Free The Uninvited Guests by Sadie Jones

hands held out towards the raw fire. He had a woman at his side who might have been his wife, and she spoke next.
    ‘Any word from the Railway?’ she said, and another put in, ‘They didn’t say how long it would be.’ And another whispered urgently, ‘We really must get on,’ to which a few yeses and ayes were added.
    ‘I am about to telephone them. I shall let you know directly. I do apologise for … your delay.’ She felt like a railway employee herself, saying it, but she didn’t know what else to say. She took a step backwards and shut the door again, firmly.
    Harsh judgements aside, they were an unnerving lot, and she hoped they wouldn’t come spilling out.
    She reached the hall where her cowardly mother was lurking on the stairs.
    ‘I’m going to my room.’
    ‘What about the Suttons?’ hissed Emerald, indicating the library door.
    ‘I’ve no idea, Emerald: you see to them.’
    Emerald was an intuitive young woman. She saw through her mother’s glib pretence and attempted to put aside her own dismay at being deserted by her parent to say kindly, ‘It’s all right, you know, Mother; it doesn’t matter.’
    ‘Whatever can you mean?’ responded Charlotte irritably.
    ‘All these people; honestly, Mother, the Suttons don’t mind.’
    Charlotte paused, her hand still on the banister. ‘Emerald,’ she said icily, ‘if you imagine I care a fig for what Insignificance Sutton or her owlish brother think—’
    ‘Here, sh!’ Emerald glanced guiltily towards the closed door. ‘Come away – go up!’
    They scuttled up the stairs and Emerald led her mother firmly to the safety of her bedroom door, where she continued, in a low voice, ‘I do think you care a fig. I think you care a great many figs. Camilla Sutton was part of what you always dotingly describe as your wonderfully conventional childhood—’ She broke off. ‘Why didn’t she come, incidentally?’
    ‘Oh, she sent a rotten telegram. Something about flu. I shouldn’t think that was it for a minute. ’
    ‘You might have told me. Ernest doesn’t look a bit like her. Why would she lie?’
    Charlotte had balled her handkerchief again, and now plucked at it, distractedly, a child, fidgeting to get away, forced to respond, and petulant.
    ‘How should I know? Perhaps she despises me. Having no money. Marrying Edward.’
    Emerald squirmed under the weight of these confidences. She ought to entertain the Suttons, she must telephone the Railway – yet here she was, once more forced to support her drooping, weak-stemmed, climbing vine of a sun-seeking mother. She drew a steadying breath.
    ‘Ma, Edward is a fine barrister. I should think he is a very respectable person to have married.’ Now she found herself defending her stepfather; his absence in a crisis was doing her view of him no end of good.
    ‘Yes, but – well, you know – his arm … and nobody knows him. And she’s one of the bridge and calling-cards set, and seems to be connected to very high-born types. And I’m … well, I’m not.’
    ‘But you never have been, Mother. I’m surprised you should suddenly mind now.’
    ‘I just mind her throwing me over, and then sending out her tedious little spies to see what we’re up to, and then we’re up to this – these people! It’s humiliating.’
    ‘Those tedious little spies, as you call them,’ said Emerald hotly, ‘happen to be my good friend Patience – who may be as conventional as a box of bricks, but is also perfectly sweet. And her brother, who is—’ she faltered, ‘– too, and another perfectly fine person.’
    Charlotte became vague.
    ‘Oh, Emerald, they’re divine. I’m going to lie down and think what can be done.’
    ‘Well, Mother, you go on. Only – please don’t worry. I shall telephone the Railway, all those people will be gone soon, and we’ll have the most dignified supper you ever saw. And don’t forget, John Buchanan is coming!’
    She could have kicked herself for getting her