The Comforters

‘I don’t know how far Grandmother is implicated in their activities, but she’s certainly the boss. She’s handsomely well-off. I think she only draws her pension to avoid suspicion. Do you know where she keeps her capital? In the bread. She sticks diamonds in the bread. Without a word of exaggeration, I came across a loaf weirdly cut at both ends, and in one end diamonds, real ones. I wondered what the hell they were at first, and picked out one of the stones ever so carefully. Diamonds look so different when they aren’t set in jewellery. When I saw what it was, I put the stone back in its place. Grandmother has no idea that I’m on to this, of course. Isn’t she a wonder? I wonder what her racket is. I don’t think seriously of course that they are spies, but criminals of some sort. The thing is, Grandmother isn’t being used, she’s running the show. The main thing is, Mother mustn’t find out, so be most careful, my love, what you say.

‘I intend to find everything out, even if it means taking an extra week and mucking up Christmas. I’ve started compiling a dossier.

‘Any ideas on the subject, let me know. Personally, I think Grandmother is having the time of her life, but it might be serious for her if the men are caught. I can’t begin to guess what they’d be caught at. They may be jewel thieves, but that doesn’t fit in with the sweet naval old fellow’s character. Anything fits G’mother’s.

‘Grandmother openly refers to them as “my gang”, airy as a Soho slender. Says they come to play cards. I met them here the other night, since when I’ve been snooping. I wish you would come for a few days and help me “put two & two together” as G’mother says. I hope you don’t get the jitters at St Philumena’s. Take it from me, you have to pick and choose amongst Catholic society in England, the wrong sort can drive you nuts. Mother knows she’s done the wrong thing in sending you there. It’s her passion for founding “Centres” and peopling them, gets the better of her. Father swears she’ll start a schism.

‘I expect a letter from you tomorrow. Longing to hear that you have got Mrs Hogg under control. It would be rather fun in a way if you had a set-to with her. I’d like to be there if you did. There, but concealed.’

Louisa opened her eyes and said, ‘Put the kettle on, dear.’

Laurence laid down his pen. He asked her, ‘Who d’you think is in charge of that religious place Caroline’s gone to?’

‘Who, dear?’

‘Mrs Hogg.’

‘In charge! I thought it was a convent.’

‘No, only a Centre. Georgina is housekeeper or something.’

‘Does your mother know that?’

‘Yes, she gave her the job.’

‘I think something is happening to Helena’s mind,’ said Louisa.

‘Mrs Hogg! Just think of her, Grandmother, worming in on Caroline.’

‘Mrs Hogg,’ said Louisa, as if she’d never heard the like. ‘Mrs Hogg. Well, Caroline will fix her.’

Laurence went into the scullery to fill the kettle, and shouted from there, ‘You haven’t seen her lately?’

His grandmother was silent. But as he returned and placed the kettle on the black coal stove, Louisa told him, ‘I haven’t seen her for years. A few months ago your Mother wrote to suggest that Georgina Hogg should come and live here as a companion for me.

Laurence chuckled.

‘You said no bloody fear, I suppose.’

‘I said that I would not wish to have that poisonous woman in my house for a five-second visit. It fairly puts you against Catholics, a person like that.’

Laurence took up his pen again.

‘I detest that woman,’ said Louisa.

‘Grandmother is awake now,’ Laurence wrote. ‘She has been delivering herself of her views on Ma Hogg. “Poisonous” she says. It makes me rather sorry for the old Hogg being so dislikable. Truly, she has to be savoured to be believed.’

‘Tell Caroline,’ Louisa broke in, ‘to be careful of Mrs Hogg. Say she’s dangerous.’

‘I’ve told her,’ Laurence said.

He finished his letter, and read it over.

After tea he added to it, ‘P.S. I forgot to mention Grandmother’s cheque book. According to the stubs she donates the exact sum of her pension each week to the Prisoners’ Aid Society.’

He sealed the letter, then went to post it.

TWO

A storm, fierce enough to hold up the shipping at the mouth of the Mersey, ranged far enough inland to keep Caroline Rose indoors, where she paced the pale green corridors. Not for exercise but in order to think. A thinking-place of green corridors. The Pilgrim Centre of St Philumena.

‘Taking exercise.’ This was Mrs Hogg tacking on to her, infuriating. Taking exercise. Not a question, a statement.

‘Good afternoon,’ said Caroline.

‘And feeling lonely,’ said Mrs Hogg with her sort of smile. Feeling lonely, taking exercise. Caroline made no answer. The small perfect idea which had been crystallizing in her mind went all to mist. All right, I am at your disposal. Eat me, bloody well take the lot. I am feeling lonely. Rome has spoken.

‘Another time,’ said Mrs Hogg, ‘you don’t want to make a private Retreat. You want to come in the summer with one of the big pilgrimages for one of the big Feasts.’