All Else Confusion
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Here Mrs Avery, a mouselike woman whose appearance belied her forceful personality, set about arranging her guests to her satisfaction. The doctor’s wife and Mrs Fothergill were seated side by side on one of the sofas, Mary and the doctor’s daughter were marshalled on to a smaller piece of furniture and Mrs Avery herself engaged Annis in conversation, sitting so that she could see the door when the men came in. For years now she had decided that Annis would make a very good wife for Matt. They had grown up together and liked each other, and Annis would do very nicely as mistress of the Manor House in which the Avery family had lived for a very long time. She lost no time, once she had decided upon this, in throwing them together on every possible occasion. It was a pity that neither Annis nor Matt had any inkling of this, and continued to see each other several times a week without feeling any desire to be more than good friends.
The men joined them quite soon and Mrs Avery signalled with her eyebrows to Matt that he should join them, only to be frustrated by Jake Royle, who somehow contrived to get there first and stayed inextricably with them until she was forced to circulate amongst her other guests.
Which left Annis on the sofa, rather apart from the others, and Jake Royle sitting beside her, half turned towards her so that he could watch her face.
‘Was the vet able to do anything for Nancy?’ he enquired in such a friendly voice that she found herself replying readily enough. They discussed the donkey at some length, and then, almost imperceptibly, he led the conversation round to her family and eventually to herself. He had discovered quite a lot about her before she realised what was happening and closed her pretty mouth with a suddenness which made him chuckle silently. She shot him a look as fiery as her hair and asked with something of a snap: ‘And when do you return to New Zealand, Mr Royle?’
‘I’m called Jake,’ he reminded her gently, ‘and I don’t really know when I shall go there again. I live in England, you know.’
‘No, I didn’t. Do you like New Zealand?’
‘Very much. Have you travelled at all, Annis?’
She had to admit that beyond a week in Brittany some years previously, and a long weekend in Brussels with a school friend, she hadn’t.
‘You would like to travel?’ he persisted.
‘Well, of course. I should think everyone would, some places more than others, of course.’
‘And those places?’
She knitted her strong brows. There was no end to the tiresome man’s questions, and why couldn’t someone come and take him away? ‘Oh, Canada and Norway and Sweden and Malta and the Greek Isles and Madeira.’
He said lightly: ‘Let’s hope you have the opportunity to visit some or all of them at some time or another.’
‘Yes—well, I hope so too. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must have a word with Colonel Avery about…’ She had no idea what; he helped her out with a casual ‘Yes, of course—time passes so quickly when one is enjoying a pleasant talk.’
She got up and he got up too, and she edged away, relieved to see that Miriam, Doctor Bennett’s daughter, was poised to take her place. From the safety of the other end of the room, she saw the pair of them obviously enjoying each other’s company. The sight quite annoyed her.
Half-term finished the next day and Annis was alone once more then with her mother and father and old Mrs Wells who did for them twice a week. She had come to the Rectory, year in, year out, for a long time and her work—doing the rough, she called it—had by tacit consent been honed down to jobs like polishing the brass, sitting comfortably at the kitchen table, or peeling the potatoes for lunch. But no one thought of telling her that she might retire if she wanted to. For one thing she didn’t want to; she lived alone in the village and the Rectory supplied an interest in her life; besides, she would have been missed by all the family, who cheerfully cleared up after her, found her specs, gave her cups of tea and took the eyes out of the potatoes when she wasn’t looking. She was devoted to all of them and went regularly to church, besides attending all the jumble sales, where she purchased her wardrobe, dirt cheap, three times a year.
She sat at the kitchen table now, mending a great rent in the sheet James had put his feet through, while Annis juggled with the washing machine. It was behaving temperamentally this morning, making a terrible din, oozing water from somewhere underneath, and having long bouts of doing nothing at all. Mrs Fothergill, coming into the kitchen to make the coffee, gave it a harassed look. ‘Is it going to break down?’ she shouted to Annis above the din.
‘Shouldn’t think so. I’ll give it a rest before I put the next load in.’
Mrs Fothergill nodded. ‘Yes, dear. Coffee will be ready in five minutes. We’re in the drawing room.’
They almost never used the drawing room; it was a handsome apartment, so large and lofty that it was impossible to keep it really warm. Annis supposed her mother was turning out the sitting room. She made Mrs Wells the pot of strong tea she always fancied mid-morning, emptied the washing machine and went along to the drawing room.
