Seasons of Love (23 page)

After a moment's hesitation, the footman, who had been a gardener two weeks previously, opened the door wider and said he supposed they might wait in the hallway.

‘Wait in the hallway, you impudent fellow! What do you mean, wait in the hallway? I have Mrs Carnforth sitting outside in a chaise. Were you actually intending to deny her entry into her late husband's home?’

The man muttered something inaudible and fled in search of help. He had heard old Mrs Carnforth say several times that she was not prepared to receive ‘that woman’ into her son's house and he dared not announce the visitors to her.

Mr Napperby turned to find that Helen and her son had already alighted from the chaise, for it helped Harry's travel sickness to walk about and take the air whenever they stopped, however cold and damp that air might be.

Tutting with annoyance and embarrassment at this appallingly rude reception, Mr Napperby ushered them into the hall, a large, echoing apartment, with suits of armour and dim family portraits set stiffly around its perimeter. There was a fire burning sluggishly in a monstrous grate at one end, but it seemed to do little to dispel the damp chill. Nonetheless, they all gathered around it, for the flames were the most cheerful thing about the place.

‘They - er - seem to be a bit short of staff,’ he offered in apology.

Helen, who knew how bedraggled she looked and also how near to tears she was, shrugged and held out her hands to the warmth.

The footman returned with the housekeeper (formerly the caretaker's wife) who had received specific instructions from Celia Carnforth as to how to deal with ‘those people’. Only, to Mrs Mossop’s dismay, ‘those people’ included Mr Napperby, with whom she was well acquainted from his years of supervision of the estate. She became flustered as she tried to deliver the set speech she had conned carefully.

‘If you please, the master's out an' the mistress is indisposed. There's a bier set ready in the library to hold the coffin and the Dower House is down the North Drive.’

Helen, who was urging her shivering son to warm himself before the fire, stiffened in shock and outrage. Before Mr Napperby, who was equally stunned by this rudeness, could reply, she had taken Harry by the hand and was walking back to the front door.

The footman reported later to the other servants that her eyes ‘dug right into you, they did an’

she weren’t half angry’. But she hadn’t screeched at him, like the old lady did, no, just spoke her piece quietly, like.

‘Thank your mistress for her kind offer and welcome,’ Helen said with icy dignity, ‘and tell her that we shall not trouble her. I came but to pay a courtesy call. And, of course, my husband's body stays with me until I can make arrangements for the funeral!’ Not waiting for a reply, she pulled the veil back over her face, walked back down the steps to the chaise, Harry by her side and opened its door herself.

Mr Napperby turned to the housekeeper, simmering with suppressed fury. ‘I had not expected you to greet us like this, Jane Mossop!’

‘I - I'm sorry, sir! I had my orders. I wouldn't - ’

‘Who gave you those orders?’

‘Mrs Carnforth. The master’s mother.’

‘Where is Mr Daniel Carnforth?’ he demanded, interrupting her stuttering attempts to apologise.

‘I can't say, sir.’

‘Can't - or won't?’ he demanded, face red with indignation.

‘Can't, sir. Truly. He went out this afternoon and he hasn't come back yet. He didn't say where he was going. He never does!’

‘Very well!’ Mr Napperby pulled a card from his pocket and asked for a pen. When it was brought to him from the library, he scribbled a message on the back of his card. ‘Please see that your master gets that as soon as he returns -
your master
and no one else!
Is that clear?’

Normally he would have been the soul of diplomacy, but he knew Celia Carnforth of old, so to make sure his message got through, he added, ‘You are not to give it to Mr Daniel's mother under any circumstances. And tell him that I shall wait upon him tomorrow at eleven o'clock in the forenoon, unless I hear to the contrary.’

‘Y-yes, sir.’ With trembling fingers Jane tucked the card into her apron pocket, dropping him a curtsey as she did so.

‘I - I was only following orders, sir,’ she ventured, as she escorted him to the door, for she was a kindly soul at heart, and not only had the widow seemed exhausted, but the poor little boy had looked pale and ill.

‘Then see that you follow
my
orders just as closely. Give my message to Sir Daniel and to no one else!’

Only when the carriages had pulled away did Jane recall that the Dower House wasn’t ready for visitors. But it was too late then to tell them that.

Five minutes later, the weary shivering horses drew to a halt in front of the Dower House. No smoke rose from the tall brick chimneys and curtains were drawn over the windows, some of which were festooned with cobwebs. The gardens were overgrown, too, with soggy piles of dead leaves lying in corners.

