“Perhaps,” she said uncertainly, “he was crazy about her….”
14 EDITH PAGETT
MRS. MOUNTFORD’S back parlour was a comfortable room. It had a round table covered with a cloth, and some old-fashioned armchairs and a stern-looking but unexpectedly wellsprung sofa against the wall. There were china dogs and other ornaments on the mantelpiece, and a framed, coloured representation of the Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret Rose. On another wall was the King in Naval uniform, and a photograph of Mr. Mountford in a group of other bakers and confectioners. There was a picture made with shells and a watercolour of a very green sea at Capri. There were a great many other things, none of them with any pretensions to beauty or the higher life, but the net result was a happy, cheerful room where people sat round and enjoyed themselves whenever there was time to do so.
Mrs. Mountford, nee Pagett, was short and round and dark-haired with a few grey streaks in the dark. Her sister, Edith Pagett, was tall and dark and thin. There was hardly any grey in her hair though she was at a guess round about fifty.
“Fancy now,” Edith Pagett was saying. “Little Miss Gwennie. You must excuse me, ma’am, speaking like that, but it does take one back. You used to come into my kitchen, as pretty as could be. Winnies,” you used to say. ‘Winnies.’ And what you meant was raisins — though why you called them winnies is more than I can say. But raisins was what you meant and raisins it was I used to give you, sultanas, that is, on account of the stones.” Gwenda stared hard at the upright figure and the red cheeks and black eyes, trying to remember — to remember — but nothing came. Memory was an inconvenient thing.
“I wish I could remember –” she began.
“It’s not likely that you would. Just a tiny little mite, that’s all you were. Nowadays nobody seems to want to go in a house where there’s children. I can’t see it, myself. Children give life to a house, that’s what I feel. Though nursery meals are always liable to cause a bit of trouble.
But if you know what I mean, m’am, that’s the nurse’s fault, not the child’s. Nurses are nearly always difficult—trays and waiting upon and one thing and another.
Do you remember Layonee at all. Miss Gwennie? Excuse me, Mrs. Reed, I should say.” “Leonie? Was she my nurse?” “Swiss girl, she was. Didn’t speak English very well, and very sensitive in her feelings. Used to cry a lot if Lily said something to upset her. Lily was houseparlourmaid.
Lily Abbott. A young girl and pert in her ways and a bit flighty.
Many a game Lily used to have with you, Miss Gwennie. Play peep-bo through the stairs.55 Gwenda gave a quick uncontrollable shiver.
The stairs.
Then she said suddenly, cc! remember Lily. She put a bow on the cat.55 “There now, fancy you remembering that! On your birthday it was, and Lily she was all for it, Thomas must have a bow on. Took one off the chocolate box, and Thomas was mad about it. Ran off into the garden and rubbed through the bushes until he got it off. Cats don’t like tricks being played on them.” “A black and white cat.” “That’s right. Poor old Tommy. Caught mice something beautiful. A real proper mouser.” Edith Pagett paused and coughed primly. “Excuse me running on like this, m’am. But talking brings the old days back. You wanted to ask me something?” “I like hearing you talk about the old days,” said Gwenda. “That’s just what I want to hear about. You see, I was brought up by relations in New Zealand and of course they could never tell me anything about — about my father, and my stepmother.
She — she was nice, wasn’t she?” “Very fond of you, she was. Oh yes, she used to take you down to the beach and play with you in the garden. She was quite young herself, you understand. Nothing but a girl, really. I often used to think she enjoyed the games as much as you did.