‘Of course we were too close,’ Lally confided to Eliza, who had driven over to see her. ‘Prosper allowed nothing to come between us. He was jealous of Roger, and I should have realised how he would feel about Alexander. However, Christmas wasn’t too bad.’
‘Isn’t it a little strange to adopt two children and expect your husband not to mind?’ Eliza leaned forward and made baby noises at the gurgling infant. ‘I can’t blame you for what you did. I would have done the same myself. He is a lovely little fellow, and gets lovelier all the time.’
‘Doesn’t he?’ Lally gazed dotingly at him. ‘I love him so much and, in time, I’m sure, dearest Prosper will too. He’s only a little jealous, and smothered him with presents at Christmas. It is a pity that we did not have a child of our own. That way he would have learned not to be so selfish. He is a man who from birth has always had his own way, been cosseted, deferred to, and never kept short of money. Even I at one time was a toy,’ –
her eyes glinted dangerously – ‘until he realised there was more to me than what he admired on the surface.’
With the maximum of fuss Lally tucked the warm blanket round Alexander in his crib and then, taking Eliza’s arm, walked with her to the window of the nursery. The beautiful countryside of Dorset stretched out before them with its valleys, fields and ridges tipped with stately trees. It was ideal riding country, and Dora had come over with Eliza in order to try a new pony Prosper had bought. Lally was a townswoman, nervous about country pursuits and unable to ride. Below them, now, Dora was slowly putting the pony through its paces, unaware of the two women gazing intently down at her.
‘I wonder what will become of Dora?’ Lally put her head on one side and gazed at Eliza. ‘Are you not worried about her?’
‘Because she hasn’t a husband?’ Eliza laughed good-humouredly. She was a woman who had kept her looks, Lally thought. Her dark hair was without a thread of silver, her skin healthy with the olive hue that gave her the look of a Spanish gypsy rather than the traditional English rose.
‘I would like my daughter to be married if she were...’ Lally put a finger thoughtfully to her chin ‘... let me see, how old is she now, Eliza? Twenty-six?’
‘Nearly twenty-seven,’ Eliza replied offhandedly. ‘I assure you, Lally, I don’t mind at all.’
‘You mean, you wouldn’t mind if she never married?’
‘No. Why should I, so long as she’s happy?’
‘And Julius doesn’t mind?’
‘Julius is not her father,’ Eliza replied. ‘What Ryder would think about it I am not sure, but I think that he would probably feel the same as I do. As long as Dora is happy, that’s what I care about, and she is. She loves her horses and dogs, her country pursuits.’
‘Dora will be most unhappy when Pelham’s Oak goes,’ Lally sighed. ‘She adores the stables there, as you did. But, of course, your own stables are superb, and she is welcome to come over to us as often as she wishes. Shall we go down and have a word with her?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Eliza clasped Lally’s arm. ‘What did you say about Pelham’s Oak? I think I must have misheard.’
‘Oh dear.’ Lally looked crestfallen. ‘I do hope I haven’t got the wrong end of the stick; but Prosper told me that there was nothing left from Margaret’s estate and he had suggested to Guy that the house should be sold.’
‘He suggested to Guy? When?’
‘It was just after Christmas.’ Lally began to look uncomfortable. ‘Oh dear, I feel I may have spoken out of turn. I assumed you knew. I was told Julius had insisted on it. That a possible purchaser was a nouveau-riche banker. Maybe they didn’t wish to worry you ... Eliza!’ Lally called after her as, without a word, her guest hurried to the door. ‘Where are you running off to?’
‘To have a word with my husband,’ Eliza called back angrily. ‘He must be party to all this. Prosper would never have acted alone. Julius is at home at the moment, but later he leaves for the Continent ...’
‘Oh dear, I wish I hadn’t ...’
But, with a wave, Eliza was gone, and shortly after, as she walked disconsolately down the staircase, Lally heard her car purring along the drive towards the gate.
Julius Heering was a man well pleased with what life had given him. After the death of his first wife there had been a time, inevitably, of loneliness and sadness, but he had compensated for this by hard work, which in time had returned dividends.
