The Making of May
Page 4
‘Really?’ I was amazed, because this was the first time Ben had ever mentioned actually missing his dad. ‘Did you tell him you wanted to live with him?’
He shook his head. ‘I was too scared what Mum would do if I left her. She’d never managed all that well since Dad left – and then she got pregnant with you and the bloke didn’t want to . . . well . . .’ My brother paused for several moments.
‘Didn’t want to know,’ I prompted him, because I’d grown up with Lou telling me this story and it didn’t shock me. I’d certainly never thought of ‘the bloke’ Ben was referring to as my father, because Louise had told me ages ago that I didn’t have to. She’d said that sometimes people helped to make babies without actually wanting to go on to be fathers or mothers to them and that was just the way things were. And since ‘the bloke’ who had helped to make me fell into that category, Louise’s opinion was that he didn’t count as any sort of father at all. Ben hadn’t liked it when he’d heard Louise saying that to me, I remembered now. He’d accused her of oversimplifying things. But I liked the way Louise made everything in my life seem so matter-of-fact and uncomplicated.
‘Yeah, well . . . after that, Mum really needed looking after,’ Ben continued. ‘I knew I couldn’t let Dad haul me off with him then. I knew I couldn’t get into any more trouble with the police either. My criminal career was kind of off the cards after that, see, because I knew Mum wouldn’t cope if I got thrown into jail.’ He gave an awkward little laugh.
‘I don’t think I could cope if you got thrown into jail either,’ I pointed out, momentarily wondering if you could get sent to prison for saying you were a gardener when you weren’t. He didn’t answer me, and when I looked at him he was clearly lost in his own private thoughts.
Ben had been sent directions that involved walking a short way up the road from Lower Thornton station, then turning left and walking up the hill until we came to an open driveway with big stone gateposts on either side.
‘This place should be called Upper Thornton,’ I complained, stopping after our long trudge uphill to stare at the black plaque on the wall that said ‘Thornton Hall’ in gold lettering.
Ben didn’t reply. He was so nervous now we were actually here that he had stopped speaking to me completely. The white gravel driveway leading up to the house was edged on both sides by neatly cut grass. To the left beyond the grass was a low wooden fence, on the other side of which was an empty field. To our right the grass gave way to an area of large leafy bushes and Ben started muttering that they were probably rhododendrons, only he couldn’t be sure since they weren’t flowering, and that he wished he’d brought his gardening books with him. The driveway was cut in a bend and as we followed it, keeping to the edge and taking care not to step on the grass, we suddenly saw the house straight ahead of us.
Ben swore under his breath. I went weak at the knees too. The house was enormous. It was built of light grey stone and the main part was oblong-shaped with two storeys and a low sloping roof. Another wing had been added to the left half of the building, so that it jutted out at the front. There was a sort of square tower at the left end of the main part of the house – perched quite awkwardly at the point where the two bits of the house met. The front porch, which wasn’t central, but set to the right of the building, had four large stone pillars with some kind of climbing plant twisting around them. I started to count the windows. There were eight downstairs and ten upstairs – and those were only the ones at the front.
I glanced sideways at Ben and saw that he wasn’t looking at the house any more. He was staring around us at the grounds. There was a lot of grass, which had to be a good thing surely, because even Ben knew how to work a lawnmower. But there were also some rose beds closer to the house and there were several stone troughs full of flowers beneath the ground-floor windows.
‘Better not put any aspirin in those,’ I joked.
Normally when anyone mentions that, Ben always starts laughing, but today he just looked at me as if he was going to be sick.
‘Don’t worry, Ben! I’m sure you’ll get this job!’ I burst out. He had to get it, because now that I had seen Thornton Hall I didn’t want to leave. Leaving now would be like Mary in The Secret Garden getting shipped back to India before the story had even begun.
‘The main gardens must be round the back,’ Ben was saying in a shaky voice. ‘I bet they’re huge! God, how I am ever going to get through this?’
