Authors: Yelena Kopylova
"Oh." She nodded, then said, "I see. It was only a thought. I ... I imagined she would be safer away from the town."
"She'll be safe, don't you worry. A taste of prison should stop his capers, and that's what we'll hope for. Good night."
"Good night."
She didn't know whether she liked him or not, but there was one thing sure: once he married
Emma she could say goodbye to her for, in a way, he would possess her as much as her father had done. That she would accept, for that was the penalty of marriage.
But oh, if only she could have married Charlie all those years ago and suffered that same penalty, how different her life would have been.
The group outside the courthouse broke up. Lizzie and Henry went towards their car, and Lizzie's voice could be heard protesting none too quietly all the way. Peggy and May, accompanied by Frank and Charlie and Richard, walked across the square to the far corner, and after unlocking the car door, Peggy turned to Richard and said, "Only three months; I thought he would have got three years."
"Well, hardly that. I did think, though, he would get twelve months.
But he had a good advocate. "
It was May who now said, "What with the month he's already been in and with good behaviour, he could be out in a few weeks."
"Yes, he could."
But Richard reminded them: "He's on probation for a year and he'll have to be careful or he'll go back again. And if I ever saw fear of
prison, I saw it in him back there. Anyway, come Saturday, she'll be under my protection and that'll be the end of it ... What did you say?"
"I ... I didn't think I was speaking but I must have been thinking aloud." Peggy moved her head slowly. That solicitor, or whatever he was, saying Emma was the only love he had in his life. Estranged from his wife for years, a man who was full of loving feelings had to find someone to bestow them on, and a mistress wasn't enough. It never was in these cases; blood was thicker than water. " Peggy now dragged open the car door, adding, " I could have been sick. "
After they were all seated in the car, Richard put his head in the window and looking at Peggy, said, "Put it behind you; it's finished.
You're free and you know that Emma will be safe and happy with me.
What you've got to do now is to think of yourself and start a new life.
"
"What! With Great-gran? Start a new life, Richard, with
Great-gran?"
"She can't last for ever. I think she could go just like that."
When he snapped his fingers she gave a derisive laugh, saying, "You don't know Great-gran, Richard. She'll last; she'll do it just out of spite. Anyway, I'll see you later. Come round for tea."
"I'll do that." He closed the door.
As the car moved away he stood for a moment looking after it, and he drew in a long breath on the thought of how glad he was that he was going to take his Emma away from that house of women. And it was a house of women; it seemed packed with them. It had seemed that every time he had taken Doctor Rice's place and visited that old girl, the granddaughter Lizzie had been present; and, of course, Peggy, often her friend May, and sometimes Emma. The house had always appeared to be full of women, and all at variance with each other. Well, come next Saturday there'd be one less, and he knew that no-one would be happier than Emma. He recalled what she had said to him last night: "Lately, I've been in a nightmare, dreading something would happen to Mother and I should be the next to look after Grangran."
And yes, she would have had to take over; that old woman was like a leech: first, she had fastened on to her daughter; and then her
granddaughter; and now her great-granddaughter; and not forgetting Andrew Jones.
But roll on Saturday, when he would put an end to Emma's nightmare.
It was Saturday. It was over. Her daughter was married. There she was going up the stairs to change into her travelling clothes, not from a white wedding gown and veil, as she had often envisaged for her; no, she had been married in a blue silk suit with a grey cape; chic, very chic, but nothing romantic about it. There hadn't seemed to be
anything romantic about the wedding at all. It had been very
matter-of-fact, not unlike her own at the registry office, even though the ceremony had been performed in the church and the wedding breakfast served in an hotel. Only twenty-five people sat down;
Richard's parents being dead, he had but one brother and he a
bachelor.
Well, Peggy sighed, if the ceremony and the break fast hadn't been romantic, they would certainly have a romantic honeymoon in Venice.
She looked through the open door towards the drawing-room where Richard was standing talking to Henry and Charlie. Frank was sitting next to her mother on the couch, and they all had glasses in their hands. May was upstairs seeing to Great-gran. She had volunteered to look after her during the time they were all out. She was good was May. She didn't know what she would have done without her over the years, even while she knew she still had a tiny streak of resentment against her for being the stumbling block in Charlie's life, and depriving her of grandchildren.
