The Baker’s Daughter (16 page)

“Could ye spare Sue this afternoon?” Mrs. Bulloch inquired one day as they were sitting down to dinner.

“Could I?” said Mr. Bulloch, smiling. “I see by the gleam in yer eye that I'll
need
to spare her, whether or no. What's on this afternoon, Susan?”

“The Bonnywall Gardens are open,” replied Mrs. Bulloch, “and I was thinking Sue and I might go over and have a look at them. The rhodies will be lovely, Thomas. Could ye not come yerself?”

“I could not,” declared her husband firmly, “but that's no reason why you two shouldn't go. I suppose ye'll take the bus?”

“I suppose so,” replied Mrs. Bulloch without much enthusiasm.

Mr. Bulloch roared with laughter. “What a woman!” he cried. “Ye know perfectly well I'd not let ye take the bus. As a matter of fact, there's an order going over to the Admiral this afternoon, and I'll send the big van. There's plenty of room for the two of ye on the front seat.”

Sue was aware that the expedition had been planned for her benefit, and she was very grateful to her grandmother for the kind thought. She put on her best hat, powdered her nose, and was ready at the appointed hour. Mrs. Bulloch was ready too and was looking very smart in a new spring coat. It was a great outing for her, and Sue could see that she was filled with the determination to enjoy every moment of it. They drove over to Bonnywall House very comfortably in the big van, and on the way Mrs. Bulloch and Dunn, the van man, discussed the march of progress. She reminded him of the days when it took over an hour to drive to Bonnywall. That was before motors came in, of course.

“Aye, it was old Prince we had,” agreed Dunn. “He was a fine old horse was Prince. I was gey sorry to part with him when Maister Bulloch bought the Ford van.”

“We had to walk up the hill,” Mrs. Bulloch said, settling herself comfortably in the padded seat. It was evident that she preferred modern transport and had no sentimental regrets for old Prince.

“Aye, it's changed days,” continued Dunn. “I mind one day—it was very like this—when I drove you an' Miss Mary over to Bonnywall House. They were having a bazaar or something. Folks never thought on opening their gardens to the public then.”

“I remember it too,” declared Mrs. Bulloch. “We were late coming home that day, for I lost Mary in the crowd and never found her until the whole affair was over.”

Sue scarcely listened to the talk. The beauty of the country made her heart ache, and despite all her good resolutions she could not help thinking of Darnay. If he were here now there would be plenty of subjects for his brush. Winter had fled, and spring was so beautiful: a slow awakening, sunshine gilding the hills, fat buds on the chestnut trees, and a scatter of yellow primroses in the sheltered hollows.

There was a long hill up to the gates of Bonnywall House, and when they reached the top they turned into an avenue between high stone gateposts carved with the arms of the Lang family. Dunn slowed down here, for the avenue was crowded with cars and pedestrians who had come from far and near to inspect the Admiral's rhododendrons.

“We'll get out,” said Mrs. Bulloch, who had no desire to drive up to the front door in her husband's van. “We'll just get out here, and ye can meet us at the big gates at six.”

“Any time suits me,” agreed Dunn pleasantly. “I'll maybe take a wee stroll around the rhodies mysel'.”

Mrs. Bulloch and Sue got out of the van and walked up to the house. It was well worth a visit on its own account, for parts of it were very old, dating from the fourteenth century. It was set on a slight eminence surrounded by lawns and trees, and its old square tower looked solid and permanent as a rock.

“It's a fine old place,” said Sue, looking at it with interest. “Wouldn't it be splendid to own a place like that?”

“It would be hard to keep,” replied her grandmother dubiously. “I wouldn't like it, myself.”

“But you'd have servants, Granny.”

“Aye, a regiment of them, eating their heads off,” retorted Mrs. Bulloch. “No, no, Sue, one girl is enough for me. A wee cozy house and one girl to do the scrubbing—that's all I want, and all I've ever wanted. It's lucky too,” added Mrs. Bulloch thoughtfully, “for it's all I'm ever likely to have.”

They stood and looked at the house for a few moments longer, and then Mrs. Bulloch shook herself out of her trance. “Come away, Sue,” she said briskly. “The gardens are around at the other side. I've been here often, so I know the way. It's a pity the Admiral never married, isn't it? The place goes to a nephew when he's dead.”

