Fletchers End (Bel Lamington Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  “Of course there’s more to it, isn’t there?” said Ellis at last. “It isn’t just that Reggie is fed up with shoddy houses.”

  “There’s a lot more,” Bel said. “I’ll tell you all about it and you’ll see that it really is the right thing.”

  “I must write to him,” said Ellis thoughtfully. “It will be a difficult letter to write but you can help me with it, can’t you?” He added, “It will be nice when he’s at Oxford.”

  “Yes, he’ll be able to come over quite often,” Bel agreed.

  *

  3

  A few days after the arrival of the picture Bel decided to spend an afternoon in the garden. She had got some plants from Mr. Middleton’s nursery and wanted to put them in. Planting was a job she enjoyed and so far she had not been able to do very much herself, but now some of the beds were ready and the little plants had come.

  She was in the middle of her task when Mrs. Warmer came dashing out of the kitchen-door in a tremendous state of excitement.

  “Quick!” cried Mrs. Warmer breathlessly. “It’s Lady Steyne—her car has just stopped at the gate! She’s come to see Fletchers End.”

  “Lady Steyne? It can’t be!” said Bel, looking up in surprise. (Louise had told her that Lady Steyne never called on anyone, she was too old and delicate). “It can’t be Lady Steyne,” repeated Bel.

  “It is! It is!” cried Mrs. Warmer. “And look at you—all dirty and mucky in your old tweed skirt! You better run up the back stairs and put on your nice new blue dress and your nylons—what a good thing I made that choclit cake this morning! Quick—there’s the front-door bell!”

  It was amazing how Mrs. Warmer always seemed to know when a car stopped at the gate. It was not that she wasted time gazing out of the windows, for she got through more work than two ordinary women. As Bel rose from her knees she wondered whether Mrs. Warmer possessed a sixth sense which warned her of the approach of visitors to Fletchers End.

  Mrs. Warmer’s idea of running up the back stairs and putting on her new dress to receive her visitor made Bel smile. It would be most discourteous to keep Lady Steyne waiting while she changed. Lady Steyne would not mind in the least what she was wearing; she had come to see Bel not her new blue dress (according to Mrs. Warmer she had come to see Fletchers End). Bel was still smiling as she rinsed her hands at the garden-tap and went in to greet her visitor.

  Lady Steyne was a delightful old lady, fragile and dainty as a Dresden China figurine and very kind and friendly. She explained that she was too old to go about much nowadays but she had been so anxious to meet Mrs. Brownlee that she had broken her rule.

  “Penney has gone up to town for the day,” said her ladyship, smiling mischievously. “So I’m as free as air—and it was such a lovely afternoon that I decided to come and see you.”

  “I’m so glad,” declared Bel.

  “I hope I haven’t interrupted you in the middle of doing something very important.”

  “Gardening, that’s all,” said Bel smiling. “That’s why I’m in rather a mess.” She hesitated and then added, “My housekeeper wanted me to change into my new blue dress for you.”

  “How delightful!” cried Lady Steyne. “She must be a character! Will you get into trouble for not changing?”

  “I’m afraid she’ll be a little bit annoyed,” admitted Bel.

  They laughed together.

  At first they talked about Bel’s wedding. Lady Steyne said she was so sorry she had not been able to come, but she had heard all about it from her niece, Barbie Buckland, and from Miss Penney.

  “Barbie is a dear, isn’t she?” said Lady Steyne.

  “I don’t think I know her——”

  “Oh, Barbie said you spoke to her at the wedding . . . but of course you wouldn’t know who she was.”

  “No,” said Bel. “To tell you the truth I don’t really remember much about the wedding. It’s very queer.”

  “Not queer at all,” replied her ladyship, smiling very kindly. “I’m sure lots of people go through their weddings in a sort of dream—I know I did—and it must have been even more dreamlike for you because there were so many people you didn’t know.” Lady Steyne laughed and added, “Anyhow there’s no need for you to worry, everyone says you looked very sweet and behaved beautifully.”

  Bel did not know what to say to this. Perhaps she should have taken it as a joke, but somehow she felt that it had not been intended as a joke. She was aware that she was blushing.

