Amberwell (Ayrton Family Book 1)

by D. E. Stevenson

  “Hallo, there’s the head gardener!” exclaimed one of Mr. Ayrton’s guests. “I must just ask him about his delphiniums. Never saw anything so fine!”

  Of course Mr. Gray was delighted to explain his method of cultivation. He explained about the tomatoes too; they were growing out-of-doors in pots in a sheltered corner of the walled garden.

  By this time quite a number of guests had assembled to seek Mr. Gray’s advice: the hydrangeas were simply marvellous, especially the lovely white one. Did Mr. Gray think it would grow in a garden near Peebles? What was the name of the huge plants — rather like rhubarb — with pretty blue flowers which seemed to be growing wild near the burn? Could Mr. Gray recommend something as a hedge — something unusual? What sort of manure was used for the leeks? When did Mr. Gray prune his peach-trees?

  To all these questions Mr. Gray answered not only with patience but with pleasure and at length. He was afraid hydrangeas would not do well at Peebles; he was not sure, of course, but he rather thought the situation was too high. The huge plants near the burn were a kind of forget-me-not. They liked lots of seaweed. Yes, it seemed queer, admitted Mr. Gray, but seaweed was the thing. Of course seaweed was easy enough to get at Amberwell, you could barrow it up from the shore.

  “Do you grow endives here?” asked one gentleman. “I can’t think what Scott does with the endives. They’re always so bitter.”

  “It’s the light makes endives bitter,” replied Mr. Gray.

  “September’s the month for blanching them. You should put a big flower-pot over them and a stone on top to keep out the light.”

  Some of the gentlemen cracked jokes with Mr. Gray and Mr. Gray laughed heartily and replied in kind and enjoyed himself tremendously.

  When the guests went in to supper Mr. Gray went home to have his meal, but he was ready and waiting at the lily-pool half an hour later, for although Mr. Ayrton intended to turn on the fountain with his own hands it was essential for Mr. Gray to be there.

  The light had faded now and the stars were bright. There was the sound of music drifting into the garden through the open windows of the drawing-room. Mr. Gray sat down on the teak seat which had been put near the lily-pool and waited. He felt happy. He felt quite young and romantic. It was many years since he had courted Jean MacDonald and won her; Jean was now middle-aged (as he was) and had a double chin, but to-night, sitting alone in the garden and listening to the distant strains of “The Chocolate Soldier,” he remembered her as she used to be. So pretty she was with her smooth pink cheeks and her smooth dark hair!

  Time was passing and the moon had not yet risen above the trees. Supposing it did not rise! thought Mr. Gray in sudden anxiety. Fortunately Mr. Gray’s anxiety did not last long for after a few minutes he saw a radiance in the proper airt. In a few minutes more there was visible a pale golden disc which looked for all the world as if it were hanging in the branches of the chestnut tree; it hung there for a while and then sailed into the clear sky and flooded the garden with light.

  Perhaps Mr. Ayrton had been watching it too (he too may have been a trifle anxious) for no sooner had the moon risen than the french windows of the drawing-room were thrown open and the company streamed out on to the terrace. This was Mr. Gray’s signal to switch on the fairy-lights and he did so. The tiny bulbs of all colours suspended in the branches of the surrounding trees were extremely effective.

  “Oh, how lovely!” exclaimed the ladies. “Oh, what a beautiful night! Not a bit cold! Look at the moon! Look at the fairy-lights!”

  They were all talking at once and laughing as they came along the terrace and down the steps into the lily-pool garden.

  Connie was one of the first to appear, with Lady Annan by the hand; they were followed by Mrs. Lambert and Sir Andrew Findlater. Then came a group including Dr. Maddon and Miss Ayrton, Lady Findlater and Mr. Orme … and after that such a crush of people that it was difficult to see who was who. The two Findlater boys and Gerald Lambert, finding themselves hemmed in, climbed over the stone balustrade and ran down the slope. Mr. Ayrton was there too, of course, he pushed his way through the crowd and came over to where Mr. Gray was standing. To-night even Mr. Ayrton seemed excited.

  “You’ll have to stand back a bit!” he shouted, waving his arms. “Make a circle round the edge of the lawn. You don’t want to get wet.”

