Grasp a Nettle

by Betty Neels

  The thought crossed her mind that the Professor wouldn’t have asked; he would have known what wanted doing and done it without bothering to ask her, and then gone home and left her in peace. She said wearily: ‘No, Toby—look, I’ve had a busy day and I’m tired.’

  ‘You’d like me to go?’ He got up out of the chair where he had been lounging. ‘Suits me, old girl, I’ve got to be up early to go over and see that horse Mother wants me to buy.’ He laughed. ‘And I like my eight hours sleep, you know.’

  She managed a friendly goodnight, although he had made her irritable. Such a nice young man, everyone said, and just the right husband for her, Margaret had observed on her last visit to Dimworth. Well, he might be nice, and young too, but he was too easy-going by far. Jenny went along to the kitchen, carved herself a hunk of bread and a slab of cheese and then, feeling better for her meal, went to bed.

  She didn’t see the Professor for two or three days. Somehow he had just been or was expected at any moment when she visited her aunt, and on two occasions he actually passed her driving back from the hospital, ignoring her on both occasions. They met eventually, face to face in the hospital’s entrance and when he stood aside for her to pass she stopped in front of him. ‘So there you are,’ she exclaimed forthrightly. ‘I was beginning to wonder if you’d gone back to Holland and forgotten to mention it to anyone.’

  He allowed himself the faint glimmer of a smile. ‘I overtook you just outside the village yesterday.’

  She allowed her eyes to open widely and said innocently: ‘Did you really? I had no idea…I should be obliged if you would let me know how my aunt is getting on. Sister passes on any news, of course, but that’s not very satisfactory.’

  The smile had gone, he looked down his nose at her and said austerely: ‘It is unfortunate that we have missed each other just lately. I left sufficient information with Sister, or so I imagined. However, since we have met, I can tell you that Miss Creed should be well enough to return home in a day or two now. She will need a period of convalescence which presumably you will arrange and then a brief change of air—something different—a cruise would be ideal, for she would not need to exert herself in any way unless she felt like it. Someone would have to accompany her, of course. You?’

  Jenny hesitated. It would mean giving up her job and her independence too, at any rate for the time being. ‘Yes, of course I’ll go with her if she wants me to. I’ll have to go up to Queen’s and see about leaving. I’m afraid they won’t keep my job open.’

  He wasn’t very interested. ‘You must do whatever you think fit,’ he observed casually. ‘Perhaps it would be a good idea if you arranged that while she is still in hospital.’

  She agreed rather unhappily. ‘Yes, I’m going to see her now. Thank you for sparing the time to see me.’

  She slid past him and went along to her aunt’s room, where she put on a bright face for the benefit of the invalid; entered with enthusiasm into plans for Oliver’s visit, assured her aunt that it was of no consequence at all if she gave up her post at Queen’s, and that nothing would be nicer than a cruise.

  Only that night, in the quiet of her own room, she allowed herself the luxury of a good weep. She had expected her aunt to take it for granted that she would leave hospital and look after her—indeed, she had promised that she would, but she had expected that Toby would have understood a little how she felt about it. His: ‘Oh, that’s splendid news, old girl. We’ll settle things when you get back from your trip, shall we? Once you’re away from that place you’ll realise how silly you’ve been hanging on so long. It isn’t as if you need the money, and dash it all, everyone expects us to marry and I’m ready and willing, what more could a girl want?’ had done nothing to dispel her gloom. What more did she want? she asked herself, sitting up in bed, hugging her knees. Just to be allowed to make her own life, prove that she could earn her own living, find herself a husband…someone, she told herself fiercely, who wouldn’t call her old girl.

  Getting Aunt Bess home wasn’t as bad as Jenny had anticipated; indeed her aunt demonstrated a meekness quite unlike her usual forceful self. She was installed in a room on the ground floor so that she could, as she put it, keep an eye on things, and there had been a tremendous upheaval moving her bed and furniture from the room on the first floor. But once this was done, everyone had to admit that it was most convenient, for the new bedroom had a small sitting room leading from it and here Aunt Bess would be able to spend her days, ruling Dimworth from her chair.

