Chapter 22 #2
‘Sometimes,’ Jules said, softly, ‘the best way to navigate your own problems is to help someone else with theirs. I would be honoured to look after you, Rita, and it’s not entirely altruistic. I get to stay on the island a little longer and keep the real world at bay.’
Rita leaned forward herself so that their foreheads were almost touching.
‘It would really annoy Christabel,’ she whispered. ‘She’d be spitting feathers.’
‘All the more reason to say yes then,’ Jules whispered with a conspiratorial smile.
‘You are an absolute angel,’ Rita whispered.
‘Wait until I’ve been looking after you for a couple of days before you bestow me with a halo.’
‘The Lord works in mysterious ways. I thought he had forsaken me.’
Jules squeezed Rita’s hand.
‘Not you, Rita. He would never forsake you.’
The following morning Jules was packing up some things to take to Orchard Farm when Wilbur came bounding up the stairs.
‘Wilbur, what are you doing here?’ Jules asked, giving him a pat.
‘Sorry, he knows he’s not meant to be coming upstairs,’ Carrie said breathlessly, appearing at the bedroom door, ‘but I think he’s as excited as I am.’
Jules looked down at Wilbur who was now lying on his back, all four paws in the air, tail thudding against her foot as he waited for a tummy rub.
‘He looks really excited!’ she said dryly.
‘We’ve found her,’ Carrie said, almost jumping up and down on the spot.
‘Who?’
‘Philly, and we’ve found her parents, too.’
‘That’s amazing! Who’s we?’
‘The Major and I. We’ve been online. At least, I’ve been online with him looking over my shoulder.
He said that all the birth, marriage and death records from 1837 to 2010 are held at the Lord Louis Library in Newport.
We found an Eliza Louise Henderson who was married to Isaac Bartholomew Cooper on June 21st 1839 at Old St. Boniface Church, Bonchurch, and we found a Philomena Grace Cooper who was born on 18th July 1852. ’
‘But how do you know they were linked to the cottage?’
‘Because Eliza and Isaac are recorded on the census as living at this cottage for over fifty years.’
Jules’s hands flew to her chest.
‘And The Major, bless him,’ Carrie continued, ‘has been out at the crack of dawn scouring the churchyard and he’s found their graves.’
‘So Philly can be buried with her parents?’
‘He’s looking into that possibility.’
‘That’s amazing. And you’re sure it’s the same Philly?’
‘There’s no death certificate for some reason, but there’s no record of her on any census form for the cottage either so she can’t have lived that long. It has to be her, Jules.’
Jules looked at the floor where in a little tea caddy below the boards rested a rattle and an apricot silk bonnet and a lock of baby hair.
‘And her belongings? What will you do with those?’
‘What do you think?’
Jules stood quietly and listened for guidance, but none came. She got a sense of the room – in fact, the whole house – holding its breath, waiting for her decision. She wanted to make the right one.
‘This is where she lived and where she died. I think they should be left where they are.’
‘Agreed.’
And suddenly a feeling of peace filled the room, a scent of primroses and violets and a whisper of a breeze which, when it landed on Jules’s cheek, almost felt like a kiss.
The Major dithered at the top of the drive and ground his stick into a dusty pothole.
With tractors coming up and down all the time it was a never-ending job keeping up with repairs.
It would only get worse in the winter if it wasn’t dealt with.
He wouldn’t mention it to Rita now though.
She needed to concentrate on her recovery.
Silly of him to come and see her. He could have just had some flowers delivered.
It was Irene who had persuaded him. Guy’s grandmother was a persuasive woman.
He’d bumped into her outside the small supermarket in the next village.
‘Are you eating properly?’ she’d asked, leaning forwards to give him a small peck on the cheek.
He only allowed her to get so close because she’d been such a good friend to Honoria. He suspected she knew that, and it amused her.
‘Of course,’ he’d replied gruffly.
‘What have you got in there?’ she asked, trying to peer into his canvas bag.
He pulled the bag back, so it was almost behind his knee.
‘You can’t live on ready meals, Andrew.’
The wretched woman was some sort of psychic.
‘It’s about time you learned to cook.’
‘I’m too old and I’m not interested. Honoria was a good cook. I could never match up to her.’
‘Nonsense! You can do most things if you put your mind to them, even at our age.’
‘You’re not as old as me.’
‘I’m not far off it. Here…’ She reached into her basket and pulled out a pink and white striped paper bag.
‘Two lamb chops from the butcher. You take them and cook them for yourself tonight and get some vegetables from that lovely garden of yours. I noticed plenty of courgettes and potatoes the other day.’
‘Been spying on me, have you?’
The woman totally ignored him. She would not be riled.
‘Honoria’s cookery books are still on the shelves in the kitchen. They will tell you what to do or you can look on the internet or’ – she tilted her head mischievously – ‘I could come over and show you.’
‘I’ll manage,’ he said.
‘I thought you would,’ she said with a chuckle, before checking her watch. ‘I must be going. I’m off to visit Rita. Have you been?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘I’m sure she’d love to see you.’
‘Maybe.’
‘It’s the least you can do after all those meals she’s cooked for you over the last few years.’
She had the lightest of tones, but he wasn’t stupid. She was being subtly censorious.
‘Look at those roses,’ she said, turning towards a bucket of flowers outside the florist. ‘Pink is Rita’s favourite colour. You could take her some. That would cheer her up.’
She stood on tiptoes and kissed him again.
‘I’ll tell her you’ll drop by tomorrow, shall I?’
He was about to resist, but she’d quickly turned and was heading across the road with a jaunty wave, leaving him feeling extremely put out. Somewhere at the back of his brain he heard Honoria’s voice.
