Amberwell

by Stevenson, D. E. (Dorothy Emily), 1892-1973

  There was no trouble here—except that Nannie was cross —but there was trouble and to spare in another quarter. Roger and Tom had indeed gone to bathe, as their sisters had surmised, and most unluckily were seen by Mr. Ayrton returning to the house with their hair wet and straggling, and sand all over their clothes. He caught them as they were skulking in by the side door which led to the nursery-stairs.

  "What does this mean?" demanded their father in stentorian tones.

  This was a variant of the usual question and neither of the boys could find an answer to it.

  "Have you no proper feeling at all?" continued Mr. Ayrton, working himself up into a rage. "Don't you realise that we are offering hospitality to our friends? Amberwell is offering hospitality, and you belong to Amberwell. You ought to be mixing with our guests—they're your guests as well as mine—you ought to be helping to entertain them, acting as hosts, making yourselves useful. You can bathe any other afternoon. Today you should be on duty."

  Roger and Tom were speechless. They had never thought of the party in this light. The idea that they were in any way responsible—that they were on duty—had never occurred to them for a moment.

  "You will both go straight to bed," stormed Mr. Ayrton. "If you can't behave like reasonable people you must be treated like children."

  "We didn't know," began Roger. "Nobody told us—"

  "You were told to be present in your best clothes."

  "Yes, but—"

  "Nonsense!" exclaimed Mr. Ayrton. "Perfect nonsense. There's no excuse. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves."

  Strangely enough they were. It was two very chastened boys who crept up the nursery stairs and went obediently to bed.

  "Lobster mayonnaise," said Tom with a heavy sigh as he turned out the light.

  "I know," agreed Roger. "But it isn't that so much. I mean —I mean if Father had told us before about being on duty—"

  4

  It was probably Mr. Gray who enjoyed the party more whole-heartedly than anybody else at Amberwell. The host and hostess were slightly anxious (slightly worried in case something should go wrong) and the household staff were busy with all manner of tasks, but Mr. Gray was free. He and his assistants had been working for weeks to put the gardens into order and it was all finished now. If anybody could find a weed in his borders Mr. Gray was willing to give that person sixpence—so he had said.

  In appearance Mr. Gray was like a Border Terrier; he was small and neat; his hair and moustache were sandy, and beneath his thick sandy eyebrows his brown eyes peered out alert and intelligent. Today he was a very smart Border Terrier, attired in a new navy-blue suit, a spotless white collar and a maroon tie. He walked about the gardens, alone amongst the crowd, looking at all the people and listening to their admiring comments.

  Very few people knew Mr. Gray personally but practically everybody knew who he was the moment they laid eyes upon him. If Mr. Gray had been labelled like his own rarer plants they could not have been more sure of his status. (It is difficult to explain the matter except by saying that there is a sort of sixth sense which operates only in a land hke Scotland where people have held their position—high or low—for centuries; where people know their own position to a hair's-breadth and are satisfied to keep it.)

  "Hullo, there's the head-gardener!" exclaimed one of Mr. Ayrton's guests. "I must just ask him about his delphiniums. Never saw anything so fine!"

  Of course Mr. Gray was delighted to explain his method of cultivation. He explained about the tomatoes too; they were growing out-of-doors in pots in a sheltered corner of the walled-garden.

  By this time quite a number of guests had assembled to seek Mr. Gray's advice: the hydrangeas were simply marvellous, especially the lovely white one. Did Mr. Gray think it would grow in a garden near Peebles? What was the name of the huge plants—rather like rhubarb—with pretty blue flowers which seemed to be growing wild near the burn? Could Mr, Gray recommend something as a hedge— something unusual? What sort of manure was used for the leeks? When did Mr, Gray prune his peach-trees?

  To all these questions Mr. Gray answered not only with patience but with pleasure and at length. He was afraid hydrangeas would not do well at Peebles; he was not sure, of course, but he rather thought the situation was too high. The huge plants near the burn were a kind of forget-me-not. They liked lots of seaweed. Yes, it seemed queer, admitted Mr. Gray, but sea-weed was the thing. Of course sea-weed was easy enough to get at Amberwell, you could barrow it up from the shore.

