Louise returned to the study full of her news. “It was Roy Lestrange,” she said. “He wants me to go up to town on Saturday and have lunch with him and go to a Show. You don’t mind, do you, Daddy? I’ll get Mrs. Morgan to come for the day . . .”
Dr. Armstrong had known it all before but he listened and nodded and said he did not mind. Lou could come home by the last train and he would meet her at the station.
At first when Louise returned from school—grown-up and beautiful—Dr. Armstrong had seen in every young man who lost his heart to Louise a potential son-in-law, but there had been so many (and Lou had lost her heart to none of them) that he had become hardened to it.
Some of them were extremely good fellows. There was that nice chap they had met at Drumburly—Alec Drummond. Dr. Armstrong had liked him immensely but Lou had turned him down; there was Reggie Stephenson, who, although not particularly attractive to look at, was good and kind and thoroughly sound. There were at least half-a-dozen others—it was difficult to keep track of them all—but apparently the right one had not appeared. Occasionally Dr. Armstrong wondered what on earth he would do without Lou when the right one appeared—but of course he would accept it cheerfully; he loved his daughter far too dearly to be selfish.
Dr. Armstrong wanted the best in life for Lou and, in his opinion, the best thing in life was a happy marriage. Of course the man who was going to marry Lou must be a very special sort of man, with all the attributes of a good husband: someone kind and considerate and absolutely reliable; someone who could be trusted to love and cherish his darling child; someone with a sense of humour to match her own. If he were strong and healthy and good to look at—all the better.
Dr. Armstrong hoped that this very special sort of man would not turn up too soon, for it would be nice to keep Lou just a little bit longer—and, as a matter of fact, he did not approve of people marrying when they were very young. In his experience, which was wide, marriages were better and happier when the two people concerned had reached an age of discretion. On the other hand it was a pity to leave it too late.
Dr. Armstrong thought of the Warrens. Theirs was an ideal marriage. Bernard was thoroughly sound. He was quiet and reserved with people he did not know well, but there was an engaging twinkle in his eye. Margaret was a perfect dear. She had been a little unhappy for a time because they had been married for several years before a child arrived, but now that she had managed to produce a fine lusty son she had nothing left to wish for.
Although the Musgraves lived in Shepherdsford they were Dr. Armstrong’s patients; he had attended Mr. Musgrave during his last illness, so he got to know Mrs. Musgrave very well and to admire her profoundly. Of course she worried too much about her family, but that was natural because it had not been an easy family to manage. Now they had all settled down so there was no need for Esther Musgrave to worry any more.
It struck Dr. Armstrong that he had not seen the Musgraves for some time—in fact not since Bel’s wedding. This was good in some ways, for it meant they were perfectly healthy, but it would be pleasant to meet Esther Musgrave—to meet her socially not professionally of course. He decided to ask Lou about it. Perhaps Esther Musgrave and Rose could come to supper some evening.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The packing-case containing the picture of Mrs. Lestrange arrived at Fletchers End late one afternoon. The men carried it into the hall and stood it in the corner. Bel was delighted to see it for she had begun to wonder if Roy Lestrange had forgotten about it—as he had forgotten about the diaries. She would have liked to unpack it immediately, but the carpenter had come from Archerfield and was busy making the cold frame for the violets which Mr. Fuller had advised. The frame was to be put in the sunny corner near the ‘skeptic tank’ and it was essential that Bel should be on the spot to see that it was properly constructed.
Things always seemed to happen like that, thought Bel regretfully. Some days nothing happened and other days too many things happened all at once . . . but her duty was obvious. The picture was here, so there was no hurry about it; the cold frame must come first. Bel went out to the garden.
When Ellis returned from town the first thing he saw was the packing-case, which presumably contained Bel’s picture; he decided to open it at once so he fetched the necessary tools and set to work. If Mrs. Warmer had known of his intention she would not have allowed him to open it in the hall, but Mrs. Warmer was in the kitchen cooking the dinner with the radio going full blast.
