The second collection of 3 great novels by Mary Burchell

by Burchell, Mary

  Harriet smiled a trifle dryly, and addressed herself to the business of pouring tea. She nad quite expected to find that Brent was the kind who expected a cozy little flirtation with any girl, in exchange for tea or any other form of hospitality.

  But to her pleasure and surprise she found that she was mistaken. Possibly he, too, had done some reflecting during the afternoon and had concluded that this would be the wrong form of approach to employ in her case. At any rate, he proved>^ pleasant and amusing companion, and treated her to no more nonsense than might be included under the heading of lighthearted good nature. On the contrary he asked her about herself, with apparently genuine interest, and sympathized quite understanding^ over the loss of her mother and the breakup of her home.

  "I see now why you stay on at Fourways," he said. "You're the kind of girl who has to have a home in the background. If not your own home, then someone else's. You aren't the kind to enjoy a pied-a-terre and a lot of rushing around hitting the high spots."

  Harriet smiled at this unexpected shrewdness in summing her up, and even told him a little of her failure to fit into the life that Maxine enjoyed.

  He listened to her attentively and said, "Still, you'll go and stay with your sister sometimes, won't you?''

  "Oh, of c6urse! I'm very fond of her and could quite enjoy crowded life for a day or two, so long as I have my own background," Harriet assured him.

  '"Yes, I see. Well, I'll have to arrange to be in town when you're there, and you must let me take you out."

  Harriet said that would be very nice, and secretly at-

  tached remarkably little importance to the suggestion-deciding that by the time she was free to visit Maxine, Brent Penrose would probably have forgotten her existence.

  During the cfrive back, the conversation came around to him and his sister once more, and she asked how long Dilys had been engaged.

  '' About a year, *' Brent told her.

  But when she said that she supposed, then, the wedding would be some time that year, he simply said carelessly that he had no idea. And although Harriet had gained the impression that very good relations existed between the brother and sister, on this topic at any rate he seemed poorly informed.

  Even when they arrived back at Fourways he refused to come in with her. And, smilingly dismissing her thanks, he drove off with the final injunction that she should be sure to ring him up anytime she wanted to go into Barndale.

  Harriet, who had no intention of putting herself under much obligation to Brent Penrose, murmured indistinctly in reply, and went into the house to find Mrs. Mayhew amusedly curious about her expedition.

  "So it was Brent who drove you in, not Dilys?"

  "Yes," Harriet said, and explained about Dilys*s being detained at the last moment.

  *'Hm," commented Mrs. Mayhew in a provocative tone that would have made anyone want to ask what she meant.

  Harriet obligingly made the inquiry she was evidently intended to make.

  "Oh, it*s the standard excuse, that's all." Mrs. Mayhew picked up her embroidery and examined it with attention. For a woman whose hands were stiffened with arthritis, she did remarkably beautiful work. "I suppose Brent wanted to drive you in and Dilys agreed to humor him."

  "But why should he want to drive me in?" Harriet asked.

  Mrs. Mayhew laughed scornfully. "You aren't as simple as that, child," she reproved Harriet sharply. "Brent was bored and you are pretty. Really, one surely doesn 't have to fill in the outlines more than that."

  "He behaved quite well—for his kind," Jfarriet remarked.

  The second half of that reply appeared to satisfy her employer.

  "You have him properly sized up, I see,*' she commented approvingly.

  "What does he do for a living, Mrs. Mayhew?" Harriet asked curiously.

  "I have often wondered," Mrs. Mayhew confessed candidly. "He has, as the income tax papers say, no visible means of support. But neither of them ever seem to lack money.'*

  Mrs. Mayhew sounded curiously uninformed about her future daughter-in-law, too, Harriet thought.

  "Well, were their people very rich? Are they orphans? Is there an estate or something?" Harriet felt that Mrs. Mayhew was in a talkative mood and would, therefore, not resent questions.

