Amberwell (Ayrton Family Book 1)

by D. E. Stevenson

  Soon after Dennis left Bob Glaister arrived at Amberwell. It had been arranged that he was to board with Mr. and Mrs. Gray temporarily until they saw how he got on. At first poor Bob was rather homesick (Tom, who felt responsible for his welfare, was somewhat worried about him) but after a bit he settled down and began to take a real interest in his new job.

  “He’s a good lad,” declared Mr. Gray when Tom inquired about his progress. “There’s a deal for him to learn, of course. I couldn’t have believed a lad could be so lamentably ignorant — he knows no difference between a weed and a flower — but it would be a funny thing if I couldn’t have the patience to learn him, considering.”

  “I don’t want him to be a burden,” said Tom rather anxiously.

  “Och, he’ll not be a burden. He’ll just need to be watched till he gets into the way of things. We’ll keep him with us,” added Mr. Gray. “He’s nice and cheery in the house and Mrs. Gray likes him. We can see to it that he rises early and doesn’t get into mischief.”

  So Bob was accepted at Amberwell, partly because he had been the means of saving Tom’s life and partly on his own merits.

  Bob would not have settled down so quickly if it had not been for Tom.

  Bob still had the feeling that “Mr. Tom” belonged to him. He did not say anything about this feeling, nor did he bother “Mr. Tom,” but he liked to see “Mr. Tom” walking in the gardens. It was wonderful to think that if it had not been for him “Mr. Tom” would not be here. Bob would stop digging for a few minutes (unless Mr. Gray happened to be about) and watch “Mr. Tom” walking across the grass … and he would think of the poor bedraggled creature that he had pulled out of the sea. Then he would spit on his hands — as Mr. Gray had told him — and continue his work cheerfully. “Mr. Tom” often spoke to him and had jokes with him … and one day they had a serious conversation: “If ever you’re in a scrape,” said “Mr. Tom” gravely: “If ever you get into any sort of mess you’re to write and tell me. I’ll pull you out — just as you pulled me out of the water. Don’t forget that, Bob.” It was not likely that Bob would forget.

  By the middle of the summer Tom had recovered completely and was posted to a ship in the Mediterranean. Nell hated saying good-bye and she had done her best to persuade Tom to leave the Navy and to settle down ashore. She was sure he could easily get a post as assistant to a general practitioner, or in a civilian hospital, but Tom was a sailor at heart — and a nomad — so he smiled and said that he was not ready to settle down; now that the fighting was over he intended to enjoy himself and see a bit more of the world.

  It was sad to say good-bye — but it was a very different good-bye from the last time Tom had left Amberwell, for there was now no need to worry unduly about his safety.

  As a matter of fact Nell was very happy that summer — happier than she had ever been in her life — for the black clouds of anxiety had rolled away and the skies were clear. All sorts of small things gave her happiness: it was delightful to remove all the stuffy black-out curtains (this sign that peace had returned to the war-weary world was symbolic) and every night when darkness fell it gave Nell a quite ridiculous thrill of pleasure to switch on the lights of Amberwell and let them shine out bravely. Nell was happy because Stephen was growing and developing and becoming a real companion; wherever she went Stephen went too and they chatted together incessantly. Perhaps he was a little too old for his age but that was because there were no other children for him to play with and Nell had found that however hard you tried it was impossible to play with a child on his own level.

  In September Nell had an even greater cause for happiness: she received a letter from Roger to say he was coming home.

  2

  The Amberwell gardens were in a terribly neglected condition for it was still impossible to get men to help Mr. Gray. Nell had become used to it by this time, and it did not distress her unduly, but now that Roger was coming home the scales fell from her eyes and she saw the place as Roger would see it; Roger who had not been home for nearly five years!

  Nell took Stephen and went out to speak to Mr. Gray and as she went she looked around at the desolation — and wondered what Roger would think of her stewardship. The hedges were unclipped and straggling, the borders were choked with weeds and many of the paths were so overgrown that they had merged with the grass verges. Only in the walled garden was there anything like order and even here there were battalions of nettles growing in disused corners. The greenhouses were unheated for lack of fuel and most of the delicate plants had withered and died. The whole place was shabby; everything needed repairs.

