“I know,” agreed Sir Michael. “Of course you do — so do I, for that matter — but it’s difficult when he’s in the Brights’ house. That’s one of the reasons why he ought to be moved. We’ll get him brought home, Leda. I’ve written to the doctor about it.”
Leda smiled. She began to think Derek’s accident was not such a tragedy as it had seemed, for if Derek came home to Ash House she could go there daily; she could take him books and talk to him — she might even be allowed to help the nurse to look after him. She could see Sir Michael was coming round. Sir Michael might possibly be wheedled into giving permission for them to be married quite soon.
Thinking thus, Leda was very charming to Sir Michael. She laid herself out to entertain him and never once glanced at her other neighbour.
Harriet smiled at Robert several times, but the table was large and round and Harriet was at the other side, hemmed in between her nephew and her younger niece, so she could do nothing to entertain her host … Robert could have kicked himself for the bad arrangement of his lunch-party, he ought to have thought it all out beforehand, of course.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
WHEN THE CHRISTMAS lunch-party was over, and everyone had had as much as they could eat, it was decided to walk over to Vittoria Cottage and view the presents. Robert had seen the presents already, so instead of going in with the others he walked on. He was feeling rather miserable — everything seemed to be going wrong — and the indubitable fact that he had eaten too much did not help matters. He had eaten more than usual because he had had nobody to talk to during the meal … and the sensation was unfamiliar. Robert had lived on starvation diet for years, so he was not in training for Mrs. Herbert’s idea of a Christmas feast.
He walked on to the Roman Well — which, although it was not Roman, was a pleasant place to go — and there he found Peter Podbury and Ted Mumper. The friendship which had started with Christmas carols and rabbit-snares had ripened considerably, and the two boys were delighted to see Mr. Shepperton. But Mr. Shepperton was not as cordial as usual — he was annoyed with Peter. It had come to his ears that the clock on the village hall had been altered again — though this time the trick had failed to deceive the driver of the Wandlebury bus.
“I thought you were going to turn over a new leaf, Peter,” said Mr. Shepperton reproachfully. “You promised, didn’t you? You said if I showed you how to set the snares you’d give up these idiotic pranks — and this prank was more idiotic than usual. You might have known you couldn’t trick people a second time.” (It was curious but true that Robert was almost as disappointed with Peter for doing such a foolish thing as for breaking his promise.)
“It wasn’t us,” said Peter.
“We didn’t do it,” said Ted.
“But you did it before!”
“That’s why,” returned Peter laconically.
“That’s why!” echoed Mr. Shepperton in bewilderment. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Peter don’t like doing the same thing twice,” explained Ted.
“’Cos why?” said Peter. “’Cos it’s dull — an’ silly. It’s fun to do a thing once, but then it’s over. ’Tisn’t fun to keep on doing it.”
Mr. Shepperton digested this information. He found it interesting. “ I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have jumped to the conclusion you and Ted had broken your promise.”
“That’s all right,” declared Peter. “Everybody thinks it was us. We don’t mind; we know who it was — see?”
“Tell him,” urged Ted, poking his friend in the ribs. “Tell him — you know what, Peter.”
“We want you to teach us navigation,” said Peter obediently.
“Navigation!”
“We’re going to be sailors — see?”
“It’s true,” declared Ted. “We’ve asked our dads an’ they’re finding out about it. We can go to a ship called The Conway when we’re a bit older … but Peter an’ me thought it ’u’d be a good idea to start learning about it right off.”
“You will, won’t you, Mr. Shepperton?” urged Peter.
Robert was amused and flattered at their confidence in his powers. If they had wanted instruction in Persian they would have applied to him with equal confidence in his power to help them … fortunately he need not disappoint them for he had done some yachting in his youth and the art of navigation had always interested him; he knew enough about it to start them off in the right direction.
“So you want to be sailors?” he said.
“It would be a good idea, wouldn’t it, Mr. Shepperton?”
