Tiger Bay Blues (37 page)

Edyth left the men in the sitting room and ran up the two flights of stairs to the attic. There were four doors on the poky, windowless landing. One was locked and she presumed that was Mrs Mack’s, although she thought it odd that the housekeeper felt it necessary to lock her door.

One opened into a room full of boxes and tea chests, marked
Dining Room
,
Sitting Room
,
Kitchen
,
Bedroom 1
,
Bedroom 2
,
Maid’s Room
and
Peter’s Room
. They were comparatively dust-free, and she knew she had stumbled across the cases that had been used to ferry Peter’s mother’s goods from storage to the vicarage.

The other two rooms were furnished identically. Both held a single iron bedstead with a thin, dustsheet-shrouded mattress, an aluminium washstand and chest of drawers. There were no wardrobes, and no room for one in either, but there were hooks on the backs of the doors.

Micah had said that Judy had lost most of her possessions so she was hardly likely to need a great deal of storage space. There was also a fireplace in each room. Trusting that the chimneys had been swept recently she went downstairs and into the kitchen.

‘Light a fire in both of the attic rooms that are furnished, please, Mrs Mack.’

‘Both?’ Mrs Mack questioned.

‘It’s cold and damp up there. The whole floor could do with an airing.’

‘It’s a lot of trouble to carry coals up two flights of stairs and I’ve never seen the need to light a fire in my room,’ Mrs Mack protested.

‘Please do so now,’ Edyth requested firmly. ‘Miss Hamilton will be moving in this evening. I have decided to give her a month’s trial.’

She left before the housekeeper could make another comment. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself for Peter’s disapproval and turned the knob on the door of the sitting room.

‘It’s very kind of you to give me a job and take me in, Mrs Slater.’ Judy dropped a battered shopping bag in the hall. It was bulging, but not very large, and it was the only luggage she had brought.

‘Not at all, Judy. In fact, I think you are going to be an absolute godsend,’ Edyth blurted unthinkingly. Thankfully Peter was in his study, so he didn’t hear her blaspheme and she resolved to watch her language more closely in future.

Judy looked around the hall. ‘I could start right away, Mrs Slater. Those tiles could do with a good scrubbing with powdered brick and washing soda and, after they’ve been cleaned, coating with wax.’

‘Let’s get you settled first, Judy. I’ve only been in the house for a few hours myself. The first thing I want to do is go into every room and make a list of what needs doing and then put the jobs in order of priority. For the moment, I’ll show you to your room so you can unpack.’

Judy picked up her shopping bag. ‘That won’t take long.’

‘Mr Holsten told me what happened to your belongings. I’m sorry. But as well as unpacking, you’ll have to make up your bed. It’s on the top floor. You can take either of the empty rooms with fires burning in them, whichever you prefer. You can go on up if you like,’ she said at a knock on the door.

Judy went up the stairs. Edyth opened the door. Micah Holsten was on the step.

‘I’m not coming in, just came to drop off Judy and say thank you again. You will give her time off if she gets the chance of another audition?’ he checked. ‘If she is going to make anything of herself it will be through her singing and, although you’ve seen no evidence of it, her dancing.’

‘Of course I will, Micah.’

Peter opened his study door. ‘Problems, Micah?’

‘I only came to drop Judy off.’ Micah pointed to his van, which he’d parked in the yard. The engine was still running. ‘And remind Edyth that there’s a meeting of the Bay youth committee on Monday evening at six o’clock.’

‘What’s that?’ Edyth asked.

‘I forgot to tell you, Edyth?’ Peter slipped his hand around her waist again. ‘I’ve left all the Sunday school and youth work to you. Micah has set up an inter-faith  youth committee that works with all the churches, mosques, synagogues, and temples in the Bay. I thought you could be our representative on it.’

‘See you on Monday in the mission at six o’clock. Don’t forget. We’ve all the Christmas holiday events to plan for. Every place of worship joins in. No matter what the denomination there’s some festival or other around that time.’ Micah ran back to his van.

‘I’m sorry, I meant to mention the committee, but this last week you were so busy with David and your family –’

‘I know, Peter. And I’m very grateful to you for allowing me to interrupt our honeymoon. But,’ she smiled determinedly, ‘we’re home now and we can have a very long talk about the parish, the house and everything else. Does over dinner tonight suit you?’

‘Of course, and afterwards we’ll listen to the radio in the sitting room.’

To Edyth’s surprise he kissed her, just as Mrs Mack walked into the hall. It was only one of his pecks on the cheek, but in front of the housekeeper it seemed bizarre.

