To My Dear Niece

by Hilda Nickson

  “Of course. What else?” He was still puzzled. “Do I—er—take it your aunt left you a sufficiently large sum of money to pay for its upkeep?”

  Vanessa laughed shortly. “No, as of this moment she hasn’t.”

  “Good lord! Then what on earth are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know yet,” she told him cheerfully. “I haven’t had time to think.” It was useless telling him of the sum of money left in trust for her, she thought. She might never get it, not knowing the conditions under which she would be entitled to it.

  Miles looked at her curiously. “But it’s terrible, really, leaving you this great house with the grounds in such an appalling condition; no money to do anything about it. Just think of the heating too, in the winter.”

  “Winter is at least six months away,” Vanessa told him. “Now I’ve recovered from the first shock, I regard it as a challenge.”

  Miles shook his head. “That’s all very well, Vanessa, but you have to be practical.”

  “I will be,” she assured him. “But let me offer you a cup of coffee.”

  He thanked her and followed her into the big, old-fashioned kitchen.

  “You’re not alone in the house, are you?” he queried as he watched the preparations.

  She told him about Nancy. “She’s probably in her room. If she comes down, I’ll introduce you.”

  “Is she staying on with you?”

  She nodded. “Aunt Maud left her a legacy. We talked things over earlier this evening after I’d come back from seeing the lawyer. She wants to remain as before and make this her home. In return for a couple of rooms, she’ll support herself and help with the work of the house. An ideal arrangement.”

  Miles shook his head. “You mean your aunt has actually left a sum of money to her—and not to you, her own “flesh and blood” as they say? It sounds monstrous to me.”

  “It isn’t at all,” Vanessa answered. “In fact it would have been appropriate if my aunt had left Puck’s Hill to her instead of to me.”

  Miles gave her a long look. “You know, Vanessa, you’re an extremely generous person. In fact, you’re quite a girl. The only thing I’m afraid of is some people taking advantage of your good nature.”

  “Such as—whom?” she queried.

  “Well, Ian Hamilton. I bet he’s already made some kind of approach about your selling Puck’s Hill.”

  She laughed briefly. “He has, as a matter of fact. I ran into him outside the lawyer’s office.”

  “What?” Miles Kendal gave a sound of derision. “I knew it. And don’t tell me that your running into him was accidental. It’s my guess he knew you’d be seeing the lawyer this morning and was hanging around waiting for you to appear. He probably asked you out to lunch, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  Vanessa’s eyes widened. “I must say you’re making some very accurate guesses. He didn’t look very surprised to see me and did take me out to lunch, as a matter of fact. But don’t worry about Puck’s Hill. I shall never sell it—and I told Ian so.” She picked up the coffee tray, and Miles followed her to the other room.

  “I’m glad you made it plain to him, anyway. But tell me; was it laid down in the will that you mustn’t?” he asked.

  She was interrupted by a knock at the front door, so excused herself to answer it. It was Freda.

  “I came to say how pleased I am that you’re staying on at Puck’s Hill,” she said.

  “That’s kind of you. Come on in. You’re just in time for a cup of coffee.”

  Vanessa led her into the small sitting room. “You two do know each other, don’t you?” she asked.

  Freda looked very surprised to see Miles there. They both nodded. Miles looked oddly amused.

  “Miles came to offer his condolences,” Vanessa explained to Freda. “I suppose your brother told you my news?”

  “Yes, he did. But if I’d known you had someone with you, I’d have come another time.”

  “Don’t mind me,” Miles said. “I shall be pushing off pretty soon, anyway.”

  There was a rather strained silence. Vanessa sensed that the other two had no great liking for each other.

  After a while, Freda turned to Vanessa. “I suppose it’s too soon for you to have any ideas as to what you’re going to do with the place?”

  Miles sipped his coffee. “Maybe she’s just going to live in it. I forgot to ask, Vanessa—and I’m sure you won’t mind. Have you by any chance a private income of your own?”

  She shook her head. “Enough to live on for about another week, that’s all.”

