The Cazalet Chronicles Collection

by Elizabeth Jane Howard

  ‘As you all know, I’m selling Sid’s house so I shall have some money, but I’m told it will not be enough to live on. So I shall have to try and get a job, although goodness knows who would ever want to employ me. But I shall find something, I’m sure.’ Rachel looked up at her family before continuing: ‘I’ve had four incredibly kind invitations from you, Hugh, from you, Rupert and Zoë, from you, Villy, and from Gerald and Polly to come and stay.’ Her voice cracked at this point, her knuckles turning white as she clenched the handkerchief. ‘I’m just so grateful to all of you, but I know how busy your lives are. An elderly spinster aunt is hardly a brilliant addition to any household.’ She tried to smile – quite unsuccessfully, as her eyes were now full of tears – as she muttered, barely audible now, ‘I really am not needed any more.’

  Hugh went to her, then knelt by her chair and put his arms round her. ‘You are loved and needed by all of us,’ he said. ‘You’re talking a lot of sad nonsense. Of course it’s worse for you, you’ve lived in this house for forty years—’

  ‘Forty-one.’

  ‘Forty-one, then. It’s been your home all this time. Miserable to leave it.’

  ‘I would need you awfully, Aunt Rach,’ Polly said. ‘With four children and all the wedding stuff we’re struggling with, not to mention our rather large house, I could keep you occupied from morning till night.’

  ‘She’d wear you out if you weren’t careful,’ Gerald added jokingly.

  The others all made practical cases for her staying with them, too, excepting Villy, who wanted Rachel desperately to come and fill her silent little house with her company. So she simply said, ‘You know I’d love you to come – any time,’ and left it at that.

  All this somehow made it all right for Rachel to cry now, which she did until Hugh gave her his handkerchief. ‘That silly little thing you have in your hands wouldn’t even mop up the tears of a mouse.’

  And then Gerald suggested that he open a valedictory bottle of champagne – which he did to good effect – and even Rachel drank her small share, relieved that the evening was over at last.

  ‘Jolly good, my little playwright, the way you made them talk,’ Archie said, when they were in their bedroom.

  Down the passageway upstairs, Hugh discovered that he could not reach his shoelaces. Rather, he could reach them but he couldn’t seem to grasp them – even in normal circumstances no easy matter if you had only one hand. It made him feel dizzy trying, and in the end he called Jemima. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter, but I don’t seem able to get my shoes off.’

  Jemima took one look at him, and her heart sank. He looked exactly as he had in the bathroom. ‘You’re just tired, darling,’ she said. ‘I’m going to undress you – I love doing it.’ She got him out of his clothes and into his pyjama top without his having to get up from the stool he had been sitting on. She eased on the bottoms, then said, ‘Hold on to me, darling, while I pull them up. Then I’m going to lead you to bed.’

  He sank upon his pillows with a sigh of contentment and held out his arms for her. She kissed his forehead and said, ‘Now you’re going straight to sleep.’

  He did, almost at once, but for a long time Jemima lay awake full of fears for him. She must call the doctor and get him to London without fail as soon as possible.

  ‘It really is hard for Rach,’ Rupert said, as he ripped off his clothes, leaving them in a trail from the window to the bed. ‘Do be quick, darling, I want us to have one last comforting roll in the hay before we leave.’

  Polly said, ‘It would be pretty difficult. I think we’d have to get her home first so she could see all the things she might do there. We’re going to have to pay for more help as Nan gets worse anyway. She won’t be able to look after Spencer or lend a hand with the cooking for much longer.’

  ‘It crossed my mind that perhaps the Tonbridges would come.’

  ‘Gosh! That’s an idea. But Mrs T may be wanting to retire. Her feet are awful these days. Rachel says she’s arranged an operation for her bunions.’

  ‘Well, of course it would be after her convalescence. But she’s devoted to Rachel, and if she was with us, I think there’s a fair chance that Rachel would come, too.’

  ‘What about Tonbridge?’

  ‘He can be in charge of all the cars for the weddings. He could even drive that ghastly white Daimler we have to have.’

  ‘Gerald, I think you are very, very clever.’

  Tomorrow, Rachel thought, I’ll move back into my own room. She was so exhausted with emotion that she slept the moment she put out the light.

  Mrs Tonbridge padded across the courtyard – the thaw had made it very slushy – and when she reached the cottage she announced to Tonbridge (who was ominously reading a newspaper) that she was off to bed. She knew if she stayed down for a cup of tea, he would read her bits from the paper about the state of the world and the politicians who seemed to make a mess of everything. Half of what he read she simply didn’t understand and the rest bored her. If she retired, as Miss Rachel seemed to think she would want to do, she’d have to endure those readings morning, noon and night …

  She had made a vast kedgeree for their farewell breakfast. It would only need to be heated. There was the old boy coming upstairs to bed. She rolled over onto her side and shut her eyes.

