“But he’s going back to London tomorrow morning!”
“No, darling, you’ve got it wrong. He’s coming to lunch at Coombe House. As a matter of fact he sort of angled for the invitation. I didn’t intend to ask him—but it doesn’t matter; I think Daddy would like to talk to him. It’s a change for Daddy to meet someone like Roy Lestrange who has travelled all over the world. At any rate I couldn’t help asking him—it just sort of happened, if you know what I mean. I don’t usually hand out invitations to stray young men.”
Bel was silent.
“Oh, are these the patterns?” exclaimed Louise. “Some of them are good, aren’t they? I like that one with the scarlet birds—it’s very effective. We had better take them upstairs to your bedroom before we decide, hadn’t we?”
After that they were both too engrossed upon the choosing of materials for bedroom curtains to spare a thought for the ‘stray young man’.
Chapter Twenty
Several days after the visit of Roy Lestrange, Louise rang up and asked Bel to go to Oxford with her.
“It’s a party,” explained Louise. “Roy is staying with his cousin, Leslie Harding, and they’ve asked us to go over to tea. It will be rather fun, won’t it?”
“I thought Roy Lestrange was in London.”
“No, he’s in Oxford staying with this cousin.”
“Why hasn’t he gone to London?” asked Bel.
“I don’t know, darling,” replied Louise. “Perhaps he likes Oxford better or something. You can ask him about it this afternoon.”
“I didn’t say I would go.”
“But you will, won’t you? I’ll fetch you about three. You must put on your best bib and tucker.”
“Yes, all right,” said Bel. She said it somewhat reluctantly for she was not fond of parties, but she decided that it would be better not to let Louise go alone. It was rather ridiculous to think of herself playing chaperone to Louise but that was what it came to.
As she dressed for the party—in her best bib and tucker as Louise had decreed—Bel wished with all her heart that Roy Lestrange had left Fletchers End a few minutes sooner or Louise had arrived a few minutes later so that they would not have met at the gate . . . but it was no use thinking about it now; the harm was done. They had met at the gate and talked, and Roy Lestrange had wangled an invitation to lunch at Coombe House; worst of all, instead of going to London as he had intended, he was still hanging about in Oxford and Louise was seeing him again this afternoon.
Louise was always punctual, so at three o’clock precisely there was a loud hoot from the gate. Fortunately Bel possessed the same virtue so she was ready. She snatched up her bag, gave a last glance at herself in the large oval mirror which hung in the hall, and ran down the path.
“I say, you are smart!” exclaimed Louise admiringly.
“Do you like it?” asked Bel. “It’s new. I got it at Harrods—and the hat, too. I saved up quite a lot of money during the winter when I was working in the office so I decided to get some really nice clothes.” She climbed into the car and added, “You’re looking very smart yourself, but of course you always do.”
“The very best butter,” said Louise as she let in the clutch.
“Is it a big party?” Bel inquired somewhat anxiously.
“I don’t think so. In fact I think it’s just us.”
For a few minutes Bel was silent and then she said, “You had him to lunch, didn’t you? How did it go off?”
“Oh, it was a great success. Daddy liked him. Roy was very amusing about some of his experiences. He was in Egypt and then he went out to Australia—he’s been to all sorts of places. You know, Bel, it’s awfully interesting to meet people like Roy who have travelled all over the world and seen so much—and done so many different things. People here are so frightfully narrow-minded and stodgy.”
Bel did not comment upon this somewhat sweeping statement. Certainly Roy Lestrange was not stodgy—whatever else he was.
The drive to Oxford was very pleasant indeed, the country was looking its best with new green leaves on the trees and lilac and laburnum in the cottage gardens. Here and there a slow-moving stream wound its way through meadows full of contentedly grazing cows. Louise was a good driver—perhaps just a trifle dashing, but as Bel had confidence in her judgment she was able to enjoy herself without any qualms.