I knew I had to stop him panicking or he was going to muck up his interview. ‘Look, what’s the worst thing that can happen?’ I asked him, because that’s what Lou always says whenever either of us is getting stressed out about anything.
Ben gave me a funny look as if he didn’t like me speaking to him like Lou would. ‘The worst thing is that they’ll think I’m not a very good gardener and they’ll employ somebody else,’ he answered. ‘And if I’m lucky they won’t report me to the police for faking my reference.’ He held up the letter he’d been sent confirming the details of the interview. ‘It says we’ve to go to the front door,’ he said. ‘You’d think as servants we’d have to go round the back, wouldn’t you?’
We went up to the porch and Ben rang the bell. We couldn’t hear it ringing inside the house and I wanted him to ring it again, but he wouldn’t. He thought it might have rung where we couldn’t hear it, so that his pressing it again would sound impatient. Eventually, after we’d been standing there for ages, even he had to admit that he probably hadn’t pressed it hard enough the first time, so he tried again, and this time we heard it ring inside the hall quite clearly.
Almost immediately the door was opened and we found ourselves standing face to face with . . . and I’m really not making this up . . . the terrifying housekeeper from Rebecca. Or at least a very close replica of her. She looked a little older and greyer than the housekeeper who had been so scary in the film, but otherwise she could have been her twin. She had thick dark grey hair pulled back in a bun, thick dark eyebrows and the same fierce dark eyes that seemed to pierce right through into your brain. She was even wearing a totally black dress.
I let out a gasp of shock. Then – to my dismay – I felt bubbles of laughter start to rise in my throat. I could feel Ben next to me, making the connection too. I knew he was struggling to keep his voice steady as he said, ‘I’m Benjamin Duthie – here about the gardening job.’
The housekeeper said in a crisp voice, ‘I am Mrs Daniels.’
I let it out first – I couldn’t stop myself. It came out as an explosive laugh right in her face. I quickly turned away, covering my mouth with my hands. I stumbled off the porch and headed off down the drive, hoping that if I removed myself from the scene, Ben would somehow manage to keep himself under control. But to my horror, behind me, I could hear my brother letting out a snort of laughter too.
I kept walking blindly away from the house. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t laughed first, then I wouldn’t have set Ben off. I had seen the look the housekeeper had given me. Now she would be giving that same look to my brother. Soon she would be informing her employer that Ben had laughed in her face and was clearly an unsuitable candidate for the job.
I was halfway down the drive, knowing that I had to stop and wait for Ben but feeling completely unable to face him, when a car horn sounded in front of me. I looked up to see a large black vehicle slowing to a halt directly ahead of me. A stern middle-aged man was sitting at the wheel – a stern middle-aged man I recognized. He leaned out of the car window, clearly recognizing me too, as he exclaimed in a surprised voice, ‘It’s Mary, isn’t it? What are you doing here?’
It was the man from the train – the one whose cake I had saved.
As he got out of his car I noticed that he wasn’t alone. A boy about my own age, with a plump freckly face and curly hair, was sitting in the front passenger seat. I didn’t do more than glance at him though. I was too busy staring at the man.
‘Mary, what are you doing here?’ he repeated.
‘Mary . . .’ He put a hand on my shoulder, then seemed to feel awkward doing that and quickly removed it again. He turned to speak to the boy in the car. ‘Alex, why don’t you go on up to the house? Tell Mrs Daniels I won’t be long.’
I heard the sound of heavy feet scrunching on gravel as the boy did as he was told. The man leaned back against the bonnet of his car and said, ‘Now, tell me . . . I can hardly believe this . . . but is it your brother who’s applied for the job as gardener here?’
I nodded.
‘Well, I never!’ He was shaking his head in disbelief.
‘But what are you doing here?’ I asked, sniffing.
‘Thornton Hall is my house.’
‘But it can’t be! You’re the man from the train!’ I knew it was a dumb thing to say, but he didn’t respond as if it was. He seemed to understand.
