Too Close to the Sun (11 page)

Sitting in Samuel’s favourite chair, Aunt Edie, still wearing her little feathered hat perched on her red hair, stirred her tea and took a sip, then, looking down at her little dog, which sat looking up expectantly, she patted her ample lap, and said indulgently, ‘Come on, then, Tippy, there’s a good boy. I can’t bend. Come on up with Mamma.’

She patted her lap again and the little dog managed, after one unsuccessful attempt, to leap up. Aunt Edie held her cup and saucer up out of the way as he turned in a circle and settled into his familiar, comfortable nest.

‘So, Gracie,’ Aunt Edie said, now giving her attention to her niece, ‘what are you going to do now? Have you given any thought to the future?’

Grace would have been happy to give a satisfactory answer, but she had no such thing to give. She had had several days now to think on her situation, and that of her brother. Her father had left the simplest will leaving whatever he owned to be shared between his surviving children – the share of Billy to come to him at the age of eighteen. But how much there would be, Grace was sure, would only be very little. And certainly not enough to free them from uncertainty and concern.

‘I really don’t know, Aunt,’ Grace said.

‘You’ll be looking for another position, of course.’

‘Yes, of course. I intended to do so before this – and would have if Father had not been taken sick. Then everything happened so fast; there was no time for anything.’

‘Well, you’ll need to move fast, won’t you?’

‘I shall indeed.’ Grace didn’t need reminding of the precariousness of the situation. ‘But I’m hoping to get a little more time.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘In the house. The lease is up for renewal in less than three weeks. We’re paid up till then. I hope to be able to go and see the landlord next week. I’ve written to ask for a meeting about the lease. Pappy rarely spoke about him, but he seems a decent enough man. I had a very nice letter of condolence from him the other day. I don’t think he’d see us out on the street.’

‘What do you hope he’ll do for you?’

‘Well, I’m hoping he’ll give us a while longer in the house to enable us to get things sorted out. As things are, there won’t be enough time, not with the auction and everything. I just hope I can get a position soon, and then find a place where we can live.’

‘And what if you can’t?’ Aunt Edie said. ‘What will you do then? And even with a new position you won’t be able to get very much in the way of lodgings – not for the two of you, anyway. A governess’s wages won’t stretch very far.’

A brief silence fell and then Grace said, ‘Billy’ll be down in a minute, Aunt; we mustn’t speak of this in front of him. He’ll only worry.’

Billy was the factor that was uppermost in Grace’s mind. She had to make sure that he was cared for, and he had to have his schooling too. She could find employment again, she was sure, but at the same time she had to provide a home for her brother.

Footfalls sounded on the stairs, and Grace looked to her aunt. ‘Here he is now. We’ll talk about something else.’

The next morning Grace, Billy and Aunt Edie made their way to the churchyard and there stood at the graveside
where their father now lay with his wife. The flowers were wilting under the August sun. Later, Grace decided, she would arrange for an inscription for her father to be added to the stone.

As they stood there they heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs and, turning, saw Mr Edward Spencer pulling up his mare at the lych gate. After tethering his horse he came into the churchyard, taking off his hat as he came, his tall figure stepping out on the neatly trimmed grass between the graves. Reaching Grace’s side, he gave a sombre little smile and put out his hand to her: ‘Miss Grace,’ then shook the hand of Billy.

Grace introduced him to Aunt Edie, and after they had shaken hands she thanked him for the letter of condolence that had come from him and Mrs Spencer.

‘I would have come to the funeral,’ he said, ‘but I was away. So I thought I’d come over today and pay my respects.’

Grace thanked him again, then said, ‘Your little bureau, Mr Spencer – I’m very glad to be able to tell you that Father was able to complete it before he – died. Some time in the next few days Billy and I will bring it over in the trap.’

He was grateful, he said, but it would be as easy for him to call and collect it, and Grace said, ‘Whatever is most convenient for you.’

‘Yes, I’ll come and collect it,’ he said. ‘I’m sure that you’ll have enough to think about over the coming days without bothering yourself about such a minor thing.’

Grace was pleased, and particularly glad to see that he had shown her father this last token of respect.

