All Else Confusion

Annis had been brought up to be honest. ‘Yes, if you like that kind of face,’ she conceded, ‘but I daresay he’s the dullest creature, and conceited too.’ She added rather unnecessarily: ‘I didn’t like him.’

‘Do you suppose he’s married?’ asked Emma.

Annis gave the question her considered thought. ‘Very likely, I should think. He’s not a young man, not like Matt. Whose turn is it to see to Nancy?’

Nancy was an elderly donkey, rescued some years ago from a party of tinkers who were ill-using her. No one knew quite how old she was, but now she lived in retirement, a well fed, well cared for and dearly loved friend to all the family. It was Audrey’s turn, and by common consent James went with her to the small paddock behind the house; she was only eight after all, and a small nervous child, and although no one mentioned this fact, her brothers and sisters took good care of her. The rest of them went into the house through the back door, kicking off boots and hanging up coats in the roomy lobby which gave on to the wide stone-flagged passage which ran from front to back of the Rectory. They piled the wood here too, ready for James or Edward to carry out to one of the numerous outbuildings which bordered the yard behind the house. They went next to a cold cupboard of a room used once, long ago, as a pantry, washed their hands at the old stone sink there and tidied their hair at the Woolworth’s looking-glass on the wall, only then did they troop along to the front of the house to the sitting room.

Their parents were already there, their father sitting by the fire, his nose buried in a book, their mother at the round table under the window where tea had been laid out. She was still a pretty woman who had never lost her sense of humour or her optimistic belief that one day something wonderful would happen, by which she meant having enough money to do all the things she wanted to do for them all. She looked up as they went in and smiled at them impartially; she loved them all equally, although perhaps little Audrey had the edge of her brothers and sisters, but then she was still only a little girl.

She addressed herself to her eldest child: ‘You enjoyed your walk, Annis?’

‘Yes, Mother.’

Before she could say anything more Mary chimed in: ‘We met Matt—he had someone with him, Jake Royle, he’s staying with the Avery’s. He’s quite old but rather super…’

‘Old?’ queried her mother.

‘About thirty-five,’ observed Annis, slicing cake. ‘I thought he looked a bit cocky, myself.’

Her father lowered his book. ‘And he has every reason to be,’ he told her with mild reproof. ‘He’s a very clever young man—well, I consider him young—he’s chairman of several highly successful companies and commercial undertakings, owns a factory in New Zealand, and is much sought after as a financial adviser.’

Annis carried tea to her father. ‘Do you know him, Father?’

‘Oh, yes, I’ve met him on several occasions at Colonel Avery’s.’

‘You never told us,’ said Mary.

‘You said yourself that he was quite old, my dear.’ His voice was dry. ‘Far too old for you—perhaps he and Annis might have more in common.’

‘Me?’ Annis paused with her cup half way to her mouth. ‘I don’t know a thing about factories or finances—besides, I didn’t like him.’

‘Well, we’re not likely to see him here, dear,’ said Mrs Fothergill calmly, hoping that they would. ‘Here’s Audrey and James, perhaps you’d fill the teapot, dear…’

It was later that evening, after the younger ones had gone to bed and the rest of them were sitting round the comfortably shabby room, that Mrs Fothergill said apropos nothing at all: ‘I wonder if Mr Royle is married?’

Neither Edward or James was interested enough to answer and Mary had gone to the kitchen for something. Annis said thoughtfully: ‘I should think so; you say he’s successful and clever and probably comfortably off. Besides, he’s getting on for forty…’

‘You said thirty-five, dear,’ observed her mother. ‘I should imagine that a man who has achieved so much has had little time to look for a suitable wife.’ She didn’t say any more, and Annis, glancing up from her embroidery, saw that her mother was daydreaming—marrying off her daughters, or one daughter at least to Jake Royle. He would have given her loads of money, a huge house, several cars and a generous nature not above helping out with the younger children’s education. Well, harmless enough, thought Annis fondly, just as long as Mary was to be the bride. Mr Royle, married or unmarried, held no attraction for her at all.

