Eleanor

‘As I think my aunt said in her note, Mr Guthrie, I don’t think another meeting is at all likely. I have now heard Mrs Anstey’s story, you see—the full one. I shall take pains to avoid you in future.’

‘You may try, by all means. Don’t count on success, however,’ he said coolly. ‘I suppose you have no doubts, no uncertainties about my guilt?’

Eleanor felt a sudden flicker of hope.

‘Do you…do you deny the truth of what she said?’

He hesitated for a moment, then he drawled, ‘Since I wasn’t there, how can I possibly know what she said? She may well have been right. In any case, ma’am, why on earth should I deny anything? What business is it of yours, I should like to know?’

Eleanor was so incensed that she almost ran towards John, requesting him to help her to mount. Then she rode off without waiting to hear any more.

Eleanor went on fuming about Mr Guthrie throughout that last day in London—when she wasn’t puzzling over the curious circumstances of the morning’s meeting. In spite of everything, she still found it very difficult to reconcile the black-hearted villain of Mrs Anstey’s tale with the man she had met. Her feelings were so confused that she was heartily glad to be leaving for Somerset the next day. She told herself she would forget everything to do with him once she was back at Stanyards.

On the day of her departure the whole household, including her aunt, rose early to see her off. She was fortunate enough to be able to travel with some friends of Bella’s new husband, who lived near Lyme Regis, and who had hired a post-chaise. When they appeared in South Audley Street, Eleanor thanked her uncle, embraced her aunt warmly and prepared to climb into the carriage. Her aunt held her sleeve.

‘I have done my best to change you into a conformable young lady, Eleanor, but I cannot pride myself on my success.’

‘And I, for one, am glad of it,’ said her uncle, embracing his niece.

‘Well, there have been times when I could have shaken you for your behaviour—but we shall miss you. Life is never dull when you are there,’ said Lady Walcot, smiling at her niece. ‘Remember! When the time comes, you have only to say the word and I shall still spare no effort to find you a suitable husband!’

‘Thank you, darling Aunt Hetty! But I’m afraid the task would be too difficult, even for you! Besides, there’s too much to do at Stanyards! Come down and see us when you grow tired of the season. I shall miss you both! Goodbye!’

The chaise rolled off, and Eleanor waved until they turned the corner and the Walcots were lost to sight.

The journey passed pleasantly enough—the roads were dry and the weather favourable. But by the end of the second day she was heartily glad to stretch her legs at the posting house in Axminster, say goodbye to her kind friends, and join the carriage from Stanyards which would take her the rest of the way. Within an hour she was at the beginning of the long avenue of chestnuts which led to the house. She was home!

As soon as the carriage drew up at the door, Eleanor jumped out, ran up the low flight of steps and clasped her mother in her arms. After a rapturous greeting, Eleanor stood back and surveyed her. ‘I ought to scold you for standing in the evening air,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you stay inside?’

‘Daniel saw the carriage and told us you were coming. I couldn’t wait to see you, Nell—and anyway I’m feeling very well at the moment, so you needn’t scold me at all! Oh, it’s delightful to have you home again! Cousin Louisa has been very kind, but I’ve missed you a great deal. Come in, come in!’

Eleanor followed her mother across the huge, stone-flagged hall into a room which opened off to the side. Here the low ceilings, ingle-nooks and casement windows set in thick walls proclaimed the great age of the house. But the log fire in the handsome fireplace and the books and tapestries around the walls gave it an air of warmth and comfort.

‘I hope you don’t die of a heatstroke, Nell. Cousin Louisa insisted on the fire.’

‘Your mother hasn’t enough flesh on her bones to keep her warm even on the hottest day of summer! And this room never really gets the chill off it, you know that. I am glad to see you, Eleanor. How was your journey? No, don’t start talking before you have some food in you; I dare swear you have had nothing sensible for the past month. I’ve told Betty to bring a tray and we’ll put it on the table by the window—the dining-room is far too damp unless you have a fire there, too, which would be wickedly extravagant.

