by Betty Neels
‘The house in Little Venice is nice enough,’ he conceded, ‘but the manor’s a real home, as you might say. Not all that big but plenty of ground around it and a garden to be proud of, miss. Me and Mrs Butter, we’ve lived there for years. Served the doctor’s father, we did. Very well-liked in the village he is, too. Old Mrs Tavener lives there too—got a companion and has rooms to herself. Under one roof, as it were, but independent, like.’ He overtook a huge transporter and kept on in the fast lane.
He was a good driver; she had been surprised at that. He looked to be a very ordinary middle-aged man who would drive a family car at a steady forty miles an hour, and here he was whizzing along at almost twice that speed.
‘Not going too fast for you, miss?’
‘No, no, I like speed.’
‘Now the doctor—he’s one for speeding in that Rolls of his. Do you drive, miss?’
‘I used to. A Rover.’
‘Nice little car. There’s a Mini in the garage at the manor, just right for getting around on your own.’
She supposed that she would be on her own for a good deal of her days. She tried to visualise her future and couldn’t.
They were almost there and she longed for a cup of tea and at the same time wished that they could drive on for a long while yet because she was nervous of meeting Titus’s grandmother. That they had already met wasn’t any help for then she had been the caretaker, answering the door and hanging up coats and taking umbrellas. The old lady might hate the idea of her grandson marrying a working girl, never mind what he had said.
The village came in sight, small and red-roofed and stone-built, tucked away in a narrow valley between the hills, the church—much too big for its size—standing in the centre, the one road running past it, uphill a little and turning sharply at the top.
She caught her first glimpse of the manor then, and sighed with delight. It made a lovely picture in the winter twilight, its windows lighted, and as Butter came to a stop before the door it was thrown open and a small, stout woman, oblivious of the cold, stood on the steps.
Arabella, helped from the car by Butter, clasped Bassett to her and crossed the sweep with him, carrying a muttering Percy in his basket.
‘There now.’ The little woman took Arabella’s free hand and shook it. ‘I’m Mrs Butter, miss, and very happy to welcome you. Come on in out of the cold—you’ll be wanting a cup of tea, I’ll be bound. Mrs Tavener and Miss Welling have had theirs this hour past but I’m to see that you have a cup before you do anything else, so let me have your coat and I’ll fetch the tea tray. Butter, take the little dog and the cat into the garden and then they can be with Miss Lorimer before they have their suppers.’
‘There’s a lead tied on to Bassett’s basket,’ said Arabella, ‘and Percy’s harness. Shall I do it?’
‘Leave it to me, miss,’ said Butter comfortably. ‘Just you go and have that tea and then Mrs Butter’ll take you to Mrs Tavener’s rooms.’
So Arabella found herself in no time at all in a small panelled room, softly lighted by wall sconces and table lamps, furnished in great comfort with easy-chairs and with a brisk fire burning in the old-fashioned grate.
‘The master uses this room a great deal,’ Mrs Butter told her as she arranged the tea tray on one of the tables. ‘Comes in from walking the dogs, he does, “Mrs Butter,” he says, “I’m famished.” And he sits down in his chair and he and the dogs between them eat enough for a giant. Well, I mean to say he is a giant, isn’t he, miss? And a good man, never better!’
She paused on her way out. ‘We’re that pleased that he’s getting married. This house needs a mistress and a pack of children.’
Arabella, slightly overwhelmed, smiled and nodded and murmured and, left alone, drank her tea and then ate the scones and jam. She was beginning to worry about Bassett and Percy when the door opened and Butter came in with Bassett prancing at his heels and Percy under his arm. A black Labrador came in too, nudging Bassett gently and going to Arabella to stare at her with a mild eye. She scratched his head and he sighed heavily with pleasure and then sat down before the fire, and presently the puppy settled beside him. Then, much to Arabella’s surprise, Percy, after a few tentative advances, sat down too.
