The second collection of 3 great novels by Mary Burchell

by Burchell, Mary

  the time and Mrs. Mayhew pleasantly provided with company.

  Harriet, busy upon her household affairs, resolutely refused to speculate on Roddy's movements. She already knew far too much about them and had no desire to know more. She even half regretted, by now, having forced him to tell her the truth the previous evening. Knowing so much made her unhappily conscious of the undercurrents beneath the pleasant surface of life at Fourways, and gave an unwelcome significance and hidden meaning to almost everything that happened.

  This was intensified when Dilys and her brother arrived to spend the evening, as they so often did when Lindsay was at home. They had hardly been there ten minutes when Roddy came in from his walk, and casual but friendly greetings were exchanged.

  Harriet felt profoundly uncomfortable and more than a little disgusted, for she was perfectly certain that Roddy's walk would have taken him in the direction of the Penroses' house, and that they had already met and discussed the situation and decided on the attitude they should adopt. To see them going through the motions of not having seen each other for some months was singularly unpleasant.

  She was not called on, of course, to take any leading part in the conversation at dinner. Merely to make herself agreeable and reasonably sociable. And as soon as possible afterward she made her escape to her own room where she settled down to write to Maxine, and forget as much as possible of what was happening downstairs.

  When the letter was finished, she glanced at her little bedside clock. It was still quite early and as it was a fine, moonlit night, she decided to slip out and walk along the land to the mailbox. Her letter would not go before the morning mail, to be sure, but she thought she would rather walk in the moonlight than join the family party in the drawing room.

  Putting on a coat and a pair of warm gloves, Harriet went downstairs and quietly let herself out of the house.

  She experienced a sense of release and relaxation as the cool night air struck her face and, looking up at the dark, star-pricked vault of the night sky, she thought how curi-

  ously personal worries shrank to smaller proportions, viewedin the limitless spaces of the great out-of-doors.

  It was not especially cold for the time of year, and she walked quite slowly, enjoying the feeling of detachment that the night and the country stillness around her imparted. Everything looked austerely beautiful in the uniform black and silver of moonlight and shadow, and she walked the Quarter mile or so to the mailbox without meeting a soul.

  Only when she turned to retrace her steps, did she see that someone was coming toward her from the direction of Fourways and, when he had approached a little nearer, she realized that it was Brent Penrose.

  The discovery gave her an extraordinarily disagreeable sensation, though her common sense told her immediately that there was no real reason for this. Frivolous and worthless Brent might be, but there was nothing in the least menacing about him.

  So she walked boldly toward him and, when she came up to him, said in her most natural tone, "Hello. IVe just been mailing a letter."

  "So I guessed, when I saw you go out of the house.**

  "You saw—** She didn't complete that sentence. She very much disliked the implication that he had followed her.

  "Yes. I thought Td come after you.*' He, at any rate, had no objection to putting it into words.

  "Why?" she asked rather coldly, and started to walk on again in the direction of home.

  "Why not? I was bored with the conversation at Four-ways, and thought you and I might have something much more interesting to say to each other."

  "Did you?** She kept her tone determinedly light. "Tm not sure that I can live up to that. Tve never considered myself a brilliant conversationalist.**

  "No?** He turned his head and smiled at her deliberately in the moonlight. "But when you do speak, you have some very pointed things to say. Roddy seemed to think so, anyway.**

  Her heart gave an uncomfortable thump.

  Roddy, of course, had been at liberty to pass on to Dilys and Brent the information that she knew a disturbing amount about their affairs. But she wished he had not done

  so. She was not sure, at the moment, whether Brent regarded her as a fellow conspirator or a threat to his plans. She only knew that she very much disliked both roles.

  "What did Roddy say about my—style of conversation?*'

  "For one thing that you had a long and informative chat together last night. *'

  "Oh.''

  They walked on in silence, though she noticed that he was deliberately trying to slow down their pace. Presumably so that they might have more time for their talk.

  "Are you quite sure that you like your job at Fourways, Harriet?'' he said presently, m a friendly, thoughtful tone.

  "Quite sure, thank you.

  "But not sufficiently to refuse a similar position, at a better salary, somewhere else, I presume?"

  "I don't have to consider that question. I haven't been offered any dazzling alternative,'' Harriet retorted curtly.

  "But you might be. It could be arranged."

  She turned her head and smiled full at him, with such frank scorn that even he was slightly taken aback.

  "Don't be so silly," she said cheerfully. "And stop talking like a cheap stage villain. I have a sister who does

  f)rovincial tours sometimes, and I'm sure she'd adore your ine of talk. It's almost too good to be true. What you're really trying to say is that you're dismayed to find that I know too much about your rather contemptible scheming, and will I please move on to a safer distance where I can t indulge in any damaging talk? That, in fact, you would even be prepared to go to some trouble to find me such a place, if I would kindly go there. Am I right?"

  For a moment she really thought she was about to see the rare spectacle of Brent angry.

  Then he laughed, and retorted genially, "Right in every particular. What about it, Harriet?

