Winter of Change

by Betty Neels

  He went away, and Mary Jane went along to the kitchen and spent some time helping Mrs Body and catching up on the local news until Doctor Morris reappeared. In the hall he said briefly: ‘He’s fighting a losing battle, I’m afraid,’ then went on to give her his instructions, ‘and I’ll be in some time tomorrow morning,’ he concluded.

  There was a dressing room next to the Colonel’s room. Mary Jane, who usually slept in one of the little rooms, moved her things into it, had a brief chat with her grandfather, settled him for the night and went down to the kitchen where the faithful Mrs Body was waiting with cocoa. They sat at the table, drinking it, with Major, the Colonel’s middle-aged dog, sitting at their feet, and discussed the small problems confronting them. Mary Jane finished her cocoa and put down her cup. ‘Well, now I’m here,’ she said in her sensible way, ‘you must have some time to yourself—these last few days must have been very tiring for you. If I’d known, I’d have come sooner.’

  Mrs Body shook her head. ‘Your grandfather wouldn’t hear of it, not at first, but when Doctor Morris told him—he couldn’t get you here fast enough,’ she concluded, and sighed. ‘All the same, I’ll admit I’ll be glad of an hour or so to myself. Lily comes up each morning as she always does, she’s a good girl, and now you’re here, I could get away for a bit.’

  Mary Jane agreed. ‘Supposing you take the Mini for a couple of hours each day? You could go to Keswick or Cockermouth if you want to do some shopping. I’ll be quite all right here—I can go for a walk when you get back.’

  The housekeeper gave her a grateful smile. ‘That’s kind of you, Miss Mary Jane, I’d like that. I want my hair done and one thing and another—you don’t mind me using the Mini?’

  ‘Heavens, no. Now I think I’ll go to bed, it’s been a long day. Will you be all right? I’ll be in the dressing room and I’ve fixed Grandfather’s bell and I shall leave the door open—besides, he’s had a sedative. You will sleep? or shall I bring you something?’

  ‘Bless you, child, I’ve never taken any of those nasty pills yet, and don’t intend to. I’ll sleep like a baby.’

  It was a bright, clear morning when Mary Jane woke the next morning and her grandfather was still sleeping; he had wakened once in the small hours and she had gone and sat with him for an hour until he dozed off again; now he would probably sleep for another hour or more. She put on slacks and a sweater, tied her hair back and went downstairs. Mrs Body was already up, so they drank their early morning tea together and then Mary Jane took Major into the garden and across the grass to the lake’s edge. The water was calm and as smooth as silk, the mountains reflected in it so that it took on their colour, grey and green. Across the lake Skiddaw loomed above the other peaks, the sun lending it a bronze covering for its granite slopes.

  Mary Jane looked about her with pleasure as she threw sticks for Major, a pleasure tinged with sadness because the Colonel was ill, and although he was an old man, and didn’t, she suspected, mind dying, she would miss him very much. He had been all the family she had known; now she would be alone, save for the cousin in Canada. She had never met him and her grandfather seldom mentioned him. She supposed that after her grandfather died, this cousin would inherit the house and whatever went with it. She knew nothing of the Colonel’s affairs; he had encouraged her to earn her own living when she had left school and she had always imagined that he had done so because he couldn’t afford to keep her idle at home, for although the house was a comfortable one and well furnished and there was no evidence of poverty, common sense told her that the old man and his housekeeper could live economically enough, whereas if she lived with them, she would need clothes and pocket money and holidays… She went back into the house, and after a reassuring peep at the Colonel, went to eat her breakfast.

  Mrs Body left soon after Lily arrived and Mary Jane went upstairs to make her grandfather comfortable for the day. He seemed better, even demanding his razor so that he might shave himself, a request which she refused in no uncertain manner. Indeed, she fetched the old-fashioned cut-throat razor which he always used, and wielded it herself without a qualm, an action which caused him to ask her somewhat testily exactly what kind of work she did in hospital. There seemed no point in going too deeply into this; she fetched the post, opened his letters for him, and when he had read them, offered to read The Times to him. Perhaps it was her gentle voice, perhaps it was the splendid sports news, one or other of them sent him off into a sound sleep. She put the bell by his hand and went downstairs. It was barely eleven o’clock, Mrs Body wouldn’t be back until the afternoon, Lily was bustling around the sitting room— Mary Jane went into the garden, round to the front of the house where she would be able to hear her grandfather’s bell; there was a lot of weeding which needed doing in the rose beds which bordered the drive.