‘Well, I’ll leave you now,’ he said and bowed to the ladies before putting his hat back on. Then he turned and stepped away, heading towards the lych gate and his horse. Seconds later Grace saw him astride his horse and riding away.

On the Friday morning Grace helped Aunt Edie up into the trap. It was not an easy operation and the whole contrivance shook a little as the woman hoisted her bulk on board. Grace then handed up Tippy to her, who was at once settled to rest on the floor at his mistress’s feet. ‘Oh, dear,’ Aunt Edie cackled as she shifted in her seat, making the trap jiggle on its axle, ‘Tippy, you’re overweight. We’ll have to cut down on your dinners, my lad, I can see that.’

It was Grace’s intention to drive her aunt to Liddiston station for her train. Billy had asked if he might go along with them for the ride, but Grace had demurred at his request; with the weight of the trap and herself, she had hinted, in addition to the considerable weight of Aunt Edie, she feared it might be too much for Robin to deal with.

After checking that all belongings were safely aboard, they were all set. And Grace, clicking her tongue, said to the pony, almost with a note of pleading in her voice: ‘All right, let’s be off, Robin. And please – don’t give me any difficulties today. I have enough already. I know you’d far rather that Pappy were here holding the reins – and so would we. But for the time being you’ll have to be like the rest of us and make the best of what there is.’

On returning home after leaving her aunt at the station, Grace unhitched and stabled the horse and went into the house. The first thing she saw when she entered the kitchen was a note in Billy’s round hand saying: GONE TO SEE MR TIMMINS TO HELP OUT. HOPE THAT’S ALL RIGHT. BACK LATER. She didn’t blame the boy. He was lost and needed diversions like anybody else. Slowly she took off her hat. Now she was alone in the house – and how silent it all seemed. The ticking of the clock seemed unnaturally loud, and she became aware also of the creak of the house’s timbers. She had been alone in the house before, but never like this. In the past there had always been the promise of
movement and sound. Not today; never again would she look around and see her father’s tall figure come stooping in at the kitchen door. Never again could she go over the yard to his workshop and find him labouring over his carpentry. And soon after her father’s death the house had become busy with the comings and goings of its occupants. And they had been welcome distractions, distractions that had prevented her from dwelling on the realities. Now the distractions were gone, and she was forced to face up to the situation. ‘Oh, Pappy …’ she breathed. She felt so close to tears, and it was all she could do not to give in and give herself up to weeping. Not only was it the grief for her father, but the desperate circumstances in which she and Billy found themselves. She could only hope and pray that at least her coming meeting with Mr Grennell, the landlord, would ease the severity of their plight.

On writing to Mr Grennell, Grace had arranged an appointment to see him at his small office in Corster on Monday at two in the afternoon.

On the appointed day Grace waited outside the Golden Scythe public house for an omnibus that would take her into Liddiston, from where she would catch the train to Corster.

On arrival in the town she was in plenty of time for her interview; a good deal too early, in fact, and to kill a little time she bought a newspaper. Then, taking a seat in the main square, in the shade of a chestnut tree, she studied the classified advertisements in search of what might be a suitable position.

When it was close to the appointed time she rose and set off for the street wherein Mr Grennell conducted his business.

Grace had never been to the landlord’s offices before, and indeed had only seen the man himself from a distance
when once out walking in the area with her father. Now, arriving at the address, she discovered that half of the ground floor of the small house was occupied by another businessman, an accountant. Both Mr Grennell and his tenant – for that was what the other man was – had signs posted outside, and Grace, touching at her hat, and smoothing down her dress, entered beneath the sign over the arched entrance way. A moment later she was knocking at the landlord’s door.

The door was opened by Mr Grennell himself, smiling at her from a height not that much above her own, and then extending his hand in greeting.

‘Miss Harper,’ he said, beaming. ‘You’re very prompt. Well done. Do please come in and sit down.’

While he opened the door wider and moved aside to allow her to pass through, Grace stepped into his office. There were two chairs placed before his desk and Grace moved to the one he indicated. He watched as she settled in the chair and then moved around behind his desk and sat facing her.