Determined to do everything she could to please him, she ran lightly up the stairs.

Chapter Nineteen

Peter sat at the head of the dining table, picked up his spoon and looked down at the bowl Mrs Mack had placed in front of his chair.

‘Some things should not be discussed at meal times,’ he glanced at Mrs Mack, ‘and money is one of them.’

Edyth took the hint. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.’ She watched him carve a dent in Mrs Mack’s leek and potato soup, which was as thick, floury, and unappetising as the one Mrs Price had served them in the vicarage in Pontypridd. It seemed like years ago, rather than a couple of months. ‘It was kind of the church council and Sunday school to bring us those flowers and fruit.’

‘It was.’ He made a face as he struggled to swallow the soup.

‘I think more people have walked through the doors of this vicarage than Cardiff station in the couple of hours since we returned.’

‘I warned you what our life here would be like,’ he said, taking her remark as a criticism.

‘You did.’ She left her chair and closed the door when Mrs Mack returned to the kitchen. ‘And I don’t mind holding open house for every member of the church. But as well as helping you in the parish, I want to run the vicarage efficiently, and in order to do that I have to keep a tight control on the kitchen. This is inedible.’

He dropped his spoon into the bowl. It fell with a dull plop and rested on top of the jelly-like soup. ‘You seem absolutely determined to find fault with everything Mrs Mack does.’

‘It doesn’t bother you that you can’t eat the food she serves, or that the house in dirty and neglected?’ she asked flatly.

‘It’s not that bad –’

‘Peter, I’m not making a fuss over nothing. I wouldn’t be able to find fault if Mrs Mack did her job properly. I can’t possibly allow her to continue to do the marketing and cooking. Not after seeing the quality of food in the pantry, the state of the kitchen and the meals she slops up.’ She pushed her bowl away from her, to emphasise the point she’d made.

‘She
is
the housekeeper.’

‘For the moment,’ Edyth muttered darkly.

‘I won’t give you leave to sack her, Edyth, no matter what Micah Holsten told you about her,’ he warned. ‘And while I’ve agreed to your request that we give Judy Hamilton a position here, I will not allow you to make her our housekeeper over Mrs Mack.’

Edyth was seething, but she kept her thoughts to herself. ‘I’ll need to know how much you pay Mrs Mack.’

‘I’ll look it up tomorrow.’

‘Why not simply hand me the household account books and let me work out everything for myself?’ When he didn’t answer her, she risked antagonising him further by venturing, ‘Have you any idea how irritating your silences can be, Peter?’

‘We are eating, Edyth. How can I digest my food if you persist in quarrelling with me over domestic arrangements I’ve already made.’

‘You’re determined to keep Mrs Mack on no matter what?’

‘I was brought up to believe that a man is head of his own household. My father was in sole charge of all the decision-making in our family and, to my knowledge, Mother
never
questioned his authority – not once.’

Edyth checked her temper when Mrs Mack returned to clear the soup bowls, but it remained simmering beneath the surface. And it didn’t help that she knew she was being touchy, possibly even petulant, and certainly on the verge of her first serious quarrel with Peter. ‘Bring in the hotpot, Mrs Mack, and leave it on the table. I will serve it. And please close the door behind you when you leave. Reverend Slater and I have things to discuss.’

‘As do I.’ The housekeeper stood, hands on hips, and confronted Edyth, ‘That half-caste –’

‘Mrs Mack.’ Peter rose to his feet and looked down at her. ‘Please refer to the maid as Miss Hamilton. I never want to hear that expression in this vicarage again.’

Despite the words they’d exchanged, Edyth could have kissed Peter for reprimanding the housekeeper.

‘Whatever she is,’ Mrs Mack continued unabashed, ‘she’s clearing the bookshelves and bureau bookcase in the sitting room.’

‘I asked her to do it, Mrs Mack.’ Edyth spoke to the housekeeper but looked at Peter.

‘Why?’ Peter frowned.

‘Because I need space to store and display our wedding presents and my family photographs,’ Edyth explained. ‘I also intend to pack away the china and silverware in here on Monday morning to make room for the sets Harry, Mary, Bella and Toby gave us.’

‘I suppose you expect me to stand back and watch that girl undo all my hard work of the last two weeks?’ Mrs Mack glared at Peter.

