Amberwell

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

  "A month?"

  "Well, we're almost out of the tunnel," said Dennis smiling. "There's not much more to do in this part of the world, but we've still got to beat the Japs. I expect I'll be going east." He rose as he spoke.

  "Don't go yet," pleaded Tom. "I've been dead to the world, but I'm coming alive now. Do you really think the war is over?"

  "It's just a matter of days," replied Dennis cheerfully. "Well, be good—if you can."

  Dennis had been told not to stay more than ten minutes; he had exceeded the time limit, but his visit did Tom a lot of good. Seeing his friend had drawn Tom back to the world of men and had given him something to live for. Amberwell! thought Tom, lying and staring at the oddly-shaped cracks in the ceiling, which he had got to know so well. Amberwell—in May—with the wild hyacinths in the woods, the lily-of-the-valley in the shady comers, and the trees coming into leaf! That's what I need.

  CHAPTER XIX

  1

  It was the middle of May—and the war was over—before Tom was well enough to leave hospital and travel home. He had been laid up for nearly six weeks but it seemed more like six months, and he felt like Rip Van Winkle. He felt as if everybody were staring at him, and quite possibly they were, for he was attired in garments borrowed from the doctor who was short and stout. Tom's lean lanky figure was lost in the folds of the borrowed jacket, and the trousers displayed his bony ankles. The noise and bustle of the station dazed him and the rattle of the train made his head ache; he was thankful when at last he arrived at Westkirk and saw Nell waiting for him on the platform.

  "Oh Tom!" cried Nell, hugging him. "Oh darling, how thin you are! But never mind, the war is over—and you're alive —and Roger is alive—nothing else matters. We'll soon feed you up and make you nice and fat. Where's your suitcase?"

  "My luggage is coming by special train," replied Tom, trying to smile and not succeeding very well. "There was too much to bring with me."

  "That was silly of me, wasn't it?" murmured Nell, taking him by the arm, which felt exactly like a bare bone inside the sleeve of the ill-fitting jacket. "I'm rather a silly person—"

  "Glad you're better, Mr. Tom," said the station-master. "If you wait a few moments till the train's away you can come across the line. It will save you the steps."

  This was a great honour, so they waited and were conducted across the lines, and Tom had to shake hands with the station staff. He found it a little trying for he had had no idea that he was returning to Westkirk as a "hero" and did not feel entitled to play the role.

  "Never mind," whispered Nell. "Your bed is all ready— and Nanny is all ready to put you into it."

  "Don't worry, dear Nellie," replied Tom, hoisting himself into the car like a very old man. "I'm a bit tired, that's all— it's such a noisy world—but Amberwell will put me right. I want to lie on the ground in the woods and—"

  "Not without a waterproof sheet," said Nell firmly as she leapt in beside him and drove off.

  Tom laughed.

  "Oh, I know you're Antaeus, and all that, but you're not going to he on the ground without a waterproof sheet . . . and you'll have to hurry up and get better because your friend is coming on Tuesday."

  "My friend? Who on earth—"

  "Dennis Weatherby of course. He said you'd asked him."

  "Oh yes, of course," said Tom in bewildered tones.

  "He rang up, you know. In fact he rang up twice. The first time was to say he had seen you, and the second time was about the boy."

  "Bob Glaister?"

  "Yes. He wants to be a gardener—so of course he can come to Amberwell," said Nell cheerfully. "He's only fifteen but Mr. Gray is delighted to have him and teach him everything. What could be better? We were only just waiting for you to come home before fixing things up. Commander Weatherby will tell you all about it when he comes."

  "Lieutenant Commander—"

  "No, Commander. He's been promoted; he told me that. And then he said you had invited him to stay at Amberwell and would it be all right if he came on Tuesday. We'll have to see what we can do about food," added Nell anxiously.

  They were both silent after that. Nell presumably was thinking about food; Tom was wondering what had happened to make Dennis change his mind. Of course he had asked Dennis to come (he remembered mentioning it to Dennis that night on the bridge of the poor old Starfish ) but Dennis had given him to understand that he preferred to spend his leave at home.

