My dear Lady Vaughan – or may I call you ‘Flora’?
I do hope this letter finds you well. Up here, the snow is deep around me as I write and it is so very quiet now that my dearest Beatrix is not here to scold me. I write to tell you that Beatrix’s will was read out by myself, with only the cat in attendance (who, I note, has received a small bequest in the form of a tin of sardines). This was a formal procedure, legally required by the solicitor (me) and the executor (me). There will be a formal meeting of the trustees and all the beneficiaries in due course, but given the current inclement conditions, I have decided I will refrain from organising it until the snows have melted, and will conduct it in London where a number of the beneficiaries – including the National Trust – reside. You can imagine that the list is long, and there is every chance I shall have to hire a banqueting hall to accommodate them all. I jest, but it is a complex will and will take quite some sorting, and made so much more painful for this humble solicitor by the fact it is Beatrix’s.
Now then, I wanted to inform you that Beatrix has also left you a bequest. And I enclose the short letter she wrote to you explaining it. I hope you will approve!
Meantime, my dear Flora, let us pray that this endless winter will eventually pass and spring will arrive to give us all hope of a future. I admit that at present I am struggling to accept there will be one without my beloved wife.
Do keep in touch, dear friend.
William Heelis
Removing the other envelope, Flora opened it and steeled herself to read it.
Castle Cottage
Near Sawrey
20th June 1942
My dear Flora,
I shall make this brief, knowing that letters from beyond the grave can be maudlin.
So to the point: I have bequeathed you a bookshop in London, which I bought some years ago now, when the family who owned it was struggling financially. Arthur Morston (that is, the great-grandson of the original namesake) died a few years back and, it having been my local bookshop when I was a child living in Kensington, and being fond of its proprietor, I took it off their hands. Sadly, I had to close it at the beginning of the war, due to staff shortages. And it is still closed to this day.
Flora dear, you must do with it whatever you wish. The building is worth something at least. As you are so much closer to London than I, if you decide to keep it, you will make a far better employer and proprietor than I ever did. If you do sell it, I am sure that with your love for books, you will find good use for the stock. The miracle is that it has managed to survive the war – so far at least – when so many other buildings nearby have been destroyed. It is a wonderful little place, and I urge you to at least visit it before you make your decision.
So, dear Flora, it is time to say goodbye. I will always remember the times we shared together with affection. Do keep in touch with dear William. When the time comes, I fear he will be rather lost without me.
Beatrix
‘How very generous and thoughtful of her,’ Archie said over supper that evening. ‘When you receive the title deeds and the keys, we must go to London to see it.’
‘I can only hope it is still standing. I could hardly bear to find it a pile of rubble.’
‘Perhaps Teddy may be interested in running it? He seems to have little else to focus on these days. He cannot even rouse himself out of bed before lunchtime. And I hear from the village he is a regular every night at the local hostelry.’
‘He has had a terrible cold, as you know.’
‘We have all suffered colds this winter, Flora, but that does not preclude us from doing something useful with our days.’
‘I think he is depressed. His young years have been clouded by war.’
‘At least he has years left in front of him, unlike so many of his peers,’ Archie snapped, trying to keep his anger under control. ‘I was thinking recently that we must discuss the contents of my will. I haven’t revisited it since just after we married. High Weald is currently left to Teddy, as he is our eldest and only son, and therefore, through primogeniture, my heir, but I must admit that I’m starting to wonder about his suitability. I was thinking today that even though there is nothing I can do about the title passing directly to him, perhaps I should leave the estate in perpetuity to you, darling. Then, dependent on Teddy’s future behaviour, and also if Louise was to produce a male child, you could decide what was best to do. The way he’s conducting himself at present makes me wonder if—’
‘Can we talk of this some other time? Perhaps when the war is over and all has settled? With Beatrix only just cold in her grave, I really can’t stand to think about such things.’
‘Of course not, my darling,’ Archie reached his hand across the table to hers and squeezed it. ‘And when it is, we shall celebrate that we have all managed to make it through.’
Flora’s spirits lifted as England inched out of winter and the first signs of spring appeared. She was also excited to see the seedlings she and Mr Tanit had planted last autumn beginning to grow. War or no war, a garden – just like a child – needed constant attention. And simply the feel of the solid earth beneath her fingers grounded her.
Despite her cynical view of the skewed positive propaganda churned out by the War Office, even Flora felt a sea change in the Allies’ fortunes. She knew from what Archie said – and what he didn’t say – that the Allies were gearing up for some form of organised attack in Europe. Even though Archie’s hours at the airbase often extended long into the night, she could read the anticipation in his eyes.
There was also some happy news for Louise, who had attended a dance on New Year’s Eve with Teddy, after much persuasion from Flora.
‘It will do you good to go up to town and take a break from your work here at High Weald,’ Flora had insisted. She’d lent Louise an evening gown, and Louise had altered it herself, her nimble fingers flying across the fabric, just as Aurelia’s had once done. Teddy had accompanied her up on the train and when Louise had arrived home a day later, Flora had noticed a new light in her eyes.
The young man concerned was one Rupert Forbes, a bookish type whose chronic myopia had prevented him from fighting for his country. Teddy had known him vaguely at Oxford, and Louise had reported that he was now doing something in intelligence.
‘He can’t say what it is, of course, but I’m sure it’s terribly important. He’s very clever, Mother – he won a scholarship to Oxford to study Classics.’
‘Bit of a dry fellow,’ Teddy had interjected. ‘Awfully straight – even refused a second glass of champagne on New Year’s Eve!’