Madame Claire was willing to keep her job open indefinitely—which was extremely kind—but Julia could not leave Uncle Randal until he was perfectly well: it would be impossible for Maggie to look after him in addition to her other work. For all her briskness and efficiency Maggie was by no means young and it would be most unfair to saddle her with so much responsibility . . . besides (thought Julia), it was very important for Uncle Ran to have the right kind of food to build up his strength, and Maggie’s ideas of catering for an invalid were unimaginative to say the least of it.
Julia sighed. How difficult it was! She wondered if there were any sort of job she could get in Leddiesford. However, she could not feel unhappy for long; Uncle Ran was getting better, that was the main thing.
Quite definitely Uncle Ran was getting better, there were no more ups and downs, he went ahead slowly and steadily. Mr. MacTavish was delighted with him and went to see him every day and talked to him. Sometimes Mr. MacTavish made him laugh, which was extremely cruel of Mr. MacTavish because he knew—none better—that it was painful for his patient to laugh.
One day when Julia returned from Edinburgh she found a letter waiting for her; it was from Stephen. Letters from Stephen were always a joy, they were long and interesting and full of Stephen, so when she opened the letter and saw that it was quite short she was disappointed. However, when she read it she understood. Stephen apologised for ‘just a few lines’ and explained that the roof was finished—it had taken much longer than he had expected—and he was just off to London to see the family lawyer. He intended to be in Town for a week. Was there any chance of Julia coming south? It would be lovely to see her. Would she write to him at his club and tell him her plans? He was very glad indeed to hear that ‘Uncle Randal’s’ operation had been so successful and hoped he was making good progress. As usual he was ‘YOURS EVER, Stephen.’
The letter was short but it seemed to Julia that the YOURS EVER was even larger than usual and, on comparing it with the other letters, she discovered that it was almost twice as large.
Julia smiled and thought about Stephen . . . and wondered.
She still had not told him that she had broken off her engagement. The reason was that she did not know what Stephen would do when he heard . . . or perhaps she did have a sort of vague idea of how he would react to the news! At any rate something might happen, something that would take her mind off Uncle Ran. This would not do. While Uncle Ran was so desperately ill Julia felt that she must give him her whole attention; she must think of him—and him alone. She felt that if she took her mind off him and thought of someone else he might slip back into the shadows. But now Uncle Ran was better; he was out of danger; he was making good progress, so it would be quite safe to spare a thought for Stephen.
I wonder, thought Julia. I shall have to write to him at his club and tell him I can’t come to London. Shall I tell him about Morland . . . or not? Perhaps I had better wait a little longer; perhaps I should wait until Uncle Ran comes home and gets comfortably settled. Yes, that’s the best plan; I shall wait until Uncle Ran comes home.
Chapter Forty-Two
The next day was Wednesday. It had been arranged that Maggie was to go to Edinburgh and see ‘him.’ She was very excited about it and went off by the afternoon bus laden with a sponge cake, a parcel of clean pyjamas and a large bunch of sweet-peas which had been delivered at The Square House by Jamie Lang.
No sooner had Maggie gone than the door-bell rang, and when Julia went to answer it she found Mr. Baird standing on the step. She had seen him before, though only for a few minutes, in Uncle Randal’s room. Now that she saw him again she remembered him quite clearly; he was the sort of man one did not forget.
‘Oh, Mr. Baird!’ exclaimed Julia. ‘How kind of you to call! Do come in.’
‘I happened to be down in this direction so I thought I’d take the chance of finding you at home. There are several things I want to discuss with you, Miss Harburn.’
‘It’s lucky you came to-day,’ she told him. ‘Usually I go and see Uncle Randal in the afternoon, but to-day Maggie has gone instead.’
‘Mrs. Maggie Walker?’
‘Yes, do you know her?’
‘I’ve heard of her,’ replied Mr. Baird.
By this time they were in the study. They sat down, and for a few minutes they talked of Uncle Randal. Mr. Baird said he had rung up the nursing home and had been delighted to hear that his old friend was making satisfactory progress.
