In This Quiet Earth (Part Three of The People of this Parish Saga)

by Nicola Thorne

  Short leaves had mostly been spent at Pelham’s Oak or his Aunt Eliza’s, that is aside from periods in hospital and convalescent homes. But he had always longed to get back to the war because it was where he felt he should be. Each time he returned to the front he was convinced he would never see England again. It seemed incredible that, when so many around him, including many good friends, were dying he should survive, practically unscathed. His wounds had been superficial, mostly caused by shrapnel.

  Towards the end of the war Carson had decided to continue his life as a soldier, a career which, many years before, his Uncle Prosper had urged on him, to be rudely and peremptorily rejected. Because Carson was rude in those days: ill-educated, uncouth and lacking altogether the refinement that one would have expected of the son of a baronet. The last thing he anticipated from service in the army was polish, especially in such conditions of chaos and carnage which epitomised the breakdown of civilisation. He had observed deeds of great bravery as well as cowardice. He knew how low it was possible for a man to sink; how incredible were the heights of nobility and self-sacrifice reached by some.

  Yes it was an education, an education in life, and thus he had acquired that essential experience that turned a boy, a callow youth, into an adult and gentleman.

  Carson regretted that part of his life before the war which, in retrospect, seemed so wasted, so reprehensible. He had been a good-for-nothing. He had caused his parents much pain, especially his mother whose death, his father claimed, he had helped to hasten.

  And maybe he had ruined the life of a gentle, sweet, understanding young woman by proposing to her, when he knew he did not love her and never could, in order – at his family’s instigation – to get her fortune to save Pelham’s Oak from the auctioneer.

  Subsequently he had fallen in love with his cousin Roger’s wife when she was still only twenty-one, a spoilt young woman scarcely old enough to know her own mind. He had seduced her and carried on an affair under the nose of her mother-in-law, Aunt Lally. But then Carson had always suspected she had thrown them together.

  And now Roger had died in the war and his grief-stricken widow apparently refused even to recognise her former lover. She had avoided him at the funeral, she had left the gathering at the house afterwards early. It was obvious that she wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe she felt weighed down by guilt. And yet Emma’s image remained lodged in Carson’s heart. It had seen him through some very dark and dangerous days and nights.

  He reined in his horse as Eliza’s house came in sight through the trees and he sat there for a moment or two, trying to adjust his thoughts from visions of Emma to his family. Upper Park was a splendid residence and Carson always enjoyed visiting it. Unlike Pelham’s Oak it was in first-class condition and beautifully kept. When, during the war, his stepmother had been at Pelham’s Oak, he had spent some of his leaves with Eliza whom he had always loved. His Uncle Julius was Eliza’s second husband and on their marriage he had bought this mansion which was considered a fine example of Georgian Baroque architecture. It was built of Dorset brick, faced with Chilmark stone and stood on an incline, facing north/south, with magnificent views of the surrounding countryside.

  Julius was his godfather as well as his uncle (his mother’s brother), but he had always found him a cold fish. He was thirteen years older than Eliza and for him too it had been a second marriage, his first wife having died. He was a stern, taciturn man, a successful businessman, head of the Martyn-Heering business empire. Now seventy he had virtually retired, though he still kept a close eye on the business. He devoted most of his time to gardening pursuits, horticultural developments and the cultivation, in his specially built and heated greenhouses, of exotic plants that were brought to him by company ships from all over the world.

  In many ways the marriage of Eliza and the solemn Dutchman had been one of convenience. Both had needed a mate, as people who have been married seldom have the inclination to live alone. There had been affection and respect but not passion and, over the years, instead of coming closer together they had grown further apart.

  This process had been accelerated when Eliza’s son Laurence had fallen into financial difficulties and, despite her entreaties, her husband had refused to bail him out. Laurence had committed suicide, and in Eliza’s heart there remained a profound core of bitterness towards Julius. Occasionally, during his leaves, Carson would also see Dora or Hugh, also on leave at the same time, and the cousins had become close. Dora was three years older than Carson, Hugh two. Today he was looking forward to seeing them again.

