Claire was putting the last of her possessions in a cardboard carton while Imogen fluttered around from the living room to the bedroom to the doorway of Claire’s box room moaning about the difficulty of packing. ‘There is just too much to put together,’ she said. ‘You’re so lucky, Claire, to not have to worry about lots of stuff.’ Claire tried to smile and nod. She wasn’t sure that Imogen would feel lucky if she had as little as Claire did, but she had no need to point that out. Claire looked at the boxes surrounding her. She was going to Mrs Patel’s for the short-term. She’d help with the shop and, to a lesser extent, help with the baby. It would be a good temporary arrangement for both of them, but only temporary, because Claire knew she could not and would not permanently move in. She needed her own place, and though the idea of going back to Mrs Watson’s or some place like that made her blood run cold, she would do it if she had to.
As Claire reached down to pick up a box, she noticed an envelope addressed to her resting on the corner of another carton. It was from her mother. Claire lowered herself onto her bed, slowly opened the letter and began to read.
Dear Claire,
I miss you very much. The empty house is lonely. I go up to your room and it’s very weird to be there without you. Remember all the fun we used to have? I hope you’re thinking about coming home. Anyway, I got this letter for you. I hope you don’t think I opened it. It came in the mail like that, with the flap torn. I certainly hope it’s good news, and that you’ll share it (the news) with me.
Your loving mother.
P.S.
I’m paying off the Saks bill myself. Think of it as a birthday present. You know, you didn’t have to send me the money. I’ve always been generous with you. So your payment won’t go to waste, I redecorated your room so it’s all ready for you to come back to.
There was another letter enclosed with her mother’s, and it was clear her mother had opened it. This used to happen on the rare occasions when letters came to Claire from Fred and her mother couldn’t wait to read them.
But this wasn’t a letter from Fred. The return address was Alcott and Stevens, LLP – a firm of lawyers – with a New York address. Claire reopened the envelope.
Dear Miss Bilsop,
I’m sorry to have to inform you of the death of your aunt, Gertrude Bilsop Polanski. As you may know, she was your father’s only sister and had been the sole recipient of the Bilsop estate when your paternal grandfather died.
Mrs Polanski had no children and has left her entire estate to you. I enclose a copy of her will, but to summarize you have inherited approximately four hundred thirty-eight thousand dollars in cash and securities as well as the Bilsop homestead at 713 Hyland Avenue, Tottenville. Apparently, your aunt had rented it out for the last two decades, but it was on a year-by-year basis and the tenants can be removed at the end of this calendar year.
In addition, there are some paintings, furniture and jewelry that may be valuable. We could certainly have them appraised for you by a reputable expert.
Your aunt was a long-term client. Our firm assisted her after the death of her husband and I hope that you might entertain thoughts of our doing the same for you at this time. As the executor of the estate, I wait for your response. Probate should last only a few more months.
Very truly yours,
John Alcott
P.S.
I am also forwarding a book Mrs Polanski wanted you to have. It was published in 1888 and outlines quite a bit about the Bilsop holdings and their place in the community.
Claire put down the letter and, for a moment, had no reaction at all. Then, irrelevantly, she thought that she could neither tell Imogen – who already thought she was from an ‘old family’ – nor would she want to show Nigel Venables that she did, indeed, ‘have people’. She read the letter again, this time more carefully. All the stuff her father had told her, the stuff her mother called garbage, must have been true. He had talked about his sister and she knew that he had fought with his father long ago, back when he had dropped out of college. She had never met her grandfather or her Aunt Gertrude. Then she thought of the houses – not the horrible modern ones but the beautiful old ones the yuppies had restored – back in Tottenville. Was one of those back on Staten Island waiting for her? And the money! It was more than she could imagine. It wasn’t the lottery, but to her it was as good as one.
She looked down at the letter. So much was possible. She could, perhaps, buy a flat or at least rent one. She could stay on here at Imogen’s but have the place to herself. She could apply for a working visa. It was amazing how a single piece of paper could change your life. But did she want to change her life? She certainly didn’t want a house in Tottenville, even if it was on the water. Did it matter that a great, great, great grand uncle had been a gentleman farmer and a member of colonial society? Not to her.
‘I’m just about done here,’ Claire told Imogen. ‘I’m going around the corner to say goodbye to Mrs Venables, but I wanted to give you your wedding present now.’ She handed Imogen the gift she had carefully wrapped. ‘I don’t know if it’s a polite thing to do, or if I have to wait until you’re married, but …’ she paused, ‘anyway, I’d like you to have it.’
