There Will Come A Stranger (12 page)

Barry was pleased to notice that he ate a better meal that evening than for several days.

Rory
’
s reckoning about the letter was correct. It was delivered at Hawthorn Lodge by the first post on Thursday morning. Harold, on his way to breakfast, heard the rattle of the letter box and found it there with several others. Taking them to the dining-room, he began to sort them out.

An appeal for some charity or other for himself ... a letter to be forwarded to Valerie
...
Something that looked like one of those offers of a detergent at half price, for Monica
...
Another similar, for Janet
...
Two square envelopes, identical, except that one was for himself and one for Robert.

The others were already having breakfast. After doling round their letters, Harold poured out his coffee, frowning as he realized that tepid would have been a better adjective for the milk than hot. Boiled eggs again. How sick he was of boiled shop eggs! The daily housekeeper Janet had engaged after an uncomfortable three days
’
interim when Valerie left, refused to start work before nine, so the two girls, grumbling, took it in turns to cook the breakfast, and as boiled eggs were less trouble than anything else, boiled eggs they had had every morning since Valerie went away. And though the grocer had seemed to provide Valerie with unlimited newlaid eggs, the ones they had these days invariably seemed to taste of musty straw.

As he was sitting down, a startled exclamation made them all look in surprise at Robert, who was reading his letter with an expression of indignant horror.

Wasting no time in questioning him, Harold opened his own identical letter so as to see at once what it was all about, and in a minute he, too, was uttering exclamations of indignation and dismay.

Monica and Janet looked from one to the other, anxious and exasperated.

“What
’
s wrong?”

“For goodness
’
sake do tell us what
’
s the matter instead of muttering and moaning to yourselves!”

Robert had finished reading. “It
’
s from a firm of London lawyers. It seems that Vivian and Valerie want to sell their share of the house and furniture—so by the terms of Father
’
s will, we
’
ve either got to buy them out at valuation, or sell our share as well!”

There was stupefied silence for a moment. Then clamour broke out.

“What—your own sisters want to turn us out?”

“They know quite well that it takes months to find a house!”

“Oh, how abominable of them!”

“I never would have thought that Valerie would be so selfish—sly little thing!”

Harold said slowly, “Wait a bit. Half this house does belong to the two girls, you know. It
’
s not unreasonable that they should want to have their share of the capital that
’
s locked up in it. And after all, Vivian has let us live rent free in her quarter of the house all this time, without a hint that we should pay rent.”

“So she jolly well might!” cried Janet. “If she had any sense of decency, she would go on doing it, too—she can well afford to!”

“Yes, but Valerie can
’
t,” Robert reminded her. He was beginning to calm down. “She
’
ll need the money for her training and expenses.”

“Vivian could pay for her!” said Monica.

Harold answered, “I
’
ve no doubt Vivian would be glad to. But probably she realizes that it isn
’
t very pleasant for Valerie to be in a position of complete dependence on her. The lawyer
’
s letter is quite reasonable. He says if we should be averse to selling this
house, or buying their share of it, they would be
prepared to accept rent, at a valuation, in lieu of interest on the capital.”

“Furnished rent! Huh! A pretty penny
that
would come to!” said Monica bitterly.

Harold had finished. Rising to leave the room, he paused a minute at the door. “Robert, you and I must think this over and decide what
’
s best to do. Five minutes more and then we must be off.” Robert followed him a moment later. Janet and Monica were left alone, staring at one another across the table. Janet said, “We
’
re going to lose on this, whichever way you look at it. Either we pay out capital, and lose our dividends, or we fork out rent!”

Monica burst out. “Oh, it
’
s
infuriating!
They
’
re doing this from spite! There can
’
t be any other reason—Vivian has heaps of money!”

“Anyway, there it is!” said Janet glumly. “Oh, well—time we were off!” She rose and left the room.

Monica was following her, when her eye fell on a letter lying forgotten by Harold
’
s place. She saw it was for Valerie, and had been sent first to the hotel where she and Vivian had stayed in Switzerland, then re-addressed to Darlingford.

She snatched it up and tore it viciously across, and then across again and again, venting her feelings against Valerie on Valerie
’
s property.

The housekeeper, when she came to clear away the breakfast things, found the little heaps of scraps of paper lying on the table where Monica had tossed them. Presently she flung them in the dustbin with the tea leaves and grapefruit rinds.

So the last remaining link between Valerie and Rory was destroyed.

CHAPTER
TEN

Although
the tiny dining-room where Vivian and Valerie were having breakfast was gay with the pale sunshine of a line spring morning, neither felt particularly cheerful.

V
ivian was thinking that life seemed strangely flat and aimless when one had no particular occupation. She was going to take on a voluntary job for the Soldiers
’
, Sailors
’
, and Airmen
’
s Families
’
Association, but her work at their office in Queen Anne
’
s Gate would not start until her predecessor there left to get married, about the same time that Valerie
’
s term began. Meanwhile there were several weeks to be filled in with nothing to do except amuse themselves.

