Yew Tree Gardens

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘Oh, very well, Beth, then. I’ll agree to you adopting her and I’ll support you if Harriet’s family create a fuss. But I’ll only do it if you give me your word to marry within the year.’

  He gaped at her. This was the last thing he’d expected to hear. ‘But I don’t know any women – and look at me.’ He tried to move his arm and for once it did what he wanted by twitching.

  ‘They won’t care about that. You’re still a good-looking young man and you are a Rycroft, after all. You have a very nice house and adequate money to support a family in comfort. And if finding someone is all that worries you, I can introduce you to several suitable young women in London.’

  He watched her fold her arms, with that look on her face, the look which meant she was determined to have her way.

  ‘Give me two years,’ he bargained desperately. ‘I’ve still not got Oakdene House in order.’

  Silence hung between them, then she said quietly, ‘Eighteen months and not a day longer, Gil. And I want your word on that.’

  He hesitated, but the thought of Beth being brought up by a strict governess made him add one more condition. ‘Only if you let me choose my own wife.’

  ‘She has to be respectable.’

  ‘Of course. Would I let someone who wasn’t look after the child?’

  ‘Very well.’ His mother held out her hand. ‘Since your father can’t do it, you and I will shake on the solemn bargain we’ve made.’

  He did that, feeling as if fetters had settled round him, binding him tightly to the promise.

  As his mother let go of his hand, she reached up to pat his cheek. ‘You’re a good boy, Gil. Any woman you marry should consider herself lucky to marry you.’

  ‘I’m nearly twenty-seven now, hardly a boy.’

  ‘No, you’re not a boy since that accident. I’m proud of how you’ve coped.’ She flushed as if embarrassed by giving him a compliment. ‘Now that Elizabeth’s future is settled, let’s go and see your father.’

  Gil felt relieved when he left Merriton House. He sat lost in thought, not seeing the countryside they drove through, relieved that Horry didn’t try to chat.

  Gil had achieved what he came for, but at what cost? Not even for Beth did he want to marry. As for bedding a woman, he shrank from the thought of that. How would he manage in bed with his stupid arm?

  But if it was the only way to get Beth, he’d have to do it. Somehow. Though he needn’t think about it seriously for a while, not till he’d settled his niece in at Oakdene, not to mention sorting out Chapman, who wasn’t going to get away with burning down Gil’s outbuildings.

  Anyway, who knew what would happen in eighteen months? Maybe he’d come up with a way to convince his mother to release him from his promise.

  Only, what if she refused? He’d promised faithfully and a Rycroft never broke his word.

  Chapter Twelve

  In September, Gil stopped to watch the bricklayer and his lad repointing the brickwork. He was gradually working his way through a list of renovations and improvements. The old house stood square and solid, but it did need a little work doing on the outside and more than a little modernising inside.

  From an upstairs window came the cheerful sound of a child singing, accompanied on the piano by the governess. Miss Bramber was proving to be just what Gil had wanted, a kind, caring woman who didn’t fuss if Beth got dirty. His mother thought the woman was too working class, but he admired the way Miss Bramber had fought to get an education, which the clergyman who’d provided her with glowing references had told him about.

  He smiled as he listened. He thought he was doing quite well, raising his child. His mother was coming soon to visit them and he was going to ask her to release him from his promise to find a wife and marry. He didn’t want anyone changing things and spoiling the happy atmosphere in his house.

  The plumbing had been the first job he’d tackled, after discussing it with Walter. He didn’t want Beth growing up with such primitive conditions. Besides, there could be health problems if people’s waste wasn’t disposed of properly.

  There was no piped sewage system in the village, but he had made his own arrangements at Oakdene, with the help of a plumber from Swindon. There was plenty of room for a cesspit in the grounds, one far from the well used to water the garden.

  He wasn’t sure he trusted the well, but found he could pay to have the public water supply brought to the house and decided to do that, to the servants’ delight. It really wasn’t good enough to have washing water brought up to the bedrooms in ewers, or to go to the outhouse if you needed to relieve yourself.

