A Summer Promise (10 page)

The doctor shook his head sadly. ‘So you expect me to lie for you? It won’t work, Eleanor Hebditch. It’s summertime now and you’ve coped pretty well, all things considered, but winter’s coming on and our winters in the dales can be pretty severe. Oh, I know you and Maddy have managed in the past, but the older you get the more prone you will become to infection. And it’s not just your health . . .’ He glanced around him, seeming to take in, through its open door, the almost empty pantry, the dwindling pile of wood stacked up by the stove and, it must be confessed, the eager interest with which Snoops, who had got to his feet when the doctor entered the kitchen, was eyeing the remains of the loaf. His gaze returned to Maddy. ‘This place needs at least one adult, as well as you and your gran,’ he said gently. ‘There’s an Irish couple searching for work in the surrounding villages, a Mr and Mrs O’Halloran. They lost their job as caretaker companions when their employer decided to leave his country house and move to London. I’ve sounded them out and they would be prepared to give you a hand with housework, cooking and so on in return for their keep, and a small wage which you could afford from your savings.’

At his words, Maddy was conscious of an almost overwhelming feeling of relief. Though she had tried not to worry about the future it was idle to pretend that the addition of a grown man and woman to their small household would not be a welcome one. She opened her mouth to ask what sort of wage the couple would want but Gran spoke before she could do so. ‘Whatever they want, they ain’t getting it,’ she said wrathfully. She glared at Dr Carlton. ‘And you’ve found out about my savings account, eh? Well, you’re not touching that, whatever you may think, because it’s for my old age.’

The doctor gave a rude crack of laughter. ‘Eleanor Hebditch, you’ll never see seventy again. Don’t you consider that old? No, it’s no good protesting. Your granddaughter is at the threshold of her life and I won’t see her sold into slavery, so since you’re too mean to part with your savings Mrs Foulks at the post office has given me your pension book and I’ve brought it with me. You can sign it in my presence and on Monday Maddy can take it to the post office and collect your money.’

Gran had sunk back in her chair but now she reared up once again, eyes flashing. ‘She shan’t take another penny of my pension,’ she said furiously, letting her glance dart from the doctor to her granddaughter. ‘You say I’m old . . . well, maybe I am, but I’m not on the way out yet. When I can’t cook myself a meal or pull a few veg from the kitchen garden then maybe I’ll use a few shillings, but until then, no, no, no! Just you let me be, doctor; Maddy and myself manage very well, I’m telling you.’

The doctor sighed. ‘What will you do when you’ve used the last of that wood?’ he enquired, pointing to the small pile of logs by the stove. ‘How will you dress yourself in the morning and undress yourself in the evening when Maddy isn’t here? You say you can make yourself a meal but it’s Mrs Grundy who baked that loaf I see sitting on the table, and it’s young Maddy who searched out the eggs, boiled them, shelled them and mashed them so you could enjoy them at lunchtime.’ His patience suddenly seemed to run out. ‘
Will
you listen to reason, woman? I’m telling you, I can’t leave you here in your present state of health with only a schoolgirl to help you. I’m fond of you, you foolish old woman, so I’m telling you plainly that you’ve a choice: accept paid help or go into an institution! Which would you prefer?’

IT WAS NO
contest, of course. Gran, however, startled and dismayed both her listeners by pretending to burst into tears. ‘I’d sooner die than go in the workhouse, and you know it,’ she said through stifled sobs. ‘You’re a wicked old man, Dr Carlton, because you’ve heard me say many a time that I wouldn’t so demean myself. And has Maddy complained that she can’t manage? I’ll warrant she’s done no such thing.’

She dragged a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her cheeks and the doctor and Maddy, who had both noticed the absence of actual tears, exchanged guilty smiles; there had been sobs in plenty, however, and Maddy knew her grandmother was genuinely upset, so she did not even suggest that the mopping-up action was somewhat unnecessary. Instead she said briskly: ‘Blow your nose, Gran, but the truth is, if you fall or need help when I’m in school . . .’

Gran shot up in her chair, eyes flashing. ‘Two months ago I had one fall and we managed fine, with no mention of shutting me up with all those old fogeys,’ she said bitterly. ‘Why should it be any different now?’

The doctor shook his head chidingly at her. ‘It’s different because Maddy’s going to be away from the house for much longer each day, and when she is here she’ll be busy with her homework. The O’Hallorans seem a steady, reliable pair and God knows you’ve enough empty rooms in this barn of a house to spare one or two. They’ve a reference from their previous employer which speaks in glowing terms of their efficiency and reliability, but of course I wouldn’t expect you to agree to employ folk you’ve never even met. I can bring them up tomorrow, if that would suit.’

