Read Online An Excellent Wife by Charlotte Lamb - Free Book Online
Authors: Charlotte Lamb
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suffer. They died oh impact, apparently.'
'Three years ago?' James thought aloud. 'How old was Emmy?' Now why did he want to know that? He seemed to be losing all control of his mind, thinking and saying things that would never have occurred to him before today.
'Three years old, poor baby.'
James winced. 'It must have hit her hard.'
Patience sighed, nodding. 'She regressed—turned back into a baby. She didn't talk or walk, burst into tears over nothing, had nightmares at night, called for her mother—shock takes a long time to wear off; it's like a bruise but on the inside instead of the outside. I couldn't have left her with strangers; she needed to be with someone who loved her. I had to be here for her all the time. And the boys were difficult to deal with, too; it took them another way. Toby started stealing from local shops, swearing, bullying other boys at school, and Thomas wet the bed, wouldn't eat, wouldn't do what you told him, couldn't concentrate on his schoolwork.'
Grimly, James said, 'Boys are taught not to show their feelings, so they have to find another way of dealing with the pain.' He had never expressed it at all; he had internalised it, wrapped it up and put it away out of sight at the back of his mind where he suddenly realised it had lain all this time, festering and every so often beginning to leak out without him understanding why he got those jabs of anger and distress from nowhere.
Looking up at him, Patience smiled gently. 'It is terrifying, having parents vanish like that, out of the blue.'
They were both talking about him as much as her brothers and sister. He looked away, his face pale.
'It made the children so insecure they no longer felt they could trust anyone not to disappear; they were afraid I might go next. So you see why I couldn't have sold this house.'
Yes, he could see the predicament she had been in, but he could not believe she should have opened the house as a hotel. 'How do they feel about having all these old people around all the time, though? I shouldn't think they would want other people sharing your attention, not to mention taking up so much of your energy.' He knew he wouldn't like it.
'Oh, but they love it—they don't have grandparents, and I think children need contact with the older generation; there's a natural sympathy between children and old people. They're far closer in spirit than parents are with children; parents have too many responsibilities, too much to do running a home, finding money, doing practical things. They're the ones who discipline and feel they have to keep nagging at the children to do better. Old people have left all that behind and are sitting back, enjoying life, the way children do.
'For instance, Joe has taught the boys gardening, although he gets cross now and then, and Emmy helps Lavinia in the kitchen; she likes being in there, measuring flour, beating eggs, spooning out jam—Lavinia is teaching her how to cook, which is fun for both of them. Lavinia has no grandchildren, you see, and she should have had them; she makes a lovely grandma.'
'Was it Lavinia who cooked the supper? I thought it was you.'
'We did it together; Lavinia was a professional cook at one time, I've learnt a lot from her.' Patience looked at the tray he still held. 'That coffee must be getting cold and we ought to go in and see your mother. She's probably wondering what is going on out here! She must be able to hear us talking.'
James was frozen to the spot; he felt as if his feet had grown down into the carpet and he couldn't move. Patience stared up at him, her bright hazel eyes probing his face. She was at it again—reading minds!
'Come on!'
'Stop pushing me around, Miss Kirby!' He used his most cutting, incisive voice. 'I'll go in there when I'm ready.'
'Don't be scared,' she said in a gentle voice, at which he reddened angrily.
'I'm nothing of the kind! What are you talking about? Scared!'
She smiled at him, then walked away down the
'Three years ago?' James thought aloud. 'How old was Emmy?' Now why did he want to know that? He seemed to be losing all control of his mind, thinking and saying things that would never have occurred to him before today.
'Three years old, poor baby.'
James winced. 'It must have hit her hard.'
Patience sighed, nodding. 'She regressed—turned back into a baby. She didn't talk or walk, burst into tears over nothing, had nightmares at night, called for her mother—shock takes a long time to wear off; it's like a bruise but on the inside instead of the outside. I couldn't have left her with strangers; she needed to be with someone who loved her. I had to be here for her all the time. And the boys were difficult to deal with, too; it took them another way. Toby started stealing from local shops, swearing, bullying other boys at school, and Thomas wet the bed, wouldn't eat, wouldn't do what you told him, couldn't concentrate on his schoolwork.'
Grimly, James said, 'Boys are taught not to show their feelings, so they have to find another way of dealing with the pain.' He had never expressed it at all; he had internalised it, wrapped it up and put it away out of sight at the back of his mind where he suddenly realised it had lain all this time, festering and every so often beginning to leak out without him understanding why he got those jabs of anger and distress from nowhere.
Looking up at him, Patience smiled gently. 'It is terrifying, having parents vanish like that, out of the blue.'
They were both talking about him as much as her brothers and sister. He looked away, his face pale.
'It made the children so insecure they no longer felt they could trust anyone not to disappear; they were afraid I might go next. So you see why I couldn't have sold this house.'
Yes, he could see the predicament she had been in, but he could not believe she should have opened the house as a hotel. 'How do they feel about having all these old people around all the time, though? I shouldn't think they would want other people sharing your attention, not to mention taking up so much of your energy.' He knew he wouldn't like it.
'Oh, but they love it—they don't have grandparents, and I think children need contact with the older generation; there's a natural sympathy between children and old people. They're far closer in spirit than parents are with children; parents have too many responsibilities, too much to do running a home, finding money, doing practical things. They're the ones who discipline and feel they have to keep nagging at the children to do better. Old people have left all that behind and are sitting back, enjoying life, the way children do.
'For instance, Joe has taught the boys gardening, although he gets cross now and then, and Emmy helps Lavinia in the kitchen; she likes being in there, measuring flour, beating eggs, spooning out jam—Lavinia is teaching her how to cook, which is fun for both of them. Lavinia has no grandchildren, you see, and she should have had them; she makes a lovely grandma.'
'Was it Lavinia who cooked the supper? I thought it was you.'
'We did it together; Lavinia was a professional cook at one time, I've learnt a lot from her.' Patience looked at the tray he still held. 'That coffee must be getting cold and we ought to go in and see your mother. She's probably wondering what is going on out here! She must be able to hear us talking.'
James was frozen to the spot; he felt as if his feet had grown down into the carpet and he couldn't move. Patience stared up at him, her bright hazel eyes probing his face. She was at it again—reading minds!
'Come on!'
'Stop pushing me around, Miss Kirby!' He used his most cutting, incisive voice. 'I'll go in there when I'm ready.'
'Don't be scared,' she said in a gentle voice, at which he reddened angrily.
'I'm nothing of the kind! What are you talking about? Scared!'
She smiled at him, then walked away down the
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