“That would be when the cottage still ’ad its ex-crescents,” Mr. Coney remarked.
“Ah, it were before you ’ad a go at ’em,” chuckled Mr. Mumper.
“Ex-crescents?” asked Robert.
“Wooden ornaments, prime to take afire,” explained old Mr. Podbury.
“The kind what you see on the pier at Brighton,” explained Mr. Mumper.
“Baroque ornaments?” suggested Robert.
“That’s right, barracks,” agreed Mr. Coney with a smile which showed his toothless gums. “There now, I got it. I bin tryin’ to remember the name Mr. John Dering called them there ex-crescents, an’ I couldn’t; an’ now this gentleman comes along an’ says it right off — there’s a funny thing! I knowed it ’ad something to do with soldiers but I couldn’t get it nohow.”
“You tell the gentleman the story,” said Mr. Mumper generously.
“So I will,” nodded Mr. Coney. “It were like this …” and he launched forth into his story about how Mr. John Dering had told him to remove the “ex-crescents” and Mr. Arnold Dering had wanted them replaced.
“’E were a fule,” declared Mr. Mumper.
“A poor thing,” commented Mr. Podbury.
“A complainin’ man,” nodded Mr. Coney. “Always complainin’ ’e were — an’ what ’ad ’e to complain of?”
The verdict was that Mr. Arnold Dering, far from having grounds for complaint, was an exceedingly fortunate individual since he had possessed a good wife, three fine children, a comfortable house and as much money as he needed.
“Ah!” agreed old Mr. Podbury, who was Comfort’s grandfather and therefore considered himself an authority on the Dering family. “Mrs. Dering’s all right — a fine lady she be.”
“An’ Mr. James,” put in Mr. Coney. “Mr. James is a fine young gentleman. ’E were too young for ’itler’s war, but ’e’s fightin’ now in foreign parts —”
“Fightin’ bandits,” agreed Mr. Podbury. “Comin’ ’ome in the spring, Comfort says.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ONE MORNING when Caroline got up and looked out of her window she felt a distinct nip in the air … the sun was rising from behind Cock Hill amongst banks of golden-lined clouds, but the rest of the sky was a clear pale blue. Winter was coming, but Caroline did not mind winter now. She had dreaded it when Arnold was alive. “There’s gorgeous sunshine in Egypt,” Arnold would say. “Do you realise that, Caroline? Now, at this very moment when this wretched country is shrouded in fog there are places where the sun is shining.” He would shiver ostentatiously and add, “If it were not for the children and this ridiculous little house, hanging round our necks like a millstone, you and I could be basking in gorgeous sunshine.” These complaints and others of the same kind used to distress Caroline — in fact they frightened her — for she felt it was wrong to complain of the children and the house. Supposing they were taken away! Supposing some awful fate befell the children and the house went on fire and was burnt to the ground! Fortunately the Powers that Be were kind and had not listened to Arnold.
It was such a lovely day that Caroline decided to give herself a holiday, she would start off directly after lunch and have a long walk over the moor. The girls were going to Wandlebury to spend the day with friends, so Caroline was completely free. She took a stick in her hand and set forth with a swinging step … up the hill, she went, past the gravel pit and on to the moor … and as she went she thought about all the things that were happening. Some of the things were pleasant, others slightly worrying.
Life goes on monotonously for certain periods of time and one gets the feeling that it will go on just the same for ever, and then suddenly a whole lot of things begin to happen all at once and the monotonous period is over. There was Leda’s engagement, for instance; that was one of the slightly worrying things, for Caroline could not see the future clearly and it was not very satisfactory for Leda to be engaged without any definite prospect of marriage. Robert Shepperton was another event in Caroline’s uneventful existence. He had become her friend, and it was pleasant to have a new friend — especially one with whom she felt so comfortable. He had been wretchedly unhappy when first he came to Ashbridge, but lately his spirits had improved; Caroline had noticed this and was very glad about it. Then there was Harriet. Eve’s Dilemma had been withdrawn, so Harriet would be here to-morrow. Caroline wondered how Harriet was feeling about it … but it would be delightful to have her for a long visit. Last, but not least, it was now practically certain that James was coming home in the spring.
