Summerhills (Ayrton Family Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  “Oh Dennis, then you think there’s hope? She looked so—so dreadful.”

  “Of course there’s hope.”

  “She’s old, you know—nearly seventy. Roger was saying the last time he was here that she and Nannie were getting very old. We were planning to build them a little cottage near the Grays. They would be happy in a little cottage together and I would have them near. I could see they were all right and——”

  “But not together, surely! I mean they quarrel, don’t they?”

  “Oh yes, they quarrel, but they love each other dearly. They enjoy quarrelling you know.”

  “Where was Nannie born?” asked Dennis, not so much because he wanted to know but just to keep Nell talking.

  “It’s funny you should ask that. We used to ask her when we were children but she would never tell us—and then somehow or other we discovered the secret. Nannie was born in Khartoum. Her father was a sergeant in the K.O.S.Bs. Of course there was nothing disgraceful about it—quite the reverse—and I don’t know why she tried to keep it dark. Perhaps it was just that she didn’t like the idea of not having been born in Scotland like all her friends. We knew there was some mystery and we used to wonder about it. We wondered why Nannie wasn’t black. We thought that if you had been born in Africa you would naturally be black. We were very ignorant about things like that—Anne and I—and it never occured to us to ask. We just talked about it and wondered. Silly, wasn’t it?”

  “Not silly, really.”

  “I think it was silly — and of course it was silly of Nannie to make a mystery of it. I wonder why she did.”

  “She’s ashamed of it, that’s why.”

  “Oh Dennis! But that’s absurd. How do you know?”

  Dennis told her.

  “So Duffy knows Nannie’s secret,” said Nell with a wan smile.

  “Yes, but she was too much of a lady to reveal it.”

  “She is a lady,” said Nell with a little catch in her breath. “She thinks of other people all the time—and that makes her manners—perfect. Nobody has more beautiful manners than Duffy.”

  “Nannie is different,” began Dennis trying to steer the conversation into a safer channel.

  “Quite different,” agreed Nell. “Nannie is a dear kind creature and we all owe her a tremendous lot—more than we can ever repay—but she has to be humoured, you know. You can’t talk to Nannie and tell her things. She’s not wise—like Duffy. Oh Dennis, they’re taking an awful long time!”

  “Not really. It seems a long time to us because we’re waiting.”

  “How long?”

  Dennis looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes, that’s all.”

  “It seems much longer,” said Nell with a sigh.

  Dennis felt the same. He said, “Did you know Willie Duff?”

  “Willie Duff? Yes, of course. He’s Duffy’s nephew. He used to live with the old Duffs in the stable cottage. I don’t remember him as a boy, because he was much older than all of us, but I used to hear Father talking about him. He was a clever boy. Father got him a very good post in Burma and he used to come and see us sometimes when he came home.”

  “Have you seen him lately?”

  “No, not for ages—but he always sends Mother a card at Christmas.”

  “I met him in Burma,” said Dennis—and he began to tell her all about the important Mr. William Duff.

  For a few minutes Nell listened to the story and then she interrupted it. “Dennis, you won’t have to go away on Friday, will you?” she asked.

  “Not if you want me to stay.”

  “Yes—please—if you can. I know I’m being horribly selfish—it can’t be much fun for you—but you’re such a—comfort.”

  “Of course I’ll stay.”

  “If your mother wants you——”

  “She won’t mind a bit. I’ll write to her and explain.”

  There was a short silence. Dennis had come to the end of his resources.

  “I shall have to get a cook,” said Nell at last. “Just a temporary one, of course—just until—until Duffy’s better. It’s rather an awful thought, because I don’t like new people, but—but I must. You see if I don’t get somebody Nannie will try to do all Duffy’s work as well as her own—and she’s old, too.”

  “We’ll telephone to a registry.”

  “Yes.”

  “Listen, Nell, there’s somebody coming!” exclaimed Dennis.

  They listened. Footsteps approached the door and paused.

  “Oh dear!” said Nell with a sob. “Oh goodness, they’re being a long time, aren’t they?”

  “It’s a good sign, really.”

