The Man Who Grew Tomatoes (Mrs. Bradley) Page 4

  “She is one who bobs up,” said Hildegarde gloomily. “You will see very soon that I am right. She will bob up and she will push you under. She is without a moral sense and she will be the mistress here before you are knowing what is happening.”

  “I really doubt it,” said Hugh.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mrs. Hal

  “Cast our caps and cares away;

  This is beggars’ holiday.”

  John Fletcher

  Mrs. Hal Camber arrived on the seventeenth of October. It was a still, rather cold day, and Hugh had been for a twelve-mile tramp on roads that rang beneath his feet with frost. He came home to be greeted at the lodge by Hildegarde. She hissed rather than spoke.

  “She is here!”

  “Who?” But he had known, almost before the words were out of her mouth, of whom she spoke.

  “It is Mrs. Hal. She makes hay in the sunshine. Already Ethel and Daisy are weeping. What will you do?”

  “Sort her,” said Hugh briefly. He had heard enough—too much—about Mrs. Hal, he decided. She had better be sent about her business. Ready for battle, he went up to the house. Ethel, back in his service, opened the side door. He had knocked at it because his boots were muddy.

  “Oh, sir! That happen!”

  “I know. Where is Mrs. Hal?”

  “That put the drawing-room to rights. I only do it this morning, Mr. Camber, but it seem that isn’t satisfied.”

  “All right, Ethel, I’ll see to it.”

  He gave her his hat and coat and sent her for a pair of shoes. While she was gone he put away his fishing tackle in the gun-room and pushed a pocket-comb through his hair. He changed into the shoes she brought, washed under the kitchen tap, and strode off to encounter his visitor. Mrs. Hal was in the act of trying to decide whether a Chinese horse looked better on the mantelpiece or in the front of a shelf in the china cabinet. As it was a valuable piece and a favourite of his, Hugh waited until she had made up her mind, and the horse was safely out of her hands, before he spoke.

  “Ah,” he said, rather loudly. Mrs. Hal spun round. She was as he had supposed—small, svelte, and wearing a Dresden-china make-up. She clattered over the polished floor on five-inch heels.

  “Hugh! Hugh darling! I was devastated when they told me you were not at home. How are you, you dear boy?”

  “How do you do, Héloïse?” (Christened Elsie, he had always thought.)

  “My dear, I don’t do at all! Peter is back at school and I feel devastated without him.”

  “I suppose so, yes. Won’t you sit down?”

  “Oh, of course, poor dear! You’ve been out walking and you feel tired. Well, I’m not going to make myself a nuisance. I’ve given Ethel full instructions about my room. You don’t need to trouble about me at all.”

  “That’s as well. Might be a godsend. Can you cook?”

  “Cook?”

  “Yes.”

  “But, darling, why should I cook?”

  “Because the cook and the housekeeper have both left.”

  “Oh, Hugh, don’t be such a tease! You know I can’t cook. Stop joking and tell me all about yourself. What you’ve been doing, and what it feels like to be the master of Camber, and everything.”

  “Look, Héloïse, let’s get one thing straight. I’m a bachelor of forty. You’re a widow of—well, a good bit less than that, of course. You don’t really think I’m going to have you stay the night, do you?”

  “My dear Hugh! What are you suggesting?”

  “That you take tea with me and then hop it.”

  “But how ridiculous! What does it matter what people say?”

  “A good deal to me. One cannot be a respected and highly respectable Civil Servant for twenty years without learning to bow to the force majeure of public opinion, you know.”

  “Village gossip? Really, Hugh!”

  “I’m very sorry, but there it is. You may have been married, but I have not, and I hold the cautious opinion of spinsters of uncertain age when it comes to risking my reputation. No, my dear girl, the fact that you married my brother cannot gloss over the other fact that you and I are in no sense related by any tie of blood. Therefore, I insist that your repose must be under some other roof than mine.”

  He was aware, as he was speaking, of being in the presence of a small, human bomb, a bomb, moreover, which was quivering. He sat back, waiting for the explosion. The bomb, however, turned into a damp squib.

