The Dreaming Suburb by R.F. Delderfield Read Free Book Online

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    Edith coped very well with the “spells”, but not quite so efficiently with the family finances. In one of his rare communicative moods, shortly before his death, Parson Clegg had said to her: “There'll be enough, Edie—not much, mind you, but enough, providing you're careful.” And then, a few moments before his death, he said a strange thing. Catching Edith by the hand he spoke slowly and clearly, straight into her ear.
    “Look after Edie ,” he said; and came as near to winking as matters. He must have meant to say “Becky”, of course, and Edith was relieved to hear him say it, for it implied forgiveness on his part, but she had never understood the solemn wink. In all the years they had lived together, she never recalled seeing her father wink and, even allowing for the circumstances, and the fact that he had only just emerged from a coma, the wink upset Edith more than his sudden death, and remained vividly in mind long after the pattern of the final scene had become blurred.
    About the time Jim Carver came home, and Esme bewitched Judith in the gazebo of the old Manor, Edith Clegg received her first letter from the Barnstaple solicitors, who were executors for Parson Clegg's modest fortune.
    She had to put on her steel-rimmed spectacles, and read the letter at least three times before she perceived, behind a number of finely-turned legal phrases, that the communication was a piece of well-meant advice to take stock of her financial position.
    Parson Clegg had left uninvested capital of about £2,500 (to her dying day Edith never discovered its source: it could never have been saved from his stipend), and each Friday, since the old man's death, Edith had drawn a cheque on the local bank for fifty shillings. Only on rare occasions was she left with more than a copper or two when the week ended, and in her simple, uncomplicated mind she put this down to careful housekeeping on her part. She made no allowances for the rising costs of living after 1914; indeed, it is doubtful ifshe was more than half aware of them, for she never bought a newspaper. All her war news came through the agency of Mr. Piretta, the rosy-faced, ever-smiling grocer, in the corner shop.
    Occasionally, however, there were lump-sum expenditures—a tweed costume, a chair-cover, settlement of rates and, every quarter, the rent. To cover these contingencies Edith drew a monthly cheque of ten pounds, so that her expenditure ran into something under three hundred a year. Parson Clegg died in 1909, so that his capital had now dwindled to just over £1,000. It was pointed out to Edith that if she continued spending at the present rate, she would be penniless in less than five years.
    The letter, once she had thoroughly understood it, brought her up with a severe jolt. She was not a fool, and realised immediately that she must invest the remaining money, and then set about earning some more. Never having earned a penny in her entire life, she sought advice from the nearest source, the local bank manager.
    This gentleman, who had that sound common-sense proverbial among managers of small banks, promptly invested her £1,000 in gilt-edged and, after questioning her for over an hour on the limited possibilities, advised her to set up as a music-teacher, and let one of her bedrooms.
    Once she got used to the idea the prospect of earning her living delighted her, and she went about the preliminaries with a promptness that took the bank manager (convinced until then that he was dealing with an impoverished aristocrat) by surprise. She advertised for pupils in the local paper, and for lodgers in the drawing-room window. The results were immediate and gratifying. In less than a month she had twelve music pupils at two guineas a quarter, and had let her back bedroom to Ted Hartnell.
    Edith had chosen a propitious time to advertise for music pupils. All over the suburb mothers were dragging their children to the piano-stool. There was a boom in