Page 47

Chapter 47

October 1931

At three o’clock on the dot there was a knock on the front door.

The wireless was back in its usual place on the kitchen dresser and Isobel turned it off as she walked past on her way to the hall.

‘What do you think you’re doing?

’

Isobel looked down at her dress.

‘I’ve taken my apron off.

Do I not look respectable enough?

’

‘You look perfectly respectable. Now sit there and just wait.’

‘I’ll go upstairs into the parlour; she might hear me if I go up there.

’ Isobel pointed at the stairs to the maid’s room.

‘You will do no such thing. I want a witness. I have no idea what this woman wants. And people always want something in circumstances like this. I need you to sit right here and be my ears. And please don’t bob up and down serving tea either; this is 1931 not 1831.

’

The knock came a second time and Ann hurried away down the hall.

The outer storm door was open, and she could see through the stained glass that there was a tallish figure waiting on the path.

Despite her previously stated opinions, she was glad that the brass door knocker and the letterbox were polished, and the tiled vestibule smelled slightly of beeswax and lavender.

She was not Finlay’s poor relation; she was the owner of this house and that suddenly mattered.

It mattered a lot.

She glanced in the mirror.

Keith was making her practise.

Quick looks, not five-minute examinations.

They had given up trying to get the rest of the knots out of her hair and Isobel, after much persuasion, had chopped fifteen inches off it in the kitchen the night before.

She tucked a couple of escaped tendrils behind her ears and opened the door.

The woman outside was expensively and stylishly dressed, but she seemed unsure of herself.

This was not what Ann was expecting at all.

‘Mrs Sidcup?’

The woman nodded.

Ann didn’t give her a chance to speak, but opened the door more widely and motioned her to come in.

‘May I take your things?’

‘I have an appointment to see Miss Black at three o’clock.

’ The woman unbuttoned her coat and handed it over before removing the hatpin from her cloche and setting both down on the hall table.

Ann smiled. She had the advantage.

This could have been fun if she kept the visitor in the dark, but her manners got the better of her.

‘That’s me.’

‘I thought .?.?.’ The words were left dangling.

‘Won’t you come through?

I’m afraid the drawing room is far too cold to sit in.

As you’ll no doubt have seen, we have had a slight mishap with the glazing and there’s no point in lighting the fire and sending the heat straight outside.

’ She straightened her back.

‘We are in the kitchen today, I hope you .?.?.’ she stopped herself from saying ‘don’t mind’, ‘ .?.?. haven’t had far to travel.

There was no return address on your letter so I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage on that front.

’

She opened the door to the kitchen and the warmth escaped into the hall to meet them.

Isobel, unable to help herself, stood up.

‘This is my friend Isobel Clark.’ The name was lost in the scraping of the chair being pulled back from the table.

‘Do please take a seat.’

The visitor offered her hand to Isobel, who accepted it as though it was the most normal thing in the world for a former maid to shake the hand of someone who was clearly so wealthy.

Every thread and button Mrs Sidcup was wearing screamed money in capital letters and underlined twice.

They all sat down at the table, and Ann and Isobel waited.

‘I must apologise for not providing a return address when I wrote to you but I was terribly worried that you would not see me at all.’

‘I confess that had there been one, I doubt you would be here now,’ replied Ann.

There was no point in pretending otherwise.

Mrs Sidcup glanced at Isobel briefly before turning her attention to Ann.

‘I had hoped we might meet in private.’

‘I trust my friend completely. I am sure you won’t be surprised to find that I have equipped myself with some company, under the circumstances.

I mean, a letter from a complete stranger inviting herself to my house?

I simply could not have risked having you in my home at all if I had been alone.

’

Shock was momentarily written on Beatrice Sidcup’s face, as though this possibility had never occurred to her, but after a moment she nodded, slowly.

‘I understand; it must have seemed very odd. Please, if you can, I would like you to call me Beatrice.’

Ann stood up and retrieved the steaming kettle off the hotplate.

She poured boiling water into the kitchen teapot and added the handknitted tea cosy, not caring how this might appear.

She was not ready to be on first-name terms. ‘Perhaps you should explain your letter, Mrs Sidcup. I confess I was surprised and not a little disturbed that you mentioned my brother after so many years.’

‘It’s a long story.

I’m not very sure where to begin.

’ The visitor appeared to be struggling to gather her thoughts.

‘My husband Daniel was in the same regiment as Finlay, and before that they were at school together here in Edinburgh.’

‘I remember Daniel,’ said Isobel, before she could stop herself.

‘He often visited this house.’

