Chapter Nine
When Aunt Schofield came down from her room, having washed off the grime of the journey, Nina was waiting with tea in the drawing-room.
It was the first time that her aunt had visited, and she had wanted everything to be perfect.
She had consulted with Mrs Deering over the guest bedroom: the best towels, flowers, writing materials, a tin of biscuits on the chimneypiece, a selection of books by the bedside.
After much thought, Nina had chosen a collection of Walpole’s Letters, a new publication on grammar and usage called The King’s English, and John Galsworthy’s latest novel, A Man of Property, in case Auntie should feel in need of refreshment by fiction from the exertions of higher thought.
Typically, however, Aunt Schofield did not mention the arrangements, only giving a civil nod as she took her seat at the tea table and saying, ‘This seems a pleasant house. I can see how one might be quite comfortable here.’
‘Why don’t you come and live here – in Market Harborough, I mean?’ Nina said eagerly.
Aunt Schofield’s eyebrows shot up. ‘My dear child, and leave London? What on earth would I do in a country town? I wonder you find enough to occupy you.’
‘Well, we always intended to spend part of the year in London, but this year it hasn’t been possible.’
‘Quite. And I must say at once, Nina, that I’m delighted for you. It is natural for your husband to want children, and a child will strengthen the bond between you.’
‘Did you never want children?’ she asked.
‘Never,’ said Aunt Schofield. ‘I have no interest in babies or small children. If one’s child arrived at the age of ten, as you did, it would be a different matter.
Bringing you up, watching you develop, nurturing your abilities, was a delight – both intellectually and personally.
I would recommend you to engage the best nursery staff you can, to free yourself from the initial drudgery.
Once the child becomes old enough to converse, that will be time enough for you to take an interest.’
‘But I wonder,’ Nina said, ‘whether one can step in at a late stage, when someone else has done the “initial drudgery”. Won’t the child naturally prefer the person who was there from the beginning?’
‘There will be a physical attachment to the nurse, certainly, but the life of the mind is more important. The attachment to the preceptress will be greater.’
Well, Nina considered, her aunt had never had a child. She thought of her own mother, whom she had adored, and had lost at the age of ten. I want to be that mother to my child; but I want to be Aunt Schofield to it as well. ‘I want both,’ she said aloud.
‘Then you will find having a child leaves very little room in your life for anything else.’
It was clear that Aunt Schofield had done with that subject, so Nina turned the conversation.
While she poured tea and handed bread-and-butter, she supplied the questions that kept Aunt Schofield talking on wider topics.
Nina loved hearing about a world outside Market Harborough and pregnancy: she felt her mind stretching.
Her aunt spoke of Russia’s first faltering steps towards democracy: their parliament, the Duma, had sat for the first time; but the Tsar had already restricted its powers and claimed the right to rule by decree.
They discussed whether a benign dictatorship was better than a corrupt bureaucracy.
She referred to the German government’s recent legislation to increase the size of its navy, a response to the launching of Britain’s Dreadnought, the first of a series planned of massive new battleships.
They discussed whether displaying military strength was a deterrent or whether it might, through competition, actually precipitate war.
She mentioned the Education Bill going through Parliament and they discussed whether standardisation of education across the country was a good or bad thing.
And Nina raised the subject of the recent 350-strong delegation to the prime minister, demanding women’s suffrage, led by Charles McLaren MP, who presented a memorial signed by two hundred of his colleagues.
‘My friend Lady Clementine Leacock was there,’ she said eagerly. ‘She made a speech – one of only seven women allowed to do so! The prime minister said they had made a conclusive and irrefutable case.’
Aunt Schofield was unmoved. ‘I read the comments in the newspapers. But nothing will come of it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Whether or not the prime minister personally supports women’s suffrage, he cannot promote it when there are so many in his cabinet who are strongly opposed. You look disappointed, Nina. Did you think one speech from your friend would bring the walls tumbling down?’
‘I suppose I hoped,’ Nina said.
‘A group that has exclusive rights and privileges – men, in this case – will not give them up easily. Arguments of fairness or justice will not sway them.’
‘Then what will?’
‘I don’t know. Men won’t give women the vote until they are forced to, but what could constitute sufficient force I can’t imagine. In Aristophanes’ play Lysistrata, the married women withheld sexual congress from their husbands until they ended the war.’
