Page 78 of Fire Must Burn

‘I was thinking how rattling around a big place by yourself could turn a woman into what Mrs Spurlock has become,’ said Gwen. ‘That could be me once Ronnie has grown up and taken over as Lord Bainbridge.’

‘It could be worse,’ said Iris. ‘She could be rattling around in a much smaller place with no money and no servants. And you, if anything, are getting progressively saner as you get older.’

‘I hope so,’ said Gwen.

The Kendall home was a smaller affair on St James’s Gardens, down from the church. It was a three-storey townhouse, more in proportion with the number of people living in it which included several small children, if the number of small bicycles leaning against the railings of the front steps was any indication.

‘This time, I will take the lead,’ said Gwen. ‘And I am going to be me. I rang earlier for an appointment. You may still be you, though.’

Lucinda Kendall, née Pickard, answered the door herself. She was somewhere in her late thirties, but clearly took great pains to conceal that fact from the casual observer. She was wearing a black rayon bijou dress with floral borders that looked both stylish and comfortable. She herself looked flustered, the cause most likely being the high-pitched screams and ongoing mayhem that echoed from somewhere in the depths of the house. She looked at the two women blankly for a moment, then her face lit up in recognition.

‘Mrs Bainbridge, right?’ she said. ‘You called earlier. Sorry, many distractions, forgot all about it. Do come in.’

‘Is this a bad time?’ asked Mrs Bainbridge as they were showed into the front sitting room.

‘There are no good times, and God knows I could use the break,’ said Mrs Kendall. ‘Let me tell nanny to chain the little beasts inside the playroom and I’ll be right back.’

They sat where she directed them, listening as they heard her indistinct shouts followed by a chorus of protests, finally muffled by the closing of a door.

‘Why exactly do you want more children?’ asked Iris.

‘Not every moment is like this,’ said Gwen.

Mrs Kendall reappeared.

‘Forgive me, they have a load of friends over, and they are re-enacting the Charge of the Light Brigade, complete with horses,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I’ve sent Kitty to fetch us some lemonade from the kitchen. Unless you want something with more of a kick? Please tell me you do.’

‘Whatever you’re drinking is fine with us,’ said Mrs Bainbridge.

Mrs Kendall got up and leaned into the hallway.

‘Kitty!’ she shouted. ‘Cancel the lemonade and bring a bottle of whatever’s cold and white, would you?’

There was a distant acknowledgment of the change, and she returned, sinking into an armchair.

‘Thank God you’re here,’ she said. ‘It gives me a reason to be social. Either of you have children?’

‘One son,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘He’s in the country with his grandparents at the moment.’

‘Lucky you,’ said Mrs Kendall. ‘My parents have a place, a huge one, in fact, but it’s on loan to His Majesty at the moment. I know you from somewhere, Mrs Bainbridge, don’t I? Before the war? What was your family name?’

‘Brewster.’

‘I was right! You’re Thor’s little sister, aren’t you?’ said Mrs Kendall. ‘I may have dated your brother once or twice back then, I can’t recall. Good-looking man. Still with us?’

‘He is.’

‘Still good-looking?’

‘A sister is never the one to ask that, but others seem to think so,’ said Mrs Bainbridge.

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Mrs Kendall. ‘I say, aren’t you the one who cracked up and got sent away?’

‘When my husband was killed in the war, I went through a difficult period,’ replied Mrs Bainbridge evenly.

There was a loud crash from upstairs, followed by multiple wailings.

‘That must have been nice, actually,’ said Mrs Kendall, glancing upwards. ‘I wouldn’t mind having a holiday in the country lolling about in my pyjamas all day.’