A Time of Hope (Part Five of The People of this Parish Saga) Read online

  Dora, who knew her mother and respected her for keeping a secret, nodded. One day she would get the truth out of Carson.

  She lit a cigarette and stretched her long limbs before her.

  “It is lovely to be here, Mother.” She exhaled a stream of smoke towards the ceiling. “I’m so glad we’re back in Riversmead.”

  “So am I.” Eliza sighed, and looked round. At last the workmen had gone and peace reigned. The place had been redecorated from top to bottom, and her furniture was in place. It was a large house, but not as large as the one she had left and in which she had lived with her second husband for over thirty years.

  But Riversmead was special. It was where she had lived with her first husband Ryder, and where her children had been born.

  Eliza leaned forward to poke the fire which they’d lit as the evenings were cold. “It really is lovely to see so much of Hugh. He seems very happy here.”

  “I think he is happy.” Dora had a box of chocolates on the table beside her and began dipping into it. “In his strange way he is happy.”

  “Why ‘strange’?” Her mother looked over at her.

  “Well, darling, Hugh never gives much away, does he? I hardly even know what’s going on in his mind. Do you?”

  Eliza looked thoughtful. “Sometimes I wonder.”

  “I feel I hardly know Hugh at all,” Dora went on. “Being away at school, then the war. You remember how silent he was after the war when he was recuperating? We could hardly get a word out of him.”

  “I think he’s found peace at Oxford. It suits his temperament.” Eliza threw fresh logs on top of those reduced to embers.

  “Dora, tell me, do you think he’s ever had a girlfriend?”

  Dora shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “No, but ...”

  “You’d like to know?” A mischievous look came into Dora’s eyes. “Maybe he prefers men?”

  “Oh!” Eliza hesitated. “Do you think so?”

  “Would you mind terribly?”

  Eliza knew she was on delicate ground ever since her daughter’s one-time attachment to a married woman with whom she’d run away.

  “I just think it’s a bit of a waste.”

  “Of what?” Dora’s tone was chilly.

  “Well, you know, children, the comforts of married life. Hugh seems so alone.”

  “He’s got you. He’s got us.”

  “It’s not quite the same.” Briefly Eliza looked irritated. “Oh, you know what I mean, Dora.”

  “I know. Just teasing.” Dora could find no other chocolates she fancied and reluctantly put the lid back on the box. “I’ll get too fat anyway.” She carefully wiped her fingers. “Mum ...”

  “Yes?”

  “What about your birthday?”

  “What about my birthday?” Eliza put down her coffee cup. “Seventy coming up.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “Seriously, we should have a celebration. Hugh and I would like to give a party for you here, or at Pelham’s Oak if you prefer. Carson’s keen. We’ll make all the arrangements. You don’t have to do a thing, just approve the guest list.”

  “Well ...” Eliza continued to look doubtful.

  “Oh, go on. The family will love it. Do you prefer here or Pelham’s Oak?”

  “It depends on how many people we invite.” Eliza began to warm to the idea. “Let me give it some thought.” She reached over for her daughter’s hand. They had never had any difficulty communicating despite whatever differences they had had in the past. The antithesis of Hugh, Dora was straight, outgoing. “It is sweet of you to think of it, darling. And if it means seeing more of you then, yes. You’ll have to come over and arrange it.”

  Dora laughed and got up. “I knew there’d be a catch.” She glanced at the clock. “I’m for bed, Mummy. It has been a long day. Coming?”

  “I’ll just let the dogs out and then I’ll be up.” Eliza also rose and walked with Dora to the door, her two black Labradors,

  Tim and Murgatroyd, who had been snoozing in front of the fire, following her eagerly. She stood in the hall and, after kissing Dora good-night, watched her as she climbed the stairs. Then, the dogs padding after her, she went into the kitchen, unfastened the back door and let them out. For a while she stood in the yard, arms folded, peering into the dark. Then she perched on the side of the garden table, waiting for the dogs to finish their toilets, which would take an age as they invariably went in search of rabbits in the large garden fronting the River Wen.