There was a long silence; then Gran blew her nose resoundingly and spoke. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in my letting them have the use of a couple of rooms if it’ll get you off my back,’ she said, glaring at the doctor. ‘This feller, this Mr O’Halloran, is he a man of the soil? If Maddy insists on going to this posh school I could do with someone to give an eye to the kitchen garden. And if the woman flicks a duster round the place I suppose I wouldn’t object.’ She cocked an eye at the doctor. ‘I dare say he’d agree to sell the garden produce and maybe do odd jobs around the village if he’s a handy sort of feller. Yes, it might work out.’

Maddy had watched her grandmother’s face and seen the little flicker of satisfaction in the old woman’s eyes. It was clear to her, and probably to the doctor as well, that Gran was beginning to see the advantages which the O’Hallorans could bring. There was a moment’s tense silence, and then Gran said decidedly: ‘Well, Dr Carlton, you’d best bring them up tomorrow – both of them mind – and we’ll see what we can arrange.’

The trio arrived promptly at ten o’clock. Maddy had penned the geese so that their guests were not worried by them, and she and her grandmother, both neatly dressed and sitting facing the back door, had scarcely had time to feel nervous before the doctor rattled a brief tattoo and flung the door wide. He ushered into the room a large woman in a print dress, with a mass of dark hair tied back from her face by a piece of blue ribbon, and a small wiry man whose age, Maddy thought, was impossible to guess, although the woman looked to be in her late thirties or early forties. Both had dark eyes and sallow skin, and the glances they shot round the kitchen were appreciative.

Maddy automatically assumed that it would be the larger partner who gave the orders, but she revised this opinion as they took their places round the kitchen table and the doctor performed the introductions. It was Mr O’Halloran who was the first to hold out his hand and shake Gran’s reluctant paw. ‘The top of the mornin’ to you,’ he said jovially. ‘Dis is my good lady, Eileen O’Halloran, and you’ll be Mrs Hebdyke . . .’ He swung round to face Maddy and she saw he had a charming smile. As they shook hands he said: ‘So you’re the clever young lady what won a scholarship to the posh school; lucky for Eileen and meself it is, ’cos we’d not be needed otherwise, I swear.’

Gran smiled graciously. ‘Very true,’ she observed. ‘And the name’s Heb
ditch
. Now, let’s get down to brass tacks. My granddaughter will show you round the house and you can decide which rooms would suit you. Then we’ll discuss what I’ll need help over and what I can perfectly well manage myself.’

‘Sorry, my mistake.’ Mr O’Halloran smiled apologetically. ‘I’ve a poor memory for names, so I have.’

The meeting was going well, though Maddy was surprised at the O’Hallorans’ choice of rooms. They decided they would be happiest in the attic, despite the fact that this meant they would have two quite steep staircases to mount daily, but the reason for this became clear when they returned to the kitchen. ‘Me husband’s got a terrible snore and we wouldn’t want to disturb you,’ Mrs O’Halloran explained. ‘I doubt whether you will hear a sound from the attics ’cos isn’t this a grand big house now?’

Gran had pulled a doubtful face. ‘If we do hear a sound you’ll be out on your ear, so you will,’ she said, imitating Mrs O’Halloran’s soft Irish accent in a very rude way, Maddy thought. But when she took Mrs O’Halloran out into the garden and tried to apologise for Gran’s behaviour Mrs O’Halloran laughed and told her that she thought nothing of it.

‘Sure and our last employer had his old mother livin’ with him and she was a naggy old woman; if we could put up with her and still get a grand reference, Mrs Hebditch won’t be hurtin’ our feelings,’ she said reassuringly. She turned a beaming smile on Maddy. ‘Dis place is the answer to a prayer and I can see we’ll all get on like pigs in muck.’ She glanced around at the kitchen garden of which Maddy was understandably proud, for no matter how tired she was she had kept at least half of it weed-free and productive. The vegetables she grew here were a large part of their diet.

She turned an appreciative glance on the older woman. ‘Does that mean it’s you who does the gardening?’

The Irish woman raised her brows. ‘’Tis the pair of us, but my husband can turn his hand to anything, so he’ll be after looking for any little job what’ll earn him a shilling or two.’