Ellis enjoyed himself immensely opening the packing-case. He piled the dirty straw in a heap on the floor and hummed as he worked for he was happy. It had amused him immeasurably when Bel told him about her purchase; it was so like Bel, sentimental darling, to want the picture of Mrs. Lestrange and it was so like the dear little innocent to think you could buy an oil-painting for ten pounds. Of course it would be a ghastly daub—bound to be—but, whatever it was like, he would hang it for her exactly where she wanted it to be hung, thought Ellis smiling indulgently.
The picture was in a large oval gilt frame and when he had removed all the paper wrapping he propped it on the oak chest which stood in the hall and took a good look at it . . .
The indulgent smile faded. “Whew!” exclaimed Ellis in a long-drawn whistle of astonishment.
It was no wonder that Ellis was astonished. The picture which had been bought by his wife for ten pounds—or to be strictly accurate nine pounds, nineteen shillings and twopence—was a perfectly beautiful portrait of a perfectly beautiful woman. The woman was young, with smooth shining hair and little ringlets on each side of her face . . . and what a lovely face it was! What a gentle, innocent expression! She was wearing a rose-coloured dress with a fichu of fine lace, fastened with a diamond brooch, and there was a little posy of violets tucked into her low-swept corsage.
Ellis did not know much about pictures but he was quite certain that this was a very good picture indeed. There was a velvety richness about it, a sort of glow. The picture gave him a feeling of satisfaction.
When he had finished admiring it from a distance Ellis went and looked at the picture closely. He looked to see if there was a name in the corner of it—he would not have been a bit surprised if he had found a famous name—but the painter had not signed it. Ellis tried to remember what famous painters had been alive when Mrs. Lestrange was young but he knew too little about the period. Of course an expert would be able to tell who had painted the picture. Ellis was no expert but he knew that a picture need not be signed with the painter’s name—a famous painter signed his pictures with every stroke of his brush.
Someone must come and look at it, thought Ellis . . . or perhaps it might be better to take the picture to London and get it thoroughly examined by that queer old chap at the Welcome Galleries. He would know . . . but first he must show it to Bel.
Ellis picked up the picture and carried it into the drawing-room and stood it on the sofa. He had expected Bel to be there, but she was out in the garden—he could hear her voice—so he went on to the terrace and called to her to come in.
“Allow me to introduce Mrs. Brownlee, Mrs. Lestrange!” said Ellis with a little bow.
“Oh, isn’t she lovely!” exclaimed Bel rapturously. “Oh Ellis, isn’t she a darling!”
“She’s very beautiful indeed. If you bought her for ten pounds you got a bargain.”
“Yes, I told you—ten pounds. At least it was really——”
“I know,” said Ellis laughing. “It was really nine pounds nineteen shillings and twopence. Well, she’s worth a good deal more than that—or I’m a Dutchman. I’ve been wondering who painted the lady.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s the lady that matters—the violet lady—not the painter. Look, Ellis, she’s got a little posy of violets! That makes it simply perfect.”
“We must get an expert opinion about the picture.”
“No, Ellis. I don’t want an expert opinio
n. She’s beautiful—and she’s mine. She’s my very own.”
“I know, darling,” agreed Ellis. “Of course she belongs to you, but you’d like to know who painted her. The picture may be very valuable for all we know.”
Bel went nearer and looked at the violet lady lovingly. “She’s glad to be back in her own room—I know she is. You’ll hang her over the chimney-piece in her proper place, won’t you, Ellis?”
“Yes of course, but——”
“No buts,” said Bel looking up at him and smiling. “Let’s hang her up in her proper place and enjoy her. I don’t want to know who painted her and I don’t care a bit whether she’s valuable or not, I just love her for herself. Quite honestly I’d rather she wasn’t valuable.”
“Why?” asked Ellis in bewilderment.