Mr. Shepperton thought it would be an excellent idea. The Podburys were traditionally “stay-at-homes,” but Peter was quite different from the other members of his family — Ashbridge was too small to hold Peter — he was full of initiative and resource, he was adventurous by nature … perhaps Peter was a throw-back to some dead and gone buccaneering Podbury who had sailed the Spanish Main. But whether that was the case or not, Robert Shepperton was quite sure that the discipline and ordered routine of a Naval Training School was exactly what Master Peter Podbury needed … and where he went Ted Mumper would follow blindly. Meantime it would do them no harm to have a little mild instruction in seafaring matters, and it would be amusing — and useful — to undertake the task of instruction.
“You’ll help, won’t you?” urged Peter.
“All right, but you’ll have to stick to it.”
“We’ll stick to it — like glue!” cried Peter joyously.
Robert Shepperton was feeling better and happier when he left the boys and continued his interrupted walk, for he had given happiness and intended to give more. It was not his way to do things by halves, and the boys had good stuff in them. He would speak to their fathers and see what he could do to help to arrange their future, to start them off in their career … it would make up a little for the loss of Philip if he took an interest in these two imps and could make plans for them.
Making plans for his new protégés filled Robert’s mind so that he did not notice where he was going. He followed a rutty track across a field and presently found himself at the gate of a little cottage. It was a charming cottage, well kept and newly painted; there was a row of bee-hives in the little garden, and behind he could see a shed. Some hens were picking about in a wired enclosure — they were Rhode Island Reds, like Caroline’s. Robert stood and looked at the cottage and thought what a delightful place it was; he wondered who lived here and whether they were happy people. Happiness was an odd thing, Robert thought. It depended upon so many small factors.
He was about to walk on when a girl came out of the cottage with a baby in her arms. The cottage was isolated and it seemed unfriendly not to greet a fellow-creature on Christmas Day, so he waved his hand and wished her good afternoon.
The girl was glad to respond, she came down the path towards him. “A merry Christmas,” she said. “It’s a pity it isn’t snow, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Robert, but he said it doubtfully for he was not particularly fond of snow … and it seemed to him that any one living here, so far from the amenities of civilisation, might find snow a nuisance rather than a pleasure.
“Not deep snow, of course,” said the girl. “Just a sprinkle like what you see on a Christmas card. It would be more Christmasy, wouldn’t it?”
She was a pretty girl, Robert noticed, but she had “a delicate air” and the baby was tiny; it was the smallest morsel of humanity he had ever seen.
“Your baby looks very young,” he told her.
“She is young,” nodded the girl. “She’s so young she didn’t ought to have been born — or only just — but she’s getting on nicely. She isn’t pretty yet,” continued her mother, who (privately) thought she was beautiful but had discovered that other people did not share her views. “She isn’t pretty but she’s good and very little bother. She’s going to be christened soon.”
“Have you decided what to call her?” Robert inquired.
> “Caroline,” said the girl, looking down at the tiny face with brightness in her own. “Caroline, her name is. It’s the loveliest name I know.”
“It is a beautiful name.”
“You see,” said Sue, looking up at him in her confiding way, “you see, Mrs. Dering is going to be her godmother — if it hadn’t been for Mrs. Dering she wouldn’t be here at all — so that’s why Jim and me are calling her Caroline.”
“I see,” said Robert. It was not really true, of course, for he had no idea who the girl was nor what she meant. Sue had the advantage of him there; naturally she knew who he was and all about him; for, although Sue was living in an isolated spot, she was by no means cut off from her family and there were few days when a Podbury of some description — old or young, male or female — did not visit her and bring her all the village gossip. When Uncle Amos came for gravel he always called at the cottage for a cup of tea, and if he did not appear Tom or Violet or little Amos looked in, or her mother toiled up the hill to see the baby. Cousins and aunts with a free hour walked up to see Sue, for it was a nice walk to the cottage and they were certain of a welcome.