  The guests obeyed cheerfully. Some stood round the lawn, others on the steps, a few had remained upon the terrace and were looking down at the scene.

  What a scene it was, thought Mr. Gray. It reminded him of a scene in the theatre; it was too gay and beautiful to be real! The ladies looked like flowers in their lovely dresses (thought Mr. Gray who had gone all poetical with excitement). The silver moon, the fairy-lights, the velvet shadows on the grass … but there was no time to dream for Mr. Ayrton was taking off his jacket.

  Mr. Gray went forward and took the jacket and watched while Mr. Ayrton rolled up his sleeves.

  “It’s here isn’t it, Gray?” asked Mr. Ayrton, stooping.

  “Just a wee bit to your right, sir.”

  Everybody had stopped talking and there was a strange hush. Then suddenly the silvery fountain sprang up and opened like a flower and the drops came pattering down.

  Somehow to Mr. Gray it was an anti-climax and just a trifle disappointing, for Mr. Gray had already seen it playing. Last night the fountain had enchanted him, it had seemed magical and other-worldly, it had filled him with awe. Tonight it was beautiful of course but the crowds of people and the fairy-lights detracted from the enchantment and made it seem (as he had thought before) like a scene in the theatre — a transformation scene. But Mr. Gray was probably the only person present who was disappointed; on all sides there were murmurs of applause and expressions of astonishment and admiration at the lovely sight.

  It was late when the guests decided to leave. Mr. Gray waited until the last guest had gone before he turned off the fountain. Then he and Mrs. Gray walked home through the gardens together.

  “What a grand day it’s been!” said Mr. Gray.

  “It’s been your day, Jamie,” said Mrs. Gray, taking his arm and pressing it gently. “The fountain was all very well in its way, but the gardens are the real thing. You’d get tired of the fountain but you’d never get tired of the gardens — that’s what I’ve been thinking.”

  Mr. Gray had been thinking the same thing himself.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mr. and Mrs. Ayrton usually went to the Riviera in March; but one year, when Anne was twelve years old, they decided to spend the winter in South Africa. The children were not told of their parents’ plans and the first they knew of it was when several large new trunks arrived and were placed upon the landing.

  “Is Mother going away?” said Nell to the under-housemaid.

  “They’re both going to South Africa,” replied Agnes. “They’ll be away three months. Miss Ayrton’s coming to stay.”

  “For three months?” asked Nell in horrified tones.

  Agnes nodded.

  When the other children heard the news they were equally horrified, for to have Aunt Beatrice at Amberwell for three whole months would be frightful. Aunt Beatrice would not leave them alone; she was always appearing in the nursery at odd hours (sometimes she even invited herself to tea in the nursery) and Nannie did not like her. Nannie was terribly polite to Aunt Beatrice but the moment she had left the room Nannie seized a duster and flew round like a whirlwind, polishing everything she could lay her hands on (it was just as well to keep out of Nannie’s way on these occasions, the children had found); and it was not only Nannie whose equilibrium was upset by Aunt Beatrice; the whole house seethed in an uncomfortable manner. In fact it was rather like living upon the slopes of a volcanic mountain. Nothing really happened, but one had a feeling that at any moment the volcano might burst into flames.

  On this occasion however Aunt Beatrice was on her best behaviour and managed to refrain from criticism of the way the house was run. She had a friend
to stay with her part of the time and that kept her busy. The two ladies walked together in the gardens and went for drives in the car. Quite often they went out to tea (for Beatrice Ayrton, having been born and brought up at Amberwell, knew a great many people in the district).

  When Miss Cannan left Miss Ayrton felt a little dull and began to bestir herself. The three girls were still having their meals in the nursery, surely it was time that they came downstairs to lunch. She suggested to Nannie that they should do so.

  “Perhaps their mother should be consulted,” suggested Nannie in the ultra-refined voice which the children disliked so much.

  “But that would take weeks,” objected Miss Ayrton.

  “Well, it’s for you to say, Miss Ayrton.”

  “Yes, I should like them to come down to lunch — they can have their other meals in the nursery of course — and I shall take them to church on Sunday mornings. It’s ridiculous that they’re never taken to church. Please have them ready at the proper time.”