By ten o
’
clock, between them they would have done the housework. After that, they would go out, walk in the park, or perhaps do a little shopping. Later, they might see a film, or foregather with one or other of the friends with whom she had kept up a correspondence while she was in America, and with whom she had renewed acquaintance during the time they had been installed here. In theory that kind of life might sound very pleasant, but in fact seemed a useless and unsatisfying kind of existence.

And if it
’
s bad for me, thought Vivian, it
’
s even worse for Valerie! Anyone unhappily in love needs occupation above all things. But what is there than I can do about it. I just don
’
t know! Oh well—the time will pass.

At the sound of a faint click, followed by a tiny
‘
muffled thud, they turned their heads. The post had come.

“I
’
ll go,” said Valerie.

Even now, hard as she tried to think no more of Rory, the arrival of the post, the ringing of the telephone, still pierced her with a pang of hope. To-day, as always, it was followed by the dull, flat ache of disappointment as she saw that the one letter lying on the mat was not for her.

Indifferently Vivian took the letter Valerie handed her, then as she glanced at it the young sister saw her face light into animation. Square white envelope postmarked Muirkirk; clear, firm writing—John had written to her after all!

Ripping the envelope, she began to read, while Valerie skimmed the headlines of
The Times
and drank her second cup of coffee, wondering whom Vivian had heard from, that she looked so pleased about it.

When at last she looked up, she told Valerie, “It
’
s from John—John Ainslie! Listen: he asks if you and I will go and stay with him in Scotland for ten days or so. Harry and Susan and their children are going there the week-end after next. Harry has to go back to Edinburgh on the Monday, but Susan and the children will be staying on for another week or so. How d
’
you feel about it?”

Valerie had mixed feelings. She had never been to Scotland; she liked John Ainslie and the Prescot
ts
; to go away for ten days would make a nice break in this time of idleness before the term began. And yet the faint unreasoning hope of meeting Rory, unlikely though it was, made her reluctant to leave London—even though she knew that it was better for her not to see him, better that the wound should have a chance to heal. But Vivian was obviously eager to accept John
’
s invitation, so Valerie said, “I think it sounds a wonderful idea!”

“The second week-end we
’
ll be there it will be Easter. John suggests we should stay on until the Wednesday after, so that the trains won
’
t be so crowded. And the Monday after that you and I
both start work, so it all fits in very well! I
’
ll write accepting when we
’
ve done the washing up.”

“Do you know anything about his home?”

“Only that it
’
s on the outskirts of a little Border town, and that the garden runs down to a river.”

“Lovely!” said Valerie, with visions of sturdy Border keeps, and hills, and moors, and tumbling burns.

“
We
shall need tweeds. Sturdy country tweeds, I mean. And good stout shoes for walking,” said Vivian practically.

Valerie, more practical still, suggested that as Scotland made the best tweeds in the world they would be wise to make do with skirts and twin
-
sets and delay buying tweeds until they got there.

“Shoes, anyway. Brogues, with low heels. And country Burberries. Our flimsy mackintoshes are much too townified—it would be shocking to arrive in Scotland looking as though pavement perambulations are all we
’
re fit for!” said Vivian, as she went off to write to John.

Her heart was light as she sat down with pad and pen at the bureau by the window. When day after day had passed without a sign from John she had begun to think that though, when he asked Valerie for their address, he must have done so with the intention of keeping in touch with them, back in his own surroundings he must have thought better of it. Or it might
be that he was so fully occupied with his life in Muirkirk, and his friends there, that he had never given another thought to Switzerland, nor those who had shared with him that lovely interlude among the silence of the snows. Evidently, she had thought, their friendship must have meant far less to him than to herself. Now, as she re-read his letter, Vivian wondered whether all along he had had this in mind. How strange, she mused, that a few lines written on a sheet of paper could so transform depression into pleasure!

Yet, always conscious of her grief for Pete, still poignant in her heart, it did not dawn on Vivian that her liking for John Ainslie might be the beginning of a deeper feeling still. If it had, she would have been appalled and shocked by what she would have considered her inconstancy, and would have refused John
’
s invitation.

Asked by Vivian whether she would prefer to travel north by sleeper or by day, Valerie plumped for going by day.

“I
’
ve never in my life been further north than Darlingford, and it would be such a pity not to know the actual moment when we cross the Border
!
That is, if you don
’
t mind which way we go?”

“It
’
s all the same to me!” Vivian assured her. “And as we had two Scots grandparents, that makes us half Scots ourselves, so crossing the Border will be something of an occasion!”

So, ten days later, they alighted from the train upon an April evening, at the junction where John had said that he would meet them, so that they might not have to wait there and come on to Muirkirk by a slow local train.

Somehow it was typical of John, thought Vivian at the sight of his tall figure waiting on the platform, that he should be opposite their compartment when the long train drew in—typical of his efficient, calm reliability. His head was bare. The tan he had acquired in Switzerland had survived the northern spring. Vivian, used to seeing him against the background of blue skies and dazzling snow, had wondered whether he would seem the same in more everyday surroundings. She thought now that she had never seen him look to better advantage than he did here in his own setting, wearing well-worn tweeds, with grey skies overhead and misty hills behind him. As their eyes met her heart filled with a comfortable feeling of security and reassurance.

