Bel nodded. She really was glad Rhoda was coming for Rhoda was a very special friend. If it had not been for Rhoda’s encouragement Bel might have lost the chance of marrying Ellis. It was quite terrifying to look back on what had happened at Tassieknowe Farm and to think how foolish she had been, how easily she might have refused to marry Ellis. Oh yes, Bel was very glad that Rhoda was coming ‘to see her safely married’. She owed Rhoda more than she could ever repay.
“Then there’s Mr. Nelson,” said Louise. “You said I was to send an invitation to Mr. Nelson, the manager of Copping Wharf. And there’s Ellis’s partner, Mr. Copping, and Mrs. Copping of course. I asked their son too—Mr. James Copping—but he can’t come. I think that’s all . . . no wait a minute, there’s a woman called Miss Snow who used to be a friend of yours when you worked in the office. Ellis told me that Miss Snow is very fond of you and would love to come to the wedding.”
“Fond of me! She’s like an iceberg!” exclaimed Bel.
“Well, that’s what he said, so of course I asked her. Oh, and you wanted me to ask Mrs. Warmer, didn’t you? How many is that?”
Bel had no idea how many it was. She was speechless with dismay.
“Two Musgraves and two Warrens,” said Louise ticking them off on her fingers. “The Newbiggings makes six. Dr. and Mrs. Whittaker—eight; Mrs. Warmer—nine; Mr. and Mrs. Copping—eleven; Mr. Nelson—twelve; Miss Snow—thirteen. Then there’s Lady Steyne and Miss Penney . . . Oh, they said the Bucklands might be staying with them at Underwoods so of course I said be sure to bring them too. That’s sixteen, isn’t it? No, seventeen if Lady Steyne comes. The Mainwarings and the Winslows make twenty-one; Reggie Stephenson—twenty-two. Mrs. Brownlee and her sister twenty-four. Mrs. Brownlee’s friends—she didn’t say how many—call it five—that makes twenty-nine. Then there’s Rhoda; that’s thirty. Daddy and I and you and Ellis makes thirty-four. Is that right?”
“I—think so,” said Bel faintly.
“Don’t be silly, Bel,” said Louise. “I know you said you wanted just a few friends, but if you ask one you must ask another—or they’re offended. You don’t want to offend people, do you? It would be a pity—especially when you’re coming to live so near.”
“Oh Louise, don’t think I’m ungrateful!” exclaimed Bel. “You’re terribly kind to do all this for me. It’s only just——”
“I know,” said Louise nodding. “I know all that, so don’t worry . . . and you needn’t be a bit grateful because I’m enjoying it all tremendously. It’s fun making all the arrangements and it’s going to be a lovely wedding.” She hesitated and then added, “By the way I asked Mark to come.”
“You asked Mark!” exclaimed Bel incredulously.
“Much better to ask him,” said Louise. “I know you felt you never wanted to see him again after the extraordinary way he behaved to you, but it’s all over and done with long ago. It will do Mark a lot of good to come and see you being married to Ellis. Besides he’s my cousin—Daddy’s nephew—so Daddy would think it queer if we didn’t ask him.”
“Is he coming?”
“Goodness knows,” said Louise cheerfully. “Mark never answers invitations, nor letters either. If he feels like coming he’ll arrive all toshed up in wedding garments, but if he’s busy painting one of his queer pictures he’ll forget all about it. That’s Mark.”
“Yes, that’s Mark,” Bel agreed—and smiled. It certainly had been a shock to hear that Mark Desborough had been invited to her wedding; but now, having thought about it, she realised that Louise was right. It would be quite a good thing for Mark to attend her wedding. She hoped he would come.
At one time—how long ago it seemed!—Bel had lost her heart to the young painter, but the foolish infatuation had not lasted long. It had lasted just a few days—just long enough for Bel to discover that Mark was absolutely unreliable and selfish; quite literally he cared for nobody except himself. How long ago it seemed! So long ago that Bel could scarcely remember what Mark looked like.
“Where is he now?” asked Bel after a little silence.
“Hampstead Heath. Do you want his address?”