  “You mean they wouldn’t bother so much if—if it was — hopeless?”

  Dennis had meant something like that but he would not have put it so crudely. He said hastily, “It takes ages to X-ray a person thoroughly. That’s what I meant.”

  “Do you think they can have forgotten to tell us? I mean they’re so busy in a big hospital; they might have forgotten.”

  “I’ll go and see,” said Dennis rising as he spoke. “Perhaps I could find someone . . .”

  He was lucky enough to find the young doctor who had been helping to do the X-ray and the report was not as bad as he had expected. He knew already that the collar-bone was fractured, and the left arm, but apart from this the X-ray had shown no other damage.

  “She’s badly bruised,” declared the young doctor. “And the cut on her head may be troublesome but on the whole she’s got off lightly. She might easily have fractured a femur and that’s no fun when you’re her age. She’s suffering from shock of course, so you’d better not disturb her, but you can look in tomorrow.”

  “You mean there’s no need to worry?” asked Dennis anxiously.

  “Oh well—I wouldn’t say that, exactly. I mean she’s old, isn’t she?”

  Dennis fetched Nell and, having explained Mrs. Duff’s condition in a moderately reassuring manner, he drove her home.

  *

  2.

  That was what had happened at the hospital, but it was unnecessary for Dennis to tell his mother all the details of the long miserable wait. He looked over what he had written and continued his letter:

  Fortunately the X-ray showed that there were no very serious breakages, but Mrs. Duff is an old woman and even if all goes well she will have to be in hospital for some time. We were allowed to see her this morning for a few minutes and she looked frail and ill. Nell was very upset about her. Mrs. Duff has been at Amberwell for so many years that she is just like one of the family—in fact she is more like a mother to Nell than anything else. I expect you will be thinking, Yes, but what has all this got to do with Den. Why doesn’t he come home? The answer is I can’t leave Nell while she is in trouble. For years you have been teasing me because I didn’t take any interest in girls and sometimes when I was home on leave you trotted out attractive young females for my inspection. You told me half-jokingly that you would like a nice daughter-in-law. Now, at last I am hoping to get one for you. Yes, it is Nell of course. Nell Ayrton is lovely. She is beautiful to look at—fair hair and cornflower-blue eyes—and she is beautiful inside as well. I don’t believe she has ever had an unkind thought in her head or done anything ungracious. Her voice is low and sweet like music. I expect you will smile when you read this and will realise that I have “got it badly.” Perhaps I have got it so very badly because I never had it before. Girls have never interested me—as you know. I think I must have been waiting for Nell.

  Dennis stopped for a moment and read it over. Was this the right line to take? It was so frightfully important to take the right line so that the two people he loved best in the world would love one another. He was not really afraid, for they were both lovable, but all the same Dennis realised that his mother was bound to feel just a little bit sad. He and his mother had been everything to each other, they had been perfectly happy in each other’s company and had never wanted anybody else. That was changed now. He still
loved his mother dearly but it would not—could not—be quite the same.

  He took another sheet of paper and continued:

  You will love Nell—I know that for certain—and Nell will love you. Her own mother has never been a real proper mother (not as you and I know the relationship), but you will make up for that . . . but here I am, writing as if everything were settled and nothing is settled at all. I have not yet dared to speak to Nell and tell her I love her.

  “He either fears his fate too much,

  Or his deserts are small,

  That puts it not unto the touch

  To win or lose it all.”

