by Betty Neels
MRS PETTIFER, COMING into the lodge half an hour later, was surprised to find Henrietta in the garden with Dickens and Ollie.
‘You’re back home early,’ she observed, and then, catching sight of Henrietta’s downcast face, went on hurriedly, ‘What a nice surprise for me—and you’ve got our supper ready too. Did you have tea with Mrs Tibbs?’
She bustled around the little room, taking care not to look at Henrietta, who had come in from the garden.
‘Well, I went to see her, but she’d had an accident; she was on the floor with a cut head, unconscious. I—I ran back over the fields for help and Mr Ross-Pitt saw me from his garden and he came and saw to her and took her to hospital.’
‘You must have had a busy time, and not very pleasant either. How lucky that you went to see Mrs Tibbs. Poor woman. Of course, her husband would have been down at the football pitch.’
‘Yes, but Mr Ross-Pitt phoned Mrs Patch to get someone to tell him. He got to the hospital soon after us.’
‘Mr Ross-Pitt must have been glad of your help...’
‘I didn’t do anything; Watson and I waited in the car while he went into the hospital with Mrs Tibbs.’
‘You had your tea at his house, I expect?’ Mrs Pettifer put the question casually.
‘No,’ said Henrietta quietly. ‘I preferred not to. Mr Ross-Pitt brought me back here.’
‘Just as well,’ said Mrs Pettifer briskly. ‘I dare say he’ll be off this evening. He’s much in demand, you know. Wealthy bachelors always are.’
* * *
ADAM WASN’T GOING anywhere; he refused the tea that Mrs Patch offered him and went into the garden, where he spent an hour digging out the roots of a dead tree. It was hard work even for a man of his strength, but it cleared his mind so that presently he went indoors, showered and changed, took Watson for his walk and came back for his dinner, outwardly the calm man whom everyone knew as such.
Afterwards, sitting by the open door to the garden, he allowed his thoughts to roam. He supposed with hindsight that he had been in love with Henrietta for quite some time, probably since he had first seen her, but he had been unwilling to admit it even though she had never been far from his thoughts.
He stirred Watson, lying at his feet, with a gentle toe. ‘I am afraid that she looks upon me as someone from another world. Oh, she is grateful for any help that I have offered her, and she is friendly in a guarded fashion, but I am too old for her, leading a life so different from hers. I dare say that in time she will fall in love with a young man of her own age—David, perhaps. She would make a splendid curate’s wife—matter-of-fact, kind and gentle, with a sound knowledge of how the other half live. Nevertheless, my dear Watson, despite the drawbacks I want her for my wife.’
Watson wagged his tail. ‘Good—you approve,’ said Mr Ross-Pitt.
* * *
HENRIETTA HADN’T EXPECTED to see Mr Ross-Pitt in church the next morning; she had made up her mind that he had gone back to London on the previous evening, most likely to spend it with the hateful Deirdre.
The sight of his broad back in one of the pews in front caused all godly thoughts to fly out of her head. It wouldn’t be possible to leave before the service was over; if she did half the village would want to know why when next she saw any of them. Besides, one of the sidesmen had closed the door, and it made a good deal of noise when it was opened.
She sang and prayed and sang again, listened with tremendous concentration to the sermon and, the moment the vicar and choir had gone into the vestry, whipped through the door before anyone else. No one would have noticed.
Mr Ross-Pitt had. He made his leisurely way out of the church, had a few words with the vicar, accepted an invitation to have drinks with the Hensens and watched Henrietta’s small person hurrying away in the distance.
The Hensens had come in their car and offered him a lift, but he pleaded the need for exercise and with the promise that he would see them shortly at the manor set off across the churchyard.
Henrietta came to the door when he knocked, but not before she had peeped through the window first to see who was there. She had had the time to school her features into a look of polite enquiry when she opened the door, causing Adam to say something quite different from what he had intended.
His good morning to Henrietta was coolly friendly. ‘You may like to know that Mrs Tibbs has recovered consciousness, but she is to stay in hospital for the next week or ten days to make certain that there is no worse damage. She is in the woman’s surgical ward; you may like to send her a card.’
