Victoria Holt (19 page)

It was not surprising that I forgot about Lydia during the rest of that holiday, for something happened which drove all thought of my old friends from my mind.

I was reading in my room one afternoon when Violet came in in a flutter of excitement.

“There’s a gentleman. He’s called to see you. He’s with Patty in the garden.”

“A gentleman…? Who…?”

“Sir Something Something,” said Violet. “I didn’t quite catch his name.”

“Sir Jason Verringer?”

“Yes, that sounds like it. Your Aunt Patty said to me, Violet, this is Sir Something Something. He’s come to see Cordelia. Do go to her room and tell her he’s here.”

“He’s in the garden, you say?”

I looked at my reflection in the barbola mirror which I had admired when it was in Aunt Patty’s room and which had been transferred to mine.

Color had deepened in my cheeks.

“What on earth is he doing here?”

I looked askance at Violet. How foolish of me. As if she would know.

I said: “I’ll come down at once.”

When I appeared, Aunt Patty, in the enormous sun hat she wore in the garden which made her look like a large mushroom, sprang up from the chair in which she had been sitting.

“Ah,” she cried. “Here is my niece.”

“Miss Grant…Cordelia,” he said and came toward me, his hands outstretched.

“You…you came to see us,” I stammered in a bemused state.

“Yes, I have come from London and as I was passing…”

Passing? What did he mean? He did not pass Moldenbury on his way from London to Devon.

Aunt Patty was watching us with her head on one side which indicated particular absorption.

“Would you like tea?” she asked. “I’ll go and see to it. You can sit in my chair, Cordelia, you and er…”

“Jason Verringer,” he said.

“Can have a little chat,” finished Aunt Patty and disappeared.

“I am surprised that you called here,” I began.

“Shall we sit down as your aunt suggested. I called to say goodbye. I am going abroad and shall not be in Colby for some months. I felt I should explain this to you.”

“Oh?”

“You look surprised. I didn’t want to go off without telling you.”

I stared straight ahead at the lavender, considerably depleted as Violet had gathered most of it to make little sachets which scented Aunt Patty’s clothes and cupboards.

“I am surprised that you should have thought it necessary to come here.”

“Well, we are rather special friends I thought and in view of everything that has happened, I wanted to let you know. I have so recently become a widower and the death of someone with whom one has lived closely for many years is shattering…even when death is expected. I feel the need to get right away. I have several good friends on the Continent whom I shall visit. I shall do a sort of Grand Tour…France, Italy, Spain…so I thought I should like to say au revoir to you.”

“I can only say that I am surprised you should have come so far to do that. I should have heard the news in due course when I return to the school, I daresay.”

“But of course I wanted you to know I was going, and particularly how much I shall look forward to seeing you when I come back.”

“I am unexpectedly flattered. They will be bringing out the tea soon. You will stay for that?”

“I shall be delighted to. It is such a great pleasure to talk to you.”

“When do you leave?” I asked.

“Next week.”

“I hope you will have an interesting journey. The Grand Tour used to be the high spot of a young man’s life.”

“I am not so young, nor am I looking for high spots.”

“You just feel the need to travel after your bereavement. I understand.”

“One has certain misgivings when people die.”

“You mean…conscience?”

“H’m. One has to come to terms with that, I suppose.”

He laughed and I couldn’t help laughing with him. “It is so good to be with you,” he said. “You do mock me, don’t you?”

“I am sorry. I should not…on such a subject.”

“I know of the rumors which are circulated about me. But I want you to remember that rumor is a lying jade…very often.”

“Oh, I don’t take notice of rumors.”

“Nonsense. Everybody takes notice of rumors.”

“But you are the last person surely to be concerned about them.”

“Only on the effect they may have on someone whom one is trying to impress.”

“You mean you are trying to impress me?”

“I am…most fervently. I want you to consider that I might not be as black as I am painted, though the last thing I should want you to do is consider me a saint.”

“Rest assured I should find that very difficult to do.”

We were laughing again.

“It was a wonderful evening we had together,” he said wistfully.

