Ellis paused. He got up and walked to the end of the room and back. He said, “I don’t know where I am. If the house doesn’t belong to me what am I to do? I suppose I shall have to pay back the loan from the building society. How am I going to do that? I haven’t got the money to do it.”
“Yes, I see,” said Bel, gazing at him in dismay.
“A good deal depends on Mrs. Harding,” continued Ellis more calmly. “I don’t know whether she would be reasonable to deal with. Perhaps she could be made to pay for all the repairs we’ve done to the house . . . that would help . . . but of course we’ve done a good many things which weren’t absolutely necessary.”
“You mean the bow-window?”
“Yes, and the central heating and the new bathroom. I don’t suppose she could be made to pay for things like that.”
“Why not? Why shouldn’t she pay for everything that’s been done to her house?”
“She might say she didn’t want the things done.” Ellis sighed and added, “I wish I knew more about the legal aspect of the case.”
“Mr. Tennant——”
“Yes, I shall go and see him the moment he comes home, meanwhile we must just go on as usual.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The Brownlees had decided that they must not mention their troubles to anyone until Ellis had consulted Mr. Tennant, so they pulled themselves together and endeavoured to go on as usual. Bel finished making the curtains and hung them up. It seemed rather a silly thing to do, but she did it all the same. The ‘chaps’ came and worked in the garden under the supervision of Mr. Fuller, who seemed to be under the impression that he was now in full control—perhaps his mind had gone back to the days when this was the case. Mrs. Warmer cooked delicious meals (which unfortunately were not appreciated as they should have been); she scrubbed and swept and polished and sang cheerfully as she went about her duties. There was no cloud in her sky.
Bel wondered what would happen to Mrs. Warmer. Would she too have to leave Fletchers End? Perhaps Mrs. Harding would keep her on and if so Mrs. Warmer would continue to be happy and contented. It was the old house that Mrs. Warmer loved.
Ellis did not agree with Bel in this. “It’s you she loves,” declared Ellis. “She’ll be miserable when we leave the place. It’s a pity we couldn’t take her with us, but that’s impossible of course. I’m afraid it looks as if we shall be very badly off. I can’t tell exactly; it depends upon so many different things. I’ve been thinking what we should do and where we should go. Perhaps we could take a small flat in London, we were very happy there last winter, weren’t we?”
“Yes,” said Bel. It was true that they had been happy; but the flat in Mellington Street had been only a temporary lodging, they had been looking forward all the time to their permanent home in the country. That made all the difference in the world.
“You wouldn’t mind living in town, would you?” asked Ellis anxiously.
“No, of course not, Ellis,” she replied. “We’ll be together won’t we? That’s the main thing,” she added, trying to smile.
Several days passed. Ellis was obliged to go to his business and went off as usual every morning. It was good for him to have his work to do and to get away from Fletchers End. Sitting in his office with his mind concentrated upon business affairs he had little time to brood. Bel’s case was very different; all day long she was in the house or the garden; all day long she wandered about miserably, thinking of the trouble that had come so suddenly like a thundercloud in a summer sky. The house felt strange to Bel; it was different, not happy any more. To Bel’s disordered mind the house seemed to be waiting.
Sometimes Bel looked at the bureau standing near the window; she could not be bothered to look through the letters and diaries in the drawer. If only she had not urged Ellis to buy it the wretched thing would still be in the warehouse, mouldering away amongst all the other furniture, with the will safely hidden in the secret drawer. It would not have been found for years, probably it would never have been found, thought Bel.
One morning she and Ellis were having breakfast together; on Bel’s part it was a mere pretence of having breakfast; she was drinking a cup of coffee and crumbling a roll of bread to pieces on her plate.
“Do try to eat something,” said Ellis. He was terribly worried, not only about the house and the prospect of losing a great deal of money but also about his wife. She was pale and languid with blue shadows beneath her eyes. “Do try to eat something,” he repeated. “You can’t go on like this——”
“Ellis, we can’t go on—like this,” declared Bel with a little catch in her breath. “It’s the uncertainty that’s so terribly hard to bear. I keep on wondering all the time—I can think of nothing else. It’s like a huge dark thundercloud in the sky. Couldn’t we do something? Must we wait until Mr. Tennant comes home?”
