The first Sunday that the Brownlees spent at Fletchers End was a bright breezy day with white fleecy clouds moving across the sky. Bel and Ellis decided to walk to St. Julian’s for matins. They had expected to see quite a crowd making the expedition, but there were only a few people from the village, including Mr. Carruthers. They knew him, for he had swept their chimneys, but it was difficult to recognise the black and sooty sweep in the well-turned-out gentleman who overtook them and doffed his hat so politely.
“Er—Mr. Carruthers?” asked Ellis.
“That’s right,” agreed Mr. Carruthers. “Fine morning isn’t it, Mr. Brownlee? I ’opes you’re not ’aving no more trouble with that there chimbley.”
They walked along together chatting in a friendly manner and presently were joined by a very old man. He was small and bent, with a brown wrinkled face and quantities of very white hair.
“That’s Mr. Fuller,” said Mr. Carruthers. “If you wants to know about the garding at Fletchers End ’e’s the chap to tell you. ’E used ter be the gard’ner——”
“The ’ead gard’ner,” said Mr. Fuller hastily. “There was three of us, see? The garding was noice in those days an’ we ’ad ter keep it neat as ninepence. Old Mr. Lestrange was very pertickler about the garding.”
Bel was very pleased to meet the old gardener for there were all sorts of things she wanted to know . . . and Mr. Fuller was delighted to inform her. He had a queer high-pitched voice which rambled on from one thing to another. He told her about the ‘kitching-garding’; how to make an asparagus bed and how to grow celery.
“Celery’s a ’eartbreak,” said Mr. Fuller sadly. “You can’t never depend on celery no matter ’ow much trouble you takes. It was Miss Lestrange that was so partial to celery—but it ’ad to be crisp. She used ter say celery weren’t no good if it weren’t crisp. ‘Make it crisp, Fuller,’ she used ter say. It weren’t never crisp enough ter please ’er . . .”
“I was wondering about violets,” said Bel when she could get a word in edgeways. “Did you grow violets in the garden at Fletchers End?”
“If you wants vilets,” said Mr. Fuller. “You get a cold frame and you put it in that sunny corner near that there skeptic tank, you’ll ’ave vilets in March if you does that, see? Old Mrs. Lestrange—a very noice lady she was and very pretty too—she was a great one for vilets.”
“Mr. Brownlee is especially fond of roses,” said Bel.
“Ah, roses! Them’s my fav’rites. Luverly roses we ’ad at Fletchers End. I got some in my own garding too. They grow noice in this place, roses does.”
Bel was delighted to hear it for the roses at Rose Hill had been very fine indeed and she wanted them to grow even more beautifully—for Ellis—at Fletchers End. She made searching inquiries of Mr. Fuller as to where the rose-beds should be placed and what kind of manure was most effective.
“You let me know when you’ve got the garding dug,” said Mr. Fuller. “I’ll come and show you—and I’ll come and plant the roses too, when you gets ’em, see? I can’t do ’ard work now—I’m eighty four come Mickelmas—but I’ll come and plant your roses and prune ’em too. Don’t you go and let nobody else do it.”
Bel accepted the offer with gratitude.
The whole party had arrived at St. Julian’s by this time. Mr. Carruthers led the way, Bel and Ellis followed.
“You ’urry up and get the garding cleared—sooner the better, see?” said Mr. Fuller in a creaky whisper as he took off his hat and followed the others in at the door.
*
3
Bel had been particularly interested in Mr. Fuller’s information, not only about the roses but also about the ‘vilets’. She supposed that old Mrs. Lestrange, who had been so fond of violets, must have been the mother of Miss Lestrange. Perhaps it was she who had left, as a gentle reminder of her presence, the scent of violets in the drawing-room. Alas, the fragrance which had gone completely during the alterations had never returned. Bel hoped it might—someday—and said so to Ellis.
“I think you imagined it, darling,” he replied.
“Oh no!” exclaimed Bel. “It was quite strong. How could I have imagined it?”