  She had been hard at it for fifteen minutes or so when she became aware that a car had stopped before the gate, and when she looked round she saw that it was a very splendid car—a Rolls-Royce Corniche convertible, the sober grey of its coachwork gleaming against the green of the firs bordering the road behind it. Its driver allowed the engine to idle silently while he looked at Mary Jane, who, quite unable to recognise the car or its occupant, advanced to the gate, tossing back her mousey hair as she did so. ‘Are you lost?’ she wanted to know. ‘Cockermouth is only…’

  ‘Thank you, but no, I am not lost,’ said the man. ‘This is Colonel Pettigrew’s house.’ It was, she realised, a statement, not an enquiry.

  She planted her fork in between the roses, dusted off her grubby hands and advanced a few steps. ‘Yes, it is.’ She eyed him carefully; she had never seen him before and indeed, she wouldn’t have forgotten him easily if she had, for he was a handsome man, not so very young any more, but the grey hair at his temple served to emphasise the intense blackness of the rest, and his eyes were as dark as his hair, under thick straight brows. His nose was a commanding one and his mouth was firm above an angular jaw. Oh, most definitely a face to remember.

  ‘I’ve come to see Colonel Pettigrew.’ He didn’t smile as he spoke, but looked her up and down in a casual uninterested fashion.

  She ignored the look. ‘Well, I’m not sure that you should,’ she offered calmly. ‘He’s ill, and at the moment he’s asleep. Doctor Morris will be here presently, and I think he should be asked first, but if you like to come in and wait—you’ll have to be quiet.’

  The eyebrows rose. ‘My dear good young woman, you talk as though I were a pop group or a party of schoolchildren! I’m not noisy by nature and I don’t take kindly to being told what I may and may not do.’

  ‘Oh, pooh,’ said Mary Jane, a little out of patience, ‘don’t be so touchy! Come in, do.’ She added, ‘Quietly.’

  The car whispered past her and came to a silent halt at the door, and the man got out. There was a great deal of him; more than six foot, she guessed, and largely built too. She wondered who he was, and was on the point of asking when she heard the bell from her grandfather’s room. ‘There,’ she shot at her companion, a little unfairly, ‘you’ve woken him up,’ and flew upstairs.

  The Colonel looked refreshed after his nap. He said at once, ‘I heard a car and voices. I’m expecting someone, but there’s hardly been time…’

  Mary Jane shook up a pillow and slipped it behind his head. ‘It’s a man,’ she explained unhurriedly. ‘He’s got beetling eyebrows and he’s got rather a super Rolls. He says he wants to see you, but I told him he couldn’t until Uncle Bob comes.’

  A faint smile lighted up her grandfather’s face. ‘Did you, now? And did he mind?’

  ‘I didn’t ask him.’

  Her grandfather chuckled. ‘Well, my dear, if it won’t undermine your authority too much, I should like to see him—now. We have important business. Morris knows he’s coming and I don’t suppose he’ll object. Tell him to come up.’

  ‘All right, Grandfather, if you say so.’

  She found the stranger in the sitting room, sitting in
one of the comfortable old-fashioned chairs. He got to his feet as she went in and before she could speak, said: ‘All right, I know my way,’ and was gone, taking the stairs two at a time. She followed him into the hall just in time to hear the Colonel’s door shut quietly on the old man’s pleased voice. After a moment she went slowly into the garden again.

  She was still there when Doctor Morris arrived, parked his elderly Rover beside the Rolls, greeted her cheerfully and added in a tone of satisfaction, ‘Ah, good, so he’s arrived—with your grandfather, I suppose?’

  Mary Jane pulled a weed with deliberation. ‘Yes, he is—and very high-handed, whoever he is, too. I asked him to wait until you came, but Grandfather heard us talking and wanted to see him at once—he said it was business. He seems better this morning, so I hope you don’t mind?’