‘Anthea, I’ve drawn your sofa nearer the fire. It was foolish of you to stand outside in the night air for so long. Eleanor could well have waited another two minutes to see you; you look quite chilled. I’ll ask Betty to bring you something warm, too—Drat the woman, you may wait till Domesday for what you want. I’ll just see what she is doing.’ Cousin Louisa went bustling out. Her cry of, ‘Betty!’ echoed through the hall as she went.

‘She means well,’ said Mrs Southeran with a wry smile.

‘I know she does. Has it been very hard?’

‘Not at all. But tell me about the journey, and when Cousin Louisa returns you can tell us both about Hetty and Bella and the wedding. Did you like the Wyndhams? It’s a long journey to be cooped up with strangers.’

They spent the rest of the evening exchanging news and gossip. Candles were necessary quite soon, for daylight always faded early in the house, even in summer, and the three ladies sat cosily in the soft light till the tea-tray was brought in. But in all her descriptions of her life in London Eleanor never once mentioned the name of Guthrie.

The following day Eleanor woke early, and wondered for the moment where she was. There was a totally different quality to the air, and in the distance she could hear sounds of the country. She was home! She rose quickly, and quietly took herself out into the early morning sunshine. She had forgotten how lovely Stan-yards was. For the next half-hour she wandered over the familiar paths and fields round her home, finding herself at length at the end of the chestnut drive.

‘Good marnin’, Miss Nell!’ It was Daniel driving the cart up from the village. ‘Would ’un like a lift up to the house?’

‘No, thank you, Daniel—I’m enjoying the walk. The chestnuts look magnificent this year!’

‘You be careful of ’un, Miss Nell! There’s a good few as needs chopping down, I reckon. You have a look at the branch that’s lyin’ up by the bend. Nearly got old Betty last week, ’un did. Had to skip a bit, did Bet!’ He grinned, showing blackened teeth, and drove on.

Eleanor refused to be daunted. The trees were said to be over a hundred years old—it was natural that they should be feeling their age. But they were beautiful. The early morning breeze caused the leaves to whisper and flutter in the summer air, now revealing tiny glimpses of a pale blue sky or the slanting rays of the morning sun, now closing over her head like a heavy canopy. It had always been airless in the city. Here at Stanyards it was cool and fresh. She felt a sudden uplift of spirits as she realised she really was home! Stanyards was where she wanted to stay for the rest of her life, and if the choice was to be between this house and a husband, then Stanyards was what she would choose. Her aunt was wrong to pity her, for she was a fortunate woman.

But as she reached the bend in the drive she stopped and stared. How could she have missed this last night? A huge branch was leaning drunkenly between two of the trees, just off the drive, its leaves drooping and a great jagged, bleached wound at one end. There were signs that the branch had been dragged a few feet, presumably to keep the drive clear. It was an unwelcome reminder that time was taking its toll of her beloved avenue of trees. Daniel was right—some of them at least would soon have to be chopped down.

She stood staring at the branch for some minutes, her happiness at being home again slowly seeping away, tempered by a small shadow of uncertainty. Stanyards was in desperate need of repair and restoration. It wasn’t just the drive—the whole estate needed attention. For a black moment she began to doubt her own strength and determination. For years she had done what she could, jiggling account books, robbing Peter to pay Paul, trying to be in three different places every hour of the working day, but suddenly she was terribly afraid that she was slowly but inexorably losing the battle.

What nonsense! she chided herself. It only needed a little more patience, a touch more perseverance and energy. She was still tired after her long journey, but she would soon find the necessary energy and hope. Things would be better this year, she was sure. She threw back her shoulders and marched on up the drive.

In the afternoon Cousin Louisa returned to her own home, in the next village, and after she had gone Mrs Southeran told Eleanor several times how kind, how good, how very helpful Cousin Louisa had been.

‘I’m sure she was, Mama—but why are you protesting so much? I already know how worthy Cousin Louisa is!’

