Yew Tree Gardens (9 page)

‘I’ll make you one pair to start off with,’ he decided. ‘If they’re comfortable, we’ll give you your own cast and then you need only send me word when you want new shoes. I’ll furnish you with a list of the styles we make. The first pair will be ready next week, but I’ll need you to try them on this time.’

‘Can’t it be sooner?’ Gil pleaded.

The man shook his head. ‘I have a queue, sir. I’m sorry to keep you waiting, but it’s only fair to take customers as they come. I could work more quickly, but good apprentices are hard to find, so I’ve not got as much help as I’d like.’

That made Gil think about Lizzie’s lively younger brother. She said Don could only find temporary jobs and was longing to be old enough to join the army, which upset her mother.

‘Would you be able to house a country lad?’ he asked.

The shoemaker looked at him. ‘You know someone?’

‘I think so. Our maid’s brother seems a bright lad. I’d pay his premium for him.’

‘I’ll give him a week’s trial. It’s what I always do. They have to be able to get on with customers, you see, because people get upset about their problems. Bring him along with
you when you pick up the shoes and we’ll see what he looks like. But I warn you, I’ll send him back if he isn’t suitable.’

They shook hands on this.

The man who would provide Gil with exercises to help his leg, and possibly his arm, was equally busy, but agreed, just this once, to give up part of his lunch hour to get his new patient started. His assistant could finish the session off.

Afterwards, Gil looked at Walter with a wry smile. ‘I’m aching after all that stretching and all I really want now is to go home. Strange, isn’t it? I already think of Oakdene as home.’

‘That’s a good thing. Everyone needs a home.’

As they stood on the pavement, trying to hail a cab, one stopped next to them and a woman poked her head out of the window. ‘It
is
you, Gil Rycroft.’

He looked at her in puzzlement for a few seconds, then realised who she was. ‘Julia! My goodness, how you’ve changed! Your hair’s so short.’

She patted it and smiled. ‘It’s called “bobbed”. I had it done in Paris the first time. It’s more popular there than here, though some of my friends have had their hair cut short since I did, because it’s much easier to manage than all those pads and false pieces of hair.’

‘It suits you.’

‘Thank you. I heard about the accident. I’m so sorry, Gil. I know what an outdoor type you are.’

He nodded, swallowing hard. Sympathy from her was particularly hard to bear. He could remember dancing with her, spinning round and round, the pair of them giddy with laughter.

‘Have you eaten? No? Then come and have a late lunch with me at the Ritz,’ she coaxed. ‘You can tell me what you’re doing with yourself.’

He hesitated. He’d once made a fool of himself over Julia and had no intention of reigniting that flame.

She seemed to sense his hesitation and said brightly, ‘Don’t be silly. That soppy stuff was all over and done with a long time ago. But we’re still good friends, surely?’

‘Of course we are.’

She looked beyond him to Walter. Gil hesitated, wondering what to do about his friend during lunch, but as usual, the matter was taken out of his hands. ‘I’ll ride to the hotel with you and Miss Gardiner, if that’s all right, then find myself somewhere else to eat. I don’t know if you remember me, miss, but—’

Julia smiled. ‘Oh, yes. I remember you very clearly, Walter Bilham. The best groom there ever was, my father used to say.’

‘He tried to get me to work for him often enough.’

‘Are you working for Gil, now?’

‘Sort of—’

‘He’s my friend and general factotum,’ Gil interrupted. ‘No one else would live with me and put up with my moods.’

‘You mean, you’re doing something unorthodox? I thought the day would never come,’ she teased.

Once they were seated in the restaurant, Julia said simply, ‘How are you managing, Gil? The truth, mind.’

‘Not well at first, but I’m getting used to it now. I’ve had a bit of good luck, for a change.’ He explained about his inheritance.

‘Jolly good show! Best thing that could have happened to you, getting out from under your father’s eagle gaze. I thought he’d have got you married to Amelia Frensham by now.’

‘I couldn’t. Not that I’m not fond of her, but it’d be like marrying my sister.’