  He hated the thought of soiling the shiny blue and white chamber pot that sat in state under his bed for use during the night. He couldn’t bring himself to use that, however hard it was raining. The thought of a maid he lived so closely with emptying it for him made him shudder.

  He knew Walter had to use his chamber pot, because as his friend and mentor confessed, he got taken short at times. ‘A sign of old age, lad.’

  And to Gil’s dismay, Walter was looking older. He was, after all, getting on for seventy-seven now. He carried his years lightly, but he got distinctly breathless if he had to exert himself, and he was much slower than he used to be.

  Gil had a word with Horry about not letting Walter do any heavy work and hired a lad to help out generally, whether it was with the gardens or the stables or the motor car.

  There were a lot of people in the village subsisting on part-time work, which upset him, but he couldn’t invent jobs. He wasn’t so rich he could spend his own money lavishly on creating work, not with the upkeep necessary for a beautiful old house.

  Chapman stopped him in the village next time he went to take tea with Mrs Wyndham, who had become a friend of himself and Walter.

  ‘Currying favour with the locals now, are you?’ Chapman jeered. ‘Inventing jobs when there aren’t any.’

  ‘I have nothing to say to you. And how you dare accuse me of that after the way you treated Mary and Cyril, hiring them then firing them within two months, I don’t know. You should be ashamed of yourself.’ They had never talked about the fire, but one day Gil would find out about it.

  ‘If I’d received justice, I’d not have needed to do that. It was all your fault, smarming up to my cousin Alice and getting her to leave her money outside the family. You take advantage of being a cripple, you do, and play on it for pity. But you don’t fool me. You’re a conniving, thieving villain!’

  ‘According to Mr Mortlake, Miss Bennerden was not your cousin.’

  ‘What does that silly old fool know about anything?’

  ‘He looked into it and could find no connection.’

  ‘Well, there is one. And I’ll get what I’m owed one day, see if I don’t. I can wait when I want something. Your damned lawyer isn’t the only one who can look for proof. Then watch out!’

  Gil sighed as he watched Chapman stride away. Here was the thorn in his flesh, the serpent in paradise. That man was still managing to keep some of the villagers on his side.

  The mere sight of Chapman made Beth shrink closer to whoever she was with.

  If only Chapman could be persuaded to sell his tumbledown house and move away from Pypard West, life would be so much more pleasant. Rumour had it that the place was in a very dilapidated state now, and that Chapman hadn’t paid his bills for a while.

  But still, some of the villagers looked at Gil as if they didn’t trust him. And one or two of the local children jeered at Beth, who didn’t go into the village on her own because of that.

  What did Chapman hope to gain by fomenting hatred?

  Well, life was never perfect, was it? Surely this trouble would gradually die down when Chapman realised he was never going to get anywhere with his spurious claims?

  In late October, Gil’s mother at last came to visit. He sent Horry to fetch her in the motor car, and as he was helping her down, she complimented Horry on driving carefully, not like some of the mad mo
torists she’d seen.

  Horry grinned. ‘I like to stay alive too, Mrs Rycroft. And I like the people I drive to be comfortable.’ He tipped his cap to her and got back into the vehicle to take it round to the rear of the house.

  Mrs Rycroft turned to her son. ‘You’re looking even better than last time I saw you. Life here seems to agree with you.’

  Beth peeped at her from behind Gil.

  ‘And is this Elizabeth? My goodness, you’re growing. Come and give your grandmother a kiss, child.’

  But Beth hung back until Gil said, ‘We’ll both come and kiss you, Ma.’

  This diverted her, as he’d known it would.

  ‘How many times have I told you boys not to call me Ma?’ But her anger was feigned and she accepted his kiss, then let him lift Beth to kiss her too.

  ‘Go back to Miss Bramber now, Beth. You can come down and have tea with us later this afternoon.’