  "Dear child, nobody knows!" Mrs. Mayhew obviously rather enjoyed making this faintly dramatic assertion. "They came into the district less than two years ago. People liked them, of course. They are attractive young people. Dilys is the one with the stiffening, as you have probably observed for yourself Lindsay fell for her almost immediately. I won't say that she would have been my choice for him, but then I don't think a mother is called on to do any choosing of her sons' wives. I will only say that I am thankful it was not the other way around and that I had a daughter who wanted to marry Brent. In that case—" she looked reflective and almost regretful "—I'm afraid I should have felt called on to do a little healthy interfering.''

  Harriet laughed. "Is he a bit of a bounder, you mean?"

  "Well, I suppose one is always apt to think that of an excessively handsome man," Mrs. Mayhew conceded, with unexpected fairness. "Since he is not my immediate concern, I feel no temptation to delve below that over-attractive exterior. But, to be quite frank, I have my doubts about what I should find if I did."

  "I'm afraid I feel rather the same," Harriet agreed, and. they both laughed.

  Later that evening when she was writing a long letter to Maxine she allowed herself the indulgence of enlarging in some detail on the people who were now in her immediate circle.

  I feel there is a bit of a mystery about the good-looking Penroses though what it is I really can't imagine. Maybe it's only my romantic imagination, after all. But in any case, it isn't anything that I'm ever likely to find out. The mystery which I do feel I might almost have solved, if I had known about it at the time, is the one about Roddy's unknown girl friend. By some curious coincidence, he turned out to be the tragic young airman who was at Jo's party. Remember? You didn't know his surname, but recalled a few vague details about his having been in a crash. He is the younger son here and, I gather, a bit of a headache to his elders.

  Even now, Harriet refrained from telling Maxine just what had happened on that Saturday evening. But because she felt she must have someone to whom she could pour out a few of her speculations and discoveries, she did explain something of the situation at Fourways, as far as she could see it.

  She hardly expected any comment in reply from her sister. Maxine, at the best of times, was not a prolific correspondent, her literary efforts consisting almost entirely of postcards, on which she inscribed, in large handwriting, favorable comments on her own state of health, and extravagant expressions of affection for her correspondent.

  But, to Harriet's surprise, somewhat less than a week later there arrived an unexpectedly thick letter addressed to her in Maxine's unmistakable hand.

  Her first comment was on Harriet's account of her new life:

  I'm glad you are finding something to amuse you inthe wilds of the country. They sound like people in a play to me, but perhaps that's just because I always see everything in terms of the theater. The Penroses ought to turn out to be confidence tricksters or something. Or do you think they might be husband and wife, instead of brother and sister?

  I don't know why they should be, except that, in books,that's the sort of thing that happens when beautiful and mysterious couples are around.

  (Oh, on rereading your letter, I see you say they are extremely alike to look at, so I suppose they can't be husband and wife. Unless, of course, they are also first cousins, which seems an unnecessary complication.)

  About young Roddy—I have seen him a couple of times at Jo*s place. But there wasn't any girl with him either time. Oddly enough, however, I saw him again last night, having supper at the Delta, and there was a stunning-looking girl with him then, for whom he was all eyes. I have no idea who she is. None of our crowd. She was very clear-cut, if you know what I
mean. Fair hair, but pale bronze skin (or makeup? I wasn't near enough to say which.)

  Good features, in a classical way. Rather like a head on a coin.

  Harriet gave a slight exclamation, and slowly put down Maxine's letter. ^ '

  Fair hair, pale bronze skin, rather like a head on a coin. There could not possibly be two people whom that unusual description fitted, surely.

  But then—Dilys was here. Not in London.

  Or was she?

  She had neither called nor telephoned for two or three days. But then that was not unusual.

  It was really not Harriet's business, of course. But she hardly recalled that until afterward. Oppressed by a sense of peculiar foreboding, as well as sheer desire to know, she absently thrust Maxine's letter into the envelope once more, and went to the telephone. As she gave the Penroses' telephone number, ana stood waiting for the connection to be made, she was aware of a sense of anxiety that was sharp and personal.