“How good of you to come all this way!” he said.

“How good of
you to
ask us!” they retorted, laughing.

A porter, trundling milk cans, called to John, “I
’
ll be with ye just as soon as I can get these in the van!”

John called back, “All right, Tom—I can deal with these myself,” took up a case in each hand, and led the way out to his car. Soon they were speeding along a road that took them through a valley, following a river
’
s curving course. Hills grown with bracken and young birches rose on either side for some way, then the valley widened to a view of farmlands, and ahead they saw smoke rising from the chimneys of a small grey town.

“Muirkirk!” John told them. “We drive through it; Bieldside lies two miles on the far side.”

They drove through residential streets of sedate grey houses, each standing in its well-kept garden, to the centre of the town, where there were shops, and no less than three churches; passed a building surrounded by enclosures which John said were pens to hold the sheep that were auctioned there, and a high grey wall enclosing other buildings
—
“Our mill. I
’
ll take you round it, one of these days, if you would be interested,” John told them. Then they were out once more in the pleasant countryside of fields and farms and cottages and here and there a small plantation, until ahead of them they saw a white gate.

“Bieldside!” John told them, and a moment later they passed through, and down a short steep drive that ended in a wide curve before a low grey house.

Bieldside stood with back turned to the hill that rose behind it to the road, sheltering it from the north wind. Its front windows looked out on a lawn that sloped down to a small grass field where cows were grazing. Beyond that lay the river, and beyond that again another field, then a belt of firs and birches, and finally a heather-covered hill. But Vivian and Valerie had no time now to take in their surroundings, for as the car stopped Susan came running out, her face alight with welcome, followed by Harry and a small fair boy and girl who after glancing shyly at the strangers rushed at John and clung one to each arm while they told him in a breathless duet, “Uncle John! Tim caught a baby rabbit!”

“And he brought it in the kitchen and it wasn
’
t hurt
—
”

“And so it ran under Janet
’
s wicker chair where
Tim couldn
’
t get it
—
”

“So Janet catched it and she told Lizzie to take it out and let it go aside the drying green acause there
’
s other baby rabbits there and she kept Tim in the kitchen until Lizzie let it go.”

“But when Lizzie said Tim was a bad dog, Janet said he wasn
’
t, acause catching rabbits is his nature, like it
’
s Lizzie
’
s nature not to sweep ahind the sofa!”

Meanwhile the others had been exchanging greetings. Harry took their cases from the car, helped by John when he had disengaged himself from the affectionate embraces of his niece and nephew, who on being presented to the new arrivals by their mother were immediately paralysed with shyness, and after saying simultaneously, “Howjoodo?” relapsed into a round-eyed silence.

“Come along in,” John said, and led them into a small square stone-flagged hall, with light wallpaper and white paint. On an oak table, reflected in a carved gilt mirror, stood a bowl of daffodils. All houses have their individual smell, and Bieldside
’
s aroma was a pleasant blend of wood smoke and furniture polish, with an underlying hint of something savoury cooking in the background.

Waiting by the stairs they saw an elderly woman whose grey frock, enveloped in a large white apron, reached nearly to her stout, black, buttoned shoes. Her placid face was plump, and she had straight grey hair combed back severely from a low brow.

John introduced them. “This is Janet—my very oldest friend!” he told them, “she arrived at Bieldside a month before I was born.”

Wondering somewhat at the severity of Janet
’
s scrutiny, Vivian and Valerie smiled and shook hands with her. Rather grudgingly she smiled back, but her shrewd grey eyes were watchful still. They would have been amazed could they have known the anxious speculations that had troubled Janet for the last week, ever since Master John had told her two young ladies would be staying here when Miss Susan came: speculations that had been intensified since he had come back at lunch time with violets he had bought in Muirkirk for their bedrooms. And when she had gone to see that Lizzie had remembered to put soap and towels, and make sure that everything was as it should be, and had discovered a cake of Moray
’
s June Rose in one soap dish and Pink Lilac in the other, instead of the Brown Windsor she had given out to Lizzie, that was good enough for anybody, and was the only kind of toilet soap that she had got since she had taken on the housekeeping when the Mistress died, Janet had known that there was Something In It.

She said, “You must be wearied, coming all that long way! If you
’
ll come this way I
’
ll take you to your bedrooms and you
’
ll get a nice rest. There
’
s an hour still before dinner time.”

Obediently, with a laughing backward glance at John, who grinned back, they followed the dumpy little figure, her apron strings making a wide white cross on her grey back, upstairs with a slender curving handrail of mahogany, to a wide landing with several doors opening off it.

Opening the first door they came to, Janet stood back for them to enter. Master John had said the married Lady was to have the bedroom that had been his mother
’
s, so she said to Vivian, “This
’
ll be your room, m
a
’
a
m. I hope you
’
ll find it comfortable. If there
’
s anything you need, be sure and ask for it. Lizzie
’
s a real nice willing lassie, though girls aren
’
t what they were in my young days!”

Having conducted Valerie to the adjoining room
—
a smaller one, with a connecting door, that might at one time have been a dressing room
—
shown them where the bathroom was, and told them there was plenty of hot water, she departed.