‘It is a remarkable coincidence that we should meet again like this,’ he agreed, frowning. ‘I don’t think I introduced myself properly when we met before, did I? My name is Michael Rutherford – and I assume that the Benjamin Duthie who’s applied for the job here is the young man I met with you the other day?’
I nodded. Suddenly I remembered that the job advert had been in the newspaper that the man with the cake – Mr Rutherford – had been reading. It had even been open at the right page, which was how I had spotted it. Now I knew why. Mr Rutherford must have been checking his own advert – the one he had put in to try and find a gardener. So, in a way, our meeting up again like this wasn’t a coincidence at all. It was because we had met him that day – and picked up his newspaper – that we were here.
But before I could explain that he continued, ‘But, Mary, why are you so upset?’
‘Because . . . because . . . we went to the door and . . . and . . .’
‘What?’ he prompted me, when I gave up speaking completely. ‘Surely my housekeeper isn’t that fearsome?’
That was too much for me. I told him everything – how we’d got out the film of Rebecca from the library and how we’d joked that we hoped Mrs Daniels wasn’t anything like Mrs Danvers because Mrs Danvers was really scary. I started to explain a bit about the story then, in case he’d never seen the film, but he interrupted me to say that he had watched the film and read the book and so he was quite familiar with the plot of Rebecca.
I sniffed. ‘So . . . so when Mrs Danvers opened the door to us here . . . I mean Mrs Daniels opened the door to us . . . and she was all dressed in black and all fierce-looking like in the film . . . well . . . we . . . we . . . I . . . started to laugh . . . And Ben couldn’t help laughing because when someone else laughs it’s very infectious, Lou says. Anyway, now Mrs Daniels won’t want you to give Ben the job, will she?’
Mr Rutherford was leaning back against his car bonnet looking like he was struggling not to smile himself. ‘Mrs Danvers and Mrs Daniels seem to have both made quite an impression on you,’ he said. ‘Though I must admit that Mrs Daniels does look rather severe in that black dress she’s wearing today. Come to think of it, she always looks severe when I’m interviewing new gardeners. I think it might be because—’
‘Mrs Daniels isn’t in mourning, is she?’ I burst out before he could finish.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Mrs Danvers wore black because she was in mourning for Rebecca. So I just thought maybe Mrs Daniels was in mourning for somebody too.’
‘Well . . .’ He looked a bit surprised by my question. ‘My aunt owned this house before she died last year, and Mrs Daniels was her housekeeper for a long time. I moved here only a few months ago, you see. But I’m fairly sure my aunt’s death isn’t the reason—’
‘Because if it is the reason,’ I interrupted him again, ‘Mrs Daniels could try wearing your aunt’s favourite colour instead. You can do that at funerals – wear the person’s favourite colour instead of black, to show them that you’re thinking about them. That’s what my big sister did at our mother’s funeral. She wore a bright red dress. She says a lot of people stared at her but she didn’t care because she was doing it for our mum.’
Mr Rutherford looked like our conversation was making his head spin a bit. ‘I see . . . well . . . that makes sense . . . except that I don’t think suggesting that Mrs Daniels wears my aunt’s favourite colour would be a very good idea.’
‘Why? Would she get angry?’ I suddenly wondered if Mr Rutherford was more afraid of his housekeeper than he was letting on.
‘No,’ he replied, ‘but I’m almost certain that my aunt’s favourite colour was black. That’s the colour she always wore when I came to see her, in any case! Whereas I think you’ll find that Mrs Daniels does occasionally wear navy blue.’
He definitely had an amused twinkle in his eye as he got back into his car. ‘I really must go and interview my prospective gardeners now, Mary, but don’t worry. I shall bear in mind what you’ve just told me if Mrs Daniels has any complaints about your brother. You can go round to the back of the house to wait for him, if you like. There’s a swing there you might like to play on. I got it for my son but he doesn’t ever seem to use it.’
