These Delights (8 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

It
was extraordinary, Hester thought, weeding her rose
-
beds in the early days of June, how well the children had fitted into the household. By the end of a fortnight it seemed as if they had always lived there, and there was no denying that despite their unexpectedness they had good
manners
and were charmingly attentive to their hosts’ wishes. If they could not always control their tongues or their opinions it was because they had never had to, and a word from Luke could always restore the balance of an argument.

Hester sighed, thinking the private thoughts she shared with no one, not even with Luke. Had she married, and there was once a time when she might have done so, she would have liked children like this; not Lou, perhaps, for near-genius was a great responsibility, but daughters like Pauline and Vicky, especially Vicky, who she must still treat firmly as a child because of Diana. But to Diana her mind closed. Not even to herself would she admit to feelings one way or another about the girl. She was her brother’s choice, and she would undoubtedly do much for Monk’s Farm.

She could hear them now, Vicky and Pauline, their clear young voices calling to one another across the yard as they helped one of the men load manure, while the sound of Lou’s endless scales came from the house. Luke, she knew, had taken Diana to Brent to look at a mare, and would probably stay for lunch at the Manor. Tomorrow they were all to go over there for tea. Hester, sighed and hoped the children would behave. She might drop a hint to Vicky beforehand, but it was difficult to know what to say. The Jordans seldom behaved badly and if one were to try to control their opinions it would only make them self
-
conscious. Their complete naturalness was half their charm,
but Hester doubted whether it would appeal to Lady Sale.

Corky was ringing the outside bell and she gathered together her gardening tools and went into the house, meeting the two girls in the porch.

“What’s for lunch, Corky?” Pauline shouted. “Apple pud again? Oh, good, I’m starved.” She made a bee-line for the dining-room, but Hester called her back.

“Wash first, both of you, please,
”
she said. “You re
ek
of manure.”

“Manure is deli
ci
ous,” announced Vicky,
sniffing
the palms of her hands. “It is fruity and sweet and
cl
ean all at once. I love it.”

“Possibly, but not in the house,” said Hester dryly. “And Vicky, I wouldn’t make those sort of remarks when we go to the Sales tomorrow.”

“Why? Aren’t they alive to their five senses?” asked Vicky, surprised but interested.

“Well, they mightn’t understand.”

“But Sir Harry must use manure for his roses.” Vicky always would pursue a thing to its logical con
cl
usion. “If he is sensitive to the scent of his roses, he
must
be sensitive to the smell of manure.”

Hester began to wish she had held her tongue.

“I daresay he is, but nobody wants to discuss manure over tea—at least not in that household.”

“How odd,” said Vicky. “Diana loves horses so naturally
one would con
cl
ude
—”

“It’s far safer not to jump to con
cl
usions, my dear,” Hester said. “Run and tell Lou lunch is ready; he can’t have heard the bell.”

“He never hears anything when he’s practising,” said Pauline as Vicky disappeared. “Isn’t Lady Sale going to like us, Cousin Hester?”

“That will depend entirely on you,” Hester replied. “Now, hurry up and wash your hands.”

Luke came in at tea-time looking well pleased with his day. Diana had liked the mare, he told them and would probably buy her; they had found a very nice set of the
Elizabethan poets in a second-hand book shop, and Si
r
Harry had produced an excellent port after lunch.

Leaning back his chair, drinking cup after cup of tea, Luke listened idly to the children’s chatter and thought contentedly of the day. Diana had been at her most charming. The mare had pleased her and brought a flush of excitement to her manner with him, and although she had discussed her future plans for the farm she had consulted his opinion and allowed herself to be overruled on the smaller points. He had been careful to make only the most light-hearted love to her, and had been rewarded by a new warmth which gave him better promise for the future.

Vicky, at once receptive to his mood, nodded her head wisely and thought: Diana has been kind to him today. She had grown very fond of her cousin and she thought it was a pity that she should have to make such a conventional marriage since he was not the type to find another love outside his home.

Pauline had said when she had explained about Diana’s money:

“Ah, yes, he marries her for practical reasons. He will doubtless later have his little friend and be happy.”

“No,” Vicky had answered. “You are wrong, Pauline. Luke will be faithful to Diana. He would think it dishonorable to take her money and betray her.”

“Pouff!” Pauline had said with innocent worldliness. “That would be carrying matters too far.”

“Walk with me to Mo
n
kstor,” Vicky said suddenly to Luke.
“The evening is so fine and you promised to show me the river.”

“All right,” he argued indulgently; “but you must wait
till
I’ve had a word with Tom about the tractor.”

Later, breasting the steep rise of the moor together, she hung on his arm and talked excitedly about the day she had spent
. In
the morning, the manure, and in the afternoon a bed of hay in the ba
rn
and the delights of Stevenson. She had long ago finished reading
Wuthe
r
ing Heights
,
and
had
sampled many books from Luke’s shelves.

“
You
’
re happy here, aren’t you, Vicky?” he asked, glancing with affection at the vivid profile at his shoulder.

“Oh, very very happy,” she cried.
“
We all are. We are so free and the country is beautiful. You are happy toda
y
too, Luke.”

Yes, he was happy. Not with that bubbling almost violent happiness which at times seemed to fill this child, but content, and, now that she was with him, he caught a little of her own delight.