  “Well,” said Mrs. Hal, “perhaps I’d better ask you to ring for tea. I have sent away the taxi which brought me here, so perhaps Crick can drive me into Norwich.”

  Hugh shook his head.

  “Not even that,” he said. “Crick’s gone, too. But don’t worry. I can drive you to Thorpe Station myself. It will be a pleasure.”

  Whether the double meaning of the last remark was clear to Mrs. Hal he could not determine. All that she said was:

  “What have you been doing, to alienate the servants like this?”

  “I’ve no idea, but they folded their tents like the Arabs and—there it is!”

  “I don’t understand it at all, but I should like a cup of tea!”

  Hugh got up and rang the bell. The parlour-maid appeared with such suspicious promptness that he guessed her ear had not been far from the keyhole.

  “Could you bring Mrs. Hal Camber some tea, Gertrude, please? Oh, and you’ll find a bottle of whisky in the dining-room. Bring that, too, and a jug of water.”

  “Whisky!” Mrs. Hal gave a shrill laugh. “Paul would turn in his grave!”

  “No doubt.”

  “You heard about poor little Stephen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, Hugh, you are uncommunicative. And there are things I’m dying to talk to you about. Look, as you’re so prudish about having me in the house, what about your coming to see me at my poor little flat?”

  “Well, not just at present, anyway, thanks. I’ve got to learn my way about here at Camber, you know. I expect to be talking a lot of business with Bembridge.”

  “I don’t like Bembridge. I’m sure he didn’t give Paul all the money from the sale of that timber they cut down two years ago. You don’t know how I miss those dear old oak trees. The park doesn’t look the same without them. Do you remember them, Hugh?”

  “Vaguely. I believe I used to climb them when I was a boy and spent a holiday here with Paul. Hal came with me, I remember.”

  “Now that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Not about Hal, exactly, but about Hal’s son.”

  “And yours?”

  “Don’t be silly, Hugh! I’m not sure I like that sort of joke.”

  “I did not intend to joke. I know what you mean, and, as the answer to the question you wish to put to me seems, at the moment, pretty obvious, you’ll forgive me if I…Ah, here’s tea. Hullo, Gertrude! Who made those cakes?”

  “Daisy’s mother knock us up a few, sir, so, as you have company, we think perhaps you like to sample them.”

  “Very kind of you. I’m sure Mrs. Hal appreciates the thought. And the whisky? Splendid. You wouldn’t prefer some whisky and water, Héloïse?”

  “No, thank you. I thought whisky was still in short supply.”

  “Not if you know where to look for it. Tell Daisy I am much obliged to her mother, Gertrude.”

  The maid disappeared. Mrs. Hal poured herself out a cup of tea and Hugh helped himself to the whisky. Conversation languished for some minutes until Mrs. Hal observed, in the tone of one who resumes an interrupted conversation:

  “I sometimes think Peter has rather the look of you, Hugh.”

  “Oh, come! Give the poor little blighter a chance!”

  “No, but really! After all, you’re a very good-looking man. Not handsome, exactly, but what I call masculine.”

  “Heavens! I hope so!”

  “Firm and strong. Full of character,” pursued Mrs. Hal, ignoring the exclamation. “If Peter grows up to be like you, I, for one, shall not th
ink I have wasted my life. Hugh, an idea!”

  “Yes?”

  “I quite understand your bachelor shyness about having, as you say, a young woman—for I am a young woman, widow or no widow, am I not?—under your roof, but you could have Peter for part of his holidays, if you liked. He needs a man’s handling, Hugh—my poor, little fatherless bairn.”

  “I expect he gets it at school.”

  “It isn’t the same thing. Oh, Hugh, it would be such a treat for him! I do want him to get to know Camber. After all, it is the family seat.”

  “I don’t care much for children. In any case, as I tell you, I can do nothing until I’ve found my feet here. You’ll appreciate that everything is still very new to me at present. Have one of these cakes—or do you prefer more bread and butter?”

  “Listen, Hugh!”

  “It’s of no use, Héloïse. If I find I can have Peter here for a week of his school holidays I’ll certainly write and invite him, but please don’t regard that as any sort of definite promise. I’ll have far more use for Peter when he’s twenty-five or so.”

