Fletchers End (Bel Lamington Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  There was no difficulty in finding a young woman, for the office had a good name. Half-a-dozen experienced young women applied for the post. Bel interviewed them all but decided that none of them would do.

  At last after endless trouble she succeeded in finding Mrs. Garry, a widow with a young son. Mrs. Garry was plump and cheerful; she was not experienced—or at least Ellis would not have thought her so. She had been a typist before she was married but, since then, she had not been working in an office at all, so she was finding some difficulty in getting a well-paid post. Although she had a small income, sufficient for her needs, it was not enough to pay for her son’s training. He had always wanted to enter the Medical Profession and she was determined that he should have his wish. She explained all this to Bel.

  Bel liked Mrs. Garry at once—and liked her even more when her duties had been explained to her. Mrs. Garry bubbled over with laughter and promised to do her best. She could come at once and learn how things were done; she would look after ‘the poor young man’ like a mother. Bel engaged Mrs. Garry on the spot and told her to come on the following Monday.

  At first Mrs. Garry found it a little difficult to get into the way of office-work but she soon settled down and proved herself to be capable and intelligent—and the fact that she was not “experienced” in the accepted sense of the word made her more adjustable, more willing to take on duties which do not usually come within the scope of the secretary of the junior partner of an important firm.

  Mr. James would have preferred a younger and more attractive secretary, but he merely sighed and said, “Oh well . . . Of course you know best, Mrs. B. She certainly seems very keen.”

  The advent of Mrs. Garry left Bel more time for her own affairs and she was able to turn her attention to Fletchers End. Louise had been over to see the house quite often and now rang up to say that Bel must come down and see it for herself. There were various matters to be decided upon which only Bel could decide. Bel must stay at Coombe House for the week-end and Ellis must go to his club. That was the best arrangement.

  Louise’s plans were nearly always sensible and well-thought-out—and this one was no exception to the rule—so the Brownlees agreed. They agreed somewhat reluctantly because this was the first time they had parted since their marriage and neither of them liked the idea at all.

  “I shall be sorry to leave this cosy little nest,” announced Ellis as they were shutting up the flat, fastening the windows securely and covering the furniture with dust-sheets—a necessary precaution in an abode amongst the roof-tops and chimney-stacks.

  “Will you, Ellis?” said Bel. “I was so afraid you would find it very uncomfortable after Rose Hill—uncomfortable and cramped and dirty.”

  “Dirty! Yes, but that’s London,” declared Ellis smiling. “If you’ve got to live in town you must make up your mind to put up with a few smuts. Anyhow I’ve been very happy here.”

  “Oh, so have I!” exclaimed Bel. “I’ve been terribly happy and I’ve enjoyed working at the office, but we shall be even happier at Fletchers End.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Fletchers End was looking very different when Bel and Louise and Dr. Armstrong went to see it on Saturday afternoon. The window-frames had all been renewed and painted and the creepers cut back. Naturally this made all the difference to the exterior appearance of the house. (It would have looked a great deal better if some attempt had been made to clear the garden but it was difficult to get men to do it, so Ellis decided that this must wait until they came down themselves).

  When Dr. Armstrong opened the front-door and they went in they found the hall pleasantly warm, for the central heating was now completed and had been turned on to dry up the plaster. The holes in the floors had vanished as if they had never been; the windows had been washed and the mess of dust and dirt cleaned up. They went into the drawing-room first and admired the bow-window—what a difference it made to the room! It looked so much larger and brighter. Bel was enchanted with it and was still exclaiming rapturously when Reggie Stephenson came in, followed by the painter with several large books of wall-paper patterns.

  “Hallo, Reggie!” said Louise in surprise. “I thought you had gone home.”

  “Yes, I did,” he replied. “They sent for me so I had to go, but when I heard that Bel was coming this morning I came over in the car. I wanted to be here when the wall-papers were chosen—and there are several other things to decide. Besides,” he added turning to Bel, “I wanted to hear what you thought about everything.”

  “It’s marvellous,” declared Bel. “I’m terribly grateful to you for all you’ve done and I know Ellis will be, too. I don’t know what we should have done without you.”