  2

  For a few days Tom led the life of an invalid, waited upon and cossetted by everybody in the house. Stephen was his devoted fag, running to fetch a paper for him to read, or a shawl to put round his shoulders, and sitting upon his bed and talking to him. Tom found it so pleasant that he might have remained an invalid for a good deal longer if it had not been for Dennis Weatherby's visit . . . but Dennis was arriving on Tuesday and it was essential to make an effort so that Dennis might be properly received.

  By Tuesday Tom was so much better that he was able to take the car to the station to meet his friend. They had never seen each other out of uniform before so it was natural that they should be a little surprised at each other's appearance—and natural that they should comment upon the fact in uncomplimentary terms. Tom certainly looked queer for he had had no time to buy clothes and was wearing a very old suit of Roger's which had been discarded by its owner long ago and for some reason had escaped Nell's eagle eye when she was looking out garments for the Jumble Sale. Dennis, on the other hand, was arrayed in brand new grey flannel trousers and a lovat-tweed jacket of immaculate cut.

  "Oh my dear paws!" exclaimed Tom. "The perfect little gentleman!"

  "You're jealous of my nice new clothes," retorted Dennis. "I think it was pretty low of you to rob the Amberwell scarecrow, but perhaps he'd finished with those togs and was getting a new rig-out."

  Having established relations as usual they both laughed cheerfully.

  Dennis was carrying a suitcase and a large brown-paper parcel, curiously shaped, which he put very carefully into the back of the car.

  "The body, I suppose?" enquired Tom—but Dennis did not reply.

  They drove through the town and up the avenue.

  "Great Scott, are those palm-trees?" Dennis exclaimed.

  "Yes," replied Tom. "My father put them in. He was very proud of them. I think they're ugly and out of place."

  But Amberwell House was not ugly and Tom slowed down to give his passenger a good view of his home . . . and Nell and Stephen, who were waiting upon the doorstep were relations of whom Tom could be proud.

  Tom was rather disappointed at the formal manner in which Dennis greeted Nellie, for he had hoped they would be friends—but of course Dennis had no use for girls. Tom liked girls, and girls usually liked Tom. Sometimes they liked him too much which was rather tiresome.

  The large parcel was removed from the car and bestowed upon Stephen who fell upon it with cries of delight and tore off the paper.

  "Oh, it's a teddy-bear!" exclaimed Stephen joyfully. "Look Aunt Nell! It's the biggest teddy in the world!"

  Stephen's rapture broke the ice and they were all chatting and laughing in a friendly manner when they went into the morning-room where Mrs. Ayrton was sitting waiting for them to have tea.

  "This is Tom's friend. Commander Weatherby," said Nell. She had explained about Commander Weatherby before so it was all right: Mrs. Ayrton greeted the guest graciously and congratulated him on his promotion.

  After that the conversation did not thrive very well for although Tom had a great deal to say to his friend he could not talk naturally with his stepmother listening to every word he said—and Nell was always silent.

  "I hear you want us to have a protégé of yours in the garden," said Mrs. Ayrton. "I hope he's a hard-working boy."

  "He's nothing to do with Dennis," said Tom quickly. "Bob is my protégé—or rather I'm his. I thought you understood. Besides, it's not settled yet."

  Mrs. Ayrton looked bewildered. She was apt to
forget things nowadays and rapid conversation muddled her.

  "It's almost settled," said Dennis. "Mr. Glaister is very pleased for Bob to come to Amberwell. He intends to sell his boat and retire. Bob doesn't want to be a fisherman, he's always wanted to work on the land, so it all fits in beautifully. I said you would write and fix it."

  "I'll write," said Tom. "If he's not wanted at Amberwell I'll find him something else."

  "Of course we want him at Amberwell," declared Nell.

  "We will give him a trial," said Mrs. Ayrton. "If he's a suitable boy, and hard-working—"

  "I've told you," Tom interrupted. "If you don't want Bob here I'll find him another job."

  There was a slightly uncomfortable silence.

  "I could call him Winnie, like Winnie the Pooh," said Stephen thoughtfully. "But I think perhaps he'd rather have a name of his very own. Don't you. Uncle Tom?"