  Which of these two cases applies to me. I wonder. Perhaps both. The Great Marquis was a gambler by nature and I am no gambler. I want to see my way clear before I step forward. I fear my fate, and I know I am not nearly good enough for Nell. Perhaps I should explain that my love for Nell is not a sudden thing. I did not tell you about it before but the truth is I have loved her for three years. You remember when the old Starfish was sunk and Tom Ayrton was so ill and I came to Amberwell to see him? It was then that I saw Nell first and fell head over heels in love with her. Of course it was no good saying anything then, because I had to go out to Burma—and Neli is not the sort of girl to be rushed. It would only have frightened her if I had said anything. She was a little scared when I asked her to write to me but after some persuasion she said she would and we have written to each other regularly ever since. At first her letters were a little stilted—for my lovely darling is shy—but after a while they became warm and friendly. They were the sort of letters a girl writes to a brother who is serving abroad and is feeling rather lonely. As a matter of fact I happen to know that Nell writes to her brothers in exactly the same way because Tom used to show me some of her letters. So far so good—but now I am beginning to wonder whether I have been a fool to teach Nell to look on me as a brother. She does just that. I rank with Roger and Tom. She scolds me if I forget to change my shoes—just as she would scold Roger or Tom—she takes my socks out of my drawer and mends them; she teases me in a gentle sort of way and we have jokes together. In the evenings after Mrs. Ayrton has gone to bed we sit together like Darby and Joan until the clock strikes ten. Then Nell smiles at me and says, “Goodnight, Dennis. Sleep well. You’ll see everything’s locked up, won’t you?” and off she goes to bed. I am surprised she doesn’t kiss me. She always kisses Roger and Tom goodnight. What am I to do, Mother? How am I to teach Nell that I am not a third brother?

  Your loving son,

  Den.

  P.S. On reading this over I think I may have given you the impression that Nell is a helpless sort of female and therefore quite unfit to be the wife of a naval officer, but on the contrary she is very capable indeed. She runs Amberwell for Roger; she manages the house, keeps all the accounts and arranges the work in the garden and she has brought up Roger’s little son since he was a few weeks old. But she is not an officious sort of person as so many capable women are (remember how we used to laugh at the Captain’s wife who managed everything and everybody—including the Captain—with such a firm hand?). Nell is not like that, thank goodness. She is not “managing” by nature. In fact if there happens to be someone at hand to lean on, Nell is delighted to lean. At the moment she is leaning on Dennis. Dennis is helping with the accounts; Dennis is supervising the plumbers who are putting new pipes in one of the bathrooms; Dennis is going to the station tomorrow to meet the temporary cook; Dennis locks up the house at night (but I have told you this already). Of course Dennis likes it. In fact he would be perfectly happy if only he could be sure that someday he would be more than a brother to Nell.

  Oh Mother, I must have Nell! There never has been anyone else; there never will be. Tell me how I am to get her.

  Den.

  It was very late indeed when Dennis finished his letter; he collected the sheets, tucked them neatly into a large envelope and went upstairs to bed.

  *

  3.

  Mrs. Corner was arriving the following afternoon and Dennis went to meet her—it was one of the little jobs he was glad to do for Nell. He had not yet posted the letter to his mother and while he waited for the train he took it out and re-read it carefully, trying to imagine what his mother would think when she received it. He decided it was not bad. Some parts of it were a bit muddled—he had told her twice about locking up the house—but if he rewrote the letter it would not sound spontaneous, and if at this important moment she received a letter which sounded careful she might be hurt. Besides he had no time to rewrite the whole thing.

  Dennis shut up the letter and posted it in the station pillar-box.

  Shortly after that the train came in and Mrs. Corner emerged from it.

  Dennis did not know Mrs. Corner of course, but she was the only female passenger to alight at Westkirk so there was no doubt about her identity. She had several suitcases with her and a large assortment of baskets and handbags and various packages tied up in brown paper and string.

  “I’ll need a barra’ for that lot,” said the porter in disgust and went away to fetch one.

  Now that Dennis had time to look at Mrs. Corner properly he saw that she was a bulky shapeless woman with a squashy sort of hat. The face beneath the hat was squashy too, except the nose which was thin and pointed.

  “I hope you had a good journey,” said Dennis politely shaking hands.

  Mrs. Corner smiled in a patient manner and replied that it might have been worse. “You’ll be Mr. Hayrton?” she suggested.

  “Oh no, I’m just a friend,” said Dennis hastily. “Weatherby is my name. I’m staying at Amberwell and Miss Ayrton asked me to meet you. She would have come herself, but she’s very busy. I mean of course you heard about poor Mrs. Duff falling down the stairs—and—and all that.”