‘Oh, Claire, how very kind of you. Shall we sit down right now and open it? I should, by rights, wait for Malcolm but you know how men are.’ Claire wasn’t entirely sure she did but she agreed and joined Imogen on the sofa. It took only a minute for Imogen to pull off the careful wrapping. ‘But Claire!’ she said, when she saw the little Battersea box, ‘I … no, I really couldn’t. It’s so beautiful. And valuable. Do you really want to part with it?’
‘I want you to have it,’ Claire said. ‘It would make you happy. Living here has been very, very special to me. And I’d like you to always remember me.’
Imogen impulsively hugged Claire. ‘Well, it’s a lovely surprise. And I have one for you. Can you just nip back here after your visit to Mrs Venables?’
Claire nodded. ‘I have to anyway,’ she said. ‘To pick up my things.’
‘Good,’ Imogen told her, and went back to her somewhat ineffectual wandering around the half-packed rooms.
As Claire walked down the street that would no longer be ‘hers’ she thought with regret about leaving the neighborhood. There was nothing wrong with Camden but everything here was so pretty. For two hundred years, and for some buildings considerably longer, people had been looking for and finding ways to improve and beautify these houses. The boxes full of flowers were in full May bloom. Each front yard was groomed to perfection with a variety of landscaping tricks. Every balcony was covered with ivy or sported matching pairs of topiary trees in immaculate urns. Each door seemed freshly painted, all the brass shone in the spring sunshine. Even the curtains and chandeliers visible from the street seemed perfectly in keeping with the rest of the buildings and the neighborhood. Claire thought of the screen doors and jalousie windows, the cinder block walls of Tottenville and winced. But she didn’t have to go back. Perhaps, if the house – the Homestead – was sold she could find something here.
What a relief to not have to return to Staten Island or Manhattan Island either. Though as different as chalk from cheese, both were wrong for her. Her decision not to marry Michael hadn’t been easy, but once it was made, she hadn’t had a moment of regret. She had slept well last night. She was sorry if she had hurt him but she had a feeling, after his rude leave-taking, that he would get over her soon enough. Perhaps someday a Katherine Rensselaer would be able to thank Claire for the home and family that Michael gave her.
Claire turned and saw the knitting shop from the corner. Oddly, there were people in it. Even from this distance she recognized Mrs Willis, Mrs Lyons-Hatchington, Charlotte and another woman who looked familiar from at least one class. Claire quickened her steps. She thought of the Monty Python line seemingly used by all fictional British policemen: ‘What’s all this, then?’ When she got to the doorway she could see Mrs Venables behind the counter. She was shocked but delighted.
‘Hello, Claire,’ Mrs Venables said as she lifted her head from the knitting she was examining for the Countess, who huddled beside her. ‘I’m having some trouble changing the wool color on this bobbin,’ she admitted. ‘Perhaps you could help.’
‘Of course,’ Claire agreed. She wanted to ask whether Mrs Venables should be there at all, and whether this was good for her but wouldn’t do so in the presence of others. She smiled at the Countess. ‘Here we go,’ she said and deftly moved the thread around the bobbin.
‘Ah, Claire, my daughter told me you would call today or tomorrow about another knitting party. But if the shop stays open, perhaps we needn’t fuss about it.’
‘Oh, but the shop isn’t …’
Claire was interrupted smoothly by Mrs Venables. ‘… going anywhere,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Although I’m sure Claire would be delighted to run another party if you would like to entertain at home.’
Mrs Cruikshank approached the three women. ‘My daughter-in-law has begun to crochet,’ she said.
Claire struggled to look interested. Like many knitters, she had deep contempt for crocheting. There was no challenge to it and it was limited to three basic stitches. ‘I’m not a crocheter,’ Claire said.
‘Nor I,’ Mrs Cruikshank agreed. ‘Anyway, I’ve never liked it.’
But, ‘Now, now,’ said Mrs Venables. ‘I’m sure she’s very good and careful. We mustn’t allow our passions to rule us.’ She looked up and smiled at Claire. ‘Well, not all of the time,’ she said and gave Claire a wicked little smile.
Claire wasn’t sure what the message in the smile was. She forced herself to refrain from speaking. There was too much to ask about. The shop? It would stay open? And Mrs Venables could work? Mrs Cruikshank, perhaps out of respect for Mrs Venables’s recent illness or perhaps because of the difficulty she was having with her pattern and daughter-in-law simply shrugged.
‘As you get older, you have to choose your battles. You can’t fight them all.’
Mrs Venables nodded her agreement. ‘You’re absolutely right. It’s like the shop,’ she said. ‘Keeping it open is necessary, but I had a pitched battle with my son.’
‘Sons,’ Mrs Cruikshank sighed. ‘They always make a fatal decision in the women they marry.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ the Countess said. ‘Daughters make fatal decisions by not marrying at all.’ Claire thought of Ann Fenwick, busy, busy, busy.