“There’s nobody like Mrs. Dering,” continued Sue. “Jim and me both think that. There’s nobody in all the world like Mrs. Dering.”
“Yes,” said Robert. “She is — very — er —”
“She’s a saint,” said Sue, quite soberly. “I don’t mean what people mean nowadays when they say a person’s a saint; I mean like St. Francis and St. Catherine that did miracles long ago.” She stopped suddenly for she knew she was a chatterbox and, if you had nobody to talk to all day, your tongue was apt to run away with you when you met somebody sympathetic — as this Mr. Shepperton was — and you suddenly found it saying things you didn’t intend to say. Sue had decided she wasn’t going to tell anybody about the strange, beautiful thing that had happened … not anybody at all, not Jim nor her mother, no, not anybody. It was a secret between her and Mrs. Dering and such a strange secret that even they had not spoken of it to one another. She would never forget it, of course; if she lived to be a hundred years old she would still remember that wonderful stream of peace and healing which had flowed into her through Mrs. Dering’s hand and she would remember the sound of Mrs. Dering’s voice when she had said, “Loving you. Shut your eyes, Sue.”
“Miracles?” asked Robert Shepperton in surprise.
“There’s a picture of St. Francis in church,” Sue told him.
He was aware of this. It was a beautiful seventeenth century window and he admired it so much that he had changed his pew so that he could see it whenever he lifted his eyes … but that was not the point, and the girl knew it as well as he did. She was being stupid on purpose (it was the time-honoured defence of the peasant with a secret) but she need not have worried, for Robert was the last person to probe into matters which did not concern him. He gave the girl a present to buy something for little Caroline and walked on up the hill; but he had not gone far when he heard her running after him.
“P’raps you’d like to come to the christening,” she said breathlessly “It’s Sunday week at two o’clock.”
Robert was surprised and touched. Christenings were not much in his line (in fact Philip’s christening was the only one he had attended, except presumably his own) but he realised the girl was offering him all she had to offer so he accepted gracefully.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CAROLINE WAS BUSY in the garden, sweeping up the leaves, when she saw the Admiral’s Rolls stop at the gate. It was not an unusual sight these days for Sir Michael had begun to drop in quite frequently, and it was a welcome sight because Caroline had begun to like him very much indeed. There was something simple and boyish about the big man; he was sincere and kindly and straight-forward. She waved her broom and went to meet him.
“Something’s happened,” he said as he came in at the gate.
“Heavens! Not — not Derek!”
“Yes, I’ve just seen him but I didn’t get any satisfaction out of him — waste of petrol, that’s all.”
“You’ve been over to Oxford!” exclaimed Caroline, who now realised that Derek had not had a relapse and was neither dead nor dying.
“It seemed the only thing to do,” he replied.
Caroline waited for more information but none was forthcoming. Sir Michael seemed tired and worried, he seemed unlike himself … and, unlike himself, he was looking at the ground as if he did not want to meet her eyes.
“Don’t know how to tell you,” he said at last. “Fact is … no, I’ll give you the letter.” He searched for the letter in all his pockets. “Got it this morning,” he said. “It’s from Bright and the only thing to do was to go straight over and see Derek; but I might have saved myself the trouble for all the good it did. Read it,” he said, handing it to her. “Where are your glasses?”
“I don’t need glasses,” Caroline said.
She took the letter and was about to open it when Sir Michael took it out of her hand. “No,” he said. “Wait a minute, Caroline.”
“You’re frightening me!”
“I know — I can’t help it. We’ll go indoors, shall we?”
They went into the drawing-room and Caroline sat down. She had said he was frightening her and it was true; but she was not really surprised.
“I suppose Derek wants to break the engagement,” she said.
“How did you know?”
“I just — knew.”
“That would be bad enough but this is worse,” said Sir Michael and he handed her the letter for the second time.