“I think it would be better to wait. You see Mr. Tennant knows all about it so he’s the right man to consult.”
Bel put her elbow on the table and leant her head on her hand.
“I suppose I could take advice from another lawyer,” said Ellis, looking at her in alarm.
Bel did not reply.
“Perhaps I had better do that,” he suggested. “I could ask Singleton, he’s a very good fellow—I know him well. I could put the matter to him and see what he says. Would you like me to do that, Bel?”
She looked up doubtfully, hesitating, trying to make up her mind what to say. Would it be better to know quite definitely that they must leave Fletchers End or to remain in suspense?
“I’ll see him,” declared Ellis with sudden decision. “I’ll ring him up this morning and ask him to have lunch with me at the club.”
“Ellis, I don’t know! Perhaps you shouldn’t——”
“I’ve decided,” said Ellis firmly. He kissed Bel and added, “I must go now or I shall miss my train. Do take care of yourself darling and try not to worry too much.”
*
2
The other days had been bad enough but this was the worst of all. The thundercloud was bigger and blacker than ever. Ellis would talk to Mr. Singleton—and then they would know for certain. It would be worse to know for certain that they must leave Fletchers End. Bel wished—now when it was too late—that she had not urged Ellis to ‘do something about it’.
It was when she was dusting her dressing-table that she glanced out of the window and saw Mr. Fuller in the garden accompanied by a very large and hefty young man. Bel had seen the young man before; it was Bert—Mr. Fuller’s youngest grandson. The two were busily engaged unpacking some plants. The rose-bushes of course! In normal circumstances Bel would have been pleased and excited at the arrival of Ellis’s rose-bushes, but to-day the sight of them added to her gloom. However it was necessary to go out and speak to the men. They would think it strange if she showed no interest in what they were doing.
Mr. Fuller was in his element, measuring the ground carefully and directing the digging of the holes. His manner towards Bert was extremely autocratic, he found fault with everything the young man did.
“That ’ole’s too deep,” declared Mr. Fuller in his squeaky voice. “You ain’t planting a tree—not as I knows of. It’s too deep and ain’t wide enough to spread out the roots. Roses likes their roots spread out noice and comferble. Just like ’uman beings, they are.”
“’Uman beings?” asked Bert pausing in his labours and looking at his grandfather in bewilderment.
“You don’t like your roots cramped up in tight shoes—he, he, he!” exclaimed Mr. Fuller chuckling at his own excruciatingly funny joke. “And don’t you stand there gawping like a zany,” said Mr. Fuller with a sudden change of tune. “These luvverly roses got to be planted ’ere an’ now—not nex’ week nor the week after neither. You get on with your digging, Bert.”
“Luvverly roses!” muttered Bert beneath his breath. “Foolish liddle sticks—that’s all they be.”
“What?” asked Mr. Fuller. “Why can’
t you speak right? Mumble, mumble, mumble! You don’t never open your mouth proper—’cept when you’re ’aving your dinner . . .”
All this would have amused Bel considerably if it had not been for the black thundercloud in the blue summer sky. To-day nothing could amuse her; certainly not the planting of Ellis’s roses. The ‘foolish liddle sticks’ which were being bedded in so carefully would grow into healthy bushes and bear beautiful blooms—but Ellis would not be here to enjoy them.
*
3
Soon after lunch there was a telephone-call. Bel lifted the receiver hopefully. It was Ellis, she was sure. Ellis was ringing up to say he had seen Mr. Singleton and everything was all right and they would not have to give up Fletchers End. It must be that, thought Bel as she waited for the call to come through.
But it was not Ellis; it was Louise.
“I haven’t seen you for days,” declared Louise. “I’ve had a perfectly sweet letter from Alec with all sorts of interesting news. He says things are beginning to look a lot better already. That man, Wilkie Bates, is doing tremendously good work and several big orders have come in—a specially valuable one from a firm in London. He says that’s Ellis. Did you know about it?”