Caroline enjoyed her walk in spite of the fact that a cold east wind got up and the sky became grey and overcast. She was on her way home and had reached the top of the hill when she saw a man come out of the little wood and begin to walk slowly towards her. He was carrying a gun and he had a spaniel with him. It was Sir Michael, of course, and this was Sir Michael’s ground. Although he had told Caroline a dozen times that she might go anywhere she liked, she felt a trifle uneasy in case she had disturbed the game. Perhaps she should turn and go back, thought Caroline, hesitating. At this moment a covey of partridges rose, almost at her feet, and flew straight over Sir Michael. He threw up his gun and got a right and left … and two brown balls of feathers came tumbling out of the sky.
Well, he can’t complain! thought Caroline, smiling to herself. She waited where she was until the spaniel had found the birds and taken them to his master.
Sir Michael waved and came towards her. “Good!” he cried. “Good work!” He looked fit and ruddy and cheerful … and somehow less enormous than usual; perhaps it was because he was in his proper surroundings. He was wearing brown leather gaiters and an exceedingly old suit of plus-fours which had faded to a moory sort of colour. “Good work!” he repeated as he came nearer. “Well done, Caroline! Couldn’t have been better if we’d arranged it.” Caroline was amused at this undeserved praise; she had done nothing — absolutely nothing — but he was as delighted with her as if she had been extremely clever. He was so enchanted with her performance that he had called her Caroline, which he had never done before in all the years she had known him … but perhaps it is because we are going to be related by marriage, thought Caroline vaguely.
“I’ve been stalking that covey all afternoon,” he told her. “Nearly gave up — and then I thought I’d have one more try. Just shows, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Your perseverance was rewarded.”
“A nice brace,” he said, holding it up. “You must have the birds, of course — that goes without saying.”
She tried to refuse graciously but he would take no denial. “You’ve earned them,” he declared. “I never saw a neater bit of work in my life. Here they are! You don’t mind carrying them home, do you?”
Caroline did not mind in the least; a brace of partridges would be a very welcome addition to her ill-filled larder.
“That’s right then,” he said with satisfaction. “Sensible woman! Don’t go and eat them too soon. They ought to hang for a week at least in this weather … cold, isn’t it?”
“But very pleasant weather for a good walk,” said Caroline. She was amused when she found herself making the platitudinous reply.
“Yes,” he agreed, nodding. “Better than yesterday. I had Shepperton out with me yesterday — that fellow who’s staying at the Cock and Bull. D’you know him?”
Caroline said she did.
“Nice fellow,” Sir Michael continued. “A bit of a puzzle in some ways. Doesn’t say much about himself, does he? He doesn’t seem to have a gun — I lent him one of mine — but he’s a damned fine shot all the same. We didn’t get a record bag but it was very pleasant, very pleasant indeed.” Caroline murmured that she was glad.
“The fellow’s been ill — I only found that out at the end. I wouldn’t have taken him so far if I’d known about it to start with. You shouldn’t overdo things when you’ve been ill,” said Sir Michael gravely. “I’m never ill, myself, of course. How is ev
erybody? Good news from James?”
“Yes, he seems quite fit —”
“And Leda? Is Leda all right?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Derek seems a bit more settled. He’s working better — hasn’t been gadding about so much.”
“Leda has settled down, too,” said Caroline … and then she wondered if this were true. Leda was so secretive, you never knew what she was feeling; some days Leda seemed fairly happy and other days not. Caroline guessed that her ups and downs depended upon Derek’s letters, but it was only guesswork of course.
“You can tell her it’s fixed,” Sir Michael said.
“Fixed!” exclaimed Caroline.
