To My Dear Niece

by Hilda Nickson

  “So I did, but circumstances might lead me to change my mind, mightn’t they?”

  She was not serious. She had no intention of ever breaking her promise to Aunt Maud. She was not quite sure what was making her say these things, except some inexplicable desire to provoke him.

  His mouth hardened. He put down his cup and rose to his feet.

  “Well, if you do happen to change your mind, perhaps you’d be good enough to let me know, or at any rate to put it on the open market; not let any Tom, Dick or Harry of a property developer have first chance.”

  “I would choose carefully, I promise you,” she told him.

  “Thanks for the tea,” he said stiffly. “If you’ll excuse me, I must be going.”

  He strode away without waiting for her to see him out. Vanessa sighed and stood with her arms crossed, each hand gripping the other tightly. What on earth was the matter with her? What had made her goad him in that way? Why pretend she might sell when she had no intention of doing so? She had not even entertained the idea that one day she might be forced to, if she could not earn enough money to maintain the place.

  Then she told herself it was the way he had talked: telling her how practical she was, that she wasn’t the kind of person to allow sentiment to influence her decisions, that her aunt would never want to bind her to anything. What had he meant by “anything”? Had he guessed that Aunt Maud had extracted a promise from her? She had found out one thing anyway. He still wanted to buy the house.

  But although she justified herself, she went about for the rest of the day feeling very ragged and at odds with life.

  After tea she began looking at the books in the library. It had occurred to her that she could use this room as her office or study. But it would need redecorating before she could feel really happy in it. She was not sure that she liked these floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The stern, heavily-bound volumes towered above her intimidatingly. She would prefer low bookshelves containing bright, friendly-looking books backed by pale walls and perhaps wall lighting.

  The books on the lower shelves were mainly classics—Dickens, Shakespeare, Thackeray, Walter Scott. These would rub shoulders quite happily with the books of more modern authors. There were a great many books on birds. These too she would keep. Those on the top shelves for which she had to climb on a stepladder, were frowning, dusty volumes of the history of the Crimea, the Boer War, the Great War. All very interesting, no doubt, if one had the time to plow through them. Vanessa felt sure there were collectors of such books who could put them to far better use than she ever would. There was little point in letting them remain forever where they were gathering dust.

  She was glancing once more along the shelf containing the books on natural history and birds when she came across a book on plants. She reached for it eagerly and flicked over the pages, walking over to the window. Then all at once her attention was riveted by a drawing. It was of a plant called the Heracleum mantegazzianum or Giant Hogweed.

  It was the weed Aunt Maud had in her garden.

  Vanessa turned over the page to find the script. largest umbelliferous plant in the world. Habitat, Caucasus. She read on. It was a biennial, so took two years to reach maturity. It grew from ten to 15 feet high—that was Aunt Maud’s weed all right. Its sap could cause a rash on some people, sometimes taking the form of blisters. Involuntarily Vanessa looked at her hands. But fortunately, she was in the habit of wearing gloves for heavy gardening work. Naturally, the book gave no hints on how to get rid of the weed.

  Vanessa sat back in the chair and tried to think. Like most weeds, it flowered, seeded and propagated itself by the seeds falling when they were ripe. If one dealt with the weeds before they flowered, this served to control them. But if one simply cut off the heads they would go on producing more flowers and seeds in an effort to propagate themselves. But cutting off the seed or flower heads could act as a sort of first aid measure. Yes, that was the first thing. None of these weeds must be allowed to flower and seed. Those which were not seeding would be first year plants which would flower next year. They were the ones which should be uprooted this year. Approached this way, the solution to the problem sounded simple. Joe, of course, had not identified the weed. Few people would, as it was not very common, and Aunt Maud had not bothered her head about it. Killing even an obnoxious weed was not in her nature. Vanessa remembered she would never even have flowers in the house because it was “unkind” to cut them or break them off. But in Vanessa’s view these weeds were choking the very existence out of other plants and flowers. Like the bullies and dictators of life, they would take over completely if nobody had the courage to fight them.