  “I’m so glad you’ve got that lovely portrait of Violet Lestrange,” said Lady Steyne, looking up at it. “I’ve always admired it so much. Did you buy it with the house?”

  “No, I bought it just the other day from Roy Lestrange.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Lady Steyne. “It seems funny that none of the family wanted to keep it—but just as well. She’s there in her proper place.”

  “That’s why I wanted her so much.”

  Lady Steyne nodded. “Yes, she’s in her proper place. Who was the painter, Mrs. Brownlee? I used to think the picture was a Romney—it’s very much like his work—but of course it can’t be, because he died before Violet was born.”

  “Oh no!” exclaimed Bel. “I mean it isn’t by anyone well-known. It isn’t at all valuable, Lady Steyne.”

  “Isn’t valuable?”

  “I don’t know who painted her—and I don’t really want to know,” declared Bel earnestly. “Ellis thought we ought to get someone who knows about pictures to look at it, but I just like to enjoy her because she’s beautiful and sweet.”

  “Oh yes—I see,” said Lady Steyne in thoughtful tones. She herself knew a good deal about pictures and, although it certainly could not be a Romney, she felt sure it was a valuable painting. However, if Mrs. Brownlee did not want to know, there was no object in telling her. Like a wise woman Lady Steyne held her peace.

  “Did you know Mrs. Lestrange well?” asked Bel.

  “Yes, I knew her and loved her. Of course she was a great deal older than I was but that didn’t matter; she remained young at heart till the end of her life.”

  Bel continued to ask questions about Mrs. Lestrange—it was exciting to meet someone who had really known her—and Lady Steyne seemed pleased to talk about her friend of long ago. She told Bel that ‘Violet’ was nearly eighty when she died but was still beautiful and still had the same sweet expression.

  “Her family was very difficult,” said Lady Steyne. “They were all Lestranges—not like their mother at all. They were quarrelsome and wild—people used to talk of them as ‘the wild Lestranges’! The two boys were very extravagant which led to all sorts of trouble—so you can imagine what it was like for Violet. She spent all her time getting them out of scrapes and trying to keep the peace.”

  Bel glanced up at the picture.

  “She looks peaceful doesn’t she?” said Lady Steyne. “She had wonderful faith which gave her inward peace, that was her secret. For the last few years of her life she was an invalid and I used to come and see her and bring her books—so I missed her dreadfully when she died.”

  Lady Steyne paused and looked at Bel. Then she smiled and continued, “I can see you’re interested—and it’s quite natural that you should be interested in the people who lived in Fletchers End. I have never talked about them to anyone, but it’s all so long ago that I don’t think it matters now.”

  “I’m terribly interested because I love the old house.”

  “Violet loved it dearly,” said Lady Steyne nodding. “She often talked to me about it—to her it was almost human, if you know what I mean. I understood, of course, because I’m quite silly about Underwoods. You must come and see Underwoods some day, Mrs. Brownlee.”

  Bel said she would love to see Underwoods, which was perfectly true because she had heard a great deal about it. Louise had told her that it was a Queen Anne house and full of beautiful things and the garden was marvellous. All the same she wanted Lady Steyne to tell her more about the Lestrange family.<
br />
  Lady Steyne must have guessed her thoughts for she smiled and said, “I wonder what to tell you. There’s so much I could tell you about the place. It was left to Helen, of course. She was the eldest of the family and her father’s pet—he spoilt her dreadfully. Violet was sorry that the place was left to Helen; I remember her saying to me that it was a family house and ought to belong to a married couple who would settle down and have children. ‘I want Fletchers End to be a happy home’ she said. She knew that none of her family would settle down and make a proper home of the old house. The boys were wild and restless and it was most unlikely that Helen would marry. Poor Helen had a very unfortunate disposition.”

  “Perhaps Mrs. Lestrange would have liked her other daughter to have it?” suggested Bel.

  “Well—perhaps,” said Lady Steyne doubtfully. “Dora was much younger than the others and quite different. To tell you the truth when I think of the Lestranges I don’t think of Dora at all. Somehow she didn’t seem to belong to the family—the others were all more or less grown-up when Dora was born. Have you met Dora Harding?”

