The second collection of 3 great novels by Mary Burchell

by Burchell, Mary

  Lindsay shrugged.

  "Perhaps Lindsay third degreed him," Brent suggested, with amiable malice.

  "Naturally I did no such thing," Lindsay retorted shortly. "But in any case, need we discuss the matter further? Roddy's affairs are his own, after all."

  "Except when his big brother feels moved to make them his," amended Brent provocatively.

  But although Lindsay pressed his lips together at this, he refused to be drawn into further discussion. And presently Dilys stood up and said it was time that she and Brent were going.

  When goodbyes had been, said and the visitors had departed, Harriet turned very willingly to her new duties. And, since the unfamiliarity of a fresh routine engaged all her attention, she had little time to consider the peculiar

  events of the evening until she was alone in her room that night.

  The latter half of the evening was undoubtedly a mild success for her. Mrs. Mayhew was pleased by the willingness and apparent ease with whicn Harriet handled the domestic affairs of Fourways, and she had not hesitated to say so.

  Even Lindsay had smiled and commented on the excellence of the meal she had provided. Indeed, if—most fortunately, as it now appeared—he had failed to notice much about her the first time he had seen her, he made up for it now by looking on her with a distinct degree of interest and approval.

  The contrast between this and his first reactions would have amused Harriet if she had not been so puzzled and uneasy. But, in view of that extraordinary assertion of Roddy's, she could no longer take the events of Saturday evening lightly. Harriet sat on the side of her bed, absently brushing her hair, and tried to arrive at some reasonable explanation.

  What had possessed Roddy to invest her, a complete stranger, with the identity of some girl who was apparently causing his family both anxiety and annoyance? Muddled though he had been, he had certainly not mistaken her for anyone else. Which meant that his statement to his brother must have been a deliberate deception. Had he been drawing suspicion away from the real culprit? Or had he simply decided to say something—anything—that would forestall any other questions that might be asked him?

  On the whole, that seemed the most likely explanation. But, whatever his reasons for doing such a thing, the result for her was equally embarrassing and damaging. There was no question now of her making a casual reference to her earlier meeting with Lindsay, and hoping to pass it off with an amused explanation of his mistake. The girl who had brought Roddy home that night was firmly identified and ticketed—in Lindsay's mind, at any rate—as silly, undesirable, and perhaps even harmful.

  This final conclusion was most unwelcome. And, even though it provided the only cloud on Harriet's first-night reflections, it was one which could not be ignored—either then or during the days that followed.

  . Continually, Harriet found the uneasy recollection coming between her and the pleasant, easy relationship which, she felt sure, she would otherwise have established with Lindsay Mayhew. Seeing him now at close quarters, she admitted to herself that she would probably have liked him very much but for that previous unfortunate encounter. His flashes of half-cynical humor—so like his mother's—amused and attracted her, and contrasted admirably with his usually rather grave and serious attitude to life.

  But, conscious of being in something of a false position-however innocently—she found that her characteristic friendliness desertea her whenever she found herself alone with him. And the most that she could hope was that he would return to London without having had to exchange more than the ordinary day-to-day courtesies.

  However, on the evening before the departure to London, he seized—or perhaps he even made—an opportunity to speak to her at greater length. He had been out until quite late, spending his last evenmg with Dilys. But when Harriet came downstairs to fetch a book, having settled Mrs. May-hew comfortably for the night, he was just reentering the house.

  "Oh, hello!" He followed her into the room, without waiting to take off his coat, and stood, leaning one elbow on the mantelpiece, while she rearranged one or two things on Mrs. Mayhew's worktable. "I'm ofitto London again tomorrow, you know."

  "Yes, I know. Will you be away long?"

  "I'll try not to be. There is quite a chance that I shall get back for a day or two in about a fortnight's time."

  "That would be very nice," Harriet said conventionally, and prepared to go. But he made a slight gesture to detam her.