They had reached the tor, and stood for a while as she had done that first day, drinking in the moor air and looking down at the spread of country below them. Now she knew what landmarks to look for. There was the estuary bright and tiny in the distance, with Plymouth hidden beyond, there the reservoir fed by the moorland streams, and away beyond, on the blue horizon, was the beginning of Cornwall and the sea.

“The river,” she said, tugging at him.

He showed her the little river Scaw, and the cattle ford of great flat stones which lay in the bed of the stream and trailed long streamers of bright green weed, and they sat on the bank and Vicky lay on her stomach and plunged her hands in the water.

“I must teach you how to tickle trout,” he told her, watching her fingers, now pale and ghostly beneath the water.

She looked up, laughing.

“
Tickle fish!” she exclaimed, amused by the expression, which was new to her.

He explained how it was done, and she vowed she would come to the river very early one morning and tickle trout for his breakfast. The thick, fair hair fell over her face, almost touching the water, and he had an impulse to ruffle it. She looked up again quickly, then rolled over on to her back and regarded him with clear, untroubled eyes.

“You know,” she said, “there are two things about you
I
love, Cousin Luke.”

“Really? What are they, Cousin Vicky?” he replied teasingly.

“No, I’m serious. One is your hands, which are gentle, and the other
—”
She sat up suddenly and began twisting a long strand of hair round her tilted nose. “No, I shall not tell you the other—yet.”

“What a child you are.” He laughed.

“No, I’m not a child,” she said gravely.

“Well,” said Luke, getting up and holding out his hands.
“
You don’t look very adult trying to wind your hair round your nose. Come along, we must be getting
back.”

He pulled her up, and she broke away from him shouting: “I’ll race you,” but he soon caught her, and they walked, hand in hand, back to the farm.

The
Jordan
s were impressed by Monksbridge Manor. “This,” said Pauline, awed, “must be one of the stately homes of England that Papa used to talk about. Diana must be very rich.”

“It’s not very big really,” said Luke, amused. “One of the smaller manor houses, and not too well restored.”

“The flower-beds are very neat,” said Vicky, sniffing. “I like your garden best, Cousin Hester.”

“Well, don’t tell Sir Harry so,” Hester laughed. “His gardens are the apple of his eye.”

“All that lovely lawn and poor Bibi not allowed,
”
said Lou. He had not wanted to come, and had had to be persuaded tactfully to leave his rabbit behind.

“They are probably all on the terrace at the back,” said Luke, and led the way round the house.

Diana was there, elegant and pleasing in her blue linen suit, and her mother and an acquaintance on one of Lady Sale’s numerous committees.

“Ah, there you are.” Lady Sale rose briskly and shook hands with Hester. Diana offered Luke a cool cheek and Lady Sale indicated chairs and her other guest at the same time. “I think you know Mrs. Walker. And these, I take it, are your young cousins, Luke. Dear me, how very fair they all are—quite striking these days to see three such natural blondes.”

The introductions were performed, and Lady Sale told them all to sit down, her eyes lingering, Hester noticed, a little longer upon Vicky.

“My husband will be here in a moment,” she said, “and as it was so warm, I thought we’d have tea out of doors. Now tell me all about yourselves, young people. Don’t be shy.”

To anyone else, such an injunction would have produced immediate dumbness, but not so to the
Jordan
s. They were only too ready to oblige with information about themselves, and Lady Sale, having quite inadvertently met her match in the matter of conversationists, was reduced to such remarks as “Really?” “How extraordinary
”
“You don’t say so!” and finally, with a breath of relief: “Ah, here’s my husband. Harry, I think you have met these young people before. Diana, you might go and tell them we’re ready for tea now. Servants are not the same these days, are they, Hester? They have to be told things, though of course I’m forgetting you have that funny little man who, I’m sure, must be invaluable.”

“
Corky knows everything,” said Lou solemnly. “He even knew Pauline went to the lavatory to cry and not because she wanted to, the other day.”

“Really?” said Lady Sale, moving uneasily. “Extraordinary! My dear Hester, you really must let us persuade you to join our working committee for the village. Mrs. Walker was only saying before you came that more workers were needed, and you would be such a help knowing the villagers and the farmers as you do.”

“I’m afraid I’ve no time for that sort of thing, Lady Sale,” said Hester, smiling. “I do go fortnightly to my sewing party in the village hall and produce the teas, but I’m afraid that’s as much as I can undertake.”

“What a pity,” said Mrs. Walker, looking disbelieving. “I’m afraid, dear Lady Sale, we shall just have to take a tiny bit more on our own shoulders.”

Objectionable woman, thought Hester crossly, always sucking up to the Sales.

Si
r
Harry had pulled a chair up beside Vicky’s and they were embarked on a long discussion about roses. Hester thought she caught the mention of manure, but as Vicky had truly said, manure was an essential part of growing roses, and she could only hope that the reference was technical.

Diana came back and began talking to Luke, and presently a maid brought out the tea, and the two men handed round plates of sandwiches and cakes.

It was a dull tea-party, Lou reflected, thinking regretfully of Bibi and all the scales he might have practised. He tried to catch Pauline’s eye, but she was listening decorously to something Mrs. Walker was telling her, and would not look. He wished someone would offer him another
cake,
but they were all talking so much that they ate slowly. Lady Sale’s vigilant eye, however, soon discovered his plate was empty, and he was told to help himself.

“What are you thinking about, little boy?” she enquired kindly, since he was so silent, then, remembering his earlier contribution to the conversation, regretted she had asked.