“No, of course not. I was only wondering——”
Louise laughed and said, “You were wondering if he was going back to that flat near yours in Mellington Street. Well, he isn’t.”
“Thank goodness!” exclaimed Bel.
*
2
Anyone who had met Louise at parties or at the Tennis Club; had seen her laughing merrily and had heard her talking nonsense to all and sundry, might easily have thought her a butterfly-girl—very lovely to look at but not much use in the stress and strain of life. Bel knew her better for she had stayed at Coombe House several times and admired the competent manner in which she ran her father’s house and managed to make it very comfortable indeed with the help of a not very reliable daily. Louise answered the telephone, took messages for the doctor and soothed anxious patients. She kept her father’s engagement book, worked out the best way for him to do his rounds, helped him with his accounts and filled up innumerable and extremely complicated forms. Yes, Louise was an extremely capable young woman. Bel knew that. Bel knew also that for all her light-hearted gaiety Louise was by no means superficial. She thought deeply about things that mattered and her standard of integrity was very high indeed. It was difficult to understand Louise because she was such a curious mixture; she had a way of surprising you—of doing something quite unexpected and thereby revealing a facet of her personality which you had not seen before.
After their chat about the wedding guests, Bel went upstairs and unpacked. Then Dr. Armstrong returned home for lunch. He ate his meal hastily for he had a good many visits to pay in the afternoon, but as he was going away he told Louise to rest.
“Do you know what this silly girl did,” he said to Bel. “She heard me come home in the middle of the night and came down to make me a cup of Ovaltine.”
“It wasn’t silly,” declared his daughter. “If anyone is silly, it’s you. You know perfectly well that I leave the tray ready on the kitchen-table but unless I come down and make it you just don’t bother.”
Dr. Armstrong chuckled, he said, “Well, you’re looking tired—not as beautiful as usual—so you’d better rest.”
Bel was tired too, so they decided to take a couple of deck chairs and rest in the garden beneath the chestnut tree at the end of the lawn. They took rugs, for it was the beginning of October, but it was so warm and sunny that they scarcely needed them.
“We won’t knit or read, we needn’t even talk,” said Louise. “We’ll just be nice and peaceful.” She settled herself comfortably and yawned.
“We’ll go to sleep,” said Bel.
She had scarcely spoken when the telephone-bell rang.
“Oh blow! Likewise dash!” cried Louise leaping from her chair and running across the lawn at top speed.
Bel could do nothing, of course, so she wrapped herself up in the rug and lay down. It was very peaceful and pleasant.
Ten minutes passed and Bel was almost asleep when she heard Louise calling to her. Somewhat reluctantly she unwrapped herself and went in.
“I’m awfully sorry to bother you,” said Louise quickly. “I wouldn’t have disturbed you—but it’s serious. I must find Daddy at once. Poor old Mr. Hart was hanging a picture and he fell off the ladder (he’s over eighty so he shouldn’t have been climbing a ladder). Mrs. Hart says he’s unconscious, he’s lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. She’s all of a dither. She’s been trying to pour whisky down his throat—and I don’t know what. I’ve told her not to move him, and I’ve phoned the hospital, but Daddy isn’t there. D’you think you could find him, Bel? Look, here’s a list of all the houses he meant to visit this afternoon! Ring them up and go on trying until you find him. Can you do that?”
“Yes, of course, but——”
“I must go straight off,” explained Louise, seizing her hat and cramming it on her head anyhow. “The old wo
man is there by herself—she’s a horrid cross old woman, but that’s not the point. It’s a frightfully isolated cottage. Get hold of Daddy and tell him I’m there—here’s the address and here’s the list of people to ring.” The next moment she had gone.
The instructions, though hurried, were perfectly clear, and Bel was a trained secretary, so she sat down at the telephone and began ringing up the houses on the list. In some cases the doctor had just gone, in others he had not yet arrived, but at the fifth attempt she found him and gave him the message.
“Hart, Willow Cottage,” said the doctor. “Listen Bel, you might ring up the hospital and tell them to send the ambulance and prepare a bed in the emergency ward. It will save time.”
“Ring up the hospital and tell them to send the ambulance at once to Willow Cottage and prepare a bed in the emergency ward,” repeated Bel.
