Victoria Holt (34 page)

“It’s nice to see you,” said Aunt Patty. “Did you call the other day?”

“Yes, I did, and I was told I would find Miss Grant here today.”

“Do come in.”

“Weren’t you just going out?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I took him into the small drawing room. Violet came in.

“You came back then,” she said. “Now do sit down. I’m going to get you something. Would you like coffee or tea?”

“First,” he said. “I would like to talk to Miss Grant.”

“I’ll bring you something later,” said Violet. “The parsnip wine was particularly good this year.”

“Thank you.”

“I shall get off to the vicarage,” said Aunt Patty. “You two can have a talk and we’ll all meet later.”

So they withdrew and left us.

He said: “I hope I haven’t come at an inconvenient time.”

“Certainly not. I’m so glad to meet you. I have wondered about Lydia quite a lot because I wrote to her and I never had a reply. How is she? I wish you had brought her with you.”

“Lydia is dead,” he said.

“Dead! But…”

“Yes. It was a great blow to us. We miss her very much.”

“But she was young…She was never ill. How did she die?”

“It was an accident…in the mountains…in Switzerland. She was skiing.”

“Lydia skiing! She always avoided outdoor sports when we were at school. She even used to dodge gym if she could.”

“She was with her husband.”

“Her husband! So Lydia married!”

“It’s quite a long story. I wanted to see you because she had often talked of you. I think of all her school friends, you were the favorite. Then you wrote to her. I found your letter and I felt that I had either to write and tell you what happened or come and see you. So I came.”

“I’m sorry…I can’t think clearly. This is such a shock. Lydia…dead!”

“It was very tragic. Her husband was heart-broken. They had not been married more than three months.”

“I can’t believe this. I thought she was to have another year at Schaffenbrucken.”

“Yes, I know. She was only seventeen. But she met this man and fell in love with him. We wanted them to wait but Lydia wouldn’t do that. She could be very headstrong. Our father was most uncertain but he doted on Lydia. My brother and I were several years older. He was devoted to us all but he just adored Lydia. He died soon after she did. He had a weak heart and the shock just finished him.”

“I can’t tell you how upsetting this is.”

“It is good of you to care so much. I wanted you to know. I thought you might write to Lydia again.”

“Where did she meet this young man?”

“Mark Chessingham was staying near our farm in Epping. We’re not farmers. The farm is run by a manager but it is a hobby for us. We live mainly in London and escape to the farm for weekends and when we can get away. He was there studying law. His family had their business in Basle and quarters in London, but he had come down to the forest to work. He had examinations to pass. Our farm is right on the edge of Epping Forest which is very convenient being so near to London. Actually that was why my father selected the spot in the first place.”

He paused for a while and then went on: “She met him one day. They fell in love and wanted to marry. My father would have preferred a long engagement but Lydia wouldn’t hear of it and threatened to elope if consent was not given. In the end my father gave way…with misgivings, of course…But Mark was charming and it seemed quite a suitable match. As it was so quick there was a quiet wedding.”

“She didn’t write and tell me.”

“Strange really, because she often mentioned you, and was so proud of him and of being married. He was a very pleasant fellow. Lydia had a little fortune which came to her on marriage. At first I thought that might have something to do with it, but he seemed to be so well off himself and his family’s business was known, even in England, and he never showed the slightest interest in her money. They left England almost immediately after the wedding and three months later…she was dead. We had such happy letters from her and even my father had come to the conclusion that after all he had been right to allow her to marry. Then one day we got the news. Mark was heart-broken. He wrote a most pathetic letter to us. She was too reckless, he said. Many times he had warned her. But she took risks. She was so enthusiastic, so anxious to shine in his eyes and tried to undertake what the experts did. That was the end. They didn’t recover her body until a week after the accident.”

I was silent and he said gently: “I am sorry to distress you like this. Perhaps it would have been better if I hadn’t come.”

“No, no. I’d rather know. But it is such a shock. When you have known someone as well as I knew Lydia…even though it is some time since I saw her…”

“I’m glad you were so fond of her.”

“Tell me,” I said, “are you on holiday?”

