Yew Tree Gardens (5 page)

‘We have to keep trying.’

‘I don’t agree. I’m fed up of being mauled around. If this chappie doesn’t help, I’ll not go to any others, whatever you threaten.’

‘You’ll do what I say. You’re still dependent on me and don’t you forget it.’

Gil raised the glass of wine to his lips in a mocking gesture and drained it.

His father took the bottle away from him before he could refill his glass. ‘You’re drinking too much. You can have water with your meals from now on. And make sure you’re on time for breakfast tomorrow. We don’t want to miss our train.’

Gil didn’t say how easy it would be, once his father had returned to London, to nip down to the wine cellar and take a bottle or two from where they’d not be noticed. Even a lame man could move quietly enough to manage that. And
Walter didn’t often spend the evenings in the house because his quarters were still over the stables, so he didn’t know everything.

The physical pain had gone now, but Gil was desperately unhappy. He couldn’t even go for a brisk walk. He wasn’t used to sitting around the house and had never been interested in books.

The drink blurred the edges of his misery as nothing else seemed to do. He had nothing else to turn to.

No, that wasn’t true. He had Walter, didn’t know what he’d have done without the kindly old man.

But what worried him most was what he was going to do with the rest of his life. He wasn’t trained for any profession. He was useless.

At breakfast, Gil’s father took charge of the post and studied one letter with a frown, before passing it to his son. ‘Who’d be writing to you from Swindon? It’s good-quality notepaper. Who do you know there?’

‘I don’t know anyone.’

‘Shall I open it for you? I’ve got my letter opener here. It must be awkward for you.’

‘No, thanks. I’ll read it later.’ Gil reached for the letter, saw his father hesitate, and kept his hand outstretched.

‘Oh, very well.’ His father slapped the envelope on to his hand.

Gil stuffed it into his pocket.

‘Aren’t you going to read it?’ his father pressed.

He tried to hold back his anger. ‘I’ll read it later. I’m not expecting anything important.’

‘I’d appreciate you letting me know what it’s about. I
like to keep an eye on what comes to my house.’

Gil stood up so hastily he knocked his chair over. He bent to pick it up before his father could do that for him and by that time he’d bitten back a sarcastic comment that he was twenty-six years old, not six. As Walter kept telling him, it did no good to upset the master. ‘I’d better get ready for this useless trip to London you’re insisting on.’

‘What’s the matter?’ Walter asked as soon as he went into the bedroom.

‘My father. As usual. Wants to know what my mail is about now.’ He tossed the unopened letter on to the bed. ‘I’ll see what that is later. I’d better get ready now or I’ll be late. Has he decided whether you’re coming up to London with us?’

‘Yes. He wants me to help you with your luggage and keep an eye on you. Look … your father does care about you, you know.’

Gil sighed. ‘I know. In his own way, always in his own way, as if a son is a possession. It’s just … I’d do better if he left me alone. He treats me like a child, and I’m not.’

‘Then don’t act like one.’

Walter was right, really, but Gil didn’t tell him that. He did sometimes behave childishly, couldn’t seem to help himself when everything got him down.

Their appointment was the first one the following day. The specialist had fitted him in at the early hour of eight o’clock to please Mr Rycroft senior.

At least Gil’s father didn’t come into the examination room with him.

Seaborne poked Gil around, hummed and hawed, then
sat down with him in his office. ‘Do you want to call your father in now?’

‘Not yet, if you don’t mind. I’d like to talk to you on my own. I want … need to know the truth.’

‘I’m not going to offer you false hope. You’ll never regain full use of that arm, Mr Rycroft. There is no way known of reversing nerve damage like yours. The doctor who caused it was a fool.’

There was silence as Seaborne looked at him sympathetically. ‘As for the leg, you’ll always have a limp, though you can probably reduce it by gently building up the strength of the limb with exercises, and reinforcing that by walking regularly. I’ll give you the name of a man who specialises in this sort of exercise. And if you get your right shoe built up by a shoemaker I know, that’ll also help minimise the limp. I don’t know why someone hasn’t suggested it before. The exercising will be painful to start off with, though.’

Gil felt as if he’d been given good news, for the first time in ages. Perhaps now his father would listen to the specialist and allow the built-up shoe. It didn’t matter what it looked like as long as it helped minimise the limp. And he didn’t care whether the exercising hurt or not. ‘I’ll definitely do that, then. Thank you.’