  "Miss Denby, I don't want to make a sort of speech, but— I'd hke you to know how glad I am that my mother will have you with her. I feel much easier in my mind about leaving her, now that you're here."

  "Why, of course!" Harriet responded immediately with her natural warmth of sympathy. "I can quite imagine how worrying it would have been for you if you'd had to leave her without anyone but Priscilla, good child though she is."

  "I—didn't mean just that. Though, of course, there is tha

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  point too. I meant that I'm elad iVsyou. You are exactly the right kind of companion to leave with my mother.*'

  Harriet could not but be pleased and flattered. "I'm glad you think so." She smiled, and flushed slightly. "I wonder what makes you think that? "

  "Well, she likes to have someone young and lively about her but, at the same time, she does need someone responsible and reliable. I think you combine the two things admirably, '' he told her candidly.

  "That's very—nice of you."

  He grinned suddenly then, as though, having discharged the formal necessities of his speech, he could relapse into shared amusement. "As I expect you've noticed, my mamma has something of the naughty child in her composition. She needs a bit of watching."

  Harriet laughed. "I know what you mean.''

  "My father used to say—" Lindsay Mayhew smiled reflectively "—that she was the most exasperating and the most endearing of creatures. And he was quite right, of course. Some people find her more the one, and some more the other. But it's just as well to remember that she can be both."

  Harriet found herself exchanging a glance of complete understanding with him. And, when she had recovered from her surprise over that, she said gravely, "I'll look after her well. Don't worry.''

  "Thank you."

  He held out his hand to her. And, as she put hers into it and felt the firm pressure of his strong fingers, she knew this was his way of saying that he liked and trusted her.

  Well, she thought rather whimsically, perhaps this made up in part for the other opinion of her, which he had— althoueh unknowingly—so determinedly formed.

  Lindsay left early the next morning, and life at Fourways settled into a very simple and quiet routine.

  While Lindsay had been at home, Dilys had called in at Fourways nearly every day—often accompanied by her brother—but now she seemed to feel that telephone calls could reasonably replace personal visits. And even these, Harriet could not help feeling, were duty calls rather than inquiries prompted by affection or real concern.

  Indeed, so complete was the detachment of the Penroses

  from Fourways now that Lindsay had gone, that Harriet felt some diffidence in reminding Dilys of her offer to drive her into Barndale when the occasion recjuired. However, having decided that a shopping expedition was necessary, she telephoned to make mquiries.

  Dilys herself answered, and was unfeignedly cordial.

  "Of course, Miss Den by. What about this afternoon?'*

  Harriet said that that afternoon would suit her excellently, and it was arranged that Dilys should call for her about two.

  Punctual to the minute, the car was heard drawing up outside the front door. But when Harriet went out to see if Dilys would come in aad have a word with Mrs. Mayhew, it was Brent Penrose, not Dilys, who was climbing out of the driving seat.

  "Oh—" She felt rather more taken aback than the occasion warranted. "Isn't Miss Penrose coming?"

  "No." Brent stood smiling up at her from the bottom of the short flight of steps. "Will you a
ccept me as chauffeur instead? Dilys was held up by some friend who called at the last minute. So I offered to drive you in, and attend to any commissions of Dilys's at the same time."

  There was nothing to say but that she was exceedingly obliged to him. And, having gone back for a moment to say goodbye to Mrs. Mayhew, she rejoined him—with the conventional message from her employer that she sent her greetings.

  "Thank you." Brent grinned as he got back into the driving seat." I'm sorry the old lady doesn't like me."

  "But—" Harriet was rather put out "—what makes you think she doesn't?"

  "Naturally good powers of observation," Brent replied cheerfully.

  Harriet thought it better not to take that up, so she remained silent. And as they turned out into the main road, he inquired, "How are you liking it at Fourways?"

  "Very much, indeed." Harriet tried not to sound faintly reproving of the question. But when she saw the flash of his excellent teeth in that amused grin again, she guessed that she had not succeeded.

