Chapter 5
Cecilia
IN THE PARLOUR OF the Gate House, Leo sits in a chair by the mantelpiece, nerves betrayed by the manner in which he taps the end of his cigarette against the case, rapid fire.
Penelope has brought the sherry decanter over with three glasses, something Cecilia has never seen her do without company present.
She pours out three measures and hands one to Cecilia, who clutches it like an anchor.
She cannot think. Her mind will not let her. She cannot have seen what she has seen. It is impossible, and yet it has happened, and she bears witness to it in her own weak body. So it is a fracture, a split, a madness come into the world.
Penelope raises her sherry to her lips, then puts it down again, as though she is unable to look at either of her children. ‘I must speak to you both. I am not sure you are fully aware of the situation we now find ourselves in.’
‘Not when you continue to be so cryptic,’ says Leo. ‘Out with it, Mother. What terrible secrets have you been keeping?’
‘Why must you be so dramatic? It is very callous of you. The fact of the matter is that it simply did not concern you before now.’
‘But Lydia’s death has changed things,’ says Cecilia, less a question than an offering to her mother: her children are not stupid. She can trust them with the truth.
‘Yes,’ says Penelope. ‘You both know how dearly I loved her, but the truth is: we as a family have relied on Lydia’s kind nature more than I have ever made plain.’
Leo lifts the cigarette to his lips to light it, then drops it again, the fragile shape of it bent between his fingers. ‘For God’s sake, spit it out. What is it? Are we in debt? Did we borrow money from Aunt Lydia?’
Penelope looks to her sherry again. ‘No. Lydia never expected any money repaid.’
‘But we took money from her,’ pushes Leo.
‘We have taken everything from her, darlings. This house belongs to Lydia, not to us. When your father died, she promised she would give us her support to whatever end. She found us the house in Richmond first, then when she had the means she bought the Gate House and moved us here. We have never been charged rent, nor are we charged for the gas or the coal or the servants. It has allowed our small resources to suffice for our daily needs. It has allowed you, dear Leo, to work as an articled clerk until you qualify as a solicitor and you, Cessy, to indulge your desire to dally at university. You have both been raised in the manner I wished for you, and it is all down to Lydia.’
Penelope waits for her pronouncement to be absorbed.
There has been too much shock today. This, Cecilia cannot take in.
‘You mean Father left us nothing?’ asks Leo. ‘That cannot be right.’
Their mother draws her shawl close around her. ‘You know I don’t like to speak of your father. I am sure he didn’t mean it all to work out as it did, but there’s no changing it.’
She knew it would not be easy for her and Odette to find the money to leave home, to afford their flat in Bloomsbury. Her mother would hardly have been willing to help them but – but this is . . . What does it mean? She cannot grasp its enormity.
‘We have nothing?’ she asks softly. ‘We are out on the street?’
‘That depends,’ says Penelope. A different look has come across her face, one Cecilia cannot quite read.
She thinks of Uncle George and Claudine pressed together and is struck with the sense that Lydia’s death is more than the passing of one life.
Leo frowns, fishing a fresh cigarette from his case and fitting it to his lips. ‘Depends on what?’
Penelope grimaces. ‘I have told you how I hate that habit.’
‘Well, we shall all be in the workhouse soon, according to you, so I don’t think I’ll worry too much about my habits. So, this is Lydia’s house – what of it?’
‘It is no longer Lydia’s,’ says Cecilia softly.
‘No,’ confirms Penelope. ‘It will be George’s now; as her husband it will all revert to him.’
‘Then what is the problem? Uncle George won’t throw us out.’ Leo laughs, looking at his mother and sister, as though he hopes that they will join in, the problem being slain.
‘Don’t be naive,’ says Penelope. ‘George is not a bad man, but he is easily swayed, and if we are no longer wanted here, we will have to go.’
Leo frowns. ‘But I don’t understand – who would not want us here?’