  It was Brent's careless, pleasant voice that replied.

  "Oh, Mr. Penrose, might I speak to Miss Penrose, please?"

  "She's not at home, I'm afraid. That's Harriet, isn't it?"

  Even his presumptuous use of her Christian name passed unnoticed in that moment.

  "Yes. Do you know when she will be in? "

  "She's away for a day or two, staying with friends."

  "Oh-Isee."^'

  "Can I do anything for you?"

  "No. No, thank you. It was just something I wanted to ask her," Harriet said, and slowly replaced the receiver, hardly even taking in Brent's obvious desire to prolong the conversation.

  I

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Very thoughtfully, Harriet went back to her own room, glad that Mrs. Mayhew was resting at the moment and-would, therefore, not require her company.

  She felt dismayed. More dismayed, perhaps, than her connection with the family warranted. The various entanglements of the Mayhews and the Penroses were not, she reminded herself, any concern of hers. And yet—it was hard not to be angry and concerned over the obvious conclusion that Lindsay Mayhew *s fiancee was, unknown to him, entangled in some way with his own brother.

  She brightened momentarily, as she considered the possibility that Roddy had merely been taking his future sister-in-law to supper while his brother was otherwise engaged. But on referring once more to Maxine's letter she found the discouraging statement that Roddy "had been all eyes*' for his companion.

  Maxine had been known to exaggerate, of course, but not to mistake a relationship entirely. She summed up situations quickly and shrewdly. If she said Roddy was desperately admirmg of his companion—then he was. Besides, if Dilys had merely run up to town for a day or two, to do shopping and see her fiancee, why should Brent not have said so? Why use the expression that she was "staying with friends for a few days''?

  As Mrs. Mayhew had once dryly remarked, Brent was the sort of man who never told the truth if a-good lie wt)uld do. But in this particular case, there would really have been not the slightest necessity to tell anything but the simple truth.

  In any event, this new and unwelcome discovery fitted in with some other odd suspicions.

  It would explain why Brent had been taken aback at her idle suggestion that he might know Roddy's girl friend. It also accounted for Dilys's disproportionate surprise when Lindsay reported his brother's assertion about the unknown girl who had brought him home on that Saturday | evening. *

  Yes—now she came to think of it, Dilys's surprise had been the surprise of someone who knew that statement could not be correct.

  Then Dilys, and Roddy too, were deliberately deceiving Lindsay. And (of all men of straw to be at such an advantage!) Brent Penrose knew all about it and presumed to patronize Lindsay, who was worth ten of him.

  This final conclusion infuriated Harriet. The whole thing might be no business of hers. But she suddenly found that it hurt quite badly to know that Lindsay was being so shabbily treated.

  All her original resentment over his manner to her that first evening had now evaporated. So, strangely enough, had her self-consciousness over her false position. She thought only of how much she liked and respected him, and how completely he trusted her.

  And he had been at such pains for her to know that he trusted her. With a natural generosity of spirit, he had wanted her to know that her services already gave satisfaction. So many people never thought to comment until there ' was some fault to be set right, but he had taken real pleasure in letting her know that she was appreciated.

  Her heart had warmed to him from that moment and she knew it. It was too bad that he, of all people, should be so served! She couldn't bear the thought of his being deceived and hurt, and her newly acquired knowledge weighed on her, until she almost wished that Maxine's informative letter had never been received. i

  It was not as though she could do anything about it. It' would not do for her to turn informer, in any sense of the word, and she was not on suflficiently intimate terms with any of them even to drop a warning hint. She could only watch events, unhappily aware that there was pain and disillusionment in store for the one actor in the drama whom she really liked.

  Feeling as she did, the next time she found it necessary to

  go into Barndale, she determined not to solicit Brent's services as chauffeur. Instead, she decided to depend on the bus service, however temperamental it might prove.