‘That’s it! She’s worthy! Oh, Nell, I have been so bored! And I haven’t written a line since you left!’

‘Now that is serious. Well, I am back now and you must start immediately—where are your things? I’ll fetch them and you shall not leave your sofa until you have written at least ten lines! I shall be neither good nor kind until you comply!’

Mrs Southeran was a poet with quite a reputation in the West Country, and even beyond. She wrote under a pseudonym and few of her neighbours knew of her talent, but writing was as necessary to her as breathing. The news that she had been neglecting it was worrying.

‘Don’t be too concerned, Nell. It wasn’t just because of Cousin Louisa or your absence. I’ve been doing some serious thinking and have even taken some action. Sit down, my dear. Now that we are alone again, I want to tell you something.’

Her mother’s voice was so earnest that Eleanor’s heart missed a beat. Had the doctor been making gloomier prognostications again? ‘I knew I shouldn’t have left you! You’re feeling worse?’

‘It isn’t my health, it’s you! I’ve been worried over you for some time now, and while you’ve been away I’ve decided that we must do something about it. Running this house and estate is sapping all your energy…all your youth. Your life is taken up with worry and work and little else—’

‘Mama! I have just spent four weeks doing little else but enjoying myself!’

‘And when was the last time you left Stanyards before that? Or went to a ball or a party? Wore pretty dresses? You have forgotten, and so have I. Well, it must not continue—and I have taken steps to see that it does not.’

‘But I am quite happy living here and running Stan-yards! I don’t want to change anything—except perhaps to see you in better health again!’

‘Stanyards is destroying your youth and looks, Eleanor, and it is taking away my health. I know, I know what you are about to say! Stanyards has been in the Southeran family for four hundred years or more, and is steeped in tradition and history. But Tom’s death—’ Mrs Southeran’s voice faltered.

‘Don’t, Mama! Don’t talk about it! It will make you ill.’

‘I must! I have refused to face the consequences for far too long! When Tom was killed, Nell, the family name died out. You are not a man, however much you have played the man’s part since Tom died.’

‘And before,’ muttered Eleanor.

‘Yes, and before. It was a matter of regret to all of us that your brother never had your interest in Stanyards.’ Mrs Southeran paused again, but this time Eleanor made no effort to speak. How could she say anything, when her feelings were so hopelessly tangled? Even after seven years she still felt love and grief for her handsome, laughing brother, was still angry at the recklessness which had caused his death and still resentful that he had cared so little for his heritage. Tom had only ever taken, never given.

Mrs Southeran looked at Eleanor’s stormy face and sighed. But then she continued in a more determined voice, ‘When you marry, or die, there will be no more Southerans of Stanyards.’

‘What are you trying to say, Mama?’

‘Not even you can claim that this house is comfortable to live in. Not in its present state. It is old, dark and damp. And we don’t have the resources to change it. I have done what I must.’

Eleanor’s throat was dry. She said in a strained voice, ‘Mama, what have you done?’

Mrs Southeran looked at her with pity in her eyes. ‘You will not like it, Nell, but it was for us both. I seized an opportunity which came out of the blue, and I cannot be sorry. I have sold Stanyards.’

For a moment Eleanor sat in stunned silence. Then she whispered, ‘No, no! It’s not true!’ She threw herself down by her mother’s sofa and her breath caught on a sob as she pleaded, ‘Tell me it’s not true, Mama! You can’t have s-sold it!’

Mrs Southeran’s face was troubled as she gazed at her daughter. But she said steadily, ‘It is true, Eleanor. In two weeks Stanyards will have a new owner.’

‘How could you? How could you, Mama? You must cancel the sale at once!’

‘I did it for us both, Nell,’ repeated Mrs Southeran. ‘And I will not change my mind.’

Eleanor got up. Without looking at her mother she said, ‘I feel…I feel sick, Mama. Excuse me, please.’ She ran out of the room.

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