‘There’s no need for you to do anything, Mrs Mack.’ Edyth deliberately lowered her voice in contrast to the housekeeper, who was shouting belligerently. ‘I’ll get a man in to carry the packing cases down from the attic. After we’ve filled them, he can return them to the box room.’ Edyth looked across the table at Peter. ‘I take it there is a jobbing handyman around Tiger Bay that I can employ to do a few hours’ work?’

‘There is Alf Roberts, the verger. He’s a retired seaman who takes care of the church,’ Peter informed her. ‘He saw to the heavy work that needed doing in both the church and the vicarage in Reverend Richards’s time.’

‘Then I’ll ask him to find the help he needs to transfer the boxes of wedding presents and empty packing cases downstairs, and the full cases back up again after Judy and I have packed your mother’s things away.’

‘Mrs Mack, we’re waiting for our hotpot,’ Peter reminded the housekeeper, who was standing, open-mouthed, listening to their conversation.

The housekeeper left and Peter sat back down. Although Edyth was glad to see that he could be assertive with Mrs Mack when he chose, she refrained from passing comment in case he regarded her remarks as patronising.

‘Please don’t pack away the silverware, china and ornaments in the sitting room, Edyth.’ Peter picked up his napkin from the floor where it had fallen when he’d left his chair.

‘Why not?’

‘Because Mother is looking forward to seeing all her old things again. This vicarage is similar to the one I grew up in. With Mrs Mack’s help, I managed to place her furniture and ornaments more or less just as they were in Mumbles.’

‘But this isn’t the vicarage in Mumbles, Peter.’ Edyth felt as though she and Peter were speaking different languages. ‘This is
our
home, Peter. Yours and mine. People have been kind enough to give us beautiful wedding presents –’

‘They have,’ he interposed sharply. ‘Mother gave us every single possession she owns. The entire contents of her house.’

‘Exactly, Peter – 
her
house. This is ours.’

‘Hotpot.’ Mrs Mack barged in without knocking. There was a jubilant look on her face, and Edyth knew she had been listening at the keyhole again.

‘Would it hurt you so much to leave the silver on display and the china and cutlery in the sideboard until Mother arrives? That way the two of you can discuss where you want everything to go. After all, this is now home to you both.’ Peter’s suggestion sounded so rational that Edyth felt as though she was being unreasonable.

Deciding to employ the same tactics on him that he used on her, Edyth didn’t answer him. She took the tray that held the tureen from Mrs Mack, set it on the table and handed the housekeeper the barely touched soup bowls in return.

‘Thank you, Mrs Mack, I’ll serve.’ She spooned out a portion and handed it to Peter. The hotpot looked even worse than the leek and potato soup, but she persevered, filling her own plate as well as Peter’s, the whole time conscious of Mrs Mack standing, bowls in hand, behind her chair, watching every move she made. ‘That will be all, Mrs Mack, you may return to the kitchen.’

Mrs Mack left and closed the door. Edyth replaced the serving spoon in the tureen, glanced at Peter, then, without warning, whirled around and opened the door. Mrs Mack was standing in the hall, staring intently at a cobweb on the ceiling.

‘That ceiling could do with a brush-down,’ she slurred.

‘The entire hall could with a damned good scrub,’ Edyth said angrily.

‘Edyth!’ Peter reprimanded.

‘I am sorry I swore, Peter. Mrs Mack, please don’t ever let me catch you listening outside a door in this house again. If you should –’

‘You’ll what?’ Mrs Mack stared coolly back at her.

‘I’ll reconsider your position in this house.’ Edyth looked pointedly at Mrs Mack’s apron. The outline of the bottle could be clearly seen in the pocket.

Mrs Mack leaned forward and looked around the corner at Peter. ‘I’d like to hear what the Reverend Slater has to say about that.’

‘You’re slurring, Mrs Mack,’ Edyth said.

‘Am I, Mrs Slater?’ Mrs Mack waited a full insolent minute before walking off down the passage. Edyth didn’t return to her seat until she had seen the housekeeper close the kitchen door.

‘Did you hear what she said to me, Peter?’

‘You knew she was listening at the door?’ The colour had drained from Peter’s face.

‘Yes,’ she returned to her chair. ‘Micah Holsten and I caught her doing the exact same thing when he called this afternoon. She even had the gall to open the door and interrupt us. Now will you allow me to sack her?’

‘Let’s eat. I have an extremely busy day tomorrow – as do you.’

Edyth clenched her fists. She had to find a way to break through Peter’s maddening silences and point-blank refusal to discuss anything important – or intimate. She suspected that if she didn’t succeed, their marriage was doomed to failure.

