Summerhills (Ayrton Family Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  “’E was a butcher,” added Mrs. Corner. “So ’e knew what was what in the way of meat. You couldn’t put ’im off with a bit of scrag-end for ’is dinner.”

  “But I thought you said he was an E. man,” said Nannie before she could prevent herself.

  “And so ’e was,” replied Mrs. Corner. “Corner was an ’e man right enough. If things wasn’t to ’is liking ’e let you know about it. There was one day the chops was overdone and ’e shook me till the teeth rattled in me ’ead. . . . And drink! You’d ’ardly believe the amount of beer Corner could put through ’is face—and be none the worse of!”

  Nannie gazed at her in silence.

  In a strange perverted way Nannie enjoyed Mrs. Corner. She found it was possible to enjoy Mrs. Corner if you looked upon her as a music-hall turn and refused to allow her vagaries to annoy you. (She’s just a poor sumph, thought Nannie, looking at the squashy face and the long thin nose with pitying scorn. This reflection helped Nannie a lot for you would be a sumph yourself if you allowed a poor sumph to annoy you.) And of course it was only temporary, for Mrs. Duff was getting on quite well now. Soon she would come home. What a lot there would be to tell her!

  Nell suggested to Nannie that Mrs. Corner should be asked to leave and they would find somebody else to do the cooking, but Nannie vetoed the suggestion.

  “We might jump out of the frying pan into the fire,” said Nannie. “She’s a good cook—I will say that—and I’m getting used to her.”

  “I don’t know how you can bear it,” declared Nell. “It takes me all my time to screw up my courage to go into the kitchen to order the meals.”

  “You can bear most things if they’re temporary. I’ve told the gurrls that.”

  The “gurrls” were the two dailies who came up from Westkirk every morning on bicycles and worked in the house.

  “Oh dear,” exclaimed Nell. “I hope she isn’t being beastly to Winnie and Jean. They’re not—upset—are they?”

  “Och, there’s no need to worry. They won’t leave; they know which side their bread is buttered—and it’s only temporary.”

  “She’s so rude!”

  “She’s rude all right, but hard words break no bones—that’s what I tell the gurrls—and there’s something comic about it too.”

  “Comic!” exclaimed Nell in amazement.

  “There’s a comic side to it. She thinks she’s a kind of duchess and she’s nothing but a sumph. In fact,” added Nannie confidentially, “in fact there’s only one thing I can’t bear about that woman and that’s her religion.”

  “But—but she went to church on Sunday.”

  “That’s what I mean. She goes to church and she lets you know about it. She wouldn’t miss going to church, but for all that she’s no more of a Christian than a heathen Chinee.”

  “Oh, I see what you mean.”

  “It puts people off,” complained Nannie. “There’s Winnie, for instance; I’ve been trying to get Winnie to go to church, and I’d almost got her round to it, but now she’s off it for good and all. ‘No church for me,’ says Winnie snorting. ‘I’m a better Christian than Mrs. Corner for all I don’t go to church.’ And it’s true, mind you,” declared Nannie. “Winnie is a nice creature; you never get an unkind word from Winnie. If she thinks you’re a bit tired she’ll do things for you without being asked and she looks after that invalid sister and makes toys for the Children’s Hospital in her spare time. So you see it’s a pity Mrs. Corner goes to church.”

  “Perhaps it will do her good—in time,” suggested Nell without much conviction.

  “That it will not,” retorted Nannie. “It runs off her like water off a duck’s back. Och well, the work’ll not get done with talking. I’d better go and shell the peas, or you’ll get none for your dinners. It’s beneath her to shell peas. Last time Mr. Gray brought in peas she threw the lot into the pigs’ pail—that’s the sort of Christian she is.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  1.

  Two days later Dennis received an answer to his important letter. It was a most satisfactory answer. Mrs. Weatherby was delighted to hear about Nell and was sure she was the right one for Den—she had absolute confidence in her son’s judgment. All she wanted now was to see Den’s Nell and make friends with her.

