The Courtyard

by Marcia Willett

  ‘Nothing would keep me from it.’

  There was rather an odd expression on her face and Lydia asked the next question more timidly.

  ‘And Richard? Would you like to ask Richard? He’d be most welcome, especially after he stepped in so kindly to give Gillian away.’

  There was such a long pause that Lydia wondered if Elizabeth had actually heard the question and fiddled awkwardly with her wine glass. Of course, Elizabeth had always been so touchy about Richard and perhaps, under the circumstances, it wasn’t terribly tactful …

  ‘No. No, I don’t think so.’ Elizabeth was smiling at her and Lydia felt relieved. ‘Let’s keep it to family and close friends. I think that’s best. Well, it’s wonderful news, Lydia. It’s made me feel quite hungry. Let’s order, shall we, and then you can tell me all the details.’

  GUSSIE WALKED ON THE terrace at Nethercombe in the late October sunshine and praised God for all the blessings of the last few months. Below her, Mr Ridley was giving the lawns a last cut before winter set in and she smiled at the sight of him astride the mower; cap set jauntily, shirtsleeves rolled up in the warm autumn sun. The woods glowed and burned, orange and gold and russet, and the sky was a soft tender blue. The scent of woodsmoke from one of the chimneys in the Courtyard below crept in her nostrils and she felt a deep blessed peace as she stared out, her hands smoothing and stroking the old stone of the balustrade at the edge of the terrace.

  How many generations of Morleys, she wondered, had stood here, looking out over their woods and fields and giving thanks for their existence? And now, at least one more generation would do so.

  ‘And such a beautiful child, Lord,’ she said, unable to keep her thoughts to herself any longer and wondering if He might like an update. ‘And Gillian’s taken to motherhood as though she’s been doing it for years. And what’s more, that reservation in her, Lord, or whatever it was, seems to have completely vanished away. Perhaps it was the baby. But it was more than that, I think. She’s had that smoothedout look, as if some burden has been taken from her. It reminds me of something …’ Gussie’s brow wrinkled and then she smiled. ‘You’re quite right, Lord,’ she said. ‘It’s the same look that people have when they’ve been given Absolution. How wonderful it must have been to be alive when Jesus walked this earth. Imagine hearing him say, “Your sins are forgiven you …” ’ She paused as, in turning from her contemplation of the countryside, she came face to face with Mrs Ridley. ‘Is it teatime already, Mrs Ridley?’

  Mrs Ridley, unperturbed by having her sins forgiven so freely and in public, nodded.

  ‘Gillian thought yew’d like it outside, seein’ it’s so warm. She’s bringin’ the baby down.’

  ‘Splendid!’

  As Mrs Ridley bustled away, Gussie wondered if it mattered that the formality of her own generation was unlikely to survive the next. It had clung on with Henry but she could see that it was passing away. The important thing was that people continued to love and respect each other; that was what really mattered.

  ‘And if only we could, Lord,’ murmured Gussie, ‘how happy we could be. “Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God.” If only it were as easy as it sounds.’ And she hurried forward to help Mrs Ridley with the tray.

  GILLIAN, STANDING AT HER bedroom window, watched Gussie on the terrace below. How long it seemed now since those early days when she’d looked upon Gussie and Mrs Ridley as virtual enemies, to be outwitted and despised. But even the remembrance of her childish stupidity could no longer destroy this new peace which had come upon her once she’d told Henry the whole story of her involvement in John’s tragedy.

  He’d been quite shocked, there was no doubt about that; sitting first at his desk and then getting up to walk about the room, pausing to stare out of the window over the side lawns which were smelling sweetly of new-mown grass. Gillian knew now that all her life the loveliest of summer smells would always transport her back in time to Henry’s study and she would feel again the gut-wrenching sickness of her own terror as she put the weapons of her own destruction, one by one, into Henry’s hands. She had told him nothing that would hurt him more than absolutely necessary. She’d decided this on the long walk up from the woods and through the orchard. She would tell him nothing about her affair with Simon who had been Henry’s friend or about her shocking betrayals of their most private life together. Trying desperately to be honest with herself, she could see no benefit to Henry in telling him those things. And, if Sam should turn up and accuse her to Henry, then he might well put them down to spite and jealousy. She did, however, tell him the whole extent of her extravagance and the truth about John.