  “If you’re alive to know him then! After all, Hugh, we must face facts, and the facts are that out of three apparently healthy men, you are the only one left.”

  “Thanks for the reminder, but I really must point out that neither Paul nor Hal died in his bed. Their apparent health had nothing to do with the matter.”

  “Really, Hugh, there’s no need to mention Hal!” She put down her cup and produced a very small handkerchief edged with black. “It’s not very kind of you, is it?”

  “Kindness does not enter into the question. You threatened me with death, and I assumed, in my charitable fashion, that you meant natural death.”

  “Well, of course I did!” She put the handkerchief away. “I was only mentioning something that we all have to come to. Am I to be blamed for thinking of my son’s interests?”

  “Certainly not, but his interests are hardly mine. Having come into the property, I must express a preference for wishing to enjoy it for a few years and not to be faced immediately with the thought that sooner or later I have to establish a successor.”

  Héloïse sipped her tea and there was a lengthy pause. Hugh helped himself to more whisky.

  “What do you think happened to poor little Stephen?” Mrs. Hal demanded, so suddenly that Hugh had the feeling that she meant to take him off his guard.

  “Stephen? No idea. There seems to be a legend that he had managed to get hold of some drink,” he said, speaking easily.

  “But, Hugh, that can’t be right! Paul was a rabid teetotaller.”

  “May have had an unfortunate effect on the kid. I always think it a mistake to be rabidly anything when you’ve got to bring up a boy, especially a rather introspective, sensitive boy, such as I believe Stephen to have been.”

  “I thought you didn’t care for children, Hugh, darling. How do you know that poor little Stephen was introspective?”

  Hugh grinned. “I don’t,” he said, very cheerfully. “Well, Héloïse, cheers! And now, you really must go. I’ve oceans to do before I go to my rest—and, by that, I don’t mean ‘to my grave.’”

  The weeks passed. Hugh did, indeed, find a great deal to do. He was a quietly energetic man who enjoyed being fully occupied. The news that Mrs. Hal had been routed and put to flight was gleefully passed on by the simple-minded Ethel King, but her fellow-servants of former days, either because they had found congenial occupation or for some other reason, did not answer any of Hugh’s advertisements. Others, however, did ask for interviews—others who knew nothing of the Camber tragedies. A cook and two more housemaids were installed, the faithful Daisy was promoted, with (it followed) an increase in pay, and Gertrude, the head parlour-maid, was permitted to bring her younger sister to work under her. No housekeeper was appointed, although the servants had a tacit agreement with Hugh that they did not accept orders from Hildegarde.

  “I shall be doing very little entertaining,” Hugh explained to the new cook on her first day, “so I shall leave the catering in your hands, Mrs. Daddle. You will show me the books every Friday. I am accustomed to figures and shall check yours very carefully.”

  “I’ve a character for honesty, sir.”

  “I know. I’ve read it. It’s not honesty I’m referring to, but wastefulness. I should not have given you employment if I suspected that you were an embryo jail-bird.”

  “Really, sir!”

  “Just reasonable care, Mrs. Daddle, is all I look for—and curry on Fridays. I am partial to curry. I trust it forms part of your repertoire?”

  “Not Akbar nor yet the Shah Jehan couldn’t complain of my curries, Mr. Camber, but the barmy duck will have to be ordered in London.”

  “Bombay duck. And where did you hear of Akbar and the Shah Jehan?”

  “I went to school, like others.”

  “I congratulate your teachers. I think you and I will suit one another very well, Mrs. Daddle. What is your opinion on the matter?”

  “I don’t stop where I’m not suited, sir. I have my independence.”

  “Excellent. So I shall never have need to wonder whether you are happy in your work. I wish everybody had the commonsense that you, Mrs. Daddle, appear to possess.”

  “How are you on puddings, sir?”

  “I dislike almost all of them. Give me a savoury and a dish of fresh fruit to follow.”

  “The kitchen is inclined to favour puddings, sir.”