  This was a very welcome change of subject. Various names were suggested by Tom and Dennis and Nell but none of them met with approval.

  "He's a very special bear," explained his owner. "It's very important to get a name to suit him. I think I'll wait and ask Mrs. Duff. She's very clever."

  This statement, though uncomplimentary to the present company, was good for another laugh and for explanations about Mrs. Duff.

  "Will you have some more tea, Commander Weatherby?" asked Nell.

  "Yes please. Miss Ayrton," he replied.

  "Oh, for goodness sake!" exclaimed Tom laughing. "You must call her Nell. Nobody calls her Miss Ayrton."

  "I should like to, if I may—and if she will call me Dennis," said Dennis looking at her gravely.

  "Why don't you call her Aunt Nell?" suggested Stephen. "That's what I call her, you know."

  They all laughed again—and Nell felt relieved, for now she need not reply to the question. Tom's friend was nice but she did not know him well enough to call him Dennis. It took Nell some time to get used to strangers, and he was quite different from what she had expected. He was not like Tom, in fact he was Tom's opposite in every way. If he had been Roger's friend she could have understood it.

  "Nell," said Mrs. Ayrton. "Stephen is talking too much. You had better send him up to the nursery."

  Nobody agreed with this; they were all grateful to Stephen.

  "Stephen's all right," declared Tom. "Dennis likes kids, don't you, Dennis?"

  Stephen had got down off his chair with a piece of bread and butter in his hand. He looked at Nell to see what she wanted him to do.

  "It's all right," said Tom, picking him up and putting him back on his chair. "We like to hear you talking. You finish your tea, Stephen, and then we'll take the bear out for a walk in the garden."

  Mrs. Ayrton was annoyed. "Really, Tom— " she began.

  "Do you know Harrogate, Mrs. Ayrton?" asked Dennis, throwing himself into the fray.

  "Harrogate?" echoed Mrs. Ayrton vaguely.

  "My home is about three miles from Harrogate," explained Dennis. "I just wondered if you knew that part of the country at all."

  Fortunately Mrs. Ayrton did—and when it was discovered that Dennis knew the house which had belonged to an aunt of Mrs. Ayrton's, and in which Mrs. Ayrton herself had stayed when she was a girl, the situation was saved and peace was established.

  Nell was ashamed. It seemed dreadful that a guest should have to step in and save the situation; she herself ought to have been able to cope. Tom was naughty, of course. There was constant friction between him and his stepmother; he resented her dictatorial rule, and especially resented her attitude to Stephen. Tom saw no reason why he should be tactful; indeed it is doubtful whether he could have been tactful if he had tried. When they were alone the friction did not matter so much—Nell could bear it—but it was very uncomfortable when a stranger was present.

  Oh dear, thought Nell in dismay. He is to be here for five whole days. We shall have to try to entertain him.

  3

  Nell need not have worried about their guest for he was a peaceful sort of person and, what was even better, he had a peaceful influence upon Tom. He made it clear that he did not want to be entertained but preferred to share the life of the household; he settled down comfortably into its ways. Fortunately the weather was fine so he and Tom were out most of the time, wandering round the gardens or playing with Stephen.

  Dennis was particularly interested in the bowling-green and evinced a desire to play bowls. Neither of the young men had played the game before but that did not deter them, and after some search they found a box of bowls in the attic and carried it down to the green. Fortunately there was an ancient Book of Rules in the box and when this had been read and the green had been mown by Dennis they began to practise.

  The game had been started in fun ("What's the good of having a first class bowling-green if you don't play bowls?** Dennis had demanded); but soon they became enthralled and clamoured for Nell to join them. They also enlisted Mr. Gray. Neither Nell nor Mr. Gray was free to play during the day but after tea the four of them met and enjoyed a game. It was then discovered that Mr. Gray was an expert (or at least an expert compared with his fellow-players) so he was able to give them valuable instruction and improve their style.

