The Courtyard

by Marcia Willett

  Phoebe and Guy looked at her in surprise.

  ‘Spit it out,’ said Phoebe encouragingly. ‘Has Guy been vandalising the beech walk? Cutting his initials on the trees?’

  ‘Of course not. I shall just have to say it all quite baldly,’ said Gussie. ‘You can’t wrap these things up.’

  ‘Heavens!’ exclaimed Phoebe in alarm. ‘Whatever can it be?’

  So standing there in the warm April sunshine, Gussie told them about Nell and John and the baby and how Nell had come to stay at Nethercombe for as long as she needed.

  ‘I’m warning you so that when you see her you won’t … well. You know. It’s so easy to say the wrong thing without knowing it.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Phoebe at once, horrified. ‘How perfectly dreadful. The poor girl must be quite demented. I haven’t met her but have no fear. I shan’t talk about anything that might upset her.’

  ‘Obviously not.’ Guy was shocked. He remembered Nell’s unworldly beauty on the night of the party. ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘It’s quite unforgivable to tell you these very private things about her life but I knew that you’d understand.’ Gussie sounded distressed. ‘I just hope that she would. It was a very difficult decision but I know that it won’t go any further. It’s an intolerable interference on my part but I want to protect her as much as I can. Well, I’ll be getting back.’ She smiled gratefully at them both and went out through the arch and back up the drive.

  ‘How awful,’ said Phoebe sombrely when Gussie had gone. ‘And losing the child, too. Poor girl.’

  Guy was silent, uneasy in this sort of situation, hating gossip or speculation.

  ‘Come and have a drink, Guy,’ said Phoebe suddenly. ‘That’s really upset me. Please do.’

  And Guy, who wanted nothing more than to put his feet up in front of the television with a beer, dimly understood her need and followed her inside and shut the door.

  SO IT WAS THAT Nell walked alone and unhindered through the grounds of Nethercombe, searching for some formula that would bring her peace and forgetfulness. When the numbness had worn off all she could feel for John was anger. He had ruined her life and Jack’s and, too cowardly to face the results, had opted out and, by doing so, had caused the death of her baby. She felt the empty aching void, remembering with a gush of burning anguished tears the tiny coffin, and her arms would wrap themselves instinctively about her breast as though holding herself together. It seemed impossible even to feel pity for John, let alone grief or love. There had been so many things, some quite small, that seemed unforgivable. She could not yet envisage John himself, desperate in his own small private hell, not knowing which way to turn, his judgement distorted. She only saw that, clearly, he could not have cared for her or Jack or he would never have risked their lives in such a way. He’d even let her fetch Jack from school and take him back again in a car that was not insured. He had taken everything from her and destroyed it. Everything except Jack.

  Before Jack went back to school she gathered her courage and told him the truth. She was as generous as she could be, putting as much blame as was possible on the recession and the man who had cheated and swindled John out of his inheritance, reinforcing the fact that John had been temporarily out of his mind having just discovered this deception. The gun was there in his desk drawer and the temptation had been too great. Jack listened, his brows drawn down in a frown, trying to understand.

  ‘But didn’t he think about us?’ he’d asked, when her voice had trailed away. ‘About what would happen to us? If he was so worried about it all that he had to kill himself, how did he think that we would manage?’

  ‘The whole point is,’ replied Nell, ‘that in those situations you don’t think at all. It’s as if, just for that moment, you’re not yourself, not rational or normal, if you see what I mean? We have to remember that.’

  Nell walking in the woods and over the fields tried desperately to remember it and to forgive him. Jack seemed to find it easier; at school several boys had left because of marriage break-ups and an inability to pay fees, all due to the recession, and even suicides were not unknown. Nell had not told him all the truth, however, regarding the baby’s death. She told him that the baby had turned in the womb and, having separated from the placenta, had suffocated because the ambulance, due to Saturday morning traffic, had not been able to get her to the hospital in time. She knew instinctively that Jack would find it very difficult to forgive his father if he could be held in any way responsible for the death of the tiny brother whom neither of them now would ever know. It was almost a relief when the term started and she could relax; abandon the pretence that she was recovering quickly and that there was nothing for him to worry about. The school, well prepared, took him back for his final term, and Jack, relieved that Nell was to be at Nethercombe, left her to the care of Gussie and Henry.

