Betty Neels - A Winter Love Story

‘And Tombs?’

‘George said he’s always wanted a butler. His house is quite small, but there would be plenty for Tombs to do. And he’d love to have Rob… Only there’s you, darling.’

‘But, Mother dear, I’ll be getting a job. I’ve already applied for several, you know, and none of them are too far from here. I can come for holidays and weekends, if George will have me.’

‘You’re not just saying that to make it easy for the rest of us?’

‘Of course not. You know that was the plan, wasn’t it? That I should come here for a week or two while I looked for something nearer than London?’

She didn’t mention that she had had two answers that morning from her applications, and both posts had been filled. There was still another one to come…

‘Well, Claudia, if you think that’s the right thing to do. We shall go and tell Tombs and the others.’

‘Yes, but no one had better say a word to Mr Ramsay. When do you see Dr Willis—no, I shall call him George if he doesn’t mind?’

‘After the funeral. He thought it best not to come here.’

‘Quite right too. We don’t want Cousin Ramsay smelling a rat. Mother, you go to the kitchen; I’ll hang around the house in case he comes looking for us.’

Later at dinner, Mr Ramsay made no mention of their plans; he had a good deal to say about the various alterations he intended making in the house. Monica, he told them, was a woman of excellent taste. She would have the shabby upholstery covered and the thick velvet curtains in the drawing room and dining room torn down and replaced by something more up-to-date.

‘The curtains were chosen by Great-Uncle William’s mother,’ observed Mrs Ramsay, ‘when she came here as a bride.’

‘Then it’s high time that they were removed. They are probably full of dust and germs.’

‘Most unlikely,’ said Claudia quickly. ‘Everything in the house has been beautifully cared for.’

He gave her an annoyed look. He didn’t like this girl, with the fiery hair and the too ready tongue. He decided not to answer her, but instead addressed Mrs Ramsay with some query about the following day.

It was after the last of the Colonel’s friends and acquaintances had taken their leave, after returning to the house for tea and Mrs Pratt’s delicious sandwiches and cakes, that Mr Potter, the Colonel’s solicitor, led the way across the hall to the morning room. He had been a friend of the family for years, and his feelings had been hurt when Mr Ramsay had told him that he would no longer require his services.

His father and his father before him had looked after the Ramsays’ modest estate, but he was old himself and he supposed that Mr Ramsay’s own lawyer would be perfectly capable. He said now, ‘If someone would ask Tombs and Mrs Pratt and Jennie to come in here.’ He beamed across at Dr Willis. ‘I had already asked you to be present, George.’

He took no notice of Mr Ramsay’s frown, but waited patiently until everyone was there.

The will was simple and short. The house and estate were to go to Cousin Ramsay, and afterwards to his heirs. Mrs Ramsay was to receive shares in a company, sufficient to maintain her lifestyle, and Claudia was to receive the same amount, but neither of them could use the capital. Tombs received five thousand pounds, Mrs Pratt the same amount, and Jennie one thousand pounds. Claudia heard Cousin Ramsay draw in a disapproving breath at that.

Mr Potter put the will back in his briefcase and said, suddenly grave, ‘If I might have a word with you, Mrs Ramsay, and Claudia, and you, Mr Ramsay?’

When the others had gone, he said, ‘I am afraid that I have bad news for you; the company in which the shares were invested and destined for you Mrs Ramsay, and you, Claudia, has gone bankrupt. I ascertained this the day before the Colonel died, and I intended to visit him on that very day. There is nothing to be done about the terms of the will, but perhaps you, Mr Ramsay, will wish to make some adjustment so that Mrs Ramsay and Claudia are not left penniless.’

He saw no sign of encouragement in Mr Ramsay’s stern features. Nevertheless he persisted. ‘Their incomes would have been small, but adequate. I can advise you as to the amount they would have been. One wouldn’t expect you to make good the full amount, but I’m sure that a small allowance for each of them…’ His voice faded away under Mr Ramsay’s icy stare.

Claudia saw the painful colour in her mother’s face. ‘That is very thoughtful of you, Mr Potter, but I think that neither mother nor I would wish to accept anything from Mr Ramsay.’

Mr Ramsay looked above their heads and cleared his throat. ‘I have many commitments,’ he observed. ‘Any such arrangement would be quite beyond my means.’

Mr Potter opened his mouth to protest, but Claudia caught his eye and shook her head. And, although the old man looked bewildered, he closed it again.

It was Mrs Ramsay who said, in a voice which gave away none of her feelings, ‘You’ll stay for supper, Mr Potter? I remember Uncle William promised you that little painting on the stairs, which you always admired. Will you fetch it, Claudia?’

She smiled at Mr. Ramsay. ‘It is of no value, and one must keep one’s promises, must one not?’

Mr Potter refused supper and, clutching the picture, was escorted to his car by Claudia. ‘It is all most unsatisfactory,’ he told her. ‘Your great-uncle would never have allowed it to happen. How will you manage? Surely even a small allowance—’

Claudia popped him into the car and kissed his cheek. ‘I’ll tell you a secret. Mother is going to marry Dr Willis and I’ve my eye on a good job. We haven’t told Mr Ramsay and we don’t intend to. And Tombs and Mrs Pratt and Jennie are all fixed up. So don’t worry about us.’

He cheered up then. ‘In that case I feel very relieved. You will keep in touch?’

‘Of course.’

She waved and smiled as he drove off, then went back into the house. Despite her cheerful words she would hate leaving the old house, although she told herself sensibly that she would have hated staying on there with Mr Ramsay and his wife, who would doubtless alter the whole place so much that she would never recognise it again.

Later, in her mother’s bedroom she said, ‘You’ll have to marry George now, because I told Mr Potter you were going to.’

‘But, Claudia, there’s nothing arranged…’

‘Then arrange it, Mother dear, as quickly as you can. There’s something called a special licence, and the vicar’s an old friend. Now, what’s to happen when we leave? Is George giving us beds, or shall we go to the Duck and Thistle?’

‘George wants me to go and see him tomorrow morning. I think he has something planned. Will you stay here, in case Mr Ramsay wants to talk to us about something?’

‘Not likely. But I’ll be here. Take Rob with you, Mother; he doesn’t like dogs.’

Mr Ramsay spent the next morning going from room to room, taking careful note of his new possessions. The kitchen and its occupants he ignored; they could be dealt with when he was satisfied with his arrangements. He kept Claudia busy answering his questions about the furniture and pictures, all of which he valued.

‘We shall sell a good deal,’ he told her loftily. ‘There are several pieces which I think may be of real value. But these…’ He waved an arm at a pair of Regency terrestrial and celestial globes in one corner of the morning room. ‘I doubt if they’d fetch more than a few pounds in a junk shop.’

Claudia, who happened to know that they were worth in the region of twenty thousand pounds and had been in the family for well over a hundred years, agreed politely.

‘And this clock—Monica has no liking for such old-fashioned stuff; that can go.’ He pointed to a William the Fourth bracket clock, very plain and worth at least two thousand pounds.