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Authors: Sara Seale

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BOOK: Then She Fled Me
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Aunt Em peered up at him as they shook hands, and her mouth formed a round

O

of surprise

.


How do you do?

she said.

You are not at all what we expected.


Now, Miss Emma, you mustn

t give away secrets,

Miss Dearlove was her roguish self again.

Aunt Em sat down on the seat and placed the basket firmly on her knees. It contained tangled bundles of old string.


What secrets?

she asked innocently.

Miss Dearlove, I think I heard Mary ask if she was to throw away the green weed in your room.

Miss Dearlove gave a little scream.


My shamrock! I

m pressing it for Miss Pringle,

she cried and hurried into the house.
Adrian
wondered if this was a chance remark or a master-stroke of elimination. Aunt Em looked up at him and smiled.


It

s clover, you know, but she won

t believe us,

she said sadly.

He sat down beside her and watched her begin to unravel a length of string.


The children won

t trouble to unknot string,

she said.

It

s quite extraordinary how much you can save if you do. Would you care to help me?

For a moment he hesitated, glancing at his fingers in an odd, nervous fashion, then he took a bundle out of the basket and began picking at the knots.


I hope you were comfortable last night, Mr. Flint,

Aunt Em continued placidly.

I

m afraid your arrival took us rather by surprise. The butcher brought your telegram this morning. Willie-the-Post had forgotten he didn

t call on Fridays.


Miss O

Neill,

he said.

Is it true your youngest niece is—how shall I put it—my landlady?

She looked startled.


How odd to be addressed as
M
iss O

Neill again. No one ever calls me that in these parts,

she said.

Yes, Sarah is your landlady. The house belongs to her, you know, and this idea of paying guests was hers. Really quite sensible as things are turning out, and of course it does mean that she needn

t sell Dun Rury. I don

t think the other two would mind, but Sarah has always had a
special feeling for the place —because her father loved it, I think.

I see. But I had expected to do business with someone older—someone more like yourself.


You will find Sarah quite competent. She does all the accounts, you know.


But she looks such a child!

Aunt Em glanced up and smiled.


I suppose she does, but she

s much more mature in her mind than Kathy is at twenty. If it will embarrass you to pay your bills to Sarah, Mr. Flint, you can always give the money to me. The only thing is, I

m apt to forget where I put things.

He laughed.

Very well. I

ll do whatever is usual,

he said, and tugged impatiently at the string.


That

s not the way,

Aunt Em said.

You must coax
it.


I

m afraid my fingers are clumsy,

he observed.

I don

t seem to be getting on very fast.

Aunt Em replied:


Oh, no, your fingers couldn

t be clumsy. You have good hands.

His hands trembled suddenly, and seemed for a moment uncertain of their movements. From the house came the
strains of
The Merry Peasant,
played with a lusty disregard for the bass, and he winced.


I think my room should be finished now. If you

ll excuse me, Miss O

Neill,

he said abruptly and got up and went into the house.

They discussed him over lunch. Sarah, who had taken up his tray, as it was Mary

s afternoon off, said crossly that she did not see why he should not come down to the kitchen and fetch it himself. Her aunt mildly reproved her with the reminder that he was paying extra for service, and Kathy said she would take up his tea for she had not yet met him.


He doesn

t take tea,

Sarah said.

You

ll have to catch him in the morning like Miss Dearlove did.

Miss Dearlove made a prim face. She was still smarting under Adrian

s snub.


A man is seldom at his best in the morning, dear,

she observed.

Really, he was quite—well, almost
rude,
and I was only doing my tiny best to be
friendly
. Still, he

s been ill, so we must be charitable. But I fear

—she gave a knowing laugh—

I very much
fear
the gentleman is Flint by name and flint by nature.

It became a saying in the family, and for days afterwards Miss Dearlove, delighted at the success of her little pun, would repeat it on every possible occasion, and Danny had to be restrained from shouting at the top of his voice in the hall:

How

s old Skinflint today?

As the days went by, they got used to the several indications that he was in the house but not of it. The sound of the nursery bell ringing peremptorily in the kitchen, the clatter of a typewriter, and the frequent strains of the gramophone.