  Nell gazed about her. For a few moments she beheld, as if in a vision, the picture of Amberwell gardens as they had been before the war: Amberwell gardens, the show place of the county; its herbaceous borders banked up with gorgeous colours; its carefully-pruned roses; its shaven lawns, neatly trimmed hedges and paths of smooth brown gravel. In those days it had been difficult to find a weed.

  “Aunt Nell, you’re not listening,” complained Stephen. “And it’s frightfully important.”

  “What is it, Stephen?”

  “Can I tell Mr. Gray about Daddy coming?”

  “Yes, of course. Look, there he is, planting out the cabbages!”

  Stephen sped away, his feet beautiful with news. “Mr. Gray, my daddy is coming nex’ week!” cried Stephen. “You know I haven’t met him since I was a baby.”

  “Well now, that’s the best news I’ve heard for long enough,” declared Mr. Gray, rising from his knees and smiling. “He’ll be getting leave, I suppose.”

  “Yes,” said Nell. “It seems a lifetime since he went away, doesn’t it?”

  Mr. Gray did not answer. His smile had faded and he was looking round thoughtfully. “I’m wondering what he’ll say about the gardens, Miss Nell.”

  “He won’t say anything. It’s what he’ll think.”

  “Maybe that’s what I was meaning,” nodded Mr. Gray. “Next week, you said. That’s not giving us much time — but there are one or two lads in the town that are home on leave. Maybe I could get them to come and do a day’s work.”

  “Try,” said Nell. “They might tidy up round the house. We’re used to seeing the place in this condition but it really is frightful. Now what about manure, Mr. Gray? Are you getting it from Stark Farm as usual?”

  3

  Stephen was not interested in manure so he wandered off by himself and finding a russet apple lying upon the ground ate it with relish. It was funny how much nicer apples tasted when you found them yourself than when they appeared upon the table in a silver dish.

  Stephen was musing about this curious fact when he heard a car drive up to the garage and being of an inquiring mind he went to investigate.

  There was a small car standing in the yard; Stephen saw a tall thin figure in uniform climb out of the car and stand for a moment looking all round him.

  “Hallo,” said Stephen, advancing politely. “Would you like me to open the garage for you? I know where the key is.”

  The tall man did not reply. He gazed at Stephen as if he were bewildered.

  “Have you come to lunch?” asked Stephen. “We’re going to have mince to-day. I heard Mrs. Duff ord’ring mince — so I know. I expect Aunt Nell will ask you to stay if you’re a friend of hers.”

  “Stephen!” exclaimed the tall man incredulously.

  “Yes?” asked Stephen, answering to his name.

  “I’m — I’m your father.”

  It was now Stephen’s turn to gaze and be astonished. “You’re — Daddy? But Daddy isn’t coming till nex’ week!”

  “I got away sooner than I expected.”

  “You’re Daddy — really and truly?”

  “Really and truly,” replied the tall man gravely.

  For a few moments the two gazed at each other — the man and the child. To the man there was something rather embarrassing in the meeting; he did not know what to do or what to say. But to the child there was
nothing embarrassing at all. Stephen knew that his Daddy was the most wonderful person in the world; his Daddy was a hero; his Daddy had saved his life when he was a tiny baby; his Daddy loved him dearly. Aunt Nell was never tired of telling him stories about his wonderful, marvellous Daddy. And now that Stephen looked at this man he saw that he was exactly like the large photograph which stood upon the table beside his bed.

  “Oh, Daddy, what fun!” cried Stephen joyfully and with that he rushed at the tall man and leapt into his arms.

  It was so sudden and unexpected that Roger was unprepared for the human bomb-shell, but his reactions were rapid. Somehow or other he managed to catch it and hold it. Two thin arms wound themselves round his neck and a soft pink cheek was pressed against his brown one.

  “Daddy,” murmured Stephen. “I didn’t know it was you. We thought it was nex’ week. Aunt Nell will be excited.” He gasped and added, “Oo, you are squeezing me hard.”

  “I’m sorry!”