  “Good grief!” he said expressively.

  “If I’m any judge,” Freda said, “Vanessa won’t be content just to ‘live in it’.”

  “But what else, for heaven’s sake? You’re not suggesting she should take in lodgers?”

  Vanessa laughed. “Maybe I’ll start a fruit farm or something.”

  “First get rid of the weed,” Miles told her, “—And that’ll cost a fortune in chemical weed-killer.”

  Vanessa frowned and made no reply. Even if she could afford a chemical weed-killer, she couldn’t possibly use one when her aunt was so much against them. She didn’t know what the answer was at the present moment, but she did not want to start a discussion—possibly an argument—with Miles. Freda, she noticed, was saying nothing on the subject. But Miles was looking at Vanessa questioningly, so she had to answer him.

  “Maybe I’ll team up with Joe Simpkins in digging them out by hand,” she said with a laugh. “After all, ‘if seven maids with seven mops’—” she quoted.

  “Yes, and that’s just about the size of it,” Miles said emphatically. “Like seven maids with seven mops trying to sweep the seashore free of sand. I tell you, Vanessa, without money you’ve got a pretty near impossible task here.”

  “Have some more coffee, Miles,” was Vanessa’s answer.

  But Miles shook his head. “I must be going, but I hope you’ll let me visit again.”

  “Of course.”

  Vanessa excused herself to Freda and showed Miles out. “Thanks for dropping in. It was nice of you,” she said sincerely.

  He grinned. “Pity we were interrupted.” Then he paused for a moment before he went on, “I—er—should watch out for Freda, if I were you. She’s a nice enough girl, but—well, she does tend to echo her brother. She’ll probably act as his—sort of emissary.”

  “With what object?” she asked quietly.

  “Well, you know. He wants this place. Oh, neither of them will ask you right out, but they’ll try to con you in various ways, you’ll see.”

  But Vanessa couldn’t accept that entirely. She felt sure Freda was genuinely trying to be friendly. She gave a light-hearted laugh.

  “Well, thanks for the warning, anyway.”

  “When can I see you again?” he asked, his hand on the door handle of his car.

  “I don’t know. I think I’m going to be pretty busy. Just drop in when you’re passing.”

  “Thanks, I will—and maybe we can go for a drive some time, or have an evening out in town.”

  “That would be nice—but I’d better go now because of Freda.”

  Freda had stepped outside into the garden. “Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Vanessa said.

  “That’s all right. I only hope I didn’t intrude too much.”

  “Of course not.”

  But Freda obviously had something on her mind. “Do you like Miles Kendal?” she asked.

  Vanessa shrugged. “Well enough. Why do you ask?”

  Freda frowned. “I should be wary of him if I were you.”

  Vanessa almost laughed aloud—two people using almost the same words to warn her off the other!

  “What makes you say that?” she asked.

  “Didn’t you know? He’s a property developer. He’s hoping to buy Puck’s Hill at a giveaway price.”

  Vanessa could no longer hide her feeling of amusement.

  “What’s the joke?” asked Freda.<
br />
  “Well, he says that Ian wants to buy it; that he’s already made my aunt an offer.”

  Freda drew an angry breath. “Yes, he has, but only because—” Then she broke off. “I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business. Ian would be furious if he knew I’d so much as mentioned it. Let’s talk about something else, shall we?”

  “As you like.”

  So Miles Kendal and Ian Hamilton were business rivals, concluded Vanessa. Both wanted to buy Puck’s Hill. For a moment she did not know whether she was amused, angry, or hurt. Neither had been really honest with her. Miles least of all.

  “What on earth will you do with all this weed?” Freda was saying, a note of despair in her voice as she glanced around the grounds.

  Vanessa shook her head and looked at it; growing from the earth like monster rhubarb with its thick, fleshy stalks, huge umbrella-like leaves, more and more fronds uncurling both at the base and up the stalk. Wild rhubarb she used to call it as a child.

