“So then,” continued Mrs. Warmer. “So then I said, ‘that’s awful, Mr. Tennant. Why don’t you write to him about it?’ and he said he’d written over and over again and sometimes ‘the young rapscallion’ didn’t answer at all and sometimes he wrote and said he was hard-up at the moment. ‘He’s always hard-up and always will be’ said Mr. Tennant in a rage.”
“I hope you are paid regularly?” said Ellis who had been listening to this revelation in astonishment.
“Oh yes, Mr. Tennant is a very nice gentleman; he gives me my money as regular as clockwork every Friday—except what he has to take off for National Health—but I never knew before that he pays me out of his own pocket. It doesn’t seem right, does it?”
“It’s very wrong,” declared Ellis. “But of course he’ll get it back from the young—er——”
“Mr. Lestrange his name is.”
“Oh yes. Well, Mr. Lestrange will have to settle his lawyer’s bill when the house is sold. No doubt Mr. Tennant will see that he gets what’s due to him.”
“But if it isn’t sold he won’t get nothing,” said Mrs. Warmer significantly.
Reggie chuckled in appreciation. “You see the point, don’t you, Ellis?”
Of course Ellis had seen the point. “We had better call upon Mr. Tennant at once if not sooner,” he declared. “It’s a good opportunity to see him while we’re here.”
“On a Saturday afternoon!” exclaimed Mrs. Warmer. “You won’t find Mr. Tennant in his office on a Saturday; he likes his golf. Besides you didn’t ought to seem too keen. You’d be better to write a letter and say you’ve seen the house and you’re interested, but it needs so much doing to it—specially the windows and the drain-pipes—that you couldn’t think about it unless you was to get it cheap.”
“At a reasonable figure,” murmured Reggie nodding.
“Yes, that’s right. You know the right words to put.”
“You know the right way to go about it,” declared Reggie. He added, “I take off my hat to you, Mrs. Warmer—or at least I would if I happened to be wearing a hat.”
Mrs. Warmer laughed. “You are a one, Mr. Stephenson,” she said.
*
4
The drive home was very pleasant for the clouds had rolled away and the sun was shining. And, having received clear and detailed directions from Mrs. Warmer, the two friends found themselves on the main road ten minutes after leaving Fletchers End. As they whizzed along the fine smooth surface in Ellis’s comfortable Wolseley, he and Reggie discussed the old house thoroughly and Ellis decided quite definitely that if the surveyor’s report was favourable and he could buy the place at ‘a reasonable figure’ he would do so.
“And if I buy it I hope you’ll undertake the job of supervising the renovations,” added Ellis.
“Yes, of course I will!” exclaimed Reggie with enthusiasm. “It would be a peach of a job—we could do wonders with that beautiful old house! I’ve got all sorts of plans simmering in my head. For one thing,” continued Reggie eagerly. “If you could afford the money I’d like to put a bow-window in the drawing-room and a glass door leading onto the terrace. It would improve the room tremendously—and think how nice it would be to stroll out onto the terrace on a fine summer evening . . .”
Reggie went on talking about all the improvements which he had thought of for quite a long time and Ellis listened and agreed and said that they sounded grand—but of course they must ask Bel. It was only when they were quite near home that the subject was changed.
“Mrs. Warmer is a rum ’un, isn’t she?” said Reggie. “Why did you shut me up when I wanted to ask her about the disreputable Mr. Black?”
“Oh,” said Ellis, “it was just that I didn’t like you making fun of her when she was giving us such an excellent meal.”
“She didn’t notice.”
“She might have noticed. She’s a good deal more shrewd than she seems.”
Reggie agreed to this definition of Mrs. Warmer. “Oh well, she didn’t do badly out of us,” he said.
“What do you mean? I gave her ten bob as we were coming away, but that wasn’t——”
“Yes, I saw you,” said Reggie chuckling. “I’d just given her the same myself, so you see she didn’t do badly out of us. What’s going to become of the good lady when you buy the house?—IF you buy the house,” he added.
“She’s staying on as cook. Bel arranged it with her.”