She would go upstairs and relieve her now, so that she could have a word with Emma.
When she reached the landing, she saw May at the far end of the
corridor. She had one hand tightly across her mouth and on seeing her, she stopped and began to beckon frantically towards her. She didn't move from where she was, and when Peggy neared her she grabbed her arm and pulled her back towards the door and into Mrs. Funnell's room.
Then, closing the door while still holding on to Peggy, she made an effort to speak, and when she did it was a mutter: "She's dead."
"Wh ... at?"
"She was sitting up, going on about... about the wedding, and nobody having asked her consent. You know how she does. Then she suddenly lay back and closed her eyes, and I said, " That's it, have a sleep,"
and her hand slid down by her side. She's ... she's dead, Peggy."
Peggy slowly walked towards the bed and reluctantly, it seemed, she lifted her great-grandmother's
hand and felt for a pulse; but there was no movement Then she lifted her eyelids. She was; she was dead.
"Should I bring Richard up?"
Peggy swung round, seeming to come to life now, saying, "No. No.
Neither of them must know. She's not going to spoil the start of their life. You would think she had done it on purpose. Look, I'll go and tell Emma she's asleep and that it's best not to waken her. "
"But she might want to come in."
"Well, not if I can help it; but look." She turned back to the bed and, lifting the limp arms, she put them under the bedclothes and reluctantly she tucked the sheet under the drooping chin. Then turning to May, she said, "Leave her like that, and ... and sit there just in case she peeps in, and you can say ... " Oh my God! Peggy, I can't sit here. "
"She's dead. May; she can't hurt you. You've been sitting here all day."
"Yes, yes of course. It's the shock. Go ahead. Do what you have to do."
Five minutes later, when the door opened and there stood Emma with Peggy by her side, she rose from the chair and, going towards them, said, "I wouldn't disturb her, she's ... she's' she gulped 'had a bad night, and she's ... she's just dropped off. I ... I ... I wouldn't waken her." She pressed them both out on to the landing again, and Emma said, "Won't she get ratty. Auntie May, if I don't say goodbye?"
"Oh, well, y ... y ... you' she couldn't stop herself from stammering
'y ... you know her, she gets ratty about everything. But I'll ...
explain. Oh, you do look lovely. I'll ... I'll come down and see you off."
Emma laughed and said, "I bet you don't get to the bottom of the stairs before her bell rings."
May and Peggy exchanged a quick glance, and Peggy said, "Come on with you; Richard is stamping about down there like a wild horse."
They were only halfway down the stairs when Emma stopped and, looking at her mother, she said, "Oh, Mother, I'm ... I'm so happy," and at this she threw her arms around Peggy, and Peggy, gasping, said, "Look out! else you'll have us both down the stairs and on our backs." And there was a break in her voice as she finished, "Come on with you."
Richard and the others now came out of the drawing-room and there followed general exclamations of how beautiful the bride looked. But not from Richard; he said nothing, but his eyes told Emma all she wanted to know, and she was now kissed in turn by Henry and Frank, and Charlie, and her grandmother and May, and lastly by Peggy, and
all her mother could say to her was, "Be happy, dear. Be happy." And Emma, with tears in her eyes, could make no reply, only nod. Then she was seated by Richard's side and they were moving off amid waves and calls of, "Have a good time. Safe journey."
When the car disappeared down the drive, Peggy was the first to turn away and hurry into the house, and when they were all once again assembled in the drawing-room, she went to the fireplace and stood with her back to it and clutched a handful of the bodice of her dress and moved it up and down as if trying to pull it from her body.
It was Charlie who spoke first, saying, "What is it? She'll be all right. She'll be happy. But ... but what's the matter?"
She looked at him, then at her mother and said, "She's dead.