“Why did he never marry, I wonder,” said Sue as she followed her grandmother down the path.

“Dear knows,” declared Mrs. Bulloch. “He was a fine young fellow with a joke for everybody. All the young ladies were mad about him. He used to come over to Beilford in his wee car—before the war it was—but yer grandfather and I were better pleased when he stayed away.”

“I thought you said he was nice, Granny!”

“He was a bit too nice,” replied Mrs. Bulloch enigmatically.

Sue was about to inquire further into this mysterious pronouncement when a party of people came around the corner of the house and met them face-to-face. It was the Admiral himself with Mrs. Murray of Greenkirk and several other ladies. Mrs. Bulloch would have turned back if there had been time, for she was rather shy of gentry and preferred to give them a wide berth when possible, but there was no time to turn back.

“Mrs. Bulloch!” exclaimed Sir Rupert, stopping and holding out his hand. “How are you, Mrs. Bulloch? I haven't seen you for ages.”

“I'm well enough, thank ye, sir,” she replied, her thin face somewhat pink with excitement.

“That's splendid,” declared the Admiral heartily. “I'm glad you've come over. And is this—”

“My granddaughter, Sue Pringle,” Mrs. Bulloch told him.

Sue held out her hand and felt it taken in a firm grip. She was conscious of a pair of keen eyes searching her face, searching it so intently that her own eyes dropped before the glance.

“How d'you do, sir,” she said in a soft, low voice.

“I'm very glad…” he said, a trifle incoherently.“The rhodies are early—and the daffodils. I'd like to show them to you—”

“But yer friends!” exclaimed Mrs. Bulloch, nodding toward the ladies who had passed on and were now waiting indecisively at the corner. “Sue and I'll manage quite well,” she added. “I know the way.”

Sir Rupert took no notice of her protest. He had begun to talk to Sue and was leading her toward the sheltered wood where his early rhododendrons were in bloom.

“This way,” he said, opening a little gate. “Tell me what you're doing now. Are you still with Darnay?”

Sue hesitated and looked back at her grandmother, for she was a little shy of the Admiral, and besides, it seemed somewhat rude to go off and leave Mrs. Bulloch in the lurch.

“This way,” said the Admiral again, smiling at her kindly. “I'd like to take you around myself.”

There was nothing for it but to walk through the gate that was being held open so invitingly and leave Mrs. Bulloch to follow, which she did with all speed.

“I'm afraid we're going too fast for you,” said Sir Rupert with solicitude. “There's a sheltered seat here and one or two rugs. Perhaps you would like to sit down for a few minutes.”

“Sue and I will be fine and comfortable here,” declared Mrs. Bulloch somewhat pointedly, but unfortunately, her host did not take the hint; he placed a rug over her knees and led Sue away to see the rhododendrons.

This was not at all what Mrs. Bulloch had intended. She had felt slightly uneasy at the way in which Sir Rupert had singled out Sue and carried her off, but she was now quite alarmed. Anchored to the seat by the rug—which had been firmly tucked in by Sir Rupert's own hands and was, therefore, in some strange way, as immovable as steel shackles—Mrs. Bulloch watched her granddaughter disappear into the wood.

“But it's nonsense,” said Mrs. Bulloch to herself. “I'm just daft. The Admiral's old enough to be her father.”

This reflection, though it comforted her a good deal, did not entirely allay her anxiety, for she had always been a little dubious about Rupert Lang. In the old days, when Mary's loveliness was turning the head of every man in the district, Mr. Lang had been a constant visitor at the shop. It was impossible—so the Bullochs decided—that any young man should find himself in need of odd pounds of sugar and butter, or even of peppermint balls, in such enormous quantities, and they had come to the conclusion that he had designs upon their one ewe lamb. They talked it over together, and Mr. Bulloch decided—most reluctantly—that he must speak to Mr. Lang and have it out with him, but the interview had never taken place, for the war started, and Mr. Lang disappeared, and Mary married Will Pringle. Once Mary was safely married, and the somewhat wild and irresponsible young man had become a captain and, later, a distinguished Admiral in His Majesty's Navy, Mrs. Bulloch's feelings had changed and she had felt proud of Rupert Lang—as all Beilford was proud—for it was a great thing to have known and spoken to Admiral Sir Rupert Lang when he was a mere lad and as full of mischief as a terrier pup.

