A Time of Hope (Part Five of The People of this Parish Saga)

by Nicola Thorne

  Alexander sat for a long time looking at the woman opposite him, pale and worn, who had been his mother’s constant companion. She was a small, neat little person with an elfin face, badly pockmarked from disease. Although she was the same age as his mother would have been, merely forty-five, her hair was more white than brown, and her hands were gnarled and roughened from years of hard work. But she had a very fine pair of hazel eyes and a sweet, rather wistful smile.

  Alexander felt at that moment that he loved and trusted her.

  “One day, Massie,” he said standing up and going over to take her hand, “you must tell me all about my mother and the life that you lived before you came here.”

  “It will take days,” Massie said with a smile, “but I will do it.”

  “You will have plenty of opportunity if you like what I have to say. You see there is something you can do for me.”

  “Anything, Master Alexander, you know that.”

  “In the first place, I want you to call me Alexander.”

  “Oh, very well then. Nelly wanted you to have a fine name that would give you a good start in life, and she was right.”

  “The second thing is that my infant daughter is badly in need of a nursemaid who will be more to her than a nurse, and you immediately came to mind. I wondered if that is a task you might like to undertake?” He paused and looked earnestly into her eyes. “Now you don’t have to, Massie. You have a happy, comfortable life here. My daughter will have every comfort money can bring. She will lack for nothing but that one precious thing: a mother’s love. Is it possible that…” He paused and gazed at her.

  “Oh, Alexander!” Overcome with emotion Massie seized his hand and, drawing it to her cheek, let it rest there. “Alexander you have no idea what happiness such a task would give me. I am fit and able and have not enough to occupy my mind or time. I sit around all day brooding about the past and thinking. I have nothing really to look forward to as the years roll by. Time hangs very heavily on my hands.” She looked anxiously up at him. “If you really think me capable there is nothing more I would like to do in the whole world.”

  ***

  “It was very kind of you to come,” Carson said as he and Sally stood on the steps watching the last of the family guests drive away.

  “I was glad to.” Sally turned eagerly to him. “I feel I know the family so little. I want to be part of it. I want the family to mean to me what it clearly means to you.”

  Carson stood for a while watching the departing guests, pondering her words.

  It had been a sad lunch but a cathartic one. With close family there Alexander had unwound a little and had spoken about the last days and Mary’s totally unexpected death. He had also spoken of their happiness together, the joy they had given each other. He knew her short time on earth had been happy or, rather, he hoped it had. Only he knew she had been lonely in London, with few friends, and he knew that Dora knew it, but he didn’t speak of this. Theirs was a relationship full of unfulfilled dreams that now lay in his baby daughter who was slumbering upstairs in the care of her nurse.

  Alexander had abruptly left the room just before lunch had ended. Carson suspected he wanted time to be by himself and had made no comment. They had to talk, but there was all the time in the world to do that. He felt already that a tentative bridge had been built between them in their new relationship as father and son.

  “Shall we have a stroll,” Carson asked Sally, “and wait for Dora and Jean to come back?”

  “That would be nice.” Sally slid her arm through his in cousinly fashion and they walked along the terrace onto the lawn. They passed under the great oak tree that, legend had it, was the same oak planted by Pelham Woodville who had built the original house in the seventeenth century. Its trunk was about five feet in diameter and its circumference three times that number. It was a visible landmark for miles around.

  Sally stood for some moments in its shade gazing up through its branches. She sighed deeply. “This place is steeped in history isn’t it?”

  “It is indeed. We nearly lost it several times, particularly under my father, who was atrocious at managing money. I was even made to propose to Connie with the purpose of saving it.” Momentarily he bowed his head before looking up into Sally’s disconcertingly clear, blue-eyed gaze. “It was a very shameful episode in my life.”

  “Oh dear.” Now it was Sally’s turn to study her shoes. “I didn’t realise you had to marry for money.” She raised her head. “Is that why the marriage broke up?”

  “Oh no. That had absolutely nothing to do with it. I became engaged to Connie by the wishes of my father and her guardian when I was twenty-four. I didn’t love her, but was told it was my duty. Then Agnes reappeared on the scene, ostensibly with money. My father had loved her in his youth, indeed they were Elizabeth’s parents, as you know. By this time he was a widower and fell in love with her all over again. It was genuine enough, but it was also supposed that she was wealthy. Consequently I felt I could ask to be released from my engagement and I caused both Connie and myself much misery. Later, after the war, when I was older and much wiser, Connie reappeared and re-entered my life. We had both changed and we fell, this time, genuinely, in love.”

  “I see.” Sally was striding ahead of him and Carson wandered along after her. In the distance they could see Jean and Dora galloping across the valley in the direction of the house.

  Sally paused to let Carson catch up with her, watching the riders.

  “She rides beautifully, doesn’t she?” Sally said admiringly, turning to Carson as he drew level with her.

  “She’s an excellent horsewoman,” he agreed. “First class. Jean is good too. He was a very old friend of mine from wartime days. They met here, you know.”

  “Oh did they? Interesting.”

