Hearts of Gold (21 page)

Feeling more cheerful he strolled through the market. There was a ragged-looking boy with a terrier for sale. It was black and white, small, handsome and intelligent-looking, everything that Boots was not, in fact.

‘How much?’ he said.

‘Five shillings, sir. Patch is a good ratter.’

‘Half a crown.’

‘He’s worth more than that, sir. My father trained him well.’

‘Where’s your father now.’

‘In prison, sir. Four shillings would be a fair price,’ the lad suggested.

‘Four then. You’re a good salesman.’ He fished two florins out of his pocket and exchanged them for the string with the dog attached. He handed the boy his card. ‘If you need work come and see me next week at my rooms. We need someone to clean the windows and sweep the yard. After the boy had gone, the dog wagged its tail at him and licked his hand.

‘Don’t try and get too friendly,’ he said. ‘I’ve bought you to keep Boots under control and teach him his manners.’

That night the silence was blissful as the two dogs settled down together in front of the crackling fire. Magnus opened the last entry in the journal.

Exactly what Sarette had said. They had been attuned to each other, Magnus thought.

A tear fell on the page and smudged the ink. Then another. Magnus couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried.

Life settled down for Sarette. Magnus came and went, and sometimes they passed on the stairs, Magnus looking dashing in his evening clothes as he went out to some function or another.

She felt invisible, and lonely, and wished she had someone to talk to apart from the dogs. She’d explored the many rooms of the house. Then she remembered that Gerald had invited her to a ball, and she was to be a guest of his sister. She checked her invitation, discovered it was the coming weekend and went into a flurry of preparation before she realized that Gerald had not mentioned it since.

She said to Branston, ‘Will you show me how to operate the telephone?’

‘You put the trumpet to your ear, and you talk into the body of the telephone. Everyone has a number, and you give that to the telephone operator, who puts you through to that person. Do you have the number of the person you wish to speak to?’

‘I don’t know any numbers. How can you talk to people if they’re somewhere else?’

‘I don’t know, Miss. It’s all to do with wires and electrical currents, and it depends on the person you wish to talk to. Not everyone has a telephone.’

‘I’d like to talk to Mr Gerald Grimble. He invited me to a ball, and told me I could stay with his sister the night before. The function is this coming weekend. I think he’s forgotten about it.’

Dubiously, the butler said, ‘I think you’d better ask Mr Kern for permission, Miss. He might not like you telephoning his friends and acquaintances. Or he might want to do it for you.’

She nodded. ‘Then I’ll telephone him.’

‘Mr Kern won’t be in his chambers yet. He has a court appearance shortly after he reaches Dorchester. I’ll telephone him later in the morning on your behalf, if you wish. About eleven thirty?’

‘How exciting. May I speak to him myself?’

Branston smiled. ‘I’ll ask him if he’ll speak to you direct, Miss.’

The morning went slowly. It was a dull day, but she took the dogs for a walk. Boots’s behaviour had improved considerably since Patch had arrived. Both dogs had begun to favour the presence of Magnus over her though, which was a little annoying. They looked funny together. Boots, whose legs and ears seemed to be growing rapidly, lolloped along, and the neat little terrier trotted powerfully, its belly not far off the ground and his eyes on the foliage along the bottom of the hedges. Patch was a relentless ratter. A quick dart and snap of his jaws and a hapless rodent going innocently about its business would give a surprised squeak as it was efficiently disposed of.

After they returned she went through her gowns, trying to decide on which one to wear. When the clock struck the half hour she was already waiting for Branston outside the study, feeling jumpy with anticipation.

The telephone grew out of the desk like a shining black daffodil. She watched as the butler took the ear trumpet from its rest and talked into the instrument, then Branston said, ‘Miss Maitland wishes to talk to you, sir.’ It was handed to her with instructions on how to end the call before he left the room.

‘Magnus, is that you?’ she said loudly.

‘You don’t have to shout, Sarry, just use your normal voice,’ he said against her ear.