Seaborne’s voice softened. ‘It takes time to get used to changes like this, but at least you’re a young man and healthy in every other way. Hard as it is to face a different future from what you’d planned, you’ve the time and money to find some other path in life. Be thankful for what you’ve got. Others are not as fortunate.’

Gil knew that, of course he did, but it didn’t make him
feel
any better, so he just nodded. ‘I wonder if you’d do me a favour, Mr Seaborne? Could you please make my father
understand that it’s no use consulting other specialists?’

‘I’ll try, simply because you’re right: it isn’t any use. He must care a lot about you.’

‘Not really. He cares more about how having a son like me reflects on the family. When someone else suggested building up my shoe, he took offence, said it’d look bad.’

The specialist looked at Gil in surprise, then pity. ‘Well, I’ll do my best to change his mind about that. It happens sometimes that relatives have trouble adjusting, as well as those directly affected. You can’t … get away from him, make a life of your own?’

‘Unfortunately, I’m totally dependent on him financially.’

After his father had come in to listen to the specialist, Gil walked out with him.

‘I suppose we’d better get your shoes built up, then. It’ll look bad, but there you are. Go and see this chappie. You won’t need me for that.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Fancy lunch at my club?’

Gil shook his head, seeing the quick flash of relief on his father’s face. ‘No, thanks. I’m a bit tired now.’

‘Well, you go home and have a nice long rest.’

A nice long rest was the last thing Gil wanted. What was ‘nice’ about lounging around doing nothing?

When he got back to the London house, it was only half past nine and he wondered what to do with himself for the rest of the day. Most of his old friends lived in the country and he wasn’t one for museums and art galleries. Anyway, he’d lost touch with people, now that they no longer shared interests.

He went up to his room to find Walter waiting for him.

‘What did this fellow say, lad?’

‘Same as the other specialists, except he managed to persuade my father to stop dragging me round to anyone else. Oh, and he also obtained permission for me to get my shoe built up to help minimise the limp.’

‘About time too. I don’t know why your father was so against that.’

‘Appearances.’ Gil went to stand at the window and stare out at the grey day. ‘What do
you
do with yourself in London, Walter? Don’t you miss the stables and the fresh air?’

‘A bit. I’d be lying if I said anything else and I won’t lie to you, lad, ever. But I’m not as agile as I used to be so I couldn’t have gone on in my old job for much longer. Your father had a chat to me about staying on as your helper and leaving the stables to younger fellows.’

‘He never said a word to me about that. I’m sorry, Walter. You deserve better than caring for a crock like me.’

Walter came across to lay one hand on the younger man’s shoulder. ‘I think you need me more than the horses do now. And I care more about you than I do about the horses.’

Gil patted the hand, stood for a moment, then moved away, swallowing hard to hold back his emotions.

Walter held out a crumpled letter. ‘You still haven’t opened this.’

‘Oh. I suppose I might as well see what it’s about.’ He slit it open, his left hand twitching inconveniently and making him slice through the top of the letter as well as the envelope. ‘Can’t even open a damned envelope properly,’ he muttered.

‘You’d do better if you moved more slowly.’

Gil shrugged and started to read. The letter was from a firm of lawyers in Swindon, representing Miss Alice Bennerden, who had sadly passed away two weeks previously. He stopped
reading to frown at the letter. ‘Who the hell is Alice Bennerden?’

‘A distant relative of your grandmother’s, so even more distantly connected to you. They were quite good friends when they were young. I remember Miss Alice when I was a lad and worked for your mother’s family. She used to visit them occasionally. Then she had an accident, fell down some stone steps and hurt her spine. She wound up in a basket chair, poor lady, being wheeled around. She was only twenty when it happened, too.’

Gil continued reading his letter, exclaimed in surprise, read it all again then looked up at Walter. He had to try twice before he could get the words out. ‘She’s left me a house and an income. Look.’ He held out the letter, his hand shaking.

Walter read it, then whistled softly. ‘A house in Wiltshire, and that’s a decent income, too.’

Gil buried his head in his hands for a moment or two, fighting the urge to weep. When he looked up at the old man, he said in a husky voice, ‘This will set me free, Walter. My parents won’t be able to haul me round specialists, or force me to stay in London or have dinner with their friends who all treat me as if I’ve become a halfwit.’

‘They mean well.’

‘I know. But I hate being pitied, and now that I’ve seen my last specialist, I need time to … I don’t know … think about the future. I hadn’t realised that I still had unrealistic hopes myself until Seaborne was utterly frank with me.’