Mrs Venables nodded again. ‘Oh, sons do the same,’ she said. ‘Nigel’s going to be thirty-six and he still isn’t married. Perhaps it’s a way to keep me from ever meeting my own grandchild.’
‘Believe me,’ Mrs Cruikshank said, ‘just because you have them doesn’t mean you chance to see them. My daughter-in-law, the crocheter, makes sure that a visit once a month is sufficient, at least for her.’ Then she asked for Claire’s help to tie off another color. Claire, mad with impatience to know what had gone on between Mrs Venables and Nigel, managed to do it without destroying the cardigan. But when she was done and Mrs Cruikshank had gone to sit beside the Countess, Claire could no longer hold back.
‘If you’re leaving the shop open, how did you get Nigel to go along with it?’ she burst out.
Mrs Venables shrugged and smiled airily. ‘I had my way. I just declared business as usual.’
‘You mean you’re keeping the shop open?’ Claire asked. All the women around the table nodded, smiling. ‘But, but … how?’
‘First I spoke to Mr Roberts, my physician and got his approval. But you know Nigel. It wasn’t easy.’
‘They’re never easy,’ Mrs Cruikshank said bitterly. ‘But at least he’s interested in your welfare.’
‘So he agreed?’ Claire asked, her heart beginning to beat very quickly.
‘Well, not right away. I told him that I may be old, but I’m in complete control of my faculties. He took exception to that, but I was firm.’ The women shook their heads in agreement.
‘How did you convince him?’ Claire asked.
‘I asked for his objection. Was the question whether I have the strength to run the shop?’ She looked at the group around her. Then she looked directly at Claire. ‘I told him I didn’t know, but I was sure Claire was very willing to become my partner.’ She gave Claire a full-faced smile and patted her hand. The other women murmured approvingly. ‘He said working wasn’t the best thing for me. And I told him that sitting upstairs with nothing to do but watch the dust gather and the silver tarnish wasn’t therapeutic either.’
‘Good for you,’ the Countess agreed.
‘Didn’t he try to cause a fuss then? I know my son would,’ Mrs Cruikshank put in.
‘Well, naturally.’ Mrs Venables straightened up her head and put her hands on her hips. ‘“But Mother … ”‘ she said in a fairly good Nigel imitation. The older women laughed, but Claire’s head was too filled with excitement to join them. ‘I was afraid that he needed to sell the building to organize his business affairs.’ She lowered her voice and spoke only to Claire. ‘I didn’t want to have to remind him that the building was mine actually, not his.’
Mrs Cruikshank nodded her head. ‘If I buy so much as a pair of needles they act as if I’m squandering their inheritance.’
‘Well, luckily Nigel told me he didn’t need any help with his business affairs. I apologized and, to tell you the truth, I was quite relieved.’
‘So the shop will stay open,’ the Countess said, her face wreathed in a smile.
‘Well, that will depend on Claire. If she’ll take me on as a partner and take over the management. I promised Nigel I’d only work three afternoons a week.’
‘That seems reasonable,’ Mrs Cruikshank said. ‘And Claire is a good girl.’ She patted Claire’s arm. ‘If only my son had married someone like you,’ she said.
Claire could hardly believe it. To inherit money, a house, and be offered a partnership all in one day? To find out that the shop would stay open, that she would have a job doing what she loved and that people were actually grateful to her for doing it was too much. Then, ‘Of course, there are some difficulties,’ Mrs Venables said, and Claire’s heart dropped. She should have known. ‘For one thing,’ Mrs Venables continued, ‘she’ll have to agree to take a good deal more money. And for another she’ll probably have to accept a flat upstairs in lieu of some compensation.’ She looked at Claire apologetically. ‘Until the cash flow, or something like that, improves. And Nigel said he’d feel so much better if he knew you were within shouting distance.’ She looked at the women. ‘But of course, Claire might not want to be saddled with me.’
A flat! And in this neighborhood, in this very building! Mrs Venables’s place on the parlor floor was very beautiful. Claire couldn’t even imagine what another flat in the building would look like but … the possibilities of investing in the shop or renting bigger space to enlarge Knitting Kitting’s inventory, having weekday evening classes or bigger weekend classes. Then there was redecorating the flat. Choosing new paint colors for the walls, new rugs to go on the beautiful wood floors, putting up new curtains and draperies, the list was endless.
‘So, would you consider it, Claire?’
Then Claire remembered Mrs Patel and the baby. She had promised to help take care of the grocery and help out with the kids. But couldn’t she manage to do that and the shop? Especially if she got more of Maudie’s help? ‘It may take me a little while to organize it,’ Claire said. ‘But I would be so very happy, so grateful …’
‘Well, we’ll sort that all out later, shall we?’ Mrs Venables asked.
Just then the door opened and Lady Ann came in.