  Nannie swallowed hard. She was quite pleased for the girls to go to church but she was furious at being told to have them ready at the proper time. Naturally she would have them ready at the proper time!

  Having settled the matter satisfactorily Miss Ayrton went downstairs quite oblivious of the fact that she had given mortal offence. She did not mean to be offensive but she had been born with the knack of saying the wrong thing.

  Connie and Nell and Anne were somewhat dismayed when they heard of the new arrangements — especially as regarded their midday meal — but it was not nearly as bad as they had expected. Aunt Beatrice was quite pleasant and chatted to them about her various activities in Edinburgh and her annual visit to Rome. Every May Aunt Beatrice went to Rome and stayed in a “Pensione” near the Spanish Steps which was run by a Frenchwoman, Madame Le Brun. It was a very select Pensione and one met very interesting people there; people who knew what was what and appreciated good cooking. Aunt Beatrice liked talking and she found her nieces exceedingly good listeners so all went well. Connie and Nell and Anne learned a great deal about Rome, about St. Peter’s and the Catacombs and the pictures in the Vatican, but they heard even more about Madame Le Brun and the Pensione Valetta and Aunt Beatrice’s fellow guests … for as a matter of fact Aunt Beatrice was really more interested in present-day people than in ancient history.

  Just occasionally Aunt Beatrice startled her young companions by a cutting remark — her tongue had always been an unruly member — but they realised she was doing her best to be “nice” and were suitably grateful.

  The boys came home as usual for the Christmas Holidays and as usual the house woke up on their arrival and was full of bustle and excitement. Roger was now at Sandhurst, he was tall and slender and fair — a very grown-up young man in his own opinion and in the opinion of his sisters. Tom was still at school but was going to Oxford shortly.

  Aunt Beatrice was in her element when the boys came home, she was gay and happy and allowed them to do exactly as they liked — which was a pleasant change from the strict rule of their parents. She agreed immediately when Tom suggested they might have a Christmas Party at Amberwell and entered into the preparations with zest. Invitations were sent out to all the young people in the neighbourhood and Mr. Gray was instructed to dig up a young conifer and bring it up to the house … and the fairy-lights, which had been bought when the fountain was opened, came in very useful.

  The two boys had a delightful time climbing upon ladders and decorating the branches, sprinkling them with boracic crystals and hanging up the lights, while Connie and Nell and Anne looked on and admired and ran to get coloured string and pieces of wire and tied labels on to the little parcels which were to be given to their guests. It was all tremendous fun and, if the truth were told, Nell and Anne enjoyed the preparations very much more than the party itself. Nell and Anne were so shy, and so unused to the society of their kind, that they found parties an ordeal.

  The others enjoyed it of course for it was a good party with games and country dancing and an excellent supper — Aunt Beatrice had seen to that — and last of all the surprise of the evening when the Christmas Tree was revealed in all its glory and the gifts were distributed to the guests.

  Tom was the most social member of the Ayrton family; it was he who had wanted the party and it was he who enjoyed it most. It was he who had discovered a piece of mistletoe in the woods and had hung it upon the chandelier in the hall without telling anybody about it. Aunt Beatrice was his first victim, he caught her coming out of the dining-room and kissed her soundly before all the guests, and Aunt Beatrice blushed like a girl and was tremendously pleased with her nephew’s attention. After that Tom caught quite a lot of people, some old and some young, but it was not until the party was over that he managed to catch Mary Findlater, for whose especial benefit the trap had been set.

  2

  Mr. and Mrs. Ayrton returned to Amberwell in March. They had enjoyed their trip, but they were glad to get home and to settle down in their own comfortable quarters. It was now time for Aunt Beatrice to pack her boxes and go back to Edinburgh. She had held the fort nobly in their absence and had made friends with her nephews and nieces — and if she had gone at once without opening her mouth she would have left pleasant memories behind. Unfortunately Beatrice Ayrton had a complex nature; when she was happy she was kind and agreeable, but when she was upset or her temper was roused she was by no means so pleasant.

  “It was very good of you to stay here while we were away,” said Mrs. Ayrton at breakfast the morning after their return. “I hope you were comfortable, Beatrice.”