“It was kind of you to allow Teresa and me to stay at the Hall. Teresa is with us now.”

“Yes. I heard that you brought her with you.”

“They will all be coming out to tea very soon.”

“I should like to go on talking to you. There is so much I want to say.”

“Here is Teresa now.” I went on: “Teresa, we have a visitor. You know Sir Jason Verringer.”

“Of course,” said Teresa. “He’s Fiona’s and Eugenie’s uncle.”

Jason laughed. “I have achieved fame in Teresa’s eyes,” he said. “The uncle of Fiona and Eugenie! It is only reflected glory of course.”

“It is gratifying to be recognized no matter what the reason,” I said.

Aunt Patty and Violet appeared and tea was served.

There was talk about the village life and Aunt Patty’s descriptions were apt and amusing. Teresa handed round the food like a daughter of the house and I was amazed afresh at the change in her. It was a conventionally pleasant scene. Tea on the lawn and a visitor who happened to be passing and who had called in.

But I could not get over the strangeness of his being here and wondering what was the real motive for his call. To see me, of course. But why? I was a little annoyed with myself that I should find the question so stimulating. Aunt Violet asked if he had come in on the three forty-five and he said that he had.

“Then you’ll be catching the six o’clock.”

“Unless,” put in Aunt Patty, “you are spending some time here. When we were at Grantley we could have put you up. Here, alas, we are short of rooms. There is, of course, the King’s Arms in Moldenbury itself.”

“The food’s poor so I’ve heard,” said Violet.

“But they do excellent roast beef,” added Aunt Patty. “They’re noted for it.”

“I did ask the fly to call for me at a quarter to six,” he said.

“Well then you haven’t much time left, have you,” said Aunt Patty. “Cordelia, why don’t you show Sir Jason the garden.”

“What an excellent idea,” he said.

“It’s not at its best now,” put in Violet. “Early spring’s the best time. The flowers are beginning to get that tired look. The sun’s been particularly fierce this year.”

“I am sure Cordelia will find something pleasant to show our guest,” said Aunt Patty. “Come, Teresa, help me with the tray. Violet will see to the rest.”

“You must allow me to carry the tray,” said Jason.

“Get away with you,” said Aunt Patty. “If you knew the number of trays I’ve carried in my life…”

“Astronomical, I expect,” said Jason, picking up the tray. “Now show me the way without more argument.”

Aunt Patty waddled in front of him. I watched them disappear into the house, smiling to myself.

In a few moments he was at my side.

“What a charming lady your aunt is! So merry…and so tactful.”

“Come then. I’ll show you the garden.”

He walked in silence for a few seconds. I said: “Teresa is developing this patch. There is a great change in her. Poor child, she felt unwanted.”

“I shall miss you,” he said.

“Miss me? You talk as though you see me every day. We have only met a few times…and how long is it since the last time I saw you?”

“I felt that you were displeased with me in some way.”

“Displeased? I have thanked you several times for your hospitality to Teresa and me.”

“Our happy evening was rather suddenly interrupted.”

“Oh yes…when your friend arrived. I quite understood that.”

“I don’t think you did.”

“Well, it wasn’t important. The meal was over and I was thinking that it was time I returned to Teresa.”

He sighed. “There are many things I would like to explain to you.”

“There is no reason why you should.”

“There are reasons. When I return we must meet. I am desperately anxious for us to be good friends. There is much I want to tell you.”

“Well, I hope you will have a pleasant trip. The trap will be here very soon. You mustn’t miss your train.”

He laid a hand on my arm. “When I return, I want to talk to you…seriously. You see it is so soon…after…and there are certain difficulties which have to be settled. Cordelia, I shall return and then…”

I avoided his eyes. “Oh, there’s Violet,” I said. “She must be looking for you. That means the station fly is here.” I called: “We’re coming, Violet. The trap’s here, is it?”

I walked with him across the lawn. He held my hand firmly in his and was trying to tell me something. He was asking me to wait until his return when he would be in a position to continue our relationship. It was the way in which he would behave to any young woman. But it seemed strange that he had come out of his way to tell me he was going away.

We stood waving until the fly disappeared.