The Martyn-Heering empire, of which he was president, was one of the largest trading concerns in Europe. It had its own fleet of ships, its own bank, and a virtual monopoly of the spice trade with the Far East. It also imported gold and silver, precious stones, and more mundane materials such as cotton, hemp, tea and animal furs.
And then, to his good fortune and joy, Eliza had come into his life, only, at the time, she was happily married. After her husband was killed in an accident he had to wait a few years more and then, finally, obtained his heart’s desire and made her his wife.
After that, his cup was full. He had three step-children whom he liked, three step-grandchildren, and a beautiful house, Upper Park, with extensive gardens and greenhouses. As he grew older and could relax the burdens of high office, Julius became more and more fond of horticulture and began to specialise in the cultivation of rare botanical specimens, some of which came from the East and had to be cared for under glass.
Thus most days of the week when he was at home Julius could be found in one of his heated greenhouses, lovingly tending his delicate, unique plants, many of which were brought over by his ships after being traced by overseas specialists constantly on the lookout for him.
London had not the fascination for Eliza that it had for Lally, so there was no Heering town house. When he was there alone, Julius stayed at his club, and when they were together they stayed at a hotel, usually the Carlton in the Haymarket or Claridges in Brook Street.
Julius was busy in his greenhouse when he saw the car, with Dora at the wheel, come up the drive. He gave a grunt of pleasure and, putting the species he was attempting to propagate to one side and collecting his pipe, went to the door of the greenhouse and waved; but they didn’t see him. They were in earnest conversation and Eliza, in particular, seemed agitated about something.
Julius stood at the door, lighting his pipe. He never hurried.
He thought it was unlike Eliza to seem so excited. After an impetuous youth she was the calmest, most philosophical of women; he prided himself, in fact, that she had grown to be almost as phlegmatic as a Dutchwoman. He strolled along the path towards the lawn in front of the house, by which time Eliza had seen him and hurried over to him.
‘Julius!’ she called when she was still a way off. ‘I want a word with you, urgently, if you please.’
‘Certainly, my dear,’ he said and, as she approached him, he attempted to encircle her waist with his free arm, but she brushed it away.
‘Not here, please, Julius! Let’s go inside. It’s freezing.’
She then hurried ahead of him while Dora, poised still at the wheel of the car, watched them.
‘Dora drives well?’Julius asked, attempting to catch Eliza up.
‘Very well.’
‘I must buy her a car of her own.’
Eliza said nothing, but rushed up the steps of the house and into the hall, where a maid was waiting to take her coat and hat.
‘And please bring some coffee into the drawing-room,’ she instructed him.
She then turned her attention to Julius, who was gazing at her in some bewilderment. Dressed in his gardening clothes, with his old pipe in his mouth, his grizzled Dutch features making him seem cold and remote, he could have passed for the gardener. His pipe was now cold and, sticking it in his pocket, he ambled after his wife, who was standing by the fire, her hands outstretched towards the flames.
‘Goodness, it is cold, even for the time of year,’ she said, glancing up as he came towards her.
‘How was Lally? You look terribly upset. S
omething wrong?’
‘There is something wrong,’ she replied acidly, ‘but not with Lally or the baby. It’s what I heard there today, Julius, that made me hurry back to see you.’
‘And what is that, my dear?’ He didn’t try to touch her again, but eased himself into a chair and began to take off his boots, which were dry but dusty.
‘I have heard that Prosper has suggested to Guy, at your insistence, that he puts Pelham’s Oak on the market. If so, you must deliberately have concealed this from me. Please tell me I am wrong, Julius?’
For a moment or two Julius said nothing, but went on easing his boots from his feet. When that was done he wriggled his toes in his hand-knitted grey socks and then he reached slowly for his pipe again, like a baby reaching for its comforter. This delaying procedure always irritated Eliza but with difficulty she restrained her impatience.
‘In a way you are wrongly informed, Eliza.’ He looked up at her at last. ‘I do know, but I have not insisted Guy sell the house. I didn’t mention it to you because nothing is settled.’