  The doctor shook his head. ‘No, I’m pleased. You’re both here now—your grandfather was worrying. I’ll go up now.’

  He left her standing there. She stared after him; he hadn’t told her who the stranger was, but he obviously knew him. She went indoors, tidied herself and went along to get a tray of coffee ready, to find that Lily had already done so. ‘And lunch, miss—I suppose the gentleman will be staying like last time. I’d better do some extra potatoes, hadn’t I?’

  Mary Jane agreed, desiring at the same time to question Lily about the probable guest, but if her grandfather had wanted to tell her, he could have done so, so too could Uncle Bob. If they wanted to have their little secrets, she told herself a trifle huffily, she for one didn’t care. Probably the visitor was a junior partner to her grandfather’s solicitor, but surely he wouldn’t be able to afford a Rolls-Royce? She went outside again and had a good look at the car—it had a foreign number plate and it came from Holland, a clue which she immediately seized upon; the man was someone from her grandfather’s oldest friend, Jonkheer van der Blocq, an elderly gentleman whom she had never met but about whom she knew quite a bit, for her grandfather had often mentioned him. Relieved that she had solved the mystery, she went back indoors in time to meet the doctor coming downstairs.

  ‘There you are,’ he remarked for all the world as though he had spent the last hour looking for her. ‘Your grandfather wants you upstairs.’ He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘He’s better, but you know what I mean by that, don’t you? For the time being. Now run up, like a good girl. I’ll be in the sitting room.’

  She started up the stairs, remembering to call over her shoulder:

  ‘There’s coffee ready for you—would you ask Lily?’ and sped on to tap on the Colonel’s door and be bidden to enter.

  The stranger was standing with his back to the window, his hands in his pockets, and the look he cast her was disconcerting in its speculation; there was faint amusement too and something else which she couldn’t place. Mary Jane turned her attention to her elderly relative.

  ‘Yes, Grandfather?’ she asked, going up to the bed.

  He eyed her lovingly and with some amusement on his tired old face.

  ‘You’re not a pretty girl,’ he observed, and waited for her to answer.

  ‘No, I know that as well as you—you didn’t want me up here just to remind me, did you?’ She grinned engagingly. ‘I take after you,’ she told him.

  He smiled faintly. ‘Come here, Fabian,’ he commanded the man by the window.

  And when he had stationed himself by the bed: ‘Mary Jane, this is Fabian van der Blocq, the nephew of my old friend. He is to be your guardian after my death.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘My guardian? But I don’t need a guardian, Grandfather! I’m twenty-two and I’ve never met Mr—Mr van der Blocq in my life before, and—and…’

  ‘You’re not sure if you like me?’ His voice was bland, the smile he gave her mocking.

  ‘Since you put the words into my mouth, I’m not sure that I do,’ Mary Jane said composedly. ‘And what do you have to be the guardian of?’

  ‘This house will be yours, my dear,’ explained her grandfather, ‘and a considerable sum of money. You will be by no means penniless and there must be someone whom I can trust to keep an eye on you and manage your business affairs.’

  ‘But I—’ She paused and glanced across the bed to the elegant figure opposite her. ‘Oh, you’re a lawyer,’ she declared. ‘I wondered if you might be.’

  Mr van der Blocq corrected her, still bland. ‘You wondered wrongly. I’m a surgeon.’

  She was bewildered. ‘Are you? Then why…?’ she went on vigorously, ‘Anyway, Grandfather isn’t going to die.’

  The old gentleman in the bed made a derisive sound and Mr van der Blocq curled his lip. ‘I am surprised that you, a nurse, should talk in such a fashion—you surely don’t think that the Colonel wishes us to smother the truth in a froth of sickly sentiment?’

  Mary Jane drew her delicate pale eyebrows together. ‘You’re horrible!’ she told him in her gentle voice. It shook a little with the intensity of her feelings and she gave him the briefest of glances before turning back to her grandfather, whom she discovered to be laughing weakly.

  ‘Don’t you mind,’ she demanded, ‘the way this—this Mr van der Blocq talks?’

  Her grandfather stopped laughing. ‘Not in the least, my dear, and I daresay that when you know him better you won’t mind either.’

  She tossed her untidy head. ‘That’s highly unlikely. And now you’re tired, Grandfather—you’re going to have another nap before lunch.’