“Perhaps you smelt violets in the house of your dreams and then when you came to Fletchers End and—and connected it with the house you had dreamt about so often you imagined the scent of violets.”
“But Louise smelt it too.”
“Just imagination,” said Ellis with conviction.
This seemed unlikely to say the least of it, but Bel did not pursue the subject any further. Ellis had never smelt violets in the drawing-room, neither had Reggie Stephenson—she had asked him. It did not occur to Bel to mention the matter to Mrs. Warmer; she was such a sensible practical sort of person—not at all the sort of person who would be likely to notice the fragrance of ghostly violets.
*
4
When the day came for Ellis to return to his work he went reluctantly, for already in one short week he had got thoroughly dug in to his new surroundings. But of course he would come home every evening and would be free to enjoy the amenities of Fletchers End on Saturdays and Sundays. Fortunately the daily journey did not worry him at all for the train was comfortable and he had time to read his morning paper before his arrival at Paddington and his evening paper on the way home.
Bel had not forgotten Mr. Fuller’s injunction to hurry up and get the garden cleared. Indeed it had not been necessary for now that the house was getting settled and the days were becoming warmer and brighter her thoughts were turning more and more towards the garden. She had made all sorts of wonderful plans for the garden at Fletchers End but, before she could do anything at all, the place must be cleared. Ellis had made her promise faithfully to do nothing whatever in the garden until this was accomplished.
“But how are we to get it cleared?” asked Bel.
“It’s a task for strong men,” replied Ellis.
Bel made a few inquiries in the village but everyone told her it was impossible to get labour. Most of the men worked on farms and those who did not were employed by Mr. Middleton who owned a nursery garden in the vicinity. Everyone told Bel that it might be possible to get a man once or twice a week in the evenings—but not if there happened to be a cricket match of course.
On Saturday morning Bel and Ellis went to the village together and Ellis mentioned his requirement to Mr. Smith, the postmaster.
“I want a few chaps to come and clear the garden,” explained Ellis.
“That won’t be easy,” replied Mr. Smith. He smiled in a slightly unpleasant manner and added, “P’raps you might get one or two if you paid ’em double.”
“I shan’t overpay them,” said Ellis shortly.
“You won’t get ’em then,” declared Mr. Smith.
Bel had a moment of sheer panic when she heard these fatal words. Were they to live in the depths of a jungle for the rest of their lives? Of course Ellis was capable—nobody could direct his business more efficiently—but this was a different matter altogether.
Chapter Fourteen
Bel need not have worried about the capabilities of her husband. Once they were settled and Ellis was able to give his mind to the problem he solved it without much difficulty; within a few days of Mr. Smith’s gloomy prophecy he produced strong men to clear the garden. They did not come every evening—even Ellis could not accomplish the impossible—but they came three times a week and every other Saturday afternoon. They came armed with axes and bill-hooks and scythes and spades and they built a bonfire which smoked sullenly for hours on end. After a week the garden looked a great deal worse, for instead of a jungle it had become a wilderness.
“It’s awful,” said Bel in despair.
“It’s got to be worse before it’s better,” said Ellis cheerfully.
One might have thought it a miracle to have got labour in a place where no labour was to be had, but it was merely the result of a well-thought-out-scheme. Various factors contribut
ed to Ellis’s success. For one thing there is a savage streak in every man worth his salt which makes him revel in destruction. Hacking and sawing, tearing up bushes by the roots and burning them, is proper work for strong men. For another thing the jungle at Fletchers End had been a joke for years. In an odd sort of way the villagers were quite proud of the jungle; they discussed it over pints of ale at The Green Man; so in an odd sort of way it was satisfactory to wade into the jungle and hack it to pieces.
But that was after Ellis had accomplished his object and had got his strong men. How had he managed it?