Beatrice Sidcup continued as though she hadn’t heard Isobel speak.

‘I was so sorry to hear that Finlay was missing.’

Ann got straight to the point.

‘So, what is it that you need from me?’ She turned the brown teapot round and back and round again, in the usual way, before pouring the tea into three cups and handing them out.

‘This is rather embarrassing.’ Beatrice Sidcup was clearly uncomfortable.

Ann mellowed a little.

Whatever this was, the woman was struggling.

‘Perhaps if you start at the beginning,’ she suggested, pushing the plate of warm cakes towards the visitor and taking a piece of parkin for herself.

‘Daniel was two years older than Finlay, but they lived in the same tenement stair in Bruntsfield when they were children, and they played in the same cricket team at university. That’s how we met.

They were both studying engineering.

He still talks fondly of Finlay, which can be a little,’ she paused, ‘well, it can be rather difficult, sometimes. Daniel and I became engaged to be married at the beginning of 1913. We were both twenty-one and our wedding was planned to happen in the early summer, after Daniel had finished his studies. All through the time they were students, I laid out the teas for the university cricket team, for the visiting side. It was a rule that the half-time cakes should be rather indigestible; the home team always made a pretence of eating them and the visitors didn’t know any better and were weighed down somewhat in the second half of the match.

’

Isobel smiled to herself, but didn’t say anything about her part in this particular subterfuge.

Beatrice Sidcup twisted her wedding ring around on her finger.

‘Finlay was such an attractive young man. So vibrant and funny and full of life.’

‘He was,’ agreed Ann.

‘The week before Daniel and I were to be married in July, he was called away to an interview in Liverpool. I was beside myself with everything that was still to be done for the wedding and I went to see Finlay at his flat, on Daniel’s instruction.

I was a bag of worries and nerves.

And he wanted Finlay to make sure I was alright.

’ Beatrice Sidcup looked at her teacup but decided against it and pushed on.

‘Finlay was wonderfully kind and caring, and I wondered, not for the first time, if I had chosen the wrong man.’

The room was silent apart from the ticking of the kitchen clock.

Quite suddenly, Ann knew what was coming next.

‘Daniel and I got married a week later. And almost nine months after that I had a daughter whose name is Olivia. She arrived a few weeks early, but she was healthy and that was all that mattered. She is a delight and rather clever and next year she hopes to be a student at the university here in Edinburgh. She has inherited her father’s engineering brain and wishes to study mathematics.

’

Ann took a good mouthful of tea, allowing it to wash the oats off her teeth before speaking.

She was determined not to leap to conclusions.

‘And what has this to do with my brother? I mean, I am pleased that he and Daniel were such good friends. I think men need close friends more than they realise. But—’

Beatrice Sidcup raised her hand to put a stop to the questions.

‘Forgive me but this is difficult and I just need to keep going until the end before you ask me anything.’ She put her hand back in her lap.

‘Daniel and I have never had any other children. We do not know why. There is only Olivia. When I was at university I studied biology. I was interested in genetics; indeed it was my passion. Finlay had curly hair. Daniel and I both have straight hair. In the future someone may disprove what biologists now theorise but there was at the time a belief by some that it was impossible for two people who have straight hair to have a curly-haired child.’ She looked at Ann’s tightly corkscrewed hair which now reached just above her shoulders, unconstrained by combs or pins.

‘Daniel does not know this. He is an engineer, not a biologist.’ She took a sip of tea.

‘I am as sure as I can be that Olivia is Finlay’s daughter.

And, when you meet her, you will see why I think this is the case.

’

No one spoke.

Ann didn’t know what to say.

If only Finlay were here, she thought, he would be able to confirm or deny this rather preposterous story.

‘If this is true, and of course I only have your word for it, did Finlay know?’

Mrs Sidcup shook her head.

‘I suspected Olivia might be his daughter, or at least that it was possible, but it wasn’t until she started to get older that I was sure.

Olivia had no hair at all until she was almost two years old, and it was another six months after that before I was certain.

I wrote to Finlay, just the one letter, but I never got a reply.

Shortly after that I heard that he had been posted as missing.

Daniel served in France right from the start of the war and there was nothing to be done.

He loved Olivia dearly, so how could I ever tell him that the daughter for whom he was fighting a war was a child who belonged to someone else?

’ She stopped speaking quite abruptly.

‘I see.’ Ann tried to take it all in.

‘And why are you coming here now, seventeen or eighteen years later, to tell me about this?’

‘Finlay always spoke well of you. Because of that, I am here to ask for your help. Or rather it is Olivia who needs your help – although she doesn’t know any of this, and I would prefer that it stays that way, for obvious reasons.

