The Courtyard

by Marcia Willett

  The terrible words, so calmly spoken, quite paralysed Nell, who sat staring into the shadows that were thickening about Elizabeth’s chair. Presently she shook her head, as a child might, dumbly rejecting something which it simply cannot or will not believe. She swallowed once or twice and her throat was restricted and dry. She heard Elizabeth sigh.

  ‘Poor Nell. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you. It’s been a very difficult decision but I felt the shock would be even greater if it had come from Richard afterwards. He knows, of course.’

  ‘I thought there was something …’ Nell’s voice was husky but she had gained some measure of control and had no intention of contributing to Elizabeth’s burden by adding her own outburst of grief to it. ‘He will miss you dreadfully.’ She felt, even more now, the desire to give Elizabeth the opportunity to speak if she so wished.

  ‘We’ve missed each other all our lives.’ Nell heard rather than saw the sad smile in Elizabeth’s voice. ‘Naturally enough he regrets all the lost and wasted moments. There have been many of those in this last year, I’m sad to say. It’s always thus. It’s too much to expect a poor human being to be able to live every moment as though it were his last. That’s the only way that there can be no regrets.’

  She was silent for a moment and when she spoke again her voice was brisk and cool. ‘The business is yours, of course, with enough money to keep it going until you’re fully confident. Richard will go into it all quite carefully with you. Don’t worry! He’ll keep you on the straight and narrow. You can trust him absolutely.’

  Nell realised that the rare and all too brief moment of intimacy was over and that Elizabeth was expecting her to behave as though everything was back to normal. Nell accepted the challenge proudly. It was the least she could do for Elizabeth now.

  ‘I hope that I can live up to your trust in me,’ she said and was relieved to hear that her voice shook only very slightly. ‘I hope that you realise that you’ve given me a future, a career? Because of you I’m independent. And terribly happy.’

  Her voice broke on that last word and Elizabeth rose swiftly to her feet. Nell got up, too, grateful that the room was in virtual darkness, lit only by the flames of the fire.

  ‘I shan’t ask you to stay to tea, my dear. It would be too much to ask of either of us. One of my great sadnesses is that I shall never know you better. But being able to pass into your hands everything I’ve worked for gives me a tremendous satisfaction. Goodbye, Nell.’ Elizabeth took both her hands and kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘Be happy, my dear. And good luck. Please go quickly.’

  Nell went quickly; picking up the folders, hurrying out through the hall, stumbling down the steps, climbing into the car. She fought to hold back her tears as she drove through the darkening lanes; dry sobs escaping from her closed throat, exclamations of pain bursting from her pent-up heart. All those who had died from her seemed now to be travelling with her in this lonely little capsule, hurtling along the familiar roads; she heard Rupert’s teasing voice in her ears, saw John’s pleading face before her eyes and felt again the intolerable ache for her dead baby. And now Elizabeth would soon join them. ‘Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land.’

  She turned in between the stone pillars at the bottom of the drive, fled past the Courtyard, up the drive and pulled up outside Nethercombe. She left the car and went into the hall where she paused. The voices of Gillian and Henry could be heard beyond the library door and, after a moment, Nell passed on swift feet up the staircase and came to a halt at Gussie’s door. She heard a low murmuring within and turned the handle.

  ‘Nell, my dear! What a lovely surprise.’ Gussie peered at her over the top of her spectacles and got quickly to her feet. ‘Whatever is the matter, my dear? It’s not Jack?’

  ‘No. Oh, no.’ The sobs were beginning to tear themselves from her chest. ‘Oh, Gussie …’

  Gussie sat down in her chair with a bump, her hand pressed to her heart. ‘Thank goodness. Then what is it? Oh, my dear …’

  Nell ran the last few steps and fell on her knees at Gussie’s side. The tears were pouring unchecked now and Gussie gathered her to her breast, concealing her own terror, stroking. Nell’s hair as though she were a child.

  ‘Hush, my dear. Hush, now. Tell me what’s happened?’

  ‘Elizabeth’s dying, Gussie. She’s going to Italy to die.’ Sobs burst from her afresh as Gussie sat quite still, staring over her head. ‘Oh, whatever shall I do? Everyone I love dies. How shall I manage without her? I’d just begun to love her …’

  Gussie sat on, holding Nell to her heart while she poured out her grief, and their tears mingled as they mourned together.

