‘That is not my intention, sir.’
‘We thought not. This brings me back to another point. Mr Carrington’s wish was that the money was to be spent on furthering your education. Yet you say you have no desire to pursue a professional career.’
‘That is correct.’
‘We have noted Captain Wainwright’s letter which states that Mr Edward Carrington did not follow the military career his father had intended for him because the army was not his chosen path. Because of this fact, we feel, if our client had been alive today, he would have been sympathetic to your request. He would not have forced you to attend university purely to please him. We also think he would have supported you in whatever path you chose to follow.
‘Besides being an astute man, Edward Carrington was a man with a good heart. We believe he would have wanted you to follow your heart.’ With that said, the solicitor replaced the papers in the file and closed it. ‘We will arrange for the money to be transferred from the trust account and placed into your personal account.’
‘And may we wish you every success in this new venture,’ his partner added.
The letter was from Lucy. It had been written in Bombay.
My dearest James
I hope you and Grace are well. I received your letter and was interested to hear you are spending a lot of time at Mr Fothergill’s farm. As you do not mention Alice and the baby, I hope all is well with them too. Have you visited Pansy in Ilkley lately?
As for me, I am very well and still enjoying my time in Bombay. So much so I will not be coming home as planned – at least not for some time.
You may be surprised to learn that I have met a very nice gentleman. His name is Cyril Street. He comes from Kent, though originally he was from the north. He is travelling around the world stopping at the ports which interest him along the way and he has been in Bombay for several months.
Hearing him talk about the places he’ll be visiting has made me wish to see a little more of the world. Not wanting to travel alone, I have arranged for a passage on the same vessel as Mr Street. We are booked to sail on the SS Gothenburg which is leaving Bombay the first week in October. The ship will be calling in at Colombo, Rangoon and Singapore. From there we will take another vessel to Sydney, Australia. My friend, Mr Street wants to purchase some land on the southern continent. He says land is the best investment these days.
I read in a newspaper recently that poverty and hardship are increasing in England and I know I am indeed fortunate to be in a sound financial position. If there is anything you need, you must write and tell me.
By the time you receive this letter I will be at sea. You can write to me care of the General Post Office in Sydney and I will collect the mail when we get there. At this stage, I don’t know when that will be.
Take care of yourself
Your loving Mother
James smiled, folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. He was relieved to hear all was well and surprised to hear his mother had found a travelling companion and would not be coming home for some time. He hoped she was making a wise decision and, in a way, envied her. He remembered how much he had enjoyed his visit to India, an experience he would never forget. But James preferred to be at home and welcomed the challenge of being a farmer. Above all he wanted to settle down and had been waiting for his mother to return before asking Grace to marry him.
As he put the letter away, he decided he could wait no longer. He would be seeing Grace that evening and would ask her then.
Chapter 24
Marriage
James and Grace were married at the Leeds Register Office.
Grace wore a cotton frock patterned with tiny rosebuds, a pink hat with a net veil, white gloves and white high heeled shoes. Later she regretted she had only bought the shoes the week before and, as she had no time to wear them in, they made her feet sore. There were no bridesmaids or best man, just the two witnesses, Mr Fothergill and Pansy Pugh.
Pansy caught the 8.30 train from Ilkley and met them in City Square. She brought Rachel with her but apologized that Alice couldn’t come as she had to work. It didn’t bother either bride or groom that they had few relatives or friends attending the ceremony, though James was disappointed his mother was absent. The only other person he would have wished to be present was the man who had been like a father to him, Edward Carrington.
After the civil service, the wedding group went back to the farmhouse for a meal. Grace had prepared it all beforehand – roast lamb, potato and pickles, and apple pie. It didn’t take her long to whip up a basin of fresh cream, but by the time they sat down to eat it was almost three o’clock.
It had been several months since James had seen Pansy and he thought she looked well, still thin and pale-cheeked, but content. Rachel was growing quickly, but unlike Alice who had been boisterous and full of adventure, Alice’s daughter was shy. Being brought up in the house of the aged Miss Pugh, she had little contact with other children, and as a consequence, her behaviour was that of a child of the Victorian era. Even the dresses Pansy chose for her were rather old-fashioned and too long which added to her delicate appearance.
While James made every effort to encourage Rachel to talk, she insisted on clinging tightly to her grandmother’s arm.
‘She’ll grow out of it quick enough once she gets to school,’ Pansy said.
James asked about Alice.
‘She’s well and still working hard,’ Pansy said, dabbing a speck of dirt from Rachel’s cheek. ‘She’s a nursing sister now. Got a ward of her own.’ She sounded proud of her daughter's achievements then suddenly her tone changed. ‘I wish she had met a nice young doctor instead of getting tied up with that Bertie Bottomley.’
‘Does he ever get in touch?’
‘No, he’s long gone. And good riddance, I say. Alice’s better off without him.’ Pansy sighed. ‘I feel sorry for her at times. She works long hours and only sees Rachel once a week when she visits. Life must be lonely for her.’