Aunt Patty was thoughtful.

When we were alone together she said: “What an interesting man! It was nice of him to call and tell you he was going away.” She looked at me intently. “He must have felt that you were a very special friend…to come all that way.”

“Oh, he was in the neighborhood, I expect. I have only met him a few times. He is a sort of lord of the manor and probably feels he ought to take an interest in all the vassals.”

“Do you know, I quite liked him.”

I laughed. “I gather from that remark that you are rather surprised that you do.”

She was looking into the distance.

“It was courteous of him to call,” she said. “I have no doubt he had his reasons.”

When I went back to school, I quickly slipped into the old routine and it felt like coming home. In a few days even the girls settled down. Teresa had changed considerably; she had almost lost that scared look she had had before and was able to mingle more easily with the other girls.

Daisy Hetherington wanted to know how she had behaved during the holiday and I was delighted to be able to tell her that everything had worked out very well indeed.

“Teresa’s trouble was that she was lonely and felt unwanted,” I explained. “As soon as she saw that we were glad to have her, she changed and became just a normal happy girl.”

“How fortunate if all our troubles could be so easily solved,” said Daisy, but she smiled, well pleased, and I said that if there was no objection she was invited for Christmas.

“I daresay those cousins will be as ready to forsake their duties at Christmas as in the summer,” was Daisy’s comment.

Then she went on to discuss the term’s work.

“We put on a little entertainment at Christmas,” she said. “I know it seems far away but you’d be surprised how much preparation is needed and it gives the girls something to think about instead of mooning nostalgically over the summer holidays. I thought you with Miss Eccles and Miss Parker could put your heads together, and of course Miss Barston for the costumes. We do it in the refectory one night and then we have been invited to repeat it at the Hall when some of the people from the village come to see it. This year I understand Sir Jason will be away and as he has said nothing about lending us the Hall, I suppose we shan’t have it there this time. He did tell me that he planned to stay some time.”

I said I would consult with Miss Eccles and Miss Parker and we would submit the results of our conference for her approval.

She bowed her head graciously and said that it would not be quite the same with no performance at the Hall. “It makes a difference to the neighborhood when the squire is not in residence.”

I was to agree with her as the weeks passed. I would ride now and then past the Hall and remember the day of Teresa’s accident and that twilit tête-à-tête in the courtyard. I found it hard to stop thinking about him and wondering why he had taken the trouble to come to Moldenbury to say goodbye to me.

I guessed that when he came back Marcia Martindale would expect him to marry her and it occurred to me that he might have wanted to get away to make up his mind what he must do. He had said something about coming to terms with his conscience. Was he referring to the death of his wife or his obligations to Marcia Martindale? It could be either…or both. My presence bothered him—just as his bothered me.

But I could forget him now that he was no longer there. I felt free. I very much enjoyed my work; I got on well with Daisy and my fellow teachers and I believed I was getting somewhere with the girls.

Daisy told me that she had a waiting list this term.

“More applicants than I have room for,” she said complacently. “I think they are beginning to realize that they get the Schaffenbrucken treatment here. And of course there are so many parents who are against sending their daughters abroad…especially when they can get the desired result in England.”

Daisy was implying that my presence was an asset to the school and I couldn’t suppress a rather smug feeling of satisfaction.

The term went on. English lessons, deportment, social graces, dancing waltzes and cotillions, taking the girls for their rides. Each day had its little drama such as who should be chosen for Prince Charming and Cinderella; whose drawing would be selected as the best of the month; who should be chosen by Mr. Bathurst to partner him in the waltz he was teaching. Mr. Bathurst was a young man of dark Italianate good looks and a great favorite with the girls, and there was always excitement on the days when he came to the school to take the dancing class, which resulted in much romantic speculation. His visits were awaited with great anticipation and he was jealously watched and the elder girls vied for the favor of being chosen by him to demonstrate the steps.

Autumn came. It was the time of the Hunter’s Moon. A whole year since I had gone into the forest and met the stranger! It seemed longer. I suppose that was because so much had happened. I was beginning to convince myself that I had imagined the whole thing; and I should have loved to see Monique, Frieda or Lydia again so that I could assure myself that we really had all been in the forest together on that day.