  “Oh it’s all right. I like it really. It’s because you’re so pleased to see me. I do that to Aunt Nell when she’s been away — I almost strangle her — and of course you haven’t seen me since I was a baby. That’s a long time.”

  “A very long time.”

  Roger held his son away so that he could see him properly. He had half hoped and half feared that he would see Clare’s face in the face of his son. There certainly was a look of Clare, but for some reason it did not distress him. Oddly enough Roger could see himself as well, and there was a distant resemblance to the portrait of the first Stephen Ayrton which hung upon the dining-room wall.

  “Why are you looking at me?” asked Stephen. “Am I like I was when I was a baby?”

  “No, not a bit. You were a poor little scrap when you were a baby.”

  “It must be funny to find I’ve grown up.”

  “It’s lovely,” declared Roger.

  “But it must be funny.”

  “Very funny indeed. I never realised you would be a — a person.”

  This was beyond Stephen’s understanding. He struggled and said, “Put me down, Daddy. Aunt Nell’s in the garden talking to Mr. Gray. They’ll be so excited.” He took Roger’s hand. “Come on quick,” he urged. “I’ll show you the way” and then suddenly he began to laugh.

  It was a delightful chuckling laugh and it reminded Roger of Anne. Anne used to laugh like that, doubled up with uncontrollable mirth. It used to make you laugh just to see Anne laughing.

  “What’s the joke?” asked Roger.

  “I said — I’d show you — the way,” gasped Stephen. “Aren’t I silly!”

  Roger tried to laugh but it was not easy. He felt more like crying. This was his very own son — Clare’s son — and he was indeed “a person.” He was real and beautiful and he had a delightful sense of humour. He could laugh wholeheartedly at himself.

  “Come on, Stephen,” said Roger in a husky voice. “We’ll go and find Aunt Nell.”

  4

  Later when lunch was over Roger and Nell took a stroll round the gardens.

  “It’s dreadful, isn’t it?” said Nell with a sigh. “I wish we could have had the gardens tidied up a little before you came.”

  “Don’t worry,” Roger replied, smiling a little at her distress. “You’ve done a marvellous job, Nell, and I’m so grateful to you that I don’t know what to say.”

  She looked at him in surprise for they were standing in front of the herbaceous border which had once been the pride of Mr. Gray’s heart and was now a solid phalanx of nettles with a few miserable chrysanthemums struggling for life amongst them.

  “You’ve looked after Stephen,” explained Roger. “That’s what I mean.”

  “Yes, people are more important than gardens,” she agreed in a thoughtful voice.

  “And Stephen is perfect,” added his father with conviction.

  Nell smiled; she thought Stephen was very nearly perfect — perhaps, if anything, too good. Sometimes she had a feeling that she had been too strict with Stephen, that she had taken the “object lesson” of Connie’s children too much to heart. She would have liked to see Stephen a little bit naughty just occasionally. She explained the matter to Roger and asked him what he thought. “You and Tom were often naughty,” said Nell. “Do you remember that day at the Fountain Party when Tom made his nose bleed and you both went off and bathed? And there were lots of other things too — even naughtier.”

  “I see what you mean,” replied Roger with perfect gravity. “But Stephen isn’t a poop. I think it’s because he’s sensible that he isn’t naughty — and because he’s treated sensibly. For instance Stephen wanted to come with us this afternoon and you said we were going a long way and he would be tired if he didn’t have his usual rest, so he went off with Nannie as good as gold. We were never treated like that.”

  “‘Never explain,’” murmured Nell.

  “Exactly,” agreed Roger.

  “You don’t believe in Disraeli’s maxim?”

  “It’s absurd! Why, goodness me, we don’t expect disciplined troops to carry out orders without some sort of explanation. You get far better results if you can tell the chaps exactly what you want them to do — and why.”

  “‘Theirs not to reason why. Theirs but to do and die,’” quoted Nell, mischievously.

  “Yes, and look what happened! They were all killed — and quite unnecessarily. They did no good except to provide a subject for a silly poem.”

  Nell was a trifle shocked for she had learned the poem when young and had frequently declaimed it with a fervour which brought tears to her own eyes — if to no one else’s. However her admiration for her brother was such that she decided he must know best.

