‘I don’t think we were ever resentful. I remember getting excited when he was due home,’ Duncan said thoughtfully. ‘Anyway, surely it was up to him to try and make up for that separation?’
‘He never cuddled or played with us,’ Maisy joined in.
‘That brings us right back to what I said about learned behaviour. Maybe your father cannot do those things because he has never experienced them himself? I was lucky; my parents were loving and demonstrative, which taught me to be the same with my younger siblings. I loved helping them to read, write and do sums, and I expect that’s why I became a teacher.’
Maisy felt a little surge of love for this man who she saw as a tragic hero. Even though he was crippled and his wife had left him, he wasn’t bitter and he had enough goodness in him to be kind to her and Duncan.
‘So you think Grandmother made our father the way he is?’ Duncan asked.
‘I’m in no position to blame anyone for anything. I just want you to open your minds, consider possibilities and come to your own conclusions. In my opinion it was boarding school that achieved most of your father’s stiff upper lip and coolness. I believe public schools tend to put a straitjacket on boys’ emotions. Cloistered with just men and other boys, rampant bullying and no feminine influence, except maybe a dragon of a matron – it’s a wonder any boy comes out unscathed. But I think your grandmother might just have learned a lesson there – she hasn’t once suggested boarding schools for you two.’
‘We used to wish we could go to boarding schools,’ Maisy admitted. ‘The only thing that put us off is that we’d be in separate places.’
‘They aren’t like the ones in children’s fiction, except maybe Tom Brown’s Schooldays.’ Dove smiled. ‘If I had my way all children would attend day schools. I shudder when I hear of boys going from one male-dominated institution into another such as the armed forces.’
‘But you taught at one, then went into the army,’ Duncan said.
Dove nodded sadly. ‘Yes, and the funny thing was that I actually thought I could help some of those chaps who had been indoctrinated with cruelty and had such snobbish ideas about class and a lack of respect for women. But I very much doubt I managed to change anyone’s outlook. Once those ideas are ingrained it’s the Devil’s own job to remove them.’
As the twins walked home to Nightingales for their lunch they chatted about what Dove had said.
‘He’s such a good man,’ Duncan said. ‘You’d think he’d feel sorry for himself, but he doesn’t. Mother wasn’t anywhere near as badly hurt in her riding accident, but she’s let it ruin her life.’
‘Maybe her accident has always been just an excuse to stay away from everyone,’ Maisy said. ‘Or perhaps her problems are caused by something else other than the accident, something that she can’t talk about.’
‘Like a bogeyman jumping on her in the woods.’ Duncan laughed. ‘Speaking of stuff in the woods, do you fancy coming down this afternoon to see if we can see the witch again?’
‘No, thank you, it’s creepy. You go if you want. Janice was going to show me how to crochet.’
Duncan stopped in his tracks, looking at her in shock and disbelief. ‘I can’t believe you’d prefer to do that rather than ride out in the forest and spy on Grace Deville! I can see I’ll need to find a new chum for the holidays.’
Maisy laughed. She wished he would find a male friend, just so she could escape doing all the boyish things he always wanted to do. These days she’d rather read than play cricket with him, climbing trees didn’t get her excited any more and fishing was so boring. She liked looking in shops, having picnics and dancing. Janice had told her there was a lady in Lyndhurst who gave ballroom dancing classes twice a week during the school holidays and Maisy really wanted to go. Duncan had sniggered at that; he said he’d rather stick his hand in a cow pat.
‘I hope you do find a chum as I’m going to ballroom dancing as soon as it starts,’ she said after a couple of minutes. ‘Of course I hope you’ll change your mind and come with me, because everyone needs to learn to dance or be a failure at balls and parties.’
‘I shan’t be going to anything so banal,’ he said loftily. ‘I’ve decided I’m going to become an explorer.’
Maisy raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh really? Up the Amazon, investigating tribes of cannibals?’