“I’m not quite sure. Perhaps it’s because if she were very valuable I wouldn’t feel she belonged to me in the same way.”
Ellis could not understand that. He said, “Perhaps it’s because you bought her for ten pounds. Your conscience is pricking you, Bel.”
“It isn’t a bit,” declared Bel emphatically. “Roy was only too delighted to sell his grandmother—he thought it was a good joke. He was horrid about it, Ellis. It wasn’t funny at all.”
It did not seem funny to Ellis either, so he said no more about having an expert opinion but went away and fetched the steps and hung Mrs. Lestrange above the chimney-piece in her accustomed place. She certainly looked delightful there and her presence gave a graceful finish to the room.
It was only afterwards when Ellis went upstairs to change out of his town clothes and get ready for dinner that he began to feel uncomfortable about it. Of course he saw Bel’s point of view; Roy Lestrange had been ‘only too delighted to sell his grandmother’, he had been ‘horrid about it’ so Bel felt perfectly justified in having acquired the picture for that ridiculous sum. Bell’s conscience was not bothering her in the least. Unfortunately Ellis’s conscience was more troublesome. He was almost certain that the picture was valuable—almost certain but not quite—he did not know enough about pictures to be quite certain; but he was aware that if an expert pronounced the picture to be valuable he would feel very uncomfortable indeed. In fact he would feel bound to offer Roy Lestrange the correct price. He would not grudge it, for he admired the picture immensely and was perfectly willing to pay the correct price for it—but Bel might not like the idea.
How complicated it was! thought Ellis. What was the best thing to do? Should he see that fellow Roy Lestrange and talk to him about it or would it be better to get an expert opinion first? But of course he could do nothing unless Bel agreed—after all it was her picture.
Ellis sighed heavily and decided to have a serious talk with his wife and try to win her round to his point of view.
When Ellis went downstairs he found Bel standing in the drawing-room gazing at the picture entranced. She turned when she heard him come in and slipped her hand through his arm.
“Oh, Ellis, I’m so happy!” she exclaimed. “I’m happy because she’s here in her proper place, and I’m happy because she’s my very own—bought with my very own money. You see I’ve never owned anything so beautiful before. You understand don’t you?”
“Yes, darling. I understand,” said Ellis; and with that he kicked Roy Lestrange downstairs—metaphorically speaking of course—and the matter was settled.
*
2
The matter was settled. No expert would be invited to look at the picture; it belonged to Bel and the transaction between her and Roy Lestrange by which it had been acquired was their affair entirely and had nothing whatever to do with Ellis—so Ellis decided. But the incident had given Ellis an idea and, while they were having dinner, he proceeded to disclose it to his wife.
Ellis had been told about the diaries and letters which were in the drawer of Miss Lestrange’s bureau and he was almost as keen as Bel to have a look at them. He had never met Roy Lestrange but from what he had heard about the fellow he thought it unlikely that the fellow would take the trouble to go to the store and look for them.
Bel agreed with this. “He has probably forgotten about them again,” said Bel nodding.
“Shall we offer to buy the bureau?” suggested Ellis. “I mean if the fellow wants money he would probably sell it to us, wouldn’t he? That would be the best way to get hold of those diaries.”
“Ellis, what a good idea!”
“It seems queer,” continued Ellis thoughtfully. “Why should he want money so badly when he has just got the price for the house?”
“I think he used it to pay his debts.”
“All that!” exclaimed Ellis in shocked tones. “Surely he couldn’t have been so badly in debt!”
Bel did not know. All she knew was that Roy Lestrange was pushed for money. He had said things were very expensive nowadays.
“Well, that’s settled,” said Ellis. “I’ll write and ask what he wants for the bureau.”
“The bureau and its contents,” said Bel nodding.
Ellis smiled. It always amused him when his wife disclosed a grasp of business matters. He said, “Yes, I’ll mention the contents. If the bureau belonged to old Miss Lestrange it’s sure to be a good piece of furniture and it would be nice to have it.”