  To her surprise he agreed quite meekly. ‘But I want you back in the afternoon, Mary Jane—and Fabian.’

  She agreed, ignoring the man staring at her while she rearranged blankets, shook up pillows and made her grandfather comfortable. This done to her satisfaction, she made for the door. Mr van der Blocq, beating her to it by a short head, opened it with an ironic little nod of his handsome head, and without looking at him she went through it and down the stairs to where Doctor Morris was waiting.

  They drank their coffee in an atmosphere which was a little tense, and when the doctor got up to go, Mary Jane got up too, saying, ‘I’ll see you to your car, Uncle Bob,’ and although he protested, did so. Out of their companion’s hearing, however, she stopped.

  ‘Look,’ she said urgently, ‘I don’t understand—why is he to be my guardian? He doesn’t even live in England, does he? and I don’t know him—besides, guardians are old…’

  The doctor’s eyes twinkled. ‘At a rough guess I should say he was nudging forty.’

  ‘Yes? But he doesn’t look…’ She didn’t finish the sentence. ‘Well, it all seems very silly to me, and Grandfather…’ She lifted her eyes to her companion. ‘He’s really not going to get any better? Not even if we do everything we possibly can?’

  ‘No, my dear, and it will be quite soon now. I’ll be back this evening. You know where to find me if you want me.’

  She went back slowly to the sitting room and Mr Van der Blocq, lounging by the window, turned round to say: ‘I don’t suppose you got much help from Doctor Morris, did you?’ He went on conversationally, ‘If it is of any comfort to you, I dislike the idea of being your guardian just as much—probably more—than you dislike being my ward.’

  Mary Jane sat down and poured more coffee for them both. ‘Then don’t. I mean, don’t be my guardian, there’s no need.’

  ‘You heard your grandfather. You will be the owner of this house and sufficient money to make you an attractive target for any man who wants them.’ He came across the room and sat down opposite her. ‘I shall find my duties irksome, I dare say, but you can depend upon me not to shirk them.’ He sat back comfortably. ‘Do you mind if I smoke my pipe?’

  She shook her head, and suddenly mindful of her duties as a hostess, asked, ‘Where are you staying? Or are you perhaps only here for an hour or two?’ She added hastily, ‘You’ll stay to lunch?’

  A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. ‘Thank you, I will—and I’m not staying anywhere,’ his dark eyes twinkled. ‘I believe the Colonel expected that
I would stay here, but if it’s too much trouble I can easily go to a hotel.’

  ‘Oh no, not if Grandfather invited you. I’ll go and see about lunch and get a room ready.’ She got to her feet. ‘There’s sherry on the sofa table, please help yourself.’

  Lily, she discovered when she got to the kitchen, had surpassed herself with Duchesse potatoes to eke out the cold chicken and salad, and there was a soup to start with; Mary Jane, feverishly opening tins to make a fruit salad, hoped that their guest wouldn’t stay too long; she found him oddly disquieting and she wasn’t even sure if she liked him, not that that would matter overmuch, for she supposed that she would see very little of him. She wasn’t sure what the duties of a guardian were, but if he lived in Holland he was hardly likely to take them too seriously.

  Ten minutes later, making up the bed in one of the guest rooms, she began to wonder for how long she was to have a guardian—surely not for the rest of her life? The idea of Mr van der Blocq poking his arrogant nose into her affairs, even from a distance, caused her to shudder strongly. She went downstairs, determined to find out all she could as soon as possible.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HER INTENTION MET with no success however. At lunch, her questions, put, she imagined, with suitable subtlety, were parried with a faint amusement which annoyed her very much, and when in desperation she tried the direct approach and asked him if, in the event of his becoming her guardian, it was to last a lifetime, he laughed and said with an infuriating calm:

  ‘Now, why couldn’t you have asked that in the first place? I have no intention of telling you, however. I imagine that your grandfather will explain everything to you presently.’

  Mary Jane looked down her unassuming little nose. ‘How long are you staying?’ she asked with the icy politeness of an unwilling hostess. A question which met with an instant crack of laughter on the part of her companion. ‘That depends entirely upon your grandfather’s wishes, and—er—circumstances.’