  "Nothing about it," returned Harriet briskly. "You might just as well have stayed in by the fire and kept warm."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Just that. That you're wasting your time talking to me on these lines."

  He frowned, but more in puzzlement than in anger.

  "But why—if we find you a much better billet?"

  "Because I like my present one, thank you, and have no intention of changing.

  "You mean you like the idea of staying, and making mischief?**

  "No, I mean I like the idea of staying."

  "You know, you*re putting me in a very awkward position."

  "You must be almost used to that," replied Harriet, who was beginning to enjoy herself and was tingling with a sense of exhilaration, which had nothing to do with the crisp night air. "But what makes you think that I am increasing the awkwardness of your position?"

  "Well, I came out this evenmg prepared to keep everything on a friendly footing—''

  She interrupted him with a laugh of real gaiety. "Don't tell me that this is where you produce a heavy, blunt instrument," she exclaimed mockingly. "We're much too near to the house for you to be able to dispose of the body satisfactorily."

  He smiled, but she noticed that it was a singularly thin, cold smile for the charming Brent.

  "Oh, no. I don't go in for dramatic extremes," he assured her. "I was only going to say that I wish we could have arranged this in a friendly way. But, if you're determined to remain here, of course 1 shall have to take other steps to protect myself "

  She was silent for a moment. Not from any sense of dismay, but because she was considering whether she would give him her contemptuous assurance that she had no intention of exposing him.

  He apparently mistook her silence for reconsideration of the position.

  "You don't think it might be better to go, after all?" he suggested, as they walked up the short driveway together. No, no. Of course not.' She dismissed that imr"**^**'

  "I have every intention of staying at Fourways. I like it here, and—"

 
"You know, I think perhaps Roddy was right about you, after all," he interrupted, in tne most agreeable tone.

  Her sense of exhilaration suddenly deserted her, and she didn't want at all to ask what Roddy had said about her. Only, not to do so might look as though she were afraid.

  '* Well, what was Roddy's opinion about me?'* She managed to keep her voice light and mocking.

  He turned, with his hand on the handle of the side door, and smiled at her in the moonlight with quite extraordinary malice.

  "He said he thought it was doubtful if we should be able to persuade you to go because he rather thought you were in love with Lindsay yourself I dismissed the idea at the time, because, frankly, I don't see how Lindsay could inspire an undying passion. But now—in the face of such an obstinate and unreasonable determination to remain—" He broke off and laughed, with an air of amused speculation.

  "Don't be absurd!" The door was open now, and she pushed past him angrily into the hall. "That's the silliest of many silly things you've said this evening."

  And without giving him a chance to say anything else she ran up the stairs.

  He stood looking after her, she knew, but it was inipossi-ble to tell from the back that anyone was agitated. Fortunately there was no one to see that she was pale and wide-eyed, and that her teeth were clamped down angrily on her lower lip.

  At the top of the stairs, she ran full tilt into Lindsay.

  "I'm sorry!"

  They both exclaimed together, and he put out a hand to steady her.

  "I—I just ran out to mail a letter," she explained unnecessarily.

  "And ran all the way back, judging by appearances," he said with a smile.

  She managed to laugh, felt thankful for the rather dim light on the landing, and turned toward her room again as he started down the stairs.

  He turned back and said almost peremptorily, "Harriet!"

  She stopped, and he came up to her.

  "Did Brent go to the mail box with you?"

  "No. He—was out for a walk, and met me coming back." She saw him frown doubtfully.

  "Did he do or say something that upset you?'*

  "Why—no. No, of course not. What made you think so?"

  For answer, he took hold of her, gently but quite firmly, and turned her so that the light fell on her face.

  **I thought you looked a little agitated.**

  She wished she could have laughed that off carelessly. But the feel of his fingers on her arms, the recollection of what Brent had said and the degree of agitation it had caused her, made that impossible.

  The best she could achieve was an almost impatient little movement, which freed her immediately. "No. You're just imagining things, ** she told him.

  He did not repeat his previous injunction that she should let him know if she had any trouble with Brent so that he could deal with it. Perhaps he felt he had been officious, and that her impatient movement was her way of telling him so.

  At any rate, he turned away again at once. And Harriet went on rather slowly to her room, realizing unhappily that however much Brent might distress her with what he guessed or said or did, Lindsay was probably the last person m whom she could confide.

  CHAPTER SIX

  During the next week or so, life at Fourways underwent several changes.

  To begin with, instead of Lindsay returning almost immediately to London, he found that, owing to the sudden illness of his local partner, he had to take over the temporary management of the Barndale office. This meant leavmg the London part of the work largely in the hands of his principal assistant there, except for occasional twenty-four hour visits when his own presence was essential.

  In addition, Roddy, too—to his mother's open delight-seemed inclined to settle down at home again for a while.

  '*He seems so contented here," she confided thankfully to Harriet. *'And he's so much less restless and nervy. It makes me hope that he is at last getting over the effects of that dreadful business. And certainly it seems as though he has freed himself from whatever that objectionable entanglement was. At any rate, he doesn't appear to be fretting after any girl left behind in London, does he?"

