different species and Benjie waxed enthusiastic about the oaks, which were truly magnificent.
‘It’s a real English tree,’ he said. ‘It has been here since history began. Did you know that the Druids had a very special respect for it? They used to perform their religious rites under it and courts of justice were held beneath its branches.’
‘I believe,’ said Anita, ‘that some of these trees live for two thousand years.’
‘That’s so,’ answered Benjie. ‘And our ships are made from the rough timber of these trees. Hearts of oak, they say our ships have.’
I was sure that while he talked of the trees he loved he forgot his sorrow.
Anita wondered why the willow wept and told us that the aspen shivered because from its wood Christ’s cross had been made and it had never been able to rest in peace since. She talked of the mistletoe, which was the only tree which had not promised not to harm Baldur, the most beautiful of all the Northern Gods, so that the mischievous Loki had been able to slay him with it.
‘I can see, Miss Harley,’ said Benjie, ‘that you have a romantic approach to nature.’
‘And I can see no harm in that replied Anita.
Benjie laughed, I think for the first time since the accident.
We stopped at inns and drank cider and ate hot bread with ripe cheeses, and pies straight from the oven. Benjie talked about the estate, which was his sole responsibility now. I could see that he was seeking something which would absorb his interest and help him to get over his bereavement.
I talked about him to Anita.
‘He’s different from Jeremy,’ I said. ‘Jeremy nurses his troubles and although he is happy about being married to Damaris, it isn’t enough to make him forget that he was wounded in the war.’
‘The pain is always there to remind him of that,’ replied Anita.
‘Yes, whereas Benjie’s pain is in remembering and seeing the rooms where they used to live. People can get away from things like that. Whereas Jeremy can’t get away from the pain in his leg. It’s always there.’
I thought then that we ought to get back because poor Jeremy would be very unhappy without Damaris. I wanted to see him, to give him the comfort my presence brought to him. I knew it did, for I often saw him look at me, remembering, I was sure, his adventure with Damaris when they had brought me out of Jeanne’s cellar. Damaris could never have done that without his help and every time Jeremy remembered that it lifted his spirits.
‘Benjie,’ I said, ‘why don’t you come back to Enderby with us?’
‘I would enjoy coming,’ he replied, ‘but you see, there is the estate.’ I knew he meant it was no use to run away. He had to stay and face his lonely life.
We went back and arrived at the end of September when the leaves were turning to bronze and the fruit was ripening on the trees. Anita and I went to the orchards and climbed ladders to gather it while Smith helped us load the barrows and Damon sat watching us with his head on one side, bounding about now and then to show his joy because we were all together.
Priscilla came over and she and Damaris made jam and preserves. It was a normal autumn apart from the lingering sadness. Arabella missed Harriet so much, which was strange because she had often been sharp with her in their encounters and I had always had the impression that there was a great deal she resented about Harriet.
Even Great-Grandfather Carleton seemed to regret her loss and he had always openly disliked her. As for Priscilla, she was very sad. I learned later how Harriet had helped her when Carlotta was born.
‘We all have to go in time,’ said Arabella. ‘Sooner or later, and sooner for some of us.’
Damaris hated to hear her talk like that. She said it was nonsense and she was going to see that her grandmother lived as long as Methuselah.
Another year passed. I was now ten years old and there was a great deal of talk about the armistice which was going to