‘Thank you for telling me. I’ll certainly do that, and when she’s home again I’ll go and see her. The evenings are so light now I could go after I’ve finished work.’
Adam frowned. ‘Don’t do that. I know this isn’t the East End of London, but we do occasionally get the odd stranger roaming around. If you wish to do so, kindly let me know and I’ll drive you over one evening.’
‘How kind,’ said Henrietta. She would do no such thing, and what nonsense about going out alone in the evenings. She might love him with all her heart, but that didn’t mean to say that he could tell her what she could or could not do.
Ollie darted out and she stooped to pick him up, which filled in the silence between them, and after a moment Mr Ross-Pitt said, ‘Well, I must get on—I’m on my way to the manor.’ His goodbye was pleasant but a trifle frosty.
As he continued it struck him that Henrietta’s reply to his request that she shouldn’t go to Mrs Tibbs’ alone had been very meek. He made a mental note to keep an eye on her. At the same time they must get back onto their friendly footing...
A patient man, but used to getting what he wanted even if he had to wait for it, Adam pictured a delightful future with Henrietta.
* * *
MRS PETTIFER BOUGHT a card for Henrietta to send on Monday—roses and forget-me-nots and a puppy in a basket; the choice at the village shop wasn’t very wide. Henrietta wrote that as soon as Mrs Tibbs was back home she would come and see her. She told Mrs Pettifer this and that lady frowned. ‘I’m not sure that it’s a good idea to roam around in the evenings. Mrs Tibbs is a bit isolated.’
‘Perhaps her husband would see me back,’ hazarded Henrietta.
‘That’s true. You must be back, though, before it’s quite dark. All the same, I’m not happy about you going. You’d better wait until your free day.’
Henrietta said, ‘Yes, Mrs. Pettifer,’ in the same meek voice that she had used to Adam, only Mrs Pettifer, not being in love, wasn’t suspicious.
* * *
HENRIETTA HAD A note from Mrs Tibbs at the end of the week; she would be going home on the following Wednesday and hoped that Henrietta would be able to go and see her. She was up and about and her husband would be there to help look after her.
Henrietta said nothing to Mrs Pettifer; Mr Tibbs would be there to see her at least part of the way back; she could come to no harm.
On the following Friday evening fate played into her hand; Mrs Pettifer went back to the house to fetch the notes that Lady Hensen had made concerning the bank holiday opening, and while she was gone Henrietta wrote a note saying where she was, and then armed with some flowers from the garden, set off for Mrs Tibbs’ cottage.
It was a warm, light evening, but most of the village were indoors having their late tea and watching television.
With a wary eye she hurried past Adam’s garden, but there was no sign of anyone at home; she crossed the fields and presently tapped on the cottage door. Told to come in, she opened it and found Mrs Tibbs sitting in her small front room alone.
‘Miss Henrietta, am I glad to see you! Bless you for coming. Hubby’s here, but he’s in bed; been doing overtime, he has. I was just sitting here wishing I had someone to talk to...’
Henrietta made tea, found a pack
et of biscuits and put them on the small table between them. She could see that Mrs Tibbs was longing to talk, and talk she did! A blow-by-blow account of her stay in hospital and how she’d come to fall down in the first place.
‘Tripped up, I did, on a bit of torn lino, and knocked myself out on that dresser. Thankful I am that you came along when you did.’ She beamed at Henrietta. ‘And lovely to have a bit of company. Busy up at the manor, are you?’
* * *
HENRIETTA GLANCED AT her watch—the evening had flown; it was already dusk. She washed up the mugs and put the flowers in a vase, promised that she would come again, and let herself out into the lane. She wished then that she had brought a torch.
The lane, overhung with trees and high hedges, was gloomy; she was glad when she had reached the fields. She could still see the path quite clearly, and there were lights in the village ahead of her—a reassuring sight.
She walked on happily enough, unaware of the man following her furtively, making no sound until suddenly he laughed.
By the time she heard him he was close. She took to her heels and ran, giving a nice healthy scream while she still had the breath. There was still some way to go; she ran on, terrified that she would fall.