  By sundown the rain had cleared. The following morning, the air was dry and warm. Vanessa was explaining to Joe her discovery about the giant hogweed when to her surprise Freda drove up in her station wagon accompanied by Ian and two other men. The men immediately began unloading squares of glass from the back. Freda lowered her window.

  “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

  Vanessa went toward them. “Hello, there! Nice to see you.” Feeling guilty because of her rudeness to Ian the previous evening, her gaze slid past Freda to include him in a smile. “I’ve been discovering things about this weed,” she told him.

  Ian inclined his head. “Such as?”

  “Won’t you come in and have a coffee, both of you. I’ll show you where I found it,” she said, still feeling penitent.

  Freda and Ian exchanged a glance. “We haven’t come to take up your valuable time,” Freda said. “And we’ve just had breakfast, as I suppose you have. Actually, we thought you could use some extra help, but we don’t want to intrude, if you’d rather not have us around.”

  Vanessa’s conscience smote her harder than ever. “Oh, Freda, how can you say such a thing? I’m always pleased to see you. But as for using extra help, I can’t keep trespassing on your good natures.”

  Freda grinned. “Say no more! Just tell us what you want us to do. Come on, Ian.”

  They got out of the car. “What have you been Finding out about this weed, then?” he asked.

  She told him, but as she was quite unable to remember the Latin name for it, still less pronounce it, she brought the book from the library and showed them the illustration and text.

  “That’s it all right,” Ian pronounced. “And from what it says about the sap you’d better wear gloves when you handle it.”

  “I’ve brought some anyway,” Freda said. “You and the men haven’t, though, have you?”

  “Well, neither they nor I need actually handle it,” said Ian. “If we do the digging, you girls can pick it up and stack it ready for burning; that would be the best thing.” Vanessa simply could not help the thought that he was like a foreman giving orders, but she did not want to say anything to offend him when he and Freda were being so helpful.

  Ian was watching her face. “What’s the matter? Have you got some other ideas?”

  “I have, as a matter of fact,” she answered. “I’d thought it a good idea to go around with some shears and cut the flowering or seeding heads off before they ripen and fall. That will at least save new plants from springing up next year.”

  “All right,” Ian said as if giving his permission. “But watch out for that sap. And start at the far end of the grounds away from where the men and myself are working. For one thing there’s no point in cutting off the heads of those we’ll be digging up. For another, the sappy ends will probably dry out if left for another day.”

  He dropped the book onto the low table and strode out purposefully.

  “By the way,” Freda said as she and Vanessa followed him. “Congratulations on finding the little nest-egg your Aunt Maud left for you. I imagine it will make all the difference.”

  Vanessa admitted that it would. “At least I shall be sure of being able to pay the taxes and electricity bills for a year or so.”

  “And maybe get a phone?” suggested Freda.

  “Perhaps,”
agreed Vanessa.

  In less than no time at all Ian and one of the men, along with Joe were digging away at the weeds while Ian’s other man began putting panes of glass in the greenhouse. Armed with a pair of shears and a short-handled scythe, Freda and Vanessa began slicing off the flowering and seeding heads.

  “Ian and I were wondering whether you’d like to join a club that we’re members of,” Freda said as they worked. “We meet once a month and have the occasional party.”

  “What sort of club?” queried Vanessa.

  “It’s a Foresters’. There’s a fair amount of forestry in the area, as you know. Ian is a forester, so—”

  “Is he?” asked Vanessa curiously.

  “Why, yes, didn’t you know?”

  “How should I? I did notice the other evening that some clearance had been done on your side of the fence, but it was getting dark.”

  “You must have a meal with us and see around the place. Why not make it Sunday lunch? You have to take a little break some time,” she added, seeing Vanessa’s hesitation.

