Victoria Holt (35 page)

Aunt Patty looked at Violet and Violet looked down at her plate. Normally I should have expected her to raise all sorts of objections. But she did not.

Aunt Patty, who liked unexpected things to happen, was smiling at me.

Teresa said: “Oh, do let’s…”

“Are you sure?” I said. “There are four of us.”

“That’s nothing for Forest Hill. The old place can take twenty without cramping. What do you say?”

I said: “It sounds…inviting…”

Everybody laughed and then we were making excited plans to go to the Markhams’ place on the borders of the forest.

***

The week we spent at Forest Hill was one which would remain in our memories for a long time to come.

I thought often of Jason Verringer and wondered how he was faring on the Continent in his search for Fiona. But I did wonder what he would do if he found her. If she were married he could not very well bring her home. It did occur to me that when he returned he might come to Moldenbury and I did not want him to arrive when we were at Epping, so I wrote a brief note, saying that I hoped he had found satisfactory information about Fiona and that I should not be at Moldenbury as we were visiting friends.

There was a great deal of bustle getting ready for the visit. Violet insisted on doing a minor spring clean, “Just in case anything should happen. I wouldn’t want people coming in and finding the place all at sixes and sevens.”

“What do you mean…anything?” I asked.

Violet pressed her lips together and wouldn’t say, but being Violet she had thought of accidents on the railway in which we were all killed or some such dire event. In any case the house must be just as it would for a special visit.

We let her get on with it. Teresa and I packed our bags discussing interminably what to take for a week on a farm. Aunt Patty had three hat boxes each containing two hats. We did not comment on that, knowing that Aunt Patty and her hats were inseparable.

John Markham met us in London and we all went down together, and from the moment we arrived we loved the place.

Because of the hot summer, haymaking started early and we played our part in it. Anxiously we watched the sky for signs of rain; Teresa and I took out bottles of cold tea and bread and cheese to the workers. We sat down with them in the shade and listened to their talk. We helped to make sheaves and haystacks and gathered the poppies which grew on the edge of the fields.

Teresa and I went off for rides through the forest. Sometimes we walked. The forest was beautiful but the trees were already beginning to show the tints of autumn and the beeches, elms, birches and sycamores were tinged with yellow; and the oaks were turning reddish brown. I remember the smell of the honeysuckle which grew profusely round the door of the farmhouse. Even now it brings back to me a memory of peace.

At night I would lie in my room and savor the pleasures of being physically tired and intoxicated with sunshine and fresh air. I slept better than I had since I had received the anonymous letter and I was amazed to realize that all through the day I had not thought of it and the rumors and scandals, so tired was I, so full of the impressions of the day that I could not feel the same apprehension and horror that I had known previously. I felt that I was being healed.

We ate the midday meal at the big wooden kitchen table with the windows wide open to the smell of new mown hay, and we listened and joined in the talk of the harvest.

“It’s a pity you won’t be here for the harvest home,” said John. He seemed so different from the immaculate gentleman who had called on us at Moldenbury. I felt—and I knew the others did too—that I had known him for a very long time.

“Perhaps we could be,” said Teresa hopefully.

“Teresa,” I said, “we have to go back to school soon.”

“Don’t talk of it,” replied Teresa gloomily.

John told us about the harvest home and the festival. “It’s the best time of year. The children make the corn dollies when it is all gathered in.”

“‘Ere the winter storms begin,’” quoted Violet.

“And we hang them on the walls. They are talismans in the hope of getting a good harvest next year.”

“We used to do that in my home,” said Violet.

“It’s a universal custom,” added John. “And I think it goes back to the middle ages.”

“I like to see the old ways kept up,” said Violet.

I think she was the one who amazed us most. She was really enjoying being at Forest Hill. She had taken over the kitchen. The manager’s wife, who usually looked after the household when the family was there, was only too pleased to pass over the responsibilities, and Violet was in her element. She grew quite sentimental talking about her childhood.

In spite of the happy time we had I could not get Lydia out of my mind and when John told me: “You have Lydia’s bedroom!” I seemed to sense her there and I dreamed of her once or twice.

I thought I heard her voice in my dreams. “You mustn’t worry about
me
, Cordelia. I’m dead.”

I woke up with the words echoing in my ear. The light curtains were blowing outward for the wind had arisen and the window was wide open. Startled from my sleep, I thought it was a ghost standing there.

“Lydia!” I cried and sat up in bed.

Then I saw what it was and getting out of bed half shut the window. It seemed quite chilly.

I went back to bed but not to sleep. I kept going over days long ago, remembering Lydia.

But in the morning I forgot her and was out in the fields laughing with the rest of them.

John came with us to London. He was going to Kensington which he did after putting us on the train to Moldenbury.

