Bird of Prey (22 page)

Later she was to discover that she had been correct when, having dozed off for a little while, she awoke to hear voices in the corridor outside her room. A band of light edging her door showed that it was ajar and she realized that in running across the room to pull the window shut she had forgotten to close the door properly.

The storm had grown more violent, but in the pauses between the gusts of wind, clearly there came to her ears Grace’s voice: ... so glad you’ve come to your senses at last where she’s concerned ... no reason why she should receive preferential treatment because she’s related to the Perdues ... I really think the poor creature was getting notions above her station ... some of her ideas I’m sure would have surprised you, could you have guessed—”

“And what do you mean by that ambiguous statement?” came Randall’s voice.

Grace’s reply was lost under the sound of the storm, but Caroline caught, “... she was hitching her waggon to a star.”

“You make Caroline sound quite rapacious. ” Randall sounded amused. “Somehow she doesn’t seem like that to me ... seems a self-effacing, unassuming sort of person—”

“... that’s what she intends to convey,” came Grace’s voice

again. “... a woman’s guile when she wants a man—”

“A man?” he repeated. “Which man?” There was a tenseness in his voice. “Caroline’s in love with the young entertainer at the children’s party.”

“Glad to hear that,” Grace replied, “because I’ve never made any secret of the fact that I’m crazy about you, Randall. In fact, I’ve thrown myself at your head ... as long as Caroline’s not in the running I don’t mind ... would have cared terribly about coming second-best to her—”

At this point there was a particularly loud burst of wind which, when it died away, was followed by an eerie silence. And now Caroline could no longer hear the voices in the corridor.

One thing was clear, and that was that Grace was presumably staying for the night. She was now on her way to whatever room she was to occupy, Caroline assumed.

But it turned out that she was wrong and that the silence in the corridor was due to the fact that Randall had moved away to see to the comfort of his other guests. The door was thrown open, the lights were switched on, and as Caroline sat up in bed, startled, she found Grace standing in the doorway surveying her.

For an instant or two it was clear that Grace could hardly believe the evidence of her own eyes, then she slowly advanced into the room, saying, “And what are
you
doing here?” When Caroline did not immediately reply Grace raised her voice. “Well, let’s have it.”

“Randall moved me down here from the servants’ quarters some time ago,” Caroline faltered.

“Randall? And why was that—as if I didn’t know.”

“Well, you see there was no fireplace and no way of heating it, so—so—”

“Don’t bother to give silly excuses,” Grace said derisively. “As if Randall would be bothered about such things as the fireplace in a servant’s bedroom! If he moved you down here, it was because, like most men, he had his reasons—”

Caroline drew in her breath at the tone of contempt with which Grace was addressing her. So Grace thought the same as everyone else! There had been only one interpretation of his action.

“Oh, men must have their little amusements,” Grace went on. “Not that I really mind, because when I marry him I’ll see that he keeps to the strait and narrow.” As she spoke she moved across the room to stand before the long gilt-framed mirror against one of the walls. “He’ll find that with me he’s taken on a full-time job. I simply won’t give him time to allow his thoughts to stray.”

In the mirror her brilliant blue eyes were fixed on Caroline’s stricken face as she went on, “Oh, you poor thing, so you’ve been getting notions, just as I thought. I’m so sorry! I wouldn’t have hurt you for the world. But you must realize how utterly ridiculous you’ve been. I mean, does a man like Randall marry one of his staff—a girl who serves drinks to his guests—no matter how infatuated she may be? You have to be realistic. I know how frightfully romantic you are, but then all girls get these weird notions—especially at your age. But in real life it just doesn’t happen. When Randall marries it will be to someone quite different—someone like myself.” As she spoke she turned and twisted before the mirror, her eyes on her graceful figure in red and gold Chinese silk.

And Caroline, sitting up in bed watching Grace and listening to her contemptuous dismissal of her as a rival, felt herself shrink. So little did Grace consider it possible that Randall might have any serious thoughts of her that she wasn’t even angry. She was treating the situation of Caroline’s being allotted this room so near to Randall’s as just the sort of behaviour to be expected from an unattached man with a girl who had shown herself to be only too willing to co-operate with him. An overwhelming sense of shame gripped her.

Only one thought remained in the welter of regret that gripped her: why, if what Grace said was true, had Randall made no move towards carrying out his intention? So far the door between them had been firmly shut. Or was it perhaps that he had been waiting until she had fully accepted the situation with all its implications before making a move?

To Caroline’s relief at that moment there was a sharp tap at the door and Mrs. Creed bustled in. “Oh, Mrs. Brant, this isn’t the

room you’ll have tonight,” she began a little breathlessly.

“So I see!” Grace said evenly.

Caroline was aware of the housekeeper and Grace exchanging a long understanding glance before they both turned to look at her.

“If you’ll come along now, Mrs. Brant, I’ll get you fixed up for the night,” the housekeeper said, ignoring Caroline.

At the door Grace turned to fire her parting shot. “So sorry for disturbing you,” she carolled. “Sleep well.” As she spoke she switched off the lights and went out.

Caroline lay awake in the dark listening as the storm grew more violent: the wind rose to a wild eldritch scream: the rattling of the skeleton branches of the tree outside the window beat a sharper and more insistent tattoo. The countryside, which could appear so beautiful, was now hostile, almost sinister, covered with a thick blanket of snow. Suddenly she became conscious of how old the house was, of strange creaks and groans that she had not noticed before. Only the dressing-room separated her from Randall, but now it seemed as if a great abyss divided them. What was he thinking of? she wondered. Was it of his conversation with Grace, and what had that sudden silence between them meant? She pictured them close in each other’s arms, and for a moment misery overcame her fear.