  “Dig it up, I suppose, little by little,” she answered. Freda shook her head. “Really, Vanessa, you’re as bad as your Aunt Maud!”

  “Maybe,” Vanessa answered laconically.

  Freda glanced at her swiftly. “Vanessa, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “That’s all right, I know you were only joking,” Vanessa told her. “All the same, I do have a loyalty to Aunt Maud. I wouldn’t like to do anything she’d disapprove of. I shall just have to feel my way. After all, there are parts of the garden free of this stuff. I don’t know whether chemical weed-killers harm the birds or not, but in any case I couldn’t afford to use them.”

  “No, I suppose not,” murmured Freda.

  Conversation flagged after that. Vanessa wanted to be alone to think things out, and make plans. Freda seemed ill at ease, so Vanessa was not sorry when she departed Nancy was in the kitchen washing up the coffee cups. “You shouldn’t have done those,” Vanessa told her. “I don’t want you waiting on me.”

  Nancy smiled. “I’m not waiting on you, am I? Only washing up.”

  Vanessa picked up a cloth to dry them. “We must have a talk, Nancy, you and I—make plans.”

  “I thought we’d had our talk, Miss Vanessa. Any other plans you make will suit me.”

  “Well, to begin with, you must stop calling me ‘Miss’. You’re not my servant. Just call me Vanessa.”

  “All right, if that’s what you want. But if I were you, I wouldn’t try to make too many plans tonight. Leave it until morning.”

  “But I can’t stop various things from running around in my mind. What I was thinking was, if you’re going to pay your way here as you want to, then you must have Aunt Maud’s little sitting room for yourself. The thing is, would you Find the housework too much on your own?”

  “Good heavens, no, Miss—I mean. Vanessa. I know the place was in a pretty bad state when you arrived, but then I had your Aunt Maud to look after. She wasn’t very demanding, but I used to spend quite a bit of time in her room. Why do you ask? You’re not going away, I hope?” Vanessa shook her head. “It’s just that I shall probably be spending a good deal of my time outside. I must do something to start earning some money.”

  “Such as?” queried Nancy with a sidelong glance. “I hope you’re not reneging on what we said earlier this evening. If I’m going to carry on as before and do the housekeeping, I can surely buy food for the two of us. Your aunt left me enough money to keep both you and me put together for the rest of our lives.”

  Vanessa gave her a grateful hug and said no more. But she could not live on Nancy’s legacy indefinitely.

  While it was still light Vanessa had a good walk around the garden area and the rest of the grounds. There was the large barn which had possibilities. Its only purpose at the moment, apart from housing a few garden tools, was to provide a nesting place for the many swallows that came regularly every year. In the past Aunt Maud had sometimes given parties in it for the village children. Vanessa stood and regarded the place. It was big enough to hire for village dances—bingo, too, whether or not one approved of such a futile pastime. It was worth considering.

  Quite close to the barn was a large greenhouse. She was reminded of the one at home; bright with pot plants. Perhaps she could make money by raising plants from seeds and selling them. But she had no money to buy glass for the many broken windows; and in the winter she would have to buy fuel for the heating. It was all very difficult.

  What had Aunt Maud expected her to do with Puck’s Hill except just live in it? It was only with the greatest difficulty that Vanessa ploughed a way through the weeds which choked the grounds beyond the small area of garden. On one side, separating the grounds from the road which ran through the village was a high wall. Along the surface grew Virginia creeper, ivy and other evergreens. At intervals there were trees: great oaks, chestnuts, sycamores, and a large number of common beech. On the opposite side was a wide ditch and hawthorn hedge, and at the lower end which bordered on Ian Hamilton’s land was a straggling line of Scots pines—self-seeded from the Colonel’s woods.

  Vanessa went as near the boundary as she could, half expecting to see Ian himself strolling beneath the trees with a gun in his hand; the typical squire who idled his time “huntin’, fishin’ and all that.” Dusk was falling now, however, and she could not see very well, but it looked as though considerable clearing was being done. She wondered why.