  “I’ve been happy here,” said Reggie. “It’s been a delightful job—the sort of job I like. The window is a success, isn’t it?”

  “Perfectly lovely,” declared Bel. “It’s all so lovely that I want to come and live here—soon.”

  “Ask Mrs. Warmer,” said Reggie smiling. “Mrs. Warmer knows about everything. We’re bosom friends. She’s borne all the discomforts, all the fuss and bother without turning a hair. She’s a great old girl is Mrs. Warmer.”

  While they were talking the painter had spread out the patterns and was waiting to hear which they would like. Everyone present took part in the discussion—even Dr. Armstrong had ideas to offer—so the choosing of the patterns for the different rooms took a considerable time.

  Bel was extremely interested of course, but in spite of that she had time to notice that Reggie Stephenson and Louise had become very friendly indeed; they had been seeing a great deal of each other, meeting at Fletchers End and discussing plans. Reggie had said that he had lost his heart to the old house, but Bel felt increasingly certain that he had lost his heart to Louise.

  It was more difficult to guess what Louise was feeling; her manner to Reggie was kind and friendly (but Louise was kind and friendly to everyone). Was it possible that here at last was the right man for Louise? Bel kept on wondering about it. She liked Reggie immensely; he was a dear—but he was not at all good-looking. Bel had always imagined that the right man for Louise would be tall and handsome—a sort of fairy prince—for Louise herself was so lovely . . . but of course you never knew, thought Bel as she watched them and heard them talking together. Possibly Louise saw something attractive in this particular young man—something which was not apparent to other people.

  The whole party moved from room to room choosing paint and papers and, as they did so, Bel made another discovery which interested her greatly. She discovered that Dr. Armstrong had been treating Reggie as a patient and had been trying to defeat ‘the new-fangled bug’ which had been causing Reggie so much trouble and playing havoc with his ‘inside’. She overheard the doctor say, “How’s the tummy, Reggie?” and Reggie reply in a very cheerful voice, “Absolutely O.K. thanks to you, sir. Those funny little yellow pills seem to have done the trick.”

  Bel was exceedingly glad when she overheard this little aside for she had been worrying about Reggie’s activities at Fletchers End. He had been told to rest and instead of resting he had been working for her and Ellis. Now that she looked at Reggie more carefully she noticed a great improvement since the last time she had seen him. His colour was clearer, his eyes were brighter and he seemed more lively.

  “Well, what’s the verdict?” smiled Reggie.

  “Oh, was I staring?” asked Bel. “I was just thinking you looked a lot better, that’s all.”

  “Yes, he’s better,” said Dr. Armstrong. “But he must put on some weight. Lots of milk, Reggie—and no late nights.”

  The new bathroom was still unfinished; so far nothing had been decided about the colour scheme. The painter suggested egg-shell blue and produced patterns.

  “Peach colour would be better,” said Reggie firmly. “The room has a north aspect so we want something warm and cosy.”

  “But not all one colour,” objected Bel.

  “Off-white
for the walls and a peach-coloured bath,” said Louise. “You could have a peach bath-mat and towels to match and gaily-coloured curtains.”

  Reggie agreed at once. “Yes that would be grand,” he said.

  “What about the linoleum?” asked Dr. Armstrong. “I think large squares of black and white would be very effective.”

  “Black and white tiles,” nodded Reggie.

  “And you’d like fish, wouldn’t you?” asked Louise.

  “Fish!” exclaimed Bel in surprise.

  But Louise and Reggie were both laughing, so obviously it was a joke.

  “Tell her about it,” said Louise.

  “Louise is just being naughty,” explained Reggie. “You see I’ve been asked to design a modern bungalow for a retired fishmonger; he’s a very nice fellow, really, but he has some quaint ideas——”

  “He wants all sorts of fish swimming about on his bathroom walls,” put in Louise.

  “Quite ghastly,” said Reggie with a sigh.

  “Why shouldn’t he have them if he wants them?” asked Louise. “I mean if it makes him happy . . .”