Mr Ross-Pitt, sitting by his open window, heard the scream. He was out of the window, through the gate and running almost before it was over, the faithful Watson lumbering along at his heels. One scream sounded very like another, but he knew that it was Henrietta, and what she was doing roaming around on her own was something he would find out later.
He was halfway across the field by now and the man had seen him; he paused, turned, and then ran off as Henrietta hurtled into Mr Ross-Pitt’s arms. She gave a great, gasping breath. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she wailed.
‘Indeed it is I. What the devil are you doing out here alone, Henrietta? I told you—’
She took no notice of this. ‘It’s always you.’ She sounded cross. She disentangled herself from his hold and stood, shivering a little, staring at him. ‘I never do anything right.’ She looked over her shoulder.
‘You’re a silly girl. He’s gone.’ He turned her smartly round and marched her back to his garden door. She hung back, but he gave her a gentle shove. ‘In you go; you’ll have a drink before I take you back to the lodge.’
‘I don’t want—’ began Henrietta.
‘Doctor’s orders,’ he told her in a no-nonsense voice.
She was sat down in his drawing room, fussed over gently by Mrs Patch, comforted by Watson’s cold nose and given a glass of brandy to drink by Mr Ross-Pitt. She sipped it gingerly, never having drunk it before, and felt the warm glow from it—which was a good thing, she thought, for there was no warmth in Mr Ross-Pitt’s manner, only an impersonal concern for her. Just like a doctor—but then he was a medical man, thought Henrietta, and wished herself anywhere but where she was.
Mr Ross-Pitt left her with Mrs Patch and went to his study where he phoned the lodge. Before he could speak Mrs Pettifer said urgently, ‘Henrietta went to Mrs Tibbs—I told her not to—and she’s not back—’
‘I have her here. Some tramp or other chased her across the fields. I’ve given her a stiff brandy and she’d better go straight to bed. Extremely silly of her.’
‘Oh, dear. Don’t be too hard on her; she was being kind to Mrs Tibbs.’
‘I should like to wring her neck,’ said Mr Ross-Pitt, and rang off.
Ten minutes later he drove Henrietta home. She sat silently beside him, very dishevelled, her hair loosened from its pins, and smelling strongly of brandy. Although she had nothing to say she hiccoughed from time to time, due to the brandy.
Adam felt a great wave of tenderness sweep over him, coupled with a strong wish to laugh. Why, in heaven’s name, he reflected, had he chosen to fall in love with Henrietta? It seemed to him that the only times that they saw each other were when she needed his help. The sooner we marry, he decided silently, the sooner I’ll have peace of mind.
Mrs Pettifer was waiting at the lodge door. She said cheerfully, ‘Come on in, dear, and you too, Mr Ross-Pitt, if you’d care to.’ She smiled a little. ‘I’ve just made a great pot of tea.’
He opened the car door and gave Henrietta a hand; the brandy was having its effect. ‘There’s nothing I’d like better, but I have a great deal of work to finish. Henrietta is none the worse; a cup of tea is just what she could do with before bed.’
He handed her over and she put up a hand to her untidy head. ‘I’m so very sorry.’ She was looking up at him with huge eyes in a pale face. ‘You’re the very last person in the world I would want to vex. I’ll do my best to keep out of your way.’ The brandy had gone to her head. ‘I’ve been a nuisance ever since I found Ollie, haven’t I? I do hope it hasn’t upset your love life!’
He didn’t allow himself even the smallest of smiles, although his eyes gleamed beneath their lids. He said gravely, ‘Oh, but you have, Henrietta,’ and, unable to stop himself, bent and kissed her gently on a cheek.
He got into his car then, bade them goodnight and drove himself back through the village.
Mrs Pettifer sat Henrietta down in the sitting room and put a cup of tea into her hands. ‘What a blessing that we have a man like Adam Ross-Pitt living in this village. While the rest of us would be standing around wondering what to do he gets on and does it. He’s a famous surgeon, you know. In line for a knighthood, I believe—not that he cares tuppence about that. Now, drink your tea and tell me how Mrs Tibbs is; something kept you there later than you intended, didn’t it?’