It was so close that she turned towards the sound. ‘Sorry, I’ve never talked on a telephone before. It sounds as you’re standing right next to me, but hidden inside a tin can. It’s very clever.’

‘Yes it is . . . what did you want to talk to me about that couldn’t have waited until I got home?’

‘A little while ago Gerald invited me to partner him at a ball, and said I should stay with his sister, Olivia. I’ve just remembered that the function is this coming weekend. He’s not mentioned it since, and I wondered if I should telephone him.’

‘On no account should you remind Gerald. He may have forgotten, and it would embarrass him. Also, Olivia would have contacted you with a personal invitation to stay in her home if she’d been able to cater for you.’

Disappointment filled her. ‘Oh, I see. Thank you, Magnus.’

He lowered his voice. ‘Are you very upset?’

‘I’ve never been to a ball. Gerald taught me to waltz when I lived with Mrs Lawrence, though. I enjoyed it.’

‘Gerald’s an excellent dancer. A pity he’s let you down. You’ll have to come with me instead. I’ll book an extra room for the night at the hotel, if one’s available. Will you be bored with my company as a substitute for Gerald’s.’

Her spirits lifted. ‘I won’t be bored at all. Thank you, Magnus. You’re so kind. I’ve been feeling so . . . aimless lately.’

‘Aimless? Why didn’t you tell me? I’ll have to find you something to do, learn to play the piano, or paint pretty pictures, or start a beetle collection.’

‘I refuse to stick pins in poor little beetles.’ She laughed. ‘Actually, I’m totally lacking in artistic talent, and not used to a life of leisure. Perhaps I should find employment and earn myself some money, so I don’t feel so . . .’

‘Sorry for yourself? Most young women would like to be in your position.’

‘I know. I’m very grateful, and I’m not—’

‘Complaining? Of course you are. You only have to ask if you need money or entertainment. My uncle provided an
allowance
for you, after all. Do you have a ball gown?’

‘Yes, I—’

‘We’ll buy you a new one.’

‘I don’t need a new one. You’re not listening. I haven’t worn—’

‘We’ll buy one anyway. Something elegant and without silly little bobbing bustles at the back and fussy bows and frills. You have no fashion sense.’

‘Mrs Lawrence chose my clothes.’

‘Then she has no fashion sense either. Tomorrow I’ll take the day off and we’ll go into Dorchester. I know a woman there who used to dress royalty. In fact, she claims to have royal blood in her veins.’

‘Magnus, I—’

‘Magnus I, nothing.’

‘You won’t let me get a word in edgewise, will you?’

‘I haven’t got time to argue, we can do that tonight over dinner.’ He chuckled. ‘We haven’t had a decent set to for a long time, have we? Try and think of something controversial we can converse about.’

‘She gave an exasperated cry and stamped her foot on the thick carpet. I already have. His name is Magnus Kern. You’re constantly
controversial
.’

He chuckled, as if he was pleased with her remark, and the line went dead. Smiling, she put the trumpet back in its cradle. He was impossible, overbearing, and exhilarating, and she felt so alive when she had his attention. She was glad he was taking her to the ball instead of Gerald. Picking up the edge of her skirt she waltzed about the room, stopping dead when the door opened and Branston came in.

He took a polishing cloth out of his apron pocket and fussily rubbed it over the telephone before giving a sneeze and admonishing her with, ‘Really, Miss, you’re making the dust fly about.’

‘Sorry, Mr Branston. Is there anything I can do to help?’

He smiled. ‘You’re a guest, Miss.’

‘I don’t want to be a trouble to anyone, and I’m perfectly capable of doing some housework.’

‘Was your telephone call to Mr Kern satisfactory, Miss?’ Which was a polite way of satisfying his curiosity, she supposed.

‘Mr Kern has offered to take me to the ball himself. I was practising my dancing when you came in.’

He gave her one of his rare smiles. ‘So I noticed. You looked very graceful. Mr Kern is an excellent dancer, I believe.’

‘Oh dear . . . Can you dance, Mr Branston?’

‘I’m known to be light on my feet on the odd occasion.’

‘I feel this occasion to be decidedly odd, don’t you? You can help me practise if you’re of a mind.’