‘Well, thank heaven for that.’ Eliza relaxed and gave a sigh of relief as the maid came in with a silver coffee-pot on a tray. Another maid followed behind with cups, biscuits on a plate, cream and a bowl of sugar.
‘Just put it down, I’ll see to it, thank you.’ Eliza dismissed the servants with a smile which vanished as soon as they had left the room, and then she went to the table to pour.
‘Coffee, Julius?’
‘I think I’ll have a schnapps,’ he said. ‘I feel I may need it.’ And, rising, he went over to the table where a range of bottles bore witness to his catholicity of taste; but chief among his favourites was Dutch sloe gin which was brewed by an offshoot of the Heerings in Holland.
‘Now, if you’d kindly explain, Julius,’ Eliza said, sitting down. She wore a cardigan-suit and sensible shoes, as she had thought that she and Dora might take a walk. Despite what she told Lally, she was a little worried about Dora’s future. For a woman, even a wealthy one, spinsterhood was a bleak prospect, and Dora was not wealthy. Everything she had she got from Julius. Eliza watched her husband over the rim of the cup, observing that he’d helped himself to quite a generous measure of the Dutch fire-water.
The unease she’d felt all the way home recurred.
‘My dear.’ Julius sat down again and stretched his feet in front of him, wriggling his toes. ‘I think you know that when my sister married your brother, he had no money.’
‘Of course I know it,’ she snapped.
‘He had none at all, and there was the possibility then that the house might have to be sold.’
‘It was considered, I believe.’
‘Margaret brought a fortune to the Woodville family, and over the years Guy got through every penny.’
‘Oh, that’s not fair,’ Eliza protested, placing her coffee cup on a table and getting up. ‘The money went on the estate. On their children ...’
‘And on Guy’s other interests. I won’t specify them.’
‘Such as?’ Eliza raised her eyebrows but Julius shook his head.
‘I’d prefer not to say. But for years Guy got through an enormous amount of money. However ...’
Julius, looking as though he was recovering his confidence, began to light his long Dutch pipe and sucked away at it for a time.
‘Before George was born, and after he realised what sort of man Guy was – that is, an irresponsible spendthrift – my father in his wisdom restructured Margaret’s financial status. He was helped by the eventual passage in England of the Married Woman’s Property Act, which enabled her to keep her own fortune. Only, in the settlement, my father arranged matters so that, in the event that Margaret should die before Guy, which seemed possible as she was older, her estate would revert to the Heerings who, of course, would see to the welfare of the children should they not have grown up. After the age of twenty-one they were deemed old enough to be on their own, although each would inherit a little money when they came of age.
‘And that, my dear, is what has happened. Guy is free of debt, thanks to Margaret, but I understand he has no capital, no investments and no savings. His debts will mount again. Carson, as you know, we tried to help, but instead of gratitude he attempted to steal from our company; bite the generous hands that had fed him.’
‘I never believed that,’ Eliza said indignantly. ‘My nephew’s no thief.’
‘The evidence was pretty damning, I’m afraid. He was very lucky we didn’t prosecute him. It was only because he was family that we didn’t.’
‘There is a hard side to you, Julius,’ Eliza said slowly, gazing at him. ‘I’m only beginning to see it now.’
‘Please don’t think that, my dear.’ Julius lowered his voice. ‘I am not a hard man, you of all people should know that; but I am a man of business. I am responsible for a great deal of other people’s money and I also have a duty to the Heerings who, unlike the Woodvilles, have always husbanded their money and conducted their financial affairs with wisdom and acumen. In fact they do not need all the money that reverts to them from the death of our dear sister; but I have no intention of letting Guy have it. It will go to many deserving charities.’
With that, he joined his hands across his stomach and, pipe still in his mouth, puffed defiantly away, staring at Eliza as if to challenge her to argue with him. After a moment’s contemplation she rose from her chair and wandered across the gracious, elegant room, pausing every now and then to finger the various ornaments and objets d’art scattered on the tables. None of them had been hers. None of this was hers. Occasionally she felt like a visitor.
‘Guy does not deserve this, Julius,’ she said at last, turning to him.
‘And why not, pray?’