  “About Stephen,” said Nell, reverting to a subject upon which they were in absolute accord. “I wish I could find some other children for him to play with. You remember what fun we used to have. There are no children round here nowadays — I can’t think why. Connie brings Gerry and Joan to stay in the holidays sometimes, but they’re being brought up in the New Way.”

  Roger had not heard about the New Way so he inquired about it and was given an exposition of the method and its results. He roared with laughing.

  “But it’s not really funny,” declared Nell smiling.

  “Connie is an idiot,” said Roger. “She wasn’t so bad when she was a child but when she grew up she became unbearably smug.”

  “Not smug, exactly,” objected Nell.

  “She is,” declared Roger. “She always says and does the right thing, but there’s no warmth in her. She wrote me a letter when Tom’s ship was sunk and he was missing; it was perfectly expressed and said all the right things but I could have murdered her with the greatest of pleasure. She took it for granted he was drowned. I was certain old Tom was alive and kicking and thank heaven I was right.”

  Nell’s thoughts went back to the dreadful day when the Admiralty telegram had arrived at Amberwell. She had not had much hope, but Roger and Tom had always been such close friends, sharing everything, just as she and Anne had shared everything, so perhaps that was why Roger had been certain that Tom was still alive. She remembered, too, the joyful day when she heard Tom had been picked up by the Glaister’s fishing-boat and was safe and sound. If only they could hear the same sort of joyful news about Anne!

  Roger must have sensed her thought, or perhaps his own thoughts had followed the same line. “No news of Anne, I suppose?” asked Roger.

  Nell shook her head.

  “Do you think she’s — alive?”

  “Yes,” replied Nell slowly. “I have a sort of feeling — but perhaps it isn’t worth much. Sometimes when I’m in the gardens by myself I feel as if we were all here, running about and playing as we used to do. And sometimes I feel as if there were other children too — children who played here long before we were born.”

  “Little ghosts?”

  “Not frightening ghosts, just nice friendly children.”

  “I’ve bee
n thinking,” said Roger after a short silence. “I’ve been wondering what I should do to ‘improve the amenities of Amberwell’ in the traditional way. Have you any bright ideas on the subject?”

  Nell had not. She had been far too busy trying to hold the place together and to prevent it from slipping back into primeval jungle to think of anything else.

  “I don’t want a fountain — or anything like that,” added Roger.

  “The poor fountain!” said Nell with a sigh. “We never have it playing; Mother won’t have it — not even to please Gerry and Joan. It seems such a waste, doesn’t it? Mr. Gray keeps it oiled and turns it on sometimes to prevent it from getting rusty, but we have to do it when Mother isn’t there.”

  “I wonder why.”

  Nell did not know. She had never understood her mother.

  “I thought of trees,” said Roger, returning to the previous subject. “Not very spectacular, of course.”

  “Oh yes — trees,” agreed Nell. “Trees are much nicer than fountains, but even trees cost a good deal of money you know.”

  “Yes — well — I wanted to talk to you about that,” said Roger a trifle diffidently. “There’s quite a lot of money. Father left enough to keep things going comfortably and there’s all Clare’s money as well. Lord Richmore was a wealthy man and he left his money to Clare — who left it to me. Of course I look upon it as belonging to Stephen and I don’t intend to splash it about, but there’s plenty for everybody. You can easily have more to spend on the house and the gardens and get everything put right, and you ought to spend more on yourself.”

  “You give me a good allowance,” said Nell quickly.

  “Not nearly enough — considering all you do.”

  “More than enough, Roger. I mean what would I spend it on?”

  “Well, we’ll see. We’ll talk it over later.”

  “If you have enough for your needs you don’t need more,” Nell told him.

  “It’s funny that you should say that,” declared Roger. “It’s absolutely true, but very few people would agree with you. Money is a queer thing. If you haven’t got enough it’s terribly important, but if you have plenty you don’t think about it at all, and what’s even stranger you don’t spend any more. I could live on my pay quite easily — in fact I do.” He hesitated for a moment and then added thoughtfully: “Sometimes when I hear other fellows in the regiment talking about not being able to make ends meet I feel quite ashamed.”