  “Because it would be frightful, that’s why.”

  “But it’s his bathroom, Reggie—not yours.”

  “I couldn’t,” declared Reggie. “You agree with me, don’t you, Dr. Armstrong?”

  “I’m afraid I see both sides of the question,” said the doctor smiling. “The only thing I can suggest is that the bathroom should be completed without fish, and the owner should stick them on the walls afterwards with his own hands.”

  “Solomon!” exclaimed Louise laughing gaily.

  “Well that’s fixed then,” said Reggie. “I mean about this bathroom—not the fishmonger’s. Off-white walls, black and white tiles and peach-coloured fittings. I think a full-length mirror would look well on that wall.”

  “Oh, lovely!” exclaimed Louise. “I’d like to come and have a bath in this bathroom when it’s ready.”

  *

  2

  When they had been all round the house Bel went into the kitchen to see Mrs. Warmer. She was pleased to find that the electric stove had been installed and the new sink and cupboards.

  “It’s all splendid,” declared Mrs. Warmer enthusiastically. “Mr. Stephenson has done wonders—he really has. He’s been here nearly every day gingering up the men. It’s a pity his holiday’s over.”

  “Not much of a holiday,” suggested Bel.

  “Mr. Stephenson says a holiday is doing what you like, and he likes pottering about Fletchers End . . . and it’s my belief there’s another reason that the poor young gentleman likes being here,” added Mrs. Warmer nodding in a very knowing manner.

  It was Bel’s belief too.

  “She’s such a nice young lady,” Mrs. Warmer continued. “As pretty as a picture is Miss Armstrong, and she couldn’t get a nicer kinder husband—not if she was to search the whole of England. It would be nice if there was another wedding at Coombe House, wouldn’t it?”

  “Er—yes—but I don’t think——” began Bel. “I mean Miss Armstrong is—I mean the doctor couldn’t get on without her, could he?”

  “Love laughs at locksmiths,” said Mrs. Warmer sententiously.

  The saying was not very apt, but Bel knew what was meant. She changed the subject by asking when Mrs. Warmer thought it would be possible to move in.

  “Well, that depends. If you want it all ready and lovely it would be the end of March,” said Mrs. Warmer in thoughtful tones. “But if you didn’t mind a bit of a mess I could get one or two girls from the village to give me a hand and you could come a bit sooner.”

  “I’ll ask Mr. Brownlee and let you know,” said Bel. She said it calmly but she was not calm inside. Now that she had seen the old house again, and had seen it looking so much more pleasant, the enchantment had laid hold upon her with renewed force. Bel would have liked to stay here; she would have liked to take up her abode in the place this very day . . . but of course that was impossible. She could not leave Ellis by himself, she could not desert Mr. James.

  But it won’t be long, thought Bel. Perhaps we could manage to come in a fortnight if Ellis doesn’t mind ‘a bit of a mess’.

  It was the end of February and there was a feeling of Spring in the air—the lovely fresh country air, so different from London! Already the days were beginning to lengthen; rooks were to be seen sitting on the roof with little twigs in their beaks, and there were snowdrops scattered beneath the chestnut tree in the garden at Coombe House. Next year there would be snowdrops at Fletchers End—and crocuses too. Next year—at Fletchers End!

  part three

  The Brownlees at Home

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ellis was standing on the little terrace outside the bow-window of the drawing-room at Fletchers End. He and Bel had arrived at tea-time and had had a busy time settling in, for although Mrs. Warmer and the two girls from the village had scrubbed and polished, laid carpets and moved furniture, there was still a great deal to be done. Mrs. Warmer had provided an exceedingly good dinner to which they had done full justice . . . it was now after nine o’clock and they had decided to do no more that night.

  They had decided to do no more that night but Ellis could hear the voices of Bel and Mrs. Warmer upstairs in the bedroom, the window of which looked out over the garden, so they were still at work—and Bel was tired.

  “Bel, come out!” he called.

  “We’re just making the bed,” explained Bel, putting her head out of the window. “I’ll come in a minute.”