‘Because he has never understood money. He left that to you and Prosper, and he trusted you.’
‘My dear, we made it very clear over the years that Margaret’s money was not Guy’s. In the beginning it was, but not for long. The Act changed all that. I agree that as he got older he settled down and spent less; but he had still wasted a fortune, and would have gone on wasting it, as far as I can see, throwing most of it away, probably on that good-for-nothing Carson. Prosper was good enough to suggest that Carson should think of joining the army. He is an adventurous lad, a wonderful horseman. He has some assets, and was clearly not cut out to be a banker.
We would have bought him a commission and helped him to settle. And what did he say?’
‘He said “no”, I suppose,’ Eliza observed with a slight smile. ‘I can’t really see Carson settling to the disciplined life of a soldier.’
‘Well, that is his affair.’ Julius shrugged. ‘Frankly, I can’t see him settling to anything, whereas Roger...’ Julius paused and began to pack more tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. ‘Roger is to be made a junior partner on his marriage. Roger is the complete opposite of Carson. He is hard-working, polite, truthful, loyal. He has a touch of genius when it comes to business, and he doesn’t like to spend his time thwarting and opposing people. He is to marry a very nice girl of whom we all approve, and who is also, incidentally, an heiress. You could hardly have two more different men.’
‘Roger and Carson are different, but I think you’re straying away from the point, Julius. That is, I am most disturbed about what is to happen to my brother, every bit as much as I am about losing our family home. In your own logical, unemotional Dutch way it all sounds very reasonable, no doubt. But for me, to see my brother – who, in the end, loved your sister and appreciated everything she had done for him – in this situation ... It’s terrible. His nerves are weak. He is not a well man, and I think the shock of disposing of the family home might kill him.’
‘Well, I don’t.’ Julius stood up and went and helped himself to more schnapps. ‘I think Guy is very hardy, and Carson likewise. You are over-indulgent about your brother, and most of what is wrong with him is the consequence of drinking too much, a failing he has never succeeded in curing
himself of. Many families who do not husband their wealth, or extend it in some way, have to give up something. The Woodvilles have no “divine right” to keep Pelham’s Oak if they cannot afford it.’
‘But a Woodville, one of my ancestors, built it.’
‘I see the family pride is still very strong in you, my dear,’ Julius sighed. ‘Well, I’m very sorry. I truly am.’
‘Of course it’s strong in me.’ Eliza walked restlessly over to him and stood in front of him, hands on her hips. ‘I am a Woodville, Pelham’s Oak is my birthplace. I believe you are to offer it to some member of the newly rich, some business crony of yours, doubtless, who will use it to flaunt his wealth.’
‘I do not know who will be the ultimate purchaser of Pelham’s Oak,’ Julius said loftily. ‘Nor have I any interest in the matter; but if he is “new” money, what is wrong with that? The Martyns and the Heerings were once new money, and so, even if it was very long ago, were the Woodvilles, ennobled for mercenary service to the king.
‘What is wrong with money honestly made with honest toil? If a man wants to use it to improve his status, by all means let him. Many in this country have done so. I have time for them; but none at all for the decayed members of the aristocracy who rest on laurels they never earned themselves, and spend fortunes they no longer have.’
Then, beginning to look as annoyed as his wife, Julius stalked from the room.
Little Ruth Woodville was her grandfather’s darling only now she was not so little but almost six years old, and Deborah was eight. They were taught at home by their mother, but the time was soon approaching when they would have to go to school. There were a number of good schools in the area, but the distance even then was several miles each way every day, and a decision would have to be made about sending them eventually to boarding-school.
Guy couldn’t bear to think about this, and Sophie was reluctant too. The children had had a number of changes in their young lives and who could tell what effect these would have on them? It was true that, for them and for her, the months they had spent at Pelham’s Oak had so far been the happiest since the death of George. At last they felt settled and secure, and there were the attractions of a large house with plenty of space to move about in after the cramped, Spartan quarters of the mission house, or the tiny cottage in Wenham next to the church with no bathroom and an outside lavatory.
The Rector's Daughter (Part Two of The People of this Parish Saga) Page 23