by Betty Neels
Patience, ready to leave the house for her interview with Miss Murch, stood before the pier-glass in Aunt Bessy’s bedroom and studied her reflection. She looked suitable, she considered, in a pleated tweed skirt, white blouse and her short woollen jacket, all garments she had worn for longer than she cared to remember although of excellent quality, well brushed and pressed. She never wore much make-up; her skin was creamy and as smooth as a child’s but she added discreet lipstick and smoothed her hair into even greater neatness. She had left the aunts dozing by the fire, both still a little unsettled at the idea of a Martin going to work in a menial capacity in her own home; it had taken her the intervening days to coax them into fully accepting the idea. She peeped into the sitting-room now, made sure that the fireguard was in place and that they were soundly asleep, and let herself out of the house.
It was ten minutes’ walk to her old home, standing as it did half a mile along a narrow lane leading from the village. It should suit the new tenant, she reflected as she stepped out briskly and turned in through the gateposts and up the curved drive. It gave her a pang to see the house again; she had lived there for eleven years, ever since her parents had died in a car accident, and she loved the rather shabby place, timber-framed, its plaster walls pargeted. Its beginnings were some time during the late sixteenth century and it had been added to and altered until it presented a somewhat higgledy-piggledy appearance. The aunts had been born there, for it had been in the Martin family for the last hundred and fifty years; Patience wondered if they would ever live in it again. It seemed unlikely; Mr Bennett had warned them that, if a buyer should take a fancy to it, it would be wise to sell it. It was only after the ladylike battle they had fought with him that he had agreed to try and let it. Patience sighed and went round the side of the house to the tradesmen’s entrance. There were lights already in some of the windows and a Bentley before the front door, and when she rang the bell it was opened by Mrs Croft from the village, who welcomed her warmly. ‘Me and Mrs Perch ’as been ’ere all day, Miss Patience, putting things to rights, as you might say. You’re expected. I’m to take you straight away to Miss Murch.’ She added in a warning whisper, ‘Proper ol’ tartar, she is, too.’
Patience followed her along the flagged passage leading to the kitchen, passing the boot-room, the pantry, the stillroom and a vast broom-cupboard on the way. The kitchen was large, rather dark and old-fashioned. There was a vast porcelain sink, a dresser taking up most of one wall and any number of cupboards. The scrubbed table in the centre of the room was capable of seating a dozen persons and there were Windsor chairs on either side of the Aga—one of the first models, Aunt Bessy had proudly declared, and still in fine working order.
The housekeeper’s room led off the kitchen and Mrs Croft pushed open the half-open door. ‘Here’s Miss Martin to see you, Miss Murch.’ She stood back to allow Patience to go past her, winked and nodded and trotted off. She and indeed most of the village had been warned not to mention the fact that Patience had lived in the house where she was to be employed, something they readily agreed to—after all, the Martins owned the house, didn’t they? And the new tenant was a foreigner, wasn’t he? And that Miss Murch, from what they could see of her as the car swept through the village, looked an old cross-patch.
Certainly the frowning face turned to her as she went into the room did nothing to raise Patience’s hopes. Miss Murch was tall and angular, dressed severely in black, her pepper and salt hair plaited and secured on the top of her head by pins. She had a thin sharp nose, dark eyes and a thin mouth. Patience thought, Oh, dear, and she said, ‘Good afternoon, Miss Murch.’
‘You are the young woman recommended by the solicitors?’ She glanced at the letters on the desk before her; Mr Bennett and the Reverend Mr Cuthbertson had no doubt written suitably. ‘Your references are good—I see that you have the same name as the owners of the house.’ She paused and looked at Patience.
‘It is a common name in these parts, Miss Murch.’
‘I believe that Mr van der Beek’s secretary has already outlined your duties. It must be understood that you will come to me for instructions; I have kept house for Mr van der Beek for some years and I know exactly how he wishes his home to be run. Any deviation from that will not be tolerated. You will work from ten o’clock until four o’clock with the exception of Sunday, you will have three-quarters of an hour for your midday meal, you may have a cup of coffee during the morning and a cup of tea during the afternoon, and I expect you to work hard. You are already aware of what your wages will be and they will be paid weekly.’ She paused but Patience prudently held her tongue and Miss Murch continued, ‘You are to answer the telephone, prevent disturbances of any kind at the door and deal with the local tradespeople. It may be necessary from time to time for you to undertake some household tasks. Even in the short time in which we have been here I have become aware that there are very few modern appliances in the house; the bathrooms are old-fashioned and the kitchen quarters are ill equipped.’
Patience bit back rude words. ‘I believe the Aga is old, but—but I’m told that it is quite satisfactory.’
Miss Murch gave a ladylike snort. ‘I hope that you may be right. Well, that is settled—I shall expect you on Monday morning. Use the side-door; Mr van der Beek is not to be disturbed. Good day to you, Miss Martin.’
I shall hate it, thought Patience, going back to the little terraced house, but it was only for six months, she reflected, and her wages were generous. She would be able to save enough to keep them going while Mr Tomkins looked for a buyer or tenant. She gave the aunts a version of her interview which she knew would satisfy them and went to the kitchen to get the tea.
