Bird of Prey (16 page)

“She’s going into Carlisle with Mr. Craig,” Mrs. Creed replied tightly, and immediately Caroline sensed that it was her expedition with Randall that had been under discussion when she had entered.

“Oh, we are, are we?” Betty trilled as she sensed Mrs. Creed’s attitude. “And, if it’s not too presumptuous on my part, may I ask what we’re going to Carlisle for? He’s not taking you on a tour of the best county families, with dinner and the theatre afterwards

perhaps?” She giggled at this facetious fantasy.

Caroline hesitated before replying. This was one occasion when Mrs. Creed would not come to her rescue, she, knew, as the housekeeper, usually so quick at what she called ‘putting down’ Betty, remained silent. It was plain that Mrs. Creed was waiting for her reply; waiting, no doubt, to hear if Randall had indeed discussed with her his plans for the day; an entertainment perhaps to follow when the business part of their outing had been fulfilled! But even if she had wanted to boast of such a thing she was embarrassingly in no position to do so, for, apart from asking her to select the children’s gifts, Randall’s manner had been strictly businesslike.

“Mr. Craig has asked me to help him choose presents for the children, that’s all,” Caroline said quietly.

“That’s all! Well, it’s more than he’s ever asked me! But then we’ve come up in the world, haven’t we?” Betty said nastily. “But it’s not everyone who would make so little of themselves as to fling themselves at Mr. Randall’s head, as you’ve done, ever since the day you came.” Then with a touch of sly malice she turned to the housekeeper. “Children’s party used to be your concern, Mrs. Creed, usen’t it, and now it looks as if the job has been taken over, from all accounts.”

But if she had thought to raise Mrs. Creed’s ire she was to be disappointed, for Caroline was relieved to find that Mrs. Creed, at this point, came to her rescue.

“Getting the children’s party off my shoulders is one thing I’m heartily glad of,” she told Betty severely. “I’ve quite enough to do on Christmas Day without bothering about a horde of young savages from the village, fighting and squabbling amongst themselves and no matter how much you do, or put yourself out for them, you get little thanks. Now I’ll be able to put my mind to the dinner for the grownups on Boxing Day, and that’s just about enough, if you ask me.”

“Still, you’ll have to admit it’s strange he chose Caroline for this job,” Fred put in judiciously. “You’d think if he needed someone to help he’d have asked Mrs. Brant. After all, she’s a

married woman and used to the ways of children! ”

“Not likely,” Betty snorted. “Can you see Mrs. Brant wasting her day choosing presents for the village children? No, her ladyship has better things to do with her time, I can tell you. ”

“I wonder if she’ll let Robin come to the children’s party this year,” Mrs. Creed remarked.

“It’s not like her to let him mix with the village children, no matter how much she wants to play up to Mr. Randall—” A warning glance-from his wife in Caroline’s direction made Fred’s remarks dwindle into silence.

“By the way, you’d better get in the Christmas tree today, Fred, so that Caroline will be able to trim it when she comes back,” Mrs. Creed said briskly. “You know what Mr. Craig’s like if there’s the smallest hitch in any arrangements, and Christmas will be upon us before you can say ‘Jack Robinson’. As to you, Caroline, I’ll have Betty look out the baubles and trimmings for the tree and the strings of fairy lights, so that you can get to work on it as soon as you return.”

“So Caroline’s going to trim the tree this year! ” Fred sucked in his lips consideringly.

“She may as well,” his wife returned. “It will mean another job off my shoulders, and Caroline’s artistic: she’s sure to make a good job of it.”

“Well, all I hope is that she doesn’t get too much puffed up with all the notice that’s being taken of her,” Fred opined, with a glance in Caroline’s direction. “Mr. Craig’s taking her into Carlisle with him to choose the presents is very strange; it’s not like him to take notice of a girl for nothing, for after all, deep down, Mr. Randall’s like his father, and he was a man who liked to have women around him, as everyone knows—”

“That will do, Fred!” Mrs. Creed broke in hastily. “Now you’d better be off, Caroline. Mr. Craig doesn’t care to be kept waiting.”

As Caroline crossed the hall she was thinking ruefully that her fellow servants at Longmere seemed to be agreed in thinking that Randall had designs on her. She herself had seen no signs of this and just for a moment she wished a little wistfully that there might be some truth in their conjectures. If only he
did
care for her. She was in love with Randall Craig, she realized: the thought of spending the day in his company gave her immense happiness. But she could not delude herself that this outing meant anything at all to him. She was no more to him than a useful member of his staff.

As she joined him at the car he gave her a swift comprehensive glance and she was suddenly aware that he had noticed the change in her appearance: gone was the shabby girl in the thin, worn coat who had arrived at Longmere, and now she was acutely conscious that her little fur hat and the soft green shade of her new coat was extremely becoming. No matter what economies she would have to make during the coming months, they would be well worth while for that momentary look of admiration.

Self-consciousness made her ask busily as she got into the car, “By the way, I ought to know what the ages of the children will be.”

A faint look of surprise crossed his face. “What difference will that make?”

It was Caroline’s turn to feel surprise. She could hardly restrain a giggle as the thought flashed upon her that while he was assured and authoritative in all the dealings of his life, yet when it came to a domestic thing like this he was helpless and completely at sea.

“It does make a difference,” she told him. “You see, the toy that is suitable for a young child wouldn’t do at all for one a few years older, for instance the picture blocks that would amuse a tiny child would simply bore a big boy of ten or eleven.”

“Indeed! ” his tone was withdrawn, almost resentful, and she glanced at his profile, hard and inscrutable as one on a coin.

There was a moment’s silence and Caroline wondered uncomfortably if, bored, he was going to withdraw into the preoccupied silence that was sometimes his way, so that he seemed to be at a great distance from her and no longer even aware of her presence beside him in the big grey car.