So it was a pity that he rode over with Matt the next morning, blandly ignoring her cold reception, contriving with all the ease in the world to get introduced to her mother, and her father as well, before going off with Matt to look at Nancy. What was more, she was quite unable to refuse Matt’s cheerful: ‘Come on, old girl—if it’s Nancy’s hooves we’ll need your help.’

So the three of them crossed the cobbled yard to where Nancy lived in a boxed-off corner of the enormous barn. Once the days were longer and it was warmer she would go out in the small field behind this building, sharing it with a neighbouring farmer’s two horses and a couple of goats, but today she was standing in her snug shelter very neat and tidy after little Audrey’s grooming.

She knew Matt as well as her owners and obediently lifted first one hoof and then the other, munching the carrots Annis had thoughtfully brought with her and responding, much to Annis’s surprise, with every sign of pleasure to Jake Royle’s gentle scratching of her ears.

‘Must like you,’ observed Matt, looking up. ‘She’s a crotchety old lady with strangers. Still got some serviceable teeth, too.’

‘Yes, you said she was off her feed.’ He slid a large, well manicured hand from an ear to the little beast’s lip and lifted it gently. ‘Could there be an abscess, I wonder?’ He uttered the question in such a friendly, almost meek voice, that Annis, prepared to snub him at every turn, found herself saying: ‘I hadn’t thought of that—she’s always having trouble with her feet and I expected it to be that this time.’ She tickled Nancy’s other ear. ‘Open your mouth, love.’

It took the remaining carrots and the three of them to persuade Nancy to allow them to take a look at her teeth. Annis, with her fiery head almost in Nancy’s jaws and quite forgetting that she didn’t like Jake Royle, exclaimed: ‘You’re quite right, how clever of you! It’s at the back on the right.’ She withdrew her hand. ‘I’ll get the vet.’

Matt said: ‘Oh, hard luck—he’s just put up his fees, too.’

‘I’ve got some birthday money left,’ said Annis matter-of-factly. She had forgotten that Jake Royle was still there; he had a stillness which made him invisible, a knack of melting into his surroundings. He didn’t move now, only stared hard at her. She made a striking picture too, despite the old coat and wellingtons, and her hair in a wavy tangled mass. She tossed it impatiently out of her eyes and invited them into the Rectory for coffee. ‘You’ll have to have it in the kitchen,’ she warned them, ‘we’re getting the sitting room ready for the Mothers’ Union tea-party.’

She gave Nancy a final pat and led them back and through the kitchen door where they kicked off their boots and laid them neatly beside hers. Even in his socks Jake Royle was a very large man indeed.

The kitchen was large, stone-flagged and old-fashioned. There were no built-in cupboards, concealed ironing boards bread bins or vegetable racks and the sink was an enormous one of well scrubbed Victorian stone. But it was a pleasant room, much used by the whole family, its plain wooden table encircled by an assortment of chairs and two down-at-heel armchairs on either side of the elderly Aga, put in by the rector the winter before last in an effort to modernise the place. Both chairs were occupied, a seal point Siamese was sitting erect in one of them, the other was occupied by a rather tatty dog with quantities of long hair and a sweeping tail. Neither of them took any notice of the newcomers although Matt said: ‘Hullo, Sapphro, hullo Hairy,’ as he took his seat at the table.

‘Sit down, Jake,’ said Mrs Fothergill invitingly. ‘You don’t mind if I call you that?—Mr Royle’s so stiff, isn’t it? Coffee’s just ready—everyone will be here in a minute.’

Annis had gone to phone the vet and came back with little Audrey, the rest of them following. Only the Rector didn’t arrive. ‘His sermon,’ explained Mrs Fothergill. ‘He likes to beat it into shape before lunch.’