  She couldn’t have been in better hands. Gussie was one of the old school; she believed that nothing aided recovery more than fresh air, plenty of rest and good plain food. She didn’t quite approve of the modern methods which involved endless ‘talking through’ situations and delving into the innermost recesses of the mind. She felt that whatever was said at times of great emotional shock would probably be unreliable and distorted and likely to cause embarrassment later on when a natural balance had been regained. Nell, who would have hated to bare her innermost thoughts to anyone, was grateful for her reticence and slowly the peace and beauty of Nethercombe combined with Gussie’s and Henry’s love and care began to heal her.

  As May was drawing to a close, Henry received a letter from Gillian asking if she could come home. She was with Lydia in Exeter and she would be grateful, she wrote, if she could meet him and talk to him. Henry was so overwhelmed with relief and joy that he wanted to rush into Exeter there and then and bring Gillian back at once. He communicated his plans to Gussie who laid the cold hand of reason on his fevered excitement.

  ‘We can’t expect Gillian to arrive back only to find Nell living here,’ she explained when it was obvious that Henry could see no reason whatever for delay. ‘It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. You must see that, my dear.’

  Henry wrinkled his brow in an effort to understand.

  ‘But Gillian knows about Nell,’ he said. ‘I wrote and told her all about it. She was dreadfully upset.’

  ‘I’m sure she was,’ said Gussie, ‘but it would still be very difficult for both of them.’

  ‘Would it?’

  Gussie sent up a short prayer for guidance. She had been prepared for this eventuality ever since she knew that Gillian was back in Exeter. Now it only remained to persuade Henry to agree with her plans for them all.

  ‘You must take my word for it, my dear. I’m a woman and I know how women feel. After all, it’s very important that your marriage should be given every opportunity to make a new start.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Henry. ‘But why should—?’

  ‘You and Gillian will need time together alone. And then again, the time is coming when Nell, too, will need a measure of independence.’

  Henry looked baffled and Gussie poured his coffee, relieved that this moment had come when Nell was having lunch with Phoebe in the Courtyard.

  ‘You see, it could all work out very well indeed, Henry,’ she said, feeling that a positive note was called for here. ‘We must just allow ourselves to be flexible.’

  Henry nodded obediently and sipped. He was quite prepared to be flexible.

  Gussie took a restorative sip of hot coffee to give her courage. ‘What I thought was this. Supposing that the Ridleys were to move up from the Lodge and into the house with us? Mrs Ridley would be very glad not to go trailing up and down the avenue several times a day. She’s not as young as she was and she hates it in the winter when it’s dark …’ Gussie paused. In her anxiety to sound plausible she’d struck a false note. Mrs Ridley was born and bred a countrywoman and the dark of the avenue held no terrors for her.

  ‘Is
Mrs Ridley afraid of the dark?’ asked Henry, sidetracked by this rather surprising news.

  ‘No,’ said Gussie, rejecting this possibly emotive suggestion despite the fact that it might weigh on her side. She resisted temptation nobly, hoping that the Almighty was listening in. ‘No, not the dark. But it’s horrid in the winter, going to and fro in the rain and the cold, making sure the fire’s still in, looking after two places at once. Now, they could have that very nice little flat at the back. It used to be servants’ quarters in your parents’ time and it could be done up in no time at all.’

  ‘Well, if that’s what they’d like,’ said Henry, after consideration. ‘From our point of view it would be very convenient. But are you sure that they want to leave the Lodge after all these years?’

  ‘Naturally, Mrs Ridley and I have had one or two little chats on the subject,’ said Gussie, whose discussions and plans with Mrs Ridley had been exhaustive, ‘and they would be very happy now to move into smaller quarters.’

  ‘We’ll look into it. It won’t be difficult to get the flat back into a cosy little home again. But what’s that got to do with Nell and Gillian?’

