Fletchers End (Bel Lamington Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  Bel decided that wills were horrible things. They were rather frightening, really.

  Mr. Harding was still talking—he was making up for his silence at tea-time—“I went to see the old place about a year ago,” he said. “I haven’t got a car, but I enjoy going out for long bicycle rides; it’s good exercise and you can see the country better when you’re riding along slowly on a bike. I could have wept when I saw the poor old house, looking so sad and neglected and buried in a wilderness of weeds. I meant to go in and have a look round but I couldn’t bear it so I just turned and came home.” He sighed heavily and added, “Well, I’m glad it has been bought by someone who can appreciate it.”

  “We love Fletchers End,” said Bel simply.

  “Yes, I can see that. I must tell Mother—she’ll be pleased. It made her sad to think of it standing empty.”

  “Perhaps you would like to come over to lunch some day,” suggested Bel. “But perhaps you’d rather not,” she added hastily.

  “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Brownlee! Yes, I’d like to come. I suppose you’ve made a good many alterations?”

  Bel could not help smiling; ‘alterations’ was scarcely the word. “It was in terribly bad repair,” Bel told him. “We had to take out nearly every window and renew the wood. We made a second bathroom and a bow-window in the drawing-room and we——”

  “Oh you shouldn’t have done that! It was a lovely room.”

  “Everyone thinks it a great improvement,” declared Bel. “We got a very good architect to design it, and it looks charming.”

  “Oh well, if you had a good architect——” said Mr. Harding grudgingly.

  There was another silence. As a matter of fact Bel wanted to ask Mr. Harding a question. She had been wanting to ask it ever since the beginning of their talk, but she did not know how to put it. She wanted to say, ‘Was your grandmother fond of violets?’ but it seemed a queer thing to ask straight out like that.

  At last she said, “I was talking to old Mr. Fuller. He remembers your grandmother.”

  “Fuller? Oh, he was the gardener, of course!”

  “Yes, he was telling me how to grow violets; he said your grandmother was fond of them.”

  Mr. Harding rose to the bait, “Oh yes, my grandmother loved violets. Her name was Violet, you see. She nearly always had a little jar of fresh violets standing on her writing-desk. There was a greenhouse at Fletchers End in those days and sometimes even in winter the head-gardener used to bring in a little bunch of violets for her. All the people on the place were very fond of her so they liked doing things to please her. I can remember the scent of Grandmother’s violets in the drawing-room—it’s funny how clearly you can remember things that made an impression upon you when you were a child.”

  “Yes, it is,” agreed Bel.

  “She was a dear old lady,” continued Mr. Harding in reminiscent tones. “I must have been about six or seven years old when she died but I can remember her quite well. When she was young she was very pretty; there was a portrait of her, hanging on the wall above the fireplace in the drawing-room. It was a lovely picture. Mother would have liked to have it, but Roy got everything and I expect he sold it all—he would sell his soul for money,” added Mr. Harding bitterly. “Mother didn’t get a single thing; not even a piece of furniture to remind her of her old home.”

  “How dreadful! Did they quarrel—or something?”

  “You mean Mother and Aunt Helen? No, indeed!” he exclaimed. “Mother never quarrelled with anyone in her life. She’s almost too good and kind. I mean when people are like that, other people take advantage of them.”

  Bel agreed that this was true. She was about to tell Mr. Harding that all the furniture from Fletchers End was in store, somewhere in London, when the door opened and the other two came in.

  Louise looked happy and excited. “We had a lovely walk,” she said. “I wish you had come, Bel. You would have enjoyed it.”

  “We might have come if we had been asked,” said Mr. Harding.

  Louise seemed surprised. “But I thought——” she began.

  “Well, never mind!” exclaimed Roy laughing. “They didn’t come, and it’s over now. What about drinks, Leslie?”

  “Not for me,” said Louise quickly. “I never drink when I’m going to drive—besides, we must go home.”

  “You needn’t go yet,” declared Roy. “And just one little cocktail wouldn’t do you any harm at all.”