He looked back at the letter, smiling slightly. ‘This is a new kind of hope. I can’t believe it’s happened. Walter, will you come and live with me in Wiltshire?’

‘Don’t you want to see the house first before you decide whether you’re going to live there?’

‘No. The lawyer says it’s near Swindon, so maybe it’s in the country. I hope so. I just want to get away from everyone for a while. I’m going to live there whatever the house is like, even if it’s falling down about my ears. Will you come and work for me instead of my father?’

‘Of course I’ll come with you, lad. Try getting rid of me.’

‘I don’t want you as a groom, but as a … well, companion.’

‘That’d be an honour, lad, but I’m not sure how your father will take that.’

‘It won’t matter. We can do what we want. If the house isn’t in the country, I’ll sell it and buy somewhere that is.’

Walter’s face brightened. ‘Maybe we can keep a horse or two. I’d not like to be without them.’

‘You can have your horses. We’ll need a pony trap to get around – unless I buy one of these newfangled motor cars.’

‘Stinking things. Give me a horse any day.’ He hesitated, before adding, ‘You could still ride a quiet horse, you know.’

‘I’m not riding a tame rocking horse.’ Gil folded the letter and put it in his pocket, excitement rising in him. ‘Let’s go to Wiltshire now, this very afternoon. I don’t want my father coming with me to see these lawyer chappies. I want to do everything myself from now on.’

‘You should leave him a note explaining what’s happened, though.’

He hesitated, then nodded. ‘I suppose so. Will you pack for me while I write it, please? I shan’t give Pa details, so he won’t be able to pursue me.’ He went off whistling.

It was the happiest the lad had looked since the accident.
Bless you, Alice Bennerden!
Walter thought.
My lad has a real chance of happiness now.

When she sent the Christmas presents, Renie suggested to Nell in her letter that they ask Cliff if they could contact his family now to ask whether they’d heard from Mattie. After all, more than eighteen months had passed since they’d left Swindon.

In her reply Nell said Cliff wouldn’t hear of it.

Nell always finished her letters like that. Renie sighed and brought the paper up to her face, cuddling it against her cheek. She worried about her sister. What if Cliff hurt Nell? She wouldn’t put it past him to thump her as some men did. She knew how short of money he kept her.

Renie didn’t try to send money to her sister, though. She guessed he’d take that. But she did occasionally find some piece of clothing for her niece or sister on one of the market stalls. She was becoming an expert at finding bargains, yet thanks to her tips money, she was still able to save something each week.

Wouldn’t Mattie stare to hear that? Her eldest sister had often told her off for spending any money she got as soon she laid hands on it. Pennies that had been. Her father had taken nearly everything she earned. Well, Renie was saving shillings now. Every single week. And they soon added up to pounds.

Having some money behind her made her feel safer when she walked the streets of London and didn’t know a single face in the crowds.

In spite of being careful, she’d managed to buy herself some nice clothes second hand, real bargains, impossible to resist. No one would think she came from the country now. She took pride in looking smart when she went to church or out for a long walk on fine Sundays. She was waiting impatiently for the longer summer evenings when she could stay out for a while after work. She wanted to see so many of the famous places in London and you could stay out until
half past eight on working nights or until dusk, whichever came first.

She’d made a list and was ticking the items off one by one: the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace headed it. She’d already seen those, but was going back to see them again. It’d take several visits to see Westminster Abbey properly. How wonderful it felt inside the old building. So much space, so much beautiful stonework.

Sometimes, if the weather was fine, she walked round Yew Tree Gardens after work, sighing over the poor yew trees, which were struggling to thrive. Their dark foliage wasn’t all that cheering, but the flower beds always looked good. Someone took a lot of trouble to keep the garden neat and tidy, but she rarely saw hotel guests there, or the posh people who lived in the square. It was mainly nursemaids and servants who used it.

It was reading books that had made her realise she wanted to live in a village in the country, and a pretty one, too. Surely they weren’t telling lies about what life was like in such places? That had become her secret dream, to live in a village where she knew everyone and they knew her. Not like London, where everyone you passed in the street was a stranger.

Was a village too much to ask? Why not? It didn’t cost anything to dream. And ideally, of course, her sisters would live in the same village. How wonderful that would be!

She didn’t know what she’d do for a job in such a place, though. She didn’t want to work as a housemaid in a private home. You were like a slave when you did that, hardly allowed out of the house, even in your free time. She’d heard some of the women talking about it.