‘No other woman on the horizon?’

He looked at her warily.

She gave a trill of laughter. ‘Not me, you fool. I don’t want to marry anyone. I’m financially independent too, thanks to my grandmother, and I’ve found a purpose in life … I’ve joined the Women’s Social and Political Union.’

‘The Suffragettes!’

She grimaced. ‘I do wish the
Daily Mail
hadn’t coined that silly word. It’s how people think of us nowadays. They just don’t take our purpose seriously.’

‘I doubt they ever will.’

Her face grew fierce. ‘You’re wrong. We’re very determined and our numbers are growing all the time. Women of all classes, too. Now that we’ve become more forceful, surely we’re proving that we won’t stop demanding our rights.’ She cocked her head on one side. ‘Where do
you
stand about votes for women, Gil?’

‘I’ve never really thought about it.’

‘Then it’s about time you did. Is your mother as intelligent as your father?’

‘Far more intelligent.’

‘Then why does he have the vote and not her?’

Gil stared at her. He hadn’t thought of it that way. Hadn’t thought about anything very seriously before his accident. ‘Why indeed?’

She patted his hand. ‘Maybe there’s hope for you yet, my lad. Now, tell me where exactly this Oakdene of yours is.’

‘Near Wootton Bassett, which is south-west of Swindon.’

She clapped her hands together. ‘I have a friend who lives near there. Jane Walvin. Do you remember her? Wears spectacles.’

‘Oh, yes. Rather plain.’ 

‘There you go again. Being pretty isn’t the only important thing for a woman, you know. Jane does a lot of work for women whom other people despise, and I admire her greatly.’

‘Fallen women, you mean?’

‘They didn’t fall; they were pushed, many of them raped and then cast out by their families. I give Jane money sometimes and help place the women she takes in when I can. If you need housemaids, she could probably find you one. It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?’

Gil felt uncomfortable to hear Julia talking so openly about something that wasn’t usually discussed by ladies. He didn’t know what to say.

She glared at him. ‘I expect you think women who get raped are asking for it. That’s what their families usually say. Even my father does. Only they weren’t asking for it. Most of the ones she’s helped have been battered and bruised by their attackers as they fought back. Is that asking for it?’

Her eyes were glowing with fervour and he had never admired her more. He wished he could be so forceful and determined.

‘You said you needed more staff, Gil. Do you or don’t you?’

‘I do.’

‘Then I’ll come down and help you find some.’

‘I don’t know what I need yet – a housekeeper first of all, I suppose. Then it’ll be up to her. You probably don’t have anyone suitable for that sort of position.’

‘Do you think it’s only young women who get attacked? We’ll see if we can find you a housekeeper. I’ll come down to Wiltshire the day after tomorrow.’

What had he got himself into? But he could never say no to Julia. And if she was right about these women, well, Miss
Bennerden would approve of him helping them, he was sure.

In an effort to take the scowl from her face, he said, ‘I’m thinking of buying a car, too.’

‘That’ll give your father a purple fit.’

He smiled. ‘Don’t you believe it. Even he sees the benefits of motor cars. He came to see my new house in one.’

‘Good for him.
My
father won’t go near them. You must definitely buy one.’

‘I don’t know if I could manage to drive with this.’ He gestured to his left arm.

‘You could hire a mechanic to drive you round and look after the motor car. In fact, now I come to think of it, I know someone who might suit.’

‘I can find my own mechanic,’ he said hastily.

‘Why bother when I know a good one? He’s the brother of a friend in the WSPU. We cross all class boundaries, you know. I’ll see if Horry’s still looking for a job and send him down to talk to you. He’s got a big scar across his face from an accident in his youth, and some people are stupid enough to think that prevents him from being a good chauffeur. But he’s mad about cars. He can also drive a horse and trap, of course.’

Gil gave up trying to hold out against her. ‘OK. Send him to see me.’

Julia had always been a managing sort of female, he thought as they said goodbye, but now she had a new maturity and confidence. Was this due to being active in the WSPU? Or just because she was older? It made her even more attractive in some ways, but he couldn’t have lived with a female like her.