“It was a wonderful week,” said Teresa. “Oh, I do like John.”

***

The holiday was coming to an end. The next day Teresa and I would leave for Colby.

On that last night, after everyone else had retired Aunt Patty came to my room for one of her chats.

“It was a very happy holiday after all,” she said. “I like the Markhams.”

“Yes, what a happy family. I think they are all feeling the loss of Lydia.”

Aunt Patty was silent for a few seconds. Then she said: “I think John Markham is halfway to falling in love with you, Cordelia.”

“Oh, Aunt Patty, I’ve known him such a short time. You’re very romantic.”

“I know you think I’m an ignoramus in these matters because I am an old spinster living in the country. But I do send to Mudie’s for my three-volume novels and the goings-on in them is something of an eye-opener, even to a silly old spinster like me.”

I put my arms round her and kissed her. “I don’t allow disparaging remarks about you, even when you make them yourself.”

“It was such a lovely house.” She looked a little wistful. “I often think of your being married and having babies. Do you know, I should love some babies.”

“Oh, dear Aunt Patty. I’m sorry I can’t oblige.”

“You will one day, I don’t doubt. I just thought what a lovely household that was…how friendly and easy to get on with. I think John Markham is such a
good
man. You could put your trust in him. You’d know that he would always be there when needed…to do what was best.”

“I’m sure he’s all that.”

“I daresay we shall be seeing more of him.”

I laughed. “You’re weaving dreams of romance, Aunt Patty.”

“Do you think they are only dreams? I know the signs. You smile. That is because you are considering my lack of experience in such matters. I am not wholly ignorant. I might have married once…only it went wrong.”

“You never told me.”

“It was not worth telling. He met someone else.”

“What a fool he must have been.”

“He was very happy, I believe. Life is a matter of taking the right road at the right time. Time is the important thing…opportunity too…and they must come together. The important thing is to recognize the opportunity while there is time. Cordelia, when the time comes, you must make the right choice. Good night, my dearest child.”

She held me tightly against her.

“I was always comforted when you held me like that,” I said. “You did, the first time we met. I remember the hat and the smell of lavender…and it was just the same then.”

“It will always be, Cordelia,” she said.

Then she kissed me and went out.

The new term had begun. Daisy called her usual pre-school conference and we were all assembled in her study.

“We will do our best,” she said, “to forget the events of last term. The girls should be under closer supervision when they are out…even riding. It was fortunate that the girl involved was Fiona Verringer and that it was from her own home that she finally escaped, and not the school. If it had been one of the others, there could have been unpleasant difficulties with the parents. However, we must guard against such eventualities. I gather from Sir Jason Verringer that he has no idea of the whereabouts of Fiona and her husband, though he actually visited the Continent in search of them. Well, we will hope for a more peaceful term. We don’t want too much gossip among the girls. The incident should not be referred to. Girls are inclined to admire those who do foolish things. Another elopement would be a disaster for the school. So…that matter is closed.

“It would be a good idea to get them started on some entertainment for the Christmas festivities. It seems early to think of that, but it would keep the girls’ minds occupied. Say scenes from Shakespeare…little extracts which they could act before the school. It makes for excitement and speculation and keeps their minds busy.

“Miss Grant, I am putting Charlotte Mackay back in Eugenie Verringer’s room. They were together originally and have always been good friends. I thought it would help Eugenie. She must be missing her sister. She spent her holiday at the Mackays’ place up north near Berwick. I don’t want Eugenie brooding too much about her sister. It was a good idea to let her go to the Mackays’ place rather than stay at the Hall to be reminded that her sister was no longer there. Eugenie’s is not a very placid temperament to begin with and girls like that can be difficult in so many ways.

“There is a new girl. Margaret Keyes. She seems a pleasant creature. She can go into Charlotte’s place with Patricia Cartwright.”

She went on to discuss other aspects of the term and finally we were dismissed to go to our rooms and “settle in,” as she called it.

That night I made my rounds. They were all safely in their beds and seemed demure enough, even Charlotte and Eugenie, though Charlotte did give me a somewhat triumphant look as though to remind me of that first night at school when there had been a contretemps over who should sleep in whose room.

The first few days passed uneventfully until one night when I was awakened from sleep by a figure standing by my bed and I heard a voice saying urgently: “Miss Grant. Miss Grant.”

I started up. Charlotte was standing there.

“Charlotte!” I cried. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Eugenie,” she said. “She’s ill.”

I hastily put on my dressing gown and slippers and followed her to their bedroom. Eugenie was lying back looking very white; there were beads of perspiration on her forehead. It felt clammy.

I said: “Go for Miss Hetherington at once.”