“Yes, my lawyers have agreed to take Derek into the firm when he gets his degree. It’s an old-established firm in London and it should give him a decent start. I’ll have to stump up some money, of course, and it means selling Betterlands Farm, which has been in the family for generations, but we can’t help that, the important thing is to get the boy well settled. I’ve written to Derek and told him, so you can tell Leda. She’ll be pleased, I expect.”
“Of course she’ll be pleased,” said Caroline warmly. “It’s very generous of you, Sir Michael.”
“Oh well,” he mumbled. “Must get them fixed up.”
“Leda will have a little of her own. It’s all in trust, but I’ve been into it with my lawyer and she’ll have about two hundred a year.”
“Better than nothing. They ought to manage if they’re careful … Rhoda’s coming,” he added, changing the subject abruptly. “She’s coming down on that frightful contraption of hers. Going to stay for a bit and have a rest. Rhoda works too hard and Derek doesn’t work hard enough. Odd, isn’t it? We’re having a party for Rhoda’s birthday, you must all come.”
“That will be lovely,” Caroline said.
It was time to go home now. Sir Michael handed over the partridges and said good-bye. She watched him walk away across the moor and thought how kind he was — how good and solid and generous beneath his somewhat awe-inspiring manner — and she thought he must be lonely living all by himself in Ash House with nobody to talk to and only the old couple to “do for him,” but he never complained or worried other people with his troubles. She had noticed a button missing from his jacket and an undarned tear in his elbow. How distressed Alice would be if she knew! thought Caroline.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE LIGHT was fading when Caroline got to the top of Cock Hill; the sky was grey, the wind was very cold, the village seemed to cower beneath its cruelty … and then suddenly, as she went down the path by the side of the gravel pit, the darkness overcame the grey light. One moment it was a cold grey afternoon and the next moment it was gloaming. The lights sprang up in the village, first one and then another — then three — four — seven — ten — until nearly every little cottage boasted a square of faint amber light and the village was no longer a bleak, deserted, cowering village but a whole encampment of little homes … warm comfortable homes with tea laid out upon their kitchen tables and a friendly kettle singing on the hob. Caroline’s own lights were especially welcoming. She saw them from afar off and hastened her steps.
Tea was ready in the drawing-room, the fire was burning brightly and the curtains were drawn. Robert Shepperton rose from an arm-chair as she went in.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “Comfort insisted that I should come in and wait for you. She said the girls were out and you would be glad of company.”
Caroline was glad, not because she minded being alone — it was rather pleasant sometimes — but because she liked her uninvited guest; he was a comfortable companion and she could be silent with him or chatter, just as she felt inclined. It was because he was comfortable with her of course, for these feelings work in both directions or not at all. She sat down and began to tell him her news — the great news that Derek and Leda were to be married next year.
“You’re happy about it,” said Robert, nodding.
Caroline hesitated for a moment. “It’s what they want,” she said. “I want Leda to be happy.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “We all want our children to be happy. I feel the same about Philip. One must just hope they will choose right.”
“You don’t like Derek?” she asked.
“That doesn’t matter, does it? If Leda likes him — if he’s the right person for her — but I’m afraid I was thinking of my own child when I made that remark. The fact is I’ve had a letter from Philip which has given me rather a shock. He says … but perhaps you would read it.”
Caroline took the letter and unfolded it and read it through; it was well written in a round schoolboy hand:
DEAR FATHER,
I was very pleased to hear you are better and it will be good to see you when you come over here in the spring, but I would rather stay here and not go back to England. I like America very much and I like Mr. and Mrs. Honeyman very much. It would be quite different in England and I would feel strange after being here so long. The school would be different, too. I would not get much food, would I? I get very good food here and Mrs. Honeyman says I am growing fast and I need it. We went for a picnic last week, it was the Sunday School picnic. First we ran races and I won second prize, then we had two hot dogs and buckwheat cakes with butter and maple syrup, and then we had ice-cream and ice-cream soda with chocolate on the top, and we had fruit and marsh mallows and whipped cream and candy. It was a very good picnic. Mr. Honeyman wants me to stay and he says he will pay for everything. He says he is going to write and tell you. I hope you will let me stay as I do not want to leave Mr. and Mrs. Honeyman and I know I would not like England and you have not got a home or anything. Please write soon and say it is O.K.