  "Do you grow endives here?" asked one gentleman. "I can't think what Scott does with the endives. They're always so bitter."

  "It's the light makes endives bitter," replied Mr. Gray. "September's the month for blanching them. You should put a big flower-pot over them and a stone on top to keep out the light."

  Some of the gentlemen cracked jokes with Mr. Gray and Mr. Gray laughed heartily and replied in kind and enjoyed himself tremendously.

  When the guests went in to supper Mr. Gray went home to have his meal, but he was ready and waiting at the lily-pool half an hour later, for although Mr. Ayrton intended to turn on the fountain with his own hands it was essential for Mr. Gray to be there.

  The light had faded now and the stars were bright. There was the sound of music drifting into the garden through the open windows of the drawing-room. Mr. Gray sat down on the teak seat which had been put near the lily-pool and waited. He felt happy. He felt quite young and romantic. It was many years since he had courted Jean Macdonald and won her; Jean was now middle-aged (as he was) and had a double chin, but tonight, sitting alone in the garden and listening to the distant strains of "The Chocolate Soldier," he remembered her as she used to be. So pretty she was with her smooth pink cheeks and her smooth dark hair!

  Time was passing and the moon had not yet risen above the trees. Supposing it did not rise! thought Mr. Gray in sudden anxiety. Supposing that tonight it failed to keep tryst! Fortunately Mr. Gray's anxiety did not last long for after a few minutes he saw a radiance in the proper airt. In a few minutes more there was visible a pale golden disc which looked for all the world as if it were hanging in the branches of the chestnut tree; it hung there for a while and then sailed into the clear sky and flooded the garden with light.

  Perhaps Mr. Ayrton had been watching it too (he too may have been a trifle anxious) for no sooner had the moon risen than the french-windows of the drawing-room were thrown open and the company streamed out onto the terrace. This was Mr. Gray's signal to switch on the fairy-lights and he did so. The tiny bulbs of all colours suspended in the branches of the surrounding trees were extremely effective.

  "Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed the ladies. "Oh, what a beautiful night. Not a bit cold! Look at the moon! Look at the fairy-lights!"

  They were all talking at once and laughing as they came along the terrace and down the steps into the lily-pool-garden.

  Connie was one of the first to appear, with Lady Annan by the hand; they were followed by Mrs. Lambert and Sir Andrew Findlater. Then came a group including Dr. Maddon and Miss Ayrton, Lady Findlater and Mr. Orme . . . and after that such a crush of people that it was difficult to see who was who. The two Findlater boys and Gerald Lambert, finding themselves hemmed in, climbed over the stone balustrade and ran down the slope. Mr. Ayrton was there too, of course, he pushed his way through the crowd and came over to where Mr. Gray was standing. Tonight even Mr. Ayrton seemed excited.

  "You'll have to stand back a bit!" he shouted, waving his arms. "Make a circle round the edge of the lawn. You don't want to get wet."

  The guests obeyed cheerfully. Some stood round the lawn, others on the steps, a few had remained upon the terrace and were looking down at the scene.

  What a scene it was, thought Mr. Gray. It reminded him of a scene in the theatre; it was too gay and beautiful to be real! The ladies looked like flowers in their lovely dresses (thought Mr. Gray who had gone all poetical with excitement). The silver moon, the fairy-lights, the velvet shadows o
n the grass . . . but there was no time to dream for Mr. Ayrton was taking off his jacket.

  Mr. Gray went forward and took the jacket and watched while Mr. Ayrton rolled up his sleeves.

  "It's here isn't it, Gray?" asked Mr. Ayrton, stooping down.

  "Just a wee bit to your right, sir."

  Everybody had stopped talking and there was a strange hush. Then suddenly the silvery fountain sprang up and opened like a flower and the drops came pattering down.

  Somehow to Mr. Gray it was an anti-climax and just a trifle disappointing, for Mr. Gray had already seen it playing. Last night the fountain had enchanted him, it had seemed magical and other worldly, it had filled him with awe. Tonight it was beautiful of course but the crowds of people and the fairy-lights detracted from the enchantment and made it seem (as he had thought before) like a scene in the theatre—a transformation scene. But Mr. Gray was probably the only person present who was disappointed; on all sides there were murmurs of applause and expressions of astonishment and admiration at the lovely sight.