  He burbled on nervously as he led the way to the car and helped the porter to load the luggage. Dennis was not often nervous, he got on well with all sorts of people, but Mrs. Corner made him feel uncomfortable. Perhaps it was just because she was different from what he had expected. They had been told by the registry that Mrs. Corner was a very nice woman, very superior, and an excellent cook, but somehow Dennis did not think she looked “nice” or “superior.” He hoped he was wrong. It would make all the difference to Nell—the difference between comfort and misery.

  “It’s a very small town,” said Mrs. Corner disparagingly as they drove through Westkirk. “I’ve been accustomed to living in a proper town with good shops and cinemas. It’s more cheery. Birmingham is my ’ome, Mr. Weatherton. We ’ad a very nice little flat in Birmingham when me ’usband was alive—very comfortable we were. I dunno what me ’usband would say if ’e knew I’d come down to this.” She sighed heavily.

  “I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable at Amberwell,” Dennis told her.

  “I ’ope so,” returned Mrs. Corner in doubtful tones. “I wouldn’t never ’ave come all this way if the registry ’adn’t persuaded me. I ’aven’t been to Scotland before.”

  “A new experience for you,” suggested Dennis.

  “I’ve ’ad lots of experience,” declared Mrs. Corner. “I’ve been in very good places. I was ’ousekeeper to Lady Seven for eighteen munce.”

  “This is Amberwell,” said Dennis as they swept in through the gates. “It really is a lovely place. The gardens are beautiful.”

  Mrs. Corner was silent, but her large bulky form exuded disapproval. She preferred Birmingham.

  The household at Amberwell had been prepared to like Mrs. Corner, to help her as much as possible and to get her into the way of things—for of course she would find it difficult at first—but in twenty-four hours she had won the dislike of everybody in the place. She had won it by disapproving of everything. In the eyes of Mrs. Corner nothing was right, nothing was as it should be. This atmosphere of disapproval permeated the whole house, it was as pervasive as the smell of onions. The moment you entered the front door you could smell it.

  It bega
n when Nell showed Mrs. Corner the kitchen.

  “I’m accustomed to small kitchings,” said Mrs. Corner. “Small kitchings is cosier than big kitchings—and more convenient.”

  Nell had been prepared to make quite a lot of alterations for her new cook, for of course she might like things different, but it was not possible to reduce the size of the “kitching.”

  “It’s really quite warm,” Nell assured her. “The stove keeps it beautifully warm.”

  “I wouldn’t never ’ave come if I’d known it was one of them sulky stoves,” said Mrs. Corner looking down her nose at the kitchen stove, which was the pride of Duffy’s heart.

  This was the first time Nell had heard her use the phrase but it was by no means the last. Mrs. Corner wouldn’t never have come if she had known that she would have to make porridge every morning or that the baker only called twice a week or that she was expected to prepare the vegetables with her own hands. She wouldn’t never have dreamed of coming if she had known her bedroom would be upstairs. Nell, looking at her, wished she had known.

  Nannie was the worst sufferer, for Nannie had her meals with Mrs. Corner and was obliged to listen to her complaints. Occasionally the complaints about the inconveniences of Amberwell were varied by stories about the “good places” in which Mrs. Corner had held sway. She had worked for “reel ladies” who had provided Mrs. Corner with “kitching maids” to do all the vegetables and wash the dishes for her. “Reel ladies” did not order in the stores from the grocer, they left it to their cook. “Reel ladies” did not expect you to get up at half past seven.

  “Maybe they brought you your tea in bed,” suggested Nannie.

  Mrs. Corner hesitated—and then changed the subject.

  All this was hard for Nannie to bear but she soon discovered it was wiser to say nothing, so she held her tongue.

  The only other subject which Mrs. Corner liked to discuss was her married life in Birmingham—and of course her husband.

  “Corner was an ’e man,” said Mrs. Corner proudly.

  Nannie did not understand, but she did not ask for an explanation; she just wondered what the letter E stood for. Perhaps Mr. Corner had been an electric light fitter or an engine driver . . . or could he have been the keeper of the elephant-house at the zoo? It did not seem likely but Nannie could not think of any other occupation beginning with an E.