Fiona Verringer was at length chosen to play Cinderella and Charlotte was Prince Charming. They were the inevitable choices because Fiona was so pretty and Charlotte so tall. Charlotte was delighted and far more manageable than before, being absorbed in her role.

During November we were rehearsing and Mr. Crowe, the music master, wrote some songs for the girls to sing and there was great activity in Miss Barston’s class putting the costumes together.

One morning I went into the town and in the little draper’s shop I came face to face with Marcia Martindale. She seemed quite a different person from the heart-broken women I had met in the courtyard. She was serene and friendly and asked me to call.

“I should be so pleased if you would,” she said. “One doesn’t see many people and it would be a great treat. Do you ever get a few hours free?”

I said I had a free afternoon on Wednesday unless something happened, such as one of the other mistresses being indisposed. Then I should be expected to take her class.

“Shall we say Wednesday then? I’ll be so delighted if you can come.”

I accepted, I have to admit, with alacrity, for I was very eager to discover more about her. I tried to pretend to myself that her relationship with Jason Verringer was of no interest to me, but that I wanted to make her understand that circumstances had thrust me into the position of dining with him—as she had found us on that night when she had been so clearly distressed.

So I went to tea with Marcia Martindale.

It was a very unusual afternoon. The door was opened by a little woman with a sharp dark face rather like an intelligent monkey’s. She had hair which was almost black, stiff and coarse, and stood out
en
brosse
round her small face; her eyes were small and very dark; they seemed to dart everywhere, missing nothing.

She said: “Come in. We’re expecting you.” And she smiled, showing large white teeth, as though my coming was some tremendous joke.

She took me into a drawing room most graciously furnished with Queen Anne furniture which suited the house.

From a sofa Marcia Martindale rose and held out both her hands to me. She was dressed in a peignoir of peacock blue silk. Her hair was loose and about her forehead was a velvet band with a few brilliants in it which might have been diamonds. There was a similar band about her throat. She looked dramatic as though she were about to play some tragic role like Lady Macbeth or the Duchess of Malfi. Yet again she was quite unlike the woman I had so recently met in the draper’s.

“So you have come,” she said in a low voice; then, raising it a little: “Do sit down. We’ll have tea now, Maisie. Will you tell Mrs. Gittings?”

“All right,” said the woman who was clearly Maisie, with more alacrity than respect. In her cockney voice was a jaunty suggestion of equality. She was a striking contrast to Marcia Martindale. She went out as though she were finding it difficult to suppress her mirth.

“My friends get used to Maisie,” said Marcia. “She was my dresser. They get very familiar.”

“Your dresser?”

“Yes. I was in the theatre, you know, before I came here.”

“I see.”

“Maisie remembers the old days. It was good of you to come. Particularly as you have so little free time.”

“We’re busy at the moment. We are putting on a pantomime for Christmas.”

“Pantomime?” Her eyes lighted up and then became contemptuous. “I started in it,” she went on. “It gets you nowhere.”

“I think it is most interesting that you were an actress.”

“Very different from being a schoolmistress, I daresay.”

“They are poles apart,” I agreed.

She smiled at me.

“You must miss the theatre,” I went on.

She nodded. “One never really gets used to not working. Particularly if…”

She shrugged her shoulders and at that moment there was a tap on the door and a squat, middle-aged woman trundled in a tea trolley on which were sandwiches and cakes and everything we should need for tea.

“Over here, Mrs. Gittings,” said Marcia in rather loud ringing tones. And then more quietly: “That’s right. Thank you.”

Mrs. Gittings gave me a look and a nod and went out. Marcia surveyed the tea trolley, as though it were John the Baptist’s head on a charger. I did not know why these allusions kept occurring to me. It was simply because everything here did not seem quite natural. I wished Eileen Eccles were with me. We should have a hilarious time laughing over it all, I was sure.

“You must tell me how you like your tea. I do think it is
so
good of you to come. You can’t believe what a pleasure it is to have someone to talk to.”