  “No,” said Bel. “I’ve heard about her, that’s all.”

  “She’s rather dull,” said Lady Steyne smiling. “There, isn’t that terribly wicked of me?”

  Bel would have liked to hear more about ‘the wild Lestranges’, but her ladyship began to talk of other things—perhaps she was regretting her wickedness. She was interested in the bow-window and the glass door leading out to the terrace, but when she saw the garden she was horrified.

  “How dreadful!” she exclaimed. “It used to be such a lovely garden! Sometimes when I came to see Violet we sat out on the terrace and . . . but never mind, Mrs. Brownlee. It will be lovely again.”

  “I hope so,” said Bel rather hopelessly.

  “Of course it will. Perhaps you would like some herbaceous plants. We’re going to dig up the border at Underwoods and divide up some of the plants so there will be plenty to spare if you would care to have them.”

  Bel accepted gratefully. She had had several offers of plants from her other visitors and had got some already from Coombe House but she could not have too many.

  Lady Steyne refused to stay to tea, saying that Penney would be coming back from town and would be horrified to find she had gone out instead of having her usual afternoon rest.

  “I hope you won’t be too tired,” said Bel anxiously, as she walked with her guest to the gate.

  “Of course not! It has done me a lot of good. Penney is a dear kind creature, I should be absolutely lost without her, but she fusses about me far too much.”

  The large Daimler, which had been lent to Bel for her wedding, was standing at the gate waiting for its mistress, but no chauffeur was to be seen.

  “What on earth has happened to Stubbs!” exclaimed her ladyship impatiently.

  “I expect he’s having tea with Mrs. Warmer,” said Bel, trying to hide a smile. “You mustn’t blame him, Lady Steyne. You see, Mrs. Warmer is frightfully hospitable. She can’t bear anyone to come to Fletchers End without being fed. She’ll be very angry with me for letting you go without having a cup of tea.”

  “Will she?” asked Lady Steyne smiling. “You’re in for a good deal of trouble this afternoon, one way and another.” She blew the horn violently and added, “It’s a funny world, isn’t it, Mrs. Brownlee? I’m ruled with a rod of iron by Penney and you’re browbeaten by Mrs. Warmer.”

  “But we’re lucky,” said Bel laughing.

  “Oh yes, frightfully lucky,” agreed her ladyship.

  Stubbs came running out of the house, wiping his mouth. “Sorry, my lady,” he murmured. “She said you’d be staying to tea.”

  Bel stood and watched the car drive away. She simply could not believe that Lady Steyne was ruled by Miss Penney with a rod of iron.

  part four

  Alarms and Excursions

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was now September and the garden at Fletchers End had been cleared ready for planting. Paths had been discovered and treated with weed-killer and you could actually see where the flower beds had been. There were no flowers left—no garden plants—all had been choked to death by the powerful willow-herb, but it was now possible to envisage a rough plan.

  Bel had been so busy with one thing and another that she had forgotten her suggestion that Alec Drummond should come to Fletchers End for a short visit; so she was very much surprised to receive a letter from him one morning at breakfast. The letter was from Edinburgh, from his house in Buckingham Terrace where he lived with his sister, and read as follows:

  Dear Bel,

  It was so very good of you to offer to have me to stay for a week-end. Louise told me about your kind invitation some time ago. Of course I ought to have answered before and would have done so if I had not been rather worried about business affairs. I am wondering if the invitation is still open? I find I have to be in London next week and I should very much like to come to you, but you must be sure to say quite honestly if it would be convenient to have me. I feel it is a liberty writing to you like this but you were kind to me when I met you at Drumburly so perhaps you will be kind to me again. That is the worst of being kind to people, isn’t it? They are apt to become a nuisance!

  Yours very sincerely,

  Alec Drummond

  Having read the letter Bel passed it across the table to Ellis.

  “It’s a very nice letter,” said Ellis. “He sounds a good chap. I remember you told me about him; you said he was rather keen on Louise—I suppose that’s why he wants to come.”

  “Yes,” said Bel.