  Mrs. Weatherby was not really very much surprised at Den’s news for she had had a feeling that there was “something in the wind.” The odd thing was that she had met some people at the Newtons’ dinner-party—Sir Andrew and Lady Findlater—and they had been talking about Westkirk and the Ayrton family. They had mentioned Nell Ayrton, saying she was a great friend of their daughter’s and a most delightful creature—and Lady Findlater had added that she could not think why Nell had never married. Naturally Mrs. Weatherby was wildly interested, but she had been careful not to give anything away.

  Certainly Den must stay on at Amberwell (continued Mrs. Weatherby). He must stay and help Nell in her troubles. He must stay as long as he could. It was a pity Nell looked upon him as a brother, but he must be patient and give her time. There were different ways of falling in love. To some people it came like a thunderbolt and to others it came gradually and almost imperceptibly. In Mrs. Weatherby’s opinion the latter way was the better and more lasting. Mrs. Weatherby thought Den was unduly fearful of putting his fate to the touch (it was difficult to believe that any girl would not love her son); she suggested that Den might ask Nell to come and stay at the new house for a little holiday. The house was now in good order and it would be lovely to have her. Perhaps here, on his own ground, Den would be able to summon up his courage. Mrs. Weatherby added that she would help all she could—he knew that, didn’t he?

  Dennis was relieved beyond words at his mother’s reaction; his first thought was that the plan proposed by her was excellent. On second thoughts however he realised that it was impossible for Nell to leave Amberwell while Mrs. Duff was away. Nell was the hub upon which Amberwell revolved; she planned and directed everything and did a good deal of work with her own hands as well. Perhaps when Mrs. Duff returned from hospital, he might be able to carry out his mother’s idea, but meantime it was better not to mention it.

  They were busy at Amberwell these days. Mrs. Corner did nothing but cook—and exude disapproval—and the rest of the work which should have been done by her was shared out between the other members of the household. In addition to these duties there was the duty of visiting Mrs. Duff and taking her eggs or flowers from the garden. Nell usually went herself but one day, when Nell could not go, Dennis took Nannie.

  Dennis had not seen Mrs. Duff since the first day, when she had looked so frail and ill, and he was amazed at the improvement in her appearance. She was sitting up in bed and received her visitors cheerfully.

  “Kate, you’re looking fine!” exclaimed Nannie in delight.

  “I’m feeling fine,” replied Mrs. Duff smiling. “There’s nothing the matter with me except my arm. If it wasn’t for my arm, I could come home to Amberwell tomorrow.”

  “Could you not come?” asked Nannie eagerly.

  “I’d be useless,” said Mrs. Duff shaking her head.

  “But there’d be no need for you to do a hand’s turn, with me and Winnie and Jean to do it for you! Och Kate, come home for goodness’ sake! I’m just about through with that Mrs. Corner.”

  Dennis felt it was time to chip in to the conversation; he pointed out that the doctor must be consulted—and Nell also—but Nannie was so excited at the prospect of Kate Duff’s return to Amberwell that she refused to listen.

  “We’ll have you back in no time,” declared Nannie. “It’s just grand. . . . I can hardly believe it. When I saw you taken from the door in the ambulance I thought you’d be coming home feet first.”

  Mrs. Duff was in no way upset by this grim statement. She smiled complacently and replied that it took more than a wee tumble down the stairs to kill a Duff.

  *

  2.

  Mrs. Weatherby had advised Den
nis to be patient, and he had been very patient indeed, but now his patience was beginning to wear thin. He had thought he was deeply in love with Nell before, but now he was very much more deeply in love with her. He had been quite happy at Amberwell, playing brother to Nell, but now he was no longer happy. The “Darby and Joan” evenings became a torture. Dennis was almost angry with Nell for sitting there so peacefully mending socks and chatting over the events of the day; talking about how lovely it would be when Mrs. Corner left and took her disagreeable atmosphere with her; how more than lovely it would be to have dear Duffy home again!

  Dennis listened and fidgeted. He wondered what would happen if he took the plunge. What would Nell do—and say—if he suddenly broke into the conversation and told her that he loved her and wanted to marry her?

