An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (119 page)

Feeling now that neither the man nor his dog were desirable acquaintances, Caroline stepped further onto the side of the road, holding up her sunshade to shield her face. But even as she did so, she saw that a little girl who had been sitting round the fire by the caravan was throwing a ball into the air and trying to catch it. She was quite a small child, not more than two or three years old and the ball, missing the tiny hands reaching out for it, bounced from the ground into the centre of the road.

The child toddled happily after her toy but even as she reached the roadway, the great dog saw her and with a snarl turned to treat the baby as it had treated the puppy.

There was no time to think, hardly time to act, for the child, intent on finding her ball, had no sense of oncoming danger. She reached for it just as the dog bared its fangs. Caroline heard the dog snarl, heard the cry of someone behind her, then with all her strength she brought her open sunshade down hard on the dog’s head, separating him from the child who, astonished and frightened, toppled over in the dust and started to cry.

After that things happened with extreme rapidity. There was a moment’s stupefaction on the part of the dog, then his teeth met in the silk and lace of Caroline’s sunshade. A woman came rushing across the road and picked up the crying baby, while the hunchback turned to Caroline with almost as much ferociousness as was shown by his dog.

“What do you think you are doing?” he asked, and his voice was harsh and nasal.

“Hush ye, hush ye, my little love,” the woman cried. “Th’ nasty dog won’t get ye now. Th’ kind lady has saved ye.”

Caroline spoke slowly and with great dignity.

“Sir, you would keep a dog such as that under proper control. It is a danger to all peaceful citizens.”

The hunchback looked at her. He had a huge, bulbous nose and small slit eyes set too closely together.

“When I want advice, I will ask for it,” he replied.

“Do you not realise,” Caroline asked haughtily, “that your dog might have bitten this poor child most severely, even as it bit that puppy?”

“Children, puppies and, for that matter, young women, Madam, keep out of my way and my dog’s,” the man said coolly. “Come, Brutus.”

He bent down and took his dog, who was still worrying Caroline’s’ sunshade, by the collar. He dragged him a few feet down the road and then without looking back or doffing his hat walked on, the dog growling in his throat as he went.

Caroline was silent for a moment in sheer astonishment. Never in the whole of her sheltered life had she been spoken to in such a manner. The woman broke in on her thoughts with cries of gratitude.

“Oh, Lady, how can I thank ye! My poor baby. Hush ye, my love. Ye are safe, quite safe. That terrible beast! He would have half killed her. How can I thank ye, Lady? Tis impossible ?”

“Then please don’t try,” Caroline said.

She put out her hand and touched the little girl’s cheek. It was soft and warm. The child, her eyes still full of frightened tears, smiled shyly.

“Pwetty lady,” she lisped.

“There was never a truer word,” the mother cried. “Yes, she’s a pretty lady my love, and a brave ‘un.”

“The only risk I incurred was to my sunshade,” Caroline said, and looked down somewhat ruefully at the great jagged tears where the dog’s teeth had ripped the silk.

“Why, Mother,” a voice said behind her. “Tis the gentry mort who visited us with his lordship but last week when us were at Sevenoaks.”

Caroline turned swiftly. She recognised the boy who stood there. It was the dark boy with the long, lank hair to whom Lord Brecon had first spoken when they arrived at the menagerie, the boy who had led them to Adam Grimbaldi’s caravan and had later gone in search of a post-chaise to take her home to Mandrake.

“But of course I remember you,” she smiled. ‘What are you doing here and where is the menagerie?”

“Oh, Lady, ‘tis bad fortune we’ve had,” the woman answered. “My husband was mauled by one o’ Madame Zara’s tigers. He was acleaning out its cage when the beast sprang at him. Twas terrible ill he was for three days. Now th’ leech says he will live, but his flesh will take time to knit and it maybe a month or so afore we can join Mr. Grimbaldi at St. Bartholomew’s Fair.”

“I am indeed sorry,” Caroline commiserated, “and in the meantime you are camping here.”

“His lordship gave us permission,” the woman said proudly.

“Tis a splendid place and useful to have th’ stream so close at hand. Gideon picks up an odd shilling in th’ village and in th’ fields, and Mr. Grimbaldi- Gawd bless him - won’t let us starve.” She paused for breath and added with tears in her eyes, “but if anything had happened to our little Zarina, I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself. Named after Madame Zara she is, and the apple of her father’s eye.”

