Marrying Mary

‘Why ever not? If you’re a professor shouldn’t you be old or at least elderly?’

‘Er—you know, I’d never thought about it. I shall, of course, in due time be elderly and hopefully old.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Thirty-five.’ He sounded amused.

‘I’m thirteen. Mary’s twenty-four, getting on a bit; if she doesn’t marry Arthur she’ll be an old maid.’

‘Then let us hope that there is an alternative.’

They had arrived without haste at the kitchen door and he stood for a moment watching Mary, who was attacking a saucepan with a great deal of energy so that her hair was coming loose as she rubbed and scoured. She didn’t see him at once but when Bingo let out an impatient miauw said, ‘You found him. Good. I can’t think why this saucepan is burnt—what...?’

Something made her turn her head then. Feeling very much at a disadvantage, and aware that she hardly looked her best, she said peevishly, ‘You should have come to the front door.’

He said meekly, his heavy lids hiding the gleam of amusement in his eyes, ‘I do apologise. I’ll go back and ring the bell while you tuck your hair up and assume your usual calm manner!’

She smiled then, and Polly laughed. ‘I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be rude.’

‘Think nothing of it; I am convinced that a burnt saucepan is enough to upset any housewife worth her salt.’

Polly said suddenly, ‘I like you. You’re not a bit like a professor. Are you married? Because if you aren’t you might—’

Mary, with a heightened colour, interrupted her briskly. ‘Polly, be an angel and tell Father I’m just going, will you?’ She was washing her hands and wishing that she could get to a comb and a looking-glass. Heaven alone knew what she looked like. ‘I’ll get my handbag...’

Polly went with them to the car and the professor waited patiently while she admired it. ‘I’ve never ridden in a Rolls Royce,’ she observed wistfully.

‘Then I will come and take you for a ride one day.’

‘You will? You promise?’

‘I promise.’

‘You’re great—I do wish that Mary—’ She caught her sister’s look of outrage and went on airily, ‘Well, perhaps I’d better not say that.’ When they were in the car she poked her head through the open window. ‘If you take a good look at Mary she’s quite pretty!’

The professor spoke gravely. ‘I agree with you absolutely, Polly.’ He waved goodbye and drove off and Mary, very red in the face, was relieved when he didn’t even glance at her.

She said presently, ‘You mustn’t take any notice of Polly—she’s a bit outspoken.’

‘One forgets how delightful it was when one could speak honestly—something quickly smothered by the conventions. Have you ever considered how much happier we would be if we uttered our real feelings instead of the well-mannered platitudes expected of us?’

‘Well, it would be nice sometimes to say just what one wished to say...’ She stared ahead of her. ‘I expect you have to—to—wrap up your words to your patients.’

‘Indeed I do, but if I’m asked a straight question then I give an honest answer.’

‘You like being a doctor?’

He smiled faintly. ‘Yes, it has been, until very recently, the one great interest in my life.’

She thought about this. ‘Are you going to get married?’

‘Shall we say, rather, that I have from time to time considered it?’ He glanced at her. ‘And you?’

‘Me? No...’ She cast around to find some light-hearted remark about that, and was relieved when Richard, perched between them, decided that her lap would be more comfortable. After that they said very little until he stopped at Great Aunt Thirza’s front door.

After he and Maisie had gone Mary, preparing her aunt’s supper since Mrs Cox had gone to church, allowed her thoughts to dwell on the professor. His goodbye had been polite but uninterested, just as though, she thought bitterly, he had discharged a task and was thankful that it was done. Well, she would take care to keep out of his way in future; she would badger Dr Symes to allow her to go home within the next day or two.

She carried out her plan on the following morning when Dr Symes arrived. There was really no reason for her to stay any longer; Great Aunt Thirza was quite recovered, she told him. Dr Symes agreed.

‘I can arrange for a practice nurse to come in each morning, just to keep an eye on things, and both Professor van Rakesma and I are agreed that the sooner your aunt returns to her normal, quiet way of living the better. You do understand that there may be further heart attacks, but living an invalid’s life is no guarantee against that?’