Henrietta explained, getting a bit muddled. ‘I didn’t like to leave her until she’d finished telling me about the hospital. She was wanting to talk—Mr Tibbs was in bed, you see. She’s quite safe; it was just—she was lonely.’
Mrs Pettifer, who knew how lonely a life Henrietta had lived before Mr Ross-Pitt had stumbled upon her, understood that. ‘I understand why you wanted to visit her, and I’m sure your visit did her good, but don’t go alone again, Henrietta. I’ll go and see the vicar tomorrow and see if he can organise something—brief daily visits until she feels herself again, something like that. Now, off to bed with you; Lady Hensen wants us to wash the Coalport dinner service tomorrow and put it on display before the first tourists arrive.’
So Henrietta went to bed, to sleep at once but to wake in the small hours and think about Mr Ross-Pitt. How ungrateful she must have seemed to him; it would serve her right if he never spoke to her again. Upon reflection she thought that that wouldn’t be too difficult, since she had promised to keep out of his way in future.
She wondered if he would tell Deirdre all about it when he next saw her. She thought not; he was a kind man and he must have noticed that Deirdre didn’t like her. She allowed her thoughts to dwell on his kiss and went to sleep again.
It wasn’t difficult to keep out of his way; he was, Mrs Pettifer told her, spending a week in Newcastle, operating and lecturing. ‘And I dare say while he’s there he’ll visit his mother and father.’
* * *
THIS WAS EXACTLY what Mr Ross-Pitt did do, driving up from Newcastle-upon-Tyne, glad to have the week behind him. The prospect of a few days at his parents’ home was pleasant, and the Northumbrian countryside, once he had left the city, was magnificent.
At Morpeth he left the main road, choosing to take the country roads towards the coast. At Alnmouth he drove through the village, with its charming jumble of houses and little shops and the wide sands stretching away into the distance, and turned into the narrow road leading to a hamlet—a handful of houses, a church and a ruined castle at its back.
His parents’ home was built of golden stone; a solid Queen Anne front concealed the more ancient part of the house from a visitor coming up the short drive from the road. It was screened at its back by larch trees, and the lawns around it were bordered by flower-beds.
He got out of the car and opened the door for Watson, who gave a cheerful bark and rushed to meet the two dogs running out of the house.
His mother was behind them and he went to kiss her. ‘You don’t mind Watson? He’s been rather boxed in during this week.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Mother, it is so nice to see you again. Is Father home?’
‘Yes, my dear, in the library, but he’ll be here at any moment; he will have heard the dogs.’ She scanned his face. ‘You’ve had a busy week. Well, a few days here will do you all the good in the world. Here’s your father.’
The two men shook hands, and presently they went indoors to drink coffee and exchange family news.
Lady Ross-Pitt sat back presently, not saying much, watching the two men, so alike in every way. Adam was tired and there was something worrying him; perhaps he would tell her before he went back to his own home. He ought to marry, she thought, but only if he had found the right girl.
She frowned a little. Deirdre Stone, whom she disliked but tolerated because she was one of her oldest friends’ daughter, had phoned her several times wanting to know if they expected Adam to visit them. ‘I’ve been meaning to come north again,’ Deirdre had said, ‘and thought it would be delightful to see something of you.’
Lady Ross-Pitt had said that she had no idea when Adam would be coming, and had felt guilty afterwards in case he was in love with the girl.
She broached the subject later; his father had gone to the local railway station to collect Adam’s elder sister and her two children, who had come up from Sussex to stay while her husband was away on business. Once they were in the house Lady Ross-Pitt knew that there would be no chance of talking to Adam. She began cautiously. ‘Mrs Patch looks after you, dear?’
‘Very well—she runs the house like clockwork; fits in with my awkward hours without a single grumble.’
‘If you should marry I suppose you would keep her?’
‘Most decidedly...’
‘Perhaps your wife might not like her. Women are strange creatures,’ observed his mother guilelessly. ‘When Deirdre Stone came here with her mother she hadn’t a good word to say for her. Indeed, she told me that she would get rid of her at once.’