‘Why doesn’t she come back to the cottage?’
‘Keeps saying she might one day. Don’t think she liked being here on her own when you and Lucy were away. Maybe she’ll come back once you and Grace settle down. But,’ she said, in a more positive tone, ‘I know she loves her job.’
‘You must be proud of her,’ Grace said.
‘I am. But that’s enough talk about me; tell me what you’re doing at the farm.’
James looked over to the man who was now his father-in-law. ‘I bought half the farm,’ he said proudly.
‘And I’m aiming to make a farmer out of him,’ John Fothergill said with a grin.
‘Do you think you’ll succeed?’ Pansy asked.
‘He’s doing all right so far. And we ended up with a good harvest this year, even though some of the seed went in late.’
‘And the dairy’s improved,’ Grace added, tucking her arm inside James’s. ‘Dad said we’re already getting more milk, and with the extra feed we’ll have more calves for the market at Christmas.’
John Fothergill put his finger to his mouth. ‘Shhh! Don’t want him to get a swelled head, but I think that calls for a toast.’ He got up from the table and hobbled over to the pantry. ‘It’s only sherry but it’ll do the job.’
There was almost half a tumbler each. Ample to drink the health of the newly married couple.
As the afternoon wore on, Rachel fell asleep on the sofa and by five o’clock Pansy was anxious to get back to Ilkley and Miss Pugh.
‘And we’ll be back early in the morning for the milking,’ James called to his new father-in-law, as he and Grace prepared to take Pansy home. ‘I’m taking this young lady to a hotel for the night,’ James announced. ‘She says she’s never stayed in a hotel before.’
Grace blushed.
There were tears in the farmer’s eyes, as he hugged his daughter. ‘Now you look after her!’ he said to James. ‘And don’t worry about the morning. I’m not altogether useless! If the cows ha
ve to wait a while, it won’t kill them.’
Dusk was falling as they waved goodbye. With her head resting on Pansy’s lap, Rachel slept all the way to Ilkley. Grace sat close to James, her hand resting on his leg.
With only a fine sliver of new moon on the rise, it was almost black when they reached Miss Pugh’s house. Grace declined Pansy’s invitation to a cup of tea, and the newly-weds said goodnight.
As James closed the car door, he leaned across and kissed his wife. ‘I’m sure it’s past your bed time, Mrs Oldfield.’
Grace grinned ‘Do you really think so, Mr Oldfield?’
‘I know so!’ he said.
It was almost two weeks after the wedding before James, Grace, Mr Fothergill and the cows, were settled in to a regular routine. James took over all the heavy work on the farm and most of the driving, allowing Grace more time in the house for baking.
Within weeks of the change, John Fothergill was loosening the notches on his belt. He was partial to his daughter’s curd tarts, but a plate of hot scones and a pat of fresh butter was his favourite. At first his appetite for sweet stuff was treated as a joke but before long the extra weight he gained began placing additional strain on his leg.
Since the accident he had walked with a limp. His leg had healed but the doctor said the hip joint was damaged. It was obvious it gave him a lot of pain. Unable to climb the stairs, he slept downstairs at the farmhouse in the room his wife had used. He refused to accept a walking stick; instead, when he hobbled to the shed at milking time, he leaned heavily on a staff. As he was unable to do much around the farm, he spent most of each day watching Grace working in the kitchen.
Naturally Grace was concerned about her father. She and James considered moving into the farmhouse with him, but the farmer insisted he was all right on his own and, as James liked his own cottage and the privacy it offered them, Grace agreed she would live at Honeysuckle Cottages. It was very close and only took two minutes by car.
For more than a week after she moved in, Grace felt confined. The kitchen was tiny, the rooms small, the ceiling low. Quite different to the spacious interior of the farmhouse. Every morning Grace was up before James, anxious to get back to the farm to check on her father.
At first James worried that she was doing too much, helping with the milking, separating the cream, making and tending the cheeses, keeping the farmhouse and cottage tidy and cooking for her father. But Grace said her work was much easier than before he had started working with them.
As James was more active than he had been since his time in the army, by evening he would fall into bed exhausted. But he enjoyed the outdoor work and being with Grace for much of the day. He liked delivering cream and driving in the surrounding district. Being outdoors in all weather didn’t bother him.
A week after the wedding the postman delivered a letter for James. The crumpled envelope was daubed with dirty smudges around the stamp and across the back where it had been sealed. James’s name and address were scrawled in pencil in a combination of capital and small letters. It was from the man on the market stall. He signed himself, Tom, but there was no surname. In the letter, the writer said he would give James some news if he visited him at Leeds market. James waited until Saturday morning to go.
‘I got that information you wanted, Guv,’ Tom said. ‘You said it was worth a quid.’
‘You give me the information and I’ll tell you if it is.’
‘I found out where you’ll find the toff who bought the stuff you’re looking for. He has a shop, like I thought. It’s on Pembroke Way, behind the hotel in Headingley. He didn’t want to give me his name.’