  ELIZABETH WENT BACK INSIDE and shut the door behind her. She felt drained and limp. Richard’s desperate outburst, cut mercifully short by Nell’s arrival, had exhausted her. She’d watched his shock, listened to his pleadings that he should come with her to Italy, comforted him when he wept, as if she were distanced from his pain. The knowledge of the terrible, ineluctable advance of her own death had put a barrier between her and those who were closest to her.

  She stood in the hall, listening to the silence of the house which was disturbed only by the weighty ticking of the grandfather clock, and wondered who would come after her. Who would cherish her beautiful things which had been so lovingly cared for during her lifetime? Who would sit in her quiet drawing room, work in her kitchen, wander through the garden? Gillian would inherit it all and, although Nethercombe would easily swallow the lovely pieces of furniture, the house must either be sold or rented.

  Elizabeth went back to the drawing room and put some more logs on the fire. She always felt cold now. Her thoughts ran on. Perhaps Gillian and Henry would keep it as a dower house, to retire into when Thomas took over at Nethercombe. She sat down, pulling her chair closer to the fire. She would never know and it really couldn’t matter less. The line from the Burial Service crept into her mind. ‘We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain that we can carry nothing out.’ Elizabeth stretched her thin hands to the leaping flames. Her belongings had given her comfort; more comfort perhaps than other people had ever brought her. She knew in her heart that the blessings of human relationships had never been for her. It would be easy to look back now and imagine that she had missed out on the most important things, had sacrificed passion in order to maintain and protect her peace and privacy. Elizabeth knew, however, that the warm, messy muddle of human love could never have made up for the peace that comes with solitude or the satisfaction given by achievement wrought solely by one’s own efforts and talent.

  How well Gillian had developed over the last year and how determined that her own inheritance should be diminished in order to make reparation to Nell! Elizabeth had been only too pleased to be persuaded to arrange certain things to Nell’s advantage and had been touched to see both Gillian’s relief and her indifference to her own subsequent loss, although she had no idea that the result of her generous pleadings would take effect so quickly. And how amazing that Gillian’s own muddles had brought her Nell! Elizabeth shook her head, in relieved gratitude. Her business had been her child, lover, friend; into it she had poured all the very essence of herself. To have known that it would simply vanish or pass into the hands of strangers would have hurt far more than the thought of her house inhabited by others and her belongings dispersed or sold. The business was herself; her ideas, her creations, her original concepts would all be going on now, in Nell’s caring, sensitive hands. In this she would be thought about, remembered, missed. It was enough.

  How brave Nell had been, how determined to keep her emotion to herself, to spare Elizabeth the extra pain and the draining of energy which would have been required to comfort her. Elizabeth took the soft light shawl that hung on the back of the chair and wrapped herself in it. Richard had shown no such consideration, had no thought of saving her at the expense of his own grief. His remorse for the coolness which he had allowed to develop betwe
en them in the last year had been overwhelmingly distressing. He would probably never be able to forgive her for not making the final, ultimate sacrifice. Elizabeth sighed and lay back in the chair. She knew it would never have been enough and would only have served to destroy the precious friendship they’d shared.

  Had she been right to hold out against him? She would never know that either. It was too late. Too late … The words, echoing in her head, struck a chill to her heart and she had to fight back weak tears. She huddled the shawl more closely around her, trying to ignore her ever-present companion of pain, and presently she slept.

  Thirty-seven

  GILLIAN, WHEELING THOMAS ALONG the beech walk, was beginning to learn that true happiness was rarely unalloyed. Her delight in her son was accompanied by an ever-present tiny fear; supposing something should happen to him, some accident or illness blot out his small breath of life? When she stroked his soft skin, smoothed his feather-like hair, caressed his perfect limbs, dreadful visions possessed her. She saw him crushed, ill, dead, and was able to enter even more fully into Nell’s anguish at the loss of her child. Gillian cradled Thomas in her arms and imagined Nell’s sufferings. She knew that she would never be able to forget her part in the tragedy and that her life would always be inexplicably wound up in Nell’s.