She picked up her knife and fork and poked at the hotpot. ‘This is even worse than the soup. I doubt there was any meat on these mutton bones when Mrs Mack bought them. They’re not fit for dogs, let alone humans.’ She speared an oyster with her fork and lifted it to her nose. ‘The oysters are off, the mushrooms shrivelled … don’t touch it, Peter.’ She left her chair and piled her plate and Peter’s on the tray that held the tureen.

‘What are you going to do?’

If she hadn’t known better, she would have said that he looked afraid. ‘There has to be a fish and chip shop around here somewhere and, as it’s a Saturday night, it’s bound to be open until late. I’ll send Judy to get some.’

‘For all of us?’ Peter asked.

‘No, not for all of us,’ Edyth opened the door and picked up the tray ready to carry it out. ‘Just for Judy, you and myself. Mrs Mack can eat her hotpot.’

Judy returned to the kitchen after taking Peter’s fish and chips to him in his study and saw that Edyth had laid two place settings of cork mats, knives and forks on the table.

‘Sit down, Judy, I have plates warming on the rack on the range. We can eat right away.’

‘I can’t eat with you, Mrs Slater. Not even in the kitchen, it’s not right.’

‘Rubbish, Judy, the old mistress and maid relationship went out with Noah’s Ark.’ Edyth unwrapped the two remaining newspaper-wrapped parcels of the three Judy had brought from the fish shop and set them on the plates.

Edyth had elected to eat with Judy in the kitchen because Peter had insisted on being served his fish and chips in his study. He had told her that he liked to go to bed early on Saturdays and still needed to revise his sermon for the morning, something he had intended to do after dinner – if she hadn’t refused to allow him to eat it – which suggested that he blamed her for their spoiled meal, not Mrs Mack. But she suspected that his main reason for retreating to his study was to avoid listening to her criticism of their housekeeper.

Fortunately for her and Judy, Mrs Mack had also refused to listen to complaints about the hotpot and, after announcing that she had worked quite enough hours for one day, swept up the stairs.

‘These fish and chips look really excellent, Judy.’ Edyth set the cruet and vinegar bottle on the table and sat down to eat.

‘Best on the Bay, from the Sophia Street shop,’ Judy said with a rare smile. She moved her place setting to a chair lower down the table, further away from Edyth’s.

‘We may as well sit opposite one another so we can talk.’ Edyth put the teapot on the table, filled two glasses with water from the jug and set them next to the cups and saucers she had laid while Judy was out.

‘What would you like me to do tomorrow, Mrs Slater?’ Judy asked shyly.

‘Apart from the essentials that have to be done every day – cleaning out the fire grates and laying the fires, dusting the hearths and mantelpieces, filling the coal and stick scuttles, cleaning the bathroom and kitchen, and laying the table – nothing.’

‘Nothing?’ Judy repeated in astonishment.

‘Well, not exactly nothing, because I would like fires laid and lit in every single room, including all the attics. This house feels so cold and damp I think it must be months, if not years, since it had a good airing. But just to warn you for the future, Reverend Slater doesn’t believe in anyone working on a Sunday. So, from now on, all the cooking and baking for Sunday will have to be done on a Saturday and our food heated up on the day. But we have to eat something tomorrow. I don’t know what. I checked the pantry again while you were out and found virtually nothing edible in it.’

‘Lunch won’t be a problem, that is, if you’re prepared to pay for it,’ Judy said cheerfully, finally cutting into her fish after Edyth had started eating hers. ‘I’ll take one of your saucepans down to Mrs Josefina’s in George Street. She makes the most delicious Spanish salt fish stew you’ve ever tasted and fills a pot for two shillings.’

‘She cooks for her neighbours?’ Edyth asked in surprise. To her knowledge no one did anything like that in Pontypridd.

‘She’s turned her house into a sort of café. The sailors know that whatever the time of day they can always get a meal in her back kitchen. And Mr Goldman, the Jewish baker, will be baking fresh bread and bagels in the morning. His Sunday is Saturday, if you know what I mean. If there’s a tin of salmon in the larder I can make bagels for breakfast. And I’ll buy a loaf for you to eat with the stew.’

‘I didn’t see any salmon.’ Edyth wasn’t quite sure what bagels were, and the idea of eating them with tinned salmon for breakfast sounded positively exotic after the usual breakfast fare Mari served.

‘Then I’ll call in the corner shop run by Mr Mohammed when I go to the baker’s first thing and get one. That only leaves tea and supper.’