Instead he said after a moment, a note of bitterness in his voice, “I’m afraid I’m not very good about things concerning children—but then perhaps that’s because I didn’t have very much of a childhood myself.”

Caroline hesitated, anxious that he should continue, yet realizing that if she showed curiosity he would immediately retreat into a grim withdrawal.

She waited, but he did not enlarge on the remark and instead said in his normal tone, “I’d guess the children’s ages to be between five years and say, ten or twelve, though I’m no judge. Actually they’re a pretty robust crowd, so anything you get had better be hard-wearing.”

So this was her cue; toys that would be long-lasting! There would be blocks with bright pictures for the younger children; soft, fluffy rabbits and teddy-bears; picture books with large print, and brightly painted wooden toys.

He glanced at her briefly. “You’re smiling to yourself, Caroline! What’s going on in that little head of yours?”

“Oh, I was thinking how wonderful it is to be able to splurge like this, particularly on Christmas presents.”

“Do you know, Caroline, you’re a very refreshing sort of person.”

She considered this statement warily. “In what way?”

He gave a short, abrupt laugh of genuine amusement. “You sound suspicious! So you don’t trust me, is that it?”

“Not when you say things like that.”

She saw his strong dark brows arch inquiringly, but he kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Things like what?”

“Oh—” Caroline felt a growing embarrassment, “things like saying I’m refreshing. It’s—it’s so ambiguous. What you really mean, I suppose, is that I’m not—well, sophisticated; that I’m ridiculously naive and gauche.” She bit her lip as she felt tears of mortification sting her eyes. She was saying all the wrong kind of things, she knew, getting herself deeper and deeper immersed in a morass of confusion and embarrassment, and she felt it impossible now to extricate herself. At least any doubts he might have had about her naivete and lack of self-possession were being

amply justified, she thought disconsolately.

She glanced at him covertly. His eyes were still on the road ahead and his attention seemed to be fixed on manoeuvring the powerful car around a sharp bend in the road.

“I see. So as far as you’re concerned, I’m a sort of ogre who delights in deliberately encouraging you to display what you call your naivete?”

“Not exactly,” she replied in a small voice.

“Well, you may be right, but not in the way you imagine. Yes, I admit, Caroline, I do find your—shall we call it your lack of worldliness extraordinarily intriguing. You see, I’m not used to women who openly confess to enjoying the simple things of life. It gives me a warm, domesticated sort of feeling.”

“Oh! ” Surprise made her say impulsively, “But I should have thought that’s the last thing you’d want!”

“Now what makes you say that?”

“Because it’s just impossible to see you as involved in Christmassy things; all the hundred and one little preparations, like hanging up the Christmas stockings and pulling crackers. ”

“All the little things,” he repeated slowly. “How can you tell if that’s not what I’ve always longed for, the little things that I never got as a child?”

She glanced at him in surprise. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. ”

“Oh, don’t be tactful, Caroline,” he returned. “Of course you know what I mean. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the gossip in the kitchen? Fred and his missus must have discussed it cosily around the fire in the evenings. They know all about my unwanted childhood; my father’s harshness, the fate of being an only child in a big house with dogs for my only companions until I was lucky enough to be sent away to school.”

His lips hardened in unbelief as she shook her head. How could she tell him that the intimate gossip of the servants’ quarters was not for her: that she had not been accepted as one of them? She lived in a no-man’s-land between being a servant, yet

Grace’s cousin: and now she was being bracketed as Randall’s favourite. Officially she might be one of the staff, but, by the other servants, she was ostracised as a possible spy in their midst.

“I’ve heard, of course, that your father was—well, a severe sort of person,” she admitted, “but I thought he reserved his strictness for his employees. It hadn’t crossed my mind that you would be treated in the same way. I mean, there’s always been a Christmas party held at Longmere every year for the local children. ”

“Don’t let the Christmas party fool you! My father was an extremely complex person. The only reason the party was given for the children was because it was always done and he was a stickler for tradition. I suppose it was a sort of snobbery on his part, but I can assure you that he considered it nothing more than a tiresome chore, and immediately the last child had disappeared the fairy lights were put out and the Christmas tree dismantled. He had a horror of sentiment and what he considered needless present-giving: to him it was only foolishness. He was determined that his only son should be reared in a harsher and more realistic school, and I can assure you that mine was anything but a happy childhood. ”

She gazed at his stern profile, all her sympathy in her eyes,

“I had no idea,” she said softly. She ached to utter words of consolation and compassion, but one could never be sure how this enigmatic man would receive such an impulsive gesture. Would he brusquely reject her proffered sympathy: would he consider it a gratuitous intimacy? She was afraid of breaking this unusual mood of confidence between them. Instinctively she knew that it was rare for him to admit anyone into his secret world, and she longed to prolong this moment.

“But your mother?” she ventured at last. “Surely she had different ideas about your upbringing?”

He laughed shortly. “I’m afraid my mother’s wishes were not considered. Besides, she had other things to contend with. My father, in spite of his puritanical severity, was—to put it mildly—a ladies’ man. Surely you’ll admit to hearing gossip concerning that interesting weakness on his part.”

So that was what Fred had been referring to when he had been so abruptly brought to a halt by his wife’s warning glance!

“Yes,” he continued wryly, “all in all, he wasn’t a particularly admirable character, although, strangely enough, as a boy I looked up to him: I suppose I mistook his harshness for strength of mind.”

Was he aware then that he had inherited some of his father’s characteristics? And was womanising to be numbered among them? she wondered. She glanced away and stared through the window unseeingly, feeling a leaden depression settle on her spirits.

It was with relief she saw that they were driving into Carlisle.

Her spirits rose as he drew up before a big store, its windows glittering and enticing with Christmas decorations.