Branston gazed around him, then managed a small, mischievous grin before holding out his arms and saying, ‘As long as you don’t tell anyone.’

He was adroit at guiding her round the furniture as he swung her about the room. Sarette got into the spirit of the moment by singing, lah-lah-lah in lieu of music, and soon Branston joined in.

The telephone shrilled loudly and they came to a sudden stop. Branston picked up the telephone, said breathlessly, ‘Mr Kern’s residence. Oh, it’s you, Mr Kern.’

Sarette heard Magnus’s voice clearly. ‘You sound out of breath, Branston.’

‘Yes, sir. I was on the stairs.’

‘You must have run fast then, for the telephone had hardly rung.’

‘I was referring to the library stairs, sir. I was dusting the top shelf.’

‘Good Lord, does the top shelf get dusted very often?’

‘Very rarely in fact, sir.’

‘I see. Miss Maitland told me she was bored. Think of something to keep her amused, will you? Find her a jigsaw puzzle, or dance for her.’

‘Yes, sir . . . I will. Which dance would you suggest?’

‘How the devil would I know? The request wasn’t to be taken literally, and you’re far from being as dense as you’re making out.’

‘If you say so, sir.’ Branston hung the earpiece up, turned to her and raised an eyebrow. ‘Shall we try the waltz next, Miss?’

Sarette giggled.

Magnus had hardly finished speaking to Branston when he telephoned Gerald. ‘I believe you invited my ward to the ball, Gerald.’

‘Did I? Oh yes, so I did. I’d forgotten. Damn! I’ve just been manoeuvred into asking Jessica Fenwick, who is some sort of cousin. She’s a house guest of Olivia’s, and rather dreary.’ He groaned. ‘I can’t get out of it now. Look, can you give Sarette my apologies. Tell her I’m indisposed, or something similar. I’ll make up for it by taking her roller skating on the pier sometime. She’ll like that. Who are you bringing now Isabelle’s no longer available?’

Uncharitably, Magnus doubted if Isabelle would ever be that. ‘I’d made up my mind not to attend. I’m not making excuses for you either. You should honour your commitments. The girl will be disappointed. Still, it will give me the edge on our wager when I tell her you forgot. I suppose I could bring her myself.’

Gerald laughed. ‘In which case she’ll know that you escorted her out of duty.’

‘There’s that, of course.’

‘Look, Magnus. I’d cancel Jessica if I could. But Olivia’s house is stuffed to the gills, anyway, so there wouldn’t be room for Sarette. If you don’t want to tell Sarette I’m dying, which would at least get me some sympathy, tell her that family duty dictated this.’

‘Damn you, Gerald. I’ve been out and about too much these last few days, and wanted a quiet weekend at home.’

‘Then have one. There’s always next weekend. I’ll make it up to her then.’

Gerald sounded slightly desperate, and Magnus knew he had him on the run. He smiled. ‘Yes . . . I think I might do that. I’m looking forward to the festive season though. Christmas at the Grimbles is always a pleasure, but it’s not somewhere a man could find the opportunity to pay court to a woman. Too crowded, and too many Grimble eyes watching what you get up to. How many of you are there now?’

‘I’ve lost count. Which reminds me. We had news from Edgar, yesterday. He’s to become a father. Pa’s pleased, of course. He now refers to Edgar as the founder member of the Australian branch of Grimble and Sons, and is enormously proud of him. Edgar has gone through with his plan to register his business as Son of Grimble though. Father is a bit put out about that. He said it’s undignified.’

‘It certainly has a dashing feel to it. Long may the Grimbles prosper.’ Magnus decided to let Gerald off the hook, and sighed. ‘Don’t worry, Gerald. I’ll make up some plausible excuse for you. Sarette believes everything I tell her.’

‘You should tell her what a liar you are then. By the way, rumour has it that Isabelle will be at the ball. She was discouraged by the damp in Venice and the expected event turned out to be a non-event. She left her count in Venice and has returned for the Christmas and New Year season. Shall I give her your . . . love?’