  “Oh well, all’s fair in love and war,” said Ellis smiling. “You had better write and tell him to come, hadn’t you?”

  “You wouldn’t mind having him?”

  “No, of course not. We could meet in town and come down together. That would be the best way.”

  *

  2

  It was arranged that Alec Drummond should come on Friday and go over to Coombe House to lunch the following day. Bel was a trifle anxious about Alec’s visit—she wondered whether Ellis would like him—and as she waited for the sound of the car she began to wish she had not asked him. The invitation, conveyed through Louise, had been a momentary impulse and really it had been quite unnecessary. Louise did not want him to stay at Coombe House—which was understandable in the circumstances—but he could easily have gone to a hotel for he was extremely well-off. Money was no object to Alec. Perhaps it was foolish to worry, thought Bel. Ellis got on with most people and Alec was a dear—but all the same she was a little uneasy. The fact was they had not had many visitors. Reggie Stephenson had come but he was Ellis’s friend and Louise had come when Ellis was at Bournemouth, so Alec was in quite a different category.

  Bel was sitting in the drawing-room when she heard the car draw up at the gate. She went to the window and looked out and she heard their voices: Alec’s deep voice, with its slight and rather attractive Scottish accent, saying, “By Jove, what a wonderful colour there is in that roof!” and Ellis replying, “Yes, Cotswold stone goes that colour when it has weathered. This house is about four hundred years old—we don’t know exactly. We’re trying to find out about its history. I’ll bring your suitcase.”

  “Nonsense! Give it to me!”

  They both laughed—perhaps they were struggling for possession of the suitcase—and then the gate opened and they were coming up the path.

  How foolish to worry! thought Bel as she hurried to the door to meet them.

  Alec Drummond was just as she remembered him; tall and slenderly built with dark hair and eyes the colour of the peaty rivers in which he loved to fish. His smile was very friendly as he took Bel’s hand and thanked her for having him to stay. He was taller than Ellis, so she warned him about the oak beams and the low doorways—a warning which was given as a matter of course to every tall visitor who came to Fletchers End.

  “It’s about time for a glass of sherry,” s
aid Ellis as he followed them into the drawing-room. “Or perhaps you’d rather have a cocktail. Come and see my cupboard, Drummond.”

  As usual the cupboard called forth admiration. “What a grand idea!” said the guest. “Sherry, please. One shouldn’t drink cocktails in a house like this.”

  “That’s true,” agreed Ellis. “I suppose one shouldn’t drink sherry either, it ought to be ale or something, but we’ll risk it. You’ll have some, won’t you, Bel?”

  They sat down and talked. Bel listened to them with interest, putting in a word when required. This was what she liked for she was not much good at talking, she preferred to play the part of listener. They were discussing wine—which was natural under the circumstances—Alec was saying that wine was his business. Drummond’s of Edinburgh was his firm.

  “Oh, you’re that Drummond!” exclaimed Ellis. “I’ve got you now. It’s a very well-known firm.”

  *

  3

  As Bel listened to the conversation and hemmed her curtains she reflected that she had known very little about Alec Drummond. She had met him at Drumburly, had stayed in the same hotel and had been in his company a good deal, but for all that she had had very little conversation with him and she had not had the vaguest idea what his business was. The only time she had talked to him seriously was one evening when they had met unexpectedly on the upper landing of the hotel and Alec had pleaded with her to speak to Louise on his behalf. She had almost forgotten the incident but now that she saw him again and heard his deep voice in conversation with Ellis she remembered it clearly—and remembered all he had said. She remembered how he had raved about Louise: he would do anything for Louise; she was the most wonderful girl he had ever seen; she was so beautiful and so good! And what a beautiful name it was—Louise—how well it suited her! She could not be called anything else but Louise! Yes, poor Alec had been quite crazy that evening. He had asked Bel over and over again what he was to do. Should he give up the struggle and go away and console himself by catching quantities of brown trout in Loch Leven or stay at Drumburly and keep on trying to capture the elusive Louise? Bel had thought of him as Orlando—a modern version of that love-sick swain—and had tried to imagine him wandering about in the woods, carving the name of his beloved upon trees.