“No. I am working in London but I thought I would take a few days off and come to see you. I just had the feeling that I wanted to. I have to confess that I read your last letter to Lydia and I felt then that I had to let you know. I didn’t want you to think she hadn’t bothered to answer.”

“Lydia used to talk about her family quite a lot. She was so fond of you all. I suppose you are the head of the family now.”

“You could say that. There has never been a patriarchal attitude in our family. We were all such good friends.”

“You’re in banking, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“In the city of London?”

He nodded. “We have a house in Kensington, and then of course the farm. My mother died but we were always lucky in having good governesses for Lydia. There was always a lot of fun at home. Our father was more like a brother to us. Perhaps he wasn’t strict enough…with Lydia for instance. If she had waited…If she had not been so reckless…”

“She was such a happy girl. The way she talked about home…you could tell what it meant to her.”

“Then she went away with a man she scarcely knew.”

“That,” I said, “is love.”

“I suppose you are right. If only…This is a morbid subject. Please tell me about yourself. Lydia used to say you were going into partnership with your aunt in some wonderful Elizabethan Manor.”

“I think I must have exaggerated about the glories of that Elizabethan Manor. Perhaps I tend to exaggerate when I’m proud of something.”

“It may be that we all do.”

“I seemed to give the girls an impression that we were fabulously rich and that we had this priceless manor with a very successful school as a kind of hobby. When I got home for the holidays I found that my aunt was in financial difficulties, was selling the house and that I was to have a post in another school.”

“Which you did.”

“Yes, in Devon—a rather marvelous old place in the midst of a ruined abbey. The school is the old Lay Brothers’ quarters.”

“It sounds fascinating.”

“Yes, it is.”

“And you enjoy it immensely.”

“It is exciting. I have the utmost admiration for my headmistress and the way the school is run and for holidays I escape to this place.”

“It’s a lovely house. I don’t know why…”

He stopped short. “I’m sorry that sounded…”

I laughed. “That sounded like the truth. An ordinary little house…not much more than a cottage, but there is something about it, isn’t there? You haven’t been here half an hour and you feel it. It’s my aunt. She does that to places.”

“I hope I have an opportunity of seeing her again.”

“When do you have to go back?”

“I thought of leaving tomorrow.”

“Well, I feel sure you’ll be invited to stay to lunch if you play your cards right. At any moment Violet…my aunt’s devoted friend and companion…will appear with a tray on which will be glasses and a bottle of her parsnip wine. If you drink it with relish and if you will go so far as to tell her that you have never tasted better parsnip wine, you will surely be asked to stay to luncheon.”

“Does it depend on that?”

“Of course not. My aunt will ask you, and I have already decided to do so. That is good enough. But it would please Violet. Don’t be too effusive for she is shrewd. Just savor, put your head on one side and say Ah. She is such a dear, though people don’t always realize it. We like to tease her and please her.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

“And here is Violet,” I said; “and yes, she is bringing her parsnip wine.”

“It was a good year,” said Violet, “and no one can make good wine without a good crop. You’d know that, Mr.…”

“Mr. Markham,” I said.

“Oh yes, I remember now. Mr. Markham, now try that. Teresa, bring in those wine biscuits.”

“You are spoiling me,” said John Markham. He took the glass reverently and raising it to his lips sniffed the aroma as though he were testing wine in the cellars of some château vineyard. He sipped, there was a deep silence.

Then he raised his eyes to the ceiling and said: “I knew before I tasted it. The bouquet is superb, and this must indeed be a vintage year.”

Violet flushed pink. “Well, I can see you are one to know what you are talking about.”

“I was suggesting to Mr. Markham that he might care to stay to lunch,” I said. “He’s at the King’s Head.”

Violet grimaced. “I heard the food’s not up to much there. Well, if I’d have known, but there’s only shepherd’s pie and apple tart.”

“I can think of nothing I should like better than shepherd’s pie and apple tart.”

“Well,” said Violet, still pleased. “It’ll be a pleasure. I’ll see about laying another place.”

Teresa had come in and was introduced.