Although Gil’s leg was aching badly as he and Walter set off for the station, it didn’t seem to matter quite so much. Spending time with Julia had cheered him up.

The following day Gil made a start on visiting the people in and around the village who had been left something in Miss Bennerden’s will. He had a letter from her for each person to whom she’d left money.

He was more than a little nervous, worried they’d be rude to him, but it had to be done. He didn’t intend to let his benefactress down.

Lizzie assured him that the first person on the list lived only a few minutes’ away, on this side of the village, if you went by the short cut. He felt he could cope with walking there and back, and had been told to exercise his bad leg more, though only gently at first. He’d do anything, anything at all, to improve the way he walked.

She took him to the start of the path, which was concealed in a corner of the garden, then went back to the house.

Gil saw that it was the path Cook had gone down after her interview with him. The short cut was used mainly by servants going from Oakdene to the village or by lads bringing deliveries from the village.

They had to push through a scratchy opening in the hedge. ‘This needs a proper gate,’ he said as he brushed twigs and leaves from his jacket.

According to the list he’d been given, Mrs Jane Wyndham was an impoverished widow, living in Rosybank Cottage behind the church. That was all he knew about her.

His first surprise was to find that the church was small and modern, built of red brick, with plain windows that were decorated only by narrow, coloured panels of glass round the edges. Its door was padlocked. A notice said that services were held here on alternate Sundays, also at Christmas and Easter.

There was no house attached to the church and the few graves in the small churchyard had very simple markers, poorer people’s graves, except for one with a marble plinth and a newly erected headstone.

He guessed this was where his benefactress was buried and couldn’t resist going to pay his respects, reading the neatly chiselled words aloud.

They must have worked quickly to get the inscription finished. There were cherubs carved in each upper corner of the headstone and roses in the lower corners. The carvings were exquisite. Such skilled work took time. Had she arranged for her own headstone in advance? She seemed to have organised everything else before she died.

He bowed his head and said a short prayer, then added silent thanks for her legacy, before walking out of the churchyard and across to the cottage.

The door was opened before he got there and a tall woman, very thin and dressed in threadbare black, stood looking at him.

‘Mrs Wyndham?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Gilbert Rycroft, the new owner of Oakdene.’

‘You had to be. You’re the only newcomer to the village.’ She made no attempt to invite him in and her expression was definitely disapproving.

‘I have a message from Miss Bennerden, which she asked me to deliver personally.’

‘Oh.’ After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped back. ‘You’d better come in, then. You can sit on that chair. It should hold you.’

At over six feet, he felt like Gulliver in Lilliput, a giant among midgets. The tiny front room, clearly the only downstairs room apart from the kitchen, was full of furniture, which looked as if it’d come from a larger house. Ornaments and knick-knacks jostled each other for space on bookshelves, occasional tables and the mantelpiece.

His hostess sat down opposite him and folded her hands neatly in her lap, giving him no help to start a conversation.

‘Miss Bennerden has left bequests to several people in the village and you’re one of them. She asked that I deliver the information and a letter personally to each of them.’

‘Well, it’s good that you’re doing as she asked, I suppose.’

He held out the letter with his right hand. ‘Here’s your letter. Your bequest is—’

He broke off as she blinked furiously at the sight of her name on the envelope. A tear rolled down her cheek and she brushed it quickly away with one lined, age-spotted hand. The other hand trembled as it held the letter.

‘She was a good woman, Miss Bennerden. None better.’

‘I only wish I’d known her.’

Mrs Wyndham looked at him in surprise. ‘But surely … They said … You
must
have met her!’

‘No, never. She was a friend of my grandmother, a very good friend, I’m told.’

‘Then why did she leave everything to you, if she’d never met you?’

‘I don’t know. I can only be grateful.’

His hostess was still frowning. ‘You don’t look like a liar.’

He was baffled by her reactions. ‘I’m not lying. Why should I be?’

‘But Mr Chapman said—’ She broke off and pressed her lips firmly together, then took a paper knife and slit open the envelope with great care.