All this flashed through Mrs. Bulloch's mind, and her old fears returned. Sir Rupert was not young any longer, of course, but once a rip, always a rip… “Oh dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Bulloch in dismay. “Oh dear, why didn't I say I would go too. But I couldn't, somehow.”

The minutes passed on leaden feet, and at last she became quite desperate—they would have had time to inspect a whole forest of rhododendrons by now. She threw off the rug and rose to her feet, determined to pursue the couple into the wood and see what was happening.

At this moment Sir James Faulds appeared from the direction of the house. He strolled in through the little gate, looking very neat and dapper in a gray flannel suit and a soft hat.

“Hullo, Mrs. Bulloch!” he said, smiling at her in a friendly manner. “How are you? Everybody seems to be here today. It's lovely, isn't it? Have you seen the rhodies yet?”

“I was just going to, sir,” replied Mrs. Bulloch, somewhat flustered by his sudden appearance.

“Have you anybody with you?” he inquired. “Is Bulloch here?”

“No, sir. At least…yes… I mean, he's not here today, but my granddaughter, Sue, came with me.”

“Where is she?”

“In the wood,” replied Mrs. Bulloch. “They've been a long time, and I was just thinking I'd go look for them. The Admiral is showing—”

“What!” cried the Laird. “Is she there—alone—with
him
?”

These extraordinary words, and the obvious dismay of the speaker, frightened poor Mrs. Bulloch out of her wits.

“Maircy!” she exclaimed. “Are ye thinking… But surely… Oh maircy, we'll need to find them.”

The Laird was obviously of the same opinion, for he seized Mrs. Bulloch's arm and propelled her forcibly down the path. “It's perfectly all right,” he declared incoherently. “He'll not have had time. Besides, he practically promised. I mean it's quite all right; there's nothing to worry about—nothing at all. Still, you never know. You'd like to see the rhododendrons, wouldn't you?”

Mrs. Bulloch was too breathless to reply—even if she had been able to find any rational reply to such ravings.

“They're beautiful, aren't they?” he continued, dragging her past bush after bush of blazing blossoms without so much as a glance in their direction. “Such color! But they've no scent—or none to speak of—and that's a pity.”

She was far too frantic to care whether rhododendrons had any scent. “Oh dear!” she gasped. “I never should have let her go with him. But I never thought…”

It was warm, for the wood was sheltered and the sun streamed down like a golden shower. Mrs. Bulloch was not suitably clad for running races in the heat. Her face was crimson when at last Sir James stopped dead and pointed through the bushes.

“There they are!” he exclaimed.

Mrs. Bulloch stopped too and peered through the thick shining leaves. She saw the two figures standing on the path deep in conversation. At that moment Sue's laugh rang out through the wood. It was a merry laugh and brought a good deal of comfort to her friends.

“It's all right. He hasn't told her,” the Laird said with a sigh of relief.

“Told her what?” inquired his companion.

She received no answer, and the words were so strange that afterward, when she thought it over, she decided that she must have misunderstood the noble gentleman. She followed him around the bushes, trying to compose herself—mopping her face with her handkerchief and putting her hat straight—for, now that her fears had proved groundless, they seemed utterly ridiculous and shameful. Despite her efforts to improve her appearance, however, she did not fail to notice Sir Rupert's face when he saw who it was arriving to disturb his tête-à-tête. He looked annoyed, and perhaps that was natural, but he also looked uncomfortable and a trifle guilty. In fact, he looked for all the world like a little boy discovered in the act of stealing jam.

“Hallo, Rupert!” said the Laird. “You're wanted at the house. I've been looking everywhere for you. How are you, Miss Pringle? It's a lovely day.”

“What do they want me for?” inquired Sir Rupert irritably.

Sir James did not reply to the question. He said good-bye to Mrs. Bulloch and her granddaughter, slipped his hand through the Admiral's arm, and led him reluctantly away.

“Well, I never did!” exclaimed Mrs. Bulloch, subsiding into a convenient seat. “Of all the queer set outs… Maircy, I'm hot!”

“What
have
you been doing?” inquired Sue anxiously. “Poor Granny, your face is like a beetroot. Are you feeling all right?”