Bird of Prey (14 page)

“Well, I know you were angry and then Grace was telling me—”

“What exactly did Grace tell you?”

But Caroline was not to be drawn. She would sound like a tell-tattle as they called it at school, and she had no intention of placing herself in this category as far as Randall Craig was concerned. “Oh, nothing much,” she said quickly.

“Nothing much? You don’t mean to tell me that when two women get together they discuss nothing much?”

He drew up a chair and said casually, “By the way, Grace has changed her mind.”

“Changed her mind?” Caroline said blankly.

“Yes, about the anorak. She’s going to let Robin keep it.”

Caroline sat bolt upright, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “But she seemed—I didn’t dream she’d change her mind. She seemed so—so adamant.”

“Let’s say I talked her into it,” he replied a little dryly.

She looked at him, puzzled. “But why?” It was not because of any particular affection for the child, she suspected.

“Why? Let’s say I realized it was something dear to your heart. And in spite of the fact that you’re an obstinate, wilful,

headstrong and exasperating creature, I decided—shall I say—to exert my influence, and she graciously acquiesced.”

In spite of the lightness of his tones Caroline sensed a certain ambiguity. Did he realize how desperately Grace wished to please him so that, reluctant as she was, she had agreed to Robin keeping the coat?

“You know, Caroline,” he continued, “in spite of today’s debacle, I must congratulate you on your handling of Robin. I’m not denying that I find you extraordinarily exasperating, to put it mildly, and since your arrival I’ve lived more or less with my heart in my mouth, but as far as Robin is concerned you’ve been extremely successful: apparently you understand him. All previous governesses seem to have departed either in a towering rage or on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I don’t think they grasped, as you do, that Robin’s an ordinary, normal boy and secretly resents being dressed as a pretty toy. Perhaps if they had grasped that, like you, they’d have understood him and got on better with him. I must admit I like the child more for it.”

But Caroline got the impression he wasn’t concentrating on what he was saying. Then she found that his eyes were fixed thoughtfully on the rather battered toy donkey that hung from the brass knob at the head of her bed. If only she had tucked it away safely in one of her drawers before he had noticed it, she thought uncomfortably.

“So this is the trophy for reaching the highest note! ” he said thoughtfully, stretching out a long arm and unhooking the little toy as it hung from a ribbon around its rather scruffy-looking neck. He dangled it from an extended finger and regarded it abstractedly.

Caroline twisted uncomfortably and felt extremely foolish.

“I’ll bet now you’ve given it a name, haven’t you?”

Caroline nodded rather shamefacedly, but didn’t vouchsafe to reply.

“Well, why don’t you tell me? Or is it something too improper to be repeated?”

Caroline heard herself give a helpless giggle and somehow she now felt completely at ease with him. “I call him Smudge,”

she admitted.

“Why Smudge?”

“Well, he has rather a smudgy face,” Caroline replied, feeling now that the explanation was not particularly adequate.

“Um,” he nodded. “Suitable, but not exactly original! He also has a very doleful expression,” Randall added as he replaced the toy over the brass knob. “In fact, Smudge, like his owner, could do with being cheered up. I expect you find it pretty depressing here. Longmere certainly is no holiday camp. There’s very little for a girl like you to do on your days off, and somehow, from what I’ve heard of them, I don’t think you’d enjoy yourself at the village dances. Tell me, Caroline, would you care to meet the gay Dick Travers again?”

“What?” Caroline gazed at him, wide-eyed in amazement, not sure that she had heard aright.

“Yes, Dick Travers, the jolly M.C. who caught your fancy at the holiday camp! Every Christmas we’ve an entertainment here for the children of the village. The usual stuff: a gaudily decorated Christmas tree, with presents, games, and usually some sort of entertainment: last year it was a magician: sometimes a Punch and Judy show: something that would particularly appeal to children. Needless to say it’s not my cup of tea, but it’s a tradition at Longmere and it’s been carried on for generations and I suppose it will go on as long as Longmere exists. Mrs. Creed has been at me to get things organized and it struck me that this Dick Travers of yours might put on something amusing for the children. Do you think he’d care to do anything like that?”