  "Didn't you expect me to like it?" she inquired crisply, having decided to take the offensive.

  *'Well—I should imagine it's rather deadly for a pretty girl like you, who could nave lots of fun,' 'he said equaoly.

  Harriet thought of saying that their ideas of fun might differ. But she decided that that would sound smug, and would, in any case, probably only amuse Brent.

  "I like country life," she told him, after a moment, making her voice as coolly and pleasantly impersonal as she could.

  "Well—I suppose even country life can be amusing, if you have plenty of money and a bit of scope," he conceded carelessly. "But I'm hanged if I see any pleasure in living in a great barn of a place, with a sharp-tongued old lady for company, and hardly any servants to look after you."

  "Mr. Penrose, are you trying to make me discontented?" inquired Harriet dryly.

  "Oh, no." He gave that undoubtedly good-tempered laugh of his. "I was merely trying to discover why you stick

  "Well, come to that, why do you stick it here, if you dislike the place so much?" inquired Harriet with spirit.

  "I spena only part of the year here. And Dilys and I contrive to have good times. But, like our friend Lindsay, I spend a lot of time in London."

  *' Oh, you mean your work is there?''

  "No.'^'

  Harriet gave him a glance of such obviously surprised speculation, that he said, "You mean what do I do for a living?"

  "Well... I wasn't going to be so inquisitive as to ask."

  "You can if you like." He leaned out of the car to wave on an impatient farm truck that was honking behind them. Then, as he drew in his head again, he said, "I live on my wits."

  Harriet gasped slightly. "What did you say?"

  *'What you thought I said."

  "But—" she was not sure whether she were meant to laugh or not" —are you serious?''

  "Completely so," he said, and grinned at her, so that she felt almost certain this was an elaborate joke.

  "Well, I suppose, to a certain extent, you could say we all live by what our wits supply," Harriet said slowly.

  "Exactly," Brent agreed, and smiled, so that she knew

  she was intended to take the whole conversation as a joke. And yet there Ungered in her mind the uncomfortable impression that Brent Penrose was one of those rare people who delight in giving the cold truth every appearance of an amusinglie.

  Before she could pursue that matter further, however—if, indeed, she would have done so—he changed the subject by asking, "How do you get on with Mayhew?''

  ''Perfectly well, of course."

  "Why of course?"

  "For one thing," Harriet said dryly, "because it is my business to 'get on,' as you put it, with my employers. And, for another, Mr. Mayhew is a very nice employer. And an excellent son," she added, as an afterthought.

  "I should think he's a devilishly trying brother," was Brent's sole comment on that.

  Harriet wanted very much to preserve her dignity by refusing to be drawn by this. But her curiosity—and perhaps her anxiety—were too much for her. After a moment, sne asked, "What makes you say that?"

  "Eh? Oh, 1 think young Roddy gets pretty tired of brotherly supervision at times."

  "He—the younger brother, I mean—had some sort of accident, didn't he? Perhaps he needs a certain amount of care."

  "Perhaps. But heaven preserve me from Lindsay Mayhew, as a warder or jailer, or whatever you like to call it," retorted Brent lightly.

  This was not getting Harriet much further, she reflected. And presently, reluctant though she was to question Brent Penrose, of all people, she asked casually, "What happened to the younger orother? What was the trouble?"

  "An air crash. He was a pilot on one of the Far East lines. Young for the job, but very brilliant, I believe. He was bringing his plane in at the end of the runway when something went wrong. He and one passenger were the sole survivors of a pretty ghastly crash."

  "Oh, poor Doy!" exclaimed Harriet, remembering the haunted, unyouthful look in those dark blue eyes. "Did he— I mean, was he to blame in any way?"

  "Not so far as anyone could tell. He was cleared of any suggestion of negligence at the inquiry. But you know how

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  they never seem able to get to the bottom of the trouble in these air disasters. I suppose, to tell the truth, there's so little left to provide any evidence. Anyway, he took it terribly to heart—didn't seem able to accept the fact that he wasn t in some way to blame. Poor kid. That's the worst of being over conscientious." Brent was obviously not similarly afflicted himself "He had had bad head injuries. And afterward he suffered from headaches and blackouts. Couldn 't stand any sort of strain, you know."