  She didn’t spare herself. Nor did she fall into the error of being so moved by her own honesty, or so carried away by the simple fact that she’d been brave enough to confess, that she expected forgiveness and even admiration to be automatically conferred upon her. She knew well enough that she was confessing because she would rather Henry heard it from her than anyone else and also in the hope that she could save her marriage. And it had worked. Being Henry, once the shock was past, he forgave simply and wholeheartedly any injury to himself although no one could wholly relieve her of the moral implications of her actions regarding John’s death or Nell’s losses.

  Gillian knew that already. All she could cling to was the fact that Elizabeth had once pointed out to her. She had believed that Sam was genuine and that he intended to use John’s money to build the site. John may well have made money from it. She realised that the guilt didn’t lie in telling John about the site – anyone might have done that – but in that she’d told him because of her infatuation for Sam and because she needed money. This she would have to live with for the rest of her life; the might-have-beens and the if-onlys that dog our steps and cause us to lie wide-eyed at night, imagining how differently things could have turned out but for those tiny actions.

  Henry had seen no point in Gillian confessing to Nell. After all, what benefit could it bring? And might it not add insult to injury to think that John had been talked into it by an attractive woman? All they could do was to continue to look after Nell as far as they were able. At last he’d taken Gillian in his arms and she’d wept without restraint and, anxious lest she damage herself or the baby, he’d hushed her and quietened her, sitting her down in his armchair and pouring her a glass of brandy.

  ‘Why d’you think he didn’t come?’ She huddled in his chair, sipping at the brandy, trembling with exhaustion and relief.

  Henry pursed his lips and shook his head.

  ‘Who can say? Probably lost his nerve. He must feel very uneasy, knowing that he could be picked up, especially in this area. We don’t know the extent of all his double-crossings, do we? Perhaps he saw someone who recognised him.’ He smiled at her. ‘Try not to worry about it. There’s nothing he can do to harm us now.’

  ‘Oh, Henry.’ Her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Now, no more tears.’ Henry came to crouch beside her. He pulled out an extremely grubby handkerchief and mopped inexpertly at her cheeks. ‘It’s all over. I’m so glad that you were able to tell me.’

  ‘So am I. I love you, Henry.’

  ‘And I love you. And now you should rest. You’ve had a terrible day and we can’t afford for anything to happen to either of you. Come along.’ He helped her to her feet. ‘Up to bed with you. If he turns up here I’ll deal with him. You’ve removed his sting and rendered him harmless. You know, I doubt if he ever meant to come here. The risk was far too great. He was counting on your sense of guilt.’

  ‘Yes, I see that now.’ She smiled up at him rather tremulously. ‘I was so afraid. I’ve got so much to lose now, Henry. I simply couldn’t take that chance.’

  ‘Bless you for that.’ He kissed her and went upstairs with her and helped her into bed.

  She lay awake for a while, watching the shadows lengthening, tensing each time a door shut or voices were raised, but at length
weariness overtook her and she slept.

  Now, three months later, her heart was full of love and gratitude. She turned from the window as she saw Mrs Ridley going out to Gussie and went along the passage and into the nursery.

  Thomas Henry Augustus Morley lay on his back. His eyes were wide open and his tiny fists waved spasmodically. Gillian watched him for a moment and then picked him from his cot and held him in her arms. She cuddled him closely, studying his minute features whilst his eyes gradually focused on her face.

  ‘It’s teatime,’ she told him and could see him listening to her nowfamiliar voice. ‘Which is an old British tradition and one which I shall expect you to continue to uphold.’

  He mewed and struck out at her face.

  ‘Don’t argue with me,’ she told him and laughed at herself.

  Kissing him tenderly, she laid him in his carrycot and took him down to the terrace. Gussie had placed two chairs side by side and Gillian laid the cot across them. Gussie bent over him and Gillian marvelled anew at her restraint where Thomas was concerned. She knew very well that Gussie sometimes longed to snatch him up and cuddle him but she never attempted to usurp Gillian’s position or trade on her own. She always asked permission before she performed any task for him and never gave advice.