  ‘Well, my dear, it means that Nell can move down to the Lodge where we can keep an eye on her but meanwhile gives her some independence and freedom. She needs that, especially in the holidays with Jack home. And,’ added Gussie firmly, ‘she can pay you rent.’

  ‘Gussie!’ Henry sat up straight. He looked shocked. ‘If you think that I could ask Nell for money—’

  ‘Now wait a moment. The Ridleys don’t pay rent because having a roof over their heads is part of their wage. But if Nell moves into the Lodge she can apply to the Department of Social Security for Housing Benefit. She’s homeless and almost penniless, so she’ll get assistance. It’s a start. A way of her becoming a little more independent. Nell won’t stay long under this roof, Henry. And with Gillian coming home she’ll go even sooner and she’d be right to. They both need a fair start.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that.’ Henry looked troubled. ‘If only there was a way …’

  ‘There is a way, Henry. I’ve just told you. The Ridleys want to be here and if Nell goes to the Lodge she’ll be far away enough to be independent and close enough to be kept an eye on. I don’t want her to vanish.’

  ‘Good Lord, no!’ Henry looked so alarmed that Gussie would have smiled if the situation hadn’t been so serious.

  ‘No. So you see we’ve got to do a very quick removal before Gillian comes. We don’t want her to think that she’s not welcome back or that you’re in two minds, so it must be quick.’

  ‘Yes, I see that. How long would you say?’

  ‘A week or two to get the flat into good working order. That’s all. Mrs Ridley keeps the Lodge spotless so Nell can move down as soon as they’re in. We might need some help getting the furniture to and fro but between us all we’ll manage. Guy will lend a hand. It will be lovely for Nell to be in her own place with her own things round her.’

  ‘And you don’t think that she’ll feel that we’re trying to get rid of her?’ Henry was still anxious.

  Gussie smiled at him. She was into the home straight.

  ‘promise you that Nell will be delighted to stay close to Nethercombe without feeling that she’s a burden. Trust me, Henry.’

  ‘I’ll go and have a look at the flat,’ he said pushing back his chair. ‘It’ll need some tidying up but it shouldn’t be too bad.’

  Gussie closed her eyes and slumped in her chair. There was nothing more tiring than bending someone to one’s will. Positively exhausting! Why couldn’t people simply accept that one knew best and leave it at that? All the explaining and going over things … Gussie took another sip of coffee.

  ‘Finished?’ Mrs Ridley stood in the doorway with a tray.

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Gussie swallowed the last drop and stood up. ‘Let me help you clear.’

  ‘Mister ’Enry’s out back lookin’ at the flat,’ observed Mrs Ridley casually, shuffling plates as though they were playing cards.

  ‘Ah.’ Their eyes met and exchanged a victorious glance. ‘That’s good. We don’t want to waste time.’

  ‘I’ve started packin’ up, down the Lodge.’ Mrs Ridley stacked the tray. ‘Shudden take no time at all.’

  Gussie opened the door, stood aside for her to pass with the loaded tray and smiled as she followed her along the passage to the kitchen. Now she only had Nell to convince and she would be content.

  Twenty-three

  ON THE MORNING THAT Henry was to visit Gillian, it would have been impossible to judge who was the more nervous; Gillian or Lydia. Lydia felt two quite separate emotions. The first was a real nervousness of Henry himself. Beside her woolly, undisciplined, easily impressed personality, he seemed a man of upright character; a landowner and a magistrate, running his estate, managing farms, tenants, land. He made her feel inadequate and foolish. The second emotion was a combination of humiliation and embarrassment. Had she been a better mother, Gillian would probably not have behaved so badly and she imagined that Henry might easily despise her. She could see now with the clear unclouded vision that hindsight lends that, when Gillian had turned up en route for France, she should have packed her straight back to Nethercombe with a flea in her ear. Instead, she had almost encouraged her to go. Poor Lydia felt quite ill with remorse.