  It was late when the guests decided to leave. Mr. Gray waited until the last guest had gone before he turned off the fountain. Then he and Mrs. Gray walked home through the gardens together.

  "What a grand day it's been!" said Mr. Gray with a sigh.

  "It's been your day, Jamie," said Mrs. Gray, taking his arm and pressing it gently. "The fountain was all very well in its way, but the gardens are the real thing. You'd get tired of the fountain but you'd never get tired of the gardens—that's what I've been thinking."

  Mr. Gray had been thinking the same thing himself.

  CHAPTER VI

  1

  Mr. and Mrs. Ayrton usually went to the Riviera in March; but one year, when Anne was twelve years old, they decided to spend the winter in South Africa. The children were not told of their parents' plans and the first they knew of it was when several large new trunks arrived and were placed upon the landing.

  "Is Mother going away?" said Nell to the under housemaid.

  "They're both going to South Africa," replied Agnes. "They'll be away three months. Miss Ayrton's coming to stay."

  "For three months?" asked Nell in horrified tones.

  Agnes nodded.

  When the other children heard the news they were equally horrified, for to have Aunt Beatrice at Amberwell for three whole months would be frightful. Aunt Beatrice would not leave them alone; she was always appearing in the nursery at odd hours (sometimes she even invited herself to tea in the nursery) and Nannie did not like her. Nannie was terribly polite to Aunt Beatrice but the moment she had left the room Nannie seized a duster and flew round like a whirlwind, polishing everything she could lay her hands on (it was just as well to keep out of Nannie's way on these occasions, the children had found); and it was not only Nannie whose equilibrium was upset by Aunt Beatrice; the whole house seethed in an uncomfortable manner. In fact it was rather like living upon the slopes of a volcanic mountain. Nothing really happened, there was no eruption, but one had a feeling that at any moment the volcano might burst into flames.

  On this occasion however Aunt Beatrice was on her best behaviour and managed to refrain from criticism of the way the house was run. She had a friend to stay with her part of the time and that kept her busy. The two ladies walked together in the gardens and went for drives in the car. Quite often they went out to tea (for Beatrice Ayrton, having been bom and brought up at Amberwell, knew a great many people in the district).

  When Miss Cannan left Miss Ayrton felt a little dull and began to bestir herself. The three girls were still having their meals in the nursery, surely it was time that they came downstairs to lunch. She suggested to Nannie that they should do so.

  "Perhaps their mother should be consulted," suggested Nannie in the ultra-refined voice which the children disliked so much.

  "But that would take weeks," objected Miss Ayrton.

  "Well, it's for you to say, Miss Ayrton."

  "Yes, I should like them to come down to lunch—they can have their other meals in the nursery of course—and I shall take them to church on Sunday mornings. It's ridiculous that they're never taken to church. Please have them ready at the proper time."

  Nannie swallowed hard. She was quite pleased for the girls to go to church but she was furious at being told to have them ready at the proper time—-as if she had to be told! Naturally she would have them ready at the proper time.

  Having settled the matter satisfactorily Miss Ayrton went downstairs quite oblivious of the fact that she had given mortal o£Fence. Poor woman, she did not mean to be offensive but she had been born with the knack of saying the wrong thing.

  Connie and Nell and Anne were somewhat dismayed when they heard of the new arrangements—especially as regarded their mid-day meal—but it was not nearly as bad as they had expected. Aunt Beatrice was quite pleasant and chatted to them about her various activities in Edinburgh and her annual visit to Rome. Every May Aunt Beatrice went to Rome and stayed in a "Pensione" near the Spanish Steps which was run by a Frenchwoman, Madame Le Brun. It was a very select Pensione and one met very interesting people there; people who knew what was what and appreciated good cooking. Aunt Beatrice liked talking and she found her nieces exceedingly good listeners so all went well. Connie and Nell and Anne learned a great deal about Rome, about St. Peter's and the Catacombs and the pictures in the Vatican, but they heard even more about Madame Le Brun and the Pensione Valetta and Aunt Beatrice's fellow guests . . . for as a matter of fact Aunt Beatrice was really more interested in present-day people than in ancient history.