  Carson studied her profile which, in so many ways, was like Dora’s. There was a very strong family resemblance: both tall, capable women, with good bone structure, fair hair and blue eyes. He wished very much that Sally had come into their lives earlier on. He felt they’d missed a lot by not knowing her but, perhaps, it was not too late to make up for it.

  “And you? You have never married?”

  Sally shook her head.

  “I never met the right person. You never know, it may happen yet.”

  “Oh, certainly. You’re not too old. Dora was quite old when she married Jean.”

  “I have also travelled a lot. I find it hard to settle. I’m thinking of going to the Far East. Spending some time in India, China, places like that.”

  “Oh dear,” Carson grinned ruefully. “Just when I was hoping we’d see more of you.”

  “I’m not going until next year,” she said. They both turned at the sound of a car travelling towards the house, and saw a flutter of childish hands waving frantically from the windows.

  “They’re back,” Carson cried going to the car, which drew to a halt outside the house.

  The children had been sent away for the day while the funeral took place. They got out of the car and ran, not to Carson, but to Sally, who seemed overwhelmed by the attention and, stooping, tried to greet them all at once.

  “Did you have a lovely day?” she asked, hugging Netta.

  “We went to the beach at Weymouth.”

  “Did you have a nice day?” Leonard asked gravely.

  “Well, not very nice,” Carson answered. “It was very sad to bury Mary, Alexander’s wife. We miss her very much.”

  “Where has she gone?” Netta looked with interest at Sally. “Will you never see her again?”

  “Some people think there is another world,” Carson chose his words carefully, “and souls go there after they die.”

  “Don’t you think that, Daddy?” Toby looked puzzled. “It’s what we’re taught at school.”

  “It’s called heaven.” Netta informed them. She was a bright, precocious child, sometimes unexpectedly witty.

  “Well I believe in heaven,” Sally said firmly. “A
nd I believe that Mary went straight to heaven and that in time we shall all meet there and see her again.”

  “Come on children.” Harriet called holding out her hand. “Nearly time for tea. You will see your father and Miss Yetman again later on.”

  The young people ran obediently into the house, Carson and Sally watching them.

  “They’re lovely kids,” Sally murmured. “You’re lucky.”

  “I only have them part of the year. That’s the trouble. And, to return to what we were talking about before, I once did love my wife very much, but I don’t any longer. Please be clear about that. She belongs to my past.”

  “Your past seems to have been very full,” Sally said. “Nelly and Connie, and I suppose there were other women as well.”

  “When I was young,” Carson acknowledged, “I had a reputation. But as one gets older one realises that these things are less important than family life, which I very much miss. I miss my wife and children or, rather, I miss my children. Look ...” he hesitated “... why don’t you stay on for a while if you’ve nothing better to do? The children love you and I would like to have you here too. We can have days out, go to the beach, that sort of thing. What do you say?”

  “Well ...” Sally appeared nonplussed. “I’d like to very much. But are you sure?”

  “Sure,” Carson said and, momentarily, his inner being seemed to flood with joy. “That’s settled then. The children will be awfully pleased. Ah, here’s Dora.” Dora appeared round the corner of the house from the stables, Jean following her. “Did you have a good ride?”

  “Excellent,” Dora said, looking at Sally. “And what have you two been doing?”

  “Just chatting.”

  “We thought we might come and visit you in Bournemouth on our way back to France,” Dora continued casually. “Will that be all right?”

  “When ... ?” Sally hesitated.

  “In a day or two, on our way home.”

  “I’ve persuaded Sally to stay for a few days,” Carson said. “She’s so good with the children.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Dora said acidly. Then, to her husband, “Perhaps we should stay on too, Jean?”

  “Impossible, my dear. We have a lot to do at home. The vines.”

  “Oh, those vines,” Dora erupted angrily striking her thigh with her riding crop. “They make me sick!” and she strode off in the direction of the house.

  “Now, what brought that on?” Carson asked looking after her in surprise.

  “I think life in France is a bit too quiet for Dora,” Jean said sadly. “Sometimes I feel she’s very restless. There’s not enough for her to do.”

  An hour or two later as Dora and Jean were preparing to leave to drive back to Riversmead, where they were staying, Carson drew Dora aside and said, “You are very welcome to stay on you know. I think Jean understands.”

  “Understands what?” Dora asked heatedly, clearly still agitated.

  “He says you find life very quiet in France. That you haven’t enough to do. I’m sure he won’t mind if you stay.”

  “He mentioned the blasted vines but he didn’t mention our daughter,” Dora said coldly. “I have a duty to her as well as to my husband and the dratted vines, which are treated like children anyway. Besides, I don’t want to hang around watching Sally make sheep’s eyes at you.”

  “Oh, that’s not true,” Carson protested.

  “Haven’t you noticed?”

  “As a matter of fact, I haven’t. Anyway what’s wrong with it if she does?”

  “Nothing.” Dora flapped her hand at Jean who was calling impatiently to her from the car. “I only hope, if you fall for it, you’re not going to make another terrible mistake like you did with Connie.”