I said I liked it weak with a little milk and no sugar. I stood up and took the cup from her. Then I sat down. There was a little table beside me on which I set my cup.

“Do have one of these sandwiches.” She seemed to glide toward me, holding out the plate, even infusing a certain amount of drama into that ordinary action. “Mrs. Gittings is
very
good. I’m lucky. But I do miss the theatre.”

“I can understand that.”

“I knew you would. I expect you wonder why I bury myself in the country. Well, there is the little one. You must meet Miranda before you leave.”

“Your little girl? Yes, I should like that.”

“It’s for her sake really.” She threw back her head with a gesture of resignation. “I shouldn’t be here otherwise. Children break into one’s career. One has to make a choice.”

There were many questions I should have liked to ask, but I supposed they were all too personal. I became intent on stirring my tea.

“You must tell me
all
about yourself,” she said.

I told her briefly that I lived with my aunt and that this was my first post; but I sensed that she was not really listening.

“You are very young,” she said at length. “Not that I am much older than you…in years.”

She sighed and I presumed she was referring to her superior experience of life. I felt she was probably right about that.

“And,” she said, coming to the point which I was sure was the reason why she had been eager for me to visit her, “you have already become friendly with Jason Verringer.”

“Well, hardly friendly. There was that accident and I had to stay at the Hall with the girl who had been thrown from her horse. You remember you came when I was there.”

She regarded me steadily. “Oh yes. Jason went to great lengths to explain. He was most apologetic. But I told him that in the circumstances he
had
to entertain you.”

“It wasn’t a matter of entertaining. I would have been perfectly happy with a tray in the sick-room.”

“He did say that was out of the question…A guest in his house and all that.”

“He seems to have gone into the matter pretty thoroughly.”

“Of course he would enjoy your company. He likes intelligent women…if they are pretty as well, which you undoubtedly are, Miss Grant.”

“Thank you.”

“I understand Jason very well. In fact when he comes back…Well, there is an understanding, you see. There is the child, of course, and his poor wife…That’s over now…”

I understood that she was telling me I was not to take seriously the attention Jason Verringer had bestowed on me. I wanted to tell her not to worry. I should certainly not attempt to be a menace to her and I was really quite indifferent to the plans she had made with the odious man.

I said coolly: “I am absorbed in my career. I was going in with my aunt at one time but that came to nothing. The Abbey is a most interesting school and Miss Hetherington a wonderful woman to work with.”

“I am so glad you are happy. You are different from the others.”

“Which others?”

“The mistresses.”

“Oh, you know them?”

“I have seen them. They look like schoolmistresses. You don’t exactly.”

“I am one, nevertheless. Tell me about the parts you played.”

She was nothing loth. Her greatest success had been Lady Isabel in
East
Lynne
. She stood up and burying her face in her hands declaimed: “Dead. Dead. And never called me Mother.”

“That was the deathbed scene,” she told me. “It used to entrance the house. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place. I played Pinero’s
Two
Hundred
a
Year
. Lovely. I liked drama best. But there was nothing to touch
East
Lynne
. That was a certain success.”

She then gave me little extracts from other parts she had played. She seemed quite a different woman from the one I had first seen on the lawn with the child or in the draper’s shop. In fact she seemed to change her personality every few minutes. The quiet fond mother; the lonely woman pleading for a visit; the heart-broken mistress of the courtyard scene; the charming hostess; and now the versatile actress. She slipped from roles with perfect ease.

We talked about
Cinderella
which we were doing at school. She had played in it once. “My first part,” she cried ecstatically, clasping her hands about her knees and becoming a little girl. “I was Buttons. You must have a good Buttons. It’s a small but effective role.” She looked upwards with adoration at an imaginary Cinderella. “I was a very good Buttons. It was then people began to realize I had a future.”

The door opened and Mrs. Gittings came in leading a little girl by the hand.

“Come and say Hello to Miss Grant, Miranda,” said Marcia slipping easily into the part of fond parent.

I said Hello to the child, who surveyed me solemnly. She was very pretty and had a look of her mother.