  Gillian walked slowly, looking up at the new tender soft green of the unfurling beech leaves. She realised that it was terribly important to keep things in proportion, knowing, now, how close madness lay beneath the surfaces of the human mind. When she watched television or read the newspapers she imagined Thomas behind the faces of children ravaged by war, disease or evil and her heart was wrenched with agony and rage and fear. How fragile human life was, how transitory: a single stroke and it was gone for ever. Even her own life was more precious now. She found herself afraid to take risks lest she be rendered incapable of caring for him or watching over him or, by dying, be deprived of sharing in his life.

  She took a deep breath and concentrated on the calm warm beauty of the day, on the clear blue of the sky and the billowy white clouds that floated gently above the budding branches of the great trees. What a comfort Gussie had been to her! That pragmatic acceptance of life as it was, and her ability to take each moment as a gift and live in it absolutely, gave Gillian confidence and hope. She was learning to concentrate on the positive and the good, knowing that at this moment it was right for her and for her family. Passive acceptance does not right wrongs but there are times when its healing calm is necessary for the mind and soul.

  A loud hail disturbed her thoughts and she saw Phoebe coming towards her. Gillian’s spirits rose. Phoebe was another person whose presence dispersed gloomy thoughts. She waved.

  ‘What a day!’ Phoebe blew out her lips appreciatively. ‘Even I was compelled to come out and walk in it. I must say, Gillian, that it’s very generous of you and Henry to allow us all to come tramping through your grounds. Don’t you ever regret giving us permission? Did you think, “Oh hell! There’s that old bat coming. I’ll have to be sociable!”? You can be honest with me, you know.’

  Gillian was laughing. ‘Not a bit of it. Quite the reverse actually. We’ve got our own part if we want to be private and it’s nice to see you. I can be a bit broody at the moment, if I’m not careful.’

  ‘Goodness!’ Phoebe stared at her in alarm. ‘You’re not thinking of having another one just yet, I hope?’

  ‘We-ell.’ Gillian looked rather wistful. ‘I wouldn’t mind, actually.’

  ‘Hear that, Tonks!’ Phoebe peered into the pram. ‘Make the most of it, my boy! Your days of adulation and worship will soon be over, such is the fickle way of the world.’

  ‘Oh, I shall give him a bit longer but I know Henry would love a little girl.’

  They began to stroll back together.

  ‘It would probably be sensible,’ said Phoebe. ‘After all, with all these worshippers, he might well get spoiled if we’re not careful. It’s a miracle that no one falls out over him.’

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ said Gillian fervently. ‘I must say that I’ve had one or two anxious moments but it’s all worked out wonderfully. Mum’s great with him. Terribly loving but not the least bit possessive.’

  ‘Well, of course she’s got the Major to concentrate on, hasn’t she? Rather a feat, becoming a wife and a grandmother all in one fell swoop. She’s handling it all splendidly.’

  Thomas woke up and began to croon to himself. Gillian moved to sit him up, propped about by pillows. He gazed at them both and smiled benevolently. Phoebe grinned.

  ‘What a love he is,’ she said, ‘and how glad I am that I’m not the maternal sort. It must be agony.’

  ‘It can be,’ said Gillian, surprised by her perspicacity. ‘You can get a bit obsessed.’

  They set off again, Thomas waving his arms and crowing loudly with pleasure.

  ‘I can well imagine. Still, he’ll grow up with lots of friends. Very wise of you to give him a young godparent as well as the two older ones. They’ll be good chums. The age gap will be nothing when they’re older. By the way. How’s Elizabeth? Is she still in Italy?’

  ‘As far as I know. She’s been gone a month but she really needed a break.’

  ‘She was looking a bit seedy at Christmas,’ agreed Phoebe as they came out on to the drive. ‘Aha! Activity, I see.’

  On the terrace, Mrs Ridley and Gussie were moving chairs. Gussie waved whilst Mrs Ridley mopped the moisture from the wrought-iron furniture. The little cavalcade went to meet them and Gillian decided that, for her, the ability to be able to remain in the light, rather than to be sucked into the shadows, was very much in her own hands.