‘Maybe, or the polar regions. Don’t scoff, I mean to do it. I shall get a degree in something useful like geography and maybe botany, then I’ll be off.’
Maisy didn’t think this worthy of a reply. Duncan had a new idea for a career every month, most of them straight out of the pages of Boy’s Own.
They got back to Nightingales to find Janice laying the table in the garden for lunch. ‘Your grandmother suggested it,’ she said when she saw their surprised faces. ‘She said we should make the most of this glorious weather.’
‘Are you joining us too?’ Maisy asked, seeing a fourth place.
‘No, the extra place is for Mr Grainger. He’s a friend of your grandmother’s and he wanted to meet you. They’re in the sitting room at the moment but they’ll be out shortly, so go and wash your hands and faces. Duncan, put a clean shirt on, please, you’ve got your breakfast down your front. A short-sleeved open-necked one will do.’
‘What does this man want to meet us for?’ Maisy asked her brother as they went up the stairs.
Duncan shrugged. ‘Just curious about us, I suppose, like lots of the local people are. Mrs Jackson at the bakery is the worst – she’s always fishing for information from me about us, our parents and our grandmother.’
‘I hate her,’ Maisy said emphatically. ‘She’s got piggy eyes and that wart by her nose jiggles when she speaks.’
‘You shouldn’t use strong adjectives like “hate” when you only mean you dislike her; you should save it for a time when real hatred comes along.’
Maisy giggled. ‘Hark at you! That’s straight out of Mr Dove’s phrase book.’
Duncan put his nose in the air, went into his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. Maisy smiled. He had been copying Mr Dove a lot recently, and it embarrassed him to have it pointed out.
‘So is the New Forest very boring to you after London?’ Mr Grainger asked Duncan over lunch.
‘No, sir, we love it here,’ Duncan replied. ‘It’s super to ride our bikes, explore the forest and see wild ponies and deer.’
Maisy smiled to herself. She could see by the animated expression on her brother’s face that he really liked this man. She liked him too. He wasn’t stiff or stuffy; in fact he had a similar easy manner to Mr Dove. But she wondered how he could be a friend of her grandmother’s when he was, at Maisy’s estimation, only in his late thirties or early forties. He was also nice-looking with very dark hair and periwinkle-blue eyes.
‘They are very good at entertaining themselves,’ Grandmother said, with a note of pride in her voice. ‘Alastair at the same age used to just hang around looking miserable, but I suppose it’s harder for an only child.’
‘But Alastair had a great many interests – model-making, playing the piano, and I seem to remember that he liked bird-watching,’ Mr Grainger said.
‘Did you know our father when he was a boy?’ Duncan asked, clearly surprised.
Grainger nodded. ‘Yes, I did. I was a bit younger but I came to stay with an aunt nearby. When your dad was home in the school holidays he taught me to ride a bike and showed me how to build a camp in the forest.’
‘As I recall he got you soaking wet and badly scratched by brambles,’ Grandmother retorted. ‘I had to take him to task for not taking care of you.’
Grainger looked at the twins and smiled. ‘I didn’t mind at all. My aunt didn’t let me do anything that was fun, she tried to wrap me in cotton wool. But for your father I would’ve ended up a real drip.’
‘What do you do for a job?’ Duncan asked.
Grandmother glared at him; clearly she thought that was a rude question.
‘I’m a sol
icitor,’ Grainger said, smiling at Grandmother as if to reassure her that he didn’t consider it impertinence.
‘Do you defend robbers and murderers?’ Maisy asked.
He laughed. ‘No, I’m not a criminal lawyer. My work is mainly with property.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Duncan said. ‘I’d love to get some inside information on villains.’
‘Enough of that,’ Grandmother snapped. ‘Now if you’ve finished your lunch you can leave the table.’
‘We could meet up one day in Southampton and I could show you the courts and tell you a few stories I know about villains,’ Mr Grainger offered.