It had been arranged that they were to meet at The Mitre, and Roy was there waiting for them. When he saw them he put his hand over his eyes and pretended to stagger.
“Two visions!” exclaimed Roy. “Two bee-ootiful visions! It’s quite—blinding. Get me some brandy!”
“Behave yourself, Roy,” said Louise giggling. “Stop being a fool and tell me what I’m to do with the car.”
Roy stopped being a fool and took charge very efficiently. He showed Louise where she could park the car, locked it up for her and led the way to his cousin’s flat.
This was Bel’s first visit to Oxford; she was enchanted with the lovely buildings and would have liked to know all about them, but her companions were talking and laughing so she could not ask. She made up her mind to come here with Ellis; he had been at Balliol so he knew Oxford well and he would enjoy wandering round and showing her everything.
*
2
Leslie Harding lived in a side street not far from the river. The building was old, but had been converted into very comfortable flats. The sitting-room was panelled in oak, with rather a low ceiling and had a bay window with small panes of glass which looked out on to the street. There was a wide window-seat with fitted cushions, two large comfortable chairs and half a dozen old oak chairs with arms. All round the room there were bookcases filled with books and in the middle stood an oak gate-legged table spread with a white cloth. On it were plates of sandwiches, buns and cakes—enough to feed a large party—but only four places had been laid so obviously nobody else was expected.
Bel had imagined that Leslie Harding and Roy Lestrange would resemble each other—for of course they were cousins—but it would have been difficult to find two men so utterly and completely different. Roy Lestrange was tall and dark and strong; Leslie Harding was small and slender with a thin delicate face; his fair hair was smooth and silky and his round blue eyes peered at the world somewhat anxiously through highly magnified lenses.
When the introductions had been made and a few polite remarks exchanged Louise looked round and said, “What a lovely room, Mr. Harding! I suppose this house is very old, isn’t it?”
“Old as the hills,” said Roy before his cousin could answer. “You see, Leslie likes old things—the more worm-eaten the better. He spends his whole life hunting for dirty old books.”
“Won’t you sit down, Mrs. Brownlee and Miss Armstrong?” said Mr. Harding politely. “I’m afraid I must leave you for a few moments to boil the kettle and make tea.”
“No, you won’t!” exclaimed Roy laughing. “I’ll make the tea myself, and then it’ll be worth drinking. Come on, Louise! You must help me.”
They went off together and Bel was left with her host.
She was shy at first, but soon she discovered that Mr. Harding was far more shy than she was, so she forgot her own shyness and endeavoured to put him at his ease, telling him that this was her first visit to the beautiful old city and saying how much she admired the lovely buildings. Evidently this was the right line to take for Mr. Harding emerged from his shell of reserve and began to talk quite comfortably. He told her that he did research and was interested in history—especially the history of Oxford—and then, quite suddenly he froze up again and said, “But you wouldn’t be interested.”
He was wrong, of course. Bel had always been fond of history and since she had come to live at Fletchers End she was even more interested in the past. She was in the middle of explaining this to Mr. Harding when the others returned with the tea-pot and the hot-water-jug and they all sat down to tea.
During the meal Mr. Harding was silent—he scarcel
y uttered a word—but Roy was equal to the occasion and entertained the party without the slightest difficulty. Louise also was in good form, her eyes sparkled and she teased Roy in an amusing manner. Bel put in a few words here and there but it was not really necessary for the conversation flowed on without a break.
Roy told some funny anecdotes about his experiences in foreign parts and told them well. Probably the stories were not entirely veracious but that did not matter, they all laughed heartily—except Mr. Harding. It was certainly a very successful and entertaining tea-party.
When they had finished Roy said, “What about a stroll down to the river, Louise? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, lovely,” agreed Louise, rising.
Roy turned to his cousin and added, “You and Mrs. Brownlee can amuse each other for a bit, can’t you? We shan’t be long.”