Love from
PHILIP.
Caroline was horrified for she knew how much Mr. Shepperton had been looking forward to having Philip home. Philip was all he had in the world … she was so shocked that she could find nothing to say.
“It’s a blow, of course,” said Robert quietly. “Somehow I never expected this; I thought Philip was looking forward to coming home, just as I was looking forward to having him. It was foolish of me, of course; I ought to have seen it from his point of view. He has been with the Honeymans for years — ever since he was eight years old — and they have treated him as if he were their own child, so it would be unnatural if he were not fond of them.”
“You’re his father!”
“Yes, but he scarcely knows me.”
“It’s terribly hard!”
He thought she meant it was hard to decide what to do and replied at once. “Oh, Philip must do as he wants — and as they want — I don’t feel I have any claim. Besides, how could I bring him over here when he doesn’t want to come? It would be an impossible situation. And of course I see, now that I think of it, how difficult it would be for him to adjust himself to life in England.”
“It certainly would be very difficult to feed him,” said Caroline with a lift of her brows.
He smiled quite cheerfully in return. “You’ve said it,” he agreed. “Philip sounds a little greedy, doesn’t he? I dare say I was greedy when I was twelve.”
Caroline had thought at first that it was a cruel letter, but now she took it up and read it again more carefully. It was not cruel, it was just child-like. Children are ruthless because they have not learned pity, they are inconsiderate because they have never experienced pain. When Philip had written the letter he had not seen his father receiving it, Philip had just sat down and written exactly what he was feeling with absolute honesty and, as Robert had said, you couldn’t blame him. You couldn’t blame the Honeymans either; they had taken care of Philip for four years and obviously were devoted to him, and — also obviously — could not bear the idea of their precious foster-child being taken away to austerity conditions and deprived of his proper nourishment. You could blame nobody, you could only be sorry for Robert … how could he bear it? Caroline was thinkin
g of Philip in terms of James and she decided that if James did not want to come home to her but preferred somebody else as a parent, she would just — she would just lie down and die.
“Robert!” she exclaimed, “I don’t know what to say. It sounds ridiculous to say I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry too much,” he replied. “It’s a great disappointment but it isn’t a grief. It would have been much worse if I had known Philip and lost him. Philip is an abstract idea to me rather than a personality. Of course I have been looking forward to having him and making friends with him and enjoying his companionship. I thought it would be tremendous fun to show him round and give him presents, to take him down to Marlborough … but it can’t be helped. It would be no use at all unless he enjoyed it.”
“Yes, I see that,” agreed Caroline. “But I must say I think you’re taking it very well, Mr. Shepperton.”
“You called me Robert a moment ago,” said Robert, smiling.
“Oh, it was a mistake!”
“I thought it sounded friendly.”
Caroline laughed and blushed. “It’s old-fashioned to stand on ceremony,” she said. “I found that when I was staying with Harriet; none of her friends possessed any surnames — or, if they did, I never heard them! But they all called me Caroline straight off, which made it easier.”
“I’m quite willing to make it easier,” said Robert smilingly.
They said no more on the subject, in fact Caroline changed the subject rather hastily. “You’re looking much better,” she told him. “Ashbridge is doing you good …”
Robert agreed that it was. They discussed Ashbridge and the people — especially the Podbury family — and Caroline tried to explain the ramifications of the Podburys to her friend but without much success, for in fact the ramifications were so far-reaching and so complicated by inter-marriage that unless you had lived in Ashbridge all your life there was little hope of understanding them.
Vittoria Cottage (Drumberley Book 1) Page 10