‘Do you think he would like me to go and see him?’ asked Mr. Baird.
‘I’m sure he would, but it would be better not to stay more than a few minutes. He still gets easily tired.’
‘I’ll do that,’ replied Mr. Baird, nodding. ‘You see, Randal and I are very old friends. When we were boys we used to go camping together. The only trouble was that Randal’s ideas were a bit too rough for me.’
‘Too rough?’
‘He enjoyed roughing it,’ said Mr. Baird, smiling reminiscently. ‘He could lie down on the hard ground and go to sleep without the slightest difficulty. I must admit I preferred to be a little more comfortable.’
‘He’s still like that!’ exclaimed Julia. ‘He doesn’t mind discomfort. You have no idea how uncomfortable his room was—quite dreadful! I’m having it done up for him while he’s away.’ She laughed and added, ‘It will be interesting to see whether he notices the difference.’
‘The whole house needs doing up, Miss Harburn. It’s in an appalling condition; I saw that as I came up the path. Randal shouldn’t allow his property to deteriorate like this; I must speak to him seriously about it.’
‘Oh, don’t do that!’ cried Julia in alarm. ‘We mustn’t worry him about anything just now. Besides, it would cost a lot of money to have the whole house painted and put in proper order and he can’t afford it. Honestly, Mr. Baird, you mustn’t worry him about things like that!’
‘I won’t mention it till he’s better, but it will have to be done fairly soon. What do you mean when you say he can’t afford it?’
‘I mean he’s so terribly badly off.’
‘What makes you think so?’ asked Mr. Baird in surprise. ‘I wouldn’t say Randal was wealthy, but he has quite a good income.’
‘Quite a good income!’
‘Yes.’
Julia gazed at him incredulously. ‘I can’t believe it!’ she cried. ‘Mr. Baird, there must be some mistake!’
‘I’m not in the habit of making mistakes, Miss Harburn. I’ve looked after Randal’s business for years and I think I may say that I know a good deal more about his affairs than he does himself. What on earth made you think that your uncle was a pauper?’ asked Mr. Baird, laughing.
Julia was still incredulous. ‘He had to sell Harburn House, hadn’t he? And look at this house! And—and there are other things——’
‘I’ve explained that,’ interrupted Mr. Baird. ‘This house is in a very bad condition, but that’s not because Randal can’t afford to keep it in proper repair; it’s because he can’t be bothered; it’s because he doesn’t notice his surroundings. Give Randal an easy-chair and a log fire and a book to read—preferably an old book about history—and he’s perfectly happy.’
Julia knew this to be true. ‘Yes, but Harburn House! He didn’t want to part with it but he was obliged to sell it. He said so.’
‘Of course he was obliged to sell Harburn House,’ replied Mr. Baird impatiently. ‘A great many people have had to sell their family estates and move into smaller houses. Naturally it’s a wrench to part with a place which has been in one’s family for generations—I know that only too well, for I had to do the same thing myself—but it’s no pleasure to live in an enormous house without an adequate staff; besides, the taxes on large estates are crippling. Randal has a reasonably good income but he’s not a millionaire by any means. Only a millionaire could afford to live in a place like Harburn House nowadays and keep it up in the old style.’
‘Yes,’ said Julia. ‘Yes,
I see.’
‘As a matter of fact I begged him to sell the place. It was nothing more nor less than a white elephant to a man with no family.’
‘Yes, I see,’ repeated Julia thoughtfully. ‘But why did Neil say he hadn’t enough money to pay for the nursing home and his operation?’
‘Neil Logan said that!’ exclaimed Mr. Baird. He snorted contemptuously and added, ‘I have no idea why Neil Logan should say such a thing. That young man talks too much, and most of it is rubbish. I have no use for him at all. He annoys me.’
Julia was silent. She herself was very fond of Neil but at times she found him annoying . . . and it was easy to see that Mr. Baird might find him very annoying indeed.
‘I see you still don’t believe me,’ said Mr. Baird crossly. ‘But may I ask who is supposed to be paying the fee for Randal’s operation and the bills for the nursing home?’
