To My Dear Niece

by Hilda Nickson

  “I don’t blame you,” he said, turning the car into the road. “It’s a very desirable piece of land. It’s been a shame to see it going to waste. But purely as a matter of interest, why are you so adamant? The house is much too big for you, isn’t it? And why spend all your energies on trying to clear that impossible weed?”

  “The weed is not impossible,” she answered. She told him what she had found out about it and her system for getting rid of it.

  “That’s quite a discovery,” he conceded. “But it’s still a mammoth undertaking unless you want to be dependent on people like Hamilton. Mind you. I’d have been along to give you a hand myself if I’d known you were going to get down to it in earnest.”

  She flashed him a smile of amusement. “But you wouldn’t have been ‘trying to get around me’.”

  She saw his eyebrows shoot up. “You know perfectly well that isn’t true—at least, not for any ulterior motive. I just happen to like you. What made you say that, anyway?”

  “Well, I understand you’re a property developer. You’d like to buy my aunt’s house and land too, wouldn’t you?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean—‘you understand’? You knew from the start what my profession was. I gave you my card.”

  Vanessa realized that she had never properly looked at his card. She didn’t know what had come over her since she had left home.

  “I’m sorry, Miles, I was only joking. But seriously, have you ever made my aunt an offer for Puck’s Hill?”

  “Of course. Why not? But once she said no, that was that. I didn’t try to pressure her.”

  “You haven’t tried with me.”

  He smiled. “You’ve already told me you don’t intend selling. That’s good enough for me. If you were ever to change your mind, of course, I hope you’d let me know. Which brings me to my other question you haven’t answered yet. Why are you so adamant about not selling when the place has got so many disadvantages? If you were to sell it, you’d have money to buy two houses—or one, and enough money left over to sail halfway around the world.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then told him quietly, “The main reason, I suppose, is because I promised Aunt Maud that I wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud!” he groaned. “Death-bed promises! The very worst form of tyranny. You can never be released from them. The trouble is they’re usually extracted under abnormal circumstances. Sometimes, of course,” he amended swiftly, “dying people don’t really know what they’re saying or doing. I feel sure that was the case with your aunt. That place is going to be a millstone around your neck, but I don’t suppose she realized it.”

  He had made such an interesting point; there was so much truth in what he said that for a moment or two Vanessa sat in thoughtful silence. Miles glanced at her uneasily.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Vanessa. It’s you I’m thinking of. I’ve seen this sort of thing happen before. A person makes a last request, and the one left behind ruins their entire life trying to keep the promise. Often as not it’s something that isn’t remotely worthwhile. Dying people aren’t normal; they’re not responsible for what they’re saying. Your aunt was obviously very fond of you. If she’d been in full possession of her senses when she made you promise never to sell, she would surely have left you some money for the place’s upkeep.”

  “Oh, but she did. I forgot to tell you.”

  “Really?” He sounded more abashed than pleased, but when she went on to tell him the amount, he shook his head. “But if you don’t mind me saying so, that’s chicken feed. In fact, it could turn out to be worse than having nothing. It will only encourage you to put a lot of time and effort into keeping your promise and wear yourself out in the process. That’s barely enough to live on for more than about three months by the time you’ve paid your taxes, electricity bills and what-have-you.”

  She told him her plans for renting the bam and propagating house plants to sell.

  “I suppose you’ll say all that’s chicken feed, too,” she said a little despondently.

  He shrugged. “Well, I don’t want to discourage you. There are no windows in the barn, are there? That means another outlay for you. Only on very hot nights will it be fit to dance with the doors open. Even then you won’t find the village people willing to pay more than about ten shillings a night for the hire. Maybe in the winter for bingo, yes, but then you’ll have to heat the place, won’t you? And of course, your pot plants won’t be ready for sale for another six months at least.”

  Vanessa tried to joke. “You’ll have me in tears any minute!” But she really was beginning to feel like crying.

  Miles’s hand shot out. “Pay no attention to me, Vanessa. I didn’t mean to put you off. It’s just that I’m so concerned about you. I could stand in the sidelines and cheer you on. I could give you every encouragement by wading in and helping you as Hamilton and his sister have done, but that wouldn’t be doing you any kindness. Quite the reverse. It would be better, in my opinion, if you’d put your aunt’s wishes down to the wanderings of a sick woman. Really, Vanessa, she was a little eccentric at best, even you must admit that. Ask yourself seriously whether you really are doing the right thing by hanging on to the place. Sell it to Ian Hamilton, sell it to whomever you like. But don’t kill yourself by trying to make it earn money so that you can keep a promise which—who knows—even your aunt might be regretting having asked you to keep—if you believe in life after death.”

  Vanessa didn’t know what to say to such undeniably common sense. It was true Aunt Maud had been an eccentric. It ran in the family. Was she in danger of following literally in her aunt’s footsteps, living in that great house in poverty, or at best just earning enough by raising plants to keep the place going and herself in food and bare necessities of clothing? She would probably become just as much a fanatic about her plants as Aunt Maud had been about her birds.