Chapman again, he thought. And now it sounded as if the fellow had been spreading lies about him. Damn him!

As Mrs Wyndham read the letter, tears began to fall in earnest and she fumbled in vain for a handkerchief.

Gil took out his own and thrust it into her hand.

She used the square of neatly pressed cotton, then had to use it again as tears continued to fall.

‘So kind, so very kind of her.’ She blew her nose hard and managed to stop weeping. Only then did she realise what a mess she’d made of Gil’s handkerchief. ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right. I was happy to be of service.’

‘I will, of course, wash and iron the handkerchief for you.’ 

‘Thank you. Perhaps you could bring it up to Oakdene one afternoon and take tea with me? I don’t know anyone in the village yet and I’d like to hear more about Miss Bennerden.’

She inclined her head in acceptance.

He thought she would probably come to visit him, hoped she would, but didn’t press the point. ‘Have you finished reading the letter?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m to tell you that she’s left you two hundred pounds, and her hope is that this will make your life more comfortable. And she asks if you will be so kind as to help me to dispose of her clothes. She said you were to keep any which pleased you and give the others to deserving women. She didn’t like to think of good clothes going to waste.’

‘Nor do I.’ She glanced down at her own threadbare garments.

‘As a man, I feel a little reluctant even to touch Miss Bennerden’s things, so they’re just lying on one of the spare beds. I’ll leave dealing with them until you can help me, if you don’t mind.’

There was another nod and the handkerchief was used to mop a final tear, then Mrs Wyndham looked at him without her former hostility. ‘Have you hurt your foot, Mr Rycroft? You were limping as you came along the street.’

‘I was involved in a riding accident last year and damaged my leg and arm.’ As if to prove this, his left arm jerked in the sudden way it had and he clasped it to his body with his right hand. ‘Sorry. I have trouble controlling my left arm now. It looks foolish when it jerks, but it doesn’t hurt any more.’

‘That’s not what—’

He wondered what she had been going to say. What else had Chapman been saying about him? He didn’t pursue the point because he wanted to keep the mood pleasant. ‘Um, about the money. It can be paid to you in any way you wish, in banknotes or else paid into your savings bank account by Miss Bennerden’s lawyer in Swindon. If you’ll let me know how you want it delivered, I’ll make the necessary arrangements.’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps I could collect the money from your lawyer’s office – oh my, such a large amount! – then the lawyer’s clerk could accompany me to my savings bank in Swindon? What do you think?’

‘Very sensible.’

She gave him a genuine smile this time. ‘I wonder if you’d like a cup of tea, Mr Rycroft?’

‘I’d love one.’

‘I won’t be a minute. The kettle is always on the boil.’

He heard crockery rattling in the nearby kitchen, then a kettle whistling. After that she came back to stand in the doorway. ‘It’s just brewing.’

‘Thank you. I am rather thirsty.’

‘I believe you’ve hired Madge Hilton to cook for you, and you took in Amy as well.’

‘Yes. Mrs Hilton has taken over in difficult circumstances. And her daughter makes herself useful. She’s a pleasant lass, always smiling.’

Mrs Wyndham opened her mouth, closed it as if changing her mind about speaking, then blurted out, ‘He was wrong about you.’

Gil looked at her in puzzlement but she didn’t explain, just
vanished into the kitchen. It must be Duncan Chapman again. He hoped people would make up their own minds about him, as Mrs Wyndham had just done, instead of listening to lies.

He and Chapman would no doubt meet eventually, because it was a small village, but Gil didn’t see why
he
should make the effort. After all, Chapman had no legacy coming to him, so there was no obligation to visit him.

Only after consuming two cups of weak tea did Gil feel it right to take his leave. His leg was aching from the walk here, but he felt he’d acquitted himself well.

He hoped the built-up shoe would make walking easier. He hated being penned indoors or limited to short strolls round the garden.

He must buy a trap, a couple of horses
and
a motor car as quickly as possible, then he could get out and about. How wonderful that he could afford that!