  ‘Pick him up,’ said Gillian off-handedly. ‘Go on. I expect he’d like a little look round. I changed him just now so he should be respectable.’

  She wandered over to the tray and started to pour the tea, keeping her back to Gussie so that she might be as emotional as she liked without witnesses. She instinctively knew that Gussie’s overwhelming love for the child often took the elderly reserved woman by surprise and that the baby was a whole new shattering experience to her. The way she held him – awkwardly, tenderly, full of awe – was quite different from Lydia’s experienced relaxed hugs and cuddles and Gillian had often caught Gussie watching Thomas and his grandmother with an expression of heart-rending envy on her face. Gillian was determined that Gussie should feel as involved and as necessary as Lydia and, whenever she could, she encouraged Gussie to pick Thomas up and talk to him.

  ‘I think he’s beginning to know your voice,’ she said, strolling back with her cup.

  ‘D’you really think so?’ Gussie stared into the baby’s face, opened her mouth to say that he was all Morley and shut it again. ‘He does seem to be looking at me.’

  ‘Of course he is. You are his favourite aunt, after all.’

  ‘Oh, well …’ Gussie’s mouth worked a little and she turned away, pretending to show Thomas the view from the terrace.

  ‘With me and Henry being only children, he’s lucky to have a ready-made aunt already in situ.’

  Mrs Ridley, on the pretext of forgetting the cake, appeared in the doorway. ‘Cake,’ she said unnecessarily, her eyes straying to Gussie.

  ‘And lucky to have Mrs Ridley,’ added Gillian, sitting down and cutting herself a piece of cake. ‘I’m such a rotten cook that he’d probably starve to death.’

  ‘Poor little tacker,’ said Mrs Ridley, as though this had already happened.

  She sidled a little closer and looked at Thomas over Gussie’s bony shoulder. Gussie moved slightly so that they could share this wonderful moment and Thomas mewed and squeaked and gave a loud sudden yawn. Gillian watched the two heads together and smiled to herself. How simple and natural it seemed to be, now, to bring pleasure and happiness to those around her. She thought of how easily she might have missed all this and felt quite cold with horror. She wondered where Sam had got to on that July day and where he was now. She suspected that Henry’s guess had been right; that Sam had seen someone he knew and had been obliged to run for it. She no longer feared the knock at the door or the peal of the telephone bell and was glad that she’d been spared the meeting with him.

  She knew deep inside that it was all over and in her great happiness could even hope that Sam was safe somewhere. She’d loved him once, he’d been part of her and that, too, would go on with her through her life. She thought of the happy moments; of Sam, relaxed, loving her, and felt a strange sharp sadness and hoped that nothing had happened to him on his flight back to France.

  She pushed aside her forebodings as she heard Henry’s baritone echoing in the hall and turned to smile at him as he came out through the door and into the sunshine.

  Thirty-five

  JUST AS NELL’S REMOVAL to the Courtyard and her recovery from the attack gave an edge to the Midsummer’s Eve party at Nethercombe, so Lydia’s wedding lifted the Christmas party on to a higher level of excitement.

  The only tiny cloud on Nell’s horizon was her unresolved relationship with Guy and, although each time she saw him she meant to make it quite clear that she could never marry him, somehow it never quite got said. They had slipped into a rather strange relationship which seemed to be waiting for something to happen before the next phase could be embarked upon. Guy was sometimes away for weeks at a time. In the winter he supplemented his income by moving boats for people and these extended absences helped to keep the friendship in a rather static situation.