‘Now, if you are ready, miss,’ said Butter, ‘I’ll take you along to see Mrs Tavener. We can close the door and leave these three to make friends.’
He noticed her hesitation. ‘Never fear, miss, Duke’s as mild as milk and he loves cats too.’
The house, she discovered, was larger than she had thought, with a great many passages and steps and unexpected staircases. Mrs Tavener’s apartments were on the first floor, at the end of a passage at the back of the house. Butter knocked on a door at its end and Miss Welling answered it, greeting Arabella with a smile and invited her in. ‘Mrs Tavener is so looking forward to seeing you again, Miss Lorimer. May I wish you every happiness? We are all so delighted that the doctor is to marry.’
She led the way along a small passage with several doors and opened the end one. The room beyond was large with a bay window at one end and rather over-full of furniture. It was also very warm for there was a great fire burning in the elegant fireplace. Mrs Tavener was sitting upright in a tall-backed chair, a book on her lap.
‘Ah, Titus’s bride. My dear, I am so happy to welcome you to our family—come here and kiss me.’
Arabella weaved her way carefully through the tables, chairs and display cabinets and kissed the elderly cheek and, bidden to sit down, sat.
‘Titus telephoned not half an hour ago. Wanted to know if you had arrived. He was on the point of leaving—such a nuisance that he couldn’t drive you down himself. But I believe this was a matter which he wished to deal with personally. It will be delightful to have you here for a few days, my dear. You must treat this house as your home, for that is what it will be. I live here with Miss Welling, but I promise you that I don’t interfere or intrude into Titus’s life—nor will I with you.’ She smiled. ‘I hope that if you want advice or just someone to talk to you won’t hesitate to come and see me.’
Arabella liked the old lady. ‘I expect I shall need a great deal of advice. You see, I know very little about Titus’s private life.’
Mrs Tavener gave her a thoughtful look. ‘Well, dear, I’m sure that he will tell you anything you want to know. I don’t suppose you have had much opportunity to talk together.’
Which was true enough, reflected Arabella.
Presently Mrs Butter came to fetch her. ‘I’ll show you your room, miss, for the doctor will be here within the hour and you’ll want to be ready for him. I’ve taken the liberty of unpacking your things.’
Her room was charming, furnished with yew and applewood, its curtains pastel chintz, echoing the pale colours of the carpet and the bedcover. She bathed, resisting the wish to lie for ages in the warm water and allow her thoughts to wander, and then, wearing her only dress—needlecord in teal-blue, several years out of date but still elegant—her face nicely made-up and her hair neatly coiled, she went downstairs to the small room again to find the animals still sitting, apparently on the best of terms and very content. The carriage clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour—seven o’clock, she saw with something of shock—and she wondered how much longer Titus would be.
He came in a few minutes later, Beauty with him. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you came down,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I got here half an hour ago and I’ve been in my study. You’re quite comfortable? You’ve seen Grandmother? Good. Butter and Mrs Butter are looking after you, I hope?’
He sat down opposite her and Beauty edged her way past him to sit beside Percy.
‘They seem to have settled down very well—I hope you will do the same, Arabella.’
She took care to sound pleasantly satisfied as well as friendly. ‘Oh, I’m sure I shall. This is a ver
y beautiful house, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Tomorrow I’ll take you over it and show you the grounds. Will you come to church with me in the morning?’
‘Yes, I’d like that. Did you have a good drive down?’
‘Excellent. We must try and come here as often as possible and it would be very pleasant for me if you will come with me when I have to keep appointments out of town. I must go over to Leiden at the end of the month—just for a couple of days. I have friends there whom I think you will like.’
‘They’re Dutch?’
‘He is—his wife is English. We’ll come here for Christmas, of course.’
Her head on the pillow and half asleep, several hours later Arabella decided that even if she had had doubts she had them no longer. Being with Titus was like being with an old friend. He had been quite right—without deep feelings for each other they were able to behave towards each other like old and tried companions.
