Fletchers End (Bel Lamington Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  “Don’t you worry,” said Mrs. Warmer. “It’s been in that dirty old store for years. A good wash is what it wants. When I’ve washed it and given it a nice polish-up it’ll look quite different—you’ll be surprised. You go and have a nice sit down with a book,” said Mrs. Warmer.

  In spite of her disappointment at the appearance of the bureau Bel could not help smiling, for this was Mrs. Warmer’s stock phrase when she wanted a clear field of action. It would have been rude to say, ‘Go away. I can get on quicker without you’—and Mrs. Warmer was never rude. ‘You go and have a nice sit down with a book’ was polite and pleasant. Who could take exception to a suggestion so considerate and kind?

  Of course Bel never sat down with a book in the morning—there was far too much to do—and Mrs. Warmer knew this perfectly well. Nobody would have been more surprised than Mrs. Warmer if she had found her employer sitting down with a book—the bed unmade and the drawing-room undusted—but all the same she said it. She said it when she was making jam and Bel went into the kitchen and offered to stir the preserving-pan; she said it when Bel offered to clean the silver. She had said it so often that the words had ceased to have any meaning and all ran together as they issued from her mouth. “You-go-and-have-a-nice-sit-down-with-a-book,” said Mrs. Warmer as she wrung out a cloth in a pail of soapy water and started on her task.

  Bel went upstairs and made the bed.

  *

  2

  Mrs. Warmer’s prediction was correct. When Bel saw the bureau nicely cleaned and polished she was delighted; it was a charming piece of furniture and it suited the old house. Reggie would not have agreed with this, of course, for writing-desks of elegant design were unknown in the days of Queen Elizabeth, but Bel was not so pernickety.

  They carried it into the drawing-room and tried to decide where to put it. Where had it stood before?

  “Over by the window,” said Mrs. Warmer. “The house was empty when I took over but there was a patch on the wall-paper near the window just about the right size.”

  They carried it over to the window and stood back to look at it.

  “Yes,” said Bel. “That’s the best place for it—with the light coming in on the left.”

  “That’s where it was,” declared Mrs. Warmer and so saying she went away.

  Left alone, Bel examined her new treasure more carefully. The drawers were locked but the keys, tied together, were hanging on one of the handles. Bel was almost afraid to open the drawers—how awful if they were empty! However she plucked up her courage and tried the keys in the locks.

  The top drawer was full of papers; papers of all kinds and bundles of letters and receipted bills . . . and, yes, here were the diaries, half-a-dozen fat little books fastened together with an elastic band. Bel’s eyes sparkled with pleasure when she saw her trove; here she would find all sorts of interesting things about the old house. She would find interesting things about Miss Lestrange as well—and perhaps about old Mrs. Lestrange, the lady of the picture. It would take a long time to sort out all the papers, for they had been jumbled up together when the bureau had been moved, but there was no hurry, thought Bel. She could take her time about it, reading carefully, making notes and tearing up the rubbish as she went along. It would be a delightful job for a wet afternoon.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Ellis returned from town at the usual hour and was taken straight into the drawing-room.

  “Hallo, it’s come!” he exclaimed. “That fellow didn’t take long in sending it.”

  “Isn’t it lovely?”

  Ellis agreed. He was pleasantly surprised at the appearance of the bureau; had it been in perfect condition it would have been well worth the twenty-five pounds which he had paid for it. Unfortunately it was not in perfect condition; there was a chip off the corner, one of the legs was cracked and the leather on the writing flap was badly stained with ink. Bel had not noticed these defects.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Ellis cheerfully. “It looks very nice and fits in well with the room. The leg can easily be mended and we can put some brown stain on that chip. It will hardly show at all——”

  “But Ellis! You paid far too much for it!”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t matter,” he repeated. “We’ve got the diaries and letters, haven’t we? They’re sure to be interesting.”

  Bel said no more. As a matter of fact she was puzzled; Ellis’s behaviour was completely out of character; she could not understand it at all.

  Bel had decided that the task of sorting out the papers should be kept for a wet afternoon but Ellis was more impatient. He sat down at once and opened the drawer.