Mr Napperby was near to an apoplexy by now. ‘I can't believe this. It’s rank discourtesy! They haven’t even got the place ready. My dear lady, let me take you to an inn at once! The Roe Deer, in Asherby, is small, but I can vouch for its comfort. You can't possibly stay here!’

‘I can and I shall!’ Helen declared, spots of red flaring in her cheeks. ‘They aren’t going to drive us away. Charles wanted me to live here, and that’s what I’m going to do.’

Briggs, who had gone to reconnoitre, pulled open the chaise door and poked his head inside. A blast of cold damp air swirled in and drops of rain splattered the upholstery and the passengers.

‘There's an old woman round the back, who says she's the caretaker. She's got a fire lit in the kitchen an' she says she can find us some food. Me and the Captain have managed in worse bivouacs than this one, ma’am.’ He held the door of the chaise open invitingly.

‘And I can manage, too!’ said Helen, a martial light in her eyes. ‘Come, Harry!’ She waited for her son to jump down from the chaise and turned to the lawyer, ‘Shall you join us, Mr Napperby?’

Sighing, he pulled his cloak around him and got out. He was too old for jauntering about the countryside like this. Not to mention trailing to and fro across Europe. Longingly he thought of his home, his wife's tender care for his comfort and the way the butter melted into his cook's hot crumpets.

As they stood there, the rain ceased and the wind died down a little. ‘There you are!’ said Helen, trying to sound optimistic, for Harry’s sake. ‘The weather is improving already. It's a good sign.’

She paused for a moment to study her future home and said in tones of surprise, ‘How pretty the house is! Why did you not tell me that, Mr Napperby?’

He shivered as a gust of wind shook a shower of droplets from an overhanging branch on to his already damp cloak. Muttering something unintelligible, he turned to stare at the Dower House. He never bothered to visit it when he came to check up on the accounts at quarter day. He didn’t think it pretty, but saw only the years of neglect, the dull windows, the peeling paintwork and the unkempt gardens.

Helen, recently used to the stark white of classical Mediterranean architecture, or the over-ornateness of what Charles had called ‘Italian gingerbread’ palazzos and churches, fell instantly in love with the neat simplicity and symmetry of the Georgian style.

The Dower House, built in warm red brick, stood three stories high, with two windows at either side of the central doorway and a portico over it. The drive led up to the door in a sweeping semi-circle. The garden pathways were overgrown, but flowers still bloomed in the weed-choked beds and the dark green foliage of massive old trees framed the house like an artist's masterpiece.

She hadn't realised till this moment how homesick she’d been for England's soft green countryside.

‘It's all very wet, Mother,’ said Harry, shivering. ‘Does it always rain in England?’

‘Not always, dear. Come on - let's find our way inside. Briggs says there's a fire in the kitchen.

We shall be able to decide better what to do once we're warm.’

While she was speaking, the front door was opened with a loud, creaking sound, and an old woman appeared, as if by magic, from the dark hole that yawned behind it. ‘Be you Master Charlie's wife?’ she asked uncertainly. ‘They said you were comin', but they didn’t say when.’

Helen pulled back her veil and the woman exclaimed, ‘Why, you're nothin' but a girl!’ Then her eyes fell upon Harry, standing miserably by his mother's side. ‘Eh, the poor little lad! Don't stand out here in the cold, Mrs Carnforth. Bring him in!’

As they moved forward, she added, ‘Look at him shiver, then! I've got a kettle on the boil and I can heat up some nice fresh milk in a trice. It's not what you're used to, I dare say, but my kitchen's clean and warm, and you can't beat a glass of hot milk for taking the chill out of a boy.’

‘She was Charles’s nurse!’ whispered Mr Napperby. ‘I'd forgotten she was still alive. She was pensioned off years ago. She must be eighty, if she's a day!’

He took Helen's arm and escorted her into the house, where he paused to say, ‘Mrs Carnforth, may I introduce Becky Robbins, who was nurse to Sir Charles.’

Becky poked him in the ribs as a sign to move on. ‘Never mind no introductions till we've got that boy and his mother warm and dry, Sam Napperby! You come this way, ma’am. This way, young master. Mind the step!’