  Carson’s reverie was broken by the sound of laughter from beyond the trees and he urged his horse forward. Though not so spectacular as Pelham’s Oak the house was beautifully situated. The front lawn sloped to meadows and paddocks and in the distance were the rows of greenhouses which Uncle Julius seemed to add to fanatically every year.

  Carson emerged from the copse and saw his cousin on her horse in the paddock watched by her brother Hugh and a woman beside him, both of whom were laughing. One of the practice jumps was lying on its side which was a probable reason for their laughter. Hugh limped over to it and, joined by the stranger, righted it while Dora sat on her horse watching them. At that moment she looked up and seeing Carson raised her crop.

  “Hello!” she called out. Carson sprang off his horse and went over to Dora, who leaned down grasping his hand.

  “Carson how very good to see you. We wondered if you’d gone back to France.”

  “Is this goodbye, then?” Hugh came up to him leaning on his stick.

  Hugh had lost a leg on the Somme and had spent many months in hospital. He had been left lying, helpless and in pain, in crossfire for many hours before being rescued and consequently suffered much psychological trauma as well as physical distress. Hugh had had an academic career before the war, but it was felt that it would be many months before he was fit to resume it again.

  “I’m not sure,” Carson replied. “I’ve a lot I want to talk to Aunt Eliza about.”

  It was always Aunt Eliza, never Uncle Julius, but maybe this time he could be useful in view of his acknowledged financial expertise. “I wondered if I could stay here for a few days?”

  “Why, I’m sure you can.” Dora looked pleased. “Have you and your stepmother had words again? By the way,” Dora pointed her crop at the woman standing behind Hugh, “this is May. May Carpenter. We nursed together. May, my cousin, Carson. Colonel Woodville, I believe we should call him.”

  “How do you do, Colonel?” May said, taking his hand.

  “Oh please drop the ‘Colonel’, Dora’s just pulling my leg.” He looked angrily at his cousin. “Dora, you know I hate that sort of thing.”

  “Relax she’s only teasing you.” Hugh put an arm round his shoulder. “Shall we go and give Pulver some oats? Mother will be delighted to see you.”

  “See you back at the house,” Dora called, cantering off.

  “What about May?” Carson looked at the young woman who had helped Hugh right the fence.

  “May will come in with Dora.”

  “She seems rather nice.”

  “She’s very nice. She and Dora went through a lot together. Right up near the front.”

  “How’s the leg?” Carson looked anxiously at his cousin. They hadn’t really been close as boys, having little in common. Carson was always regarded as a bit of an outsider by the younger members of his family. He never sought their company and they seldom sought his, as though they rather disapproved of the wild company he kept. But the war had changed all that. During his leaves he had seen fewer of his older friends and more of his family, just in case he never saw them again.

  As a soldier he had managed to be of help to Hugh, understanding some of the trauma he had gone through, the depressions, the nightmares, the fear.

  “The leg’s coming on,” Hugh said. “What’s left of it. I have massage which also helps me to sleep better. I feel I’m a trial to Mother.”

 
“I’m quite sure you’re not,” Carson said reassuringly, then raised his hand as his aunt appeared at the top of the steps leading up to the house, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked towards the paddock. When she saw Carson she gave an exclamation and ran down to him, flinging her arms round him and embracing him.

  “What a lovely surprise.” She kissed him hard on both cheeks and then, her hands still on his shoulder, searched his face. “Not to say ‘goodbye’ I hope?”

  “Not just yet, Aunt. I wondered if I might stay a few days?”

  “Oh I expect you and Agnes have been fighting.”

  “Well,” Carson gazed down at his feet, “let’s say the situation is a tricky one. An awful lot has happened, I’m afraid, to do with Father’s will. I need advice.”

  “Well then you shall have all the advice you want.” Eliza tucked her arm through that of her nephew and, with Hugh now holding Pulver’s bridle, they went round the side of the house to stable him.

