It was Honoria who had talked to the doctors, arranged for the body to be transported, organised the funeral, chosen the stone. Amy simply stumbled after in a druggy, pain-filled haze. If she had not been so totally incapable she surely would not have ended up at Gresham House. Perhaps it was then, thought Amy, scraping the onion into a saucepan, that Honoria had begun to truly despise her. Not that Honoria ever evinced the slightest surprise at the lack of backbone and moral fibre displayed by her brother’s wife. It was, she silently implied, no more than one would expect from a person of inferior pedigree, for the only true nobility was the nobility of the blood. When Amy had first been introduced Honoria had behaved like an Edwardian duchess whose son had got secretly engaged to a base-born Gaiety girl.
Apparently (or so Ralph had said) their father had been even worse - a great admirer, like more than one upper-class Englishman in the thirties, of Adolf Hitler and his pursuit of racial purity. Before she had properly understood the strength and virulence of Honoria’s ruling passion, Amy had foolishly taken issue when the idea of marriage between different races was being vilified, had spoken of melting pots and world harmony and how, whatever our colour and creed, we were all human beings.
Honoria had explained at length, with cold patience, that such an attitude was not only sentimental and ill-informed but completely against the will of God. Eagles and ostriches and sparrows were all birds, but you never saw them being so foolish and ill-disciplined as to try and mate with each other. Nature had organised matters to perfection so that each feather, eye, beak and claw was repeated to perfection ad infinitum. Only man thought he could improve on this flawless system. After all this it was a mere hop, skip and a jump to how efficient Nature was at disposing of the weak, lame, halt and those who had somehow not managed to repeat themselves to perfection. At this point Amy had switched off.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Oh!’ She almost dropped the pan. ‘You made me jump.’ Aware that she sounded nervous and uncertain, Amy then became resentful. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
Honoria stood in the doorway. Indeed, it would not be too much to say that she occupied the doorway. She stared at Amy with unbroken concentration, then repeated herself.
‘Lunch.’ Amy hated being stared at. ‘I’m making lunch.’ She seized a wooden spoon and started agitating the slivers of onion. ‘Won’t be long.’
‘It’s quarter past already,’ said Honoria.‘You’re late.’
Amy never knew why it was that moment she chose to rebel. Afterwards it seemed rather that the moment had chosen her. That all the months of skivvydom and endless, niggling humiliations coalesced into a thrust of aggravation so powerful that her jaws opened of their own accord and the words just tumbled out.
‘I’m late, Honoria, because I’ve done the washing. This took a long time as there is no machine. Before I did the washing I cleaned the bedrooms. In between those tasks, if you recall, I was verifying certain facts on your index cards and taking letters to the post. The miracle to me, Honoria, is not that lunch is late but that I’ve breath to spare to get any lunch at all.’
During this speech Amy did not look at her sister-in-law. And when she had finished she forced herself not to pick up the wooden spoon or relight the gas or make any move along the lines of domestic servitude. The room had gone immensely quiet. Into this vacuum, now that she had said her say, Amy’s apprehension started to seep.
And yet, what could Honoria actually do? Throw me out, decided Amy, that’s what. But would that be so terrible? Surely she could not be any worse off. There were always people wanting help. She had come across a genteel magazine in the library full of advertisements. Any one of them must surely reveal someone kinder than Honoria, with a warmer home and a more generous purse.
What was it Ralph had said when his illness had first been diagnosed and they had clung to each other’s hands in disbelieving terror? Courage, mon brave. Surely facing an unknown future must be a trifle in comparison. As these thoughts raced through Amy’s mind the glimpse of freedom they engendered was so exhilarating that she felt almost elated.
Blinking her way back to the present she became aware that Honoria was speaking and picked up the words ‘. . . weren’t so slow . . .’
‘If I am slow,’ Amy said sharply, ‘it is because I am cold. My fingers are frozen stiff half the time.’ She turned back to the sink and tossed the wooden spoon in with a clatter. ‘I can’t stay here any longer.’
‘What are you saying?’