Betty Neels - Stormy Springtime

Over their midday snack Meg and Betsy talked over the morning. They found it difficult to believe that it had all happened. ‘It’s like a fairy tale,’ said Meg. ‘I can’t believe it…I know it’s not going to last, but it does give us another month or so. We’ll be here when the daffodils are out.’ She cut a wedge of cheese. ‘You’re to have your wages, Betsy, and so am I—nice to be paid for something I’ve been doing for nothing for years!’

She fell silent, her busy mind exploring the chances of getting a job as housekeeper when she finally left—if Mrs Culver would give her a reference she might be lucky—then there would be no need to live in London. Presently she said, ‘I must let Cora and Doreen know,’ and went to the telephone in what had been her father’s study.

Of course they were both delighted.

‘Now we can get the boys’ names down for school,’ said Cora.

‘I’ll make a firm offer for that flat,’ Doreen decided and added as an afterthought, ‘once it’s all dealt with, Meg, I’ll look out for something for you—you’d better take a course in shorthand and typing.’

It seemed hardly the time to tell them that Mrs Culver had plans of her own; Meg put down the receiver without having said a word about herself and Betsy, but then, neither of them had asked.

There was purpose in the days now: the house to clean and polish, cupboards to turn out, the silver to polish, wrap up and stow away, curtains to be cleaned… Mrs Griffiths, when approached, was glad enough to continue coming three times a week, and what was more, she had an out-of-work nephew who would be glad to see to the garden.

There were letters too, learned ones from the solicitor, triumphant ones from the estate agents and a steady flow of instructions from Cora and Doreen. What was more important was that there was a letter from Mrs Culver, stating that she would be glad to employ both Meg and Betsy, and setting out their wages in black and white. She had urged the solicitors to make haste, she had written, and hoped to move in in about three weeks’ time.

‘A nice letter,’ said Meg, putting it back neatly into its envelope. ‘I wonder where I’ve heard the name Culver before?’

She discovered the very next day. It was a lovely day, clear and frosty and with a brief sunshine which held no warmth but gave the illusion of spring. She was perched on a window-seat in the drawing-room, carefully mending one of the old, but still beautiful, brocade curtains, when a car drew up and a man got out. She remembered him at once—who could forget him, being the size and height he was anyway? She watched him walk unhurriedly to the door and pull the old-fashioned bell, and then listened to Betsy’s feet trotting across the hall to open the door.

If he had had second thoughts, decided Meg with satisfaction, he was going to be disappointed. She remembered the look he had given the bathroom pipes and the Victorian fireplace; he would make an offer, perhaps, far below the one asked, and she would find great satisfaction in refusing it.

It wasn’t like that at all. Betsy ushered him in. ‘Mr Culver to see you, Miss Meg.’ She winked as she went out.

Meg got up and said uncertainly, ‘Have you come about the house? It’s sold—’ and at the same instant said, ‘Culver—you aren’t by any chance related to Mrs Culver?’

‘Her son. I suggested that she should come and see the place; I knew she’d like it.’ He raised dark eyebrows. ‘You’re disconcerted, Miss Collins?’

Meg eyed him cautiously, for he sounded cross. ‘Not that,’ she explained politely, ‘just surprised. I’d forgotten your name, you see.’

‘You’re to remain here as my mother’s housekeeper? Oh, don’t look alarmed—I have no intention of interfering with her plans. It seems a most suitable arrangement. But you do understand that when Kate, her own housekeeper, returns, you and your servant will have to go.’

‘Betsy isn’t a servant,’ said Meg clearly, ‘she’s been with my family for a very long time. She’s our friend and helper.’

The eyebrows rose once more. ‘I stand corrected! May I sit down?’

She flushed. ‘I’m sorry, please do. Why have you come, Mr Culver? And you had no need to remind me that we’re only here temporarily.’

‘I came to tell you that within the week there will be some furniture delivered, and to ask you to remove whatever you wish to keep for yourself. Presumably there are attics?’

‘Three large ones, and yes, I’ll do that.’

‘A cheque for the furniture, which will be valued, will be paid to your solicitor in due course. Tell me, Miss Collins, don’t your sisters want to discuss this with you?’

‘No—my elder sister is married and my younger sister is too busy—she’s a staff nurse in London…’

‘And you?’ For once his voice was friendly, and she responded to it without thinking.

‘Me? I can’t do anything except look after a house and cook; that’s why I’m so happy to stay on here for a little while.’

She studied his bland face for a while. ‘You don’t mind?’ she asked.

‘Why should I mind?’ He got to his feet. ‘I won’t keep you any longer. Let your solicitor know if there’s anything which worries you.’

Meg went with him to the door, and because he looked somehow put out about something, she said gently, ‘I’m sorry you don’t like me staying here, Mr Culver, but it won’t be for long.’

He took her hand in his. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of, Miss Collins,’ he told her gravely. ‘Goodbye.’

MEG SHUT THE DOOR firmly behind Mr Culver and then stood looking at the painted panelling in the hall. She wondered what he had meant; it was a strange remark to make, and it made no sense. She dismissed it from her mind and wandered off to the kitchen to tell Betsy about the furniture. ‘So we’d better go round the house and pick out what we want,’ she ended. ‘I’ll try and get Doreen to come down and sort out what she wants.’

Doreen came two days later, full of plans for herself and for Meg. ‘You’ll have to go into a bedsitter or digs for a while,’ she told her. ‘I’ll ask around…’

‘There’s no need; I’m staying on here as housekeeper, and Betsy’s staying too,’ she said, and before an astonished Doreen could utter a word, added, ‘I’ll explain.’

When she had finished, Doreen said, ‘Well, I don’t know—housekeeper in your own home—it’s a bit demeaning, and such hard work!’

‘But I’ve been housekeeping for years,’ Meg pointed out, ‘and besides, I’m going to be paid for it now.’

Doreen was a bit huffy; she had been telling Meg what to do and how to do it since they were children, and until now Meg had meekly followed her lead. ‘Oh, well,’ she said grudgingly, ‘I suppose you know your own mind best, though I think it’s a mistake. Cora won’t like it…’

‘Why not?’ asked Meg placidly. ‘I should have thought you’d have both been pleased that I’m settled for a month or two.’ She added cunningly, ‘You’ll be able to concentrate on your new flat.’

A remark which caused her sister to subside, still grumbling but resigned. Moreover, she declared that she would be down the following weekend to choose furniture. ‘I don’t want much,’ she said. ‘I’m going to buy very simple modern stuff.’ She added, ‘Cora doesn’t want anything, only those paintings of the ancestors in the hall and the silver tea and coffee sets.’

As she got into her car she asked carelessly, ‘What’s this son like?’

Meg paused to think. ‘Well, he’s very tall—about six feet four inches—and broad. He’s dark and his eyes look black, though I don’t suppose they are…he’s—he’s arrogant and—off-hand.’