‘You’re not making this up, I hope.’
‘Honest, Guv!’ the man said, holding out his grubby hand. ‘Would I do a thing like that?’
James ignored the question as he handed over the pound note. ‘No news on the other fellow?’
Tom shook his head. ‘Not yet, but he’ll be around soon. Not usually this long between visits. Trust me, Guv! I’ll let you know. Same arrangement as before?’ he asked.
‘Same arrangement as before,’ James added.
There were two antique shops near the Pembroke Hotel, one on either side of the narrow lane. The first was dark and dismal inside. It was crammed with all manner of bric-a-brac but few items appeared to be of any value. While James browsed, the man behind the counter never lifted his head from the newspaper he was reading. With the list of missing items in his mind, James knew exactly what he was searching for. The air in the shop was musty and reminded James of mice. After searching unsuccessfully for over ten minutes, he was pleased to step outside and breathe some fresh air.
When he spied the row of Gurkha soldiers lined up in the window, James knew the second shop was the one he wanted. The bell above the door tinkled as he walked in. The proprietor was smartly dressed in a blue striped suit with a patterned waistcoat. He greeted James and offered his assistance. When James said he was content to browse, the man excused himself and hovered behind the counter watching James’s every move.
Like the previous business, this one was equally packed with merchandise, but in this shop most of the antiques were of items of value. Seeing the toy soldiers made James sure he would locate more of Edward’s possessions. As he scoured the shelves, recognizing various ornaments, James ticked them off his mental list. He was careful not to touch anything in the shop and tried not to show any evidence of interest in his face. But his expression changed to a frown when he realized his inventory had more than a few omissions. He had completely forgotten about the ivory crocodile and the old bugle which had always hung in the hall. And there was the ebony elephant with the loose tusk, the scrimshaw, the cribbage board and the old doll with the black wig which he had made from a piece of goat skin for Alice when she was a little girl. How did he forget to list all those?
On intuition, James paid another visit to the market the following week. He felt guilty leaving Grace and John at the farm but made up for it by starting work very early and managing to get through his morning’s chores before he left.
His visit paid off. The man who had originally brought the sacks to the market had been back with a suitcase full of other goods.
James wasn’t surprised that the man’s description fitted that of Stanley Crowther, though Tom said his name was Wilkinson. He did not have the man’s address and said Wilkinson had got angry when he started asking questions.
After examining the contents of the suitcase, James paid the second-hand dealer thirty shillings, a sum far in excess of what he thought the items were worth. He was also obliged to pay him the pound note which they had agreed on.
Armed with the suitcase, a surname and the address of the dealer in Pembroke Way, James paid a visit to the police station.
Three days later, James and Constable Merrifield drove to the antique shop where the toy soldiers were still lined up in the window.
The dealer remembered James but was not pleased when he learned the purpose of the return visit. After presenting the proprietor with a list, the constable informed him that selling stolen property was an offence and that the goods were to be confiscated. The shopkeeper was irate and insisted he had bought them from the market stall in good faith, unaware they’d been stolen.
The only consolation the officer could offer him was that when the matter got to court, the onus would probably fall on the stall holder. He said the police had questioned him the previous day and in his opinion, the man was lying when he said he didn’t know the goods were stolen.
After placing all the recovered items into four large boxes, James loaded them onto the back seat of the car while the policeman took down the antique dealer’s personal details. Glancing in the car’s mirror as they drove away, James could see the man standing in the road shaking his fist and cursing.
With only six items unaccounted for, James felt pleased. He presumed the missing items had been sold and that the probability of tracing them was unlikely. The fact the
stolen goods would be held at the station until the case was brought before the magistrate, didn’t worry James. He was, however, disappointed the man who called himself Wilkinson had not been apprehended, and the constable had grave doubts the man would ever be caught.
‘If he’s the same Wilkinson we had around these parts a while ago, he’s a slippery customer and if he gets the slightest whiff we’re onto him, he’ll be off like a flash!’
James felt pleased he had been able to resolve the matter without worrying his mother while she was away. He had not written to tell her about the burglary as she could do little from overseas. To his knowledge, nothing of value had been taken from her cottage and, as almost all the goods had been recovered, he doubted he would bother mentioning the burglary at all.
An invitation was extended to all the first-class passengers on board to attend a shipboard party to celebrate Lucy Oldfield’s marriage to Cyril Street. From early evening champagne corks popped and the small orchestra in the grand ballroom played non-stop – popular tunes interspersed with leisurely old waltzes. It was an elegant party with garlands of flowers, coloured streamers and balloons, dull in comparison with the flash of diamonds and the shimmer of sequins which glittered from the ladies’ ball gowns.
It was not until the early hours of the morning that Lucy and Cyril escaped to the cool air of the promenade deck. Around her shoulders Lucy wore a short mink cape, a wedding gift from Cyril.
Standing on the after-deck, gazing across the waters of Bass Strait, they could see the cliffs of the Australian coastline shining in the moonlight.
Through Glass Eyes Page 19