“What!” cried Reggie. “My hat! Some people have all the luck. I hope you’ll ask me to breakfast sometimes.”
“Yes, of course,” said Ellis laughing. “Or perhaps you’d rather come to lunch; a juicy bit of steak—underdone—is what gentlemen likes.”
Chapter Six
Ellis had decided to buy Fletchers End, but the negotiations took some time. Roy Lestrange was a Lieutenant-Commander in Her Majesty’s Navy and was serving in an Aircraft Carrier based at Hong Kong. He wanted to sell the house, but he wanted to get as much for it as he possibly could—a not unnatural desire. Mr. Tennant was eager to sell the house at any reasonable price—as Mrs. Warmer had foretold. These divergent points of view were difficult to reconcile. If they could have sat down round a table and thrashed it out the matter could have been settled in an hour but letters took time to come and go and cables were found to be an unsatisfactory means of communication. With the best will in the world and regardless of expense it is difficult to explain anything complicated by cablegram.
Mr. Tennant started off by writing a long explanatory letter setting forth the advisability of getting the place off their hands before it deteriorated further. If the house were not sold immediately a great deal of money must be spent on the windows otherwise the panes of glass would begin to fall out of their frames. He mentioned that his account up to date for absolutely essential repairs and caretaker’s wages was now four hundred and twenty-seven pounds thirteen shillings and sixpence and an early settlement would oblige. He went on to say it was his considered opinion that very few people would think of buying a place which had become so unattractive, but fortunately here was Mr. Ellis Brownlee, a partner in the well-known firm of Copping, Brownlee and Copping, who was willing to buy Fletchers End at a reasonable figure; therefore let it be sold immediately at a reasonable figure to Mr. Brownlee.
It was a well-thought-out letter and Mr. Tennant felt certain it would do the trick, so he was exceedingly disappointed when Mr. Lestrange replied quite shortly that the figure mentioned was not reasonable—in fact it was ludicrous. Mr. Brownlee must be made to pay more.
Several cablegrams were exchanged but no progress was made and at last Ellis became impatient. He rang up Mr. Tennant and informed him that there was another house in the same neighbourhood which had come into the market. He was arranging to see it next week.
Mr. Tennant was alarmed; he saw his four hundred and twenty-seven pounds receding into the distance! He composed a very expensive cable to ‘that rapscallion’ informing him of the new development, threatening to give up his management of Mr. Lestrange’s affairs and to sue him for the payment of his account.
The rapscallion cabled back, Sell the place for what you can get.
Fletchers End was sold.
*
2
All this time Bel had been on tenterhooks, scarcely daring to hope that the house of her dreams would become her future home. Unlike Louise, whose passage through life had been smooth and pleasant, Bel’s passage had been rough. Life had dealt her some hard blows; she was used to disappointments; she did not expect Fate to be kind. She had been amazed and almost incredulous when she had discovered that Ellis Brownlee loved her and wanted to marry her. The mere idea of living at Fletchers End—with Ellis—was overwhelming. Bel kept on telling herself that it could not happen—not possibly—and she had practically convinced herself of the fact; so when, just a week before the wedding, Ellis came in to supper at the flat and hugged her even more enthusiastically than usual and cried, “Bel, guess what! I’v
e bought it! Fletchers End belongs to us—to you and me. It’s fixed. I did it this morning,” she almost swooned in his arms. She was going to be married to Ellis and live at Fletchers End! It was almost too much happiness to bear.
Ellis was excited too, for by this time he had set his heart on the place (the arrangement to look at Woodhill had been made when he was angry and impatient with all the delays and had felt that something must be settled at once). It was not Woodhill he wanted, it was Fletchers End. Now he had got it, and had got it at a reasonable price, so they could make all the alterations that Reggie had suggested. They could put in central heating; they could renew the electric wiring; they could make the new bathroom; they could even build the bow-window in the drawing-room in place of the small window facing west.
“And the glass door opening on to the terrace?” asked Bel.
“Yes, there must certainly be a glass door.”
“Ellis, I can scarcely believe it!”
Ellis laughed. “Neither can I,” he said. “But it’s true. You and I are going to live in that lovely old house together for the rest of our lives. Of course it will take months before it’s all ready—goodness knows how long it will take!”