  She had been home three days when Oliver and his mother arrived, driving in the old-fashioned Daimler with Jamie, her father’s gardener, at the wheel, for Margaret had never learnt to drive herself. She looked quite beautiful, Jenny thought, watching her get out of the car, her golden hair smooth, her expensive outfit in the exact blue of her eyes. She didn’t wait for Oliver but started to walk towards Jenny, leaving him to scramble out on his own.

  ‘How I hate the journey down!’ she began, and kissed her perfunctorily on her cheek. ‘But Father will insist that I have the car. Oliver gets so restless—I have quite a headache.’

  Jenny murmured sympathy although she didn’t feel particularly that way and turned to receive a boisterous greeting from her small relative, just as pleased to see him as he was to see her again. ‘Come on in,’ she invited. ‘Margaret, you have your usual rooms; I’ve put Oliver next to me and Jamie’s at the lodge. Aunt Bess is resting.’ She looked inquiringly at Margaret. ‘You did explain to Oliver?’

  ‘About Aunt Bess? Oh, vaguely—he’s only a little boy…’

  Jenny sighed inwardly. ‘Oliver, listen to me. You have to be as quiet as a mouse, because Aunt Bess hasn’t been well. Presently, when you’ve had some lemonade, we’ll go into the churchyard and I’ll tell you exactly why.’

  Margaret wrinkled her patrician nose. ‘Oh, Jenny, must you? The churchyard, I mean.’

  ‘It’s a very pleasant place, and I must get him to understand about Aunt Bess, then he’ll be good about it. Won’t you, Oliver?’

  They had reached the private wing by now and Jenny ushered the visitors into the sitting room where Felicity had already set the coffee tray. They were drinking it, while Oliver enjoyed his lemonade and a great many biscuits besides, when he said suddenly, ‘I haven’t seen Dobbs.’ Dobbs was Miss Creed’s chauffeur and Oliver’s firm friend, and Jenny, glad of a respite from the trivial conversation she and Margaret were holding, said:

  ‘He’s in Canada, visiting his son. He’ll be back in a day or two—we’ve all missed him dreadfully.’

  ‘Don’t ask so many questions, Oliver,’ his mother begged. ‘Jenny, I think I’ll go to my room—is there someone to unpack for me?’

  ‘Ethel…’

  ‘Still here? She should have been pensioned off years ago.’

  ‘Aunt Bess wouldn’t do that, Margaret. She’s been here longer than I can remember and she hasn’t anywhere else to go. She does the mending and looks after Aunt Bess’s clothes beautifully.’

  Margaret brightened. ‘Oh, does she? Good, she can look after my things.’ She studied Jenny for a minute. ‘Are you still working at that dreadful hospital?’

  ‘I went up to London and resigned my job while Aunt Bess was still in hospital.’ Jenny spoke quietly, still feeling unhappy about it. ‘She’ll need some help for a little while yet. I can always get another job.’

  ‘I can’t think why you don’t marry Toby—he’s so suitable…’ Margaret looked her over. ‘You’re quite a pretty girl, you know, Jenny, and you dress very well. Don’t you want to settle down?’

  Jenny said no rather abruptly and asked about Margaret’s health, a red herring which never failed to succeed, but Margaret had barely begun on her various little illnesses when Florrie opened the door and said in her nice cosy Somerset voice: ‘The Professor’s here, Miss Jenny—shall I ask him to come in here?’

  Jenny frowned. He had said that he wouldn’t be coming until the evening, but as usual he was d
oing as he pleased. ‘Yes, do, Florrie—and perhaps you could send in some more coffee.’

  She got to her feet as he came in and wished him a good morning and introduced Margaret. Margaret, she noted, had assumed her most beguiling air, reminding her of a Botticelli angel, and guaranteed to catch the eye of any man around. The Professor’s eye was certainly caught; she gave him a few moments in which to feast his gaze before presenting Oliver.