  Nell, too, was very busy. Elizabeth had no compunction in putting more and more on to her plate – ‘throwing you in at the deep end,’ as she called it – and Nell, far from finding this daunting, seemed to thrive on it and rise to greater and greater heights with each new challenge. She was loving every minute of it and was overwhelmed with gratitude that – through Gillian – Elizabeth had given her this chance. With so many friends surrounding them she was able to continue working even when Jack was at home. He’d come home for Christmas positively glowing with the importance of being a godfather. He’d already been introduced to his godson at half-term and had been busy at school making him a wooden horse in his woodwork class. It was surprisingly good and Gillian was deeply touched. So was Gussie when he went to her to discuss the religious duties implicit in being a godfather. He had been confirmed at school that term and was taking the whole thing very seriously. Gussie promised that she would look into it and, in his absence, keep an eye on Thomas. They solemnly agreed that he was a little young at present for any formal instruction and Jack had to content himself with studying the Publick Baptism of Infants in Gussie’s Book of Common Prayer in preparation for the great day at the end of the Christmas holidays.

  Phoebe came upon him circling the swimming pool and reciting quietly to himself.

  ‘You sound like Gussie,’ she said, falling in beside him. ‘Having a quiet word with Him Upstairs?’

  ‘I’m learning my responses,’ he told her seriously. ‘Everyone else will have done it before, I expect, and I don’t want to look a twit. Gillian says that I can hold Thomas when we’re at the font and I shall need to concentrate on him and I may not be able to manage a book at the same time. So I’m reading it up. It all began with Noah, you know. I didn’t realize that.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ said Phoebe, mystified. ‘Mind you! I’ve always had a lot of time for Noah. Must’ve been a pretty big boat to get that lot in and he built it all on his own. Or so I understand. I must remind. Guy of that next time he starts whingeing about moving a forty-foot boat without assistance. At least he hasn’t got a zoo breathing down his neck at the same time.’

  ‘And then there was Moses and John the Baptist, said Jack, refusing to be sidetracked by Phoebe’s meanderings down this interesting byway. ‘I have to renounce the devil and all his works and the vain pomp and glory of the world, as well as the carnal desires of the flesh. I have to say, “I renounce them all.” ’

  ‘Golly!’ said Phoebe, deeply impressed. ‘That’s a bit stiff, isn’t it? Doesn’t really leave you much scope, does it? Life’ll be a bit flat, I should have thought.’

  ‘It’s only till Thomas is old enough to renounce them for himself,’ Jack assured her. ‘That’ll be when he gets confirmed.’

  ‘That’s a comfort,’ said Phoebe, relieved.

  ‘It doesn’t really matter much,’ said Jack. ‘I’ve just been con
firmed so I’ve had to take the vows anyway.’

  ‘Sounds a bit tough to me,’ admitted Phoebe. ‘Which d’you think you’ll find the hardest? The pomp and glory of the world? Or the carnal desires of the flesh? What was the other one?’

  ‘The devil and all his works.’ Jack sighed. ‘I don’t quite know. It’ll probably get more difficult as I get older.’

  Phoebe nodded thoughtfully and sucked air through her teeth. Jack looked at her a little anxiously.

  ‘D’you find it very difficult? Or are you too old to really worry any more?’ he asked.

  Phoebe expelled her breath, shook her head consideringly, and shrugged. ‘Sometimes yes. Sometimes no,’ she said.

  ‘There’s a lot to be said for stocking up beforehand. You know? Getting it out of the system young. At least you’ve got something to look back on when you’re twenty or so. Got an idea! I don’t know that I can do much about the carnal desires of the flesh but why don’t we go into Brent and get a few videos and a fourpack from Val and Ian and make an evening of it?’

  ‘A fourpack!’

  ‘You’re right. Two fourpacks.’

  ‘Really? Gosh! Can we?’

  ‘We certainly can. Come on. You’ve got an awful lot to fit in before the end of December. We may as well get started.’

  ‘Gosh!’ said Jack again. He tried to decide whether fourpacks and videos came under the heading of the devil and all his works or the vain pomp and glory of the world and gave it all up with a certain amount of relief. ‘Thanks.’

  He grinned up at her expectantly and they hurried through the little gate and set off down the drive together.

  GUY, BACK FROM A few weeks away, was surprised at how happy he was to return to the Courtyard. It was a pleasant scene at dusk; lights twinkling from the windows and smoke rising gently into the frosty air. The moon sailed serenely behind the black outlines of the bare trees and the owl drifted from the woods, his call plaintive and strangely eerie.