  His mother watched the child skip back into the house. ‘She’s looking a lot better.’

  ‘Yes. But she still has nightmares and worries if I go away.’

  His mother’s eyes grew bright with tears. ‘We all have nightmares about the Titanic, don’t we? But we mustn’t dwell on sad things. We can’t change the past.’

  When she was settled in the sitting room, she drank a cup of tea and commented on the work he’d had done to the house. Then she put her cup down and gave him that look. ‘Time to talk, Gil.’

  He didn’t need telling what she wanted to talk about: him marrying. ‘Now that you’ve seen how well Beth is doing, surely you can see I don’t need a wife?’

  ‘No, I can’t. That child needs a woman who will stay with her, preferably a lady, born and bred. A governess can leave at any time. And you surely want children of your own?’

  ‘Please, Mother, don’t hold me to that promise.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Gil, but it’s for your own good. I want to see you leading a normal life, not living as a recluse.’

  ‘I’m not living as a recluse. I have friends in the village and—’

  ‘Friends of your own class?’

  ‘One or two.’

  ‘Do the better class families round here have any eligible young women?’

  He couldn’t lie to her, so contented himself with shaking his head.

  ‘Then I shall expect you to spend next weekend at Merriton. Your father has recovered enough to enjoy social life again and I’ve invited a couple of other families.’

  ‘Not Amelia Frensham!’

  ‘No. She’s engaged to be married. You missed out there. Pity. She’d have made such a suitable wife for you.’

  ‘It’d be like marrying my sister. I couldn’t … treat her like a wife.’

  Cheeks a little pink, she said hastily, ‘Next weekend, from Friday until Monday morning.’

  ‘That’s too long to be away from Beth.’

  ‘You’ve assured me that the governess is an excellent woman, and there is Lizzie as well. I didn’t expect it, but she sounds to be a very suitable nursemaid, young as she is.’

  His mother fixed him with the stare that had all her men folk agreeing to do what she wanted, and he could do nothing but agree to join her weekend house party.

  Her voice softened. ‘I know you find your arm embarrassing, but you’re still a good-looking young man, and that built-up shoe really does help you walk more normally. You are more presentable than you realise.’

  He shook his head but didn’t protest.

  She didn’t raise the matter for the rest of her short visit, but concentrated on getting to know her granddaughter better and advising him on refurbishing the sitting room, which she said was too shabby for a gentleman’s residence.

  The following Friday morning he set off, driven by Horry, who had been coached by Walter on helping Gil look after his clothes and providing some of the services a gentleman needed.

  ‘It isn’t necessary, Walter. I’m quite capable of dealing with my own clothes and shaving myself.’

  ‘It is necessary, lad, if only to please your parents.’

  Gil hoped no one would realise how nervous he was. His parents gave no sign of noticing, and indeed, his father had his own problems since the seizure. One side of his mouth and one eye drooped slightly, and he couldn’t move at more than a slow walk.

  The other guests eyed Gil speculatively as he joined them in the drawing room. His heart sank as he saw who they were. Why hadn’t he asked before? He knew them very well, with their hunting-mad sons and their horsey daughters.

  He tried to do what was necessary, chatting about the weather, but falling silent when hunting or shooting was discussed because he’d lost his taste for killing animals he watched regularly from his windows.

  When they gathered after dinner to entertain themselves, he even managed to sing a duet with Susannah Overill, though he knew he had a very ordinary voice. Hers was ordinary too, but well trained, so he thought they managed quite well.

  He let out a sigh of relief when it was over and she smiled at him. ‘Nervous?’

  ‘I’m not a singer.’

  ‘Nor am I. But Mama insists.’

  He felt obliged to sit next to her on a sofa and saw his mother nodding approvingly, which tied his tongue in knots for a few moments.

  ‘How is your niece?’

  ‘Beth’s recovering slowly, but she still has nightmares.’

  ‘Poor little thing. But your mother says you have an excellent governess to look after her if she wakes.’