‘Andrew, if it wasn’t for people like Irene, you’d be a total curmudgeon. And why shouldn’t she kiss you on the cheek? Touch is very important. You need to stop being so grumpy and make more of an effort.’
She was right, of course. Always had been. A miracle that she’d married him and a miracle that he could still hear her voice. He didn’t always listen to what she said now she wasn’t here in person, but perhaps he should.
Rita was sitting in a high-backed armchair in the living room, Hercules curled up in a brand-new basket next to her.
‘Here she is,’ Jules said, ushering him through.
‘Andrew, what a lovely surprise. I didn’t know you were coming.’
He looked at Rita, wreathed in smiles, and immediately felt guilty. Astonishingly she looked genuinely pleased to see him.
‘Are they for me?’ she asked, gesturing to the flowers. ‘They’re beautiful. Pink’s my favourite colour, you know.’
‘From the garden,’ he muttered.
‘Garden flowers are always the best,’ she said, burying her nose in the soft petals.
She gestured to the chair next to her. He sat down, unbuttoned his blazer and laid his stick on the floor, then fished in his pocket for a treat for Hercules who came and lay across his shoes.
‘You look very smart,’ Rita said.
He made some sort of an appreciative noise. Rita was of the generation who recognised effort. He liked that.
‘Tea?’ Jules asked.
‘Yes please, dear. And cake, and would you mind putting these flowers in water for me?’ she said, then asked, ‘Are you eating properly, Andrew?’ as Jules left the room.
‘Why does everyone harp on about that?’ he grumbled.
‘Because it’s important and you don’t,’ Rita retorted. ‘I’ve got various single portions of main meals in the freezer if you want to take them.’
He squared his shoulders. This would surprise her.
‘That’s very kind of you, Rita, but I’ve decided this is a good opportunity for me to learn to cook a few things.’
Her eyes widened gratifyingly.
‘Last night I made a rather good job of cooking some lamb chops, if I say so myself.’
‘Well, I never!’ she exclaimed.
‘And I dug up a root of potatoes from the vegetable patch and pulled some carrots.’
‘Goodness me, Andrew. I am impressed.’
He felt himself expand a little with pride.
‘I haven’t quite got the measure of gravy. That was a bit lumpy, but…’
‘Gravy isn’t always easy. When I’m up and about I’ll come over and show you how to do it.’
‘I’ll look forward to that,’ he said, and the thought of it, Rita bustling around his stark kitchen, giving it some life, made him feel lighter.
He looked around the room at the stone fireplace filled with houseplants for the summer, the bookshelves crammed in a higgledy-piggledy way with books on just about everything, the gilt-edged mantel mirror with its foxed glass and the oak table in front of the window full of family photographs jostling for their own space in sparkling silver frames.
‘I haven’t been in this room for a while,’ Andrew said. ‘I’d forgotten how charming it is.’
‘I don’t use it very often now. Living in the kitchen seems easier and warmer in the winter.’
For the first time her face fell.
‘Such Christmases we used to have in this room when the children were growing up and when I was a girl. Do you remember the parties, Andrew, the fun, the laughter?’
‘I remember the drink,’ Andrew said with a chuckle. ‘Goodness me, it flowed!’
‘George never wanted anyone to have an empty glass. Some people never made it home the same night. Just used to find a cosy spot around the house and I’d cook porridge for everyone in the morning to sober them up. Couldn’t do that nowadays.’
‘Probably a good thing, too,’ he said.
‘I miss those days,’ she said, ‘the people who have left us.’
She blinked, fingered the newspaper on her lap.
‘And now we’re alone,’ he said softly.
‘Yes.’
She reached out her arm, her fingers thickened from years of physical work, but her nails painted a delicate shade of cyclamen pink to match her lipstick.
‘It’s hard, isn’t it?’
He nodded, felt his eyes begin to water.
‘You have your family around you,’ he said.
‘The Lord has blessed me. It is more than I deserve.’
‘Why would you say that, Rita? It is exactly what you deserve.’
‘I am a wicked woman, Andrew. I am breaking the tenth commandment.’
Andrew wracked his brains.
‘Thy shalt not covet your neighbour’s house…?’
‘I don’t covet anyone else’s property,’ she whispered, ‘but I covet this. It’s never really been mine.
Like you, I’ve always been looking after it for the next generation, but I can’t seem to let it go.
Are we foolish, Andrew, rattling around in our big old houses when we could be having an easier life somewhere smaller and more modern? ’
He didn’t answer and was relieved when there was a tap on the door.
‘Are you ready for tea?’ Jules asked, balancing a tray with two Crown Derby cups and saucers, a silver teapot, two plates, some little napkins and cake forks.
Rita beckoned her in.
‘Jules is insisting I use my best china,’ Rita said.
She held out her wrist and fingered a gold bracelet interspersed with pearls.
‘In fact, she’s insisting I use the best of everything. George bought me this for our thirtieth wedding anniversary and I don’t wear it much because I’m worried about damaging it.’
She looked at Andrew.
‘But what are we saving all these things for, Andrew? If we don’t enjoy them now, when will we?’
The Major looked at Jules and smiled.
‘A wise girl,’ he said, affectionately. ‘I knew it as soon as I met her. A girl with strong opinions, too. Perhaps we ought to ask her about our housing dilemmas?’
He watched as Jules blushed charmingly at the flattery.
‘I think,’ she said, placing the tray in front of The Major, ‘that instead of putting me on the spot, you should be mother and I should go and get the cake.’
He chuckled and reached for the teapot. He’d been right to come after all. This little outing was doing him good.