Yew Tree Gardens Page 10

  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.

  Here lies Alice Mary Bennerden

  taken in the 72nd year of her life

  A lady of great kindness

  who will be sadly missed

  by all who knew her

  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.

  ‘Come inside. We’ll discuss this later. It’s going to pour down again soon. How did you get here?’

  ‘Walked from the railway station in Wootton Bassett, sir.’

  Gil saw pride warring with shame on his companion’s face and guessed the man hadn’t had the money for a cab. ‘You must be tired and hungry, then. Walter and I are about to have our supper. Perhaps you’d join us?’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ He looked beyond Gil.

  ‘This is my friend Walter, who lives here with me.’

  Horry turned his scarred side to the light and said bluntly, ‘You don’t mind my face, then?’

  ‘Not at all. If you won’t be bothered by my arm and my limp.’

  The newcomer shook his head, his eyes overbright.

  Walter came to clap Horry on the shoulder. ‘Few people are perfect, lad. It’s not what’s on the outside, but what they’re like inside them that I value most.’

  Gil watched Horry relax visibly. Here was another person about to be helped by the wise old man.

  As they ate, they talked about motor cars, what Gil needed, how much he could afford to spend. One thing soon became clear: Horry knew what he was talking about.

  He asked a few questions, then said, ‘I know a fellow in London who has a car for sale. It’s not new, but it’s a good runner. It’s a Talbot 4T, with a side-valve engine, transmission brakes at the rear and—’

  Gil laughed and held up one hand. ‘I don’t understand a word of that, but I trust you, Horry. I’m going up to London next week to try on my special shoes. Could we look at it then?’

  Horry looked at him in surprise. ‘How can you trust me when you hardly know me?’

  ‘First, Julia vouches for you. Second, you have an honest face.’

  ‘Oh. Well. Thank you. I’ll write to him and arrange to see the car.’

  Walter smiled benignly at them both. ‘That’s good. Now, Gil, we’d better find Horry somewhere to sleep. Lizzie will know where to put him, but there are those rooms over the stables. Maybe he’ll be best there, if they’re in good condition. We’ll go out and look at them tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I could help out in any way you need till we get a car,’ Horry volunteered.

  ‘Then your first job will be to clean out an
d set up your living quarters,’ Walter said. ‘Those rooms are sound but they haven’t been used for a while.’

  Once they’d sent Horry off with Lizzie, Gil looked at his friend. ‘Isn’t it wonderful how things are falling into place?’

  ‘Perfect.’ Walter clapped one hand to his chest and grimaced.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Just a touch of indigestion. It’s happened a couple of times lately. I’ll have to be more careful what I eat.’

  As he got ready for bed, excitement filled Gil. He was going to buy a motor car, he had happy news for several people in the village, and tomorrow he’d talk to Lizzie about her brother.

  It was good to feel useful again. No, not again. He’d not been much use to anyone but himself before.

  Julia came to visit two days later, bringing the housekeeper she’d found for Gil, as she’d said in a letter. The woman was so colourless, he was surprised she’d been the target of any man’s lusts. It was her reddened eyes that made him agree to hire her and the way her hands twisted together in her apron.

  ‘Why do men do it?’ he muttered to Julia afterwards. ‘It’s not hard to woo a woman with kindness.’

  ‘Some men enjoy frightening people.’ She patted his arm. ‘Thank goodness for ones like you, Gil.’

  That was as may be. It was one thing not to assault women, but he was at the other extreme. The thought of being impotent was just as hard to bear as the physical disabilities had been. Would he grow used to that, too? Would he become a crusty old bachelor?

  Once Julia had been driven away, Gil handed the woman over to Lizzie and Madge to show her around the house, and he and Walter went into the sitting room.

  ‘She might be all right as a housekeeper, but she’s a quiet one and you’re never sure what to think with that sort,’ Walter said.

  ‘Maybe she’ll cheer up once she’s settled in.’

  Gil tried to chat to his new housekeeper, but she answered only in monosyllables, so in the end he gave up the attempt.