  Gillian’s feelings were even more complex. Along with shame and fright, she felt an overwhelming guilt. To know that she had deceived Henry with the man who was responsible for John’s death and Nell’s desperate situation was something that could never be forgotten. It went to bed with her at night and was waiting for her each morning. Gillian knew that Henry was quite generous enough to put the whole episode – as he understood it – behind him but what if he should ever discover the real truth? Supposing he should find out that it was she who had seduced John into meeting Sam? Gillian felt sick at the thought and wished with all her heart that she could turn back the clock. She lay awake at night, staring into the darkness, knowing that she could never escape from this terrible knowledge. Sometimes she allowed herself to imagine a scene in which she unburdened her soul to Henry and he forgave her freely; more often she visualised an expression of disgust mingling with dislike dawning on his face and knew that she couldn’t risk it. Even if Henry could bring himself to forgive and forget, what about Nell? She was the truly injured one; the victim whose life lay in ruins. Gillian’s relief had known no bounds when she found that Henry and Gussie had carried Nell back to Nethercombe. Her only dilemma was how to face her; how to look her in the eyes. She wept with shame and self-disgust and Lydia, who didn’t know the whole truth, looked upon her daughter’s ravaged face with dismay and became even more nervous of confronting Henry.

  ‘You’ll stay, won’t you, Mum?’ asked Gillian as they sat waiting for the doorbell to ring. ‘Don’t go. Not to begin with.’

  Lydia, who had planned an escape into the kitchen under the pretext of making coffee, looked at her in alarm.

  ‘You sound as if you’re quite frightened of him, darling,’ she suggested and screamed faintly as the doorbell rang loudly.

  Both women had leaped to their feet and now they stood, listening, Gillian unconsciously clutching Lydia’s arm.

  ‘Oh, how silly.’ Lydia attempted a light laugh and patted her chest nervously. ‘It quite made me jump. Shall you go … ?’ Her words trailed away. Gillian looked as though she might pass away in terror. ‘I’ll go.’

  Lydia pushed her daughter back into the corner of the sofa and with trembling knees went out into the hall. She flung open the door with a gesture of bravado and laughed hysterically at her son-in-law.

  ‘Hello, Lydia.’ Henry was far too happy to notice if she were behaving oddly. ‘How nice to see you. Are you well?’ He went into the sitting room and Lydia, following behind him, saw him open his arms to Gillian who stared up at him from her corner. ‘Gillian,’ he said and his voice was warm and full of love. ‘How wonderful to have yo
u back.’ And Gillian leapt to her feet, bolted into his arms and burst into tears.

  ‘Oh, darling. Oh dear.’ Lydia clucked round both of them and then decided to take the risk of incurring Gillian’s wrath and followed her own original plan.

  As she filled the kettle and measured the coffee she hovered to and fro, keeping an eye on things through the half-open door. Gillian’s sobs had subsided and Henry’s deep voice was murmuring tenderly and Lydia gave thanks to all the gods at once that the worst was over. She realised that she was trembling violently and slipping over to the cupboard took a good swig from the whisky bottle. In the act of cramming some biscuit into her mouth, lest the smell should be detected, she was surprised to find Henry close behind her. She clapped a hand over her lips, her eyes round and horrified above it, and nodded brightly at him.

  ‘Gone to mop up,’ he explained. ‘Shall I carry something?’

  He seized the tray whilst Lydia, still nodding encouragingly, swallowed a crumb the wrong way and choked violently. Henry put the tray down so that he could bang her on the back and Gillian, arriving on the scene, poured a glass of water and passed it to her mother. Lydia gulped it back and apologised breathlessly.

  ‘Let’s have some coffee.’ Gillian looked radiant. ‘Henry says he’s got all sorts of things to tell us.’

  Henry picked up the tray again and, behind his back, mother looked at daughter and they hugged wordlessly before following him into the sitting room.

  SOPHIE WROTE FIRST; A shy, almost silly letter, crammed full of the ‘most amazing’ happenings and goings-on. Guy was rather touched but enjoyed Gemma’s letter, which arrived a week after Sophie’s, much more. It was quite a casual but interesting letter and brought the writer’s easy, happy charm very much to his mind. At the end she wrote that she was hoping to introduce him to Chris Winterton – her submariner boyfriend – during the summer holidays.