  Eliza felt calm and very peaceful. She loved having her family with her. She was a sociable being and had always liked people about. Julius in many ways had been a solitary man, not much of a companion. But for all the rather tedious years she had spent with him the reward had come at last with his death. He had left her a fortune and she was now a woman of ample means. Her children and grandchildren would never be without the necessities, even the luxuries, of life if they wanted them.

  Money, of course, wasn’t everything, but it had enabled her to buy back the house she loved and, yes, at last she was happy in a way she hadn’t been for years, finally living in her old home. It was home. Full of ghosts from the past, friendly ghosts.

  On her marriage to Julius Heering, Eliza had given the house to her son Laurence and his bride Sarah Jane. They had also had three children. But their happiness had been cut short by Laurence’s suicide in 1912.

  Sarah Jane had continued to live in the house until the previous year when she had fallen in love with a much younger man of whom her children disapproved. When she had decided to go away with him Eliza, temporarily homeless, had bought Riversmead back. And here, finally she had found peace.

  Eliza looked at her watch, saw it was very late and, calling in the dogs, shut the back door and firmly drew the bolts.

  Carson put down the telephone with a frown, removed his reading glasses and walked over to the window. He was dressed for riding and had been waiting for Alexander and the carefully chaperoned Mary. Now he had to wait for a call from his solicitor who was trying to arrange for the return of his children from Italy where they lived with their mother.

  Carson Woodville, fourteenth baronet, was an unhappy man. Having achieved a degree of contentment in his life he had blown it all away by bringing his former mistress, very ill with tuberculosis, to die at Pelham’s Oak. Connie, his wife, had not understood and had left with their three children for Venice, where she had a home.

  Nelly had now been dead over a year but Connie had not forgiven him. Nor did he think he needed to be forgiven. There had been no new affair, and to offer succour to a destitute woman seemed to him only fair and compassionate. In failing to understand this Connie had showed a side of herself to Carson which he didn’t like. He thought she was selfish and lacked compassion, and had fallen out of love with her.

  But he loved his children and wanted them with him. It was possible that a battle would begin in the courts.

  The butler knocked at the door and announced that Mrs Temple and her daughter had arrived. Carson went at once into the hall where Elizabeth and Mary were waiting for him, Mary in her riding clothes, Elizabeth dressed for town. As usual she was beautifully groomed and looked very attractive, despite the firm set of her mouth and the steely glint in her eyes.

  Carson bent down to kiss Elizabeth on the cheek, noticing the absence of a smile. Then he greeted Mary and told her he would not be long.

  “I suppose Alexander is coming too?” Elizabeth demanded.

  “He should be here any minute.” Carson consulted his watch. “Are you going to stay, Elizabeth?”

  “I am going into Sherborne to do some shopping. I’ll pick Mary up on my way back.”

  “Stay for lunch,” Carson suggested, showing her to the door. “You’d be very welcome.”

  “I’ll see,” Elizabeth replied curtly and, without glancing at him or Mary, left behind in the hall, made her way down the steps to her car.

  Silently Mary joined h
im and stood by his side.

  “Your mother doesn’t seem in a very good mood.” Carson looked at her. “Something wrong?”

  “Father says it is her time of life.” Mary shrugged. “I don’t know what that means. I wish ... oh, I wish ...” she stopped and screwed up her face.

  “You wish?” Carson asked gently leading her back to his study.

  “I wish I could leave home. I wish I had somewhere to go. Do you think Dora would take me back to France to help her care for the baby? I’d love that. I adore babies.”

  “My dear.” Carson sat her down and with his large handkerchief gently dabbed at the tears which were slowly trickling from her eyes. “Surely it’s not as bad as that?”

  “It is as bad as that.”

  “Besides you’re still at school.”

  “I want to leave. I’m fifteen, you know, so I can.”

  “Yes, but your parents want you to have a proper education.”

  “I hate school. I hate my home. Oh, Uncle Carson I wish we still lived with you.” Giving herself up to a fresh torrent of weeping, Mary hurled herself into his arms.