  Harriet said with truth that he did not.

  Fortunately—since there was now a bigger household to cope with—Harriet had some additional domestic help, too. A successor to the temperamental cook had been found. And if, as she herself claimed, her strong suit was the *'good and wholesome" rather than '*any of this fancy stuff," she had, by way of compensation, an easygoing and stolid disposition that might also have been described as "good and wholesome." At any rate, she caused none of the crises in which her accomplished predecessor appeared to have delighted.

  To Harriet, the new order of things was both delicious

  and distressing. In the absence of both Lindsay and Roddy, she would probably have been able to feel less acutely concerned with the ever present threat of disaster. But, with them both there, and Dilys a constant visitor, she was continually reminded that the pleasant, unruffled surface of life at Fourways was only a surface, and beneath it lay all the elements of tragedy.

  On the other hand, just to have Lindsay around the place was a secret delight. She admitted it to herself now.

  To Roddy or to Brent—even to herself, in her more common sense moments—she might protest that Lindsay did and could mean nothing to her. But she knew now that life changed for her as soon as she heard the sound of his key in the door. It was not that he took a great deal of notice of her—or that she even wished him to do so. It was enough that she should see his tall, powerful figure standing in the hall as he paused to examine letters left on the table; or that she shouM find him lounging in comfortable relaxation in a chair by the fire; or hear his authoritative yet pleasant voice in serious discussion with his mother or modulated to a note of amused indulgence for Priscilla.

  She experienced a thrill of almost physical delight when his keen, bright eyes rested on her, even if only while he addressed some commonplace remark to her. And best of all she loved the way his eyes could sparkle with sudden, unexpected amusement, and crinkle a little at the corners even though his mouth would remain serious.

  She realized—as every girl in love before her had realized—that there was a delightful charm and significance about his smallest action or characteristic movement. It was a discovery of momentous importance to her, for instance, that, although such a powerfully built man, he moved with extraordinary grace and swiftness. And when she was alone in her room at night it was not even necessary to close her eyes in order to visualize him in a dozen different scenes that had really photographed themselves upon her con-sciouness during the day.

  With so many tiny happinesses to irradiate life, it was impossible for Harriet to be anything but radiant herself. And since nothing is more infectious than happiness her good spirits had their effect on the people around her. Mrs.

  Mayhew declared that she was the most cheering influence that had ever come into Fourways.

  Only, sometimes, something would happen that would force Harriet back into a ruthless realization of the true state of affairs, and then she would wonder how it was that she could be so irresponsibly lighthearted most of the time.

  Such an occasion was the unfortunate time when Lindsay—with obtuse determination—arranged for Dilys to drive her into Barndale for the weekly shopping.

  Usually, nowadays, he drove her in himself But on this particular occasion he had to make one of his hurried visits to London and without even consulting Harriet firmly arranged for Dilys to do it in his stead.

  He merely told Harriet of the arrangement just before he went to catch his train.

  Dilys could, of course, if she wished, telephone some excuse—or even send Brent once more in place of herself. But to do the first would be pointed and, it she resorted to the second, it would not, Harriet decided, be much of an improvement on the original arrangement.

  Dilys did neither. She called for Harriet at the appointed time,
looking very much like an illustration out of vogue, zs she sat at the wheel of her car in yellow and black bird's-eye tweeds, which emphasized the fairness of her hair and the deep gold of her skin.

  "tfillo." She greeted Harriet without marked warmth, but without any snow of resentment and, as soon as she had started the car again, she began some harmless sort of conversation about nothing in particular.

  It was the first time they had been alone together since that revealing evening with Roddy. Indeed, now Harriet came to think of it, it was the first time they had ever been alone together. And, without the distraction of other personalities and other impressions, Harriet began to have a much clearer idea of Dilys as she really was.

  Until now, she had put her down as a fortune hunter and a vamp. The sort of girl who always let her head rule her heart, out who was not at all averse to having an emotional flutter provided it did not interfere with her more practical plans.

  Now, glancing at the fine bones of Dilys's face, and the wide, not ungenerous curve of her mouth, she realized that

  it was not quite as simple as that. Mrs. Mayhew—and, indeed, most people—believed that Dilys was "the one with the stiffening,** simply because she had a self-possessed and positive manner, while Brent shamelessly idled through life as the engaging philanderer.

  But he is the determined and ruthless one, under all that frivolity and matinee stuff, thought Harriet, in a sudden flash of inspiration. She is rather easily swayed by events, and, above all, by the people she's fond of.

  And so much did the discovery astonish her that she cut across what Dilys was saying with the impulsive query, "Dilys, are you very unhappy?'*

  There was an odd little silence. And then, instead of making the conventional protest, which Harriet was beginning to expect, she said slowly, "You mean about Roddy— and Brent?'*

  It was incredible! She saw the problem simply in terms of Roddy and Brent. Lin—whose tragedy it was in Harriet's eyes—hardly came into it, for Dilys.

  "Yes," Harriet replied baldly, realizing that it was no good trying to make Dilys see it from her point of view.