  "No. I understand.'* Harriet was thinking in rather different terms now of the boy she had taken home that Saturday evening. "In other words, he needed to live a very quiet Ufe for a while."

  "Exactly. He came down here for a bit But of course he couldn't stick it."

  "You mean that he disliked it, from the beginning, although it was his home?"

  "No." Brent considered the position reflectively. "No, I don't think it was like that, exactly. He seemed rather happy and rested here at first. He's a nice kid, you know. Much easier to get on with than my future respected brother-in-law."

  Harriet refused to take that up.

  "Well, after he'd been here a month or two, he seemed to get terribly restless, and all he wanted was to go back to town. There was no question of his flying aeain, of course. At any rate, certainly not unless he got much fitter than he was at that time. So Lindsay suggested that he come and stay at his flat for a while. It was the rather obvious solution, I suppose. But, from all I hear, it hasn 't worked."

  "Do you mean that they ... they don't get on very well together?" Harriet asked, as tactfully as possible.

  "We-ell, Roddy goes off on his own a good bit, I gather, and then Lin fusses like an old hen. Besides," he said, his tone rather deliberately casual, Harriet thought, "there's some sirl, you know. Roddy seems to think she's rather the kind that would get in Lin's hair or upset his Mamma or something."

  "And is she?" Harriet was never quite sure afterward what prompted her to make that cool inquiry.

  "What do you mean—is she?"

  "Is she that kind?"

  '*How should I know?** He gave Harriet a queer, half-suspicious glance. "What makes you think I should know anything about her?'*

  "You seem to know something about most people," Harriet retorted lightly.

  Brent laughed shortly.

  "Oh, she's a mystery girl to me, the same as to everyone else," he asserted. "Look—we're just coming into Barndale. Where would you like me to drop you?"

  "Anywhere in the main street. I only have to give a grocery order and pay a few bills, and buy one or two oddments for Mrs. Mayhew."

  "Right. Here's your first stop.'* He drew up outside an excessively fresh and clean-looking grocery store. "Shall I trail aro
und with you and carry the parcels, or do you prefer to be picked up again in about an hour*s time?*'

  Harriet—who had already put Brent down as a pleasant bounder—had no intention of having him dance attendance on her all afternoon. So she suggested that he should pick her up at the same place in an hour's time. He insisted on changing that to meeting her at the one good cafe in an hour's time. And then she was free to explore Barndale and attend to her domestic shopping.

  There were plenty of new impressions to occupy her attention, for Barndale was a busy and thriving little market town. But at the back of her mind all the time, odds and ends from her conversation with Brent Penrose kept teasing her.

  There was his queer, apparently joking assertion that he lived on his wits. There was this half-impudent remark that a pretty girl like herself might have fun. There was that odd, half-startled glance he had given her when she had—for no reason she could think of—implied that he knew more about Roddy's girl friend than was generally supposed.

  On the face of it, there isn '/ anything mysterious about him. Just a good-looking scamp, with more self-assurance than his qualities warrant, Harriet told herself Andyet—there*s something else there too. I wish I hadMaxine here. She's quicker at these things than I am.

  But Maxine was not there, and Harriet had other things to attend to besides Brent Penrose. So that by the time she

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  made her way toward the caf(& he had indicated, she still had not arrived at any real conclusion about him.

  He was waiting for her at a window table and jumped up as soon as she came in, with either real pleasure or a remarkably good imitation of it.

  ''Everything finished?" He smiled and took her various parcels from her.

  *'Yes. What a nice little town this is.'*

  "Oh, it isn't bad, I suppose." Suddenly he gave it his good-natured approval, as though he had just discovered that he was enjoymg himself there very well, after all.