She heard the doctor give a little chuckle as he rang off. The chuckle surprised her considerably, for she could see nothing amusing in the matter—but perhaps it had not been a chuckle, perhaps her ears had deceived her.
Bel completed her job efficiently and, having done so, she sat back and thought about the exigences of a doctor’s calling. Doctors were wonderful, thought Bel. They spent their lives going from house to house, helping people. It did not matter what time of night or day they were summoned—nor how tired they were—they went. Doctors’ daughters were wonderful too.
Bel thought of the old woman alone in the little cottage with her husband lying on the floor in a crumpled heap; she thought of the door opening and Louise walking in—perhaps unable to do very much, but just being there, just standing by. Louise, calm and kind, giving confidence and reassurance, waiting for the doctor to come. There was no need for Louise to have gone to Willow Cottage. She could have done her job by ringing up the houses where the doctor might be found—nobody could expect her to do more—but Louise had not hesitated for a moment, she had crammed on her hat and had gone without hesitation to a fellow human-being in distress. The fellow human-being happened to be a horrid cross old woman but that was not the point. The point was the woman was ‘all of a dither’ and needed help.
That was just like Louise, thought Bel. Louise loved people. She loved them even when they were disagreeable, even when they were old and cross.
(Would I have gone? wondered Bel. Yes, I think so, but I’d have gone because I’d have felt it was my duty to go. I’d have been afraid that the old woman might not want me. I’d have been afraid of finding a situation I couldn’t cope with. Louise didn’t think of anything like that. She just went. It’s born and bred in Louise that she’s her brother’s keeper).
It was tea-time when Louise returned from her errand of mercy. She looked quite exhausted so Bel made her sit down and prepared tea herself.
“I’m glad I went,” said Louise. “She was terribly cross—even crosser than usual—but that was because she was frightened. Fortunately it isn’t as bad as I expected—concussion and a fractured ankle—that’s all. Daddy got him off to hospital and I helped the old woman to shut up the cottage and took her over to her sister’s at Shepherdsford. She made an awful fuss about leaving the cottage empty, but she couldn’t stay in the place alone—so I had to be quite firm with her.
“Daddy was amused,” added Louise smiling.
“Amused?” asked Bel in surprise.
“Amused at you and me. You see when Daddy discovered that the old man hadn’t fractured a femur he was as jolly as a sandboy. He was in one of his teasing moods.”
“But why was he amused at me?”
“So efficient. So absolutely the perfect private secretary. He said,” declared Louise giggling. “He said it was remarkable that two such bee-ootiful females should be so terrifically efficient. You can get a job at Coombe House any time you like,” she added.
Bel laughed and said it was very kind of Dr. Armstrong but she had got a job already and was taking up, her duties on Wednesday.
Chapter Eight
Mrs. Warmer had been correct in thinking that anything taken in hand by Miss Armstrong would be well done. Louise had all the arrangements for the wedding under control; she had enlisted the help of her friends and assigned them their duties according to their capabilities. Most of Louise’s friends lived in Shepherdsford and on the morning before the wedding, Rose Musgrave and Sylvia Newbigging arrived in Sylvia’s small car and were given the task of arranging the flowers for the drawing-room. Joan Winslow was already hard at work washing the glasses and Bel was drying them. Margaret Warren came over by bus with her small son.
“What shall I do?” asked Margaret walking into the kitchen with her child in her arms. “And what am I to do with Bernard? I couldn’t leave him at home because my wretched daily never turned up this morning.”
“You can cut the sandwiches,” said Louise. “We’ll have no time to-morrow morning and they’ll keep quite fresh in polythene bags. Bernard will be all right in this big chair, won’t he?”
Bernard was settled comfortably in the chair with a piece of string round his waist to prevent him from falling out. He sat there contentedly playing with a wooden spoon and watching all that was going on. Everyone spoke to him of course, commenting on his beauty; his adorable chubby cheeks, his lovely complexion and his sea-blue eyes—but, most favourably of all, everyone commented upon his sweetly placid nature and declared they had never seen such a good sensible baby in all their lives.