  She put the depressing picture behind her as Miles drew up outside the nursery.

  “I could leave you here to browse and buy what you want, then call back for you in about half an hour, if you like,” he suggested.

  “Are you sure I’m not putting you to a lot of inconvenience?” she asked him.

  He gave her a smile. “Quite sure. Half an hour will be ample for what I want to do. But just take your time. I’m in no hurry.”

  He drove off, and she looked interestedly around. Attractive flower beds were laid out at the entrance, and a paved drive led to a large open-plan store where one could buy absolutely everything one needed for a garden. Vanessa decided she would be a regular visitor here. Then she realized she had no means of transport without possibly having to take two buses, one into town and another out again; those only at restricted times. But a car of her own was out of the question.

  Knowing how many plants could be had from just one packet of seed, Vanessa did not buy more than two each of the kind she had planned, but as her eyes ran along the packets of seeds in the rack, all kinds of possibilities occurred to her. Her excitement mounting, she reached for one after another of the brightly colored packets depicting superb, larger-than-life-sized blooms, unblemished either by wind, rain or sun. She must think beyond Christmas to next spring. She would use the barn as a sort of store where people could come and buy their plants for the garden as well as for the house. There was no end to what she could grow and sell. She would buy a few geraniums and take cuttings, rear some colorful coleus. She simply could not fail.

  She bought seed boxes and sowing medium; one pink, one white, and one red geranium, then wandered outside to where the boxes of seedlings were hardening off. The man who served her looked at her with surprise mingled with amusement as she bought four dozen cinerarias, calceolarias and cyclamen.

  “You starting up a store?” he asked, nearer the truth than he imagined.

  She laughed and said she was buying them for Christmas presents, which was also near the truth. Pot plants as presents were becoming more and more popular.


  Miles opened his eyes wide too, when he saw the stack of items she had bought.

  “You really mean it, don’t you?” he said soberly, shaking his head.

  “Well, yes, of course.”

  She found his lack of enthusiasm for her scheme rather dampening, though he meant it from the best of motives, she felt sure.

  They stacked the things in the car. Miles drove her home again, but this time in comparative silence. Vanessa sat in silence too—a troubled silence. Would her enterprise be successful? It was all very well being able to rear plants, but supposing not enough people bought them? Had Aunt Maud been right to ask her to promise not to sell Puck’s Hill? Miles had made a very good point about “death-bed promises”. One could never ask to be released from them. Where, she asked herself, did respect for the wishes of a person one has loved end and sheer sentiment take over? At what point did determination become obstinacy?

  Freda, Ian, and his men had left when Vanessa arrived back home. Joe was putting away tools preparatory to going home himself.

  “Mr. Hamilton said to tell you he’ll be along to see you some time tomorrow, Miss.”

  “Thank you, Joe. Goodnight.”

  She asked Miles if he would like some tea. He was eyeing the large area of unrooted weeds and the stacks ready for burning.

  They’ve done well, haven’t they?” she ventured against the speculative expression on his face.

  He nodded. “Hamilton has, at any rate. If he can ever persuade you to sell, having this weed cleared will suit him fine.”

  “I suppose so.” She cast him a mischievous smile. “Tell me, Miles, to what purpose would you put the house and land if I sold it to you?”

  He looked at her seriously for a moment, then laughed suddenly.

  “You’ve got me there, haven’t you? I haven’t thought a great deal about it. I can tell you this—I’d put it to a darned sight more practical use than Ian Hamilton would—and to be honest the giant hogweed, or whatever its Latin name is, wouldn’t be much use to me, either.”

  At least he was frank. “Will you come in and have a cup of tea with me?” she repeated.

  “It will be a pleasure.”

  She took him into the room which was to become her study-cum-sitting room and left him looking at the book on natural history while she went to make the tea. When she returned, he was eyeing some of the other books.

  “Dry as dust most of them, aren’t they?” he said. “What on earth are you going to do with them?”

  “Sell them. At least most of them. Maybe to private collectors or libraries.”

  He smiled. “So your aunt didn’t extract any promise about these. I take it you’ve no sentimental attachment to them.”

  “Silly, of course not! I shall simply have to use my instinct and discretion about things.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “That’s the stuff!” After tea he suggested they might spend the rest of the evening together.

  “A movie and supper afterward—something like that?” he said.

  But she shook her head. “Some other time. Miles, if you don’t mind. After leaving Ian and his men doing my work for me, I don’t feel justified in going out again now. I must make a start on my propagating.”

  He shook his head disapprovingly. “Doing your work for you, my foot! You’re a dear sweet girl and more likely to be put upon than anything else. But what about making a firm date with me? As far as I can see, it’s the only way I’m going to be able to see you for more than half an hour at a time. If the weather’s nice on Sunday we could go for a picnic lunch.”

  “Sorry, Miles. I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She sighed, knowing what his reaction would be. “Freda Hamilton has invited me over there for lunch. I—couldn’t very well say no.”

  “Couldn’t you? There might come a time when you will want to. Are you free on Saturday, then? We could make it theater and supper.”