As he drove the short distance up the driveway I remembered the boy who had been in the car with him – presumably the same boy whose birthday cake I had rescued. If Ben got the job here, I might meet him again, I thought.
I headed across the grass, making for the back of the house as Mr Rutherford had suggested. Maybe now, since I had explained why we had laughed at Mrs Daniels, Ben was still in with a chance.
Then I realized something else. Mr Rutherford had first met Ben that day on the train when Ben had been caught without enough money to pay for our tickets. First impressions were very important – Ben was always saying that. And since Mr Rutherford’s first impression of Ben must have been that he was either totally scatterbrained or totally dishonest, how could he possibly want to give Ben this job?
I stopped where I was as I faced up to the truth. Ben wasn’t going to get a job here and we were never going to get to move here. It didn’t even matter that we’d laughed when Mrs Daniels opened the front door. It didn’t matter because Mr Rutherford wasn’t going to employ Ben in any case. There was no point in my brother even going ahead with his interview.
I knew I had to find Ben and warn him – but how? I could always ring the front doorbell and just ask to speak to him – but I didn’t think I could face Mrs Daniels again.
I headed round the side of the house, crouching down low as I peered in through each window, trying to spot my brother. There were five windows in total on this side of the building. The first three all looked into one enormous sitting room, which had three windows facing the front as well. The room was filled with old-fashioned furniture, flowery rugs and fussy ornaments that I guessed must have belonged to Mr Rutherford’s aunt.
The fourth window looked into a different room. I immediately felt my heart beating faster because there, standing in front of a bookcase examining the books, was Ben. He wasn’t alone though. Seated at a long table in the middle of the room was another, much older man. I assumed he must be one of the other applicants for the job.
Just as I was about to knock on the window to get Ben’s attention, Mrs Daniels walked in and I quickly crouched down lower. When I stood up again, Ben was following her out. She must be taking him for his interview with Mr Rutherford and it was too late for me to do anything to stop it.
It took nearly forty-five minutes for the interview to be over, and during that time I sat on the swing, biting my fingernails.
When Ben finally emerged from the house, I thought he’d be looking upset or embarrassed, but he wasn’t.
The first thing he said was, ‘The man from the train!’
‘I know! I met him in
the drive. What did he say to you?’
‘Well, first he asked me how I’d heard about the job, so I told him I’d picked up the newspaper he’d left behind. He seemed to find that quite amusing.’
‘Did he tell you off again, for getting on the train without paying?’
Ben looked irritated. ‘No, May, he didn’t tell me off !’ He paused. ‘Actually it was pretty awful at first. I felt like walking straight out the second I saw who he was. But it was like he was expecting me to want to do that, and he wasn’t having any of it. He told me really firmly to sit down – and I did – and then he told me he’d met you outside. He wanted to know all about us – how I came to be looking after you – all that sort of stuff. He asked me how I’d got myself into that situation on the train that day, so I told him the truth. We talked a bit about Lou leaving. Oh, and he asked me how I’d done at school as well. I wasn’t expecting him to be interested in that. It turns out he used to teach history himself. He’s written a couple of history books and he used to be a lecturer at a university, but he took early retirement when his aunt died last year and left him Thornton Hall in her will. Now he’s going to live here and write more books. He seemed pretty impressed when I told him my A-level results – especially the history one! He said he was surprised I hadn’t gone on to further education, so I told him I hadn’t really had the opportunity at the time. He asked how I’d got into gardening and I told him gardening had just sort of found me rather than the other way round. Now that wasn’t lying, was it?’
‘Did he ask you any questions you couldn’t answer?’ I asked, holding my breath.
‘Gardening questions, you mean? No, that was the weird thing. He sort of got all caught up in talking about history. I don’t think he knows much about gardening himself, in any case, because all he asked was if I thought I could manage the gardens here, and when I said yes, he went back to asking me what aspects of history I was especially interested in.’