‘So it would be quite all right for me to go home in a day or two? Of course I’ll come over and see my aunt—I could come each day if you thought that I should—but I really need to be at home...’

‘Yes, of course; shall we say the day after tomorrow?’

Mary told Maisie that afternoon. ‘I expect Dr Symes will tell Professor van Rakesma, won’t he?’

Maisie nodded. ‘Suie to—after all, the professor was consulted in the first place, although of course your aunt is Dr Symes’s patient. Don’t worry, my dear. You could stay here for months and your aunt would be as fit as a fiddle, on the other hand she could die tomorrow; you never know with heart cases, and she is an old lady.’

As if in complete agreement with Maisie’s words, Great Aunt Thirza died peacefully in her sleep that night.

It was Mary, taking her an early morning cup of tea, who found her. She put the small tray she was carrying slowly down on to the bedside table. The cup rattled in the saucer because her hands were shaking but she stayed calm, aware of regret that the old lady had died and at the same time glad that her end had been so peaceful.

She wasn’t going to pretend to a sorrow she didn’t feel; Great Aunt Thirza had been a difficult and despotic member of the family, but all the same she had been family. Mary murmured a childish prayer and went to phone Dr Symes.

Mary had plenty to occupy her for the next few days. Her father reluctantly undertook to make all the necessary arrangements, but she and Mrs Cox were left to deal with all the details. Maisie had come, alerted by Dr Symes Mary supposed, and proved invaluable, but although Mary’s father had dealt with the undertakers he had left a great deal for her to do.

‘I’ve let Aunt Thirza’s solicitor know,’ he told her. ‘He’ll see to everything, my dear. The funeral is on Friday; did I tell you?’

‘No, Father. Do you want everyone to come back here afterwards? It’s usual. Mrs Cox will see to that side of things.’

‘Do what you like, Mary. I told the solicitor to let any friends know.’ He smiled briefly. ‘I don’t think your Great Aunt Thirza had many.’ He added vaguely, ‘She was twelve years older than my mother and the last of her generation.’

He patted her arm, ‘Well, my dear, I think I’ve seen to everything. Arrange things with your mother, won’t you? I have an appointment later on today...’

There weren’t many people at the funeral other than the family. There was Mrs Cox, of course, tight-slipped and dour in black; she had said little to Mary but Mary guessed that she was worried about her future—she had been with Great Aunt Thirza for many years and another job might be hard to find now that she was past middle age. There were several old ladies there too—Great Aunt Thirza’s bridge companions. They said little, but ate Mrs Cox’s splendid tea with relish.

It was when they had all gone that Mr Shuttleworth, “Great Aunt Thirza’s solicitor, observed that he would now read the will. He was an old man, and Mary, who had a vivid imagination, thought that he looked as if someone had taken him out of a cupboard and dusted him down for the occasion.

Great Aunt Thirza having been Great Aunt Thirza, her will held no pleasant surprises. Mrs Cox was to have the contents of the wardrobe and two thousand pounds, Mr Pagett three thousand pounds, Polly the full set of Encyclopaedia Brittanica and Mary an early edition of Mrs Beeton’s cookery book, with the hope that by its perusal she might improve her cooking.

The house, its contents and the remainder of her not inconsiderable fortune were to be given to various charities.

Mrs Pagett received nothing, which caused her no distress at all. Great Aunt Thirza had never approved of her designing Christmas and greetings cards; she had once observed that it was no suitable occupation for a lady. Mrs Pagett, even if she was whimsical, didn’t lack spirit; she had laughed and muttered, ‘Pooh,’ before going away to her shed.

Mary watched Mr Shuttleworth tidy away his papers. It was a pity that Great Aunt Thirza hadn’t left her father a larger portion of her fortune. All the same, perhaps now the roof might get a few necessary tiles and the old boiler could be replaced with something modern. She saw Mr Shuttleworth to the door, her mind busy with domestic problems.

CHAPTER THREE