“Ellis has been talking about ‘Drummond’s’ to people, that’s all.”
“That’s all!” exclaimed Louise. “It’s everything. It means a frightful lot to Alec—and to me too, of course. I can tell from the poor darling’s letter that he’s feeling ever so much more cheerful. Listen, Bel, I want to come and tell you all about it. I thought I’d come over to tea if that will be all right.”
Bel hesitated. She did not want anybody—not even Louise. “I’ve got a very bad headache,” she said. It was perfectly true; her head ached and her heart ached; she felt cold and shivery. “I don’t think it would be much good your coming,” she added. “I really feel rather awful.”
“Poor darling!” exclaimed Louise in anxious tones. “Perhaps you’ve got a chill or something. You had better take two aspirins and go to bed.”
“Perhaps I should.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to come just for a few minutes?”
“I’d rather you didn’t—honestly.”
“Well, I’ll come over to-morrow and see how you are.”
“Yes,” agreed Bel, “perhaps I’ll feel better to-morrow.”
Perhaps she would feel better to-morrow or perhaps she would feel worse, thought Bel as she put down the receiver.
Louise had told her to go to bed—and like most of Louise’s plans for the comfort of her friends it was sound and sensible—but it would worry Ellis if he came home and found his wife in bed and poor Ellis had quite enough to worry him already. No, thought Bel. Bed was out of the question. Instead of going to bed she went into the drawing-room and sat down by the fire with a book.
‘You-go-and-have-a-nice-sit-down-with-a-book’ thought Bel as she turned over the pages listlessly. Dear Mrs. Warmer! How sad it would be to say good-bye to her! Nice Mrs. Warmer!
Presently Mrs. Warmer brought in the tea-tray and arranged it conveniently on a table near the fire. “You’re looking very poorly,” she said in sympathetic tones. “To tell the truth you haven’t been looking like yourself at all for several days. It’s to be hoped you’re not in for ’flu.”
“I’ve got rather a bad headache,” admitted Bel.
Mrs. Warmer nodded. “It might be ’flu—or it might be your eyes,” she said. “I used to have dreadful headaches till I got my spectacles. Why don’t you ask Dr. Armstrong and get your eyes tested?”
“Perhaps I should,” said Bel.
Mrs. Warmer continued to talk about headaches. Her mother had been a martyr to headaches—sick headaches they were. She couldn’t hardly lift her head off the pillow. Her brother had headaches too—they were in the family—his headaches came on all of a sudden so bad that he could hardly see out of his eyes . . .
Mrs. Warmer’s voice went on and on—all about headaches and the different members of her family who suffered from the affliction.
Bel had almost reached screaming-point when at last she made up the fire and went away.
She went away and there was peace. Silence was heavenly, thought Bel. There was no silence so heavenly as the silence of Fletchers End. She took two aspirin tablets and drank her tea and leaned her aching head upon the cushion.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The silence in the drawing-room continued. There was no sound at all except the crackle of the wood burning in the fire—a nice comforting sound. After a little the pain in Bel’s head receded; she was almost asleep when the door opened and Doctor Armstrong appeared.
Normally Bel would have been delighted to see him—she was very fond of the big doctor—but to-day she would much rather he had not come.
“Don’t get up,” said Dr. Armstrong. “I just came in for a minute, that’s all. Lou seemed a bit worried. I didn’t say anything to her, but I thought I’d have a look at you.”
“How kind,” said Bel.
“A bad headache, Lou said.”
“Yes, but it’s a lot better.”
He sat down and took her hand. “You don’t seem to have any fever,” he said, looking at her doubtfully. “All the same I think you’d be better in bed.”
Bel had not wanted anybody—peace was all she had wanted—but there was something very soothing about the doctor and now that he was here she wanted him to stay.
“I think you’d be better in bed,” he repeated.
“I’m not ill—just a bit worried,” said Bel trying to smile.
“What’s the trouble, Bel?”
