Summerhills (Ayrton Family Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  It was now the beginning of August and the work at Summerhills had progressed so rapidly that Roger was longing to have a look at the place—and young Lumsden as well—and of course he wanted to hear about Mary’s Idea, so he approached his Colonel and explained matters and was granted leave at once. The Colonel was particularly interested in Summerhills for the simple reason that he had two young nephews.

  Having made all his arrangements, Roger wrote to Nell and Arnold saying he was coming on Saturday, and to Mary saying he would meet her at Summerhills on Sunday afternoon. Sunday was an excellent day to meet Mary for they would have the whole place-to themselves with no workmen to bother them and Mary could explain her Idea at leisure.

  *

  2.

  Mary was delighted when she received Roger’s letter. She had hoped he would come. Unfortunately Sunday was cold and cloudy—not in the least like August—but Mary was undaunted by the weather. She walked over the moors to Summerhills and arrived there shortly after three o’clock. Roger’s car was parked in the drive and Roger was waiting on the steps for her.

  Mary had not seen Roger since her talk with Poppet and she discovered that she was looking at him with more discerning eyes. He was attractive. Poppet was quite right about that, but quite wrong about other things of course. All the same Mary’s heart beat a little bit faster than usual as she went up the steps to meet him.

  “Well, here I am,” said Mary with a smile.

  “It’s awfully good of you to come,” said Roger. “Your letters have been grand—so helpful and amusing.”

  “It has been very amusing,” Mary told him. “I haven’t said much, you know. I’ve just looked on and——”

  “What about the Big Idea? I’m all agog to hear what it is.” He glanced at his watch and added, “I can’t stay more than ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes!” echoed Mary in dismay. “But Roger, it will take much longer. I want to show you——”

  “Couldn’t you explain it quickly?”

  Mary hesitated. She could not understand it at all—and she was bitterly disappointed. Roger had said in his letter that they would have the whole place to themselves and there would be plenty of time for her to explain her idea at leisure.

  “I’m sorry,” said Roger uncomfortably, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to go. It’s Georgina, you see. She caught me just as I was coming out and asked me to come up to the bowling-green and time some runs for her. She wants me to be there at half past three.”

  “But this is important. Honestly, Roger!”

  “Couldn’t you tell me about it quickly?”

  “No, I couldn’t possibly. It will take much longer than ten minutes to explain my plan.”

  “She made rather a Thing of it. You see there’s nobody at Amberwell who can use a stop-watch, so it’s difficult for her.” He paused and then added, “Perhaps I could nip back and do it for her. It won’t take long. You could wait here, couldn’t you?”

  Mary said nothing. She was very angry. She was angry with Georgina but oddly enough even more angry with Roger. If Roger thought she would wait for him while he “nipped back” to Amberwell—and Georgina—he could think again.

  “It won’t take long,” repeated Roger. “I’m sorry about it, but I couldn’t say no, could I?”

  “You asked me to meet you here—” began Mary indignantly, and then she stopped and glancing at Roger’s face she laughed. (The nicer they are the more helpless they are, Poppet had said.)

  “What’s the joke, Mary?” asked Roger in bewilderment.

  “Just—something I’ve remembered.”

  “Something you’ve remembered?”

  “The Gypsy’s Warning.”

  Roger gazed at her.

  “It’s all right,” declared Mary, trying to control herself. “I haven’t gone mad. It was just—something—I remembered. I’ll sit here and wait for you while you nip back to Amberwell and time Georgina’s mile.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Not a bit,” declared Mary. She sat down upon a convenient packing-case and assumed a patient attitude. Perhaps the pose was slightly overdone but if so Roger did not notice.

  “It seems awfully rude,” began Roger in doubtful tones.

  “It’s quite all right.”

  “You see I couldn’t refuse. She made a Special Thing of it.”

  “You couldn’t refuse,” agreed Mary with conviction.

  Roger hesitated. “But all the same—I mean I don’t see why—oh dash it all, why should I bother about the woman? I want to hear about your idea.”

  “I’ll tell you about it when you come back,” replied Mary, sweetly reasonable.