  The meeting took place in the library after dinner. This had been an amiable, pleasant occasion with the young people enjoying one another’s company and the older ones relieved and happy to have them all safely home again.

  After dinner Hugh, Dora and May went off to the snooker room where Carson promised to join them later.

  Uncle Julius kept a good cellar and produced a fine brandy to drink with coffee as they sat round the fire in the library. The curtains were drawn and it was very cosy.

  “You said you’d tell us what the lawyer said,” Eliza prompted Carson. “You were with him a very long time.”

  “And you said you’d tell me about Elizabeth.”

  “I’ll get to that in a minute,” Eliza said. “Tell us first about the debts.”

  “Oh debts!” Julius sat back, puffing at his pipe. “I know whenever there are Woodvilles there are debts.”

  “Please Julius do try and be helpful.” Eliza frowned at him. “Carson needs your advice not censure.”

  “The debts had nothing to do with me, Uncle Julius.”

  “No, they would have to do with your father.” Julius stretched his legs comfortably before him, puffing away at his pipe. “A leopard doesn’t change its spots.” He gave a mirthless chuckle. “The fact is that your father never had the slightest idea about money, which was why the family were anxious to see that he didn’t get all of your mother’s. He would have thrown it all away on that woman.”

  “He means Agnes.” Eliza raised her eyebrows at Carson.

  “Well, he threw it all away on her anyway,” Carson said, “or what little he had left. There is no money to pay for the upkeep of the estate, for the thousands of pounds worth of repairs that need doing. Apart from that there are bills from creditors amounting to several thousand.”

  “The estate is bankrupt,” leaning forward Julius knocked out his pipe on the hearth, “and that is the end of the matter.”

  “But what can Carson do?” Eliza, pained and exasperated by her husband’s response, which she might have expected, looked anxiously at him.

  “Sell up.” Julius addressed Carson. “You could get a good price for the house and land. The London house also should be worth a bit, and you have land there too. And then if it is not enough to pay the bills you will have to declare bankruptcy.”

  “But I don’t want to be a bankrupt!” Carson exclaimed, angered by his uncle’s response.

  “Not you, the estate. The estate of the late Guy Woodville.”

  “But it will be in all the papers.”

  Julius shrugged and began to draw tobacco from his pouch to fill a fresh pipe.

  “Your father is not alive to feel the shame so what does it matter?”

  “But I will feel the shame. It will affect us all.”

  “You may come to an arrangement with creditors. It does happen. They take so much in the pound. They are not likely to get any more anyway.”

  “I don’t find you very helpful, Julius,” Eliza said coldly. “Not for the first time when it comes to money you show such insensitivity. Such lack of understanding.”

  “My dear, I do understand because I understand money.” Julius looked at her sharply and then rose from his chair. “So if I can be of no further help, and I doubt if either of you will take any notice of my advice anyway, I shall go to my study. Please do call me if I can be of any use.” He paused and looked at them. “That is my advice. But first you have to talk to Agnes. Is she not a wealthy woman?”

  “She says the estate should pay. She refused to discuss the matter but started, rather like you, Uncle Julius, to heap abuse on the Woodvilles.”

  “I do not heap abuse on the Woodvilles ...” Julius began indignantly but Eliza waved a hand at him.

  “Oh be off with you, Julius, to your study, your books and your plants, and let me talk to Carson.”

  “I don’t know why I asked him,” Eliza said as the door closed behind her husband. “He can’t see sense where money is concerned, or perhaps it is sense; but he only sees in straight lines and not round corners. And people are concerned with corners, aren’t they, Carson dear?” She reached over and took the hand he held out to her.

  He put hers to his cheek. It was warm and pliant and he was reminded of the few times he’d been close to his mother. He had always adored her but, except occasionally, she had been a rather remote, undemonstrative person, little given to kissing or hugging, whereas his aunt had those instincts in abundance. Aunt Eliza was tactile and, from what he had heard, it had much to do with her impetuous youth when she and Uncle Ryder had defied their families and eloped.