  “Of course she was comfortable,” said Mr. Ayrton smugly. “Amberwell is a very comfortable house.”

  Beatrice had been comfortable — and happy — but her brother’s attitude annoyed her. “It would be a much more comfortable house if the servants were more amenable,” she declared. “It’s Nannie of course!”

  “Nannie!” exclaimed Mrs. Ayrton in surprise.

  “She’s very impertinent.”

  “Oh no, Beatrice. I don’t think so. I’ve had Nannie for years and she’s never been impertinent to me.”

  “It’s her manner,” Beatrice declared. “She puts on a very strange sort of voice when I speak to her, and she has a bad influence in the house. You ought to get rid of Nannie. In any case you don’t need her now that the children are older. It would be better to get a French maid. And then there’s Mrs. Duff,” continued Beatrice, getting into her stride. “Mrs. Duff is ridiculously extravagant and her cooking leaves much to be desired. She has been here far too long and she’s careless. Janet is lazy and underhand. The fact is they all need to be watched and kept up to the mark — but Nannie is much the most troublesome.”

  Mrs. Ayrton bore this with patience. She did not intend to take her sister-in-law’s advice, but Beatrice could not help being tiresome so it was foolish to quarrel with her. Mr. Ayrton’s temper was not so mild and when Beatrice turned her attention to the gardens and their management he rounded upon her fiercely.

  “Gray has been here for years! His father was here before him!” exclaimed Mr. Ayrton.

  “He doesn’t plan ahead sufficiently.”

  “I have every confidence in Gray.”

  “More confidence in Gray than in me, I suppose.”

  “Yes. Gray knows about the gardens and you don’t.”

  “That’s what you think! As a matter of fact I know much more than he does. The waste that goes on in the garden is deplorable.”

  “I don’t believe it,” shouted Mr. Ayrton. “There’s no more waste in Amberwell gardens than there is anywhere else.”

  “And the manure,” continued Beatrice raising her voice. “Cartloads of manure! Gray ought to make compost.”

  “He does!” bellowed Mr. Ayrton. “There’s a compost heap near the potting-shed.”

  “It isn’t properly prepared; he should —”

  Mr. Ayrton struck the table with his fist. “I don’
t want your half-baked advice,” he shouted. “Gray knows what he’s doing and I’m perfectly satisfied with him.”

  There had been rows before of course, for William Ayrton and his sister were too alike to get on well together (both had easily-roused tempers and undisciplined tongues, both were as stubborn as mules); but this was a worse row than usual and it took all Mrs. Ayrton’s diplomacy to avert an open breach. Beatrice had intended to leave at the end of the week but now announced that she would go to-morrow instead. Perhaps it was just as well, thought Mrs. Ayrton, who felt a little tired.

  The row had taken place at breakfast-time and by midday everybody in the house knew about it, for Agnes the under-housemaid (who had been dusting the hall during the breakfast hour) had heard every word. It was a great pleasure to disseminate the news and it lost nothing in the telling. Mrs. Duff was informed of Miss Ayrton’s opinion of her cooking; Nannie heard that she was impertinent and ought to be sacked; Janet was told that she was lazy and underhand. Mr. Gray had looked in at eleven for a pleasant cup of tea and found everyone in an extremely bad temper and was given an exaggerated account of what had been said about him in the dining-room.

  If Miss Ayrton could have heard what was said about her in the kitchen she would have been surprised.

  3

  The only human beings in Amberwell who did not know about the row were Connie and Nell and Anne. They knew something was wrong for Nannie had been polishing madly all the afternoon and when they sat down to nursery-tea her face was like thunder. Nobody spoke and nobody ate very much; the atmosphere was so charged with electricity that you could almost hear it crackle.

  At last Nell could bear it no longer. “Why are you cross with us!” she cried, and suddenly burst into tears.

  “Cross?” asked Nannie, glaring at her.

  “Yes — cross —” sobbed Nell. “We haven’t — done anything —” She threw out her hands in a gesture of despair and knocked over the milk jug. She had done something now, of course. The clean cloth was flooded and milk poured over the edge of the table on to Nannie’s apron.