  Roger glanced at his watch and made for the door—and then he stopped. “I’m not going,” he declared. “Why should I go? I can’t think what possessed me to say I’d go.”

  “You couldn’t refuse,” Mary reminded him.

  “I ought to have refused,” replied Roger.

  This was so true that Mary could not refute it. She was silent.

  “I know what I’ll do,” said Roger. “I’ll ring her up and tell her that I can’t come.”

  The telephone was in the next room and as Roger had left the doors open Mary could not help overhearing Roger’s side of the conversation. She could have moved, of course, but she did not feel inclined to move, so she stayed where she was. It was some time before Georgina could be found and brought to the phone—perhaps she was on her way to the bowling-green for it was nearly half past three.

  “Hullo, this is Roger,” said Roger. “Yes, I know it’s nearly half past three, but I can’t come. That’s what I rang up to tell you. No, I can’t possibly come. Mary is here—Miss Findlater—and we’ve got something important to discuss.”

  There was a short pause.

  “Yes, I know,” agreed Roger. “But this is more important. Honestly, Georgina! We can do your mile tomorrow. I’m sorry about it but I can’t manage it this afternoon. Miss Findlater is here and . . .”

  There was another pause—longer this time—and Roger’s voice was slightly cross when he spoke again.

  “It isn’t that at all,” he declared. “As a matter of fact she offered to wait for me while I nipped back and timed your runs for you; so you see . . .”

  This time the pause was short.

  “I’ve told you why,” said Roger very crossly indeed. “I’ve told you I’ll do it tomorrow. Why won’t tomorrow do?”

  The pause was almost imperceptible.

  “All right don’t ask me again,” said Roger angrily.

  When Roger returned his face was flushed and his eyes were sparking. “She cut off,” he said shortly.

  “Perhaps you should have gone,” Mary suggested.

  “Why?” asked Roger. “Why should I have gone? Why on earth should I go and time her blinking mile when I don’t want to?”

  It was no good. Mary had to laugh . . . and after a few moments Roger began to chuckle. Roger’s ill-temper never lasted long.

  “Silly, isn’t it?” he said. “The fact is it’s so difficult to say no. I mean when a girl asks you . . .” He hesitated and then added, “She said she wouldn’t ask me again.”

  Mary had gathered as much.

  “But she will,” said Roger with a sigh.

  Mary was not so sure.

  *

  3.

  The telephone conversation had upset Roger quite a lot, but presently he recovered and was able to give his attention to Mary’s Big Idea. She led the way to the small suite of rooms which had been set aside for the use of the headmaster.

  “You may think it’s no good at all,” said Mary. “That’s why I wanted to discuss it with you before saying anything to Arnold, but I think this room is much too small for the headmaster’s sitting room.”

  “Arnold said it was big enough.”

  “I know—but look at it, Roger! This is the only room Arnold will have to receive the parents and give them tea. It’s much too small—
and dull. At least I think so.”

  Roger stood and looked around. “You’re right,” he said. “Of course it’s much too small and dull. Why on earth didn’t we think of it before? It’s absolutely essential for Arnold to have a nice, bright, cheerful room to receive the parents and give them tea.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “We shall have to find another room.”

  “But there isn’t another suitable room on the ground floor.”

  “We shall have to give up one of the classrooms. There’s nothing else for it.”

  “Would a bow-window be very expensive?”

  “A bow-window?”

  “We could throw out a bow-window. That was my idea. It would make the room bigger and brighter, wouldn’t it?”

  “You’ve got it!” cried Roger. “A bow-window is the answer.”

  “Would it cost the earth?”

  “I don’t see why it should—and anyhow, what’s the alternative? There isn’t another suitable room on the ground floor. A bow-window would transform this room.”

  “That’s what I thought—and you see there’s plenty of space outside.”

  They leaned out of the small window together and surveyed the ground beneath. Mary had spent the morning marking it out with sticks and string so that Roger could see her plan.

  “There’s plenty of space,” agreed Roger. “In fact we could have a much bigger window than that. We might as well do the thing properly while we’re at it.”