The aunts went to church in the morning, but Patience for once excused herself. There was a pile of ironing to be done as well as Sunday lunch to cook; she would be busy enough in the morning leaving everything ready for the aunts’ lunch and tidying the house.
It was a wild, blustery day. She saw the old ladies safely to the end of the street and into the churchyard and nipped smartly back to get on with the chores uninterrupted. By the time her aunts were back from church she had done everything she needed to do, lunch was ready and the afternoon was hers to do as she wished.
It was barely two o’clock by the time she had washed up the dishes, set the tea ready and made sure that her aunts were settled comfortably. It was raining now and the wind was as strong as ever. A walk, she decided, a good long walk away from the village, along the bridle paths, seldom used these days. She got into her Burberry, a relic of better days and still waterproof, tied a scarf over her head, found a pair of woolly gloves and let herself out of the house. There was no one about but then there wouldn’t be—the village would be sitting before the television sets or snoring comfortably before the fire.
She walked briskly, blown along by the wind, past her old home until, half a mile or so along the path, she turned down a bridle path which would lead eventually to the neighbouring village some miles away. She didn’t intend to go as far as that, though; there was a short cut after a mile or so which would bring her out on to another path leading back to the village, enabling her to get home before it was dark and her aunts wanted their tea. She squelched along in her wellies, happily engrossed in mental arithmetic which for once was satisfactory, and, that dealt with, she fell to wondering about her job. At least the house would be properly taken care of; Miss Murch didn’t look as though she would tolerate slovenly housework and she supposed that since Mr van der Beek was so engrossed in his work it was a good thing he had such an eagle-eyed housekeeper. She amused herself deciding what he would look like. Stout, probably bald, wearing glasses, middle-aged and speaking with a thick accent. A pity she wasn’t likely to see him; Miss Murch had seemed determined about that…
She turned off the bridle path, climbed a gate and, keeping to the hedge because of the winter wheat showing green, began to walk its l
ength. The open country stretched all around her, desolate under a leaden sky with only farm buildings in the distance to break the empy vastness. Not that Patience thought of it like that; she loved every stick and stone of it, just as she knew the names of every person who lived in Themelswick. Before the death of her parents she had lived with them at Sheringham where her father had been a doctor in general practice but in the school holidays they had often stayed with the aunts at Themelswick and since there were no other relations she had been given a home by them when her parents were killed. They had been kind to her and loving and had managed, even while their capital dwindled, to send her to a good boarding-school. When she left school she stayed at home with the old ladies and ran the house for them with help from the village and when they found themselves without money she had seen to all the tiresome details concerning the renting of a small house and the letting of their home, assuring them that matters were bound to get back to normal and that they would be able to return to their old home as soon as things improved. She wasn’t sure how this would come about but it had made it easier for them to bear leaving the house. Not that they complained; elderly and forgetful they might be, but they had a pride which wouldn’t allow them to complain.
Patience was almost at the end of the hedge with another smaller gate in sight when there was a rustling in the hedge and a smallish dog wormed his way through it. He was very wet and of no known breed as far as she could see, but his rough coat gleamed with good health as well as rain and he was obviously happy. He pranced around her, uttering little yelps of pleasure and she stooped to look at the tag on his collar.
‘“Basil”,’ she read. ‘What a handsome name for a handsome dog.’ The beast licked her rain-wet face and she stroked his damp head. But he had gone again, obedient to a whistle from the other side of the gate, and a moment later the owner of the whistle appeared, not bothering to open the gate but vaulting it lightly despite his size and weight—a giant of a man in a Barbour jacket and cords stuffed into wellington boots. Patience got to her feet as he came towards her. ‘Good day. That’s a nice dog you’ve got,’ she said. The man might be a stranger but the habit of speaking to everyone she met—as everyone did thereabouts—died hard. He would be one of the guests at the manor, she supposed.
He had drawn level with her now—a handsome man, she noted, but unsmiling. His ‘good day’ was civil but that was all. He passed her without a second look, striding along the hedge with the dog frisking around his heels. Patience watched him go and, mindful of the time, went on her own way, becoming once more immersed in pleasant speculations as to how best to lay out her wages when she got them, and when she got back to the little terraced house it was to find that her aunts were awake and anxious for their tea. She didn’t give the stranger another thought until she was curled up in her bed hours later. ‘If he didn’t look so cross, he might be a very nice man,’ she muttered as she dropped off.
It was strange the following morning, going in through the side-door of her old home, presenting herself in the housekeeper’s room exactly on time and waiting to be told what she was to do. If she had had any ideas about not having enough to keep her occupied she was quickly disillusioned; the coal hadn’t been delivered, the milkman had got his order wrong and someone was needed to put in extra points to boost what Miss Murch described as woefully inadequate lighting. Patience spent her first hour sorting out these problems, drank her coffee—rather to her surprise—with Miss Murch and then settled down to make a list of the local tradesmen. This done, she was sent to the kitchen garden to find old Ned Groom and ask why he hadn’t brought the vegetables up to the house.