  “Yes, I—suppose so. It’s just that I’m anxious to get the greenhouse into production. But perhaps we can talk later.”

  She moved in the opposite direction to Freda. As she grasped the tops of the hogweed and slashed at them before dropping them on the ground, it occurred to her that it would save time and a second handling if she and Freda dropped them into boxes or cartons as they went along. Then they could fill the wheelbarrow and take them to a central place for burning afterward. So she went inside the house and brought some of the cartons Aunt Maud had hoarded in the attic.

  When she went outside again, she glanced over to the men and involuntarily, she stood and stared.

  Surprisingly, following yesterday’s rain, the sun was hot. Ian stripped off both his shirt and pants and was clad only in a pair of shorts and thick-soled canvas shoes. His back and arms were bronzed to a smooth, even tan; his muscles firm and strong. Lost in sheer admiration of the man’s physique, Vanessa’s gaze traveled to his equally brown legs whose calf muscles looked as hard as iron. She had never seen such a fine specimen of masculinity. She let out a sigh and gave herself a mental shake.

  Such a smooth even tan with no lines of demarcation at all could have only been acquired by continuous and prolonged sunbathing—possibly on some beach. In all probability he’d been a rich playboy before he bought, or inherited the Lodge, she told herself contemptuously.

  But as she worked, she could not prevent her gaze from straying in his direction from time to time.

  “Cuts quite a fine figure, my brother, doesn’t he?” Freda said at once with a mischievous smile.

  “He’s certainly very tanned,” Vanessa answered as carelessly as she could. “Where did he get it? The Mediterranean?”

  Freda laughed. “Good heavens, no! Working mostly. Ian always strips like that when it’s warm, and he’s doing any outdoor work.”

  Once again Vanessa was put in the wrong about Ian Hamilton. She did not like it one bit.

  By lunch time quite a large area had been tackled, the unrooted hogweed lying limp and defeated in the sun. Freda had brought enough sandwiches and fruit with her to feed an army. Nancy laid a table under the shade of the sycamore, adding a great bowl of fresh crisp lettuce and early tomatoes, smelling and tasting wonderful. She explained that she had bought them from a neighbor who had his own greenhouse.

  “I think I might grow some another year,” Vanessa mused. “I grew them at home. They’re not much trouble when you’re around all day to look after them.”

  “You mean instead of plants?” queried Ian.

  “No, I was thinking of a second greenhouse. And when the tomatoes were finished, I could use it for chrysanthemums.”

  Freda laughed. “You talk like a real gardener. I’ve never known a girl like you.”

  But Ian’s face was serious. “Amateur gardening is one thing, building up a paying concern is another—if that’s what you want to do.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” Vanessa retorted. “What I want now are some seed boxes, propagating medium and a few packets of seeds. If I can sow them during the next few days, they’ll flower in time for Christmas.”

  “Such as?” asked Ian in a sceptical tone.

  “Such as browalia, exacum, calceolaria and cineraria—though I doubt if they will be ready in time for Christmas, actually,” she added, meaning the two latter flowering plants.

  Ian eyed her through lids half closed against the sun as it Filtered through the outer leaves of the tree.

  “I suppose you know you can buy seedlings at this time of the year? Not as cheaply as packets of seeds, of course, but you’d still make a considerable profit. With the right sort of treatment you might well have them coming into flower for Christmas.”

  “And what do you call the right sort of treatment?” queried his sister.

  His lips curved at the corners. “Ask Vanessa. She’s the expert.”

  If he was hoping to catch her out, Vanessa thought, he was much mistaken.

  “Well, cinerarias and calceolarias certainly need time to develop a good root system and an adequate period of time outdoors before they’re taken into the greenhouse. But if they could be potted singly now in three-inch pots and put outside in a shady place, then about the middle of July potted in five or six inch pots and into a ‘cold’ greenhouse in the middle of August, they might stand a chance. But it’s no good trying to bring cinerarias on by too much heat in the early stages. Is there a nursery nearby where I can buy seedling pot plants? I might even get some cyclamen.”

