Yew Tree Gardens Page 6

  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 ho
w 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.’

  ‘Even then,’ Gil said firmly.

  They got out, and before the luggage was unloaded, both of them took a good look at the front of the house. It was square, built of stone, looking about a hundred years old. A neat, plain dwelling, suitable for a gentleman. The main entrance had a small portico over it, with two windows on either side. There were three storeys, but the third was the attics and had dormer windows set in the roof.

  ‘It’s a nice gentleman’s house, that is.’ Walter turned to help the cab driver unload the luggage.

  ‘My father would consider it small and undistinguished.’ Gil paid the driver and moved forward, insisting he could carry his own suitcase.

  In all this time no one had come to the door to see who had arrived, so Gil banged the knocker sharply, waited, then banged it again, harder.

  Still no one came.

  He and Walter exchanged puzzled glances.

  ‘Mr Mortlake wouldn’t have sent us here today if there were no staff. I remember distinctly him saying the housekeeper, Mrs Tibbins, would look after us.’ Gil tried the door and it opened easily, so after a moment’s hesitation, he led the way inside. After all, it was his own house, wasn’t it? ‘We’ll leave our bags here and see if anyone is around.’

  ‘Don’t rush. Let’s look at it.’

  ‘I don’t feel as if it’s mine yet.’ But he couldn’t resist peeping into the rooms off the hall, finding them well furnished, with fires laid but not lit. It was cold and Gil couldn’t help shivering.

  Hearing sounds of movement to the rear of the hall, he called out, ‘Is anyone there?’

  The baize-covered door to the servants’ quarters opened to reveal a middle-aged woman, wearing her outdoor clothes. She had an unflattering felt hat jammed down on her head, with a big hatpin stuck through the back of it, and was staring at him in shock. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m the new owner, Gilbert Rycroft. And you are?’

  ‘If you’re the new owner, why isn’t Mr Mortlake with you?’ She turned her head to call, ‘Cyril, come here quick!’

  Running footsteps then a burly man joined her. He too was wearing outdoor clothing.

  ‘This gentleman just let himself in. He says he’s the new owner.’

  Another scowl greeted the newcomers. ‘Can you prove that?’ He studied them and added a belated, ‘Sir.’

  Gil told himself they were right to be careful. As he moved across the hall, he tried to pull out the letter Mr Mortlake had given him. But of course, his left arm jerked awkwardly and it fell to the floor. He bent to pick it up then held it out. ‘Here.’

  They both stared at his arm and nodded, as if they knew about his problems. ‘No need for the papers, sir,’ the woman said.

  ‘Miss Bennerden told us you had a bad arm,’ Cyril added.

  This time they both spoke more politely, but still coolly, Gil thought, as if they didn’t welcome his arrival.

  ‘You’ll forgive us for being careful, I’m sure, sir. Come into the kitchen. It’s a lot warmer there.’

  He followed her, stopping to frown and look at her questioningly as he saw bundles and boxes by the door. Someone was clearly moving out.

  ‘Cyril and I were taking our things outside.’

  ‘Are you Mrs Tibbins?’

  ‘No, sir. She broke her leg two days ago and they took her to stay at her daughter’s over Swindon way. I’m Mary. I was the head housemaid. Cyril’s my husband. He was the gardener.’

  Was? Gil wondered. What did that mean? Why were they leaving?

  Footsteps clattered down the kitchen stairs and a young woman of about twenty stopped on the bottom step, staring from one to the other, open-mouthed. She too had a bundle, but hers was wrapped in what looked like an old sheet.

  ‘There’s just me and Cyril here now, and Lizzie, who’s the maid of all work.’ Mary glanced at her husband, as if for support, and added, ‘And I’m sorry, sir, but we’re leaving today. Cook’s already gone.’

  For a moment her words didn’t sink in, then Gil asked, ‘Does Mr Mortlake know about this?’

  ‘No, sir. We’ll send him a letter tomorrow.’

  ‘Why are you leaving?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it, sir. Only we’ve made up our minds and you’ll not change them. Some things aren’t right, whatever the lawyers say.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Ask Mr Mortlake. He’ll understand when he gets the letter. Me an’ my Cyril have another job to go to.’ She glanced at her husband and jerked her head towards the door.

  Their expressions were definitely not friendly yet Gil couldn’t think what he’d done to upset them. ‘It would only be fair to tell me why you’re leaving.’

  ‘It’s not my place. Come along, Lizzie.’

  As the girl
hesitated, looking as if she didn’t want to go, Walter stepped forward. ‘Surely you don’t have to leave just because they do, lass? We’ll still need help in the house, so you’ll still have a job.’

  ‘Lizzie!’ Mary’s voice was sharp.

  Still the girl hesitated, looking from Gil to Walter, then she set down her bundles as if something she’d seen reassured her. ‘Mam needs my money, you know she does, Mary. And I haven’t got another job to go to.’

  She looked pleadingly at Walter. ‘I’ll need to get my trunk off the cart, though.’

  ‘I’ll help you.’ He followed her outside, having to wait a few seconds at the door for a scowling Cyril to get out of their way.

  ‘That girl will regret this,’ Mary told Gil. ‘No one in the village is happy about you inheriting when others deserve it more. And they won’t be happy about her staying. That’s all I’ll say.’

  She turned and went out to join her husband, leaving Gil even more puzzled. Who else deserved the money? There were other, smaller legacies still to be announced, but Miss Bennerden hadn’t wanted those people informed till he was here. And it was surely her right to leave her money as she chose?

  He rubbed his forehead. It was aching and he was desperately thirsty. He turned with relief as Walter and the girl came back, carrying a battered trunk which they set next to the bundle she’d left by the stairs. ‘Thank you for staying, Lizzie. We’re in great need of your help. I’m Walter Bilham, by the way.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you.’ She looked back at Gil. ‘It’s the money, sir. Mam’s desperate for it since Dad run off. Only … Miss Bennerden used to pay me weekly and let me take the money home. I should have asked before I got my trunk, only I’m all of a maze today. Can you please pay me weekly as well? If you can’t, I’ll have to look for another job.’

  ‘Of course I can. When is your next money due?’

  ‘Today, sir. Mam and the kids won’t have enough to eat if I don’t get paid.’

  Gil saw an opportunity of becoming a philanthropist immediately, which would no doubt please the ghost of Miss Bennerden if she was keeping an eye on him. ‘I’ll give you the wages at once.’