  She was a little surprised that the Professor behaved so nicely towards the little boy—indeed, his manner was that of a man entirely used to small boys, and when Oliver started to tell him about the pet rabbits he had left behind in Scotland, he listened with every sign of interest. It was Margaret who begged her son very prettily not to bore the visitor with his nonsense and then turned the conversation upon herself, while Jenny poured coffee and made what she always privately referred to as hostess murmurs. But presently when Margaret paused for breath, she asked him in businesslike tones if he had come to see her aunt, and if so, did he wish to do so at once, a remark which brought a decided twinkle to his eye.

  ‘If it is convenient, yes. I have to go to Bristol this evening.’ He looked at Margaret. ‘It has been delightful meeting you,’ he observed suavely, ‘and I hope we may meet again before very long.’

  And Jenny, watching, was aware of deep annoyance at this pretty speech; never once had he expressed a wish to see her again—on the contrary she had always had the distinct impression that he wished the reverse. It was wonderful what golden hair and blue eyes did to a man. She tossed her fiery mane over her shoulder and started for the door as he wished Oliver goodbye—in the nicest possible way, she was forced to admit.

  Aunt Bess was awake and looking almost her usual self. ‘You again!’ she declared ungraciously. ‘Heaven knows what your bill will be. I shall be forced to mortgage Dimworth…’

  A remark which brought a crack of laughter from the Professor and a chuckle from Jenny. ‘You share a sense of humour, at any rate,’ observed Aunt Bess. ‘Has Oliver arrived?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt, he’s downstairs having some lemonade.’

  ‘Good—I’ll see him when this fussing around is done with.’ She threw a look at the Professor, taking her pulse. ‘What do you think of the boy? You’ve seen him, of course?’

  ‘Yes. A splendid little chap—a worthy heir to Dimworth.’

  His patient nodded, well pleased. ‘I think so too. And his mother?’

  ‘A very beautiful woman.’ His usually cool voice held warmth.

  ‘I’ll grant you that—not a patch on Jenny here, though.’

  Jenny watched his brows lift faintly and a mocking little smile curve the corners of his mouth, and went a bright pink. By dint of holding her tongue firmly between her teeth she managed to say nothing at all. His bland, ‘Er—I hardly feel in a position to say anything to that,’ merely added to her discomfort.

  To cover it she said a trifle tartly: ‘Do you want to examine Aunt Bess, or is this just a social call?’

  ‘Both, I hope, but if you’re busy…?’ His voice was very bland.

  She said with dignity that she wasn’t and became strictly professional, addressing him—rather naughtily because she could see that it irritated him—as sir whenever she had the opportunity.

  He came every day, although there was really no need now that his patient was doing so well, and it was more than coincidence that Margaret always seemed to be going in or coming out of the house when he arrived—and what more natural than that she should suggest a stroll in the gardens, or offer to show him the lily pond? Jenny, up to her eyes in visitors; getting ready for them and clearing up after them, still had time to notice that, and Aunt Bess, sitting in her great chair by the window and missing nothing, remarked with some asperity: ‘Setting her cap at him, isn’t she? Should have thought he would have had more sense.’

  ‘It would be nice for Oliver,’ said Jenny thoughtfully as she laboriously unpicked the knitting Miss Creed had mangled.

  Her aunt gave her a long look she didn’t see. ‘Indeed it would; he needs a father. Eduard seems to like children.’

  So it was Eduard now. Jenny speared a stitch with violence. ‘A pity he hasn’t married, then,’ she observed lightly.

  ‘Time enough, my dear, time enough. If you’ve finished with that knitting I wish you would go along and see how Grimshaw is managing with those pictures. I know he’s good at those sort of jobs, but he’s getting on a bit. And I’d like Oliver to come and sit with me for a bit.’

  Jenny bent to kiss her aunt’s cheek. ‘OK—but I’ll have to find him first; I bet he’s up a tree.’