One evening after his return from town Mr. Brownlee strolled into The Green Man; he treated the assembled company to a round of what they fancied and asked for a half pint of ale for himself. At first the company was shy and silent but Mr. Brownlee asked a few questions about the district: where was the quarry from which the stone had been taken to build Fletchers End—and all the other houses in the neighbourhood? Soon they were all talking and arguing about it. Unfortunately Mr. Brownlee could not understand all that was said—in fact not half that was said—and this was a pity because it was a subject that interested him.
When they had all said their say Mr. Brownlee looked about the room and asked if there were any strong men hereabouts. Several people sniggered, they knew what Mr. Brownlee was up to.
Old Mr. Fuller, who was sitting in the corner with his usual on the table before him, said in his squeaky voice, “No, sir, not now there ain’t. There ain’t nobody ’ere to-night that’s as strong as me when I was young.”
Hearty laughter greeted this sally and a lot of chaff followed. Mr. Brownlee wished he could understand the jokes; that they were very funny and somewhat lewd he had no doubt whatever. He waited patiently, leaning on the bar counter, smiling and drinking his ale . . . and before very long several hefty young men sidled up to him and said bashfully that they ‘didn’t mind if they did’.
Mr. Brownlee had got his men—that was good enough to start with—he was quite pleased with his evening’s work. The next thing was, could he keep them or would they fade away and leave the job half done? He did not think so, for he had liked the look of the chaps, but he was taking no chances. He had another scheme which he hoped would work and he proceeded to put it into operation.
Every evening when Mr. Brownlee returned from town and found his chaps at work he went out and spoke to them; he jollied them along, complimenting them on the progress they had made. Then, still in his conventional city-clothes, Mr. Brownlee took a hand with the saw or the barrow—he was not allowed to touch the scythe. The chaps thought this very funny indeed—and probably it was. When work was over Mr. Brownlee paid the amount due in silver, counting it out into each large horny hand. He had a small leather bag full of silver which he kept for the purpose. He made a joke of it and the joke was appreciated, partly because it was considered a good joke and partly because it was rather pleasant to go home with a pocket full of jingling coins.
When the business transaction was over everyone trooped into the back kitchen for a glass of ale, drawn from the barrel. This was pleasant too.
The chaps thought Mr. Brownlee was ‘a rum ’un’ but it was an endearing kind rumness. Stories about what he had done and said were retailed with advantages in The Green Man—and occasioned mirth. Mr. Brownlee’s chaps discovered that their appearance at The Green Man was warmly welcomed. They were beset with questions, subjected to a round of not unpleasant teasing. How far into the jungle had they penetrated this evening? Had they seen any tigers? Why didn’t Mr. Brownlee provide elephants to help with the job?
The chaps stood there and smiled and jingled their pockets and everyone laughed.
*
2
Bel often watched the ceremony of paying out (peeping from behind the curtain in the bow-window). It amused her considerably.
One night when Ellis came in she said to him, “You’re like that man in the Bible who engaged labourers to work in his vineyard.”
Ellis smiled. “It’s funny you should say that, Bel. That story gave me the idea of paying them every night. When you’ve worked hard, and sweated over it, I think it’s very satisfactory to get paid on the nail.”
“With pennies.”
“Yes, they like going home with jingling pockets. It’s a joke. But I’m not really like the man in the Bible because my chaps get paid by the hour—so many hours of work, so much pay. And it isn’t a penny,” added Ellis somewhat ruefully. “It’s a whole heap of pennies and silver ones at that.”
“It wasn’t a penny—even in those days—it was ever so much more. The new English Bible says it was ‘a fair day’s wage’.”
“A denarius,” agreed Ellis. He was silent and thoughtful for a few moments, and then continued, “To tell you the truth that story has always puzzled me. I don’t wonder that the fellows who had toiled all day were a bit fed up when they saw the others, who had only worked for an hour, were getting the same pay. I’d have been fed up myself,” said Ellis frankly. “I’d have been so fed up I wouldn’t have worked in that vineyard again.”