  LYDIA WAS INDEED MANAGING splendidly. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to have a man in the same house with her and she was enjoying it enormously. His years in the Army had made Charles self-sufficient and he was quite capable of turning his hand to almost anything. He was very good at making life more comfortable for her: moving shelves, mending things, cherishing her in a practical way that she found very pleasant. He was also very good company. He wasn’t in the least put out by her scattiness, her inability to concentrate on one subject for very long, her requirement for little jollies and outings to keep life on tiptoe with anticipation. Being a conventional man, he looked upon it as quite properly feminine and charming and was happy to indulge her. Having sold both flats, and with Charles’s pension, life was very comfortable materially and they were very openhanded to their friends whom they loved to entertain.

  On most Sunday mornings, however, they were usually to be found at Nethercombe where various members of the Courtyard also tended to gather for a lunchtime drink.

  Guy allowed Lydia to mother him a little and talked to her about Gemma and their plans for a future, although he preferred to yarn with Charles about the Falklands or the Gulf War, and Nell always found it easy to relax in this atmosphere of friendly give and take. Phoebe gossiped with Lydia, teased Guy and pulled Charles’s leg on the old eternal rivalry between the Army and the Navy.

  ‘You mustn’t mind, Charles,’ she’d say soothingly. ‘Somebody has to go into the Army. You simply mustn’t mind about it being second best!’

  Charles was very happy. He’d been rescued from what looked like a solitary and lonely old age and plunged into this gregarious group, with a warm, generous, loving wife as a constant companion. He was fascinated by the running of the estate and Henry, discovering this, was only too pleased to discuss things with him. Charles had grown up on such an estate in North Devon and Henry found him both knowledgeable and wise. Mr Ridley, too, was pleased to find that Charles, who missed the physical activity of army life, was only too ready to roll up his shirtsleeves and get down to a bit of hard labour whilst the womenfolk fussed over Thomas. He knew he’d really been accepted, however, when Mr Ridley showed him the mysteries of the lawn mower and allowed him to have a trial run on the wide sweep of grass that stretched from the Courtyard to the wall beneath the terrace, Cha
rles was gratified and performed more than adequately.

  ‘’E didden do bad,’ Mr Ridley admitted later to Mrs Ridley, ‘fer a beginner. Yew can tell ‘e’s Army. ’Course, ’e was a Regular, not Hostilities Only like me.’ He’d been delighted to find that Charles had been in his old regiment.

  ‘Oh well,’ said Mrs Ridley with weighty irony, ‘that’s bound to ’elp ’im drive a mowin’ machine.’

  ‘’E’s gonna lend me some books,’ said Mr Ridley, oblivious to sarcasm after fifty years with his wife. ‘All about the war in the desert. Got photos an’ everythin’, ’e ses. P’raps I might be in ’em.’

  Mrs Ridley rolled her eyes expressively and began to put away the ironing board, successfully concealing her pride at the way her husband and the Major got on together.

  ‘Bound to be!’ she said. ‘Monty’d never’ve done it without yew.’

  ‘Young Jack’ll be int’rested.’ Mr Ridley continued to follow his own train of thought. ‘’E’s ’ome fer ‘alf-term soon. The Major’s gonna give ’im a trainin’ programme. Prepare ’im fer Sandhurst.’

  ‘Poor l’il tacker.’ Mrs Ridley pushed the kettle on to the hotplate. ‘Yew’ll ’ave Thomas at it next.’

  Mr Ridley’s face glowed at the idea and she snorted.

  ‘Daft ole fewel. Get on out of it! I got the tea to get.’ She relented as he got up obediently. ‘Go an’ pick some vegetables fer dinner an’ I’ll ’ave a piece of cake ready when yew get back.’

  NELL, FINDING IT ALMOST impossible to recover from her latest shock, felt as though she were merely marking time until the news of Elizabeth’s death should arrive. She realised that neither Gillian nor Lydia had been told the truth about Elizabeth’s holiday in Italy and kept silent. So did Gussie. At her age death seemed a much more commonplace event than it did to Nell, despite all her personal losses. Apart from which, Gussie had her faith to sustain her. Nell, plunged by the terrible news into old memories and fears, found it hard to find any comfort during the ensuing days but went on grimly with her work, comforted at least by the knowledge that she was carrying out Elizabeth’s wishes.