  When she went indoors again. Vanessa wrote to Hester asking her to pack her clothes and other personal belongings and send them to her; and also to her parents telling them about Aunt Maud’s bequest and her decision to make Puck’s Hill her home.

  She concluded that the only thing she could do which was not going to cost money, was to work outside. So the following morning after tidying her room, she went in search of Aunt Maud’s gardener, Joe Simpkins. She found him about to start mowing the small lawn at the back of the house. He was a man of about 40 and looked tough enough for anything. She said good morning to him and told him that she was now the owner of Puck’s Hill and would be living there.

  “I take it you’re willing to stay on?” she asked him. Nancy had offered to pay his wages for the time being.

  “Certainly I am,” he told her. “I’ve worked for your aunt ever since I was 16, an’ it suits me fine. I’ve got my own bit of garden where I grow my vegetables and so forth. My wife does three days a week at the Lodge, so we manage fine.”

  She explained to him briefly the necessity of earning money in some way.

  “I haven’t made any definite plans yet,” she told him, “except perhaps to rent the barn for various purposes, but the first problem is to get rid of some of this weed. Maybe you’ll help me to clean out the barn one day when it’s too wet to work in the garden.”

  But at the mention of the weed. Joe had started slowly shaking his head.

  “You’ll never get rid of all that stuff without weedkiller, miss. I’ve been trying for years, but it’s futile. Your aunt—”

  “Yes, yes, I know—the birds. But in any case the cost of weed-killers would run into hundreds of pounds—and I just haven’t got hundreds of pounds. So together, you and I will just get digging—if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind. I’m used to it, and while I’m doing one job I can’t go doing another. But what about you, miss? It’s much too heavy work for you. The roots of these things go deep.”

  “I’m used to hard work, too. You are speaking to a fellow gardener, Mr. Simpkins. I’ve been doing little else for the past two years. So I’m afraid the lawn and the flower beds will have to be neglected for a little while until we can afford more help.”

  He shrugged. “Just as you say, Miss Woodrow, but don’t call me Mister. My name’s Joe.”

  “Right, Joe.”

  He produced a spare spade, but she found uprooting the obstinate weed to be hard and tiring work. Warm work too, as the sun was now blazing down. After about an hour and a half Vanessa felt as though her back was brea
king. She was thinking longingly of a cup of coffee and a short rest when she heard Nancy call out. When she turned, she saw Ian Hamilton standing there watching her.

  “You look busy,” he said unnecessarily.

  She felt in the pocket of her jeans for a handkerchief with which to wipe the perspiration from her face, but couldn’t find one. Up to now she had simply used the back of her hand. With what seemed like a cynical smile, Ian took a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her.

  “Clean this morning. Unused.”

  She hesitated momentarily, then as she felt a trickle of moisture run down her nose, she thanked him and mopped her face.

  Nancy was setting out a small wicker table and two garden chairs under the shade of a sycamore.

  “Coffee’s ready. Miss Vanessa!” she called out.

  “Thank you, Nancy.” She noticed that the older woman had called her Miss once more. By force of habit, or because of Ian Hamilton’s presence? But for whatever reason Vanessa said nothing for the moment. “Would you care for a cup of coffee?” she asked Ian politely.

  “Thanks. That would be very nice.”

  She had half expected him to decline and wondered why he had called. But she led the way to the chairs and sat down thankfully.

  Ian regarded her in speculative silence for a moment or two, then remarked, “You’re doing a very noble job of work there.”

  She sighed. “I don’t see anything ‘noble’ about it. It’s a first essential.”

  Vaguely, she knew she was deliberately misunderstanding him. She had the feeling he had been trying to be complimentary, but somehow she simply could not stop herself from feeling faintly antagonistic toward him. She was wondering why, when Nancy brought the coffee—all set out on a tray for Ian’s benefit, Vanessa did not doubt. She and Nancy did not usually bother with such formalities.

  “You’ve only brought two cups, Nancy,” she said, glancing at the tray. “Mr. Hamilton is joining us.”