She hesitated and then said, “I’m afraid I can’t tell you; it’s a secret.”
“Doctors are quite good at keeping secrets.”
Bel hesitated. The desire to confide in Dr. Armstrong was overpowering; she had talked to nobody about the trouble, nobody except Ellis (their discussion had been unending of course, it had gone round and round and arrived at no conclusion). What a relief it would be to talk to Dr. Armstrong! He was so sensible, so wise, so trustworthy! It could do no harm to confide in Dr. Armstrong; Bel was sure of that.
There had been a short silence, but now Bel said, “It would be a great relief to tell you about it—but it’s a long story and terribly complicated. Oh dear! It’s so terribly complicated—I don’t know how to begin!”
“Begin at the beginning,” he suggested. “How did the trouble start?”
“Well, it all began with that horrible bureau,” declared Bel. “If only we hadn’t bought it——”
“That bureau!” exclaimed the doctor in surprise. “It’s rather a nice piece of furniture. Miss Lestrange had one exactly like it and it stood in exactly the same place. I can see her now, sitting at it and writing.” He got up as he spoke and went over and looked at it closely. “By Jove, it’s the same one! I remember that chip off the corner. Did you buy it from Lestrange?”
“Yes, I wish we hadn’t.”
Dr. Armstrong knew a good deal about people who were in trouble—people who had secrets on their minds. Some people found no difficulty in pouring out all their worries into a sympathetic ear—they were only too ready to do so—others found it difficult to begin. Bel was the latter kind of person. When he had soothed her down and made her feel more comfortable she would be able to confide in him. He was thankful that the trouble had nothing to do with Ellis—thank God for that! The trouble could not be anything very serious if the bureau was at the bottom of it.
There was a short silence.
Talk, said Dr. Armstrong to himself. He said aloud, “So Miss Lestrange’s bureau has come home! She was a curious old lady. I think I told you that she was my patient for the last few months of her life, so I used to see her quite often. I had to keep an eye on her because she had an unusual heart condition which necessitated care. I knew that with care she might live for years but there was always the possibility that she might die suddenly. She knew that he
rself; Whittaker had told her, hoping that it might make her take more care, but it had no effect upon her at all. One day when I came in to see her she laughed and said ‘Well, here I am, Doctor. Not dead yet’.”
“It was brave, wasn’t it?” said Bel.
“Oh, she was very courageous. I admired her courage tremendously, but unfortunately she was a very bad patient, medically speaking, irascible and easily upset. She was always quarrelling with somebody or other, which of course was the worst thing for her.”
“Quarrelling with her relations,” said Bel nodding.
“Yes, quarrelling with her relations and changing her will,” agreed Dr. Armstrong smiling. “Miss Lestrange enjoyed making wills, it gave her a feeling of power. She was really a ‘dictator’ in her own limited sphere.”
“A feeling of power,” said Bel thoughtfully.
“Yes, I happen to know that quite definitely. You see I was here when she signed her will.”
“You were here!” exclaimed Bel in astonishment.
“I witnessed it,” he told her.
Bel was gazing at him with startled eyes. “But you didn’t!” she exclaimed. “Dr. Armstrong, you didn’t witness it.”
“I can assure you that I did.”
“But Dr. Armstrong——”
“My dear girl, I see you don’t believe me, but I can tell you exactly what happened from beginning to end. It was more than six years ago but for several reasons the affair made such an impression on my mind that I can remember it as if it had happened last week. It was an afternoon in January; we were having a cold spell so I called in to see Miss Lestrange—cold weather didn’t suit her at all—but in spite of the weather she was in good trim and exceedingly cheerful. She could be very amusing when she felt like it and that afternoon she was very amusing indeed. I wondered what had happened to make her so lively—and quite soon I discovered the reason. When I had finished my examination she produced her will and asked me to witness her signature. She smiled and said she enjoyed making wills; she said, ‘It amuses me to change things about’. As I told you before, it gave her a feeling of power. She could make one person happy and another person miserable with a stroke of her pen.”
Fletchers End (Bel Lamington Book 2) Page 28