Other girls dreamt of marriage, and spoke of those dreams sometimes, but Renie remained adamant that she
wasn’t rushing into marriage. One day, perhaps, she might think of it. If she met a very special man. She had plenty of time before she need worry. She’d turn nineteen in August, and that was hardly on the shelf.

Since leaving Swindon, she’d grown up quickly. Strange how life changed you. She now understood how Mattie had had to grow up suddenly when their mother died and left her eldest daughter to bring up her half-sisters Renie and Nell.

People said dreams never came true, but Renie had already got herself a job in a big hotel, hadn’t she? She’d achieved that dream.

If it was humanly possible, she’d make her other dream come true as well. She could be very determined when she wanted something, she’d found. She’d surprised herself since she came to London.

Walter wasn’t stupid enough to think things would be easy for the lad, even with an inheritance. Life never was. But he was sure Gil would have a much better chance of happiness away from his father. The lad had a good heart and that was what mattered. Walter just hoped he’d be spared long enough to see him on his way.

He went to check the train timetables in the master’s
Bradshaw
to find one for Swindon, where Miss Bennerden’s lawyer was. The railway guide got heavier each year, he thought – must be over a thousand pages in this edition. Still, you could usually rely on it for train times.

Once he’d done that, he went to finish the packing. He’d be glad to get back to the country. He didn’t enjoy city life, any more than his lad did.

The door of the bedroom banged open and Gil came in smiling. ‘It’s just starting to sink in, Walter. I’m free now, I really am. I can go to hell in my own way.’

Walter had had enough of this sort of talk and said sharply, ‘Or you can find something worthwhile to do with your life and stop feeling sorry for yourself.’

Gil gaped at him, shocked by these rough words, but Walter wasn’t smoothing things over.

‘You’ve pitied yourself for long enough now, my lad. There are lots of folk worse off than you, but every time anyone reminds you of that, you go glassy-eyed. Once you’ve claimed this inheritance, I shall expect you to take a hold of things. I’ll not stay with you if you turn to alcohol or sit in a corner feeling sorry for yourself – or even if you laze around doing nothing useful.’

He folded his arms and stared at Gil, not meaning a word of it – as if he could leave his lad – but trying to look as if he would carry out this threat.

Gil sank down on the bed and began to fiddle with the counterpane. ‘I have been feeling sorry for myself. I know I have. But I couldn’t seem to pull myself out of it. You’re right, though. I’m very lucky and I promise you, Walter, I won’t waste this chance.’

That was more like it, Walter thought, hiding his relief.

Miss Bennerden’s lawyers, Perryworth and Mortlake, had rooms just off Regent Street, in the centre of Swindon. When they got off the train, Gil took a chance and simply turned up without an appointment.

Walter waited outside in the cab, chatting to the driver, while the horse stood patiently under an old blanket because it was a chilly day.

Gil didn’t care that it was cold and blowy. He was warmed by hope today. The clerk greeted him with a flattering amount of fuss as soon as he gave his name.

‘I’ll let Mr Mortlake know you’re here, Mr Rycroft. He’ll be delighted to see you.’

He returned almost immediately. ‘Mr Mortlake will be free in five minutes.’

‘Is there a hotel in Swindon you could recommend? My man’s outside with the luggage. I could send him off to book a room.’

‘Won’t you be staying at Oakdene House, sir?’

That hadn’t occurred to Gil. ‘I don’t know anything about my inheritance. I’d assumed there were formalities to complete before I could take possession.’

With a fatherly smile, the clerk said, ‘Mr Mortlake will explain it all and I’ll let your man know to wait. I’m sure the cab driver won’t mind.’

Mr Mortlake was a thin gentleman of about fifty with a bald head, large nose and dark eyes. He resembled an amiable eagle, Gil thought, but there was a shrewdness to his eyes that said he was no one’s fool.

He came across his office to greet the heir, shaking hands and smiling. ‘I’m delighted to meet you, Mr Rycroft, delighted. Do take a seat.’

Gil’s arm chose that time to twitch itself out of his pocket and he clutched it with a mutter of annoyance.

But Mr Mortlake’s shrewd gaze betrayed neither pity nor disgust, just a calm interest. ‘Must be annoying.’

‘It is.’

‘Miss Bennerden had a twitch in the left side of her face after the accident. People who knew her soon got used to it,
but some found it disconcerting at first. People round here are very friendly, you’ll find, even more so in the country than in the town itself.’