  “Yes and no,” Louise told him. “We must go at once and I don’t want a cocktail, see? I must be home in time to get Daddy’s supper ready. I shall have to drive like Jehu—he was the man who drove furiously, wasn’t he? Come on, Bel.”

  Bel was quite ready to go; she liked to be at home when Ellis arrived back from town, so she gathered up her gloves and her bag, said good-bye to her host (who had once more become an oyster) and went away quickly after the others.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Louise and Roy Lestrange were already in the street when Bel joined them. As usual they were talking gaily and for a few minutes Bel was silent, but presently she plucked up her courage and broke into the conversation.

  “Mr. Lestrange,” she said. “What about the diaries?”

  “Diaries?” he asked in surprise.

  “The diaries and letters about Fletchers End.”

  “Oh, gosh! I’d forgotten. I don’t see what I can do about it now. I’m sure they must be in the drawer of Aunt Helen’s bureau; but of course it’s in the store—as I told you.”

  “I know, but you said——”

  “You aren’t in a hurry for them, are you? If I go to the store I’ll have a look for them. There, that’s a promise,” said Roy gaily. “If I go to the store I’ll see what I can do.”

  Bel knew already what his promises were worth and the hope of ever seeing the letters and diaries vanished from her mind. It was very disappointing but it could not be helped.

  “There’s another thing I want to ask you,” said Bel. “I wonder if you still have the picture which used to hang above the chimney-piece in the drawing-room.”

  “I expect so,” he replied. “It’s probably in the store with all the other things.”

  “It’s a portrait of your grandmother,” Bel explained; she added, “I was wondering if you would sell it.”

  “Sell it?” he asked in surprise. “Who would buy it?”

  “Well—I would,” she told him. “I mean if you thought you would like to sell it.”

  Roy laughed. “Yes, of course I’ll sell my grandmother if I can get good money for her! I was just a bit surprised that anyone should want to buy the lady. What will you give for my grandmother, Mrs. Brownlee?”

  Bel had no idea what to offer—and she was not sure if he were serious in saying that he was willing to sell the picture or whether it was a joke.

  “Do you really want it?” asked Roy.

  “Yes,” said Bel. “I mean if you don’t mind selling it.”

  “Why should I mind? It’s no use to me. I couldn’t hang it up in my cabin, could I? Come on, Mrs. Brownlee. What will you give me?”

  “Would ten pounds be enough?” asked Bel doubtfully.

  “Couldn’t you make it guineas?”

  “No, I couldn’t. I mean——”

  “Going—going—gone!” cried Roy. “Grandmother knocked down to the highest bidder. Bought by Mrs. Brownlee of Fletchers End for ten pounds.”

  “Roy, you’re absolutely incorrigible,” declared Louise laughing.

  “Anything else you’d like?” asked Roy. “What about Grandfather? Gentleman in a cravat with side-whiskers. Side-whiskers are very valuable, you know. I tell you what, Mrs. Brownlee, you can have the two for fifteen. There’s a bargain for you!”

  Bel shook her head. She did not want the gentleman with the side-whiskers; she only wanted the lady who had loved violets. Mr. Harding had told Bel that the picture used to hang on the wall above the fireplace—and that was where she would put it. Perhaps w
hen Mrs. Lestrange was back in her proper place the fragrance of her favourite flowers would return to Fletchers End.

  Bel had offered ten pounds—and had refused to make it guineas—because ten pounds was all that remained of her very own money, the money she had earned during the winter. Of course Ellis would have bought the picture for her if she had asked him, but she wanted to buy it herself.

  By this time they had reached the place where they had parked the car and the two girls had got in. Roy was standing beside the car with his hand on the door.

  “Don’t delay us, Roy,” said Louise. “We must go; I don’t want to be late.”

  “Just a minute,” he said. “I want to ask you something, Mrs. Brownlee. Would you mind buying it now?”

  “You mean—paying you for the picture?” asked Bel in surprise.

  He nodded. “The fact is I’m a bit short of cash at the moment and I don’t want to borrow from Leslie. If you pay me for the picture now, I’ll write straight off to the fellow at the store and tell him to pack it up and send it. You’ll get it in two or three days.” He hesitated and then added, “It seems a bit odd, but—well—it would save a lot of bother, wouldn’t it?”