Maddy laughed. ‘He’ll likely get employment up at the Hall, then,’ she observed. ‘Mr Thwaite is always after someone to do bits of work and he’s a fair man and pays what the job’s worth.’ She had been leading her companion back through the farmyard, and now she gestured round her at the waist-high weeds and general neglect. ‘And if he doesn’t find paid work away from Larkspur he can always have a go at the weeds in here!’ They were approaching the back door when it suddenly occurred to her to ask Mrs O’Halloran when she and her husband would be joining them. ‘No doubt there’s a heap of stuff you’ll be bringing over, either in a hired van or a horse and cart,’ she added. ‘Would you like me to give you a hand?’

Mrs O’Halloran stopped short, sniffing the air, her nostrils flaring with pleasure. ‘What’s dat I can smell?’ she said. ‘’Tis a perfume as sweet and strong as any I’ve ever smelled! Ah and isn’t it the scent from dis wonderful dark red rose? Oh, I could stand and smell it all day, so I could.’

‘Yes, it is lovely,’ Maddy agreed. ‘Long ago, when I was small, Gran used to make potpourri and these were the rose petals she liked the best. But I was asking you when you would be bringing your luggage up to Larkspur. How would next weekend suit you, or do you have to consult your husband?’

Mrs O’Halloran shook her head. ‘Declan and myself will be of one mind,’ she said. ‘We’ll bring our stuff at the weekend.’ She pushed the back door open as she spoke and walked in on a cosy domestic scene: Gran dispensing tea and biscuits to Mr O’Halloran and the doctor, whilst chatting on the very subject Maddy had just brought up.

‘. . . so you’ll be bringing your stuff next weekend?’ Gran was asking, and Maddy was relieved to hear that she had apparently accepted the Irish couple. ‘We’ve got a deal of blankets and there are a couple of bedsteads in the attic.’ She chuckled. ‘Is that why you chose the rooms up there? Because you didn’t fancy trying to carry bedsteads and mattresses down the attic stairs?’

Everyone laughed, and Dr Carlton got to his feet and addressed the O’Hallorans. ‘I must go; will you come with me, or stay here for a while and walk down later? I’m sure Maddy will show you the quickest path. Will you need help with your luggage, by the way? How much will you be bringing?’

‘Not a great deal; we’re not overburdened with stuff,’ Mr O’Halloran admitted. ‘We travel light, me and the missus; two suitcases, that’ll be it. ’Twas all found whilst we worked for Lord Bromfield, but we’ve everything we shall need.’

‘Lord Bromfield! Well, you’ll find it very different working for Lady Hebditch,’ Gran said with a dry chuckle. She waved a hand at her visitors. ‘Off with you; and mind you’re on time on Saturday ’cos your first task will be to help me do a bake.’

Gran hardly waited until the O’Hallorans were out of the door before turning to Maddy. ‘What do you think?’ she asked rather querulously. ‘She was bold enough, giving her opinion on this and that, but he scarce opened his mouth. They say when a fellow’s been in prison and comes out he’s unnatural quiet; I hope we’ve not agreed to take a jailbird into our home! And why so little luggage? Fishy, I call it.’

Maddy heaved a sigh. ‘If you didn’t like them why didn’t you say so?’ she asked bluntly. ‘It would have been easy enough to make up an excuse. Only I see nothing wrong in a man being quiet, especially when he has a wife who never uses one word when ten will do. And that’s all tosh about ex-prisoners being quiet; it’s what they call a generalisation, and that means . . .’

‘I know what it means,’ Gran said quickly. ‘Don’t you go lecturing me, young woman, else I shan’t teach that baggage to make your favourite gingerbread. And now I suppose you’re going off to the Hall to tell young Alice that we’ve been and gone and let strangers into our house.’

Maddy grinned guiltily. Gran was a wily old bird; she had indeed had every intention of going up to the Hall and explaining, not only about the O’Hallorans but also what a difference their presence would make to her. She would have time to do all sorts of things with Alice now, but with Gran’s beady eye upon her she shook her head sadly. ‘All right, all right; so I was going to nip up to the Hall. But there’s no point because I’ve just remembered the Thwaites attend church on Sundays, so I suppose the sensible thing to do would be to get the attic ready for its new occupants. And why did you tell Mrs O’Halloran that awful whopper? You never do a bake at the weekend; you know you don’t.’

Gran flung up her hands. ‘That’s right, pick on your old grandmother and make out that I’m a liar,’ she said resignedly. ‘I just want to see if she’s got a light hand with pastry and knows her favourite recipes off by heart. How are we off for ingredients?’