She opened the door and went in, and only then realised that there were visitors—Matt, who didn’t really count, Mr Royle and a small, elderly lady, almost completely round as to figure and with a pair of black eyes sparkling in a round face.
Matt and Jake Royle got up and Matt said cheerfully: ‘Hullo, Annis. You look as though you’re doing a hard day’s work. We’ve brought one of my aunts over—it was Jake’s idea. She arrived quite late yesterday evening and went to bed, too tired for the dinner party. Aunt Dora, this is Annis—a pity you’ve missed the others.’
Annis put a hand up to her hair, realised that it was in a hopeless mess anyway, and offered the hand instead to Matt’s aunt.
‘You could have told me,’ she complained mildly to Matt. She smiled at the little lady. ‘I would have tidied myself up.’
‘You’ll do very well as you are. Matt didn’t tell you my name. It’s Duvant—I’m the Colonel’s sister and a widow.’ She accepted a cup of coffee from Mrs Fothergill and patted the sagging sofa she was sitting on. ‘Come and sit by me. Your mother’s an angel to receive us so kindly, too. You must wish us all to kingdom come, but men never think about getting the housework done or cooking lunch, do they? And somehow I had the impression from Jake that you roamed out of doors a good deal…’
Annis gave Jake a look of dislike, which became thunderous when he smiled at her. How like him; never done a hand’s turn in his life probably, and had no idea what it was like to run an unwieldy old house like the Rectory. She said politely: ‘I like being out of doors. Do you know this part of the country well, Mrs Duvant?’
‘I did in my youth, but things have changed even here. I’ve been living abroad for some years, but I fancied coming back here again. There is a house in Bath, which belonged to my husband’s family. I think I shall go there for a while.’ She paused to smile at Annis. ‘This coffee’s delicious—I think I’ll have another cup if I may?’ She beamed across at Mrs Fothergill. ‘I expect you grind your own beans?’ she asked.
The two ladies embarked on an animated discussion and Jake, refusing more coffee, suggested that they might take a look at Nancy. And since Matt agreed at once there was nothing for it but for Annis to get her coat and boots and go with them. ‘Though I can’t really spare the time,’ she told them rather crossly.
‘We’ll hang out the washing for you,’ offered Jake.
‘Thank you,’ said Annis haughtily, ‘but I can manage very well for myself.’
They spent a little time with Nancy, pronounced her very much better and started back across the yard. At the back door Annis paused. ‘I expect you’ll want to join Mrs Duvant—I’m going back to the kitchen.’
They neither of them took any notice of her but went along to the kitchen too, collected the old-fashioned basket loaded with damp sheets and towels and bore it off to the washing line at the back of the house. It hadn’t been any use protesting; Matt had told her not to be so bossy and Jake Royle had merely smiled. She hadn’t liked the smile much, there had been a hint of mockery about it.
She put another load into the machine, tidied herself perfunctorily and went back to the drawing room. Her father had gone, but the two ladies were having a nice gossip; from the way they both turned to look at her and their sudden silence, she suspected that they had been talking about her. Not that that worried her.
Mrs Duvant spoke first. ‘I was just telling your mother that I want to go over to Bath and look round that house. She tells me that you drive; I wondered if you would take me one day soon, Annis? Matt says he can’t be spared from the estate; they’re doing the yearly inventory or some such thing, and Jake will be going to London tomorrow. We could have the Rover.’
Annis glanced at her mother and found that lady looking pleased. ‘A nice change for you, darling,’ said Mrs Fothergill. ‘Just for a couple of days, and there’s almost nothing to do now the others are away.’
‘Well, yes—then I’d be glad to drive you,’ said Annis. It was true she could be spared easily enough, and she liked Mrs Duvant.
The men came in then and Mrs Duvant told them, and Matt said: ‘Oh, good, that’s settled then,’ while Jake Royle said nothing at all. It seemed to be a habit of his.
CHAPTER TWO
THE TRIP TO Bath was planned for two days ahead, midweek, so that Annis would be back for the weekend to drive her father round the three parishes on Sunday and keep an eye on Emma, Audrey and James.