“It’s a marvellous idea,” said Bel, smiling affectionately at her clever husband.
“Do you know his address?”
“No, but I expect Louise knows it. I’ll ask her.”
Ellis was silent for a moment or two and then he said, “I hope Louise isn’t seeing too much of that fellow.”
“I’m afraid she is—seeing him—quite a lot,” said Bel. “She went up to town on Saturday and met him for lunch, and he’s coming to Coombe House on Friday to spend the day.”
“You ought to warn her.”
Bel had been thinking about this herself, wondering whether she could say anything to Louise about her new friend, but it was not an easy thing to do.
“You ought to warn her about him,” repeated Ellis.
“I will, if I get an opportunity,” said Bel doubtfully. “It’s not the sort of thing you can blurt out all in a minute . . . and the worst of it is he’s really very attractive. You haven’t seen him, have you?”
“No, and I don’t want to,” replied Ellis emphatically.
Bel said nothing to this—there was nothing to say—but she hoped most sincerely that Ellis and Roy would never meet.
They had finished dinner by this time so they went into the drawing-room and out on to the terrace by the glass door. Bel had bought a teak-wood seat for the terrace and they often sat here on fine evenings.
“We’ve made good use of Reggie’s glass door,” said Ellis as they went out together. He laughed and added, “I remember him saying how lovely it would be to stroll out into the garden. He was absolutely right. There are no flies on Reggie.”
“He’s going into the Church,” said Bel.
She had been trying to tell Ellis this news for some time—indeed she had been trying to make up her mind to broach the subject ever since Reggie’s visit—but somehow it had been difficult to find the right moment, and she had been afraid of what Ellis would say. She was still afraid of what Ellis would say and she waited rather nervously for his reaction to her news.
For a few moments Ellis said nothing. His arms were full of cushions and he arranged them on the seat before he spoke.
“Going into the Church? You mean he’s giving up his partnership in that firm?”
“Yes, he’s going to Oxford to take his degree.”
“I thought he was tremendously keen on architecture.”
“He’s too keen on architecture,” said Bel thoughtfully. “I think that’s one of the reasons. He doesn’t like building shoddy houses. Reggie wants perfection.”
“Perfection!” exclaimed Ellis. “None of us can have that.”
“I know, but we can do our best, can’t we? Reggie isn’t free to do his best
.”
“I suppose he told you all this when he was here. Why didn’t the silly little blighter talk to me about it? That’s what I should like to know.”
Bel was silent for a few moments. She realised that Ellis was hurt . . . and she had not expected this reaction. It was foolish of her of course, because the two were close friends so it would have been natural for Reggie to talk to Ellis about his plans.
“I’m not sure,” said Bel slowly, trying to feel her way. “I think it was because Reggie admires you so much and has such confidence in your judgment.”
“That’s a funny reason!”
“It isn’t really,” she told him. “Reggie was afraid you would think it very unwise to throw up his career. He was afraid you might be able to persuade him not to do it.”
“I wouldn’t have tried to persuade him.”
“You think it’s the right thing?” asked Bel eagerly.
“The right thing?” asked Ellis, turning his head and smiling at her. “It depends what you mean when you say ‘the right thing’. It certainly wouldn’t be the right thing for me, but if Reggie is quite certain that that’s what he wants to do——”
“Yes, absolutely certain.”
“Then, obviously, it’s the right thing for him.”
“Yes,” said Bel with a sigh of relief.
There was a short silence. Bel was thinking how very foolish she had been; first, in not realising that Ellis would feel hurt at being shut out from Reggie’s confidence and, second, in being afraid that Ellis would try to arrange Reggie’s life for him. She ought to have known Ellis better than that. It had been a difficult corner—all the more alarming because she and Ellis had never before had any difficult corners to negotiate . . . but it had been negotiated safely and no harm done.
Fletchers End (Bel Lamington Book 2) Page 18