All Else Confusion

“Annis, did I ever tell you what a nice girl you were?” Jake asked.

“And I shall mind very much if you don’t take some interest in me. I’m sorry for behaving like a tyrant because you were lunching with someone. You see, I thought that you might be lonely and I came back prepared to…well, never mind that now.” He tapped her nose very gently with a finger. “And the dark-haired lady, she’s the wife of an old friend of mine. He couldn’t attend the board meeting because he was under the weather, so she brought down some important papers to be signed. He had to sign them, too, so I went back with her to get it done.”

“Thank you for telling me.” She smiled up at him. “Father always says I jump to conclusions. It must be my red hair.”

He let her go and dropped a careless kiss on her bright head. “Then I must take care to remember that, mustn’t I? Shall we have tea?”

Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

All Else Confusion

Betty Neels

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

THE FOTHERGILLS were out in force; it wasn’t often that they were all home together at the same time. Annis was always there, of course, being the eldest and such a help in running the parish and helping her mother around the house, and contrary to would-be sympathisers, perfectly content with her lot. Mary who came next was in her first year at college and Edward, at seventeen, was in his last term at the public school whose fees had been the cause of much sacrifice on his parents part. James was at the grammar school in a neighbouring town and Emma and Audrey were still at the local church school. So they didn’t see much of each other, because holidays weren’t always exactly the same and they all possessed so many friends that one or other of them was mostly away visiting one or other of them. But just for once the half term holiday had fallen on the same days for all of them, and since the February afternoon was masquerading as spring, they had all elected to go for a walk together.

Annis led the way, a tall, well built girl with glorious red hair and a lovely face. She looked a good deal younger than her twenty-two years and although she was moderately clever, she had an endearing dreaminess, a generous nature and a complete lack of sophistication. She also, on occasion, made no bones about speaking her mind if her feelings had been strongly stirred.

Mary, walking with Audrey a few paces behind her, was slighter and smaller in build and just as pretty in a dark way, while little Audrey, still plump and youthfully awkward, had her elder sister’s red hair and cornflower blue eyes.

Emma and James were together, quarrelling cheerfully about something or other, and Edward brought up the rear, a dark, serious boy who intended to follow in his father’s footsteps.

The church and the Rectory lay at one end of Millbury, the village to which their father had brought his young wife and where they still lived in the early Victorian house which had been considered suitable for the rector in those days, and was still suitable for the Reverend Mr Fothergill, considering the size of his family. Certainly it had a great many rooms, some of them far too large and lofty for comfort, but there was only one bathroom with an old-fashioned bath on clawed feet in its centre, and the hot water system needed a good deal of forbearance, while the kitchen, although cosy and plentifully supplied with cupboards, lacked the amenities considered by most people to be quite necessary nowadays. Mrs Fothergill, a gently placid woman, didn’t complain, for the simple reason that it would have been of no use; with six children to bring up, clothe and feed, there had never been enough money to spare on the house. Her one consolation was that since she had married young, there was the strong possibility that all the children would be nicely settled in time for her to turn her attention to refurbishing it.

Reaching the top of the hill behind the village, Annis turned to look down at her home. From a distance its red brick walls, surrounded by the shrubbery no one had the time to do much about, looked pleasant in the watery sunshine, and beyond it the church’s squat tower stood out against the Wiltshire downs stretching away to more wooded country.

She turned her fine eyes on to her brothers and sisters gathered around her. ‘There’s plenty of wood in the park,’ she suggested, ‘Matthew told me that they’d cut down several elms along the back drive. Let’s get as much as we can—a pity we didn’t bring some sacks, but I forgot.’

‘Well, with six of us carrying a load each, we ought to manage quite a lot,’ offered James. ‘I could go back for some sacks, Annis…?’

She shook her head. ‘It’ll be getting dark in another hour or so—it’s not worth it.’