  Perplexed and not knowing what to do Carson held her close and stroked her hair until the telephone rang and he crossed the room to answer it.

  “Carson?”

  “Yes.” It was Graham Temple, Carson’s solicitor and Mary’s stepfather. “Have you any news?”

  “Not good news I’m afraid.”

  “Oh!”

  “I have had a communication from Connie’s solicitors in London that she wants a divorce.”

  “I see.” Carson was aware that a steel band seemed to be encircling his ribs.

  “You were not expecting that were you, Carson?”

  “I thought it would happen. It is nearly two years since she left and I see no way we can come together again. But I do want the children. They are Woodvilles and this is their home.”

  “I’m afraid she will not give in over the children. Visitation rights, but that’s all.”

  “Then say I’ll oppose a divorce. I have done nothing wrong. She left me. The blame is entirely on her side. I can stay married as long as I like. Tell her I will not give her a divorce and I want my children. If necessary I’ll fight her in the courts for them.”

  “Don’t forget she is a very wealthy woman.”

  “I am not without funds myself,” Carson replied loftily. “I have made several good investments lately.”

  “All right. I’ll telephone her solicitor and ring you back as soon as I can. Don’t go out.”

  When he put down the phone Carson saw that Mary’s tears had dried and she was looking at him gravely.

  “You’re unhappy too, Uncle Carson?”

  “Yes.” Carson sat by her side and tucked her hand in his. “My wife wants to keep my children and I love them very much.”

  “I wish I could live with you.”

  “I wish you could too, but you can’t.” Carson looked up as the door opened and Alexander put his head round the door.

  “Sorry I’m late. Ready?”

  “Well,” Carson glanced at the phone. “I have to wait for a call from my solicitor. I think you’d better go without me. I’ll be waiting for you when you get back and we can have lunch. Now be careful won’t you? Mary’s very good, but she’s still learning. No galloping.”

  “I’ll look after her, Uncle, never fear.” Alexander held out his hand towards Mary who flew over to him, her eyes shining.

  Mary and Alexander had been riding together for over a month, always accompanied by Carson or a groom. This was the first time they had been alone together and Alexander experienced an unusual sense of awkwardness, a curious feeling of unease. Normally not at a loss for words, he felt tongue-tied, but Mary seemed quite happy trotting by his side. She was indeed an adept learner, already quite an accomplished horsewoman, at ease in the saddle.

  They descended the hill towards the white cottage. Alexander noticed that, on this occasion too, the top window was open and also the front door. As they got nearer he slowed his pace until he had stopped completely. He gazed across at Mary. She also slowed until they were side by side.

  “Do you know, I’d like to go in?”

  “Well, go,” Mary said with a smile. “Do you know the person there?”

  “You remember that day at lunch, when Aunt Dora was here with Louise and I asked Uncle Carson what had happened to the lady who used to live here and he said she’d died?”

  Mary shook her head. That day she had been too excited to take much in; too excited at the proximity of all the grown-ups and, in particular, of Alexander. It had seemed impossible then that she would see him again, never mind so soon and so often, and now, for the first time, she was alone in his company.

  “Why does she matter to you?” Mary looked puzzled.

  “She doesn’t matter to me, but I’m curious about her, and Uncle Carson’s answer was so strange. I smell a mystery and mysteries fascinate me.”

  “If she’s dead she can’t be here now,” Mary said prosaically.

  “No, but her companion is here, the woman who looked after her. Let’s go and see her.”

  “All right.” Mary looked guiltily back at Pelham’s Oak, as if aware they were doing something they shouldn’t. “If that’s what you want.”

  They trotted to the gate of the house and Alexander dismounted, tethered his horse to the railings and then helped Mary, taking her hand firmly in his as she leapt down. For a moment he clung onto her hand and, their faces very close together, they stared at each other. He stifled a wild impulse to kiss her and drew away, flinging open the garden gate as a comfortable body of about Mary’s mother’s age but with plain, well-scrubbed features, came to the door. When she saw Alexander her mouth fell open in amazement and she nervously wiped her hands on her blue pinafore.