  It certainly seemed a bit odd, but Bel was so delighted at having bought the picture, and at the prospect of getting it in two or three days, that she made no objections except to say that she was doubtful whether she had enough money with her.

  “Well, just give me as much as you can,” said Roy. “You can send me the balance later.”

  “I’ve got some money with me,” said Louise.

  The two girls opened their handbags and between them managed to produce nine pounds nineteen shillings and two-pence.

  “Never mind about the tenpence,” said Roy cheerfully as he collected the money and put it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

  This curious transaction having been completed they said good-bye and the girls drove off. Roy stood watching them and waving.

  “I hope we shan’t get stuck or anything,” said Louise.

  “Stuck?”

  “Neither of us has got a farthing.”

  “Oh, I never thought of that.”

  “Not to worry,” Louise told her. “There’s always somebody about.”

  Certainly Louise was not worrying. She had discovered that if by any chance she happened to ‘get stuck’ there were always people ready to help her. People of the male sex, young or old, welcomed the opportunity to rescue a beautiful damsel in distress.

  *

  2

  Little more was said by the two friends until they were out of the town, for Louise was obliged to concentrate on driving through the traffic, but once on the main road there was more opportunity to talk.

  “I suppose you’re annoyed with me,” said Louise.

  “Annoyed with you? Why should I be annoyed?”

  “For going off with Roy and leaving you. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help it. Roy loves to have his own way. I thought of you several times and wondered what you were doing.”

  “Just talking, that’s all.”

  “Talking? That silly owl never opened his mouth!”

  “That’s what you think! As a matter of fact he’s very interesting.”

  “Interesting!” exclaimed Louise incredulously.

  “Yes, I rather liked him.” She hesitated and then added, “I liked him because he’s so fond of his mother.”

  Louise was silent. Perhaps she did not think this a sufficient reason for liking Mr. Harding.

  “He’s coming over to lunch one day,” added Bel.

  “You asked him to lunch? You must be crazy!” exclaimed Louise. “I couldn’t bear the man and Roy says he’s an absolute sap—no sense of humour at all. Roy says he can’t think why he was afflicted with a cousin so unlike himself.”

  “Mr. Harding feels exactly the same.”

  Louise did not comment upon this—perhaps she did not realise the implications—instead she said, “Roy is terribly attractive isn’t he? He’s so big and strong. There’s so much life about him. He makes me feel on top of the world. He makes my blood run faster. It’s a curious sort of feeling—quite thrilling. Of course you wouldn’t understand.”

  Bel understood very well; she had noticed how Louise’s eyes had sparkled—Louise had been on top of the world all the afternoon, but it was no good saying anything so she held her peace.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Time passed quickly and happily at Fletchers End; it was real summer now and how delightful it was to be in the country! How different from the summers Bel had spent in town! She felt very sorry for Ellis who was obliged to travel daily to his office and spend so much of his time in the hot over-crowded city. She tried to persuade him to take a short holiday. Ellis replied that he would take a holiday soon; it would be easier now because ‘Mr. James’ was getting into the way of things and was pulling his weight. Ellis did not mind the daily journey—even in the heat of summer—it was worth while to get out into the country and breathe the fresh air. He had said this before and continued to say it whenever Bel commiserated with him.

  There were no near neighbours round about Archerfield, but there were quite a number of people at Shepherdsford and Ernleigh, some of whom had been to Bel’s wedding. They were friends of the Armstrongs’ of course and Louise said they were all anxious to be friendly with the new arrivals. She had mentioned this several times and Bel had replied that she was much too busy getting settled to be bothered with visitors.

  One day when Louise came in to have a cup of coffee she reopened the subject.

  “You’re settled now,” said Louise. “It will be nice for you to get to know some people, won’t it?”

  “I’d rather not,” replied Bel. “Ellis and I are perfectly happy here together. We don’t want to know a lot of people.”