They followed the path running along the edge of the field at the top of the hill and climbed a gate at the end into a narrow lane, and it was another five minutes’ walk before they reached the entrance to the back drive to Mellbury Park where Colonel Avery lived. The lodge beside the open gate had fallen into a near ruin and the drive had degenerated into a deeply rutted track, but they all knew their way around and with Annis still leading, started to walk along it. They came upon the cut down trees within a very short time, and just as Annis had said, there was an abundance of wood.

They worked methodically; almost everyone went wooding in the village, and the Fothergills had become experts at knowing what best to take and what best to leave and just how much they could carry. Presently, suitably burdened according to size, they turned for home. The bright afternoon was yielding to a grey dusk; by the time they reached it it would be almost dark. Annis marshalled her little band into a single line with Edward leading the way and herself bringing up the rear. Little Audrey, who was frightened of the dark, was directly in front of her, carrying the few light bits of wood considered sufficient for her strength.

They made a good deal of noise as they went, calling to each other, singing a bit from time to time, laughing a lot. They were almost at the lodge when Annis heard the thud of hooves behind her and stopped to turn the way they had come and shout at the top of her powerful lungs:

‘Slow down, Matthew, we’re just ahead of you!’ And as a young man on a big black horse pulled up within yards: ‘Honestly, Matt, you must be out of your mind! You could have bowled the lot of us over like ninepins!’

‘No chance of that with you bawling your head off like that—you’re in our park anyway!’

‘So what? We come here almost every day.’ She smiled dazzlingly at him. ‘You use our barn for target practice.’

He laughed then, a pleasant-faced young man of about her own age, and shouted greetings to the rest of the Fothergills, scattered along the path ahead of her, then called over his shoulder, ‘Jake, come and meet our neighbours!’

The second rider had been waiting quietly, screened by the overgrowth, and Annis hadn’t seen him. He was astride a strawberry roan, a big man with powerful shoulders and a handsome arrogant face; it was dusk now and she couldn’t be sure of the colour of his eyes or his hair, but of one thing she was instantly sure—she didn’t like him, and she didn’t like the smile on his face as Matthew introduced him, nor the unhurried study of her person and the still more leisurely survey of the rest of the Fothergills who, seeing that Matthew had someone with him, had come closer to see who it was. Jake Royle, Matthew had called him, a friend of the family who had been in New Zealand on business. ‘You must come up and have a drink one evening,’ said Matthew, and sidled his horse over to Mary. ‘You too, Mary—and Edward, of course.’

‘Well, it’ll have to be soon,’ said Annis briskly. ‘Mary is going back at the end of the week, and so is Edward.’

‘And you?’ queried Jake Royle softly.

She gave him a quick glance. ‘Me? I live at home.’ He didn’t answer, only smiled again, and her dislike deepened. How had Matt got to know him? she wondered; he was much older for a start, at least in his early thirties, and as unlike Matt’s usual friends as chalk from cheese. She caught Edward’s eye. ‘We’d better be on our way; tea’s early—it’s the Mothers’ Union whist drive this evening.’

‘Good lord, you don’t all play whist, do you?’

‘Is there any reason why we shouldn’t? Don’t be an ass, Matt, you know quite well that only Edward and Mary and I go.’ Annis turned to go and then stopped. ‘Could you come over when you’ve got a minute and take a look at Nancy?’

‘Yes, of course—we’ll come now…’

She said hastily: ‘Oh, there’s no need for that—besides, you have Mr Royle with you. Tomorrow morning would be better.’

‘Well, all right, if you say so.’

She said rather pointedly: ‘I’ll expect you about ten o’clock if that’s OK for you?’ She gave him a wide smile, nodded distantly to Jake Royle, and hurried to join the others, already on their way.

‘Lifelong friends?’ queried Jake Royle as the Fothergills disappeared round a bend in the track.

‘Grew up with them,’ said Matthew. ‘Annis and I are the same age; knew each other in our prams.’

‘A striking-looking girl,’ observed Mr Royle, ‘and interesting…’

An opinion not shared by Annis; on the way back they all discussed Matt’s companion. ‘He’s very good-looking,’ said Mary, ‘didn’t you think so, Annis?’

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.