Caroline hesitated, unable to understand the sudden reluctance she felt. It would be wonderful to see Dick again, yet she felt her emotions curiously mixed. Did she really want Dick to come here to Longmere? she wondered. Until that moment she would have said there was nothing she would have liked better, but now at the prospect of meeting him again she found that her feelings were curiously ambivalent. Somehow Dick already seemed to belong to the past. What would it be like to be confronted with him again here at Longmere? She wondered if her emotions showed in her face as she found that Randall was waiting for her reply. “I’m— I’m sure he’d agree to it,” she stammered at last. “That is, of course, if he’s not engaged on something else.”

“Well, would you drop him a line and find out if he’s free to come?”

Caroline nodded, but again with a feeling of reluctance.

“Well, that’s settled,” he said decisively, and got to his feet. “And now we come to the next thing I want to talk about. ” His tall, broad figure seemed to loom over her, again reminding her of a bird of prey, and Caroline felt a faint apprehension as she gazed up at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, Caroline,” he commanded, a faint trace of irascibility in his voice, “I shan’t eat you, you know. Why do you continually treat me as though I were some sort of despot, always to be held in terror and awe?”

Because you are one, Caroline thought to herself, a little mutinously.

But it was obvious that her employer was uninterested in her reactions. He was gazing around with narrowed eyes. “This room is not at all suitable for you. I must get Mrs. Creed to move you into some place a little more congenial.”

“Oh, but I like it here,” Caroline said firmly.

Hands in pockets, he regarded her irritably. “Do you? Those ghastly bilious roses on the wallpaper and the brass bed are like a Victorian nightmare.”

“But that’s what I like about it,” Caroline retorted. “It’s quaint, and the roses aren’t really bilious: it’s only because the wallpaper’s a little faded in places.” “You mean you actually like knocking your head off that sloping

roof?”

Caroline giggled. “Oh, but I don’t. Anyway, it wouldn’t do.” “What wouldn’t do?”

“It wouldn’t do if I got better quarters.”

“And why not? Really, Caroline, you are the most exasperating girl!”

“Well—” She hesitated. It was impossible to tell him that the

garrulous Betty was already showing signs of resenting her promotion, and of Mrs. Creed’s only too obvious air of respect since it had been discovered that she was Grace’s cousin. To move to a better room would only confirm the girl in her enmity. Mrs. Creed, too, might not be so enamoured of the idea. The suspicion that she was ‘getting above herself’ might make things extremely uncomfortable for her, if there was any change made in her quarters.

“Well, these are staff rooms,” she said defensively.

“But you’re not exactly staff, are you?” he rejoined. “Let’s say you’re my personal assistant. Anyway, I’ve made up my mind. You’ll move if I say so,” he informed her shortly. All the imperiousness, which was so habitual with him, had returned. “In this house what I say is done.”

“But I don’t want to move,” wailed Caroline.

“Your wishes don’t concern me particularly,” he told her bluntly. “It’s what I say counts—just remember that.”

And on this uncompromising note he strode from the room, closing the door none too gently behind him.

When Caroline went down to breakfast on the following morning she was met with silence. Mrs. Creed, Fred and Betty continued their breakfasts without a word and Caroline was puzzled at first, wondering what she had done to deserve such an icy reception. She glanced at the clock. No, she wasn’t late. She tried to think of any duties she might have neglected, but was at a loss to understand why they were treating her in this way.

“Your egg will be ready in a moment—that is if you don’t mind pouring tea for yourself,” Mrs. Creed said very stiffly.

“No, no, of course not,” Caroline said hastily.

She sipped her tea and nibbled toast until Mrs. Creed placed her breakfast plate before her, remarking, “The egg is slightly hard, but I hope you won’t mind.”

Caroline glanced at her in surprise. This very austere manner was new to Mrs. Creed and she wondered uncomfortably what it portended. It was Betty who finally divulged the cause of the staff’s attitude.