  “You’ve been awfully good to me,” said Nell smiling at him in her usual friendly fashion. “I don’t know what I should have done without you. If Roger had been here, himself, he couldn’t have been kinder or more helpful.”

  This was the last straw. Dennis could not bear it a moment longer. He made some feeble excuse and went out into the garden.

  It was a bright moonlight night, mild and pleasant, but Dennis was not in the mood to enjoy the beauties of nature. He wandered along the terrace and down the steps which led to the mermaid-fountain. I shall go home, thought Dennis. I shall wait until Monday when “dear Duffy” comes back to Amberwell and then I shall go. It’s no use staying here—none whatever. Perhaps when I’ve gone she’ll miss me—or perhaps not. She wouldn’t miss me a bit if Roger were here to lock up the house at night and talk to the plumbers.

  Dennis was making for the seat at the other side of the fountain, but as he approached he noticed that somebody was sitting there. It was Georgina Glassford.

  “What a lovely night!” said Miss Glassford, rising and coming to meet him.

  “Yes, isn’t it?” agreed Dennis miserably.

  Dennis had not seen much of Miss Glassford, for she had been away during the holidays and had just returned. He had been introduced to her at lunch, but had taken little interest in her; he had eyes for one person and one person only.

  “Do come and sit down for a minute if you aren’t too busy,” said Miss Glassford.

  Dennis sat down beside her on the seat. He could hardly say he was busy and he was so wretched that he did not care what he did.

  “Did you hear the owl hooting?” asked Miss Glassford.

  “No,” replied Dennis.

  “It’s an eerie sound, isn’t it? Some people are afraid of owls but I like them. Look, there he is, sitting up in that tree. Can you see him, Commander Weatherby?”

  “Oh yes, I see him,” replied Dennis a trifle more cheerfully. “He’s a big chap, isn’t he?”

  The creature, disturbed by their voices, flew soundlessly across the garden and disappeared.

  “How lovely!” exclaimed Miss Glassford rapturously.

  There was a short silence and then Miss Glassford sighed. “Amberwell isn’t a bit the same without Mrs. Duff, is it?”

  “No, it certainly isn’t.”

  “I wish Nell had written and told me about her accident. I could easily have come back and helped in the house—I’m very good at cooking—but of course I had no idea that anything had happened. I really feel very distressed about it,” added Miss Glassford earnestly.

  It was decent of her, thought Dennis. Aloud he said, “I expect Nell thought you needed a holiday.”

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly a holiday. The fact is I’m very keen on running—perhaps Nell told you—and I’ve been staying with a friend and training seriously. I have a feeling that I’ve improved my time.”

  “How interesting,” said Dennis politely.

  “Are you really interested?” asked Miss Glassford eagerly.

  “Yes, of course,” replied Dennis. What else could he say?

  “That’s splendid! I just hoped when I saw you at lunch that you might be interested, and I wondered if you would help me.”

  “Help you?”

  “I expect you know how to use a stop-watch, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Dennis reluctantly. “I’ve timed people at sports—and—that sort of thing.”

  “That’s splendid! It’s most awfully kind of you, Commander Weatherby. I was almost afraid to ask you, but it really is so important to know what progress I’m making. I’ve got a mile marked out on the bowling-green. When would it suit you to come?”

  Dennis had not said he would time Miss Glassford’s mile, but apparently she thought he had. He tried to wriggle free. “But look here,” he said. “I’ve only done it for sports—and it was ages ago. I mean I wouldn’t like to undertake it in case I made a mistake.”

  She smiled. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I can easily show you how to do it—and we can have a few trials first. Would tomorrow morning suit you?”

  “Not tomorrow. I promised Nell I would take Nannie over to the hospital to see Mrs. Duff.”

  “Oh, but I meant early—before breakfast. The children start their lessons at half past nine.”

  “What about after tea?”

  “The mornings are best.”

  Dennis was silent.

  “You don’t mind getting up early, do you?” asked Miss Glassford in persuasive tones. “It’s such a beautiful time of day; so new and fresh and—and beautiful. I’m sure if you did it once you would want to do it again.”