’

Ann took charge at last. ‘The only evidence you are providing is the fact that your daughter has curly hair and you and your husband do not. My brother never mentioned this to anyone.’

‘I told you, Finlay didn’t know.

Even if he had suspected, he was Daniel’s friend and he could hardly announce that we had—’ She broke off in mid-sentence.

‘I suppose not,’ Ann conceded.

‘Exactly what is it that you need help with?’

‘It’s complicated.

’ Beatrice Sidcup took a sip of tea.

‘As I said, my husband is an engineer.’

‘As Finlay would have been.’

There was a nod.

‘He works on improving the railway systems. Three years ago, he was invited by the Canadian Pacific Railway to travel there and advise them on a particular project, and he jumped at the opportunity. He was away for six months and Olivia and I stayed here because I didn’t want to interrupt her education.

When he came back all the talk was of how good the life in Canada was and he persuaded me that all three of us should visit for a month, over Christmas.

And then a year ago he was offered a position, in Calgary.

After much thought we decided that we would go, but we discovered that it would mean we had to emigrate.

We did our research and discovered we had sufficient funds to support ourselves and that in turn meant we fulfilled the criteria of the Canadian government.

Olivia was not keen to leave Scotland, but we got all the paperwork ready anyway.

’ She took another sip of tea.

‘We were due to leave in April this year. Daniel sailed for Calgary and the plan was that I would follow with Olivia after she had completed her final school examinations. Unfortunately, because of the Great Depression, which is reportedly as bad there as it is here, the Canadians have changed the rules. Daniel has a job, and is needed by the railway company, so he can immigrate. And as his wife, I can go to be with him. But Olivia is now seventeen and not at school so we think she may no longer be regarded as a dependent minor. It might be that they allow her to enter the country, but it has been impossible to get a firm answer to the question. While all this has been happening, Olivia has now decided that she does not want to travel with us. She hopes to enrol at university here in Edinburgh next year. Her friends and her life are here. And when we were in Canada for that holiday I mentioned, it was winter; Olivia is not enamoured with the severe cold weather and the large amounts of snow. In short, she is now refusing to go with me. I must therefore choose between my husband and my child.’ She looked down at her hands and twisted her wedding ring around her finger again.

‘Daniel does not understand and is somewhat annoyed; he forgets that Olivia is almost a grown woman. I have tried everything I can to persuade her but she is unmoved by my opinions and is becoming more determined in her position. I am turning to you, therefore, in the hope that you may be able to help.’

‘How?’ Ann was disinclined to be anything but direct.

‘Unfortunately, neither of us have family here in Edinburgh any more. I managed to find a respectable lodging house for her. It’s not like staying at home, but she insists that she would have preferred not to live at home while she is at university anyway, even if we were here in the city.

I am hoping that you may agree to be a sort of guardian for her.

Someone she could come to if she needed assistance with anything.

’

‘But she has never met me. I am not part of your social circle. I am a stranger.’ Ann looked directly at the visitor.

‘How do you propose to explain this arrangement to her? I assume you do not intend to reveal to her, if what you say is true, that I am, in fact, her aunt.’

‘I would say that you are the sister of a friend.’

Isobel spoke out loud without meaning to.

‘Instead of the truth, which is that Ann is the sister of her fa—’ She stopped herself before the final syllable.

‘My friend is correct,’ said Ann.

‘This is quite a deception.’

Beatrice Sidcup was almost in tears.

‘I am not sure you appreciate how difficult it has been for me to come here today. I cannot think of another way forward. I have spent so many nights with it going around and around in my head. I do not want to leave Olivia, at not quite eighteen, with no older woman to look out for her in case—’

Ann finished the sentence for her.

‘In case she makes the same error that you did.’

The reply was almost inaudible.

‘Yes.’

No one spoke.

Eventually, Beatrice Sidcup seemed to pull herself together.

She sat up straight and waited for a response.

Ann stood up. ‘I need to think about this. As I’m sure you can imagine, it has all been rather a shock.

I think perhaps it would be best if you leave now, Mrs Sidcup.

If you are willing to provide me with your address, I will write and let you know what I have decided.

’

The visitor took a card from her bag and handed it over.

At the front door, before she stepped back into the chill of the late afternoon, she turned to Ann as though to add something.

Ann pre-empted her. ‘I do understand that there is some urgency about this but I will not be rushed into a decision. It would not be in anyone’s interests.

Or rather, without wishing to be unkind, it is perhaps in your own, but not in those of the other parties in this matter. ’