  The plan was for everyone to leave after breakfast, but the packing took a long time. Teddy, Louise and Simon were the first off as they were the least encumbered. Even so, it had taken time finding the others to say goodbye. Polly was in the girls’ room supervising the packing of everyone’s presents into one suitcase, a process that nobody liked. The twins wanted to include all the board games, and Andrew complained that this left no room for him. Polly said that they couldn’t pack the board games, only their Christmas presents. Andrew, triumphant and still in a rage with the foul twins, tipped up the suitcase and then kicked it, whereupon, draughts, Peggity pegs, Monopoly cards and dice were spilled all over the floor. Eliza burst into tears. ‘Say goodbye to everyone, and then pick everything up. I’m very cross with you, Andrew.’ Polly felt weary already. She had packed all Spencer’s things, then found that Nan had unpacked them again but could not remember where she had put them. Gerald had dealt with that.

  Jemima had asked Rachel to engage Hugh in conversation about how the house was to be finally cleared. ‘He’s awfully tired, and I don’t want him struggling with suitcases.’ Laura was at her worst. She cried because she couldn’t take the rocking-horse back with her; she cried because she wanted to live with Georgie. And finally she refused to wear the clothes that her mother had put out for her. ‘If you try to make me wear that silly red skirt and stupid pretending Scotch jersey, my arms and legs will go all heavy and slippery, like seaweed,’ she’d sobbed. And Jemima was so desperate to get Hugh to London that she weakly allowed Laura to choose her own wardrobe for the day, which included a gold-paper crown she had got from a cracker.

  They were the next to go. Laura hugged everybody – the Tonbridges, Eileen, Aunt Rachel and Georgie. She even tried to hug Rivers, but he didn’t like the idea. ‘I’m driving,’ Jemima said firmly to Hugh. ‘It will stop me bursting into tears.’

  Georgie shook hands politely with everyone. He had witnessed Laura’s display with distaste, although he had admitted to Zoë that she was better than most girls.

  Rupert gave Rachel a long hug. ‘It’s been so lovely. You can’t imagine the pleasure and happiness you’ve given us all. Don’t forget that we all want you, darling Rach.’ Zoë also hugged her – not something she usually did – and Rachel stood at the white gate by the drive and waved them goodbye.

  It was Villy and Roland next.

  ‘I’ve had a super time. Best Christmas of all. Thank you so much for having me.’ Rachel kissed him and his face went bright red, but she noticed that his acne was better.

  She and Villy embraced warmly, and Villy said how welcome she would always be at Clifton Hill.

  The house was emptying
; fewer footsteps up and down the stairs, less opening and banging shut of the front door. Archie was loading their car, and Clary kept bringing extra things that hadn’t been packed. Bertie said, ‘I hope you’ll come and stay with us one day. We’re moving to an enormous house so there’s sure to be room.’

  Harriet clung to her. ‘Do stay here, Aunt Rachel, because this is the best place.’ They took a long time to go.

  Polly and Gerald, meanwhile, had finished putting luggage in their Daimler; Polly had to lead Nan to the car and put Spencer in her arms. He fell at once into a stertorous sleep. The twins were herded in, and finally Andrew, who refused to kiss Rachel because he said he hadn’t had a nice enough time. ‘The food was very good, though,’ he added grudgingly.

  ‘Please come and stay with us,’ Gerald said. ‘We should so much love to have you.’

  And Rachel heard herself saying that she would like that very much. A final hug from Polly, and they were gone. She watched their car slowly disappear down the drive, and out of sight. Then she shut the small white gate, walked past the two melting snowmen, and back into the silent house. Eileen had lit the fire in the morning room, and soon appeared bringing her a cup of Bovril. It was all done: the last Christmas was over. The first Christmas without Sid, she thought, and found that she was able to be calmly sad about it; there was less of a weight on her heart. Harriet had whispered to her that she had found a very small primrose out in the hedge behind the monkey puzzle tree. She hadn’t picked it yet, but she thought it might go with the snowdrops. She would pick it after lunch and take it up to Sid. She loved all the children, but Harriet and Laura had touched her most, and, of course, she adored Spencer as she had adored all of them when they were babies. Andrew made her laugh in much the same way that Neville had used to do. And she felt very warmed by all the adults’ love for her. If only, she thought, I could be really needed again.

  The rest of the day slowly passed. She had lunch on a tray – fricassee of turkey and a mince pie – then put on several of the warm things she had been given for Christmas, and her galoshes, and found the single brave primrose. It was still thawing outside – little streams of water were running down the sides of the lane – the sky was a clear blue, and the trees were dripping in the churchyard. Again, she scraped the snow from Sid’s grave; the snowdrops had remained intact, and she put the primrose beside them. Usually she would say a short prayer for Sid; this time she talked to her.

