Amberwell (Ayrton Family Book 1)

by D. E. Stevenson

  Mr. Ayrton had been ailing for some time, he was troubled by attacks of dizziness and a pain in his chest; at first he refused to see Dr. Maddon (saying that he had never been ill in his life and he was not ill now, and he was sure he would be all right to-morrow) but instead of getting better he got worse. The doctor was consulted and diagnosed the complaint as high blood-pressure.

  “What does that mean?” asked Mr. Ayrton crossly.

  “It means that you must take care of yourself,” replied Dr. Maddon. “We shall have to put you on a strict diet, I’m afraid, and you mustn’t get over-tired or over-excited.”

  Dr. Maddon repeated his instructions to Nell and to Mrs. Ayrton, warning them that Mr. Ayrton’s condition was serious and that he really must take care.

  Unfortunately the doctor’s instructions were not very easy to observe in the summer of 1940, and Mr. Ayrton’s temperament did not help matters. Sometimes he became frightened and carried out his regime to the letter and at other times he rebelled against his uninteresting food.

  Then there was his port: Mr. Ayrton had always enjoyed a couple of glasses of port after dinner and now this pleasure was denied him. Every evening the same conflict took place.

  “That doctor is a perfect fool,” Mr. Ayrton would declare as he sipped a glass of orange juice and screwed up his mouth in distaste. “As if a glass of port could do a man any harm! I’ve a good mind to open a bottle.”

  “Oh, William!” Mrs. Ayrton would exclaim. “Orange juice is so much better for you and it’s really very nice.”

  “It is not nice. It is absolutely disgusting — and you needn’t offer me lemon juice, that’s worse.”

  “Don’t get excited, William. It’s so bad for you to get excited.”

  “Excited!” he would cry, seizing a couple of walnuts and cracking them viciously. “Why should I get excited?”

  Sometimes Mrs. Ayrton would give in and say weakly, “Well, perhaps one glass of port —” but this was not right either.

  Mr. Ayrton would glare at her across the table and reply, “I suppose you’ve forgotten that the doctor said I wasn’t to touch port!”

  The summer slipped away; it was a stormy summer in the outside world but Amberwell had settled down into its war-time routine and the household was peaceful. Nell, working early and late, found time to pick fruit (in addition to her other activities) and she and Mrs. Duff bottled it and made jam. Everybody was co-operative and there was a pleasant friendly spirit in the house — a very much more friendly spirit than had prevailed when Amberwell was staffed with its proper complement of servants.

  Mr. Ayrton was not able to go about much during the summer (he spent most of his time in the library, or sitting on the terrace in a shady corner) but he seemed better in the Autumn for the cooler weather agreed with him. One afternoon when Mrs. Ayrton was resting and Nell was busy in the kitchen he suddenly decided to take a walk round the gardens. He knew perfectly well that the place was not being properly cared for, of course (he knew the men had gone and that Mr. Gray was struggling along with nobody to help him except a Land Girl) but Mr. Ayrton was lacking in imagination and it was not until he saw the gardens with his own eyes that he realised their condition. He returned home tired out and very angry indeed: everything was going to pieces; the weeds were rampant; the bowling-green had not been cut for weeks; the lily-pool was covered with green slime!

  Nell was alarmed at his appearance and did her best to calm him, but nothing she could say had any effect. He went into his library and shut the door. For a few minutes she waited outside and heard him pacing up and down the room … and then his chair creaked as he settled into it.

  Better to leave him, thought Nell. It would only annoy him if she went in and fussed. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to get Nannie to make him some tea and take it to him, for as a matter of fact Nannie was the only person who could manage him. Nannie treated Mr. Ayrton with cheerful kindness, in much the same manner as she would have treated a rather troublesome small boy recovering from a severe attack of measles.

  “Yes, very well,” agreed Nannie. “Don’t you worry about him, Nell. I’ll make him a nice pot of tea. It was naughty of him to go out like that without a word to anybody — and of course the place is in a bit of a mess.”