Mrs. Creed had gone hurrying off in answer to the summons of the bell in the breakfast room and Betty took the opportunity of her absence to say resentfully, “So you’re to be moved down to the brocade room. It seems the servants’ quarters are no longer good enough for you. Some people don’t half know how to land on their feet—or perhaps it’s because they know how to play up to a man.”

“Now that’s enough out of you, Betty,” Fred said heavily. “You should be here long enough to know that what the master wants is what’s done in this house. At the same time,” here his eyes swivelled towards Caroline, and he regarded her with a hostile, suspicious glance of his small eyes, “one can’t help wondering just why Caroline should get such special treatment. However, it’s not for the likes of us to worry our heads about such things. We know our places and keep to them—not like some young persons who don’t mind pushing themselves forward.”

Just then Mrs. Creed returned. “When you’ve finished dusting the silver drawing-room, I’ll show you to your new quarters,” she said, her lips pursed in a resentful line. “Your room is in a wing of the house which I’m sure you haven’t seen yet.”

Caroline was glad to arise from the table and hurry off to her duties. But for once the dusting and polishing of the beautiful antique pieces in the big drawing-room held no interest for her. The gleaming patina of the old walnut and rosewood furniture, the handling of the silver jewelled and enamelled bijouterie on the occasional tables gave her no pleasure because her mind was filled with this new turn in her fortunes.

The antagonistic attitude of the staff was only too easy to understand now that she knew that she was to be given one of the guest-rooms. She had feared this would happen when she had told Randall that she didn’t want to move: but of course he hadn’t listened! He never did, she thought resentfully, as automatically she ran the duster over the ball-and-claw foot of an ivory inlaid cabinet. He was a law unto himself. Other people’s wishes meant nothing to him.

So absorbed was she in her angry and resentful thoughts that she was surprised to see Mrs. Creed appear on the scene. “If you’ll come along with me,” she said coldly, “I’ll show you your new room.”

What first made Caroline realize the big change this move was going to make in her status was the fact that Mrs. Creed led her up the main staircase and somehow, although it was not stated, Caroline knew that in future she would be using these stairs instead of the narrow linoleum-covered flight of stairs which was considered appropriate for the staff.

The housekeeper walked along a broad corridor in a part of the house that Caroline had never seen before and threw open a door revealing a room decorated in shades of deep rose pink brocade with long drapes of greenish gold in a similar material at the long windows. A beautiful, almost a regal room, was the thought that crossed Caroline’s mind.

“Oh, I didn’t expect anything like this,” was her impulsive exclamation.

“Is that so?” the housekeeper asked idly. “Then Mr. Randall didn’t tell you that his room is two doors away. In fact there’s only a dressing-room between the two rooms. The doors are always kept locked—and it’s up to you to see that they remain locked,” she added with emphasis. “It’s only to be expected that it would go to any young girl’s head when a man like Mr. Craig takes notice of her. And after all, Mr. Craig’s only human. He’s no different from any other man. If he sees a girl is willing, naturally he’s going to take advantage of the fact. I’m only saying these things for your own good,” she ended righteously.

Caroline felt her cheeks flush resentfully. “But there’s no need for you to worry, Mrs. Creed,” she said angrily. “You may be sure that I know how to behave myself.”

“Well, all I know is that you’re half staff, half guest, and I really don’t know what to make of you,” Mrs. Creed cried in exasperation. “I’m placed in a very awkward position.”

Caroline glanced at Mrs. Creed’s puzzled, confused expression and her anger melted. What the housekeeper was saying was true: she was placed in a very awkward position because of Caroline’s ambiguous position in the household—a position that she herself had never desired. She had never asked to be more than a simple member of the staff.

“This is making thinks very difficult for me with Betty,” Mrs. Creed went on. “She sees you getting special privileges and she thinks she ought to be treated the same. She’s getting up on her high horse and won’t take a telling-off any longer. Any time I rebuke her I get you flung in my face.”