  “I say, what a mess!” he exclaimed. “There isn’t time to go through all these papers now, but here’s something rather interesting. It’s an extract from the Lestranges’ family-tree. At least it’s just a few rough notes, but it tells you when your ‘violet lady’ was born.”

  They looked at the paper together:

  Violet Harris. Born 1853. Died 1933.

  Married Reginald Lestrange in 1876 (Four children).

  1. Their daughter, Helen—born 1878.

  2. Their son—Reginald—born 1880—two daughters, Olivia and Mary.

  3. Their son—Eric—born 1881—one son, Roy, born 1926.

  4. Their daughter, Dora—born 1895—one son, Leslie, born 1927.

  “It isn’t a proper family-tree,” said Bel in disappointed tones.

  “No, but it’s quite interesting. Your friend Roy Lestrange seems to be thirty-five. I thought he was younger from what you told me about him.”

  Bel was not surprised, for Roy was a man of the world, but she was surprised to discover Leslie Harding’s age; she would have guessed him to be not more than thirty at the outside.

  Ellis was still studying the paper; he said, “Their daughter, Dora, seems to have been an afterthought.”

  “Yes,” said Bel. “Lady Steyne told me that the others were all more or less grown-up when she was born.”

  “I expect you’ll find out a lot more about your ‘wild Lestranges’ when you have time to get down to the job,” said Ellis smiling.

  *

  2

  The next day was Saturday. It had been arranged that Jim Copping should come down to lunch. He had been asked before, several times, but what with one thing and another his visit had been postponed. Now, at last, he was coming and Bel was looking forward immensely to seeing him again.

  Unfortunately the day was cold and cloudy, not at all the sort of weather Bel would have chosen for her eagerly expected guest. She could do nothing about the weather of course but she could and did arrange to have a particularly good and substantial lunch for him.

  The sky blue sports car drew up at the gate soon after twelve o’clock and its owner unfolded his long legs and got out. Bel, who had been watching for its arrival, ran down to the gate, Ellis followed more slowly.

  “Hallo, Mrs. B.!” exclaimed Jim Copping, taking her two hands and shaking them up and down vigorously. “You’re looking simply grand. Country life seems to suit you. What fun, seeing you again!”

  “It seems ages,” declared Bel, smiling at him affectionately.

  “It is ages,” he replied. “You left in March, didn’t you? Why haven’t you been to see us at the office before this?”

  “Why haven’t you been to see us? I thought you had forgotten all about me.”

  “Not likely,” he said with one of his wide grins. “There are all sorts of things that remind me of you. For instance I’ve still got that nice bit of rubber in the green plastic case.”

  Bel laughed. It amused her to be remembered by a piece of india-rubber.

  “Oh, other things too,” he said hastily.

  This was so like him, thought Bel. Mr. James, in spite of his immense size and awkward appearance, was very sensitive about people’s feelings.

  Ellis had told her that he had ‘grown up’ and now that she had time to look at him she realised that he looked mo
re mature. He was not so gawky and his arms and legs seemed less unmanageable.

  “I meant to come and see you before,” he continued, “but I’ve been very busy, you know—and I’ve learnt a lot. I don’t make so many idiotic mistakes nowadays.”

  “Ellis says you’re doing splendidly, Mr. James.”

  Bel had intended to call him ‘Jim’, as Ellis did, for she was no longer his secretary—she was the wife of his partner—but she had known him so long and so intimately as ‘Mr. James’ that the name had slipped out without thinking. It was going to be difficult to change, thought Bel, and was it necessary? After a moment’s hesitation she decided that he was her very own Mr. James and would always remain so.

  By this time Ellis had greeted the visitor, saying, “Hallo, Jim! Glad you were able to come,” and they all went into the house together.

  “Look out for the beam,” said Ellis giving the usual warning.

  “What beam?” asked Mr. James, turning suddenly and giving his head a resounding crack.

  “That beam,” said Ellis laughing somewhat unfeelingly.

