Emma Page - In the Event of My Death

With the very quiet life Grace led nowadays, the Elmhurst staff, indoor and outdoor, was greatly reduced from what it had been in the days before Bernard’s retirement. The gardens, though far from neglected, were no longer kept up to the same high standards, everything now being geared to simplicity and ease of maintenance. The head gardener, Gosling, managed these days with the help of a couple of stalwart village lads; he even acted, when required, as Grace’s chauffeur, though that was rarely necessary now, when she went out so little.

Gosling’s father-in-law had looked after the Elmhurst gardens before him. He was an old man now, widowed, living with the Goslings in their cottage in the grounds. Mrs Gosling had been born in the cottage. She had worked in the house from leaving school, continuing after her marriage, whenever her family duties permitted. Now that her children had grown up and left home, she put in a few hours most days, as she was needed.

When it became clear to Grace two years ago what her future would be, she moved out of her first-floor bedroom and took over instead a downstairs room with glazed doors leading on to a patio, sheltered and secluded, where she could sit out in warm weather. A small adjoining room was converted into a bathroom. On this fine Monday morning, the February sun, though cheering to the spirits, was nowhere near strong enough to permit the pleasure of sitting out.

Shortly before noon, Dr Surridge called to see her. It was a measure of her sustained progress that he called now only once a week, putting her name by no means first on his list. Grace had a good deal of faith in Dr Surridge, a genial man in his middle fifties, with a calmly reassuring manner. He had been her doctor since taking over the practice three years ago, on the retirement of old Dr Wheatley.

Today Dr Surridge was well pleased with his patient. As they sat talking after his examination, Grace lay on her sofa, comfortably propped against a pile of cushions, the position she always adopted now when resting or sleeping. She still retained her air of command. Her steel-grey hair, long and thick as ever, was carefully dressed, high on her head; her blue eyes still sparkled, her pink and white skin was still soft and smooth.

‘I rang Dr Wheatley yesterday evening,’ Dr Surridge told her. ‘He’s all set to take over in ten days’ time.’ Dr Surridge and his wife were shortly flying off to Australia for three months. Their schoolteacher son had gone out there some time back on a year’s exchange. He had met an Australian girl, married her, decided to settle out there. Their first child had been born a few months ago.

Dr Wheatley had been happy to act as locum for Dr Surridge during shorter holidays in each of the three years since his retirement and was greatly looking forward to this longer spell. He was a childless widower whose work had been his whole life and he often found the long hours of unaccustomed leisure hung heavily.

And Grace was looking forward to seeing him again. He had been not only her doctor but her good friend, as he had been also to Bernard and Bernard’s first wife.

When Dr Surridge left Grace’s room at the end of his visit, he found the housekeeper, Dorothy Nevett, waiting for him in the hall, to ask how he had found Mrs Dalton. Dorothy was a native of Cannonbridge, a stockily-built spinster a few years from sixty. She was highly competent at her job, a woman to be reckoned with, as might be seen in her determined countenance, the stubborn set to her jaw. Her greying brown hair, short and straight, was cut without concession to fashion. She had worked at Elmhurst since leaving school, starting out as a kitchen maid in the time of Bernard’s first wife.

Dr Surridge gave her his report. He had a high regard for Miss Nevett’s nursing ability. She had helped to nurse the first Mrs Dalton, and later, Bernard, in his last illness. The doctor believed she could have taken up nursing professionally and been very successful at it.

‘Would it be all right if I went off for a day or two this coming weekend?’ Dorothy asked as she walked with him to the door. ‘I haven’t spoken about it yet to Mrs Dalton, I thought I’d check with you first. I feel I could do with a break. I thought of leaving on Friday morning and coming back Monday afternoon, I’d get back before supper. Mrs Gosling would be in charge – and of course, Jean would lend a hand.’ Jean Redfern was a girl of twenty who acted as a general help to Grace, carrying out a variety of duties. The tone in which Miss Nevett referred to her displayed a certain coolness.

No, Dr Surridge had no objection to Dorothy going off for a few days. ‘You’ll be going to the caravan?’ he asked chattily.

She nodded. ‘My friend will be there for the weekend.’ Dorothy owned a little caravan by the coast in Dorset, in conjunction with her lifelong friend, Alice Upjohn, a spinster like herself. The caravan was kept on a small farm. ‘It’s in a sheltered spot,’ she added. ‘It should be very pleasant down there just now, if the weather holds.’

As soon as the sound of the doctor’s departing car reached Grace Dalton’s ears, she touched a button on the console she had had installed when she moved into the room; it enabled her to summon assistance, day or night. One press for the housekeeper, two for Jean Redfern. She pressed it twice.

In a very short time, Jean came along with her customary swift, noiseless tread, from the garden room where she had been doing the flowers. A quiet girl with an unassuming manner, pretty enough in an everyday fashion, nothing in any way striking about her appearance. She was the illegitimate child of a woman named Redfern who had worked as a maid at Elmhurst from leaving school until five years ago when she had married an American widower she had met on holiday and had gone to live with him in the States.

Jean had come into the world as the result of a brief association between her mother and a travelling salesman with a roving eye and a persuasive tongue. When Jean’s mother – barely eighteen at the time – realized her predicament she tried to kill herself, but the attempt was frustrated by Dorothy Nevett who got the truth out of her and then went straight to her employers. The Daltons were very kind to the girl, who had no family to turn to. They kept her on and looked after her. She was at first determined on an abortion but they managed to talk her out of it. When the baby was born she wanted it put up for adoption but they persuaded her to keep it.

Jean was a well-behaved child, quiet and secretive. She lived in the servants’ quarters and was never in any way a nuisance in the household. She learned very early the useful skills of compliance and self-effacement; the Daltons were scarcely aware of her presence. As she got older, both her mother and Dorothy Nevett saw to it that she learned to perform little tasks about the place.

Bernard Dalton had been dead twelve months when Jean’s mother met her American and jumped at the chance to marry him. She asked Grace if she would allow Jean – then fifteen years old – to remain at Elmhurst until she finished her schooling; in return Jean would continue to do whatever she could in the way of household tasks. If Grace wished to employ her on a formal basis after she left school, well and good; if not, Jean could leave and look for employment elsewhere.

Grace readily agreed and Jean’s mother went blithely off to America. Grace saw to it that Jean kept in touch with her mother, but in spite of her efforts the correspondence soon diminished to an exchange of letters at Christmas. The marriage produced children Jean had seen only in very occasional photographs.

Grace did her best to persuade Jean to stay on at school, take some kind of training, but Jean wasn’t interested. Nor did she show any inclination to leave Elmhurst and go out into the world on her own. Before long, she had established herself as a very useful extra pair of hands about the house; she was always pleasant and willing.