The maid came in to clear the tea at that moment, and she stopped speaking. When Polly had gone out, Aunt Schofield remarked, ‘You seem to have a great many servants – more than I would have thought necessary.’
‘We don’t need them here, it’s true, but we couldn’t turn them off, because we will need them when we move back to the big house.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘We were supposed to be there before the baby is born, but Mr Cowling told me yesterday that won’t happen now.
He’s having town gas laid in, and it’s taking longer than expected.
’ She smiled. ‘He was so disappointed to have to tell me. He was having it laid in as a surprise – I wasn’t supposed to know until I actually arrived home for the first time and saw the lamps lit.
But of course I already knew, though I pretended not to.
You can’t undertake a scheme like that in a small town without everyone knowing, especially when the road has to be dug up for it.
Eventually Mrs Deering came to ask me if it was true.
Was cooking on a gas stove different, and how would she learn, and was gas safe or would we all be blown up in our beds? ’
‘Servants dislike change,’ said Aunt Schofield, ‘and what they dislike they fear.’
‘Mr Cowling thought since the main pipe is being laid up the road, it should be taken all the way to Welland Hall so the Wharfedales can have gas as well. Bobby was keen on the idea, but her husband said they couldn’t afford it.
They’d have to pay for the new pipework, you see, as well as all alterations inside the house.
Mr Cowling was so disappointed for her. I think he was on the verge of offering to pay for the pipework for them. He is absurdly generous.’
‘I am glad he is a kind man.’
‘Oh, he is – and very good to me.’
‘And you are satisfied with the bargain you struck?’
‘You mean, in marrying him?’
‘I had my doubts at the time, but your life was yours to lead.’
Nina thought about Giles’s mother and her determination to marry Rachel to someone of her choosing. ‘I don’t think many parents or guardians would be as liberal as you. But it has worked out well. And, yes, I am satisfied.’
‘Good.’ Aunt Schofield rose. ‘Is there time for a short walk now? I have been sitting for much of the day. You could show me a little of the town, if you are able for the exercise.’
‘Of course. We should go and look at the Old Grammar School. Early seventeenth century. A philanthropist set it up for the education of poor children.’
‘For the education of poor boys, I presume?’ said Aunt Schofield.
‘Oh, of course,’ Nina said.
Dismounting at the gate of Hundon’s, Richard was surprised to see Michael Woodrow standing by the door of his house chatting to Rose, the head housemaid. Rose scowled at the sight of him. Woodrow came to open the gate and take Nesta’s rein. ‘Morning, sir,’ he said cheerfully.
Over to the left of the yard stood the new milking parlour, freshly whitewashed, a monument to one man’s vision.
When he had seen how much labour Woodrow was willing to put into it, Richard had told him to employ some labourers, which he would pay for, and the scheme that would otherwise have taken a year or more had been in use now for two weeks.
It was clean and airy and bright inside, such a contrast to some of the other milking-sheds in the area that Richard felt Woodrow should patent his design and the Ash Valley Milk Company should roll it out to all the farms.
Woodrow’s open countenance said that he was not embarrassed by being caught with a Castle housemaid, while Rose evidently did not like the interruption, which suggested she had not simply called in with a message from someone at the house.
Interesting! he thought. Rose, bony and abrasive, was part of the furniture to him, and he had never considered her in the light of a paramour.
But now he did, he saw that she was not too old, and not bad-looking, especially with a flush of annoyance in her cheeks and a sparkle of indignation in her eyes.
However, the extra-mural activities of the maids were not his concern, and he merely filed away the thought, and gave her a nod of greeting.
‘I’m glad I caught you here,’ he said to Woodrow. ‘I wanted to have a chat with you about the milk scheme.’
‘I’ll be on my way,’ Rose muttered, with a dark look.
But Woodrow said, ‘Oh, no, don’t go! Unless it’s of a private nature,’ he added, looking at Richard.
‘It’s not a state secret,’ Richard said. ‘It concerns your future career.’
‘There’s nothing Rose can’t hear about that,’ Woodrow said.
Oh, like that, is it? Richard thought. He looked from him to her and grinned, which only made Rose scowl more. But she stayed put, folding her arms across her front as though preparing for an argument.