  “Oh, goodness!” exclaimed Bel in dismay. “We should have warned you properly. There are beams like that all over the house, so please be careful.”

  Mr. James was rubbing his head ruefully. “Why do you have them? They’re frightfully dangerous,” he said.

  “We have them to hold up the roof,” explained Ellis with elaborate sarcasm.

  “Oh yes, I see,” agreed Mr. James, looking carefully at the construction. “They’re fixed to the walls so it would be a bit difficult to have them removed . . . unless you were to put in steel girders. How about that?”

  His host and hostess were dumb.

  “It would cost a good deal,” admitted Mr. James thoughtfully. “Failing that—I mean if it was too expensive—you could paint the beams white. It would be safer because people would be able to see them.”

  Ellis was still speechless. Bel had begun to giggle.

  “It would make the hall much lighter, you know. Have you ever thought of doing that?” inquired their guest.

  “No Jim,” said Ellis who had managed to find his tongue. “It has never crossed our minds for a moment.”

  “And nobody ever suggested it?” asked Mr. James incredulously.

  “No, your suggestion is unique.”

  “You might think about it.”

  “Oh yes, we’ll think about it,” said Ellis nodding. “When we’re feeling a bit down in the mouth we’ll say to each other, ‘What about painting the beams?’”

  “I suppose I’ve said something funny, but it seems a very sensible idea to me.”

  “It’s only——” began Bel trying to control her giggles. “It’s only because all our other visitors go into ecstasies over our beautiful oak beams.”

  “Oh well . . .” said Mr. James with a sigh. He looked at the beams again, more carefully, and added, “But I still think they’re ugly—so rough and badly finished.”

  “Never mind, Jim,” said Ellis kindly. “Come into the drawing-room and have a glass of sherry before lunch, but for goodness’ sake look out for your head as you go in at the door.”

  *

  3

  “It seems funny to me,” said Mr. James when he was safely seated on the sofa. “I mean why did they build houses with low beams and doorways?”

  “The fletchers were small men,” Ellis told him.

  “The fletchers? Oh, I see—Fletchers End.”

  “Bar jokes, they really were smaller in those days,” Ellis explained. “Someone once told me that those old suits of armour that you see in museums are much too small for an average-sized modern man—and you’re not average-sized, are you?”

  “No, worse luck,” said Mr. James. “It’s absolutely sickening. I have to pay much more than other people for my suits.”

  “That’s a very nice suit,” said Bel.

  “Oh, do you like it?” he asked. “It’s new. I put it on specially for you to see. Mrs. Garry helped me to choose the stuff.”

  There were all sorts of things that Bel wanted to know so she took advantage of a pause in the conversation.

  “How are things going in the office?” she inquired. “What about the letters? No slackness in sorting them, I hope.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. It’s been all right ever since I got on to them and made a row about it. I enjoyed that row,” added Mr. James, smiling reminiscently.

  “I know you did,” nodded Bel.

  “Yes, it was a good row and most effective. The letters are on your table—I mean Mrs. Garry’s table—every morning before she arrives.”

  “Good!”

  “Oh, by the way, you remember old Branksome, don’t you? That queer old beaver who kicked up such a shindy about a consignment of sugar.”

  Bel nodded, she remembered him well. It had been one of Mr. James’s most unfortunate mistakes and it had taken his secretary all her time to soothe Mr. Branksome’s justifiable rage and fury and to put things right with Mr. Nelson.

  “Well, he’s quite nice now,” declared Mr. James. “He isn’t a bit snorty. He drops in to the office every now and then and sits and tells me smutty stories. Some of them are very funny.” Mr. James chuckled and added, “I saw him yesterday and he sent you his love.”

  “What!” exclaimed Bel incredulously. “Mr. Branksome sent——”

  “Well, not exactly,” admitted Mr. James. “He just said where was that nice little bit of fluff that I used to have as a secretary.”

  Bel laughed immoderately but Ellis did not seem amused.

  “Mrs. Garry isn’t much to look at,” continued Mr. James, following his line of thought. “But she’s really very good value. Her typing is still a bit erratic but she’s useful in other ways. Have you noticed this, Mrs. B.?” He pointed to his tie.