Gil met Duncan Chapman for the first time at the village church. Walter nudged him into going and insisted on driving him there in the hired trap.

‘I’ll be waiting here after the service,’ he said as he tied up the placid little mare supplied by the livery stables.

Gil turned towards the church, horrified to find a fringe of people along the path, all staring at him. He would have liked to turn back, but wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing him turn tail.

Even as he watched, a fashionably dressed man of about forty detached himself from the crowd and came towards him.

‘You’re not wanted here,’ the fellow said loudly. ‘People who cheat old ladies out of their fortunes are the scum of the earth.’

For a moment Gil wondered how to respond to that, then he remembered his mother’s gentle hauteur. ‘Dear me, how do you know anything about me when we’ve never met?’

‘You came here a couple of times.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘I say differently.’

Gil shrugged. ‘What you say is irrelevant. I’m speaking the truth. Kindly move out of my way and let me go inside to worship my Maker.’

For a moment Duncan hesitated, then Mrs Wyndham moved out of the crowd to walk along the path towards them and Chapman stepped back.

‘I’m glad to see you attending church, Mr Rycroft,’ she said loudly. ‘I shall call tomorrow morning to start carrying out Miss Bennerden’s wishes, if that is convenient.’

‘Certainly. I shall be glad of your help.’ He tipped his hat to her and the group of ladies she’d been standing with.

A man stepped forward at the door. ‘James Borton, sir, curate of this parish. You’ll want the Oakdene pew. Please come this way.’

‘Thank you.’ Only when he’d sat down did Gil let himself sag. He hoped his nervousness hadn’t shown. He was puzzled by the encounter. Why had that fellow claimed that he had met Miss Bennerden when he hadn’t?

There were heavy footsteps and Chapman paused at the end of the pew to glare at him, then took the shorter pew at the front on the other side.

With much shuffling and fidgeting, everyone settled down and the curate went up to the plain wooden lectern.

Hymns were sung and Gil joined in automatically. During the sermon, his mind wandered and he had no idea what it
was about. He presumed he’d stood and sat with the others, but he didn’t remember doing it.

After the service was over, Chapman, who was sitting on the other side of the aisle at the front, pushed forward and led the way out.

Mrs Wyndham said loudly, ‘He’d never have done that in Miss Bennerden’s day. And I believe that under English law people are innocent until proved guilty. We have been judging Mr Rycroft without seeing the evidence and I for one regret doing that.’

She moved to the end of her pew and looked at Gil.

He suddenly realised she was waiting for him, so offered her his arm. She took it and didn’t let go until they had left the church.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning, young man.’

‘Thank you for your help today.’

‘You’re welcome.’

He watched her go. What a courageous person she was to go against the rest of the village! That made him feel even more ashamed of how he’d given in to adversity during the past year. Holding his head high, he went towards the trap, where Walter, who had sat at the rear of the church, was now sitting waiting for him.

The other man’s anxiety showed in the restive way the horse moved to and fro, though his expression was calm.

Gil walked towards him. ‘I can manage, thank you.’ It was an effort but he did manage to get into the trap without help and sat very upright till they got home.

Walter smiled at him. ‘Just keep calm and meet the people one by one, as you did today. You’ve clearly won over Mrs Wyndham.’

‘I hope so. I admire her greatly. She’s coming over in the morning to help sort out Miss Bennerden’s clothes. I think I’ll ask her advice about approaching the other beneficiaries. Oh, and when Lizzie comes back from visiting her family, could you ask her to see me? I want to talk to her about her brother and an apprenticeship.’

That evening it began to rain heavily, so they were surprised when someone hammered on the front door. Gil went to answer it and found a young man with a badly scarred face, carrying a battered carpet bag. He was soaking wet.

‘I’m Horry Palmer, sir.’

Gil’s mind went blank for a moment or two, then he remembered where he’d heard the name. ‘Julia’s protégé.’

‘Yes, sir. Miss Gardiner said you needed a car and driver.’

‘I do. I know nothing about motor cars.’

Wind rustled the trees and a flurry of light rain whispered around the house.