It was a pity that she hadn’t anything really smart to wear, she decided as she packed an overnight bag; she could wear her tweed suit, a good one although no longer new, and there was a blouse she had had for Christmas which would do, as well as a sweater, and just in case Mrs Duvant changed in the evening, she could take the green wool jersey dress and wear her gold chain with it. She reflected uneasily upon Mrs Duvant’s undoubtedly expensive clothes. She might be a dumpy little woman, but she had been wearing a beautifully cut outfit and doubtless the rest of her wardrobe was as elegant.
Matt drove the Rover, with his aunt in it, over to the Rectory soon after breakfast, declaring that he would walk back through the park. He added a careless: ‘Jake went yesterday, gone to keep an eye on his millions—wish I had half his brains. Father’s quite peevish this morning; no one to discuss the Financial Times with. I bet Jake enjoys himself in town!’
His aunt smiled at him. ‘And why not? I should think he could have any girl he wanted with that handsome face of his. Are we ready to go, Annis my dear? I’m quite looking forward to this next day or two. I hope you are too.’
They drove via Frome and Radstock and Midsummer Norton, through a soft grey morning with a hint of frost in the air, and Bath, as they approached it, looked delightful, its grey stone houses clinging to the hills. Annis made her way through the town and then at Mrs Duvant’s direction turned into a crescent of Regency houses facing a small park. Half way down she was told to stop and pulled up before a narrow tall house with elegant bow windows just like all its neighbours. She had expected to find an unlived-in house, but this one was freshly painted and bore all the signs of careful tenancy. As she opened the car door she saw the house door open and an elderly man cross the pavement to them.
‘Ah, there’s Bates,’ declared Mrs Duvant happily. ‘He and Mrs Bates caretake for me, you know.’ She got out of the car and went to shake him by the hand. ‘And this is Miss Annis Fothergill,’ she told him, ‘come to spend a day or two while I look round the place. I’ve a mind to come back here and live, Bates.’
The elderly man looked pleased. ‘And I’m sure we hope that you do, madam. If you will go in, Mrs Bates will see to you. I’ll bring the cases.’
The door was narrow with a handsome fanlight above it, and opened into a roomy hall with a pretty curved staircase at its back. Annis had time to see that before Mrs Bates bore down upon them; a large, stately woman with twinkling eyes and several chins. She received Mrs Duvant with every sign of delight, made Annis welcome, and ushered them into a small sitting-room, most comfortably furnished and with a bright fire blazing in the hearth.
‘You’ll like a cup of coffee, madam,’ she said comfortably. ‘When you’ve had a rest I’ll take you up to your rooms.’
She sailed away and Mrs Duvant observed: ‘Such a good creature, and a splendid cook.’ She looked around her. ‘Everything looks very nice after all this time. I’d quite forgotten…’
The coffee came and presently Mrs Bates to lead them upstairs and show first Mrs Duvant to a room at the front of the house and then Annis to hers; a charming apartment overlooking the surprisingly large garden at the back. Annis, used to the rather spartan simplicity at the Rectory, poked her head into the adjoining bathroom, smoothed the silken quilt and opened a drawer or two, lined with tissue paper and smelling of lavender. There was a builtin wardrobe too and a couple of small inviting easy chairs. Definitely a room to enjoy, she decided as she tidied herself at the little walnut dressing table, brushed her hair into a glossy curtain, and went downstairs.
Mrs Duvant was in the hall, talking to Bates. ‘There’s an hour or more before lunch, let’s go over the house.’ She was as excited as a small child with a new toy.
So with Mrs Bates sailing ahead of them, and Mrs Duvant trotting behind with Annis beside her, they set off. It was to be no lightning tour—that was obvious from the start. Mrs Duvant stopped every few steps to examine curtains, stooped to inspect carpets and insinuate her round person into cupboards. They started with the dining room, an elegantly furnished room with an oval mahogany table and six charming Adam chairs around it; there were half a dozen more chairs against the walls and a handsome sideboard, on which was displayed a selection of silver gilt. The walls were hung with sea green brocade and almost covered with what Annis took to be family portraits. A delightful room; she could find no fault with it, nor for that matter could its owner.
The drawing-room took a good deal longer; it was a large room with white panelling and a China blue ceiling, ornamented with a good deal of plasterwork, and the furniture was plentiful and elaborate; moreover there were innumerable ornaments scattered about its small tables. Annis found it a little too grand for her taste and uttered a sigh of pleasure at the morning room on the other side of the hall, a simple little room which Mrs Duvant dismissed quickly enough. The sitting room they had already seen and by then it was time for lunch, anyway.