The sound of the gramophone came to them only faintly when they sat in the snug below, and Kathy was puzzled by the curious way in which Adrian played his records. During the day it was nothing but piano records; often he would stop the record after a few bars, sometimes he started it in the middle, and only very occasionally did he play a record straight through.


Isn

t it queer?

said Kathy.

It

s as though he can

t make up his mind. I think I

ll ask him.


He
’ll
snub you very politely and tell you to mind your own
business,

Sarah said, and Kathy laughed.

Oh, Sarah, you are silly! He

s quite human, really. You must rub him up the wrong way. I wish I could think who he reminds me of.

Strangely, Kathy liked him. She had said after her first meeting with him that he reminded her of someone she had once met, and she thought that he was
h
ighly intelligent and only wanted drawing out.

Sarah regarded her sister with affection and remarked that if Kathy didn

t draw him out no one would, but she wished she had been present at their first meeting. Flint would scarcely have looked at Kathy as he had looked at her that first evening. She herself had seen little of him, except to take up his nightly supper tray, but he asked to see her when he had been at Dun Rury a week and she went up to the nursery just before lunch.


Good morning, Miss Riordan,

he began gravely, but there was a twinkle in his eye as if he considered such a formal address an absurdity.

First, let me give you my weekly cheque, and now, there are one or two points I would like to discuss with you. Won

t you sit down?

She perched on the arm of a chair, swinging her legs, and he regarded her with fresh interest. He had been in the house long enough to realize that she must be treated with seriousness, and indeed, observing her now, he thought she probably had courage and a sense of purpose far exceeding her sister

s. They were alike, and yet so unlike that they might be no relation. He had been prepared for Kathy, but even so he had to admit that her soft childish face had an exquisiteness that was rare. This child was all planes and angles, but he thought if he were an artist here was the face he would want to paint.

He had looked at her so long without speaking, that she moved her head impatiently and said:


What did you want to see me about?

He smiled.

I

m sorry, I was looking at you in relation to your sister. The comparison was interesting.


Kathy isn

t the sort of person you compare other people with,

she said with a simplicity which rather startled him.

She

s lovely, isn

t she?


Yes,

he agreed gravely.

Very lovely. Now, about this question of my room. I told the girl—Mary, isn

t it—that I would like it done at ten o

clock every morning. Yesterday it was eleven, the day before half-past, and today it was nearly twelve. Do you think a regular hour for cleaning is too much to ask?


The rooms are done any time,

she replied, just as Mary had done.

Does it matter?


To me it does,

he said a little sharply.

I like to work and also live to a certain extent to routine. If my room is not done it cuts up my morning, and when, as often happens, lunch is late that cuts up my afternoon.


We feed when we feel like it,

she said.

We always have. No
ni
e

s supposed to send up your tray at a quarter-past one.


Well, I

m afraid it

s often nearer two. I don

t wish to be difficult, but after all you
are
charging me for these small attentions.


I

ll speak to Nonie.

she said stiffly.

And as far as your room is concerned, I

ll clean it myself before I go to the stables.


But I wouldn

t dream of letting you clean my room,

he protested, and she broke in quickly:


Why not? As you pointed out, you pay for service. I daresay there are other things you don

t like about Dun Rury. The bath water isn

t always hot, the chimneys sometimes smoke, and I should imagine your meals are stone cold by the time they get up here.

There was a hint of temper in his own eyes now.


For a young woman professing to be running a guest house you don

t appear to think it necessary to study your visitors very much,

he said sharply.

A quick retort sprang to her lips, but she bit it back.

I

m sorry,

she said.

I was forgetting you weren

t Joe or somebody. I

ll see to those matters for you, Mr. Flint. How—how long do you think you

ll be stopping with us?

From the snug below came the sound of the piano; Jimmy Mulligan, or was it the Sullivan child, finishing its lesson. She had not realized that you could hear so plainly in the nursery.


That depends,

he replied evenly.

Since you clearly don

t like me it might be better if I went.

She thought of the empty rooms, and Brian Kavanagh

s warning that there would be few visitors in the winter. Miss Dearlove was only with them for a month and it would not be easy to fill her room until the spring or summer. If Flint went they would be back where they were with unpaid bills and Kathy

s dream of Dublin as far away as ever.

BOOK: Then She Fled Me
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