Bel had risen from her chair under the impression that the whole party was to stroll down to the river. Mr. Harding also had risen.
“It’s a pleasant afternoon,” began Mr. Harding. “Perhaps Mrs. Brownlee would like——”
Roy took no notice. “Come on, Louise,” he said, opening the door.
The next moment they had gone.
“That’s what he’s like!” exclaimed Mr. Harding in a queer strained voice. “He takes what he wants. Other people don’t count. Other people can go to the devil for all he cares.”
There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence.
“I expect you think he’s amusing,” continued Mr. Harding. “Well, of course he’s amusing. He’s good company—he can talk the hind leg off a donkey. Your cousin likes him, doesn’t she?”
“Oh, she isn’t my cousin!” exclaimed Bel. “I wish she were. She’s just a very great friend.”
“Why do you wish she were your cousin?” inquired Mr. Harding, peering at Bel through his large owlish spectacles. “Friends are much better than cousins. You choose your friends. Do you think I would have chosen Roy as a friend?”
Bel was taken aback by this sudden heat in a man who had seemed so cold and lifeless. She said, “No, perhaps not. You’re quite different.”
“Different! I should hope so!” exclaimed Mr. Harding emphatically. He added, “Perhaps you’re wondering why I have him to stay?”
Bel had been wondering just that. She said, “Why do you?”
“I don’t often,” replied Mr. Harding. “In fact I hadn’t seen him for years and I’d forgotten what he was like—more or less—so when he rang up and asked if he could come and stay with me for the week-end I was quite pleased. I thought it would be amusing to have him—just for a week-end—but he’s been here for a week and it feels like a month. He’s just making use of me because he’s short of money, that’s all.”
*
3
They were still standing by the table, but now Mr. Harding remembered his duties as host and invited Bel to come and sit on the window-seat.
“I’m sorry you’re having such an uncomfortable time,” said Bel.
“Oh, it wasn’t bad at first,” he replied. “We got on all right and he was very pleasant, but the last few days have been frightful. You heard what he said about tea? Well, he’s like that all the time—making me look a fool in front of other people. Yesterday I took him to a bookshop—it’s a very nice little place and I often go there to browse about and buy second-hand books. There’s a girl there that I know very well; she’s a friend of mine. Of course Roy talked in his usual idiotic way, but I took no notice. There was a book that I wanted on a high shelf—I was just going to ask the girl to bring a ladder when suddenly Roy seized me by the waist and lifted me off the floor so that I could get it. He was laughing all the time. He just did it to show how strong he was, that was the reason. The girl laughed—so did the other people in the shop. I suppose it must have looked very funny, but it didn’t seem funny to me. It made me look a fool. You see that, don’t you?”
Bel nodded. She did not know what to say.
“You see that, don’t you?” he repeated. “It made me look an absolute fool—in front of all the people in the shop.” He paused for a moment and then added thoughtfully, “Perhaps I ought to have taken it as a joke, but the fact is I’m not that sort of person.”
Bel realised that this was true. She said, “People are different, aren’t they? Perhaps he’ll go away soon.”
“Oh, he’s going tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, it all came to a head at breakfast this morning. He was in a bad mood—quite unbearable! First he crabbed the food—said it wasn’t fit to eat—and then he started talking about my mother in a silly way.” Mr. Harding drew a long breath. “Well, I wasn’t going to stand that. I’ve stood a lot, but that was beyond everything. I told him what I thought of him. I said he was nothing but a sponge. I said he wasn’t fit to clean my mother’s shoes—neither he is!” declared Mr. Harding with violence. “Neither he is!”
Bel gazed at him in alarm. His face, which normally was very pale, had become exceedingly red and there were little beads of perspiration on his forehead.
“So that was that,” he continued. “We had a blazing row and I told him I was sick of the sight of him. ‘All right I’ll go’, he said. ‘I’d walk out here and now if those girls weren’t coming to tea. I’ll go tomorrow.’ . . . so you see it isn’t all joy having cousins.”