“Yes,” said Bel in doubtful tones. “Yes, but I think you’re missing the point. The point is that the first lot of men agreed to work all day for a penny and it was only when they saw the other men getting a penny that they thought they ought to be given more.”
“You mean they ought to have minded their own business?”
“Partly that—and partly because it was horrid of them to be annoyed at their friends’ good fortune. They were jealous.”
“Well, I don’t blame them,” declared Ellis. “And anyhow whether it’s right or wrong it isn’t practical. It wouldn’t work. Nobody would be pleased.”
“Surely the men who got a whole day’s pay for an hour’s work would be pleased!”
“No, Bel. That’s where you’re mistaken. Perhaps it might have worked in Palestine, long ago, but it wouldn’t work here and now. My chaps respect themselves too much. They tell me exactly how long they’ve worked and if I happen to miscalculate they point out the mistake and hand back a sixpence—or whatever it may be. No, it wouldn’t work,” repeated Ellis thoughtfully. “It would upset the labour market. You wouldn’t get any man in his sane senses to work all day if he knew that other chaps who worked for an hour would get the same wages.”
“He wouldn’t know,” suggested Bel.
“Of course he’d know,” declared Ellis smiling. “The other chaps would boast about it in The Green Man.”
Bel laughed and said, “I can’t argue with you, Ellis. You’re much too clever.”
“But it’s fun arguing, isn’t it?” said Ellis. He added, “I must get some more silver pennies when I go to town to-morrow. This bag is nearly empty.”
Chapter Fifteen
Reggie Stephenson had been given a standing invitation to come and stay at Fletchers End whenever he liked. He came one Saturday afternoon and stayed the night and was suitably entertained with a juicy piece of steak and other delectable viands. Bel had wondered whether there was some sort of understanding between Reggie and Louise, and had asked Louise if she and the doctor would come and have lunch on Sunday, but Louise had refused the invitation saying she would rather come some other day when Bel was alone.
“I thought you liked Reggie,” said Bel in surprise.
“Of course I like him,” replied Louise. “I like him very much—we were friends—but now he has got silly.” She sighed and added, “It’s such a pity. I don’t know why people can’t just be friends with me.”
There was no need to say more. The matter was perfectly clear to Bel. She was aware that Louise suffered considerably from the inability to ‘just be friends’ with the young men of her acquaintance.
To Bel’s surprise Reggie seemed quite cheerful. He approved of all the furniture which had been bought at sales, but he did not approve of the furniture from Rose Hill and advised his host and hostess to get rid of it as soon as possible. The dining-room furniture was pa
rticularly obnoxious in Reggie’s opinion. An oak refectory table would be the correct thing for Fletchers End.
“And wooden stools to sit on, I suppose?” asked Bel with a little smile.
“Yes, that would be correct, but I wouldn’t object to oak chairs with cushions.”
“We’ll keep a look-out for the right kind of stuff,” said Ellis.
“No, we can’t change it,” said Bel. “Your mother wouldn’t like it if we sold the furniture she gave us. It would hurt her feelings to think we didn’t appreciate her kindness. People’s feelings are more important than refectory tables.”
Reggie did not agree. He would have liked to see Fletchers End furnished in the correct manner for its period (regardless of Mrs. Brownlee’s feelings and equally regardless of the fact that it would have been uncomfortable and inconvenient) but he realised that nothing he could say would be the slightest use so he sighed and said nothing.
That was on Saturday evening, at dinner. On Sunday morning Bel rose early to go to Communion Service at St. Julian’s. She came downstairs through the sleeping house and into the drawing-room; it was easier to go out through the glass door—she always did so—and she could leave it open for her return.
On this particular morning Bel found the glass door already open, which surprised her considerably for it was unlike Ellis to forget to lock it before coming up to bed . . . but of course he had been talking to Reggie so it must have slipped his memory. She went down the garden and through the gate which opened on to the Church Walk.
Fletchers End (Bel Lamington Book 2) Page 11