  Dennis was sure he would not. He had “got up early” so often that the newness and freshness had worn off. He did not mind it particularly if he had to do it in the course of duty, but he was extremely reluctant to do it when he was on leave—and Miss Glassford’s last sentence held a threat that it would not be for one morning only.

  “I’m always sleepy in the morning,” said Dennis frankly. “I mean it would be no use depending upon me; I might say I would meet you at the bowling-green at seven—or whatever time you like— and not be there.”

  “Seven will be splendid,” declared Miss Glassford. “It’s very, very kind of you, Commander Weatherby. I’ll waken you at half past six.” She rose as she spoke and flitted away to bed.

  Dennis felt somewhat dazed. He had intended to say no, but Miss Glassford seemed to think he had said yes.

  When Dennis went back to the morning room, he found that Nell had put away her mending-basket and gone upstairs to bed, so he locked the doors and snibbed the windows as usual. He felt even more miserable than before. Why had Nell gone to bed so early? It was only just after half past nine. Why had she gone without saying goodnight to him?

  As he went upstairs to his room, he noticed a streak of light under Nell’s door and hesitated for a few moments wondering whether he should tap on the door and say “Goodnight.” Roger and Tom would have done so—in fact they would probably have gone in for their usual goodnight kiss! It seemed unfair to Dennis that he should have all the disadvantages of a brother but none of the advantages. The thought annoyed him and he decided he did not want to tap and say, “Goodnight.”

  Of course he was much too miserable to sleep, so when he had got into bed he proceeded to write to his mother, and it was just the sort of letter one would have expected a very miserable young man to write to a fond and understanding mother. This letter was quite different from his last, there was no carefulness about it, the pen flew over the paper almost of its own accord. When at last it was finished Dennis put it up and stamped it, and creeping down the stairs laid it on the hall table with several other letters for the postman to collect in the morning when he delivered the Amberwell mail.

  It was now nearly midnight and Dennis was surprised to see that there was still a thin streak of light beneath Nell’s bedroom door. She must have gone to sleep with her light on, but it was far too late to tap. He got into bed and went off to sleep almost immediately.

  *

  3.

  Dennis was awakened by a loud and peremptory knocking on his door. It seemed to him that h
e had scarcely been asleep for ten minutes, but the room was bright with daylight so obviously it was morning. His first thought was that it was Nell; she had had bad news about Mrs. Duff—Mrs. Duff had had a relapse and the hospital had phoned for them!

  “Come in!” shouted Dennis bouncing up in bed.

  The door opened and Miss Glassford appeared. “Oh, you’re awake!” she exclaimed. “That’s splendid! It’s half past six. Commander Weatherby.”

  “Half past six!” echoed Dennis in amazement.

  “It’s a lovely morning,” she told him. “Not sunny, of course, but—but it isn’t raining. I’ll wait for you in the hall. Don’t bother to shave.”

  Dennis had forgotten all about Miss Glassford. “I say, look here——” he began.

  “Don’t bother to shave,” repeated Miss Glassford, and was gone.

  “Oh hell,” said Dennis aloud. “I suppose I’ll have to.”

  He got up and shaved (he was damned if he was going out without shaving), and throwing on some clothes he went downstairs. Miss Glassford was waiting for him in the hall as she had promised. She was arrayed in her running-gear and a sweater and she looked fresh and eager, but this early morning freshness did not please Dennis, in fact it added to his annoyance. If one feels sleepy and jaded and touzled (having risen and dressed in a hurry) the sight of a radiant young woman with shining locks and sparkling eyes is not particularly pleasant.

  They walked across the lawn together and through the orchard to the bowling-green, and as they went Miss Glassford prattled cheerfully about the beautiful freshness of the early morning and added that in her opinion people who lazed in bed until breakfast-time missed the best part of the day. She appeared not to notice the grumpiness of her companion.

  When they reached the bowling-green she stooped and felt the grass.

  “It’s a little wet,” she said, frowning.