‘Tiresome ol’ woman,’ said Ned when she tracked him down in the dilapidated greenhouse, brooding over his cuttings. ‘Now these ’ere should do all right—got ’em in just in time.’
‘Splendid,’ said Patience soothingly. ‘Look, Ned, you go on with the cuttings and tell me what I can take. When we left the cabbages were going on well and there must be masses of sprouts unless someone helped themselves—after all, the place has been empty for quite a while.’
‘Sprouts enough; take what you want, Miss Patience, and there’s carrots ready for pulling and plenty of kale and leeks. It’s all a bit untidy like but what do you expect with no one to tend the place?’
She left him grumbling to himself, pulled carrots, leeks and cut a couple of cabbages and bore them back to the kitchen.
‘And about time too,’ said Miss Murch.
‘Well, it will take a little while for Ned to get the garden going again,’ Patience pointed out. ‘There’ll be sprouts tomorrow.’
The day went quickly. Her lunchtime wasn’t long enough; as soon as she was paid she would get Mrs Dodge to go for an extra hour each day and get the midday meal for her aunts. They had been waiting placidly for her to get a meal and she had barely had the time to cook omelettes and lay the table before it was time to go back to the house. She hurried back, still hungry, and spent the afternoon trailing Miss Murch round the house, noting down all the things that lady found it essential to replace or add to what she considered to be a woefully ill-equipped household. Patience, who had lived most of her life using wooden spoons and pudding basins and old-fashioned egg whisks, couldn’t for the life of her see the sense of all the electrical equipment Miss Murch needed. Mr van der Beek was going to be very out of pocket by the time he had paid for everything, but that of course was his business.
There had been no sign of him; the study door on the other side of the hall had remained shut although of course he could easily have gone in and out several times without her seeing him—her duties carried her all over the house as well as down to the village on an errand for Miss Murch.
She was glad to go home at four o’clock. At Miss Murch’s instruction she had laid a tea-tray, presumably for Mr van der Beek, before she went, cut sandwiches of Gentleman’s Relish, arranged a fruit cake on a cake stand, and warmed the teapot. Miss Murch nodded approval. ‘The electrician will be here tomorrow morning; be sure that you are not late, Patience.’
Patience raced back to the village, got tea for her aunts and herself and sat down thankfully to tell them about her day, making light of the more menial tasks she had been given. She suspected that she was being tried out by Miss Murch and that that lady, formidable in appearance though she was, wasn’t as awe-inspiring as she had at first thought.
By the middle of the week she had found her bearings. There was plenty for her to do; the phone, after the first day, rang a great deal, and she had got quite good at telling whoever it was at the other end that Mr van der Beek was either not at home, in his bath, or closeted with his publisher. She varied her fibs according to the time of day, but took careful note of the caller’s name. She had had strict instructions to fob off any callers but, all the same, each afternoon before she went home she left a neat list on the tea-tray.
Mr van der Beek, his notes carefully sorted and the bare bones of the first chapter of his learned volume lying before him on his desk after four days’ hard work, laid down his pen and strolled out of the study. Each morning before his household was stirring he had let himself out of the house with his dog and walked until breakfast-time; he walked again in the evening but so far he hadn’t taken much interest in the house. Miss Murch cooked delicious meals for him, kept the house quiet and disturbed him not at all but now he had an urge to look around him.
It was a chilly morning; he would find his way to the kitchen and ask for his coffee. He stood in the hall, looking around him, and his eye lighted on the bowl of winter jasmine set on the wall table. It was a splash of colour and he wondered who had put it there. Miss Murch, splendid housekeeper that she was, wasn’t one to waste time arranging flowers. A faint sound behind him made him turn his head, in time to see a grey skirt disappearing through the dining-room door, with such swiftness that he wondered if he had imagined it. He shrugged huge sh
oulders, went to the kitchen and had his coffee sitting on the kitchen table while Miss Murch made pastry and then made his way back to the study. He was in the hall when he came face to face with Patience.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS BASIL who made the first move; he trotted forward and jumped up at Patience, recognising someone he had already met and liked. She bent to pat him, glad of something to do, for Mr van der Beek’s stare was disconcerting.
‘Ah, yes,’ his voice was cool, ‘Basil remembers you.’ His tone implied that he himself did not. ‘I take it you are the—er—general factotum whom Mr Bennett urged me to employ.’
She didn’t allow herself to be disconcerted by his cold eyes. ‘Yes, Mr van der Beek, I’m Patience Martin.’ She added, wishing to be friendly, ‘We met out walking on Sunday afternoon.’
‘Did we?’ He turned away. ‘Don’t let me keep you from your work.’
She put away the table silver she had been cleaning and went back to the kitchen to make a neat list of the groceries Miss Murch wanted delivered on the following day. ‘Tell that butcher that I want the best Scotch beef; if he hasn’t got it, he need not bother to send anything else.’
Patience called in on her way home that afternoon to warn the butcher. ‘I know you have excellent meat, but the housekeeper is determined to find fault with everything. I don’t think she likes living out of London.’