‘Oh, I arranged all that with Mr. MacTavish.’
‘You arranged it? You mean you’re paying for it?’
‘Yes. You see, it was so important for him to have a nice quiet room, and I thought . . . Oh dear, I’ve been very silly, haven’t I?’
Mr. Baird looked at her and smiled. ‘It was a delightful kind of silliness, Miss Harburn. However, I can assure you that Randal is quite able to pay for it all himself. In the last few years he has spent little more than half his income upon his personal expenses; he gives away the surplus to charitable institutions and he has other interests as well. For instance he bought that house in Leddiesford and started the boys’ club . . . but you know about that, I expect.’
‘No,’ said Julia. ‘I had no idea . . .’
‘Oh well, that’s what he did. He’s very interested in boys. He used to go down to the club in the evening and chat to the boys; he taught them to play badminton and helped them to produce plays. They did carpentry and photography—all that sort of thing, you know,’ said Mr. Baird vaguely. ‘Of course latterly, when he was ill, he wasn’t able to go, but I managed to find a man to run the place for him and I hear things are going on quite satisfactorily.’
Julia nodded. So that was what Mrs. Lang had meant!
‘Well now,’ said Mr. Baird, pulling himself together. ‘Let’s get to business, Miss Harburn. I had better give you a cheque and you can open an account at the local bank.’
‘Are you sure Uncle Randal would want that?’
‘Quite sure. As a matter of fact that was one of the reasons I came to see you; I was wondering why you hadn’t asked me for money nor sent me any bills.’
‘I’ve been paying the bills myself.’
‘That’s absurd,’ said Mr. Baird, and so saying he produced his cheque-book and proceeded to make out a cheque.
Julia watched him. She was still feeling slightly dazed, but she was also very much relieved, for she began to realise that there was no need to worry any more; this would solve all her difficulties.
Perhaps it had been silly of her to have got it fixed firmly in her mind that Uncle Randal was very badly off . . . but, no, when she thought about it she decided that it had not been silly. She had received the impression on reading Uncle Randal’s letter, saying he had been obliged to sell the old house which had belonged to the Harburn family for generations, and the impression had been strengthened when she saw the conditions in which he lived. The Square House was in a deplorable state and Maggie’s housekeeping was economical in the extreme. Poor Maggie had been counting every penny, trying to make the money in the soap-box last as long as she could!
‘That will keep you going for a bit,’ said Mr. Baird as he handed Julia the cheque.
‘Five hundred pounds!’ she exclaimed, looking at it in astonishment.
Mr. Baird smiled. ‘It’s a good thing to have a substantial sum in the bank and you’ll find it will melt away quite quickly, what with one thing and another. You had better get the gate repaired and try to find a man to trim the hedge; and I noticed a slate had fallen off the roof, that should be seen to at once.’
‘Oh yes, I know,’ agreed Julia. ‘I’d have had it done before, but you see I was so worried about money.’
‘Randal should have made proper arrangements with you,’ said Mr. Baird, frowning. ‘It was ridiculous to leave you here without proper arrangements . . . but I don’t suppose he ever thought of it. He’s the most unbusinesslike man on earth.’
Julia knew this already. She nodded and said, ‘Yes, you would be horrified if you knew the way the housekeeping was done.’
‘No doubt I would be,’ agreed Mr. Baird. ‘But things will be different now. You’ll put everything in proper order.’
‘Are you sure it’s all right?’
‘I’m certain of it. Randal wouldn’t like you to be short of money. He said you were to have as much as you wanted, or words to that effect. You heard him say so.’
‘When did he say so?’
‘It was that day when we met in his room at the nursing home before he had his operation.’
Julia tried to think. Of course she remembered meeting Mr. Baird in Uncle Randal’s room, but she could not remember what had been said.
‘Well, never mind,’ said Mr. Baird. ‘I dare say you were a bit upset that day so it’s no wonder you can’t remember . . . but that brings us to another matter. You see, Miss Harburn, I was there with Randal for quite a long time before you came in. He had sent a message saying he wanted to see me both as a solicitor and as a friend. As I told you before, Randal is one of my oldest friends, so I know all about his private affairs as well as his business. He wanted to talk to me about all sorts of things.’ Mr. Baird hesitated for a moment and then added in a low voice, ‘Poor old Randal didn’t expect to recover from his operation.’