Charlotte, who seemed really frightened, quickly obeyed.

Daisy was soon at the bedside, her fine white hair in two plaits tied with pale blue ribbon, but she looked as much in command as ever.

“Eugenie is ill!” she said. She leaned over the girl.

“Do you think we should get the doctor?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not just yet. It’s probably only a bilious attack. We don’t want the girls to know. They exaggerate so. There is some sal volatile in my room. Will you go and get it, Charlotte. It is in the cupboard on the right hand side.”

Charlotte went.

“She has probably eaten something which doesn’t agree with her,” said Daisy. “It happens now and then. What did they have for supper?”

“It was fish. And then they had their milk and biscuits before retiring.”

“It must have been the fish. Give her half an hour. If she’s no better then, I’ll call the doctor.”

Charlotte returned with the sal volatile.

“There,” said Daisy. “That’s better.”

Eugenie opened her eyes.

“Do you feel better now, dear?” asked Daisy in that brisk voice which demanded an affirmative.

“Yes, Miss Hetherington.”

“Felt ill, did you?”

“Yes, Miss Hetherington…sick and dizzy.”

“Well, lie still. Miss Grant and I will stay here until you go to sleep and we know you are all right.”

“Thank you,” said Eugenie.

“Charlotte, you should get into bed. You can keep your eye on Eugenie, but we shall be here for a while. It is only a common bilious attack. The fish couldn’t have agreed with her.”

How magnificent she was, our Daisy! No general could ever have given more confidence to his troops. One knew that with Daisy in command everything must work according to plan.

Yet…there had been the elopement. But then she had known nothing about that until it was a fait accompli.

Eugenie had closed her eyes. She was breathing more easily and looked much better.

“I think she’s asleep,” said Daisy. “She looks more like herself.” She touched Eugenie’s forehead. “No fever,” she whispered.

After five minutes of silence she rose and said: “I think we can return to our beds now. Charlotte, if Eugenie needs anything you’ll wake Miss Grant. And if necessary come for me.”

“Yes, Miss Hetherington.”

“Good night, Charlotte. We look to you to keep an eye on Eugenie.”

“Yes, Miss Hetherington. Good night. Good night, Miss Grant.”

Outside my room Daisy paused. “She’ll be all right in the morning. As I thought, a touch of biliousness. Charlotte did well. Do you know, I think that girl would improve considerably if she had something to do. If she felt herself useful…What do you think?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Well, we must watch them both,” said Daisy. “I don’t think we shall be troubled again tonight.”

I went to bed. I was tired and soon asleep.

In the morning Eugenie was better—almost herself, but I thought she should take a little rest. She didn’t want to. She was rather ashamed of being ill.

“I’m all right really, Miss Grant. I don’t know what it was but I just felt a bit funny.”

“I think you should have a rest this afternoon.”

“Oh no, Miss Grant.”

“Yes, Eugenie. That sort of attack does weaken you more than you realize. I insist that you have a rest this afternoon. You can read or perhaps Charlotte will be with you.”

She agreed rather ungraciously.

It must have been about three o’clock when I went to my room and remembering that Eugenie was resting, I thought I would look in and see if she had obeyed my orders.

The door was closed but I heard the sound of giggles coming from behind it. I guessed Charlotte was with her.

I hesitated, but decided to look in. I tapped at the door. There was a brief silence so I opened it and went in.

Eugenie was lying on her bed and Charlotte was stretched out on hers. On the chair sat Elsa.

“Oh,” I said.

“You told me to rest,” replied Eugenie.

“We came to cheer her up,” said Elsa grinning at me.

“You certainly seem to have done that. How are you feeling, Eugenie?”

“All right,” said Eugenie.

“Good. Very well, you can get up when you want to.”

“Thank you, Miss Grant.”

As I went out and shut the door the giggles continued.

I thought about Elsa. She certainly did not behave like a servant and I wondered, as I had on other occasions, whether I should reprimand her for consorting with the girls as though she were one of them rather than a housemaid. But she always contrived to remind me by a look of the old times at Schaffenbrucken when she had behaved with me and my friends rather in the same way as she was with Eugenie and Charlotte. It was one of the disadvantages of being in a position like mine, when someone who had known you as a schoolgirl was present. One could hardly reprimand others for what one had done oneself. Perhaps the most extraordinary aspect was that Charlotte, known to us all as something of a snob, should be so friendly with a servant.

However, I did not think very much more about the incident.

There was a letter for me from John Markham. He asked me what it felt like to be back at school after the holidays. “That was an unforgettable week we all had together,” he wrote. “I felt we had all known each other for years. Why ever didn’t Lydia ask you for holidays? We might have known each other earlier. I do wish I could see you. Is it taboo to visit the school? I suppose it would not be considered quite
comme il faut
. Isn’t there something called a half term? Do you go home? Perhaps it is rather a long way for such a short time. It wouldn’t be quite so far to come to London. I’d like you to meet my brother Charles. Perhaps you and Teresa could visit us? Do think about it.”