She poured coffee into an assortment of mugs and Annis bore one away for her father. She would have liked to have taken hers too, but that might have looked rude and her mother was a great one for manners—besides, being the eldest she had to set a good example to the others.

Over coffee, Jake Royle maintained an easy flow of talk without pushing himself forward; he merely introduced topics of conversation from time to time and then left it to everyone else to talk. And the Fothergills were great talkers; being such a large family they held different opinions about almost everything—besides, it was a way of passing the evenings. There wasn’t much to do in the village and Millbury was off the main road which ran between Shaftesbury and Yeovil; too far to walk to the bus, although Annis did a good deal of cycling round the village and the two smaller parishes her father served. There was a car, of course, an essential for her father with such a far-flung flock, but it had seen better days and it was heavy on petrol too. Only the Rector, Annis and Edward drove it, nursing it along the narrow lanes and up and down the steep hills. Mrs Fothergill, a born optimist, went in for every competition which offered a car as prize, but as yet she had had no luck. One day the car was going to conk out and would have to be replaced, but no one dwelt on that. When tackled the Rector was apt to intone ‘Sufficient unto the day…’ which put a stop to further speculation.

They were talking about cars now, at least the men and three boys were. Anyone would think, thought Annis gloomily, that there was nothing else upon this earth but cars. She listened to the more interesting bits, but in between she allowed her mind to wander. She still didn’t like Jake Royle, but she had to admit that he had more than his share of good looks, and the very size of him made him someone to look at twice. Not that she had the least interest in him… She picked up the big enamel coffee pot from its place on the Aga and offered second cups, caught his eye and blushed because it was only too apparent that he had read her thoughts.

He and Matt went presently and Mrs Fothergill said a little wistfully: ‘What a very nice man. I suppose he’ll be going back to New Zealand soon—such a pity.’

‘He doesn’t live there,’ Edward observed, ‘only goes there once in a while—he had intended going back in a couple of weeks, but he said that something had come up to make him change his mind.’

Mrs Fothergill couldn’t help taking a quick peep at her two elder daughters. Mary looked pleased and surprised, Annis’s lovely face wore no expression upon it at all. Nor did she show any elation when later that day Mrs Avery telephoned to ask them, with the exception of James, Emma and little Audrey, to go to dinner in two days’ time. Mrs Fothergill and Mary immediately fell to discussing what they should wear, but when they tried to draw Annis into the discussion, she proved singularly uninterested.

‘It’ll have to be the blue velvet,’ she told them. ‘I know I’ve had it years, but this isn’t London and fashion hasn’t changed all that much.’

A statement with which Mr Royle couldn’t agree. He dated it unerringly as being five years old and on the dowdy side, bought with an eye to its being useful rather than becoming. But the dark blue set off the hair very well, he conceded that, and the dress, however badly cut, couldn’t disguise her splendid figure. She was a young woman who would look magnificent if she were properly dressed.

He greeted her with casual politeness and engaged her mother in conversation, while Matt made his way across the drawing-room to ask her how Nancy did. They became engrossed in the donkey’s treatment and exactly what had been done, but presently they were joined by Mrs Avery, and with a hurried promise to come over on the following morning, Matt wandered off to talk to Mary.

The dinner party was small, the Fothergills being augmented by the doctor and his wife and daughter, and since they had all lived in the village for years, they were on the best of terms. Presently they all went across the gloomy raftered hall to the dining room, an equally gloomy room, its walls oak-panelled and the great table ringed by antique and uncomfortable chairs. Colonel Avery never ceased grumbling about them, but since the idea of replacing family heirlooms with something more modern wasn’t to be entertained, everyone put up with them in silence.

But even though the room was gloomy, the people in it weren’t: the talk became quite animated as they ate their way through chilled melon, roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and sprouts and rounded off this very English meal with Charlotte Russe. There was Stilton after that, and since Mrs Avery was too old-fashioned to change her ways, the ladies, very animated after the excellent claret the Colonel had given them, left the men round the table and went back to the drawing-room.

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?’