She unfolded it. It was typewritten on thick, white, handmade paper with a deckle edge and in spite of her worry and anxiety she could not help thinking how curious it looked and how badly typescript and hand-made paper went together:
BENDERSLEIGH MANOR,
near OXFORD.
DEAR SIR MICHAEL WARE,
I am informed that you are making arrangements for Derek’s removal from my residence, but this is unnecessary as we are glad to have him here indefinitely. Derek has no desire to be moved, he is having the best attention money can provide and his progress is satisfactory. The fact is Valerie and Derek have taken a fancy to each other and Mrs. Bright and I have given permission to their engagement. As I have no son of my own I intend to take Derek into my business and train him for an executive post. I can assure you it is an excellent opening for a young man and there will be no need for you to give him financial assistance. He will have better prospects in BRIGHT’S LTD. than a degree in Law could give him. Derek has asked me to write and inform you of the new plans for his future welfare.
Believe me
Yours truly,
NATHANIEL BRIGHT.
The first time Caroline read it she could not believe her eyes, so she read it again. It was a most extraordinary letter, a horrible mixture of business jargon and vulgarity … and so smug and self-satisfied, so cruel. How could any father write to another father in such terms!
Sir Michael was standing at the window, gazing out. “I wouldn’t have had this happen for anything,” he said hoarsely. “I knew Derek was weak but I never thought he was a rotter. What would Alice have felt! You knew Alice; she was white all through.”
“Yes,” said Caroline. “Yes, she was —”
“Couldn’t believe it at first,” continued Sir Michael. “Thought there must be some mistake — some misunderstanding — so I went over in the car and saw Derek. Told him pretty straight what I thought of him. He pretended to be surprised, said he understood I didn’t approve of his engagement to Leda and hadn’t given my consent, so he didn’t consider himself engaged to her. He said I’d made a fuss about the money, said he wouldn’t need money from me now, said he thought I’d be pleased about that. He made it sound as if I grudged him his allowance. I never did — not for a moment — he’s my only son and he had a right to the money. Of course, I had told him I was going to sell Betterlands Farm to get him started. I told him becau
se I thought he ought to know. The place will be his when I’m dead, and if it’s gradually shorn of all the best farms there won’t be much of it left. I told him because I thought it would make him work harder and economise a bit, not because I grudged it. I told you, too,” added Sir Michael. “You didn’t think I grudged it, did you?”
“No,” said Caroline. “I thought you were very generous, Sir Michael.”
He was walking up and down now. “Well, anyhow, he put me in the wrong. He put me in the wrong over Leda, and he put me in the wrong over the money. I was wrong and he was the injured innocent! He had thought I’d be pleased … pleased mark you! He said I needn’t sell Betterlands … and I shan’t sell Betterlands,” declared Sir Michael. “The place has been in the family since the year dot. I shall wire Stobbs and cancel the whole thing …”
Caroline let him run on. He was terribly upset and it was good for him to get it off his chest; he had nobody to talk to at home. She listened to him with half an ear while she thought of Leda and wondered how Leda would take it.
“But all that doesn’t matter,” said Sir Michael, stopping suddenly on the hearth rug and looking down at the fire. “That’s all merely by the way. It’s Leda we’ve got to think of. I don’t know what to do — or say. I told him so. I said ‘What about Leda? You seem to have forgotten Leda,’ I said. So then he said Leda wouldn’t mind. Apparently he and Leda had discussed the matter, they’d discussed Derek giving up Law and going into business and Leda wasn’t in favour of it. Did you know that?”
“No,” said Caroline. “Leda doesn’t tell me much, I’m afraid.”
“Well, they did,” said Sir Michael. “They discussed it … and of course, Leda was right. Derek ought to take his degree. Leda appears to have some sense. Derek has none. Derek says she made rather a point of his sticking to Law. What d’you think about that, Caroline?”
She hesitated and then said, “Quite honestly, I don’t think much of it. I’m afraid Leda will be terribly unhappy.”
Vittoria Cottage (Drumberley Book 1) Page 18