  “Yes, all right. Thanks very much.”

  She saw him out, then went back indoors to change before tackling the job of filling the seed trays and sowing her seeds. Her mind went over some of the things Miles had said, and thought too about Ian Hamilton. Both men professed to have her welfare at heart, or at any rate, in mind. Yet both men wanted Puck’s Hill. Which of the two was the more genuine? Miles, who was trying to prevent her from making mistakes and running into failure, or Ian who was encouraging her and helping her?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Vanessa had taken the precaution of picking up some fumigating tablets at the garden center so that she could sterilize the greenhouse. She wanted to make sure that no disease would attack her plants or seedlings. She sealed up the windows, lit two of the tablets, then closed the door and sealed it from the outside. It was early June, so danger of morning frosts would be over. As a precaution she erected a trestle table in the large kitchen and put her boxes of seedlings into three-inch seed trays there for the night. Tomorrow she would have to transplant some of the seedlings into three-inch pots so that they would develop strong roots to make good flowering plants. She must also get Joe to help her to make frames so that they could stand outside. And she would need peat with which to surround them. This was something she had not thought to bring from the garden center. If only she had her own car!

  She was digging around beneath some trees the next morning in the hope of finding some natural peat when she saw Ian walking around looking at various things—their work of yesterday, the greenhouse, the frames Joe was constructing, and the newly cleaned out barn. Vanessa stood and watched him for a minute or two. Walking around as if he already owns the place. The phrase came unbidden into her mind, and she felt ashamed. Why did she resent Ian Hamilton so much? True, he was inclined to be high-handed, and he lacked the kind of charm Miles had, but—She broke off her thoughts abruptly. There was something about Ian which both attracted and repelled her.

  Then he scanned the garden and saw her, so she dropped the shovel and walked toward him.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, disarming her. “I hopped over the fence instead of coming around by the road.”

  “That’s all right.”

  His glance went to where she had been digging. “What are you doing now?” he asked.

  She told him. “It’s the one thing I forgot to buy yesterday, and not having my own car—”

  His face became thoughtful. “You ought to have a car of some sort. It’s practically essential in the country. You can’t be dependent on buses or—or other people. You should have a phone, too. Have you thought any more about that?”

  She didn’t answer for a moment. A certain pride forbade her from saying she hadn’t the money for these extras. She was about to say that she hadn’t really felt a serious or urgent need for either a car or the telephone when he forestalled her.

  “If you’re going into any sort of business, you simply must have a phone,” he said. “And a car needn’t cost you the earth. I know where you can get quite a good reliable utility van for around a hundred. You could spread the cost over 12 months with very little drain on your capital. As for peat, you never need to buy that. I’ve got a whole estate full—yours for the taking. In fact I’ll send one of the men around with a few sacks full.”

  She felt he was thrusting solutions to her problems down her throat. She was not used to other people making decisions for her.

  “Thanks very much,” she said coolly, “but I have all the peat I want here for the time being. Please don’t put your men to any trouble on my account. As to the car and telephone—I’m not in any hurry.”

  He drew an exasperated breath and looked as if he might say something explosive, then changed his mind. But his expression was stormy. He pulled two envelopes out of his pockets and handed them to her.

  “These are the envelopes you left with money inside for my men yesterday. They don’t want payment for what they did.”

  “Don’t they?” she flashed back. “Or have they return
ed it because you told them to?”

  His jaw tightened. He drew another deep breath and expelled it forcibly.

  “You really are the most difficult person I’ve ever met in my whole life!”

  “And you, Mr. Hamilton, are the most—irritating and high-handed that I have ever met! Everyone is expected to jump to your commands.”

  He stared at her as if she had taken leave of her senses, as if it was incredible that anyone could think such things about him, still less say them.

  “I’m sorry,” he jerked out at last, but in a far from apologetic tone, and turned to stride down the drive in long, angry strides.

  Vanessa sighed and wished she had better control of her tongue. Ian Hamilton seemed to bring out the worst in her. All the same she smarted for a very long time, his words running around and around in her brain. You really are the most difficult person I’ve ever met in my whole life. How could she possibly go to his house for lunch on Sunday now?

  As she half expected. Freda paid her a visit that evening. Vanessa was working late, tackling the weed which flanked the drive. Ian and his men had done quite a considerable amount, but Vanessa felt it was important to clear the entrance to the house and barn as soon as possible. She was thinking of having some posters printed announcing that the barn at Puck’s Hill was available for rent. As well as to earn a little money from the hire, she felt it would get villagers accustomed to visiting the place in preparation for the time when her plants were ready. “Still hard at it?” queried Freda.

  Vanessa smiled. She really liked Freda. “I think I’ll call it a day now, at any rate. Come and have a cup of coffee with me.”

  She knew what Miles would have said about Freda’s visit. Whether it was true or not, she did not care. It was good to have someone her own age to talk to.

  ‘‘I came to make sure you were still having lunch with us on Sunday,” Freda said when they were drinking their coffee.