  He was. She coaxed him down, warned him to be good and quiet and sent him on his way before going to find Grimshaw, who was managing very nicely. It was on her way back from this mission that she saw Margaret and the Professor. Margaret had a hand tucked confidently in his arm and was laughing up into his face as they strolled along the broad walk along the south face of the house. She had told Jenny the previous evening that she was enjoying her visit far more than she had ever done before. Watching her now, Jenny could see why.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE PROFESSOR, calling each day, yet managed to avoid meeting Jenny alone, and when they did see each other it was in Aunt Bess’s company, listening to her giving dictatorial directions concerning her own welfare, the running of the house, and her forthcoming holiday. She had decided finally upon a cruise, the Professor having cunningly made sure that she did so by stating that possibly she would find it much too tiring. Madeira, she had settled for, and the Canaries—she hadn’t been there for many years and she had a mind to see them again.

  Jenny was to go with her, of course; Aunt Bess hadn’t bothered to enquire about her niece’s job at Queen’s, she had taken it for granted that any sacrifice which Jenny made would be done willingly and for her benefit. And she had suddenly become quite overbearing about Toby. Whenever she and Jenny were alone, he was always the topic of conversation, it was as though Miss Creed took it for granted that Jenny wanted to marry him, despite her denials. It was rather like being in a net, thought Jenny despondently; she was aware that her friends at hospital had envied her; a lesser stately home to go to on her days off, money of her own, titled aunts and uncles, a nice young man waiting to marry her and transfer her to exactly the same kind of background…it was all so suitable, and yet she felt trapped. And now here was Aunt Bess positively pushing him at her!

  To leave Aunt Bess to her own devices was unthinkable; she owed her a happy childhood and untold kindness; besides, she loved her irascible aunt. She would have to make the best of it, and once she was restored to health she would look for another job—and somehow she would have to convince Toby that she wasn’t the wife for him. She had never given him any encouragement, but he still called each day, sometimes twice, always at the most inconvenient times, tagging along behind her while she arranged the flowers or polished the more valuable silver on display. Once or twice the Professor had seen them together, and for some reason that had annoyed her.

  But she had fun too; Oliver was a delightful companion. They climbed trees, explored the wilder corners of the park while she taught him the names of the birds and small wild animals they encountered, fished for minnows in the stream which ran through the grounds, and fed the carp in the pond. And when she could spare the time, she took him round the house, pointing out its lovely furnishings and portraits, showing him the priest’s hole and the cellars. The only place she wouldn’t take him to was the top of the clock tower at the end of the south front.

  ‘You’ll have to wait,’ she told him. ‘There were a lot of starlings there this spring and it’s full of old birds’ nests. I must go up there and clear them away now the birds have gone.’ And she had coaxed him to examine the glass case of family jewellery at the back of the hall instead.

  It was a couple of days later when she found herself with an hour to spare before lunch. Armed with a broom and a sack, she took the unwi
eldy key from its hook behind the garden door and went to open the narrow arched door of the clock tower. There was no way in which to reach it from the house nowadays; the inside door had been walled up, and as the clock seldom needed attention, the outside door was enough. She climbed the narrow circular staircase quickly, not minding the musty smell and the dimness, and at the top produced a second key to open an even smaller door, and stepped into the square, stonewalled room which housed the clock. She had been right; the place was littered with old nests, feathers and all the debris of a large number of birds, and she set to work to clear it away. It took longer than she had expected and she had to hurry a little towards the end, dragging her full sack to the door and leaning it against the wall while she opened the door. It groaned and creaked as she went through and then shut behind her, and when she turned in a vain effort to keep it open in order to retrieve the sack, she dropped the key. She was bending to pick it up when the steps directly below her began to collapse slowly, tumbling down lazily, going out of sight round the angle of the winding stair. Jenny stood teetering on the top still, unable to believe her eyes, unable to go back—even if she had had the courage to move, for the key had tumbled with the steps—and certainly unable to go forward.

  She took a long trembling breath and made herself think calmly while she clutched at the rough stones on either side of her. Panic she must not, that would be disaster, and shouting wouldn’t help; there was the whole length of the south front between her and anyone likely to hear her voice. Perhaps when the ruin of steps below her had settled, she would be able to work her way down. She looked away from the still shifting rubble and tried to remember if she had told anyone where she was going, and concluded that she hadn’t told a soul. Only at the back of her mind was the faint memory of having mentioned it to someone, but she couldn’t remember who and even if she had it had probably not registered.