Gil realised the man was offering comfort – and what he’d said
was
comforting. Strange that a complete stranger could do that for him. ‘Is that where the house is, in the country? I’m afraid I know nothing of Miss Bennerden, except that she was a distant connection of my grandmother and had had a bad accident.’

‘Yes. Very bad. It left her in pain and unable to walk without help. She was a fine lady, a sad loss to us all, and will be greatly missed in her village. She didn’t let her own problems stop her helping others. I admired her greatly.’

‘Do you know why she made me her heir?’

‘She didn’t leave everything to you, so you’re not the sole heir. There are several other bequests to people she knew and loved, people she felt needed a little help. But she wanted you to receive yours first and understand its implications before other announcements were made.’

‘I see. But that still doesn’t explain why she chose me. We’d never even met.’

The lawyer paused, as if to consider his next words. ‘She’d always kept in touch with your grandmother and even after Mrs Rycroft died, she still corresponded with another lady who lives near your father’s country estate. So Miss Bennerden knew what was happening to your family and …’ He hesitated. ‘Well, she knew how difficult things had become for you. She understood what that was like better than anyone else could, I’m sure.’

‘You mean, she was sorry for me.’ Gil heard how flat and ungracious his voice sounded, couldn’t help it.

‘In one sense, yes. But mainly, she felt your problems
would give you a better understanding of the troubles of others. She asks that you use the money she’s left you not only to help yourself but to help those in need.’

Gil didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t ungrateful, far from it, but he hated that being a cripple was the reason for his legacy. As for playing the benefactor, he hadn’t a clue how to set about that. He’d feel a fool even trying, he was sure.

‘It’s a lot to take in and you’re looking tired, Mr Rycroft, if you don’t mind me saying so. I have some papers for you to sign, then if you wish, you can go straight to Oakdene.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘Unfortunately I can’t accompany you because I have another appointment within the hour and then a social engagement this evening which means a lot to my wife. I’ll visit you tomorrow afternoon at Oakdene, however, and go through the details of your own and the other bequests then.’

He pushed some papers across to Gil, who read them carefully, then signed them because they seemed straightforward enough, and also because this man wouldn’t try to cheat anyone, he was sure.

Mr Mortlake put the papers into a folder, then got up and walked round the desk, ready to show his guest out.

‘I hope I haven’t sounded … ungrateful.’

‘You’ve sounded worn out.’ He patted Gil’s shoulder. ‘Things will seem much better in the morning. Mrs Tibbins, the housekeeper, will see that you’re looked after for tonight. You’ll need to take a train to Wootton Bassett, then another cab out to the house. Don’t forget, Oakdene House in the village of Pypard West.’

The cabbie touched the brim of his bowler hat and, once
his passenger was safely inside, pulled the blanket off the horse and climbed back into the driving seat. When he told it to walk on, it moved gently through the busy town to the station.

After another train ride, it was a relief to find a cab waiting at the station. ‘Do you know where Oakdene House is?’

‘Yes, sir. I’ve took folk out there a few times.’

It sounded more like
oi’ve
and
toimes
to Gil, a gentle burr of an accent he found vaguely soothing.

Thank goodness his journey was nearing an end! He leant his head against the side of the cab and shivered. At this time of year, it grew cold quickly as the day waned. The lawyer was right. He was utterly exhausted. Was it only this morning he’d been to see yet another specialist doctor? It felt as if that had happened to another person in another world.

He saw Walter watching him and smiled to show he was all right, then closed his eyes for a moment or two.

In spite of the cold, he felt himself dozing off. He blinked his eyes and tried to keep alert, but simply couldn’t manage it. Ah, what did it matter? He had a house of his own, where he could surely do as he pleased. He could sleep all day, if he chose. Refuse to see people, if he didn’t want bothering.

Or pull himself together and do something worthwhile. If Miss Alice Bennerden could overcome her physical problems, then he could too, and—

‘Mr Gil, wake up. We’re here.’

He started awake, stared round unable to work out where he was, then realised that he was in a cab and it had stopped moving. ‘Sorry.’

‘I nearly dozed off myself,’ Walter said. ‘It’s been a long, eventful day, hasn’t it?’

‘It has. And I think you should always call me Gil from now on.’

Walter gave him a shrewd sideways glance. ‘Well, I will then, Gil. Except when your father’s around. No use stirring up trouble you don’t need, and he’d take exception.’