He was a man of sixty or so, Grace guessed. Wearing a grey striped suit and stiff collar, he had a smooth complexion, silver-grey hair, and blue eyes framed by wire-rim spectacles. His smile was warm and affable, and Grace at once felt a sense of hopeful anticipation.

It was apparent from the look of the office that the man worked alone there. And was kept occupied too; his desk was littered with papers, some spread out on the desk’s surface, others in wire trays. Behind him were shelves bearing a number of box files and books. Clearly Bramble House was not the only property of which he was landlord.

Now the man clasped his hands before him on the desktop and gave Grace a smile, a smile touched with an air of compassion.

‘Let me say at once, Miss Harper,’ he said, ‘how very sorry I was to hear of the death of your father.’

Grace thanked him, and thanked him also for his letter of condolence.

‘Not at all,’ he said, brushing aside her thanks. ‘I’m sure it must have been a dreadful blow to you. Indeed, I’ve no doubt it still is.’

Grace thanked him again, adding, ‘It is difficult, of course, but –’ here she shrugged, ‘one has to get on with things.’

‘Indeed one does – and one is helped by such a sensible attitude. Pragmatism is at times the only course, I’m sure you’ll find.’

Grace nodded.

Mr Grennell went on, ‘Your father and I did not have occasion to meet on any regular basis – he usually paid my agent – but when we did meet I always found him to be the most upright and ethical of men. I was saying as much to Mrs Grennell just yesterday when I mentioned that you were coming in to see me. Still,’ he added with a sympathetic smile, ‘I’m quite sure you don’t need to be reminded of his qualities.’ He gave a little nod. ‘So let us, without further ado, get to the business of your visit here today.’ He smiled again. ‘Tell me, please, what can we do for you?’

Grace took a breath. ‘Mr Grennell,’ she said, ‘I’ve come to see you as I’m in something of a precarious situation.’

He said nothing, but waited for her to go on.

‘I believe, Mr Grennell,’ Grace continued, ‘that going by what my father said, and from looking through his papers, our rent is paid up for the next two weeks – a little less than two weeks – and then the lease is up for renewal.’

Without the need to consult any document he gave a brief, decisive little nod and said, ‘On the tenth, precisely.’

‘At which time,’ Grace said, ‘the new lease and the next six months’ rent will be due.’

She came to a stop, almost as if waiting for him to confirm the situation, but he said nothing, keeping silent as if any confirmation of her words was unnecessary.

‘It is,’ Grace said, more hesitantly than she intended, ‘a large sum, and –’

He broke in here, saying: ‘A large sum, I wouldn’t say such.’

‘No, I mean – well – relatively speaking, if you see what I mean.’

He waited.

‘What I want to say,’ Grace said, ‘is that I am not in a position to renew the lease.’

‘But?’ he said. ‘Can I hear a little “but” hovering there somewhere?’

‘The fact is,’ she said, ‘we can’t possibly afford to keep it on. So – I was wondering if you might consent to let me rent it from you for a much shorter term.’

There, it was said, and he was still smiling.

‘For precisely how long did you have in mind?’ he said.

‘A – a month. That should be long enough to see us settled.’

‘I see,’ he said. ‘And what do you hope to achieve in that month?’

‘Well, I hope by that time to have found perhaps a couple of rooms somewhere. Somewhere where my brother and I can live until we get everything sorted out.’

‘What is your present situation?’

‘I’ve been earning my living as a governess, and – well, I’m not in employment at the moment, but I’m applying for several positions – not only around the area of Green Shipton but also in places further afield. I need a position which is on a daily, visiting basis. A post as live-in governess would not suit, as I wouldn’t be able to take my young brother with me.’

‘How old is he?’

‘He’s eight, coming up to nine.’

‘And you, of course, are now responsible for him.’

‘He has no one else. We just have one another.’

He nodded, sighing. ‘It’s a difficult situation. You say you’ve been earning your living as a governess …’

‘Until just a month ago. I left because my two pupils no longer have need of a governess; they’re going off to boarding school.’ She added quickly, ‘I have excellent references from my post.’

‘I’ve no doubt you have.’ He fell silent for a moment while he simply looked at her. ‘And have you no other prospects on the horizon?’