“Well, I am glad I could save her.” Caroline said, “but who is that horrid man with the dog?”

The boy Gideon looked down the road and his expression was fierce.

“The leery cove has but recently come to th’ Village, Lady, and the people around here hate him for all they are afeared on him. All Oi can tell yer is that his name be Jason Faken.

“He is a horrible fellow,” Caroline said. “I wonder anyone lets him have a house in a nice peaceful village like this. You should tell Lord Brecon about him, for he cannot want his tenants and employees to be treated in such a manner either by the dog or his master.”

“There is indeed some talk o’ speaking to his lordship,” the woman said after a moment, “but ‘tis a little awkward seeing as how Jason Faken has close acquaintance with his lordship’s own cousin, Mr. Gervase Warlingham.”

“Oh, has he?” Caroline ejaculated, “That is very interesting.”

“They tell that he was brought here by Mr Warlingham,” Gideon went on. “Th’ gentry swell has visited the old geezer twice this past week for Oi’ve seen him with me own daylights riding down the road to his house.”

Caroline, nodded her head. This all seemed to fit in with her preconceived ideas of Jason Faken.

“Well, keep an eye on him,” she said at length, “for I am sure his lordship would not want anything unpleasant to occur, whether he be a friend of his cousin’s or no.”

“Indeed we will do that,” Gideon’s mother said, “and if there is any service I or my family can ever do for ye, Lady, we will do it. Ye have saved my child today, maybe in our humble way we shall one day be able to assist ye in return?”

Caroline smiled.

“Thank you,” she said. “I may need your help. One never knows.”

She held out her hand to the woman, who bent and kissed her fingers.

“Gawd bless ye for th’ fine lady ye are,” she said, and there were tears in her eyes.

Caroline turned and walked slowly back to the Vicarage. She had much to think about and when Harriet exclaimed over her ruined sunshade, she threw it down in a corner saying,

“It was worth it, well worth it.”

But she did not give the bewildered Harriet any explanation of what she meant, and she was strangely silent during luncheon, at which fortunately the Vicar was not present.

“Shall I accompany you to the Castle?” Harriet asked when Caroline went to her bedchamber to tidy herself, and to smooth down her curls to what she hoped was a becoming demureness.

“Thank you, Harriet, but I prefer to be alone,” Caroline answered. “I want to think, I want to prepare myself so that I have an answer to every question. It will not be easy to act the part of a humble dependent!”

“Not for you, Caroline,” Harriet said with a laugh, “for I have always thought you very autocratic in some ways.”

“Oh no,” Caroline protested, “not autocratic.”

“Perhaps that is the wrong word,” Harriet said, “but you have such presence, such personality, Caroline, that I can’t help feeling that anyone would be quite demented who really believed you to be a dependent.”

Caroline looked at herself in the glass. Her eyes were sparkling, the vivid, fiery gold of her hair was in pleasing contrast to the pale fragility of her skin.

“Don’t I look like a poor gentlewoman?” she asked.

“Not in the least,” Harriet replied.

Caroline sighed.

“Well, what do I look like?” she questioned.

Harriet hesitated for a moment then she laughed.

“You look, Caroline, like a Lady of Quality in search of adventure,” she said, and for once in her life Harriet Wantage had the last word.

5

A footman flung open the big nail-studded oak door of the Castle and Caroline entered.

“I have called to, see her ladyship,” she said in her clear, commanding voice, and an old butler with a pontifical dignity came forward and bowed low.

“Certainly, Madam. What name shall I say?”

“Miss Caroline Fry,” Caroline replied, and then in surprise saw a strange expression cross the butler’s face.

For a moment she did not understand what was wrong until he straightened himself, turned away, with what could only be described as a disdainful air, and with a ‘gesture’ of his fat hand motioned forward a flunkey, gorgeous in purple and crimson.

“Show Miss Fry upstairs,” he said sharply.

Caroline suddenly realised that as a mere applicant for a post in the household she was not entitled to the courtesy or attention which would have been hers had the servants known her real identity. She was not certain whether to be angry or amused by the butler’s behaviour, but the footman gave her little time for thought.