She hobbled along in front of them and ushered them into the kitchen at the rear, where a crackling wood fire cast reflections on polished copper pans, a plump cat snoozed on the rug and a rocking chair invited one to sit down and toast oneself in front of the fire.

Harry immediately plumped down and began to stroke the cat, for he still missed the little dog which had had to be left behind in Italy.

Briggs took charge of the carriages and with the drivers’ help, saw to the careful placement of the coffin in the front parlour. Helen left Harry still sitting on the rug, sipping a glass of hot milk, alternately eating some bread and jam and stroking the cat, which had moved over a little, but had not abandoned it position entirely.

With Becky's help, she directed the men to carry the luggage up to the appropriate bedrooms and then left Mr Napperby to pay off the hearse and the carrier. The other carriage must wait to take him home to Bedderby, the nearest town, which was, apparently, only five miles away.

It was amazing, Helen thought, how much more cheerful she felt now that she had arrived and seen the house.

Briggs reappeared in the rear door of the hallway, grinning, Mr Napperby thought sourly, like the village idiot. ‘Yer ladyship, how about I go back to the village with Mr Napperby when he leaves and get some more food from the inn there. They're bound to have something they could sell us. And I could hire a trap, too, to bring me back, I daresay. We should keep it for a day or two.

We're goin' to need something to get about in and the stables here haven't been used for years.’

‘I still say we should take rooms at an inn for you,’ declared Mr Napperby.

But though he emphasised his words with a gigantic sneeze, and though Helen absent-mindedly said, ‘Bless you!’, no one was really listening to him. They were discussing the urgent question of food.

Becky appeared in the doorway. ‘Tell Mrs Willins at the Roe Deer to send for my great-niece Susan to come at once. Lookin' for a place, she is, your ladyship, and as polite and hard-working a girl as you’d ever meet. We’ll need more help in the house, for I’m not as spry as I used to be, and that’s a fact.’

‘What a good idea!’ said Helen warmly. ‘I think we could do with more than one maid, though, to get this place cleaned up.’ She glanced round the dusty hallway as she spoke.

‘Two maids, a cook, a boy, a groom an' a gardener,’ declared Becky. ‘That's what the old lady had as lived here before. But you'll need me as well, to look after the lad.’ Her eyes gleamed with pleasure at the thought of someone to cosset and care for.

‘Nonsense, woman! You've been pensioned off for more years than I can remember. You're too old to nurse anyone!’ stated Mr Napperby, annoyed at the way she was pre-empting his role as chief adviser. ‘And the boy’s too old for a nurse.’

Becky drew herself up to her full five feet and one inch. ‘There was no one left,’ she declared loftily, ‘
to
look after, seein' as Lady Gertrude didn't have no children. That's why I was pensioned off.’ She looked meaningfully at Mr Napperby's plump figure and added, ‘Nor I haven't let myself run to fat, like some I could mention! I've still got years of work in me! Years.’

Helen hurriedly intervened, choking back her laughter at the sight of Mr Napperby's outraged expression. ‘Yes, Alfred, do go to the village - that's a good idea - and, er, pray give Becky's message to Mrs Willins.’

She turned to the lawyer, holding both her hands out to him. ‘My dear Mr Napperby, I'm so grateful to you for all your help, but I cannot keep you any longer from your family.’

‘I don't like to leave you like this!’ he protested, but weakly. He could get a meal and a glass of mulled ale at the Roe Deer, and be back home within an hour of leaving there.

‘I insist.’

‘Well, if you insist - are you quite sure you'll be all right here?’

‘Oh yes, I'm very sure. Becky will look after us.’

‘Then I'll be off. But I'll call in briefly in the morning, if I may, before I go to see Daniel Carnforth. Just to check that you're all right.’

‘I shall look forward to that!’ Helen escorted him to the door.

‘Good riddance!’ muttered Becky, in a very audible aside.

Two hours later, Helen was feeling even better. She had plunged, with the help of Becky and later an excited Susan as well, into a veritable orgy of airing bedlinen, dusting and unpacking. They had picnicked in the kitchen on a large chicken pie, sent over by Mrs Willins, followed by fresh crusty bread with honey and an apple pie smothered in thick yellow cream.

Harry, recovering rapidly now that the jolting had stopped and he had been able to retain some food in his stomach, trotted to and fro, helping where he could. Soon they were all dusty and flushed with exertion, but somehow it was fun. Charles Carnforth had trained his family to enjoy life, if at all possible.