The Doubtful Marriage

To her disappointment he had already gone back to London. ‘He won’t be back until the weekend, my dear,’ his mother told her. ‘Why not give him a ring? I expect you want to tell him about the will—so very satisfactory that you can settle on a date for the wedding now.’

Tilly held her tongue; everyone would know sooner or later but she wanted Leslie to be the first. She would phone him in the morning; better still, she would drive up to town and see him.

She dressed carefully in the morning, taking pains with her face and hair and wearing a suit Leslie had said that he liked. It was still early when she left and she was at his rooms soon after ten o’clock. His clerk was reluctant to accept her wish to see Mr Waring without delay.

‘It’s most important,’ said Tilly and smiled at him with charm, so that he picked up the receiver to announce her.

Leslie looked different—she supposed it was his sober suit and manner to go with it—but he greeted her warmly enough. ‘Sit down, Tilly—I’ve fifteen minutes or so before I go to court. Have you decided to marry me after all? I thought you would once you heard your uncle’s will.’

There was no sense in beating about the bush. She said quickly, not mincing matters, ‘He left the house to my cousin Herbert, with the wish that I make it my home until I marry.’

The sudden frown on Leslie’s face frightened her a little. ‘You mean to say that your uncle has left you nothing?’

‘Five hundred pounds. He made the request that Herbert would pay me a fitting allowance…’

‘Can the will be overset? I’ll see your solicitor. Why, you’re penniless.’

Tilly stared at him. ‘That makes a difference to our plans?’ she asked, and knew without a doubt that it did.

CHAPTER TWO

LESLIE looked at his wristwatch. ‘I must go. This is something which we must discuss quietly. I’ll come home as usual tomorrow and we can talk everything over with my mother and father.’

‘I haven’t told them as I didn’t think there was any need to. After all, they have been urging us to get married now that Uncle is dead.’ Tilly’s voice was calm but inside she shook and trembled with uncertainty. She had expected Leslie to reassure her, tell her that she had no need to worry, that he would take care of her future. Now she wasn’t sure of that.

Leslie looked uncomfortable. ‘Look, old girl, we’ll sort things out tomorrow.’ He got up and came round his desk and kissed her cheek. ‘Not to worry.’

But of course she worried, all the way back home and for the rest of the day. The house seemed so empty, the surgery and the waiting-room empty, too, waiting until Monday when the medical centre in Haddenham were to send over one of their members to take morning surgery until such time as a new doctor came to the village or things were reorganised and a small surgery was set up and run by the Haddenham doctors. In any case, thought Tilly, she would never be needed any more. Not that that would matter if she married Leslie. For the first time she put her nebulous thoughts into words. ‘Leslie might not want to marry me now.’

She had a phone call from Mrs Waring the next morning; would she go over for dinner that evening? Leslie hoped to be home rather earlier than usual, and they had a lot to discuss. There was a letter from Herbert, too; he and Jane and her aunt would be coming down and would go over the house and make any changes needed at the beginning of the week. Jane and his mother would move in very shortly, he wrote, and he would commute until such time as the sale of his own house was dealt with. The letter ended with the observation that she was probably looking for a nursing post.

She put the letter tidily back into its envelope. It wasn’t something she could ignore; it was only too clear that that was what she was expected to do. Unless Leslie married her out of hand…

Something it was only too obvious he didn’t intend to do.

His, ‘Hello, old girl,’ was as friendly as it always had been and his parents greeted her just as they had always done for years, yet there was an air of uneasiness hanging over the dinner-table and a deliberate avoidance of personal topics. It was only when they were drinking their coffee in the drawing-room that the uneasiness became distinctly evident.

‘I hear,’ said Mrs Waring, at her most majestic, ‘that your uncle’s will was unexpected. Leslie tells me that there is no way of contesting it.’

Tilly glanced at Leslie. So he had spoken about it with his parents, had he? He didn’t look at her, which was just as well, for her gaze was fierce.

‘It has always been our dearest wish,’ went on Mrs Waring in a false voice, ‘that you and dear Leslie should marry—your uncle’s property matched with ours, the house was ideal for a young couple to set up home; besides, we have known you for so many years. You would have been most suitable.’ She sighed so deeply that her corsets creaked. ‘It grieves us very much that this cannot be. You must see for yourself, my dear, that our plans are no longer practical. We are not wealthy; Leslie needs to marry someone with money of her own, someone who can—er—share the expenses of married life while he makes a career for himself. Luckily there is no official engagement.’

Tilly put down her coffee cup, carefully, because her hands were shaking. ‘You have put it very clearly, Mrs Waring. Now I should like to hear what Leslie has to say. After all, it’s his life you are talking about, isn’t it?’ She paused. ‘And mine.’

She looked at Leslie, who gave her a weak smile and looked away. ‘Well, old girl, you can see for yourself… Where would we live? I can’t afford a decent place in town. Besides, I’d need money—you can’t get to the top of the ladder without it…meeting the right people and entertaining…’ He met Tilly’s eye and stopped.