  In fact, he went in to Beth himself if she began crying during the night and usually got there before Miss Bramber, whose only fault was that she was a very sound sleeper. But he didn’t say that to Susannah. No doubt she’d let others bring up her children, as most ladies of his class did. How could he marry someone like that when he was discovering the joy of bringing up a young child?

  Later he was obliged to sit and chat to Belinda Hillier, a very lively young woman whose brothers he’d known for most of his life. ‘Thought you were engaged, Bel.’

  ‘No. I ended it. He turned out to have several faults I really couldn’t live with.’

  He blinked at this frankness, but it explained why a lovely young woman had been dragged down to Merriton to meet a cripple like him.

  ‘I’m going to be frank,’ she said suddenly. ‘I’ve met someone else, but my parents don’t consider him suitable. So don’t start thinking of courting me, Gil. It’s David or no one for me.’

  He tried not to let his relief show. ‘No offence meant, but I wasn’t going to start courting you. I don’t really want to get married, only Ma made me promise.’

  ‘Poor you. She’s a terror when she decides on something. My mother’s on a charity committee with her and if your mother decides to do something they all just say yes. Mother is terrified of upsetting her.’

  When the guests had gone after what seemed a very long weekend, his mother questioned him.

  ‘I can’t see myself with either of them,’ he said. ‘A man has to be able to …’ He flushed, not knowing how to phrase it, but determined to make her understand his difficulties.

  ‘Has to be able to bed a woman, do you mean?’

  He nodded, feeling hot under the collar to be discussing this with a woman, and that the woman was his mother made it ten times worse.

  She sat frowning, then asked bluntly, ‘Can you not bed a woman now?’

  He shrugged. ‘I think I can. But not … not women like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  He shrugged. ‘There has to be a spark, an attraction.’ For some reason he had a vivid memory of the young woman from Yew Tree Gardens. Why did he keep remembering her after only one meeting? It was ridiculous. ‘A willing body isn’t enough for me, I’m afraid, Mother.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, I shall keep trying until I find someone who does attract you. And I would be obliged if you would also look around and give these young women a fair chance. I shall not be … too fussy about her background if
you find someone yourself. Given the circumstances.’

  He started to speak, but she impaled him with that fierce gaze. ‘I shall not give up on this, Gilbert, and nor must you. You’ve promised and I’m holding you to your word.’

  His heart sank. For all his faults, he had never willingly broken a promise.

  When he got home, he confided in Walter, who sat thoughtfully, then said, ‘Your mother’s right, really. You’re too young to become a recluse and you’re so wonderful with that child, it’d be sad if you didn’t have children of your own.’

  ‘But the ladies my mother produces don’t attract me.’

  ‘Someone will turn up.’

  ‘I only have just over a year for that, so they’d better hurry.’

  1913

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mr Greaves dropped down dead in his office one morning in February. His lady typist ran screaming for help, but it was too late. He was quite dead.

  Everyone was shocked by this, because he was only sixty-four, but Mrs Tolson dealt firmly with any female member of staff who started to go into hysterics or used this as an excuse for neglecting her duties.

  ‘Mr Greaves wouldn’t want you to upset our customers,’ she kept saying. ‘He’d tell us to carry on as usual, and that’s all we can do for him now. He made this hotel what it is, had been manager here since the beginning. A fine life’s work.’

  The deputy manager took charge, but he was near retirement, and when someone asked him if he was going to become manager now, he shook his head. ‘I haven’t announced it yet, but I shall be retiring quite soon. Don’t worry, though. The Carlings always bear in mind the future needs of each hotel and they have several bright young men well trained and itching to take on a manager’s job.’

  The hotel didn’t close for the funeral, but Mrs Tolson and the deputy manager attended it, together with a representative from each area of the hotel. And of course, Mr Maurice Carling and his wife both came to London from Brighton for the occasion.

  They were older than Mr Greaves had been and were showing their age, each needing a walking stick and moving very slowly. It was their son who was now in charge of everything.