  Mary smiled. She wondered how often Roger had said these words in the last few months.

  “It really is clever of you,” continued Roger. “It’s a brilliant idea. I should never have thought of it. Let’s go outside and measure.”

  They went outside and measured the ground carefully and discovered that there was plenty of space for a large bow-window.

  “But it will cost a lot, won’t it,” said Mary doubtfully.

  “I’ll ask Lumsden,” said Roger. “I’ll see him about it tomorrow. We won’t say a word to Arnold until it’s all fixed.”

  By this time the afternoon had deteriorated; it was damp and cold and cheerless and a thin drizzle had begun to fall.

  “I’ll run you back to Merlewood,” said Roger. “You can’t walk back in this. Perhaps Mrs. Lambert will give me a cup of tea.”

  “Yes, I’m sure she will,” replied Mary but without much enthusiasm.

  Of course Poppet would be only too pleased to see Roger and sustain him with tea and cakes, but Mary had not told Poppet she was going to meet Roger this afternoon—and would Poppet be awful?

  Mary was a little worried about it, and it was with some trepidation that she ushered Roger into the drawing room where her host and hostess were having tea beside a comfortable warm fire, but she soon realised that her fears were without foundation. Poppet welcomed the visitor with cries of delight, scolded him severely for not coming to see her before and was altogether charming. Soon they were all sitting round the fire and Roger was telling them about Mary’s idea.

  “How stupid men are,” said Poppet shaking her head sadly. “Any woman would have thought of that at once. It’s frightfully important to make a good first impression upon the parents.”

  “I’m afraid it will cost a lot . . .” began Mary.

  “It’s a good idea,” declared Mr. Lambert. “I don’t suppose the cost would be excessive. You could have it built of brick——”

  “Brick!” cried Roger. “Goodness, no. It will have to be stone like the rest of the house. If it was built of brick it would look like a false nose stuck onto somebody’s face.”

  Mr. Lambert laughed. He said, “Well, you can ask your builder, but building in stone is an expensive amusement nowadays.”

  “It would be worth it,” declared Roger. “It would make a small pokey room into a good room—a really fine room. Mary’s bow-window is a splendid idea.”

  Mary smiled. She said, “First Mary’s hatch, and now Mary’s bow-window. I know I’m fat, but really——”

  “You aren’t fat,” cried Poppet indignantly. “You used to be plump but you’re ever so much thinner lately.”

  “Must be in love,” said Mr. Lambert teasingly. “Young women always lose weight when they’re in love.”

  “What nonsense, Johnnie.”

  “Not nonsense at all,” declared Mr. Lambert laughing in his cheery way. “Look at her—she’s blushing!”

  Mary knew she was blushing, but blushing is beyond one’s control. She wished he would be quiet. It was just his fun of course—Mr. Lambert enjoyed teasing—but how she wished he would be quiet.

  “I’ve got it,” continued Mr. Lambert. “I’ve guessed the secret. It’s Arnold! That’s why she’s always trotting round to Summerhills. That’s why she takes such an interest in a bow-window for the headmaster’s room. Now we know. It’s Arnold.”

  “Perhaps it’s that man with the funny ears,” suggested Poppet. “Mary meets him nearly every day—at Summerhills—and he’s so attractive, isn’t he? Just the sort of man to appeal to Mary.”

  Mary laughed quite cheerfully (clever Poppet had rescued her). “You’re both wrong,” said Mary. “It’s Mr. Lumsden—if you must know. Mr. Lumsden is a perfect darling; I’m crazy about him. We share our elevenses and have long talks about toilet equipment, but it’s quite, quite hopeless because he adores his wife.”

  They were all laughing now. Even Roger, who had been looking rather startled, joined in the merriment.

  “We must have a party,” said Poppet. “Johnnie, we must have a party.”

  “Just as you say, m’dear,” replied Johnnie. “I’m going up to Glasgow tomorrow, so if you want cards printed——”

  “Not that sort of party at all! I mean the sort of party when you just ask people you like. We’ll have all the Ayrtons of course and dear Dr. Maddon and Arnold.”