  Just occasionally Aunt Beatrice startled her young companions by a cutting remark—her tongue had always been an unruly member—but they realised she was doing her best to be "nice" and were suitably grateful.

  The boys came home as usual for the Christmas Holidays and as usual the house woke up on their arrival and was full of bustle and excitement. Roger was now at Sandhurst, he was tall and slender and fair—a very grown-up young man in his own opinion and in the opinion of his sisters. Tom was still at school but was going to Oxford shortly.

  Aunt Beatrice was in her element when the boys came home, she was gay and happy and allowed them to do exactly as they liked—which was a pleasant change from the strict rule of their parents. She agreed immediately when Tom suggested they might have a Christmas Party at Amberwell and entered into the preparations with zest. Invitations were sent out to all the young people in the neighbourhood and Mr. Gray was instructed to dig up a young conifer and bring it up to the house . . . and the fairy-lights, which had been bought when the fountain was opened, came in very useful.

  The two boys had a delightful time climbing upon ladders and decorating the branches, sprinkling them with boracic crystals and hanging up the lights, while Connie and Nell and Anne looked on and admired and ran to get coloured string and pieces of wire and tied labels onto the little parcels which were to be given to their guests. It was all tremendous fun and, if the truth were told, Nell and Anne enjoyed the preparations very much more than the party itself. Nell and Anne were so shy, and so unused to the society of their land, that they found parties an ordeal.

  The others enjoyed it of course for it was a good party with games and country dancing and an excellent supper— Aunt Beatrice had seen to that—and last of all the surprise of the evening when the Christmas Tree was revealed in all its glory and the gifts were distributed to the guests.

  Tom was the most social member of the Ayrton family; it was he who had wanted the party and it was he who enjoyed it most of all. It was he who had discovered a little piece of mistletoe in the woods and had hung it upon the chandelier in the hall without telling anybody about it. Aunt Beatrice was his first victim, he caught her coming out of the dining-room and kissed her soundly before all the guests, and Aunt Beatrice laughed and blushed like a girl and was tremendously pleased with her nephew's attention. After that Tom caught quite a lot of people, some old and some young, but it was not
until the party was over and the guests were on the point of departure that he managed to catch Mary Findlater, for whose especial benefit the trap had been set.

  2

  Mr. and Mrs. Ayrton returned to Amberwell in March. They had enjoyed their trip, but they were glad to get home and to settle down in their own comfortable quarters. It was now time for Aunt Beatrice to pack her boxes and go back to Edinburgh. She had held the fort nobly in their absence and had made friends with her nephews and nieces— and if she had gone at once without opening her mouth she would have left pleasant memories behind. Unfortunately Beatrice Ayrton had a complex nature; when she was happy she was kind and agreeable, but when she was upset or her temper was roused she was by no means so pleasant.

  "It was very good of you to stay here while we were away," said Mrs. Ayrton at breakfast the morning after their return. "I hope you were comfortable, Beatrice."

  "Of course she was comfortable," said Mr. Ayrton smugly. "Amberwell is a very comfortable house."

  Beatrice had been comfortable—and happy—but her brother's attitude annoyed her. "It would be a much more comfortable house if the servants were more amenable," she declared. "It's Nannie of course!"

  "Nannie!" exclaimed Mrs. Ayrton in surprise.

  "She's very impertinent."

  "Oh no, Beatrice. I don't think so. I've had Nannie for years and she's never been impertinent to me."

  "It's her manner," Beatrice declared. "She puts on a very strange sort of voice when I speak to her, and she has a bad influence in the house. You ought to get rid of Nannie. In any case you don't need her now that the children are older. It would be better to get a French maid. And then there's Mrs. Duff," continued Beatrice, getting into her stride. "Mrs. Duff is ridiculously extravagant and her cooking leaves much to be desired. She has been here far too long and she's careless. Janet is lazy and underhand. The fact is they aU need to be watched and kept up to the mark—but Nannie is much the most troublesome."