  Bel smiled and nodded. Of course she had noticed. Instead of working round his neck until the knot was under his left ear his tie had remained in the correct position with the knot beneath his chin.

  “That’s Mrs. Garry,” he explained. “She sews little loops on all my ties and I fasten them on to my back collar-stud. It’s a marvellous idea.”

  “What on earth is the use of that?” asked Ellis, a trifle irritably for he was feeling left out in the cold. He added “Loops on your ties! It seems a crazy idea to me.”

  “It’s a secret, isn’t it, Mr. James?” said Bel laughing.

  He nodded, “You bet it’s a secret. The fact is Mrs. Garry’s idea has made things much more comfortable for me. I don’t have to worry; I know it’s all right, you see.”

  “No need for anyone to say ‘tie’,” suggested Bel.

  “No need at all. I’ll tell you another thing, Mrs. B. Our coffee comes on a tray every morning: two cups and saucers and a plate of biscuits! What d’you think of that?”

  “Grand!” exclaimed Bel.

  “It’s because I’m so important of course.”

  “Look here!” said Ellis. “What’s all this about?”

  “He’s jealous, Mrs. B.,” declared Mr. James screwing up his face and winking broadly at his erstwhile secretary. “He doesn’t get his coffee on a tray. I was in his room yesterday morning and in came the last-joined typist—not a bad-looking wench, but don’t worry I shan’t ask her out to lunch——”

  “I should hope not!” put in Bel.

  “In she came,” continued Mr. James. “Smiling like a Cheshire cat, and she put down two slopping cups with the saucers full of sodden biscuits on Mr. Brownlee’s table.”

  “Why don’t I get a tray?” demanded Ellis. “I shall tell them——”

  “No, no, you mustn’t tell them!” cried Mr. James in horrified tones. “It would never do to tell them yourself—frightfully undignified and all that! The right thing is for your secretary to tell them that you’re a very important person, isn’t it, Mrs. B.?”

  “Really Jim!” exclaimed Ellis, half laughing and half annoyed. “I don’t know what’s come ov
er you to-day. You never talk like this in the office.”

  “Good gracious, no! Of course not. What do you take me for?” cried Mr. James. He grinned and added, “I’m on the loose to-day. You wait till you see me on Monday morning and you’ll find me full of respect for your exalted position.”

  “Cheek!” exclaimed Ellis.

  Bel was somewhat alarmed. She decided it was time to change the subject so she asked hastily how the blue car was going, a question which certainly had the desired effect for it brought forth a flood of eulogies on her performance and a technical description of her engine which neither of the hearers could understand. However Mr. James finished his disquisition by saying, “Girls like going out for a spin” which Bel understood quite well.

  “Any special girl?” she inquired with interest.

  “No, just girls,” replied Mr. James. “I haven’t got a steady. I’m waiting until I find someone exactly like you.” Unfortunately he rather spoilt this charming compliment by adding, “Only much younger, of course.”

  Bel laughed. She was delighted with Mr. James. She had been afraid that he might have changed, for he was now a business man pulling his weight in the firm of Copping, Brownlee and Copping, but he had not really changed at all. He still said exactly what he thought without fear or favour, he was still her great big enormous child.

  Lunch was a most successful meal, the visitor did full justice to it, especially to the steak-and-kidney pie. Ellis was astonished at his guest’s appetite but Bel was not. She had lunched with Mr. James several times so she knew that he required large quantities of nourishing food.

  After lunch they went into the garden which was beginning to look quite civilised by this time. Bel was delighted to see that the little ‘apricock’ trees had arrived from the nursery garden and were being planted along the south wall. Mr. Fuller was there, of course, superintending the operation. Unfortunately he was much too busy to talk to them so they strolled on to the little gate.

  *

  4

  Presently Mr. James said he must go; he had an important appointment in town (he did not specify the nature of the appointment but Bel had a feeling that it might have something to do with a girl) so they all went into the drawing-room through the glass door.