A Winter Love Story

‘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.

He brushed aside a stool. ‘And there are all these around. I have never seen such a collection of out-of-date furniture.’

The stool was early Victorian, covered with petit-point tapestry. Claudia didn’t mention its value, instead she said politely, ‘There is a very good firm at Ringwood, I believe—a branch of one of the London antiques dealers. But I expect that you would prefer to go to someone you know in York.’

‘Certainly not. I am more likely to get good prices from a firm which has some knowledge of this area.’

Claudia cast down her eyes and murmured. If and when he sold Great-Uncle William’s family treasures, and she could find out who had bought them, she might be able to buy one or two of them back. She had no idea how she would do this, but that was something she would worry about later.

She knew the elder son of the antiques dealer at Ringwood; he might let her buy things back with instalments. Which reminded her of the letter she had stuffed in her pocket that morning. The post mark was Southampton, and it was the last reply from the batch of applications she had sent. Perhaps she would be lucky…

She was roused from her thoughts by Mr Ramsay’s sharp, ‘Where is your mother?’

She looked at him for a moment before replying. She wondered if she dared to tell him to mind his own business, but decided against it.

‘Well, she will have gone upstairs to check the linen cupboard with Mrs Pratt—a long job—then she told me that she would be taking Rob for his walk and doing some necessary shopping in the village. She should be back by lunchtime. I don’t know what she will be doing this afternoon.’

He gave her a suspicious glance. ‘I wish to inform her of my final plans for moving here.’

‘Well, I am going to the kitchen now to see about lunch.’

But first she went into the hall and out of the side door at its end, taking an old coat off a hook as she went and making for the glass house.

The letter was a reply to her application for the post of general helper at a geriatric hospital on the outskirts of Southampton. She had applied for it for the simple reason that there had been nothing else advertised, and she hadn’t expected a reply.

Providing that her references were satisfactory, the job was hers. Her duties were vague, and the money was less than she had hoped for, but on the other hand she could start as soon as her references had been checked. It would solve the problem of her immediate future, set her mother’s mind at rest and put a little money into her pocket.

She didn’t see her mother until the three of them were sitting down to lunch, but she deduced from the faintly smug look on that lady’s face that her talk with Dr Willis had been entirely satisfactory. It wasn’t until they left the house together to take Rob for another walk that they were able to talk.

‘When’s the wedding?’ asked Claudia as soon as they had left the house.

Her mother laughed. ‘Darling, I’m not sure. I won’t marry George until you’re settled…’

‘Then he’d better get a licence as soon as he can. I’ve got a job—in Southampton at one of the hospitals. I had the letter this morning.’