Refreshed by oyster soup, omelette with a side salad and a rich creamy dessert, taken with a glass of white wine, Mrs Duvant declared herself ready to inspect the upper floors. And that took most of the afternoon, what with a long discussion about new curtains for one of the bedrooms, and a meticulous inspection of the linen closet on the top floor, but presently they were sitting by the fire having tea and with the prospect of the evening before them.
‘I’ve got tickets for the concert in the Assembly Rooms, dear,’ observed Mrs Duvant. ‘If we have dinner a little early, we shall be in good time for it. It doesn’t start before half past eight.’
Going to bed much later, Annis decided that there was a lot to be said for such a pleasant way of life—not that she would want to change it for her life at the Rectory, but like any other girl, she sometimes hankered after the fleshpots.
They spent almost all the next day shopping: Mrs Duvant, it seemed, was a great shopper and since money didn’t seem to be any problem to her, she bought several things at prices which made Annis lift her eyebrows, but her companion’s enjoyment was so genuine that she could find no objection, and after all, it was her money, and besides, Annis liked her.
They went to a cinema that evening and the following morning drove back with a firm promise to Bates that Mrs Duvant intended to take up residence in the near future.
They reached the Rectory at teatime and while Annis rang Matt to come over and collect the Rover and his aunt, Mrs Fothergill sat Mrs Duvant down before the fire and plied her with tea and hot buttered toast.
It was when Annis joined them that Mrs Duvant, between bites, announced that she would like Annis to accompany her to Bath. ‘Just for a few weeks,’ she said persuasively. ‘I shall be a little lonely at first—if you could spare her? And if she would like to come?’ She glanced a little anxiously at Annis. ‘It would be a job, of course, I forget things and leave things lying around, and paying bills and so on, so you’d be quite busy, dear. Would forty pounds a week suit you? For about six weeks?’
Two hundred and forty pounds; Mrs Duvant had paid exactly that for a suit in Jaegar’s the day before. A list, expanding every second in Annis’s head, of things which that sum would buy for them all, slowly unrolled itself before Annis’s inward eyes. A washing machine, a new coat for her mother, shoes for the boys, all the tobacco her father could smoke, the dancing slippers little Audrey had set her heart upon… She glanced at her mother and saw that she was doing exactly the same thing. She said promptly: ‘Well, if Mother could manage, I’d love to come, if you think I’d be of any use.’
‘Of course you will. That’s settled, then. You’ve no idea how grateful I am, Annis.’ She paused as the door opened and Matt came in. It wasn’t until the hubbub of small talk had died down that she said: ‘Shall we say on Saturday? That gives you four days. Is that time enough?’
Annis nodded. ‘Plenty. Do I drive you again?’
‘Yes, I think so. I can have the Rover for the time being. We must see about getting a car later on.’ She bustled out on a tide of goodbyes, explaining to Matt as they went.
When the last sounds of the car had died away Mrs Fothergill said: ‘You do want to go, darling? I shall miss you, and so will your father, but it will make a nice change and you’ll have some money.’
‘We’ll have some money,’ Annis corrected her. ‘I’ve already made a list, have you?’
Her mother nodded happily. ‘But it’s your money, Annis. Now tell me, what sort of a house is it?’
Annis began to tell her, and it took quite a time; she hadn’t quite finished when her father came in from a parish council meeting, and she went to get the supper and make sure that the younger ones were doing their homework properly.
Back at the Manor House, Mrs Duvant was writing a letter. She wrote as she did most things, with enthusiasm and a great many flourishes of the pen and she smiled a good deal as she wrote. It was a long letter. She read it through, put it in an envelope and addressed it to Jake Royle, whose godmother she was.
The house at Bath looked very welcoming as Annis drew up before it on Saturday afternoon. It had been a bright, cold day and now that the sun was almost gone there was already a sparkle of frost, but the house blazed with lights, and as they went in Annis noticed the great bowl of daffodils on the hall table and in the little sitting room where they at once went, the window held hyacinths of every colour. There was a vase of roses too, long-stemmed and perfect. Mrs Duvant picked up the card with them and chuckled as she read it, although she didn’t say why.