  “Do you think we should ring up Dr. Maddon?”

  “Well, we’ll see,” said Nannie. “Maybe it would just upset him. I’ll see what like he is when I go in with his tea.”

  But when Nannie went in with Mr. Ayrton’s tea she found that he had died. He was sitting in his chair by the fire as if he were asleep and looked strangely peaceful.

  The doctor had warned them that this might happen, and in a way they had been prepared for it, but death is always a shock to those who are left behind. Mrs. Ayrton was prostrated, she could do nothing, and all the arrangements devolved upon Nell.

  As she went about her tasks — writing letters, answering telephone calls and putting the house in order — Nell reflected that the war had killed her father just as surely as if he had been shot through the heart by a German bullet. It seemed odd that he, who had stayed at home in peaceful Amberwell, should be the first casualty in the Ayrton family.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  There were so many preparations to be made for Mr. Ayrton’s funeral that Nell had no time to grieve. Many of the rooms had been shut up, to make less work, and now they had to be opened. Roger came from Salisbury, but without Clare (for Clare’s baby was expected in December and the long journey, with all the discomforts of war-time travelling, would have been too tiring for her); Connie and Gerald arrived from Glasgow in their fine new car: Tom, whose ship happened to be lying at Rosyth, managed to get a few days’ leave and turned up unexpectedly.

  Nell was delighted to have them all, it helped a lot, but the sudden influx made housekeeping very difficult. Food was the problem; Nell thought about food most of the time; she even dreamt about food.

  The young people were sorry and somewhat awed by their father’s death but it was impossible for them to feel very distressed (as Roger had said, he had never taken the trouble to know his children, he had never been a real friend to them): so it was natural that after the funeral, when Mrs. Ayrton had retired to bed, the conversation should become reasonably cheerful. They had not seen each other for so long and they wanted to know all about each other’s doings. They settled themselves comfortably round the fire and chatted amicably. Nell was the silent one. We’re all here except Anne, she thought. If only Anne were here! She wondered if any of the others were thinking about the missing member of the family.

  It was Roger’s prerogative to take the lead and after a bit he did so, a trifle apologetically. “Look here, all of you,” he said, breaking into Connie’s story about the cleverness of young Gerry. “Look here, I want to talk to you all about something important.”

  “Go ahead!” said Tom cheekily. “You’re the skipper.”

  “I know,” agreed Roger. “That’s what I want to talk about. You see Amberwell is supposed to belong to me now. I can’t really believe it — but Mr. Dalgleish says it does. Of course I’m not going to turn Mother out into the street or anything. I’m not going to turn out anybody. We’ve all grown up at Amberwell and as long as I’m alive Amberwell will continue to be ‘home’ for all of us. Clare agrees, of course. What I mean is Tom can come here any time he likes — and if he marries, his wife will be welcome. Connie can come whenever she likes and bring her family. Nell will go on being the boss; she’s doing a splendid job, you’ll all agree. Goodness knows what would have happened to Amberwell without Nell.” He paused and looked round.

  “Then there’s Anne,” he said. “I intend to find Anne if I possibly can.”

  “Anne!” exclaimed Connie. “Father said we weren’t to have anything more to do with her. She’s chosen her own way. She’s cut herself off from everybody.”

  “She’s been cut off,” said Nell in a low voice.

  “Anne is one
of the family,” said Roger firmly.

  “But Roger —” began Connie.

  “There are no ‘buts,’” said Roger smiling at her. “If Anne can be found she will be welcome at Amberwell. I want you all to understand that.”

  “But you’ll have to ask Mother,” objected Connie. “And I know what she’ll say.”

  Gerald leaned forward and put his hand on her knee. “You don’t understand,” he said. “Amberwell doesn’t belong to your mother.”

  “Oh, but surely —”

  “It belongs to Roger. He’s just told you so.”

  Connie looked bewildered, and somewhat annoyed. She said, “Well, I think it’s rather — rather horrid to talk like this when Father has just died.”