Julia nodded. ‘I know. He didn’t say it to me—he was wonderfully brave—but I knew what he was thinking.’
‘He talked a great deal that afternoon. He talked about the old days and about your mother. I suppose you know what happened?’
‘Yes, Uncle Randal told me.’
‘He talked about you,’ continued Mr. Baird. ‘He told me that he had written to you and asked you to come and see him . . . and you had come at once. I could see that your doing so had touched him deeply; I could see he was very fond of you. He said rather sadly that if things had not gone wrong you might have been his daughter. That was how he felt. He added that he could not have been more fond of you if you had been his daughter, so I wasn’t surprised when he went on to say that he wanted to make you his heir.’
Julia was so astonished that she was speechless. She was absolutely stunned with amazement. Her expression was so blank that Mr. Baird thought she had not understood. He said, ‘Randal made a will leaving you his money, Miss Harburn. There are bequests to Neil Logan and Mrs. Maggie Walker and one or two others, but you are the residuary legatee.’
‘Me!’
‘Yes, you,’ said Mr. Baird, smiling. ‘Why are you so surprised? I thought it perfectly natural, especially when he told me his reasons. You may think it indiscreet of me to tell you about this, but Randal asked me to tell you. He said quite frankly that if he died he wanted you to know why he had made you his heir and if by any chance he recovered he still wanted me to explain the whole matter to you and make sure that you understood. He wanted you to know that he looks upon you as his daughter, but he didn’t want to tell you himself. It was all arranged that afternoon when I saw him at the nursing home. He was giving me instructions to draw up a new will in your favour, and we had just finished when you came in. You can imagine how interested I was to see you!’
Mr. Baird paused and looked at Julia. ‘You understand, don’t you?’ he said. ‘If there’s anything you don’t understand just ask me.’
‘Oh, darling Uncle Ran!’ she exclaimed. ‘What am I to say to him? How can I thank him?’
‘He doesn’t want thanks . . . and if you take my advice you’ll say very little. You can just say I’ve told you and you’re very pleased. It’s difficult to thank peo
ple for leaving you money in their wills,’ added Mr. Baird, smiling. ‘Randal is not giving you his money. He’s leaving it to you in his will because he wants you to have it when he’s dead. Now that he is getting better it may be years before——’
‘Oh, I hope so! I hope it will be years and years and years!’
Mr. Baird laughed. ‘Tell him that, Miss Harburn.’
Soon after they had finished their business talk Mr. Baird went away. Julia offered him tea, but he replied that he wanted to get home.
‘All that I’ve told you this afternoon is confidential,’ said Mr. Baird very seriously. ‘You realise that, I hope. Randal wouldn’t like anybody else to know about his private affairs.’
Julia nodded. ‘I shan’t tell anyone,’ she said.
When she had seen her visitor off at the gate Julia stood there for some time looking round and thinking. Quite suddenly the world seemed to have turned topsy-turvy. It was a very odd sort of feeling. She had been worrying about money, wondering how she was going to make ends meet, and now she found she had plenty of money—enough and to spare. She could do anything she wanted. First of all she would buy a new carpet for Uncle Randal’s bedroom. The room was ready, except for the carpet, and looked delightfully fresh and bright. She had been pricing carpets in some of the Edinburgh shops, but they were so expensive that she had decided to buy a second-hand carpet at a sale. There was no need for that now. Uncle Ran should have a lovely new carpet . . . not that he would notice it, of course, thought Julia, smiling. Then there was the gate. She must get a new gate—the old one was literally falling to pieces—and she must have the tool-shed repaired; she must get a man to look at the roof (several slates had fallen off and there was a patch of damp in Maggie’s bedroom); she would have the hedge trimmed—Mr. Inglis would do that—and she would order a cartload of manure and ask Mrs. Lang if her boys would come and dig it in. What else should she do?
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