‘Enough, Donald!’ Grandmother rebuked him, shooing the twins away from the table. ‘The boy doesn’t need to know about ghastly people.’
‘Alastair must be very proud of his children; they are bright and well-mannered,’ Grainger said after the twins had gone out of earshot. ‘Such a shame about their mother.’
‘He should never have married her. She was never right, always like a trembling leaf, and she didn’t even have a mind of her own. I can’t imagine what Alastair saw in her.’
Donald Grainger felt he ought to be shocked by Mrs Mitcham’s cruel description of her daughter-in-law, but in fact it amused him. For as long as he could remember she’d made caustic remarks about people. Besides, Mrs Mitcham was paying him to look after her affairs, so she could say what she liked.
She had known his Aunt Constance who, until her death seven years earlier, had lived just down the lane. His aunt had always told him that Violet Mitcham never pulled her punches, nor did she make allowances for anyone weaker than herself, yet underneath that formidable exterior there was a kind heart; you just had to know how to deal with her. Grainger was always on the lookout for that elusive side of her.
‘I was quite shaken by how Lily was when I visited her on your behalf,’ he said carefully. ‘I know from what you told me that she was never what you’d call robust, and always shy, but I got the idea that she had been quite intelligent. Sadly she doesn’t seem to have much grasp on reality any longer. She’s so very thin and pale, and she didn’t even ask about the twins.’
Grainger knew it was better not to elaborate, but the truth of the matter was that Alastair’s wife was like a wraith, no light in her eyes, no desire to talk or ask questions. He’d been told by a nurse that if she wasn’t made to get out of bed, to dress and sit in a chair, she’d spend every hour lying in bed staring at the ceiling.
The nurse had added that she answered questions briefly, she would say if she was too cold, too hot or hungry, but there was never anything that would pass as conversation. He knew that all Mrs Mitcham really wanted was a rough idea of her life expectancy, but none of the nurses or her doctor were prepared to tell him that.
Mrs Mitcham pursed her lips. ‘Donald, I’m more concerned about how much it is costing Alastair to keep her in that place. She’s still a young woman – unless you know otherwise she could live till she’s ninety – and Alastair tells me the doctors are no closer to finding a cure for whatever it is that ails her. It might be wicked to say this, but I wish when she wanted to take the poison Betty had turned a blind eye.’
Grainger kept his expression neutral. ‘I’m sure you don’t really mean that,’ he said. ‘We all make bitter remarks when we are angry and distressed.’
She shrugged, giving the impression that she was definitely not distressed and resented anyone thinking she might be. She got up from the table. ‘I think it best that we continue our conversation in my sitting room, since I do not wish to be overheard.’
Mrs Mitcham waited until Grainger was sitting in an armchair before sitting opposite him.
‘What this business of Lily’s failing mental health has done,’ she spoke slowly and firmly as if she’d rehearsed this, ‘is to make me realize I must change my will. I cannot countenance the idea of Alastair inheriting this house and my money and then squandering it on keeping her in that place. So I want you to draw up a new will and make Duncan my heir. You, of course, will remain my executor.’
Grainger was flabbergasted. When she’d invited him here today he’d thought maybe she wanted to discuss starting a trust or something similar for her grandchildren. He could understand perfectly her desire to safeguard the home she loved and the money her husband had worked so hard for, but it was extreme to cut her only child out of her will. Alastair was, after all, only doing what a good husband should do. He was honouring his marriage vows and protecting his sick wife. When he got to hear about this he was going to feel even more undervalued than he did already.
But Donald Grainger was, if nothing else, a realist. He’d known Violet Mitcham right from a small child and he was aware of her reputation. Therefore he knew that nothing he could say or do would make her change her mind; she was incredibly stubborn and single-minded. Furthermore, if he tried to do so, she would just tell him to leave and she would get another solicitor.