  Carson watched her as she ran towards the car, puzzled and disturbed by her attitude. Dora was tempestuous, but she was not cruel or catty and, just now, he felt she had been both.

  “Anything wrong?” Sally enquired as she emerged from the house and came to stand by his side. She had bathed and changed and looked cool, fresh, composed, and, Carson thought, rather beautiful.

  “Nothing.” he answered. “Just one of Dora’s little moods.”

  “Pity she can’t stay. I like her,” Sally said conversationally. “I am sorry about Bournemouth. Perhaps I should have gone back?”

  “Don’t be silly. The children are thrilled you’re staying. Dora comes over quite often. There will be plenty of other times to visit you in Bournemouth.”

  Carson took her casually by the hand as they walked back into the house. “Now, let’s have a drink before dinner.”

  ***

  Alexander used his own key to let himself into Forest House, which was silent. He stood for some moments in the great hall from which rose a spectacular circular staircase, curving up around the three floors. The glass cupola in the ceiling allowed the light to flood the hall.

  When it was first built, forty years before, the design of the house had been considered innovative, incorporating many ideas that were then thought of as extremely advanced, like underfloor central heating and a swimming pool in the basement, complete with a Turkish bath. It was a sumptuous dwelling, a beautiful house that had been Alexander’s home since he was a tiny baby. Except for occasional visits to London, Lally had preferred to bring him up in the country with its fine pure air and fresh, wholesome food. This obsession with Alexander had alienated her from her husband and, for many years, they had lived virtually separate lives, although Prosper never stopped loving his wife. He had had the generosity, and the foresight, to make Alexander his heir.

  Alexander loved Forest House and he’d missed it. His boyhood had been idyllic. In fact his life had been idyllic until this last terrible year, yet he did not regret marrying Mary and fathering her baby. All he did regret was that she was with him no more.

  It was late afternoon, when the staff had a few hours off. Cook might be in the kitchen listening to the wireless and quietly getting on with her preparations for the evening meal.

  Swiftly, Alexander climbed the stairs to the first floor and, stopping outside Lally’s room, knocked softly on the door.

  “Come in,” she called.

  He gently pushed the door open and found her lying on top of her bed covered by a light blanket. On her lap lay an open book, but she had obviously not been reading because her spectacles were on top of it and her head turned towards the window. Her appearance shocked him, as it had at the funeral, though she had remained some distance away. Her hair was completely white, her face ghost-like. Never a very tall or robust woman she had had an elegant, feminine figure, but now she was wraith-like. She had lost perhaps a stone in weight.

  The realisation that he was the cause of this deterioration in a vigorous and beautiful woman increased Alexander’s sense of shame. Perhaps she had been dozing, or thinking.

  As he reached her bed she turned her head and gazed at him.

  “Alexander,” she murmured.

  “Mother.” He smiled down at her and, as she put out her hand, he took it. “I am very, very sorry.”

  “It is I who should apologise. But I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Lally’s voice faltered and she began to weep silently.

  Alexander removed the book and spectacles from her lap and sat down on the bed beside her still clasping her hand tightly.

  “I’m sorry,” Lally spluttered, groping under the pillow for her handkerchief and vigorously wiping her eyes. “I am a very stupid emotional woman, but I love you very much, Alexander.”

  He leaned across and kissed her wet cheek. “And I love you. I behaved like a spoilt schoolboy.”

  “No, you were hurt. It was such a shock to you. You didn’t understand.”

  “I could have tried to understand. Mother, I just went to see Massie, Nelly’s friend and companion, who told me how grateful I should be that she did what she did. She said there was no other way, unless I was brought up on the street, or carried off to the orphanage for adoption by a com
plete stranger or lingering in a foundling’s home. Massie said that I owed so much to you and, of course, I know I do. I wish I’d spoken to Massie before, because she said Nelly bore no grudge but was grateful for all that had been done for me.”

  Lally said nothing only nodded.

  “It wasn’t only Massie, Mother. Mary never approved of my behaviour. When she was fighting for her life in the hospital, though I did not then know it, I realised how much I missed the love and support of the only family I had ever known, and I vowed to repair the damage if I could.”

  Lally looked to him and her pale face was lit by a wan smile. “You have repaired it, darling, this very day. I have always loved you like my own son, and knowing you were Carson’s flesh and blood gave me such happiness. I knew you had his strength and commonsense and, sooner or later, dearest Alexander, I knew that you would come back to me.”

  She raised herself on her bed and, leaning towards him, ran her hand tenderly across his cheek.

  “Between us, your family, we shall do everything to support and help you in your terrible grief, and in the upbringing of your darling little baby girl. We shall do all we can to make up to her for the loss of her mother, just as I tried so hard to make up to you for the loss of your own dear mother so many years ago.”

  Chapter Ten

  August 1934

  From the bedroom window it was possible to see undulating fields, interspersed with copses and stretches of woodland, almost as far as Salisbury. Upper Park was slightly elevated above the Dorset landscape giving it unsurpassed views for miles around. Yet the beauty of the scene did little to raise the spirits of Sarah Jane Palmer as she sat by the window waiting for her brother and husband to return from their day’s work.