  “I don’t,” declared Tom. “Roger is right to talk straight out and say what he means. Then we know where we are. This family would have been a lot better if there had been more straight talk.”

  “Oh yes!” exclaimed Nell with feeling.

  “That’s what I think too,” Roger declared. “Let’s have everything straight and above board. That’s why I’m talking like this to-night. We’re all here together and it may be years before we all meet again.”

  “Carried unanimously,” said Tom. “For my part I’d like to add that I think it’s most awfully decent of Roger to say we’re to come to Amberwell whenever we like and to consider it our home. I’m jolly grateful and I intend to take him at his word. It’s a good thing to know you’ve got a home to come to; especially in war-time.”

  “Oh yes,” agreed Connie. “I only mean — I mean Father has just died.”

  “Well, of course we’re all sorry,” said Tom. “But people are dying every day and Father had a jolly good innings. That’s how I look at it.”

  “You’re absolutely heartless!” cried Connie in shocked tones.

  “People are dying every day,” repeated Tom. “Young people who haven’t had a life at all. Nowadays you’ve got to be ‘heartless,’ as you call it, or you just couldn’t go on.”

  “You shouldn’t be heartless, Tom,” said Connie reprovingly.

  Suddenly his eyes blazed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” he cried. “Perhaps if you’d seen one of your best friends brought into the sick-bay on a stretcher and watched him die before your eyes you’d begin to understand.”

  There was a horrified silence.

  “Go it easy, Tom,” murmured Roger, picking up a log and throwing it on to the fire.

  “Sorry!” said Tom quickly. “I didn’t mean to bleat. Let’s talk about Anne. As a matter of fact I’ve thought about Anne a lot and I agree with Roger that she ought to be found, but I don’t know how we’re going to do it.”

  “I thought perhaps Aunt Beatrice —” began Nell.

  “No good,” said Tom, interrupting her. “Aunt Beatrice doesn’t know. As a matter of fact I went to lunch with her the other day. She heard my ship was at Rosyth and wrote and asked me. Aunt Beatrice has got a lot older. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone to see her,” Connie declared. “Father and Mother were frightfully angry with her, and no wonder! You’re making such a fuss about Anne — well, it was all Aunt Beatrice’s fault. You can’t deny that.”

  Nobody could deny it.

  “Oh well,” said Tom uncomfortably, “it’s silly to keep up feuds for ever. Anyway she was delighted to see me — it was quite pathetic really — and she gave me a rattling good lunch.”

  “What did she say about Anne?” asked Nell, who was more interested in Anne than in Tom’s reminiscences.

  Roger said nothing. He was aware that Aunt Beatrice knew very little about Anne.

  “Aunt Beatrice was no good at all,” declared Tom. “Her letters to Anne were returned through the Post Office and when she went to London to find out what had happened she came up against a blank wall. They had moved from the flat where they were staying and had left no address. She asked at the school where Selby had been teaching and was told he had resigned his post and enlisted.”

  “But that’s awful!” cried Nell in horrified tones. “It means Anne is alone — in London!”

  “Not necessarily,” said Roger. “If he’s been sent to a Training Camp she may have been able to get lodgings nearby —”

  “Or she may have joined the Wrens,” suggested Connie. “Lots of girls have joined the Services; they have a very good time. If I wasn’t married that’s what I’d do.”

  “If only we knew!” exclaimed Nell. “If only we could find her!”

  “I’m sure she’ll write to one of us soon,” Roger declared.

  “Well, we can’t do anything more,” said Gerald. There was a suggestion of relief in his voice for he agreed with his wife upon the subject. He had liked Anne, but she had behaved very badly. Gerald felt that when people insisted upon making their own beds they should be left to lie upon them, even if the beds were slightly uncomfortable.

  “Did Aunt Beatrice say —” began Nell and then she found that her voice had failed her and she could not go on.

  “Yes, she told me a lot,” said Tom. “She said he was a very good fellow and devoted to Anne and she was sure they would be happy.”

  “Well, why worry any more?” asked Connie.

