Narcissa by Richmal Crompton

Author:Richmal Crompton [Crompton, Richmal]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw
Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Published: 2015-08-27T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

BIDDY sat on the window-sill of Doreen’s Chelsea flat, watching the seagulls as they swept the grey river below with flashes of white wings.

“They’re lovely, aren’t they?” she said.

“They’re all right in the distance,” admitted Doreen. “I don’t like them at close quarters. Their expression reminds me of the Albert Memorial.”

“But they’re so picturesque,” said Biddy.

“Oh yes,” agreed Doreen with a faint smile, “they’re picturesque.”

The two cousins made a striking contrast—Doreen, tall, beautiful, with her air of distinction and sophistication, Biddy as dumpy and plain and appallingly dressed as ever. She had had an orgy of dressmaking in preparation for this visit, had chosen the gayest materials procurable in its honour and had put the garments together in such a state of excitement that pieces meant for one dress actually appeared in another. Her chaotic packing had deprived her hats of any shape they may originally have had, and one or two strands of her stiff carroty hair escaped her “bun” to hang down her back, however often she pinned them back.

Doreen had come to the Chelsea flat after her mother’s death and had written two novels in the last three years, using a pen name so as not to appear to be exploiting her father’s reputation. The first had been praised by discerning critics but had been ignored by the public; the second, published last year, had seemed to satisfy both critics and public and had secured for her a sound reputation as a novelist.

Biddy had been wildly excited by her cousin’s success and had sent a copy of the first book to Stella, who in her reply had praised the book, but stressed various particulars in which she considered that the heroine had failed in “womanliness.” “But then, darling,” she had ended, “you know how terribly old-fashioned I am. Doreen, of course, is much more up-to-date.”

Biddy had come to stay with Doreen for the Coronation but, frantically loyal as Biddy was, the high-light of the whole fortnight in her eyes was the visit they were going to pay Stella today.

“It’ll be lovely to see her again,” she said. “I’ve not seen her for three years, you know. The boys are eleven and nine now. She’s a wonderful mother.” She sighed. “Poor Stella!”

“Why ‘poor Stella’?” said Doreen.

“She’s had such a dreadful time,” answered Biddy.

“Why? She’s got a good husband and——”

“A good husband?” interrupted Biddy indignantly. “Paul? Why, Doreen, he’s lost job after job. He’s a junior clerk in a Peckham warehouse now, you know. Think of Stella—Stella—living in a poky little house in Peckham, on less than lots of working men earn. Yet she never complains.”

Doreen rose and stood looking down over the river.

“Is it Paul’s fault that he’s lost his jobs?” she said.

“Of course,” said Biddy. “Whose else should it be?”

“I thought that they left Bellerton because of Stella’s health.”

“Well, Stella said so, but—you know what Stella is. She’s so loyal. She’s always tried to cover up Paul’s failings. I guessed at the time that Paul had

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