office. She found that she was trembling.
'Rosa,' she called. 'Bring me a cup of coffee. Black today, please.'
Violet went straight up to her bedroom and sat down in an old sagging wicker chair by the window. Outside, in the garden which ran alongside that of The Fuchsia Bush, a blackbird piped merrily. The scent of pinks floated through the window, and some yellow Mermaid roses nodded from the wall which divided the two properties.
The scene was tranquil, but the watcher was not. Violet's heart was thumping in a most alarming manner, and she was quite unable to control the tremors which shook her frame.
The thought of confronting her sister Bertha was devastating. As the youngest of the three, Violet had always felt slightly subservient to her older sisters' demands, although recently she had come to realize that they relied upon her more and more as their own strength receded.
But this was a different matter. This was a question of being dishonoured, of inviting ridicule, of personal shame.
Violet rose from the chair, which gave out protesting squeaks, and rested her hot forehead against the cold window pane.
What should she do? How best to approach this dreadful problem? What would be Bertha's reaction? Would she deny the charge? Would she break down, and confess to even further guilty secrets?
Violet decided that it would be best to tackle Bertha after they had all had their morning coffee. She herself should be calmer by that time, and more able to face her unpleasant task.
She went downstairs to the kitchen and began to set the tray with three large cups of exquisite Limoges china and three silver teaspoons. In the Lovelock household, such plebeian objects as mugs were not used, even for morning coffee.
Going about this simple task made her feel more settled. If only they had had a brother, she thought wistfully. This was the sort of thing a man could cope with so much better.
As she waited for the kettle to boil, she toyed with Mrs Peters' suggestion that it might be a good idea to speak to Bertha's doctor, but she rejected it at once. Doctor Lovell was much too young, and there might be disagreeable consequences, such as further consultations with psychiatrists and other horrors.
And then she thought of Charles Henstock, and a warm glow suffused her. Dear Charles! The complete answer! If Bertha should prove even the tiniest scrap difficult, then Violet would seek help from their old and wise friend.
The kettle boiled. Water poured on to the coffee grounds and Violet stood savouring the rich aroma, now mistress of herself.
5. Trouble at the Lovelocks'
JULY arrived, and gardeners were picking broad beans and raspberries and admiring their swelling onions. They were also, of course, spraying their roses for black-spot and mildew, and trying to cope with ground elder, couch grass, chickweed and groundsel, all of which rioted in their flower borders.
'But,' as Muriel Fuller observed to Ella Bembridge, 'there is no pleasure without pain.'
She was inclined to trot out these little sayings as though she had just thought of them, which Ella found distinctly trying.
The two ladies were meeting rather more often these days, as they were sharing the responsibility of coping with the soft furnishings for the extension to the sitting-room at Rectory Cottages.
The footings were already dug and, like all footings everywhere, looked ludicrously small, as though the room would be hard put to it to accommodate two chairs, let alone the dozen or so envisaged.
The question of curtains awaited further discussion for Edward Young, the architect, was strongly in favour of pull-down blinds being fitted to the windows inside for easy adjustment, and for an awning which could be pulled down on the outside of the glass building facing south.
The two ladies were quite content to shelve the matter of the curtains until such things as expense and necessity, should blinds be considered adequate, were settled; but they decided to
'Rosa,' she called. 'Bring me a cup of coffee. Black today, please.'
Violet went straight up to her bedroom and sat down in an old sagging wicker chair by the window. Outside, in the garden which ran alongside that of The Fuchsia Bush, a blackbird piped merrily. The scent of pinks floated through the window, and some yellow Mermaid roses nodded from the wall which divided the two properties.
The scene was tranquil, but the watcher was not. Violet's heart was thumping in a most alarming manner, and she was quite unable to control the tremors which shook her frame.
The thought of confronting her sister Bertha was devastating. As the youngest of the three, Violet had always felt slightly subservient to her older sisters' demands, although recently she had come to realize that they relied upon her more and more as their own strength receded.
But this was a different matter. This was a question of being dishonoured, of inviting ridicule, of personal shame.
Violet rose from the chair, which gave out protesting squeaks, and rested her hot forehead against the cold window pane.
What should she do? How best to approach this dreadful problem? What would be Bertha's reaction? Would she deny the charge? Would she break down, and confess to even further guilty secrets?
Violet decided that it would be best to tackle Bertha after they had all had their morning coffee. She herself should be calmer by that time, and more able to face her unpleasant task.
She went downstairs to the kitchen and began to set the tray with three large cups of exquisite Limoges china and three silver teaspoons. In the Lovelock household, such plebeian objects as mugs were not used, even for morning coffee.
Going about this simple task made her feel more settled. If only they had had a brother, she thought wistfully. This was the sort of thing a man could cope with so much better.
As she waited for the kettle to boil, she toyed with Mrs Peters' suggestion that it might be a good idea to speak to Bertha's doctor, but she rejected it at once. Doctor Lovell was much too young, and there might be disagreeable consequences, such as further consultations with psychiatrists and other horrors.
And then she thought of Charles Henstock, and a warm glow suffused her. Dear Charles! The complete answer! If Bertha should prove even the tiniest scrap difficult, then Violet would seek help from their old and wise friend.
The kettle boiled. Water poured on to the coffee grounds and Violet stood savouring the rich aroma, now mistress of herself.
5. Trouble at the Lovelocks'
JULY arrived, and gardeners were picking broad beans and raspberries and admiring their swelling onions. They were also, of course, spraying their roses for black-spot and mildew, and trying to cope with ground elder, couch grass, chickweed and groundsel, all of which rioted in their flower borders.
'But,' as Muriel Fuller observed to Ella Bembridge, 'there is no pleasure without pain.'
She was inclined to trot out these little sayings as though she had just thought of them, which Ella found distinctly trying.
The two ladies were meeting rather more often these days, as they were sharing the responsibility of coping with the soft furnishings for the extension to the sitting-room at Rectory Cottages.
The footings were already dug and, like all footings everywhere, looked ludicrously small, as though the room would be hard put to it to accommodate two chairs, let alone the dozen or so envisaged.
The question of curtains awaited further discussion for Edward Young, the architect, was strongly in favour of pull-down blinds being fitted to the windows inside for easy adjustment, and for an awning which could be pulled down on the outside of the glass building facing south.
The two ladies were quite content to shelve the matter of the curtains until such things as expense and necessity, should blinds be considered adequate, were settled; but they decided to
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