On the following day she would leave this room. What a fool she had been to acquiesce so tamely in his wishes! Had a part of her half hoped that he would take advantage of that connecting dressing-room? Well, at any rate Randall that evening had ruthlessly demonstrated that, as far as he was concerned, she was nothing more than a rather ineffectual domestic, not even as deft as Betty. Tomorrow she would be back in her own room, as isolated from him as though she were on the moon. Instinctively she know too it was one of the first steps that she must take if she were to rid herself of what Grace had so contemptuously described as her infatuation for him. Somehow she must free herself completely from this man’s hold on her heart. Later, when her love for Randall Craig was properly placed in proportion, she would be able to look back on this as a short and salutary lesson. But she couldn’t leave Longmere just yet. She must be under the same roof as Randall, no matter how remote she might be in every other way. Ultimately she would leave Longmere—but not yet!

In spite of the increased fury of the storm she was drifting off into an uneasy sleep when she was jerked upright with a scream of alarm at the pistol-like snap of cracking wood and a branch was hurled violently against the casement window. It flew open and the wind tore like a dervish through the room: the long curtains tossed and writhed, sweeping from her dressing-table jars of make-up and the odds and ends she had accumulated since her arrival.

At first she was too confused to know exactly what had taken place, then, as realization dawned on her, she bitterly regretted her wild and terrified scream. Had Randall heard her? she wondered in trepidation. If he had, would he assume it a bid for notice, an invitation to cross the short distance that separated their rooms?

Hastily she got out of bed, rushed across the floor and tried to close the window, but she found it an impossible task. Flurries of snow blew in, falling on her flimsy nightgown and clinging to her hair and as she struggled the wind seemed to catch at her throat and tear her breath away.

Then suddenly the room flooded with light and with a little gasp she turned to find that the dressing-room door was open and Randall was striding towards her.

“Get back into bed immediately,” he rasped. “Are you trying to catch pneumonia! ”

Gratefully she scrambled beneath the thick cosy covers, while Randall with a swift powerful movement of his arms closed the casements, excluding the beating snow and keening wind which, as though in disappointment, buffeted the panes.

He looked about rather ruefully. “I’m afraid this has made rather a mess of your possessions.”

“It’s my own fault,” Caroline said in a small voice from the depths of the great wide bed. “I didn’t fasten the window properly. ”

Slowly he crossed the floor and stood looking down at her. “All in all you’re an incompetent little creature, aren’t you, Caroline?”

She nodded miserably.

“You’ve proved yourself to be most inept at serving your betters.”

“I’ll do better next time,” she remarked.

“And suppose there shouldn’t be a next time?” She looked up at him, her eyes dark in her small face. So he was letting her know that he had no more use for her, that she was to be dismissed ignominiously. She felt tears fill her eyes and knew that if she spoke she would be unable to prevent herself bursting into sobs.

Still regarding her with his piercing glance, he sat down on the side of her bed. “I think you have enough sense to realize that you weren’t particularly impressive in your role as domestic this evening?”

“No, I suppose I wasn’t.”

“There’s also the point that you’re inclined to be a disruptive influence: you’ve probably sensed that the fact that you’re Grace’s cousin places you in an ambiguous position as far as the staff is concerned. Mrs. Creed is disapproving and Betty seems to be continually in the sulks. I think, all in all, it would be as well if we made a change, clarified the position a little.”

His meaning was all too plain. She felt a little catch at her throat and, in spite of her efforts to suppress it, gave a hiccoughing sob.

He bent down and with a blunt finger touched her cheeks.

“You’re crying, Caroline.” he said. “Why?”

She shook her head, racking her brains to find an acceptable excuse. “I’m cold.” Then she added a little wildly, “I mean, the

window blew open and—”

“Yes, I know all about the window,” he said gravely, his eyes raking her intently. “You say you’re cold—well, I think we can do something about that.” Suddenly he had swept her into his arms, pressed so close that she was left breathless, unable even to exclaim, and wondering in panic if he could hear the wild beating of her heart.

Then, as realization overwhelmed her, she tried to push him away. This was how it had been presaged the master of Longmere would behave: he was ‘taking advantage’, as Mrs. Creed would primly put it: or was it worse still and was this, in his eyes, a form of compensation? After all, she had accepted this room and all that his proximity implied.

In a wild burst of misery and revolt she pulled away from him, but he still held her arms tightly as he frowningly gazed down into her rebellious face.

“I’ll leave here as soon as I can,” she said, her voice quavering in spite of her efforts to control it. “There’s no necessity to feel you owe me anything, just because you’re getting rid of me.”

“Getting rid of you? What on earth are you talking about?”

“But—but you said something about making other plans, and my not being competent, and—” Her voice faltered to a stop.

“What a silly goose! Of course I’ve other plans! When you’re my wife it won’t matter whether you’re competent or not, will it?”

“Your wife?” she gasped, bewildered.

“Yes. Why does the idea seem so extraordinary to you?”

“But I thought you wanted to get rid of me!” Even now she found it difficult to believe her ears. Randall actually wanted her as his wife!

“As to your new life—on the contrary, I intend to hang on to you very firmly, so put any ideas of doing a bunk completely out of your head.”

“Oh, Randall!” She flung herself into his arms. “Why should I do a bunk, now that I know you love me?”

His mouth was close to hers. “Well, there’s always the gallant Dick,” he said softly.

Suddenly everything was explained: his angry demand that she attend on his guests. Randall had been jealous of Dick Travers! At the knowledge she felt a little bubble of amusement; how strange to think that the self-sufficient, autocratic Randall Craig had been jealous of someone as futile as Dick, with all his weak and silly

snobbishness. She giggled helplessly.

“Well, what’s so amusing?” he demanded.