  “Massie?” he asked.

  The woman nodded. “Why ...” she exclaimed and stopped, hand to mouth.

  Alexander, surprised at her reaction, gave her a reassuring smile.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Mr Alexander,” she gasped.

  “Oh! I didn’t know you knew my name.”

  “Well, I see you riding with your ... Sir Carson,” she stumbled.

  “And this young lady here?” Massie gave Mary a hesitant smile.

  “This is Miss Sprogett.”

  “D’je do, miss.” Massie gave a half-bob as if to the quality and pointed the way inside. “Would you like to come in? I’m afraid I’m not used to receiving visitors. But you are most welcome.”

  “That would be nice.” Alexander looked encouragingly at Mary, who hesitated. “We shan’t be long. We just wanted to know how you were. How you’re keeping.”

  Alexander looked appreciatively round the modest but pleasant and comfortable sitting room with chintz-covered chairs, rugs on the stone floor and a large bowl of fresh flowers on a scrubbed deal table in the middle of the room. To one side was an inglenook with the remains of a log fire.

  “Can I get you something to drink, sir?”

  “Thank you.” Alexander smiled. “But please don’t call me sir. I’m Alexander.”

  “Alexander,” Massie echoed obediently, and scuttled out of the room. Almost immediately they could hear her clattering about in the kitchen beyond. Alexander winked at Mary and leaned towards her. “This is fun,” he said.

  “I think you’ve made her nervous,” Mary hissed, and then giggled at the sound of a pan dropping, as though this confirmed her remarks.

  “It’s just because of my association with Uncle Carson. She knows we come from the big house.” He jerked his head in the direction of Pelham’s Oak.

  In a few moments Massie was back bearing a large tray on which there were cups, a teapot, milk jug and a plate of biscuits, which she set on the table.

  “I’m not used to company,” she said again, “but you’re very welcome I’m sure.” Then she began to pour and shyly handed them each a cup of tea.


  “I was very sorry to hear about ...” Alexander paused “… your friend.” As Massie looked at him blankly, he hurried on, “The one who died.”

  “Nelly,” Massie echoed woodenly.

  “Oh, her name was Nelly.” Alexander nodded. “I think you might remember some time ago I was riding with my uncle and we saw her at the window. I told him I thought she was very beautiful.”

  “Yes, she was.” Massie had a sob in her voice.

  “I wondered who she was exactly. How she came to be here.”

  “Oh!” Massie pursed her lips in a thin, stubborn line. “Did he not tell you?”

  “No.” Alexander looked more and more mystified.

  “Then I can’t tell you. I’m sorry but I can’t.”

  “But what is this secret?” Alexander demanded, his expression stern. “What is so mysterious about Nelly that no one wants to talk about her?”

  “You will have to ask Sir Carson,” Massie said firmly. “I’m afraid that’s all I can say.” Then, leaning urgently forward so that she perched on the very edge of her chair she looked at him pleadingly. “And, please, don’t say you spoke to me. Sir Carson has been very good to me and I should hate to lose this cottage and the little allowance he gives me. I beg you not to say you wus here.”

  Chapter Two

  The Martyn-Heering business empire had its imposing headquarters in the City of London, overlooking London Bridge. From the window of the chairman’s office on the top floor Alexander was able to see up river and down. Boats of all sizes busily plied up and down, past the warehouses in Lower Thames Street which were the depositories of the teas and spices, the jutes and silks, the rice and tobacco, carried by the company’s boats from the Far East.

  The company had been run for many years by Alexander’s adoptive father. Prosper Martyn had been joint chairman with Julius Heering, Aunt Eliza’s second husband. Both men had died within a couple of years of each other but, before that, the chairmanship had passed to a nephew of Julius, Pieter Heering, who was now in his late fifties and not in the best of health. His son Joachim was not interested in the business and there were no Martyns left so, consequently, the future of the company was a question mark, though control still remained in the hands of the family.