“It doesn’t matter how long it takes,” said Bel with a little sigh.
They sat down to supper and began to talk more reasonably about their plans.
“I’ve phoned to Reggie,” said Ellis. “He’s delighted. He’s going down to-morrow to see Baker and put things in hand. I wish I could go down myself and see to things but that’s impossible at the moment. I’m much too busy at the office.”
Bel knew this of course. She knew a great deal about the firm for she had been a member of the staff. She had been employed first as a typist and afterwards as Ellis Brownlee’s secretary—it was in the latter capacity that she had learnt so much about the way the business was conducted. It was a very interesting business—or so Bel thought—for the firm owned large warehouses at The Pool of London and ships came from all over the world bringing merchandise which was discharged at Copping Wharf and stored in the warehouses and afterwards distributed to traders all over the country. She and Ellis had often joked about the cargoes of ‘ivory and apes and peacocks’ which the ‘triremes’ brought to Copping Wharf. The cargoes of modern times were less romantic perhaps but a great deal more useful, consisting of tea and coffee and sugar, dried fruits of various kinds, rice and tapioca and other comestibles too numerous to mention.
When Bel was there the firm had been designated, Copping, Wills and Brownlee, but (Mr. Wills having been obliged to retire owing to a nervous breakdown) Mr. Copping’s young son had now become the junior partner. Bel knew James Copping well. He had a talent for languages and quite often he had come into the office to translate foreign letters. She knew him and liked him but he was very young and inexperienced and, until he had settled down and learnt a great deal more, he would not be much help. The elder Mr. Copping was extremely clever and reliable but unfortunately he was getting old and suffered from an unusual form of heart-trouble. When he was able he came to the office daily and did his full share of the work but sometimes for long periods he was obliged to rest and the whole responsibility for the direction of affairs devolved upon Ellis Brownlee.
“Yes, I know you’re terribly busy,” said Bel. “But Mr. Copping is pretty well at the moment, isn’t he? Do you think he’ll manage all right while we’re away.”
“I hope so. It’s only for a week,” replied Ellis.
*
3
They had arranged to go to Paris for their honeymoon—but only for a week. Ellis did not feel he could be away for longer until Jim Copping had learnt the ropes and could take his proper place.
“It’s a pity I can’t take a fortnight,” Ellis continued, “but it’s impossible. Young Jim is tremendously keen but he knows practically nothing about running the business.” He hesitated and then added, “We ought to have fixed up where we’re going to spend the winter. Fletchers End won’t be ready until the spring.”
“It would be better for you to be in town,” said Bel thoughtfully. “I mean you’re so busy——”
“Much better,” he agreed. “Why shouldn’t we live here, just temporarily? It’s small but it’s very convenient for the office and it would be difficult to find another flat.”
Bel was doubtful. She had lived in her flat for years and knew its disadvantages. “I don’t think it would be very comfortable for you,” she said.
“It would be better than a hotel (where we should have no privacy), and much less expensive. We want to save money for Fletchers End, don’t we? Carpets and curtains and furniture and all sorts of things.”
Bel agreed, but she did not feel happy about the plan. She wanted Ellis to be more comfortable when he was married—not less—and however hard she tried it would be impossible to make Ellis more comfortable in the tiny flat than he had been in his mother’s modern well-designed house at Beckenham.
The flat was in Mellington Street—a not very salubrious district—and was at the top of the house, high up amongst the roof-tops. It was reached by an ill-lighted stone-stair with doors on every landing. Presumably people lived behind all these doors, for there was rarely a vacant flat in the building, but in all the years Bel had lived there she had never become acquainted with any of her neighbours. The flats were said to be all alike but Bel was the fortunate possessor of a tiny roof-garden outside her sitting-room window. Here she grew plants in big stone troughs and window-boxes and here, on summer evenings, she would sit out on a deck chair. It was a pleasant place to sit—except for the smuts which fell from the smoking chimneys—and it made all the difference to Bel, who loved flowers, to have a few flowers of her own to enjoy.