  Presently she came out through the glass door and slipped her hand through his arm. Neither of them said a word for a long time.

  Although it was only the middle of March it was quite mild. The moon was very bright so the stars looked pale, twinkling feebly in the dark blue sky. The garden was still an almost impenetrable jungle of withered vegetation . . . but that could be dealt with when they had time.

  “We’re home,” said Ellis at last with a long sigh of pleasure.

  Bel tightened her fingers on his arm. “Yes, we’re home,” she said softly. “Dear Fletchers End! This is to be our home all our lives.”

  An owl flew past on silent wings and disappeared amongst the trees.

  “All our lives,” echoed Ellis thoughtfully. “We’ll grow old here; we’ll be Darby and Joan. It will be pleasant to grow old in Fletchers End.”

  After a bit they went into the drawing-room and sat down together on the sofa and began to talk.

  “You had a great send-off this morning,” said Ellis smiling. “Mrs. B. seems to have made herself extremely popular in the office.”

  “They were all terribly kind; it almost made me cry. Mr. Copping sent for me to his room and thanked me.”

  “So he should. Goodness knows what would have happened if you hadn’t worked like a Trojan all winter. Things will be better now that we’ve got that new man—and your Mrs. Garry seems a sensible woman. Mr. Copping suggested I should take a week’s holiday.”

  “You certainly deserve it.”

  “Yes, I think I do,” agreed Ellis with a smile. “Now that Mr. Copping is back there’s no reason why I shouldn’t take a few days off.”

  “A week at least,” said Bel firmly. She added, “Look Ellis Mr. Copping gave me this.”

  ‘This’ was a small gold watch with a gold bracelet. She held up her wrist for Ellis to see it.

  “I say, what a lovely one!” he exclaimed.

  “Wasn’t it kind? He said it was for ‘looking after the boy’. He said all sorts of nice things; he said, ‘If we get ourselves into trouble again we’ll send for you.’”

  “What did you say?”

  “Oh, I just said I’d always felt that I belonged to the firm and of course I still belonged and always would.”

  “Very tactful.”

  “It wasn’t tactful at all; it was true,” said Bel earnestly.

  “All right, it was both,” said Ellis, laughing at her. “And now we’ll go to
bed.”

  *

  2

  Ellis was having his holiday and Bel was anxious that he should take things easily. But there were pictures to be hung and shelves to be put up and furniture to be arranged more conveniently. With all this to be done it was impossible to get Ellis to rest.

  “It is a rest,” Ellis told her as he came down the ladder and looked at the picture to see if it were straight. “Reggie said it was a holiday to do what you liked and he was absolutely right. I’m not using my brains at all. I haven’t got to dictate letters or answer the telephone or tell people off. You don’t expect me to lie in bed all day, do you?”

  Bel would have been quite pleased to keep him in bed all day—or half the day—and bring him trays of food, but she realised that Ellis was not the sort of person to enjoy idleness so she went away and left him to his task.

  Gradually they got things straight and began to settle down; they began to learn something about the neighbourhood in which they intended to spend the rest of their lives. Mrs. Warmer knew everyone and was only too delighted to supply any information that was wanted. There were several very large houses round about Archerfield but these were no longer occupied by the families who had owned them for years. One of them had become a preparatory school for boys, another was a Rest Home for clergymen working in London parishes. Louise had said that they would be ‘no use socially’, which was true of course, but Bel was not very sociably inclined; she was perfectly happy pottering about the house and was not at all anxious for visitors. Ellis had promised to buy her a little car and teach her how to drive; he realised that she would be rather stranded when his short holiday was over for he would have to take his car to Ernleigh every morning to catch his train to town and leave it there for his return journey in the evening. Meantime Bel got a bicycle which secretly she preferred (she knew nothing whatever about cars and was somewhat nervous of them). The bicycle was useful for shopping in Shepherdsford and later on when she was not so busy she could go over and see the Musgraves and Margaret Warren and other friends whom she had met at Coombe House. One fine morning she walked into Shepherdsford by the delightful path along the bank of the stream which Mrs. Warmer had told her was called ‘The Church Walk’.