  It was inconvenient for her and Mrs. Maynew remarked on her decision. But Harriet merely contented herself with saying that she preferred it that way and left her employer to draw what conclusions she pleased. Which Mrs. Mayhew—being inquisitive—proceeded to do with energy. But, being also tactful, she did so in silence.

  Harriet was lucky in not having to wait long for a bus going into town and she quite enjoyed the ride. When she had come this way before. Brent had made too many demands on her attention for her to be able to take much notice of the scenery. Now she saw how the first breath of springhad passed over the countryside, so that though there were few definite signs yet of leaves or flowers, there was a suggestion of stirring life. The etched black and white of winter was giving way to the first pastel tints of something more gracious. And the discovery exhilarated her.

  Few spirits can resist the glad upward impulse prompted by the first signs of spring. And Harriet's spirits were naturally buoyant. She began to think that perhaps the problem at Fourways might sort itself out naturally—that she was worrying unduly—that Lindsay was well able to look after himself Or if not—and, curiously enough, this reflection appealed most of all to her—that, if not, she might be able to help him in some way.

  She had a good many commissions to attend to in Barndale, and was laden with parcels by the time she reached the bus stop once more. There was not a soul in sight, so Harriet took up her stand under the pleasing delusion that she would at least be at the head of the queue.

  Ten minutes later, however, a more sinister explanation of her splendid isolation occured to her. And this received melancholy confirmation when a stout, cheerful woman, passing her, remarked, '*There won't be another one for about an hour, you know. You just missed the last one."

  Harriet tried to display a reasonable degree of self-control and philosophy. But her expression must have reflected her thoughts fairly accurately, because the woman laughed sympathetically, and remarked, ''I'll say it for you, if you like."

  Harriet laughed, too, then, and was just about to declare that her own vocabulary was equal to the occasion, when a car slid to a standstill beside her and the door opened.

  "I thought I recognized you, from the other end of the street. Jump in,'' said a familiar voice.

  And she realized, with a rush of eager delight, which surprised her, that Lindsay Mayhew was at the wheel.

  "Oh, how marvelous!" she exclaimed. "And I hadn't even rubbed a ring or anything."

  He laughed and taking her basket and sundry other packages from her, reached over to put them in the back seat.<
br />
  "Wasn't Dilys able to come in today?" he asked, as the car started again.

  Harriet felt suddenly and acutely uncomfortable. .

  "I'm not quite sure that she was home," she explained casually. "She has been away for a day or two, you know."

  "Oh? No, I didn't know. But she has friends in the north whom she visits quite often. I expect she went there," he said.

  Harriet made a noncommittal sound, and told herself that she was ridiculous to feel so hotly angry on his behalf

  So "friends in the north" was the usual alibi, was it? She bit her lip to keep back any sharp rejoinoer. And after a moment or two she was able to comment quite calmly on his unexpected return.

  "We didn't think you would get away until the weekend."

  "No. Nor did I," he assured her. "But the case I was on went through without any of the hitches I was expecting, and I suddenly found myself free. So—I came home."

  He turned his head for a moment, to flash a quick smile at Harriet, and she was aware of a sudden lightness of heart that even the return of spring had not bestowed. She felt happy and excited—and just a little frightened because she was both.

  And then he added, in a very different tone, "I hope Dilys is home, too, by now." And her rather crazy sensation of happiness was gone, like a light b^ing extinguished.

  Of course! It was Dilys who represented home and happiness to him. Half a dozen words had served to show

  her how he feh about Dilys more surely than the most eloquent speech could have done.

  They drove on, and presently he asked her if she had settled down happily at Fourways.

  "Oh, yes. I really love it. I hope I'm going to find at the end of the month's probation, that Mrs. Mayhew feels that way, too," she said earnestly.

  "I don't think you need worry." He was smiling. "She wrote me a few days ago. And I know she hopes very much that you are going to stay on."

  "I'm so glad!"

  "So am I. It makes a lot of difference to me, too, you know."