‘If Duncan is to be your heir then we must discuss what safeguards we can put in place,’ he said warily. ‘I’m sure you won’t want the boy getting his legacy too young, before he learns to handle money wisely. But at the same time, if you should pass away while he is still at university, it might be advisable for your executors to be given the authority to give him a small allowance.’
Mrs Mitcham looked at him sternly for what seemed several minutes. He guessed she was considering whether she could trust him not to go running to Alastair to tell him about this.
‘My plan was for Duncan to inherit at thirty. That’s a good age; he’ll probably be married and settled by then. But yes, in the unlikely event of me dying while he is still studying, I agree he should have a monthly allowance. Nonetheless, I plan to be around to see him graduate and beyond.’
‘But should the worst happen and you die before Duncan’s thirtieth, what do you want to do with Nightingales? It’s never good to leave an old property like this empty.’
‘I’m sure I can depend on you to keep an eye on things. But Janice will stay on, and Mr Pike my gardener. I want it in my will too that Janice has a home here for as long as she needs it. I also want her to have the sum of two hundred pounds. I want to leave Pike fifty pounds.’
‘Alastair?’
She shook her head irritably. ‘He already has a home in London, and a good income. But as a token I’ll leave him two hundred.’
Grainger knew she was rich, but at the same time he had no idea of just how much money she had tucked away. He wondered what Alastair had done to make her react like this. Surely it couldn’t just be the nursing home fees?
‘It is usual to appoint a second heir, just in case the chosen first one should die,’ he said cautiously, half expecting her to jump down his throat. ‘In that unlikely event, if you haven’t named someone else, it will revert to Alastair. Is that what you wish? Or should you name Maisy as the second in line?’
She frowned, turning the faint wrinkles on her forehead to deep furrows. ‘I hadn’t considered that. A healthy boy isn’t likely to die young. But if you say I must appoint someone, then it had better be his sister. I did intend her to have my jewellery. But not this ring.’ She lightly tapped the large sapphire she wore on her finger. ‘It was my engagement ring, given to us by Harold’s mother. I’d like Duncan to be able to give it to his fiancée when the time comes.’
‘That is a nice touch,’ Grainger said, hoping that for Maisy’s sake the rest of her grandmother’s jewellery was equally valuable. ‘I’m sure whoever Duncan marries will be thrilled to receive such a beautiful ring.’
‘I will of course want it noted that if Duncan’s marriage should break down he must retrieve the ring,’ she said through pursed lips.
They went through a few minor bequests of items of silver and a carriage clock, mostly to friends and neighbours. Grainger wondered that she had any friends at all as she made quite cruel comments about every one of the recipients. But he said nothing, just wrote down her wishes.
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br /> ‘If that is everything, I’ll get it typed up and bring it back for you to sign,’ he said, getting to his feet. He’d had enough of her for one day. It was hard work trying to be charming to someone so hard-headed. ‘Meanwhile, if you think of anything else you want included, let me know.’
‘Draw it up quickly,’ she snapped. ‘I want it signed, witnessed and tucked away for safety as soon as possible.’
Grainger looked down at the old lady before he left the room. He had written hundreds of wills over the years and most of his clients became emotional when they spoke of their loved ones. But the only time Violet Mitcham’s voice had trembled was when she spoke about her engagement ring.
He felt it was hardly surprising that Alastair had fallen for a delicate, emotional, clinging woman; no doubt that felt like true love and adoration to a man starved of affection.
He just hoped the meanness of spirit and the flashes of cruelty and spite he’d witnessed today wouldn’t be passed on to Duncan and Maisy. He wanted to see them on his way out, maybe suggest they come to his office one day, so he could get to know them better. He couldn’t of course break the confidential nature of today’s discussions, but at the very least he could tell them they had a friend in him if they needed it.
As luck would have it Maisy was sitting on a bench in the garden doing some crocheting. As Grainger approached she looked up and grinned at him.
The Woman in the Wood Page 5