The flat was cheap of course, which was the principal reason why Bel had rented it, and she was used to its inconveniences by this time—but how would Ellis like it? That was the question.
Bel explained all this to Ellis and he replied that he did not mind a few inconveniences as long as they could be together—he and Bel. It was a very satisfactory reply but it did not altogether banish Bel’s apprehensions.
It was late that night when Ellis went away for they had so much to talk about and so many matters to arrange.
When he had said good-bye he hesitated at the door and said, “That’s fixed, then. We’ll come straight back here after our honeymoon . . . but don’t mention it to Mother. I mean there’s no need for her to know about it until we’re settled. She might want us to spend the winter with her at Rose Hill.”
Bel had been thinking exactly the same thing. Indeed she had been wondering whether it was her duty to suggest that they should ask Mrs. Brownlee to have them. Mrs. Brownlee would be only too delighted and it would be a great deal more comfortable for Ellis, but still . . .
“We want to be together—just you and I—don’t we?” said Ellis.
It was very strange how their ideas were always in accord.
Chapter Seven
Several days before the wedding Bel went to stay at Coombe House to help with the preparations. She was considerably alarmed to find preparations being made on such a large scale for she and Ellis both wanted a very quiet wedding. Louise had agreed. “Just a few friends,” she had said and Bel had replied, “That will be lovely.” But surely, thought Bel, surely if just a few friends were expected to attend the reception there was no need to clear the drawing-room and pile all the furniture in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Surely there was no need for the enormous number of champagne glasses which were being unpacked from a box in the attic and arranged upon the sideboard in the dining-room.
“They’ll have to be washed,” said Louise. “I’ll get Joan to come and do it to-morrow morning. She asked if she could help—and it’s the very job for Joan.”
“Are there a lot of people coming?”
“I’m not sure how many,” said Louise vaguely. “Let me see. We had to ask the Musgraves of course. They live at Shep
herdsford so it will be nice for you to know them. There’s Mrs. Musgrave—she’s a pet—and Rose, the youngest daughter. Rose lives with her mother at The Bridle House. The other daughter, Margaret, is married to Bernard Warren and they’ve got a darling little baby boy. Meg and Bernard are my greatest friends—next to you. Then there’s Edward and Joan Winslow—I told you about Joan. She’s coming to wash the glasses for me. And there’s Sylvia Newbigging and her father. He’s a retired Colonel and a great friend of Daddy’s. They play golf together sometimes so we had to ask him. We decided not to ask the new secretary of the golf-club, he isn’t nearly as amusing as Freddie Stafford. Perhaps you remember me telling you that Freddie married Mrs. Winter and they’ve started a hotel somewhere near Cannes. I believe it’s a very comfortable hotel—small but extremely well-run.”
Bel had no recollection of this. She said hopefully, “Is that all?”
“Oh no, not nearly,” replied Louise. “We had to ask Mr. and Mrs. Mainwaring; they would have been frightfully hurt if we’d left them out . . . and of course Lady Steyne and her companion, Miss Penney. Lady Steyne may not come—she’s old, you see—but Miss Penney is coming to do the flowers in the church—isn’t it kind of her?”
“Yes,” said Bel.
“Then there are all the people from Beckenham. Mrs. Brownlee and her sister Mrs. Player, who lives at Bournemouth, and several friends and relations who have known Ellis all his life. And Ellis asked me to send an invitation to Reggie Stephenson, the man who is going to help you with the alterations at Fletchers End. He’s going to be the best man, of course, isn’t he? Then Daddy said we must ask Dr. Whittaker who is the doctor at Shepherdsford. I didn’t want to ask him, really, but of course I had to . . .”
Louise paused for breath and then continued, “I asked the Dering Johnstones—you like them, don’t you Bel? Of course I never thought they would come—all the way from Drumburly! But Rhoda is coming. Isn’t that fun? James is too busy with his sheep but Rhoda said in her letter that she can get away quite easily now that Flockie is back. She said, ‘Tell Bel that I must see her safely married.’ You’re glad she’s coming, aren’t you?”
Fletchers End (Bel Lamington Book 2) Page 5