“This way please, miss,” he said, assuming a jaunty air and looking her over in what seemed for Caroline an appraising and impertinent manner

He preceded her up the Grand Staircase and Caroline had time to notice the carved and pillared grandeur of the Great Hall and at the same time to be oppressed by the darkness and gloom of its furnishings. The walls were panelled from floor to ceiling and hung with ancient weapons. Suits of armour were displayed at the foot of the stairs and stood at every turn - lifeless sentinels which somehow gave an eerie and unpleasant feeling that one was being watched.

As they reached the first floor, an elderly woman stepped out from the shadows. She had big bones and a gaunt, ugly face which was not unpleasant despite an expression of wary reserve. She wore a silk apron and Caroline judged her to be someone of importance in the domestic household.

“Her ladyship will see Miss Fry,” she said to the footman.

“Sorry Miss Dorcas,” he answered, “but Mrs. Miller gave orders that she was to interview the young lady first.”

The maid gave a sniff which Caroline gathered implied both distaste and impatience.

“Her ladyship is waiting,” she said icily, “and I am here to take Miss Fry along to her.”

Ignoring Caroline, the two servants faced each other angrily.

“Now see here, Miss Dorcas,” the footman said, forgetting himself so far as to set his arms akimbo on his hips. “You knows as surely as I does that Mrs. Miller gives the orders in this ‘ere household. She says to me, she says “When the young woman comes, bring her straight to me, James,” and who am I to argue? ‘Tis more than me bread and butter’s worth.”

“Her ladyship’s companion has nothing to do with Mrs. Miller,” Dorcas snapped back.

“That’s gammon and you knows it,” the footman said “and as far as I’m concerned, I wishes to keep this ‘ere job, so into Mrs. Miller she goes, see!”

He walked across the landing and opened a door almost directly opposite where Caroline and Dorcas were standing. He swung it wide as if to usher in Caroline with ceremony but even as he opened his mouth to speak her name, the words died on his lips, for it was obvious to all three people standing on the landing that Mrs. Miller was not ready to receive anyone.

She was reclining in a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace with her feet on an embroidered stool her head lolling sideways against a satin cushion. Her mouth was slightly open, her eyes tightly closed, and even as they stood there staring at her she emitted an audible and most unladylike snore.

Caroline had time to note that Mrs. Miller was not unattractive. Her dark hair under a turban of striped gauze was arranged in fashionable curls and tier dress, cut very
décolleté,
made no attempt to conceal the charms of her ample bosom. Caroline also perceived the nearly empty decanter of port standing on a small table ad guessed, as she intercepted the look which passed between Dorcas and the footman, that it was no unusual occurrence for Mrs. Miller to be discovered at such a disadvantage

The footman shut the door quietly.

“Your trick, Miss Dorcas,” he grinned, “but I shall get it when her Majesty awakes if she hears we have seed her like this.”

“I’m not one for telling tales, James,” Dorcas said severely.

The footman smiled, but his bright eyes were on Caroline.

“Good luck, miss,” he said to her. “Keep your mummer shut.”

Caroline smiled back at him. She felt she really had no alternative, then she followed Dorcas along the passage.

“Take no notice of that cheeky boy,” Dorcas said, “for ‘tis not his fault that things are as they are in this house.”

“Who is Mrs Miller?” Caroline asked as they reached the end of the long corridor.

“You will find out soon enough,” Dorcas snapped, “if you stay here.”

There was something in her tone which told Caroline that it would not be wise to venture any more questions, and she followed the maid in silence down yet another passage before they stopped in front of a pair of double mahogany doors. Dorcas knocked and a soft voice bade them enter.

Dorcas opened the door. For a moment Caroline was dazzled. The room was light and lovely after the ill-lit, passages and the heavy gloom of the Hall and the Grand Staircase. The sun was streaming through two long windows and everywhere there were flowers - big bowls of hot-house blooms whose perfume filled the air. While Caroline was conscious of the fragrance of the flowers, she was also aware of the sound of twittering voices, the rustle of winks, the sudden little squawks and tweet of song birds. Then by the window she perceived two large cages and in them at least a dozen beautiful little green and blue budgerigars swinging on their perches or fluttering against the thin silver bars which kept them imprisoned.