When I was sixteen my mother married again and went away for
good. She married a Canadian judge, with some special scheme
for prison reform. He had reorganized the penal system in Manitoba,
my mother said, and that interested her. They went to live in
Winnipeg, and only came back at long intervals to visit England.
I believe she was happy in Winnipeg. She ran evening classes
and formed Women’s Societies of different kinds. When I saw her
next, about five years later, she seemed to me kinder than before,
and more tolerant, and I think that may have been because she
was happier.
Once, long after this, Cousin Delia said that she had been sorry
for my mother, and that had surprised me very much. She had never
seemed the sort of person one could be sorry for, but when Cousin
Delia said that it made me think about it, and I wondered if
she understood that nobody cared for her, none of my father’s
people, I mean, and I wondered if perhaps that had made her harder
and more aggressive. After all, she could not help being what
she was, always wanting to alter things and put people right,
and of course if she was like that, it must have been disappointing
for her that my father was not and that I was not. I can see
too that to her, Cousin Delia might be irritating just because
she was so peaceful and didn’t want to upset things at all.
They never said they did not like her; they were very careful
about that, except Guy and Hugo, of course; but I knew, and I
knew that Cousin Delia had asked her to come to Yearsly and that
she never came.
Her marriage made very little difference to me, but it was a
certain relief. I felt as though a quite vague fear had been
removed—a fear that some time she might assert herself and claim
me, and take me away from Cousin Delia and my grandmother. Now
I knew she would not.