  “Gerald and Connie?”

  “They won’t be able to come,” said Poppet regretfully. “They’ve gone to North Berwick with the children; but we can have Mr. Orme and the Claytons and—and——”

  “Cocktails, I suppose,” said Mr. Lambert. “You’d better let me mix them. That’s all I ask. Last time, when you and Gerald——”

  “Oh, but they were lovely,” cried Poppet indignantly.

  “They tasted all right, but——”

  “They were lovely,” Poppet repeated. “Everybody said so—and if you’re thinking of little Mrs. Bannister (which I know you are) it was just because she didn’t understand about cocktails—and anyhow Gerald was terribly kind and got her sobered up beautifully before he took her home, so nobody knew anything about it and there was no harm done. Even Mrs. Bannister thought it was the mushrooms she had eaten for lunch.”

  Gales of laughter greeted this simple tale, and Poppet (who had told this tale on purpose to amuse her audience) sat there looking as innocent as a kitten and as pretty as a flower-fairy.

  “If you want me to come to your party it will have to be soon,” said Roger when he had recovered sufficiently to speak.

  “Of course I want you, darling Roger,” said Poppet opening her eyes very wide. “The party is specially for you. We’ll have it tomorrow—no Tuesday—and you must bring Nell and Marion and the pretty governess.”

  “You had better ask Nell about—about Miss Glassford,” said Roger doubtfully. “Nell always arranges things like that.” He hesitated and then added, “But I don’t think there’s any need to ask her—really.”

  This was a little unkind of Roger because Georgina would have enjoyed the party tremendously.

  Chapter Fifteen

  1.

  Mary had been under the impression that the cocktail party was intended for Roger and his relations and one or two others—just the Lamberts’ special friends—so on the Tuesday morning when she went to help Mr. Lambert to look out the glasses she was surprised to find him filling a large tray.

  “We shan’t need all those,” exclaimed Mary.

  �
��Forty-four, forty-five, forty-six,” muttered Mr. Lambert counting busily. “Four dozen ought to be enough. Eh, Mary?”

  “Too many,” said Mary.

  “Not a bit of it. You don’t know Poppet as well as I do. Her parties are like snowballs, they get bigger and bigger every minute. Poppet is going to the town this morning and she’ll ask everybody she sees—and she’ll remember other people and ring them up, and they’ll ask her if they can bring their sisters and their cousins and their aunts—and Poppet will say yes. If the party was next week we’d need six dozen glasses at least, but as it’s today she won’t have time to go into the highways and byways like that fellow in the Bible.”

  Mary smiled. She had always liked Mr. Lambert, but since she has been staying at Merlewood she liked him even better. As Poppet had said he was a dear, nice, good, kind creature. Even when he teased her Mary liked him. He had teased her quite a lot about Mr. Lumsden, but that did not worry Mary at all.

  “Couldn’t Poppet tell us how many?” asked Mary as she began to wash and polish the glasses.

  “She won’t remember,” replied Mr. Lambert with conviction. “Oh, I say, are you going to wash them? That’s fine. If there’s one thing I hate more than another it’s washing wine glasses. I usually twist the stems off them. I think I’ll go and mix the booze if you can cope with these.”

  Poppet was not idle of course; she was arranging flowers. The cook was making tiny biscuits and decorating them with anchovies and caviare. It was obvious that she had had experience of the Lamberts’ parties for Mary had heard Poppet say, “There will be about a dozen people, Janet,” and Janet was making enough little savoury biscuits to feed three times that number of guests.

  The last few days had been cold and bleak, so cold that the drawing-room fire had been lighted at tea-time, but Tuesday was fine and warm and sunny. The Lamberts were pleased but not surprised at this sudden improvement in the weather, for it appeared that the sun always shone on Poppet’s parties. This was all the more fortunate because the drawing room had double doors which opened onto the verandah and the guests could stroll in and out as they pleased . . . and they could walk round the garden and admire Poppet’s roses, which were the best in the county and always bloomed at the right moment. Poppet loved her roses; she looked after them herself. The gardener was not allowed to touch them.