I did think about it and it was rather enticing. I did not mention it to Teresa because I felt it would raise her hopes and I was not sure whether I should go.

I was still suffering from the shock of my encounter with Jason Verringer in the Devil’s Den at Colby Hall. It had disturbed me even more than I had thought at the time. I could not stop thinking of him and my mind built up images of what might have happened if I had not made that dramatic gesture in thrusting my hands through the window. It had been a hopeless gesture in any case. I should never have been able to elude him if he was determined to catch me. And if I had managed to get through the window, would I have jumped from the top of the tower? What I had implied was that I preferred death to submission to him. It was foolhardy. Yet it had sobered him. He had been really shocked to see the blood on my hands.

Stop thinking of him, I admonished myself. Forget him. It was just an unpleasant experience from which I had emerged unscathed. Even the scars on my hands had healed now. But at Colby I was surrounded by ruins of the past with all the grim legends and terrible sufferings that must have occurred and I was overwhelmed by an ambience of disaster and doom.

Here strange things happened. Jason Verringer seemed never far away. What had really happened to his wife? Where was Marcia Martindale? There would always be questions where Jason was. He was a man of dark secrets. One could almost believe that the Devil had been one of his forebears.

And how different it had been at Epping—the sunshine, the smell of hay, the
simplicity
of everything, the way of life, the people. It was clean and fresh and easy to understand. Peace…that was what it offered…and peace seemed very alluring just now. I had a desire to be there and yet…almost against my will I was drawn to the dark towers of Colby Hall and the ruins of the Abbey.

What finally decided me about taking up John’s invitation was another letter I had. It was forwarded on to me by Aunt Patty and was from Monique Delorme.

“
Dear
Cordelia
,” she wrote in French.

“I am no longer Mademoiselle Delorme but Madame de la Creseuse. Yes. I married Henri. Life is wonderful. We are coming to London. We have been lent a house for two weeks by friends of Henri. So we shall be in your capital from the third of next month. It would be wonderful to see you. Write to me there. I will give you the address. I look forward to hearing your news. Do come.

Always your loving and faithful friend.

Monique.”

I told Daisy that I had received an invitation from some friends with whom we had stayed in the summer.

“Their home is in London, but we were with them in the country for a week. I could go in mid-term. It is only for five days, including the week-end. I thought I might take advantage of it.”

Daisy was thoughtful. “Few of the girls will go home. Of course there are no lessons. I don’t think any of the other mistresses plan to go away. Yes, I do think you might manage it.”

“Teresa is invited too.”

“Oh, that will be nice for her.”

“Then it is quite all right for me to make my plans?”

“Yes. I think so. Go ahead.”

So I did. John wrote back that he was delighted. Teresa was wild with joy. I also wrote to Monique at the address she had enclosed in her letter and said that I would call on her when she was in London.

***

John was at Paddington station and in a short time we were trotting along in a cab to his home in Kensington. It was a tall house in a square and guarded by two ferocious-looking stone lions; the white steps leading to a heavy oak door were gleaming and the brass shone like gold.

When he opened the door with his key a tall young man was hovering in the hall.

“This is Charles,” said John. “He’s longing to meet you. He’s heard all about your stay at the farm.”

It was the same open face and good looks. I liked Charles at once.

The maid appeared.

“Oh yes, Sarah,” said John. “They’ll want to go to their rooms. Teresa, you are next to Cordelia.”

We mounted a staircase richly carpeted in a warm scarlet and came to a landing. The maid opened a door and I was in a bright bedroom with a four-poster bed, not a bit like the ones they had at the Hall, heavily curtained in velvet. This one had lace curtains draped at either end and caught into bows of pale mauve satin ribbon. It had brass knobs and rails and seemed to glow with freshness. There was some light and elegant furniture which suggested eighteenth-century France. It was charming. I went to the window and looked out on a small paved garden in which were pots of greenery which must glow with color in the spring and summer. Chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies were still in flower against a gray brick wall.

Teresa came in. She looked radiant. She had a lovely little room and there was a communicating door between it and mine. I went in and had a look. It had obviously been a dressing room.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she cried.

She was so happy. Not only to get away from school but because we were here with John. She was a girl who fixed her affections firmly when she found an object of admiration. She had turned to me in desperation and from our association had come all the people she cared for most. Myself. Aunt Patty. Violet. And now she had added John to that band. It was overwhelming for her who had had no one and then suddenly so many.