Miriam was ailing. Every time that Celia saw her mother, her heart had a sudden squeezed feeling.
Her mother looked so small and pathetic.
And she was so lonely in that big house.
Celia wanted her mother to come and live with them, but Miriam refused energetically.
‘It never works. It wouldn’t be fair to Dermot.’
‘I’ve asked Dermot. He’s quite willing.’
‘That is nice of him. But I shouldn’t dream of doing it. Young people must be left alone.’
She spoke vehemently. Celia did not protest.
Presently Miriam said:
‘I’ve wanted to tell you – for some time. I was wrong about Dermot. When you married him, I didn’t trust him. I didn’t think he was honest or loyal … I thought there would be other women.’
‘Oh, Mother, Dermot never looks at anything but a golf ball.’
Miriam smiled.
‘I was wrong … I’m glad … I feel now that when I go I’m leaving you with someone who will look after you and take care of you.’
‘He will. He does.’
‘Yes – I’m satisfied … He’s very attractive – he is attractive to women, Celia, remember that …’
‘He’s a frightfully stay-at-home person, Mummy.’
‘Yes, that’s lucky. And I think he really loves Judy. She is exactly like him. She’s not like you. She’s Dermot’s child.’
‘I know.’
‘So long as I feel that he will be kind to you … I didn’t think so at first. I thought he was cruel – ruthless –’
‘He isn’t. He’s frightfully kind. He was sweet before Judy was born. He’s just one of those people who hate to say things. It’s all there underneath. He’s like a rock.’
Miriam sighed.
‘I’ve been jealous. I haven’t been willing to recognize his good qualities. I want you so much to be happy, my darling.’
‘I am, Mother dear, I am.’
‘Yes, I think you are …’
Celia said after a minute or two:
‘There’s really nothing I want in the world – except another baby, perhaps. I’d like a boy as well as a girl.’
She had expected her mother to be in sympathy with her wish, but a slight frown crossed Miriam’s forehead.
‘I don’t know that you will be wise. You care for Dermot so much – and children take you away from a man. They are supposed to bring you together, but it isn’t so … no, it isn’t so.’
‘But you and Father –’
Miriam sighed.
‘It was difficult. Pulling – always pulling both ways. It’s difficult.’
‘But you and Father were perfectly happy …’
‘Yes – but I minded … There were heaps of things I minded. Giving up things for the sake of the children annoyed him sometimes. He loved you all, but we were happiest when he and I went away together for a little holiday … Don’t ever leave your husband too long alone, Celia. Remember, a man forgets …’
‘Father would never have looked at anyone but you.’
Her mother answered musingly.
‘No, perhaps he wouldn’t. But I was always on the look out. There was a parlourmaid – a big handsome girl – the type I had often heard your father admire. She was handing him the hammer and some nails. As she did it she put her hand over his. I saw her. Your father hardly noticed – he just looked surprised. I don’t suppose he thought anything of it – probably imagined it was just an accident – men are very simple … But I sent that girl away – at once. Just gave her a good reference and said she didn’t suit me.’
Celia was shocked.
‘But Father would never –’
‘Probably not. But I wasn’t taking any risks. I’ve seen so many things. A wife who’s in bad health and a governess or companion takes charge – some young, bright girl. Celia, promise me you’ll be very careful what kind of governesses you have for Judy.’
Celia laughed and kissed her mother.
‘I won’t have any fine big girls,’ she promised. ‘They shall be thin and old and wear glasses.’
Miriam died when Judy was eight years old. Celia was abroad at the time. Dermot had got ten days’ leave at Easter, and he had wanted Celia to go to Italy with him. Celia had been a little unwilling to leave England. The doctor had told her that her mother’s health was bad. She had a companion who looked after her, and Celia went down to see her every few weeks.
Miriam, however, would not hear of Celia’s remaining behind and letting Dermot go alone. She came up to London and stayed with Cousin Lottie (a widow now), and Judy and her governess came to stay there also.
At Como, Celia got a telegram advising her return. She took the first train available. Dermot wanted to go too, but Celia persuaded him to stay behind and finish his holiday. He needed a change of air and scene.
It was as she was sitting in the dining car on her way through France that a curious cold certainty seemed to invade her body.
She thought:
‘Of course, I shall never see her again. She’s dead …’
She found on arrival that Miriam had died just about that hour.
Her mother … her little gallant mother …
Lying there so still and strange with flowers and whiteness and a cold, peaceful face …
Her mother, with her fits of gaiety and depression – her enchanting changeableness of outlook – her steadfast love and protection …
Celia thought: ‘I’m alone now …’
Dermot and Judy were strangers …
She thought: ‘There’s no one to go to any more …’
Panic swept over her … and then remorse …
How full her mind had been of Dermot and Judy all these last years … She had thought so little of her mother … her mother had just been there … always there … at the back of everything …
She knew her mother through and through, and her mother knew her …
As a tiny child she had found her mother wonderful and satisfying …
And wonderful and satisfying her mother had always remained …
And now her mother had gone …
The bottom had fallen out of Celia’s world …
Her little mother …