Great-gran's dead . she's dead. " She watched her mother now sink slowly on to the couch and she heard Henry say, " No, no," and Frank say, " But you were with her. " He was addressing his wife, and May nodded as she answered, " Yes; one minute she . she was sitting up, going off the deep end about nobody taking any notice of her; I mean, asking her permission, like, about the wedding, then she lay back and she just went, like that' she gave a gentle snap with her fingers, and repeated 'like that," not knowing that Richard had made a similar gesture of foretelling the old woman's demise.
"You should have called Richard."
Peggy's head jerked towards her mother and now her voice was almost a shout as she said, "And spoil their happiness, an' all?"
"Don't shout at me, girl."
"That's what you forget, Mam, and I don't have to remind you yet again, that I am no girl. And I'll tell you something else: those two are not going to hear about this business until they return. This will be one fortnight in their lives during which this family won't impinge its troubles on them."
"My God!" Lizzie got to her feet.
"I've seen changes in people over the years, but never as much as in you."
"We've been through all this before, Mam, about changes and why there's been changes. So we won't go into that. But I shall go now and phone Doctor Rice."
As Peggy marched out of the room Lizzie shook her head and looked at the men, saying woefully now, "I just don't know what's come over her lately," to which May retorted, "Well, you should. Lizzie; you had years of it yourself. "
It looked as if Lizzie was going to come back at May, too, but thought better of it.
When Peggy returned to the room she said, "He'll be along within half an hour."
Both Henry and Frank had been about to say something when they stopped and they, with the rest of the company, stared at Peggy, who was now looking directly at Charlie and, her face bright and smiling, saying,
"I'm free, Charlie. I'm free. Free of this house, free to live my own life for the rest of it. Do you understand that, Charlie? Free!
Free!"
As Charlie moved towards Peggy, his hand out stretched, Lizzie sprang up from the couch saying, "My God! I've heard everything now. Of all the tactless remarks to make, and at this moment. Talk about lack of feeling."
"Yes, talking about lack of feeling, Mam, let's stop being hypocrites for once. You've wished her dead for years and you can't deny it. Now what you'll be worried about is the will." And turning abruptly about she again left the room, leaving them all, with the exception of Charlie, open-mouthed; for he had followed Peggy from the room and along the passage and into the study. And there he took her into his arms, and as the sobs shook her body he comforted her, saying, "There, there. It's all over. As you say, you're free. Oh! Peggy." He lifted up her wet face and, looking into her streaming eyes, he said,
"You know I've loved you since I was a lad. I don't know at what stage of a lad I began to love you, but I've never stopped loving you since.
And if a love can grow deeper with the years, mine has, but I've never loved or admired you more than I did a minute ago when you stood up to your mother and spoke the truth, because the next bone of contention will be the will. But whether the old girl has left you a penny or not, it doesn't matter- she might have left it all to the Salvation Army; I wouldn't put it past her but there's one thing I'm sure of: we're going to be married. We were in any case, but we're leaving here, this house, and we'll settle some place, even though we may be spending half our lives travelling. I'll take you to places you've never dreamed of. You know' he held her away from him 'you've hardly left this town all your life. A few trips to Harrogate, that's the limit of your travelling. Well, all that's going to be altered, and the sooner the better. Roll on the reading of the will and the high jinks to follow. " He pulled her into his arms again and kissed her hard; then he said, " What do you bet she leaves it equally between the Salvation Army and the Dogs' Home? "
The funeral had taken place at ten o'clock. They had returned home at eleven and had a light meal. The solicitor, accompanied by a clerk carrying a heavy portfolio, had arrived at two o'clock and his business was not concluded until four o'clock. Besides them, only Lizzie and Henry and Peggy had been present.
The contents of Mrs. Funnell's will had caused surprise, to say the least, and Lizzie almost to faint and Peggy to cry inwardly, "Oh, no, no. What am I going to do?"
By eight o'clock that evening she knew what she was going to do, and there were assembled in the drawing-room her mother and stepfather, Frank and May, and Charlie.
Her mother had not spoken to her since the solicitor had left the house, when she'd had to be helped upstairs by Henry to lie down and calm down, but she was saying now and vehemently, "I could contest it."