She woke in the night and just for one moment thought that she was in her basement room. She sat up in bed, worried because she couldn’t feel the animals on her feet, and then remembered that they had settled to sleep quite happily with Titus’s two dogs in the kitchen and that she was in a quite different room.
* * *
The rector came back with them after church the next morning and his wife came too, frankly curious about Arabella and full of questions about the wedding. Over sherry Titus parried her artfully put questions and when they had gone told Arabella that she was a splendid rector’s wife but eager to know everyone’s business. ‘She’ll be at the wedding, of course. You won’t find ten o’clock in the morning too early? We will have lunch here with Grandmother afterwards and drive up to town in the afternoon.’
He crossed the room and took her arm. ‘Come and look round the house before lunch.’
It was a roomy old place. Besides the vast drawing-room there was a dining-room, his study, the little room the animals seemed to consider was theirs, and a room overlooking the garden at the back and opening on to a conservatory. They stood at its open door for a few moments, surveying the wintry gardens. ‘There’s a swimming-pool at the end behind those rhododendrons and the kitchen garden is through that small doorway at the end of the wall.’ He turned away. ‘Come upstairs—we’ll leave the kitchen for the moment or we shall get under Mrs Butter’s feet.’
At the top of the staircase he crossed the circular landing and opened double doors. ‘This will be your room.’
It was large, with windows opening on to a small balcony, and carpeted in the colour of clotted cream. The curtains were rose-patterned and silk, as was the bedspread. The bed was a four-poster with a cream canopy highlighting the sheen of its mahogany. There was a vast dressing-table in the same wood, bedside tables bearing pink-shaded lamps and a chaise longue and small comfortable chairs in misty blue. It would be an enchanting place in which to wake up each morning. ‘Oh, it’s beautiful,’ said Arabella, rotating slowly. ‘What’s through those doors?’
‘Bathroom and beyond that a dressing-room. The other door is a clothes closet.’
Beyond the bathroom and dressing-room there was another bedroom, smaller and rather austere. ‘My room,’ said Titus briefly, and led her through another door back to the landing.
She lost count of the bedrooms she was shown and followed him up a smaller staircase to the floor above. The rooms here were smaller but well-furnished and at one end of the passage there was a baize door.
‘The Butters have a flat,’ he explained. ‘There are two housemaids but they come each day.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘We had better go down to lunch. This afternoon if you would like to we will go round the grounds.’
On their way downstairs he stopped. ‘I entirely forgot,’ he told her gravely, and took a small box from his pocket. ‘Your ring...’
She took it slowly and opened its velvet lid. The ring was a half-hoop of splendid diamonds in an old-fashioned setting. ‘It’s been in the family for a long time—gets handed down from one bride to the next. I hope it fits.’
He made no move to put it on her finger. Arabella told herself that would have been sentimental nonsense anyway. It fitted well and she held up her hand to admire it. ‘It’s very beautiful.’
However unsentimental the giving had been, she mustn’t sound ungrateful. She added warmly, ‘Thank you very much, Titus. I shall wear it with pride.’
She smiled up at him and surprised a look on his face which puzzled her, but even as she looked it had gone and been replaced with his habitual bland expression. She must have fancied it.
At lunch old Mrs Tavener said, ‘Ah—you’re wearing the ring. You have pretty hands, Arabella. What do you think of your future home?’
They talked about the house and its history, the village and the people who lived there, and when the meal was finished the old lady went away to her room. ‘Miss Welling goes down to the rectory for lunch on Sundays,’ she explained, ‘and Mrs Butter settles me for a nap. I dare say I shall see you at tea.’
After she had gone they sat for a little while over their coffee in the drawing-room, the animals stretched out before the fire, until Titus said, ‘Fetch a coat and I’ll take you round the gardens before the light goes.’
Even in the wintry weather the gardens were a great delight, and when he opened the door into the kitchen garden she said delightedly, ‘Oh, it is—it reminds me...’ and fell silent.