  “Then see that the kitchen does not want for them. One man’s meat is another man’s poison, after all.”

  The weeks again went by. Hugh became a subscriber to, although not at first a follower of, the local hunt. He became, for the first time since he was fifteen, a churchgoer. He lectured to the Women’s Institute on Some Secrets of Whitehall and kicked off for the sanguinary battle between the village eleven and their rivals, the neighbouring village of Todgrassy. He even agreed to attend the Christmas Tea for Old Folks.

  Ethel, her star still in the ascendant as one of the Old Faithfuls in his service, broached the matter of Christmas leave. She had come in to dust the library at an unusual time—half-past three in the afternoon.

  “I thought you did this in the mornings, Ethel.”

  “Yes, sir.” She continued to flick around the outside of a mahogany bookcase.

  “Anything up?”

  “Oh, no, sir.”

  “Well, come on. Let’s have it. Confession is said to be good for the soul. I should have thought it a most mortifying experience myself. I suppose it depends upon one’s upbringing.”

  Ethel paused in her labours. “It was about Christmas, sir.”

  “Ah, I thought you had a furtive look. And what about Christmas, may I ask?”

  “You wouldn’t be going away for Christmas, sir, I take it?”

  Hugh was a kind-hearted man.

  “I begin to perceive your drift, Ethel,” he said. “I could go to my London club, if that would suit the convenience of the staff. Er—what amount of licence is customary on these occasions?”

  “Christmas Day and come back the morning after Boxing Day would be appreciated, sir, I’m sure. Not that we had it with Mr. Paul, but us thought you might be different.”

  “So be it. You can let the others know. No nonsense about running a fancy dress ball for the village and holding it in the long gallery here, or any similar orgy, mind. Everybody who doesn’t take leave of absence must stay put in a reasonable sort of way.”

  “Oh, yes, sir! Thank you very much, I’m sure, sir. Cook and them will be pleased.”

  “I’d better leave the address and telephone number of my club, and then, if anything does go wrong, you can let me know.”

  The Salaman couple did not keep Christmas. The Bembridges went off to Scotland for some ski-ing and invited Hugh to go with them, but he preferred to stay at his club. He had just spent a couple of hours on Christmas Eve afternoon with a book in the club smoking-room when the blow fell. A telephone
call came through. It was from Jacob.

  “We must be instructed, Hugh, please. What shall we do with Mrs. Hal?”

  “How do you mean, Jacob?”

  “She is here to spend Christmas. Nobody wants her.”

  “To spend Christmas? But she hasn’t been invited! Doesn’t she know I’m not there?”

  “We have told her. She has brought the little boy.”

  “The devil she has!”

  “She has ordered Ethel to prepare rooms, therefore Ethel will not take the Christmas leave, so she is most indignant.”

  “No wonder! All right, Jacob. Thanks for letting me know.”

  Hugh went back to the smoking-room and took time for one cigarette before making up his mind what to do. Then he rang up Camber Abbey. The parlour-maid answered the telephone.

  “Ask Mrs. Hal to be good enough to speak to me, Gertrude.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Ah, Héloïse! The compliments of the season! I’m so sorry to be away from home just at this time. If you’d let me know you had nowhere to go for Christmas, I might have fixed you up at an hotel.”

  “But, Hugh, surely…”

  “No,” said Hugh, interrupting promptly and firmly, “I can’t do a thing at present, and the servants will be scattered to the four winds as from this evening. I’ve given them Christmas leave. So, unless you want to cook your own goose—no metaphor intended—you will have to return home.” He chuckled as he heard the receiver slammed down at the other end. He went back to the smoking-room and lit another cigarette. When he had tossed the butt end into the cheerful fire he went back to the club telephone and called Camber again. Again Gertrude answered it.

  “No matter what happens, Gertrude, the domestic staff will take the holiday I have promised them.”

  “We plan to go tonight, sir. Me as well. I’ve been invited to Cook’s sister’s in Norwich.”

  “Excellent. Just carry on, as per plan.”

  “But Mrs. Hal, sir? That seem to think we should stay.”

  “Mrs. Hal will manage, Gertrude.”