  “Don’t be silly!” Louise exclaimed. “You can’t live at Fletchers End like a couple of hermits.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s so dull,” declared Louise. “Besides, you said you liked my friends. You liked the Musgraves and Margaret Warren and Sylvia Newbigging, didn’t you?”

  It was true that Bel had liked them but it was also true that she was perfectly happy without them.

  Soon after this conversation Margaret Warren rang up and said Louise had told her that Bel was ready for visitors.

  “I should like to come and see you,” said Margaret in a friendly voice. “I would have come before but Louise said you were too busy. Would it be all right if I came this afternoon.”

  “Yes, do come,” said Bel. “Come to tea.”

  “I shall have to bring Bernard.”

  “Yes, of course you must bring him.”

  “All right. If you’re sure you can bear it I’ll come over this afternoon by The Church Walk and bring him in his pram.”

  It was a lovely day, so when she had helped Mrs. Warmer to prepare for her visitors Bel set out to meet them and before she had gone far she saw them coming towards her. They met near the little bridge. It was nearly nine months since Bel had seen Margaret, and so much had happened that it seemed a great deal longer; but Margaret was just the same, kind and friendly and easy to get on with. She greeted Bel as if they had known each other for years.

  Margaret was exactly the same but Bernard was quite different. She remembered him as a baby, he had now become a little boy.

  “Goodness, how he has grown!” Bel exclaimed.

  “Well, I should hope so,” said his mother. “It’s nearly nine months since you saw him. Did you expect to see him looking exactly the same?”

  “Yes,” admitted Bel. She laughed and added, “Silly of me, wasn’t it? I don’t know much about babies, you see.”

  “I wish he would grow faster,” Margaret told her. “I’m longing for him to grow up. It will be such fun when he’s a proper boy.”

  “Will it?” said Bel doubtfully. Her experience of boys had not been very happy, they were rough and noisy and tiresom
e. In her opinion Bernard was delightful as he was, rosy and chubby and beautifully clean in his pale yellow linen suit, smiling happily and talking nonsense. It seemed a pity that such an attractive little creature should grow up and become ‘a proper boy.’

  They had tea together in the drawing-room. Bernard behaved very nicely indeed; he drank his milk and ate large quantities of bread and butter. He was no bother at all.

  “Yes, he’s quite good,” said his mother in answer to Bel’s extravagant praises . . . but in spite of her off-hand manner it was obvious that Margaret’s son was the apple of her eye.

  “He’s quite useful too,” continued Margaret. “My daily adores Bernard. That’s why she stays with me.”

  “Is it difficult to get dailies in Shepherdsford?” Bel inquired.

  “It’s difficult to keep them,” replied Margaret. “They get bored and they like changing about from one place to another . . . and of course they know everything.”

  “Know everything!” echoed Bel in surprise.

  Margaret smiled. “They know everything about everybody. They know more about you than you know about yourself. They’re all friends, you see, and they discuss people’s affairs with each other. Talk about grape-vines!” exclaimed Margaret. “The grape-vine in Shepherdsford is a very flourishing plant indeed, and Louise says it’s the same in Ernleigh. I suppose it’s much the same in all small places. I don’t encourage my daily to talk, because I think gossip is horrible, but sometimes it’s difficult to prevent her from telling me things I’d rather not know.”

  “Mrs. Warmer talks too,” said Bel smiling. “She hears everything at the Women’s Institute and comes home full of news.”

  *

  2

  Bel and Margaret found they had a great deal in common; both were young and happily married, both adored their husbands, both were interested in their houses. Bel’s house was old and Margaret’s house was new, but it was interesting to compare notes. The conversation flowed along very easily. Bel discovered, somewhat to her surprise, that it was just as easy to talk to Margaret as it was to talk to Louise; in fact in some ways it was easier. Bel and Louise had always been friends (and still were, of course) but now that Bel was married—and Louise not—there could not be the same sharing of every thought as there had been before. Between the married and the unmarried, in the case of feminine friendships, there is always a slight barrier. There are things not to be talked about, things that cannot be understood, and the chief of these is the mysterious bond of a happy marriage which binds two people together for the rest of their lives.