  It was very difficult to think of Uncle Julius doing anything so foolhardy or impetuous as eloping, even when young. Indeed it was hard to imagine him ever being young.

  “I love you, Aunt Eliza,” he said impulsively, kissing her hand. “And I don’t know why we asked Uncle Julius. I don’t even know why you married him. You’re so unalike.”

  “Ah!” Eliza shook her head. “There are many reasons for that. There is a great deal of kindness in Julius, but he is not warm. He can’t help it, and when it comes to money he can understand nothing but the need to hang on to it. He could have saved my son from suicide but he didn’t. I asked him to help Laurence when he got into debt, and he wouldn’t, so you can be sure he won’t help you.”

  “I don’t know why you go on living with him.”

  Eliza shrugged.

  “Because I have known poverty. It was very unpleasant after Ryder died. He too left very little. He didn’t think he was going to die, and he hadn’t taken Julius’s advice either in making provisions in case he did. You see ...” as she leaned forward the firelight played on her still beautiful, but rather careworn, face, “unfortunately, Julius does have a habit of getting things right. And it may be that you should do what he suggests.”

  “But I don’t want to sell Pelham’s Oak. It has been part of our family for centuries.”

  “But how can you keep it with no money?”

  “I’ll find a way,” Carson said. “For instance I’ll try and make the farming pay. I’m sure I can borrow money on the strength of our assets. I will certainly sell the London house and land. That should fetch a bit and ... I’ve decided I must leave the army, Aunt Eliza. I finally made my mind up as I rode here this morning.”

  “Oh dear,” Eliza squeezed his hand, “but you wanted to make it your career. You seemed so suited to it.”

  “The career will have to go.”

  “Maybe Agnes has got some money. Perhaps we can prevail upon her. I think I should go and talk to her.” Eliza concluded thoughtfully. Then she looked at Carson as if weighing something up.

  “And I was going to tell you about Elizabeth.”

  “What has she to do with Agnes?”

  “Quite a lot,” Eliza glanced at the door. “I’m glad Julius has gone because he doesn’t know this. Hardly anyone does.”

  “About what Aunt Eliza?” Carson was aware of a mounting sense of excitement as if an imp
ortant family secret was about to be revealed.

  “Elizabeth is Agnes’s daughter,” Eliza murmured almost inaudibly. “That was the reason she fled abroad after the baby was born.”

  “She just left the baby?” Carson looked incredulous.

  “Yes. Elizabeth was born in Weymouth. I helped to arrange the whole thing. Beth went to look after her and one day after she and the baby returned from a walk Agnes had gone and we didn’t hear from her for over twenty years when she suddenly turned up in Blandford, staying in some style at the Crown. There she was seen by Sophie and her mother who were in town that day.”

  “So that’s how she came back here. I wondered.” Carson tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his knee. “And Father ...”

  “Guy was Elizabeth’s father, Carson.” Eliza’s hand stole towards his comfortingly.

  “But how could she ...”

  Eliza’s hand pressed his.

  “They had an affair many years before. Agnes was always a discontented girl. She felt that she was better than anyone else. Too good to marry a local man, a farmer or a builder or such. She went to London, but failed to find a mate there. She came back and was employed as nursemaid to the daughter of Lord and Lady Mount. I’m afraid Guy seduced her and used to visit her there in secret.”

  “Then Father was as bad as everyone said?”

  “He certainly liked women. And they liked him. Agnes had set her cap at him. He found it hard to resist, but I can tell you this Carson. Your father did love your mother. In the end very much. He repented of his misspent youth and he loved her. He also knew that Elizabeth was his daughter and begged Agnes to acknowledge her, but, being Agnes, she refused.”

  “She refused to have anything to do with Elizabeth?”

  “She insisted on it. She made it a condition of marrying Guy. She was ashamed that Elizabeth was working as a servant in the Crown.”

  Carson put his head between his hands. “What a dreadful story. Agnes Elizabeth’s mother! What a hard-hearted creature she is,” his voice was contemptuous, “not to wish to acknowledge her own daughter. She’s even worse than I thought.”