‘I can see very well,’ said Tilly in an icy little voice, ‘and I am so thankful that the engagement isn’t official. If it were I would break it here and now. A pity I have no ring, for I would fling it in your face, Leslie.’

She got to her feet and whisked herself out of the room, snatched her coat from the hall and ran out of the house.

She couldn’t get home fast enough; she half ran, tears streaming down her cheeks, rage bubbling and boiling inside her. It was fortunate that it was a dark evening and there was no one around in the village to see her racing along like a virago.

Emma took one look at her face, fetched the sherry from the dining-room cupboard, stood over her while she drank it, and then listened patiently.

‘Well, love, I’d say you’re well rid of him. If a man can’t stand up against ’is ma, he’ll make a poor husband. As to what you’re going ter do, get a job, Miss Tilly. I’m all right ’ere—yer uncle saw ter that, bless ’is dear ’eart. But don’t you go staying ’ere with that cousin of yours—no good will come of it, mark my words.’

Tilly went to church on the Sunday morning, her chin well up, sang the hymns loudly and defiantly, wished the occupants of the Manor pew a chilling good morning and went home to compose a letter to the principal nursing officer of her training school. She hadn’t worked in a hospital for some years now, but she had been in the running for a sister’s post when she left; she could hardly expect that, but there might possibly be a staff nurse’s job going.

Two days later Herbert, Jane and her aunt arrived without warning. Herbert sat back in her uncle’s chair, looking smug. ‘It seemed a good idea if Mother and Jane should get used to the idea of living here. I’ll come at weekends, of course. The house in Cheltenham is up for sale with most of the furniture—I’ll get the stuff we shall want to have here sent down when I have time to arrange it. I’m a busy man.’

Tilly said tartly, ‘Too busy to let us know that you were coming? And even if you were, surely Jane could have telephoned?’

‘I deal with all the domestic arrangements.’ He smoothed his hair back and half closed his eyes. ‘Jane isn’t strong.’

Jane, thought Tilly, was as strong as the next girl, only her strength was being syphoned off her by her great bully of a husband.

Herbert waved a hand, presumably in dismissal. Tilly stayed right where she was sitting. ‘So who does the housekeeping?’ she asked sweetly.

‘Oh, Mother, I suppose, though you might carry on for a day or two until she’s found her way around.’

‘I might and then I might not,’ said Tilly. ‘You have been at great pains to remind me that this is no longer my home—I’m here on sufferance, aren’t I? You haven’t considered me at all; why should I consider you? I’m sure Aunt Nora will manage beautifully.’

She took herself off to the kitchen, shutting the door on Herbert’s outraged face. There was a lot of coming and going—Aunt Nora and Jane finding their way around, thought Tilly waspishly. She went to find Emma crying into the potatoes which she was peeling.

Over a cup of tea they faced the future. Tilly would have liked a good cry but she couldn’t; Emma had to be comforted and given some kind of hope.

‘Has the postman been? There may be a letter from the hospital—I wrote for a job. As soon as I’m settled Emma, I’ll find a flat and we’ll set up house. Just hang on here, Emma dear, and I promise everything will be all right. There’s the postman now.’

There was a letter. Tilly read it quickly and then a second time. There was no job for her; regretfully, there was the full quota of nurses and no way of adding to it, but had Tilly thought of applying for a job at one of the geriatric hospitals? They were frequently understaffed; there was no doubt that she would find a post at one of them.

It was a disappointment, but it was good advice, too. Tilly got the Nursing Times from her room and sat down there and then and applied to three of the most likely hospitals wanting nursing staff. Then, while Emma was seeing to lunch, she went down to the post office and posted them. She met Mrs Waring on the way back and wished her a polite good day and that lady made as if to stop and talk.

‘I’m in a great hurry,’ said Tilly brightly. ‘My cousin and his wife have arrived unexpectedly.’

‘Moving in already?’ asked Mrs Waring in a shocked voice. ‘Tilly, what are you going to do? Leslie’s so upset.’

Tilly went a little pale. ‘Is he? Goodbye, Mrs Waring.’

She smiled in Mrs Waring’s general direction and raced off home. If Leslie was upset, he knew what to do…

Only he didn’t do it. He neither telephoned her nor wrote, which made life with Jane and her aunt just that much harder to bear. So that when there was a letter from a north London hospital asking her if she would attend an interview with a view to a staff nurse’s post in a female geriatric ward, she replied promptly and two days later presented herself at the grim portals of a huge Victorian edifice, very ornate on the outside and distressingly bare within.

She followed the porter along a corridor painted in margarine-yellow and spinach-green, waited while he tapped at its end on a door and then went in. She hadn’t much liked the look of the place so far; now she felt the same way about the woman sitting behind the desk, a thin, acidulated face topping a bony body encased in stern navy blue.

‘Miss Groves?’ The voice was as thin as its owner.

‘Yes,’ said Tilly, determinedly cheerful. ‘How do you do?’