Mr. Harding took a large white handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his face. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Shouldn’t have bothered you with all that. It was because you were kind. We’d better talk about something else.”
There is no more stultifying suggestion. Bel cast about wildly for something else to talk about but could find nothing. Her mind was a blank.
Silence endured for about half a minute. It seemed a great deal longer.
“You’ve bought Fletchers End, haven’t you?” said Mr. Harding at last.
Bel was thankful; she could talk about Fletchers End for hours. “Oh yes, it’s a beautiful old house,” she began. “We thought——”
“I know it well,” he told her. “My mother and I often went and stayed there—it was my mother’s old home. She was born and brought up at Fletchers End. I liked staying there when I was a child—when my grandmother was alive—but afterwards I didn’t like staying there at all. Aunt Helen hated me.”
“Miss Lestrange hated you!”
He nodded. “Yes. The only person she loved was my mother and she was very selfish and possessive so she was jealous of me. She wanted Mother to go and live with her and she thought that Mother would have done it if it hadn’t been for me . . . but it would have been a frightful mistake. You see Aunt Helen was a domineering character and Mother would just have become a doormat. You see that, don’t you, Mrs. Brownlee?” said Mr. Harding earnestly.
“Yes, of course,” said Bel. She was feeling uncomfortable at being made the recipient of these confidences, which seemed rather private to be given away to a perfect stranger, but what could she do but listen?
“Mother decided not to go and live with Aunt Helen, but she often went and stayed with her. Whenever Aunt Helen was ill she sent for Mother and, no matter now inconvenient it might be, Mother always went and looked after her. Aunt Helen always said that when she died Mother was to have Fletchers End—‘but I don’t intend to die just yet,’ she used to say. She told Mother the same thing over and over again.”
By this time Bel was feeling very uncomfortable indeed—but it was no use worrying. Obviously Mr. Harding was one of those people who either talk all the time or else are completely dumb. Ordinary conversation was not within his powers. But in spite of his queer behaviour Bel could not help liking the little man and sympathising with all his various troubles and trials.
“And after all that,” said Mr. Harding bitterly, “after all that she broke her promise. She left it to Roy and he let it go to rack and ruin. Mother was fond of the old place, she would have lived there and taken care of it—and I could
have lived there with her. Doesn’t it seem unfair?”
Bel did not answer. It certainly did seem unfair—it seemed all wrong—but she could not bring herself to say so. As a matter of fact Mr. Harding’s words had given her a sensation of uneasiness . . . supposing things had happened otherwise and Miss Lestrange had left the house to her sister, as she had promised, what then? But of course it was silly to think of what might have happened. The house had been left to Roy Lestrange and he had sold it to Ellis.
“Mother wasn’t there when she died,” continued Mr. Harding. “She died very suddenly. We were in Guernsey at the time, but of course we flew home for the funeral. Then, when the will was read, we discovered that Aunt Helen had broken her promise. It was a frightful shock to us. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“Yes,” said Bel. “Yes, of course.”
“Roy wasn’t there—he was on his way to Australia—but several other relations turned up. My cousin Olivia and her husband and their married daughter, and my cousin Mary. They are all much older than I am, of course. Mother and I hadn’t seen them for years—they live in Ireland—but there they were at the funeral! They had all been hoping for something, but all they got was a few pieces of jewellery and some old silver. Olivia was quite nasty about it—and so was her husband. It was very unpleasant.”
Bel could well believe it. The whole affair sounded very unpleasant indeed. Miss Lestrange’s relations had not bothered much about her while she was alive—she had been a lonely old lady—but the moment she died they had gathered like vultures, ‘hoping for something’ . . . and they were nasty about it when they discovered that nothing substantial had been left to them! Of course you could see their side of it too, thought Bel. It was natural to hope for something from a rich aunt, but all the same . . .
Fletchers End (Bel Lamington Book 2) Page 15