Bernard smiled engagingly and enjoyed the admiration he so well deserved.
All these people were strangers to Bel—and she was never at her best with strangers—but they were so friendly and kind that she soon lost her shyness. They all knew that she was coming to live at Fletchers End and they seemed delighted.
“That nice old house!” said Margaret Warren. “So lovely to think that it won’t be empty and sad any longer. It’s only about a mile from us by the Church Walk so we’ll be able to meet quite often.”
Sylvia wanted to know if Bel were interested in Girl Guides.
“Shut up, Sylvia!” exclaimed Rose Musgrave. “You don’t suppose Miss Lamington wants to be drawn into your net the moment she arrives!”
“I think we should call her Bel—straight off,” said Margaret. “I mean it’s silly to get used to calling her ‘Miss Lamington’ and then having to change to Mrs. Brownlee.”
“No sense in it at all,” agreed Joan.
“Oh, please do!” exclaimed Bel. “I mean please call me Bel. It sounds so much more friendly.”
“Are you going to have a daily?” inquired Margaret. “You’ll want someone to help you in that big house, won’t you?”
“She has got a real live cook,” declared Louise.
“Golly, how did you manage that?” asked Sylvia. “I’d give my back teeth for a real live cook.”
They had all paused in their work and were looking at Bel with interest—they all wanted to know how she had achieved the remarkable feat—so Bel began to explain about Mrs. Warmer, and Louise chipped in and made a joke of the manner in which Mrs. Warmer had been engaged, and everyone laughed.
Bernard laughed too, displaying some pearly-white teeth, and hammered on the edge of his chair with the wooden spoon.
Nobody could be shy with all this going on—not even Bel—so she emerged from her shell and became gay and cheerful.
Presently Mrs. Musgrave arrived and was greeted rapturously.
Margaret said, “Mummie, this is Bel. Of course you know her already, because she’s the only person you don’t know, but I thought I’d better introduce her properly. We’ve decided . . .”
The rest of Margaret’s sentence was drowned in shouts of laughter.
Bel and Mrs. Musgrave shook hands. “They’re all quite mad,” explained Mrs. Musgrave. “But it’s a harmless form of madness so there’s no need to be alarmed.”
“I think they’re all delightful,” replied Bel smiling.
“Oh, the pet! Oh the darling lambkin!” cried Mrs. M
usgrave, catching sight of her grandson and making a bee-line for him across the room. “Come and talk to Gran,” she added, seizing him in her arms. “Come and tell Gran what you’ve been doing—you dear soft bundle of loveliness! Helping the girls to cut the sandwiches and arrange the flowers?”
“Hindering them,” declared his mother—most unfairly. She added, “There’s no sense to be got out of Mummie when Bernard is anywhere about.”
“That’s most unfair,” complained Mrs. Musgrave. “Bernard and I understand each other perfectly and enjoy each other’s company . . . and I’ve been working very hard this morning. I’ve been at St. Michael’s helping Miss Penney to arrange the flowers. She brought a whole car-load of beautiful chrysanthemums from the garden at Underwoods. She says Lady Steyne is hoping to come to the wedding to-morrow if it’s a fine day.”
“It will be a fine day,” said Dr. Armstrong who, unperceived in all the bustle, had opened the door and was gazing round his kitchen with twinkling eyes.
There were more greetings and an increased noise of talking. The kitchen was full by this time.
“Dr. Armstrong, how do you know it will be a fine day?” somebody inquired.
“Because the glass is rising,” he replied solemnly.
Why this perfectly sensible and eminently logical answer should have made everyone laugh it is difficult to see, but everyone laughed merrily.
Everyone seemed busy except Mrs. Musgrave, so the doctor made his way through the crowd to where she was sitting with Bernard on her knee, and began to talk to her and to compliment her on the healthy appearance of her grandson. He liked Esther Musgrave; he was her doctor and had got to know her well during her husband’s last illness. She had been quite young when Charles Musgrave died—young and pretty—but she had been extremely courageous. He decided that she still looked young and pretty, absurdly young to be a grandmother.
Fletchers End (Bel Lamington Book 2) Page 6