  ‘I am going to do what you said, my darling. I am going somehow to make a life without you, as you told me I should. I shall never, never forget you. You will always be my only love. You were so brave about dying, and it’s time for me to have a little courage about living. I’m going to start by staying with Polly. I shall write to her tonight.’

  She caressed the stone that had Sid’s name on it, knowing that this was another farewell.

  But I shall always have her in my heart, she thought, on the walk home. My dearest Sid.

  When she was in the middle of her letter to Polly, the telephone rang.

  ‘Oh, Rachel! Hugh’s had a heart attack. He’s in hospital and I so want to be with him, but the boys have gone to stay with friends and there’s Laura. I wondered whether you could possibly—’

  ‘Of course. I’ll take the first train tomorrow morning. Or, better still, get Tonbridge to drive me up to town. Is there anything you want me to bring?’

  And Jemima said no, only to bring herself. She sounded as though she was crying. ‘He’s at the heart hospital, and they’re being very good. Oh, Rachel, thank you so much. It will make all the difference having you. Laura loves you, and I didn’t want to send her away – she’s distressed enough anyway because she was there when it happened. I must ring off now because the hospital might want to contact me. But thank you again, Rachel. I can’t think of anyone better to help. We’re in such safe hands.’ And she rang off.

  All the while Rachel was telling the servants that Mr Hugh had had a heart attack and she needed to go to London early next morning – would Tonbridge drive her, and would Eileen help her pack a case this evening? – she felt completely in command. She had obtained leave for the Tonbridges to stay in their cottage until the end of the month, and suggested that they took Eileen in, to help with cleaning the house. After that, and after Mrs Tonbridge had had her operation, she had found two possible cottages to rent in Battle. She had the three months’ rent ready on whichever they might choose. But, of course, she would be in touch with them as soon as she found out the situation with Mr Hugh.

  Mrs Tonbridge was speechless with emotion. Rachel had never seen her near tears before, and Eileen asked whether this meant that Miss Rachel would not be coming back to the house. For the first time she realised that she probably wouldn’t. However, she said nothing, just asked for a plain omelette for her supper. Then she would pack and have an early night; she wanted to leave as soon after eight as possible.

  Of course it will be my last night here, she thought. Better to have it like this, without my moaning and grieving and making the worst of it. I have Hugh to worry about now, and Jemima – and poor little Laura come to that.

  All the same, after her supper, and packing with Eileen, and saying goodnight to her, she got into her dressing gown and walked slowly through all the rooms upstairs. There was the Brig’s dressing room, where he had slept because his snoring was of a volume that even the loyal Duchy could not endure. The room where Sybil had had Wills and lost his twin, where Sybil had died, her own room where Clary, so lonely, had come to sleep on her bedroom floor. Then she summoned the courage to enter the Duchy’s room where she had peacefully gone, and the room where her darling Sid had spent her last weeks.

  She had always been the recipient of confidences – even this Christmas there had been one that shocked and disturbed her. She had found Louise weeping on the attic stairs. ‘Oh, Aunt Rach, I don’t know how to bear it, but I know now that I must.’ It turned out that she had been having an affair with a married man who, she had now realised, would never leave his wife.

  So she must leave him – get over it, somehow. Her misery was so intense that Rachel had stopped feeling shocked and simply gone to comfort her. Louise was doing the right thing, she said; the unhappiness would eventually go away, and she would find someone more worthy to love her.

  Sid’s room was still full of her things. Rachel took the little woolly hat she used to wear when her hair was falling out, and the long silk scarf that had been her last present. Tomorrow she would tell Eileen to clear everything else and give it to a charity. From the nursery she took a box of dominoes, and The Brown Fairy Book, her favourite when she had been a child; she had coloured all the black and white Henry Ford illustrations; all the princesses had long golden hair and the dragons were bright green. She would be able to read it to Laura now, and also teach her to play dominoes.

  Then she went to bed, in her own room, which Villy had left immaculate. She knew she was tired, as her back was hurting, but she felt infinitely warm from all the love she’d received. And now – better still – she was going to be needed.

  About the Author

  Elizabeth Jane Howard (1923–2014) is the author of fourteen highly acclaimed novels. Her Cazalet Chronicles—The Light Years, Marking Time, Confusion, Casting Off, and All Change—are modern classics and have been adapted for BBC television and BBC Radio 4. Her autobiography, Slipstream, was published in 2002. In that same year she was named a Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or loc
ales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright The Light Years © 1990, Marking Time © 1991, Confusion © 1993, Casting Off © 1995 and All Change © 2013 First US edition by Elizabeth Jane Howard

  Cover design by Andy Ross

  This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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