  Tom hesitated. “I don’t know, really. I don’t think you can go by what she says — not entirely.”

  “Yes, Aunt Beatrice is a bit queer,” added Roger thoughtfully.

  2

  Nell had no opportunity to talk to Roger privately and there were several matters upon which she wanted his advice. She wondered, as she went to bed, whether Roger would come to her room as he had done before. There was no real reason why he should, but she had a feeling that he might … and sure enough she had not been in bed for more than a few minutes when there was a tap on the door and there he was. Nell was reading, so the curtains were drawn across the window and the bedside lamp was lighted. The room looked quite different from the last time Roger had visited it — cosier and more intimate.

  “May I come in?” asked Roger.

  She nodded, but put her finger to her lips, and he came in quietly and shut the door behind him.

  “Connie and Gerald are next door,” whispered Nell.

  “Would they be shocked?” asked Roger, sitting down upon the end of her bed and smiling at her.

  Nell was not sure whether they would be or not.

  “Connie is very proper isn’t she?” continued Roger. “She’s one of the lucky people who don’t know there’s a war on. As a matter of fact she gets my goat; I was quite glad when Tom rounded on her.”

  “Poor Tom,” said Nell with a sigh.

  “Yes, he’s a bit nervy,” agreed Roger. “He’s not heartless enough — for a war. Old Tom has always been frightfully sensitive; you wouldn’t think so unless you knew him well.” He looked round the room and added, “What a lot has happened since the last time I was here! It’s only a little more than a year but it seems like a lifetime.”

  “And now you’re the head of the family.”

  Roger nodded. “Did you think I was — all right?” he asked boyishly.

  Nell could reply to that very easily; she had thought him splendid. He had taken his place with just the right mixture of dignity and diffidence.

  “I’m glad you approved,” he said. “Somebody has got to take the lead and I wanted to make it clear that I shall back you up for all I’m worth. I had a talk with Mr. Dalgleish and you’re to have Power of Attorney … Don’t worry, it only means you can sign cheques to pay for repairs and the wages and all that sort of thing. I’ll explain about it to-morrow. I didn’t come to talk to you about business matters. I came to tell you about our plans.”

  “Are you leaving Salisbury?” Nell asked in surprise.

  “Yes, I’ve got a job at the War House. It’s promotion of course but we’re both sorry to leave our nice little home. We’re going to live with Lord Richmore. It’s decent of the old chap to have
us but it won’t be quite the same.”

  “But Roger, couldn’t you find a place of your own?”

  “It wouldn’t be worth while. The job is only temporary.”

  “You’re not — going abroad again?” asked Nell with a sinking heart.

  He nodded. “Probably some time early next year. I ought not to tell you really, so don’t breathe a word. It will be Egypt I expect.”

  There was a little silence and then Nell said, “Roger, I don’t want to interfere, but wouldn’t it be a good plan for Clare to come to Amberwell to have her baby?”

  “It would be an excellent plan — but she won’t.” He smiled ruefully and added, “I should like our child to be born and brought up at Amberwell — to have roots in Amberwell ground and breathe Amberwell air — but Clare is determined to come to London with me. She says she wants to be with me as long as she possibly can. So there you are — Stephen is to be born in London.”

  “Stephen?” asked Nell.

  “That’s the idea — after his great, great, great grandfather — or, if it’s a girl, she’s to be Elinor — after her aunt.”

  “Oh, Roger!” exclaimed Nell, blushing with pleasure.

  “But I expect it will be Stephen,” said Roger smiling. “Clare says she’s sure it’s Stephen. Perhaps Elinor will follow in due course.”

  PART THREE

  As long as skies are blue and fields are green

  Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow,

  Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow

  PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sometimes coming events cast their shadows before, but more often a thunderbolt strikes suddenly, falling from a calm blue sky. Certainly Nell had no premonition of disaster when she rose from her bed one morning in February and hastily dressed. She hummed cheerfully as she ran downstairs to help Mrs. Duff with the breakfast … and Mrs. Duff was cheerful too.