‘We’d like tea, Bates,’ she said briskly, ‘I know it’s rather late, but perhaps Mrs Bates could put dinner back half an hour?’
So the two of them had tea together round the fire before going upstairs to unpack and get ready for dinner. ‘I always like to change my dress,’ observed Mrs Duvant. ‘Nothing fancy, you know, unless I’m going out, but it somehow makes the evening more of an occasion, if you see what I mean?’
So Annis took the hint and put on the green jersey, wondering as she did so if she might get herself another dress when she was paid. She and her mother had pored over their lists, scratching out and adding until they had spent her wages, on paper at least, to the greatest advantage. Even after everyone had had something there was a little over for herself—enough for a dress—something plain and dateless to take the place of the outworn blue velvet. Doubtless she would have some time to herself in which to browse among the shops. Annis tugged her green jersey into shape with an impatient hand and went downstairs.
She discovered after the first few days that her duties were light in the extreme and consisted mainly in finding Mrs Duvant’s spectacles, handbag, library book and knitting whenever she mislaid them, which was often, reminding her of the various things she wished to do each day, and unpicking her knitting when she got it in a muddle; that was pretty often too. The pair of them got on excellently together and since Annis got on equally well with the Bates’, the household was a happy one.
She had been there a week when the even tenor of her days was unexpectedly shaken. Mrs Duvant had the habit of retiring for an afternoon nap after lunch each day, leaving Annis to do as she wished. Previously she had gone for a brisk walk, done some window shopping and taken herself round the Roman Baths, but this afternoon it was raining, not a soft rain to be ignored, but a steady, icy downpour. Annis decided on a book by the fire as she came downstairs after seeing Mrs Duvant safely tucked up. There were plenty of books in the sitting room and an hour or so with one of them would be very pleasant.
Bates met her on the stairs. ‘Mr Royle has arrived, miss—he’s in the drawing room.’
Annis stood staring at him, her mouth a little open. ‘Mr Royle? What on earth…I didn’t know Mrs Duvant was expecting him.’ She suppressed the little spurt of excitement at the idea of meeting him again and reminded herself that she didn’t like him, which made her voice sound reluctant.
‘I suppose I’d better go…’ her voice trailed off and Bates coughed gently. ‘It would be a pity to disturb Mrs Duvant,’ he reminded her.
Annis took a step down. ‘Yes, of course, Bates.’
She went past him, crossed the hall, opened the drawing room door reluctantly and went unwillingly inside.
Jake Royle was standing, very much at home, before the fire. She said idiotically: ‘Oh, hullo, Bates told me you were here. I’m afraid Mrs Duvant’s having a nap, she always does after lunch.’
‘Yes, I know that.’ He smiled at her, and since it was obvious after a moment that he wasn’t going to say anything else, she plunged into speech.
‘Aren’t you going back to New Zealand?’ she asked.
His firm mouth twitched. ‘Is that where you would consign me, Annis?’
‘Of course not, Mr Royle. Why should I consign you anywhere?’
‘My name is Jake.’ He went on standing there, watching her and she sought feverishly for a topic of conversation. ‘I’m staying with Mrs Duvant,’ she said.
‘Yes, I know that too.’
She frowned. At least he could give a hand with the conversation, the wretch! ‘I expect you’ll be staying for tea? I’m sure Mrs Duvant will want to see you.’
He grinned at her. ‘I’m here for a few days—I visit Aunt Dora from time to time—we’ve known each other since I was a small boy,’ and at the look of surprise on her face: ‘Oh, she’s not a genuine aunt, just an adopted one.’
‘Oh, yes, I see. Perhaps you’d like to see your room?’
He answered her gravely enough, although his eyes danced with amusement.
‘I expect Bates has taken my things upstairs for me. I’d love some tea—we can always have it again when Aunt Dora comes down.’
Annis, intent on being coolly impersonal, only succeeded in looking delightfully flustered as she rang the bell and rather belatedly asked if he would sit down, rather pink now at her lack of manners and a little cross because Jake seemed to have the power to make her feel shy and awkward, something which she, a parson’s daughter, had learned not to be at an early age. And when tea came she was furious to find that her hands shook as she poured it. Jake, observing this, smiled to himself and embarked on a steady flow of small talk which was only interrupted by the arrival of Mrs Duvant, who came trotting in, her round face wreathed in smiles.