Cecilia glances at her mother, who returns her gaze with a look so forceful Cecilia feels light-headed.
‘It is not important. The fact of the matter is that we are no longer under Lydia’s protection.’
Leo stubs out his cigarette and tosses the end into the fire. ‘So, what is it you think we must do now? I have my salary. It is not much, but I hope it will grow as I build my practice.’
It is easier to let Leo speak, to concede to his simpler understanding of their world.
It is how the three of them have always been.
Her mother speaks in stage dialogue, striking her poses, Leo steps in to act the gallant, golden son, the only level head amongst skittish women, and Cecilia – Cecilia relinquishes ground to them both, Cecilia is the audience.
‘Thank you, my darling,’ says Penelope, patting his hand. ‘There is nothing to be decided tonight, but I could not sleep without telling you both the truth.’
‘I doubt sleep is something any of us will be getting much of. I believe you’re making a storm out of a drizzle. Nothing need change simply because Aunt Lydia has gone.’ Leo seems to catch himself at the offhand way he speaks of her death. ‘Well. You know what I mean to say.’
‘Could you tell Masie to bring my tonic to my room?’ says Penelope. ‘You are quite right; I won’t sleep a wink now, and it is the only thing that brings me any respite.’
Leo’s face crumples with distaste. ‘I am not the boot boy – tell her yourself.’
Penelope squeezes his hand. ‘Darling boy, don’t argue.’
When Leo is gone and the door has shut behind him, Penelope turns to Cecilia, eyes fiery, pinning her in place.
‘Do not breathe a word of what you saw.’
Cecilia wishes she could look away from her mother but she feels as though at the mercy of some mesmerist. ‘I cannot hide this from Odette,’ she forces herself to say.
‘You can, and you will.’
How does Leo laugh their mother off so easily? He has always done so and it has made her a jealous sister since they were children.
‘Leo is right.’ She throws his name in like some blocking move of a fencing sword. ‘Uncle George will not throw us out.’
‘Good God, girl – you act like you were raised to be stupid. A new wife will want a clean house. She will want her own allies, not to sleep in the sheets of a dead woman.’
‘Wife?’ says Cecilia, barely above a whisper.
‘Don’t look so shocked. All of good opinion know that it is only a matter of time before the Deceased Wife’s Sister Bill passes.
Until then, there are ways and means. George and Lydia had not been husband and wife to each other for a long time; surely you understood that.
I loved Lydia, but George was a saint to put up with her ways.
Of course he was desperate to find a sensible woman. ’
‘Is that what Claudine is? Sensible?’
Penelope darts up and pins Cecilia’s jaw in her hand. ‘Stop that. Do not make it complicated. It is quite simple: our future now lies with Claudine. Not with Lydia, and not with Odette.’
‘But—’
‘If Claudine takes against us, there is no university for you, and as you do not seem inclined to marry, you will be on your uppers, my girl, and I don’t think you have the first idea what that means.’
Cecilia summons her courage. ‘I don’t want to lie to Odette. She trusts me.’
‘This is not some childish game, Cecilia. Honour and virtue no longer come into it. If it comes to it, do you think Odette will put you first without thought to her own interest? Lord love her, she is a clever girl, but she is troubled – of course she would be, with a mother like that. She has eyes only for her own problems. Do not hitch your star to the wrong wagon.’
Cecilia thinks of the sharpness of Claudine’s gaze, the way she seems to always be taking stock of the world before her and finding it wanting.
‘I don’t think Claudine likes me,’ says Cecilia.
‘Then you must change your tack.’
There is a noise at the door, and Penelope darts away, leaving Cecilia with an ache in her jaw where her mother pinched it so tightly.
Masie, Penelope’s lady’s maid, has come with her tonic, and it is as though the conversation has been spirited away. Once more, they are a normal, loving family exchanging pleasantries before bed, shutting up the house, dousing candles and coming together in comfort after a day of grief.
Lydia has died, and she has taken the world with her.