  Ian nodded. “There’s a good one just this side of town on the Barnley road. You can buy your plants, seeds and everything from them. Why not let Freda drive you out there?”

  “Would you, Freda?” asked Vanessa.

  “Of course,” Freda answered promptly. “When would you like to go—in the morning?”

  “Suits me fine, thanks.”

  It was sometime during the middle of the afternoon when Miles Kendal drove up in his car. Vanessa left her task to speak to him.

  He surveyed the scene with some surprise. “What’s all this? A village working party?”

  Vanessa explained, and he grimaced. “Well, I’d wade in and help, myself, but I’m on my way to town and wondered if you wanted to go in for anything.”

  Vanessa suddenly thought how she’d love to be able to prepare some of her seed trays this evening if only she had all the necessary materials.

  “There are one or two things I need,” she told him. “Would you be coming straight back? And have you room in the trunk of your car for about half 100-weight of seed compost?”

  He grinned. “Yes, I think so—and we can come straight back if you must.”

  “That’s awfully good of you.”

  Vanessa went back to Freda and was vaguely aware that Ian had ceased his digging for a moment and was leaning on his shovel watching her.

  “Freda, do you mind? Miles Kendal is going into town now. He’s offered to run me to the garden center. If I go right away I’ll be able to do some of my sowing tonight.” Freda glanced across at Miles, his arms folded, leaning on the hood of his car smoking a cigarette.

  “No, I don’t mind.” she said quietly. “But if I’d known you were so anxious to get started I could have driven you there this afternoon.”

  “I thought as Miles was going anyway, it would save you the trouble,” Vanessa said uncomfortably.

  “It wouldn’t have been any trouble. But go if you want to.”

  Vanessa thanked her for all she had done, aware uneasily that neither Freda nor her brother liked Miles. But she reasoned that she couldn’t be expected to dislike him simply because they did.

  “Nancy will be bringing out some tea before long, I expect,” she added. “But don’t work any more, Freda. I’m sure you’ve done more than enough. Ian too, but you’ve both been a great help. It would have taken Joe and me a week to do all that’s been done today
.”

  “Think nothing of it,” answered Freda.

  Vanessa hurried indoors to change and to pick up some money. Before she came out again, she put a couple of pounds in two envelopes and asked Nancy to give one each to Ian’s men. She simply, could not have them working for her for nothing. Outside, she braced herself to go and thank Ian, knowing she would meet with his disapproval.

  He listened to her thanks and her explanation of why she had dropped everything to go with Miles. His face was an expressionless mask, and he made no comment whatever. But the coldness of his gray eyes was enough to tell her what his opinion was.

  Vanessa walked away from him, her chin lifted defiantly. She had not asked him to come. She had thanked him and had left money behind for his men. She refused to allow him either to intimidate her, or to dictate to her. But she could not put a name to the feeling buried deep within her.

  Miles grinned widely as he opened his car door for her. “Friend Ian didn’t look very pleased,” he said.

  Vanessa frowned. “Do you think it was rude of me to have left them? Even Freda didn’t seem very pleased—though she said she didn’t mind.”

  Miles tuned the ignition before answering. “Did you ask them to come and give you a hand?”

  “No, Ian offered to send a man to put some glass in the greenhouse, but this morning he turned up with two men as well as Freda.”

  Miles turned the car and set off down the drive. “I—don’t—like—the—sound—of—it,” he said slowly.

  She glanced at him swiftly. “What do you mean?”

  “They’re trying to get around you, Vanessa, as I said they would. In one way or another, they intend to get their hands on your property.”

  But Vanessa felt this was too sweeping. “Oh, I think they’re trying genuinely to be helpful, Miles,” she protested. “In any case I’ve already told Ian I shall never sell.”