By the time Aunt Patty returned John Markham had succeeded in making a remarkably good impression on both Violet and Teresa. For me he was Lydia’s brother and hardly seemed like a stranger.

***

He stayed to lunch and went back to his hotel afterwards but not before he had received an invitation to dine with us.

I knew that he had been deeply saddened by Lydia’s death, but he was not the sort to burden others with his grief. He was amusing and interesting. He talked about banking, his life in London and on the Epping farm. He said that his brother Charles was in London. It was always pleasant to get down to the farm when they had a chance.

“It is amazing,” he said, “what pleasure there is in haymaking and bringing in the harvest…particularly after you have spent your days in an office juggling with figures and doing all that makes up a banker’s life. Not that I’m averse to banking. I find it fascinating. It’s just the change…the joy of rolling up one’s sleeves and getting into my old farm clothes and throwing off the polish of the city for a bit of rural activity.”

Violet, who had been brought up on a farm, listened avidly. I had never seen her take to a newcomer so quickly. He had so many stories to tell of the farm and how in the old days he had not had the faintest notion of how to go on. He made it all sound very amusing.

Teresa listened to his anecdotes with great interest. “I should like to live on a farm,” she said.

After dinner we sat in the garden.

“The cool of the evening is the best time of the day,” said Violet.

We all walked down to the gate to say goodbye to him, all very sorry that his visit was at an end.

But the next morning he called again.

Violet was in the garden peeling potatoes which she often did out of doors on fine days, and Teresa was beside her shelling peas. Aunt Patty was dressed for going out and I was going with her to the village to shop. And there he was. From my window I saw him coming up the path.

I called out: “Hello. I thought you’d gone.”

“Couldn’t tear myself away,” he said.

“Go into the garden,” I replied. “I’ll be down shortly.”

Violet said: “My patience me!” And was pink with pleasure, and so was Teresa.

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I thought I’d stay another day.”

“We’re all rather pleased about that,” I told him.

Aunt Patty came into the garden wearing her sunflower hat. “This is a nice surprise.”

“It’s a nice welcome,” he replied.

“He’s staying another day,” said Violet. “Teresa, pop in and get me three more potatoes. I think there’ll be enough peas.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I was rather hoping you’d ask me to stay.”

“When I think of what that King’s Head serves up in their dining room it wouldn’t be right not to get you out of that,” commented Violet.

“I was hoping,” he said, “that I might be asked for another reason.”

“What was that?” asked Teresa.

“That you found my company entertaining enough to want to put up with me for another day.”

“Oh, we do,” cried Teresa.

“And there’s a roast pork for dinner,” said Violet.

“Is that a statement or an invitation?”

“Knowing Violet,” put in Aunt Patty, “it’s both.”

“It seems as though I have arrived just as you are going out,” he said, looking at Aunt Patty and me in our outdoor clothes.

“Just down to the village shop. We were going in the dog cart. Would you like to come? Cordelia can show you the church while I’m in the shops and we can all come back together. The church is well worth looking at though the tower is in danger of falling down at any moment.”

“And the bells are cracked,” put in Violet. “You should hear them, Mr. Markham, or rather you shouldn’t. It’s a shame.”

“I think we should be going before we get into the tower versus the bells controversy,” said Aunt Patty. “Come on.”

It was a pleasant morning. John Markham and I went to the church and I showed him the stained glass which was renowned in the neighborhood and the brass effigies of our most illustrious inhabitants and the names of the vicars dating from the twelfth century. We went through the graveyard stepping over ancient tombstones, the inscriptions on which were almost obliterated by time and weather; and by the time Aunt Patty joined us, I felt I knew John Markham very well.

Over dinner that night, he said: “I shall have to go to London tomorrow and I shall be going to the farm the week after next. I shall be there for a whole week. I wish you would come and see it.”

“What!” cried Teresa. “All of us?”

“There’s plenty of room and we like visitors. The old farmhouse doesn’t get used enough really. Simon Briggs, our manager, has his own place. He never uses the farmhouse at all…it’s purely for the family and we’re always saying it ought to be used more. So, what about it?”