old Winnie to keep him company.

He waved affectionately to the figure in the window and limped into his own house thankfully.

Thus began a period of great pleasure and tranquillity, for the brother and sister. It gave them both time to recover from the shocks they had received, and to gain strength to enjoy the pleasant familiar world of Caxley again.

They had always been fond of each other. They were both placid and good-natured in temperament, and shared the same circle of friends. Occasionally they went to a concert or spent an evening with neighbours or at Rose Lodge or at Sep's. Vera, their old maid, lived close by, and loved to bring her knitting and sit with the children. To many people in Caxley it seemed a remarkably hum-drum existence. Why on earth didn't they each find a partner, they wondered? Bertie was charming, gentle and handsome—eminently suited to matrimony, the speculative matrons with daughters told each other. Winnie was free now that her divorce from Leslie had gone through.

The older generation, including the Howards and the Norths, could not help being rather shocked at divorce. To their minds, attuned to good Queen Victoria's proprieties, a woman—even if she were the injured party—was somehow besmirched if she had appeared in the divorce court. Happily, those of Winnie's generation took a more realistic view of her position and sincerely hoped that in time she would find a
partner who would appreciate her company and prove a good father to her two attractive children.

There was little news of Leslie and his new wife. They had moved far west into Devon where he was working as a car salesman. With his smart good looks and plausible tongue, Winnie felt he was well equipped to make a success of this career. She never ceased to be thankful that he had gone, and hoped never to set eyes on him again.

Every year that passed made the children dearer to her. Edward attended a small school in the High Street and was to go to Caxley Grammar School when he was nine. One of his friends was Tim Parker, the youngest child of the Parkers at his grandfather's old home.

He had always known the shop well, for he had visited Bender there for as long as he could remember, but he had not been familiar with the premises above until he was invited to play with Tim. From the first, he was enchanted. To stand at the windows of the great drawing room and to look out at the bustle of the market square was a constant joy. There was so much to watch—the cheapjacks, flashing cutlery and crockery, their wives spreading gaudy materials over their buxom arms and doing their best to persuade cautious housewives to part with their money.

And even if it were not market day when the square was gay with stalls, there were always familiar figures to be seen going about their daily affairs. He saw the tall dignified figure of the Town Clerk enter the Town Hall, the vicar running up the steps of St Peter's, the one-legged sweeper wielding his besom broom round the plinth of the Queen's statue. Sometimes he saw his grandfather in his white baker's clothes, or Grandma
Howard in one of her pretty hats, tripping across to buy chops for dinner. In sunshine, or rain, winter or summer, the view fascinated him. There was always something happening there. It was as good as a serial story—a story which would never end.

He tried to tell his Uncle Bertie about his feelings, and found a sympathetic listener. Bertie told him old tales of their childhood above the shop, and on his next visit Edward searched for, and found, the scratched initials on the window pane which had resulted in a beating for poor Uncle Bertie. He told the child about the beauties of the old drawing room—the red plush furniture, the sea lavender on the wall brackets, the hissing gas lamps, and Edward longed to be able to go back in time and see its ancient glory.

He was, naturally, more familiar with the Howard's house for here he was one of the family and not just a guest. He adored Sep and Edna, and felt much more at ease with them than with Bender, of whom he was a little afraid. Grandma North he was fond of, but conscious that he must behave 'like a little gentleman'. Ears were inspected, nail-biting was deplored, and his dress had to be immaculate at Rose Lodge. At the baker's house so much was going on that such niceties were overlooked. Here he was happy with the company, but the house itself had not the same power of enchantment for him as the rooms above North's old shop. With a child's disconcerting frankness he said as much to Sep one day.

'It's a lovely house,' agreed Sep gravely. 'And your grandpa and grandma North always made it very pretty and comfortable. But we have the same view, you know. In fact, I often think there is a better view of the market square from here.'

Edward pondered the point, and lit upon the truth.

'But the sun's wrong. You only get it when it's going down behind the church. Over there, at Tim's, it shines into the rooms from morning till afternoon. That's what makes it so nice.'

Sep agreed again. The child was right. North's aspect was much more favourable than their own. He was amused to see how much the old house meant to the boy. Of course, he had heard all sorts of tales from his mother and uncle about the good old days there and this must lend a certain fascination to the place. But it was not a good thing to dwell too much in the past, thought Sep. A young boy should be living in the present, and looking forward to the future.

'What about giving me a hand in the bakehouse?' asked Sep. The child's eyes shone. He loved the warmth, the fragrance and the bustle as dearly as he loved the square outside. And, who knows? There might be a hot lardy cake or a spiced bun waiting for him.

He danced ahead of Sep towards the treasure house, and Sep, following sedately, recalled with a pang the days when two small boys, now lost to him, had led the same way to happiness.

I
T WAS
in the January of 1930 that Bender had his first serious illness. Hilda found him a most refractory patient.

'It's only a chest cold, I tell you,' he wheezed, waving away inhalants, cough sweets and all other panaceas that his poor wife brought. The very idea of calling the doctor sent up his temperature.