Bleeding Heart Square

‘I’m afraid I’m rather busy at present.’

Lydia laid it on Mrs Renton’s table. ‘It’s not for me, though.’

Mrs Renton lifted up the skirt, feeling the material, running her fingers along the seams. She frowned.

‘Do you recognize it?’ Lydia asked.

‘I’m sure I’ve seen that tweed before.’ She turned a bewildered face to Lydia. ‘It’s not Miss Penhow’s, is it?’

‘Yes.’

‘She showed it me just before she went away to the country. She wanted it altered. But she decided to wait until the weather was warmer.’

‘There’s a letter with it.’ Lydia handed the note to her.

Mrs Renton read it, and when she had finished she dabbed her eyes with her apron. ‘For a moment I thought she must be back. Miss Penhow, I mean. But this letter’s years old, isn’t it? Poor woman.’

‘I didn’t realize you knew her,’ Lydia said.

Mrs Renton glanced at the door as if to confirm it was shut. ‘Mr Serridge introduced us. I did some sewing for her while she lived in Kensington. Made her a nice little silk tea gown too. And then she married and moved away, and I didn’t hear from her again. Where did that skirt come from?’

‘Someone found it at Rawling. That was where she moved to.’

‘Does Mr Serridge know?’

Lydia shook her head.

‘It might be better not to mention it. They say she left him. You wouldn’t want to open old wounds.’

‘You must have wondered what had happened to her.’

‘None of my business,’ Mrs Renton said. ‘That kettle must be boiling.’

18

The tone of the diary is darkening now, three days after Serridge came back from London. But Philippa Penhow soldiers on like a little hero in the battle of life.

Friday, 11 April 1930

The Vicar called this morning. He is a Mr Gladwyn, a clergyman of the old school. I must confess I have been rather worried about church. I don’t feel I can take Communion at present. After all, in a sense Joseph and I are living a lie, though of course God knows the truth and understands. Still, I felt a little awkward with Mr Gladwyn. Not that I had a great deal to do with him. He and Joseph got on very well. They talked mainly about cars — Mr Gladwyn plans to buy one soon and wanted to pick Joseph’s brains about them. Joseph took him for a spin in our Austin 7.

Now the weather is better, I have begun to explore the farm. I have been finding the house rather claustrophobic of late. It’s partly because we see so few people, but mainly (I expect) because I’m used to towns and lots of comings and goings. Here there is so much silence. Sometimes I see countryfolk in the distance and once or twice have exchanged waves. I have not had any conversations with them yet.

This afternoon, I brought my diary with me. Sometimes I feel a little self-conscious about writing my diary in the house — Joseph is always asking what I’m doing. So today I am writing this al fresco, as the Italians say.

It’s very odd that I have had no letters since we moved. I wish I knew what it was best to do. I feel stupidly worried a lot of the time and I don’t quite know why. I tell myself not to be silly. But the worry is there when I wake up, sitting like a weight in my stomach, and it’s there when I go to sleep. Sometimes I don’t sleep very well either. My heart is heavy. I wish I could stop feeling. If only I could tear my heart from my breast and take away the pain for ever.

You want to tap her on the shoulder and say it’s always wiser to be cowardly than heroic. Not that she would have listened if anyone had. But let’s not anticipate.

‘Good morning!’ Mrs Alforde said when Lydia came to the door, already drawing on her gloves. ‘Glad you’re punctual. I can’t bear unpunctuality.’

Once they were in the little car, a grey Morris Minor with scratched and dented wings, Mrs Alforde nosed her way up to the Clerkenwell Road and then turned east towards Shoreditch and Hackney. She drove badly but with the sort of panache Lydia associated with the hunting field. She kept up a running commentary which needed no response from Lydia and was actually rather restful, unlike the driving itself.

‘The blithering idiot, can’t he see it’s my right of way? Are you deaf or something? Look at those houses over there, aren’t they dreary? They get worse and worse. Really, how the government can look itself in the eye I just do not know. Ha! That will teach you!’

Lydia luxuriated in the absence of responsibility. From Dalston they went to Leyton. From Leyton they went to Walthamstow. Now they were on the A1 and almost in real country. She stared hungrily at trees and grass. Even Mrs Alforde seemed to feel their soothing effect because she settled down to drive far more calmly and now seemed disposed for conversation.

‘Now what would you like to do? Poor Mr Narton’s funeral’s at a quarter to twelve. I can drop you off at Bishop’s Stortford if you like — I can show you where to get quite reasonable coffee and a bite to eat — or if you want to see Rawling itself you could come with me. You needn’t feel you have to come to the funeral, of course, but the Vicar will give us lunch. I should warn you, though, there’s not much one can do in Rawling.’

‘I think I’d like to come with you,’ Lydia said.

‘It’s entirely up to you. You could always have a walk, I suppose — at least it’s not raining and I see you’re wearing sensible shoes.’ While speaking, Mrs Alforde glanced down at the shoes, causing the car to swerve and almost collide with an oncoming lorry. ‘Blast the man — you’d think he’d realize that he’s not the only person on this road. Yes, or you could wait at the Vicarage if you prefer — I’m sure Mr Gladwyn wouldn’t mind. I imagine the funeral itself wouldn’t be your cup of tea.’

‘I’m not really dressed for it.’

‘Don’t let that put you off, my dear. I doubt there will be many people there so there won’t be anyone to notice. Anyway, you’d be with me.’

‘That would make it all right?’ Lydia asked, amused.

‘Well, yes — I’m sure it would. Old habits die hard, especially among the older villagers. I remember when I was first married, going for a drive with my father-in-law, and the women would come out of the cottages and curtsy as the carriage went by. It was really rather touching.’

Lydia laughed.

Mrs Alforde glanced again at Lydia, and the car gave another reciprocal swerve in the other direction. ‘You’re looking much better than you were on Saturday, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

‘It must be the country air,’ Lydia said.

They drove on for another mile in silence. With a grating of gears, Mrs Alforde pulled out to pass a cyclist who was wobbling in the middle of the road.

‘Silly ass,’ Mrs Alforde said. ‘He’ll get himself killed if he’s not careful.’ She added, without any change of tone, ‘Sorry about the other day.’

‘That’s all right.’

‘I’m afraid I rather got the wrong end of the stick. Your mother can be very persuasive.’

‘I know,’ Lydia said. After a pause she went on, ‘I think Mother tried to warn me. She said something about men having their needs. She plays fair after her own fashion.’

‘There’s no malice in her,’ Mrs Alforde said. ‘I give her that.’

‘But she thinks rules are for other people,’ Lydia burst out, the anger unexpectedly erupting.

‘She was always like that. She was an only child and your grandfather spoiled her. And remember, in those