  Mr. Gray and Nell took on the Navy, and beat them, and were immediately challenged to a return match the following evening. After that it became a definite part of the day's routine. The bowling-green, which for so long had been merely a sheltered part of the garden for the children to play in, came into its own again and echoed to the click of "woods" and to shouts of joy and cries of dismay.

  One morning Tom and Dennis went up to the woods taking with them a waterproof sheet, some writing materials and a flask of coffee. They settled down comfortably near the old mossy stone which was a favourite spot of Tom's. It was sheltered and peaceful, the grass was soft to He upon and the view of Amberwell and its surrounding gardens was enchanting. Beneath the shade of the budding trees there was lily-of-the-valley, growing wild, and the scent of the tiny bell-like flowers filled the air with fragrance.

  Tom lay spread-out upon the waterproof sheet and Dennis sat beside him. They drank their coffee and chatted for a bit and then Dennis started to write.

  "Letters are a bore, aren't they?" said Tom after a long silence. "I ought to write letters, but I'm too lazy."

  "It isn't a letter," replied Dennis. "It's—well, it's a poem— or at least it's meant to be."

  Tom was not unduly surprised for he was aware that his friend had cultivated a neat turn of verse. Dennis Weatherby's poems were valued by his brother officers; they were usually of a ribald nature and roused gales of laughter. The most popular of all was a parody of Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes which was excruciatingly funny and quite unprintable. This being so Tom was eager to read his friend's latest composition.

  "Let's see it," said Tom, holding out his hand.

  Dennis hesitated for a moment. "You'll laugh at it," he declared.

  "I bet I'll laugh," agreed Tom. "Come on old boy, hand it over."

  "Oh well—it's one way of telling you," said Dennis enigmatically and handed it over forthwith. Then he lighted a cigarette and waited somewhat nervously for Tom's reaction.

  LILY OF THE VALLEY

  The lovely lily of the dell,

  With pale green leaves and pearly bell.

  Grows in the woods of Amberwell

  When Spring is there.

  Unlike the proud and gaudy flowers

  Which glory in the sunny hours

  It hides itself in woodland bowers

  And scents the air.

  How like the lily of the dell

  Is lovely Nell of Amberwell!

  More beautiful than words can tell,

  More good and fair.

  She's full of gentleness and grace;

  The peace of God shines in her face;

  She makes the world a sweeter place

  In which to dwell.

  Tom read the poem carefully: he had been prepare
d to laugh his head off so it was several minutes before he got the hang of it and realised that it was not intended to be funny at all.

  "Gosh, it's a real poem," said Tom at last. "I say— ^look here — I suppose it's meant to be Nell?"

  "Yes," replied the poet simply.

  "She'll be awfully pleased—"

  "You ass! I'm not going to show it to her!" cried Dennis, snatching it away and proceeding to tear it up into very small pieces.

  "But it's good! Nell would like it!"

  "It's rotten—and she would hate it. Nell doesn't know me well enough to love me. Perhaps someday she will, and then I'll write a much better poem; the poem of my life."

  Tom sat up and gazed at his friend in astonishment. "But I thought you didn't like girls!"

  "I don't," agreed Dennis gravely. "I could never be bothered with the silly creatures, but Nell's different. I love Nell and I mean to marry her."

  "Oh, my sainted aunt!" murmured Tom.

  "You don't object, I hope."

  "Object? Good lord no! There's nobody in the world that —that I'd rather. It's only—"

  "Well, that's all right," said Dennis hastily. "I just thought I'd warn you. That's why I came to Amberwell. I shouldn't have come, really, because there's such a lot to do at home and I'm off to Burma next week."

  "That's why you came to Amberwell?"

  Dennis nodded. "I fell in love with her voice when I spoke to her on the 'phone, so I had to come and see whether she was—I mean whether she was like what I thought she was —if you see what I mean—and then, when I saw her, I realised that she was sweet and kind and good—and a million times more wonderful and beautiful than I had imagined."

  Nell's brother was speechless. He was very fond of Nellie of course, but—

  "I've thought about it a lot," continued Dennis, who had dug a little hole in the moss and was burying the fragments of his poem. "The trouble is there's no time to do anything about it before I go off to Burma. Nell isn't the sort of girl to be rushed."