‘Of your garden at home? I suppose that most of the country houses in these parts have these walled gardens. Come and see the greenhouses. I inherited the gardener with the house; he’s old and crotchety and grows everything under the sun. I took on his grandson this summer—he will be just as good in time.’
‘Only an old man and a boy for all this?’ She waved an arm around her at the orderly rows, the bare fruit trees and the fruit bushes.
‘A couple of men come in several times a week to give a hand with the heavy work. Come this way.’
She stayed where she was. ‘Titus, I’m not sure...that is, I’m not sure if I can live up to you and all this.’
He took her arm and began to walk along the path bordering the rows of cabbages and leeks. ‘Ah, now you can understand why I need a wife—someone to help me live up to it as well.’
‘But it’s your home.’
‘And will be yours too...’
‘You have an answer for everything.’
‘No, no. The last thing I wish to do is coerce you. You have only to say, my dear, and you will be as free as air again.’
That brought her up short once more. ‘You really want me to marry you?’ she asked. ‘You’re quite sure?’
‘Quite sure.’ He bent and kissed her cheek and took her arm again. ‘Come with me, I’ve something to show you.’
He flung an arm around her shoulders and her doubts melted away. Surely being his wife wouldn’t be as difficult as caretaking. ‘Not another garden?’ she asked as he went through a second arched doorway. ‘Oh, stables.’ She peered around her in the afternoon gloom. ‘Do you ride?’
‘Yes, as often as possible.’ He opened the first stable door and said, ‘Come inside.’
There was a pony there, and there was a small donkey too, and both raised their heads as she went in. The pony whinnied and came to meet her, followed by the donkey.
‘Why,’ said Arabella, ‘it’s Bess—and Jerry too!’ She went between them, hugging them, murmuring into their ears and stroking them.
‘A wedding present,’ said Titus quietly. ‘Here—sugar for Bess and a carrot for Jerry.’
She ignored that. ‘Titus, oh, Titus, how can I ever thank you? It’s the most marvellous thing to happen to me since I left home.’ She didn’t see the lift of his eyebrows and his faint smile. She left the animals and stretched up to kiss his cheek. ‘You
have no idea...’ she began, and burst into tears.
He put an arm around her and let her weep into his shoulder. Presently she gave a great sniff and muttered in a sodden voice, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, what a way to behave. Only, I’m so happy.’
He offered a large snowy handkerchief. ‘It’s nice to meet old friends again,’ he observed in a comfortable voice. ‘They’re in good shape—you don’t ride Bess any more, I imagine?’
‘No, not since I was about fifteen. She’s very old—so is Jerry.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. Well, they can enjoy the rest of their lives here. There’s a paddock beyond the yard here—we’ve had them out for a few hours each day. Old Spooner’s grandson—Dicky—is splendid with animals. You can safely leave them in his care.’
She gave him a wide watery smile. ‘I can’t keep saying thank you,’ she began.
‘No need. I am delighted to have pleased you. Shall we go back to the house? I have to go directly after tea.’
She gave the animals a final hug, assured them that she would see them the following day, and walked back to the house, happily unaware that her unremarkable face wasn’t improved by tearstains and a very pink nose.
Back at the house she went to her room and was horrified at the sight of her face in the looking-glass. At least it had been almost dark outside; Titus would have noticed nothing. She repaired the damage, smoothed her hair and went down for tea—a meal taken in Mrs Tavener’s company with Miss Welling sitting like a shadow beside her. She still looked apologetic but Arabella noticed that she ate a hearty tea. She thought that probably Miss Welling was perfectly happy despite her downtrodden expression—she was certainly treated as an old friend by the Taveners and she had beamed her delight when she had wished Arabella happy. It was a pleasant meal but soon Titus got to his feet. ‘I must go, Grandmother. I’ll be down next Saturday morning, early. I’ll see Butter about that.’