“D’you know what she said, Rae?—She said he was wonderful at telling children stories. Him!”
“Well, perhaps he isn’t shy with children.”
“Perhaps,” said Judy indifferently. “Thank goodness tomorrow’ll see the end of him. Richard’s taking him in to catch the morning train.”
Rae was glad to hear it; she had an appointment to keep, and she was anxious to keep it without Richard. She had promised to go swimming, and she wanted to go without having to answer the questions which Richard would undoubtedly ask.
Judy drove away early on Monday morning; some time later, Edward sought Rae out in the garden.
“I’m just off,” he said, in his soft voice.
“Oh, are you? Good-bye, Edward. I hope you’ll come and see us when we’re back in Town.”
“I’d like to, awfully. Thanks. Thanks awfully.—I suppose I’d better say a word to the General before I go, hadn’t I? Do you happen to know where he is?”
“He s in the greenhouse—at least, he was a few moments ago.”
“Well, thanks. Thanks awfully. I’ll go and find him.”
Rae watched him go, and found herself, for the first time, somewhat in agreement with Judy’s views. People ought to—she paused to return Edward’s wave—people should try to overcome shyness. Edward was—in his mournful way—good-looking. He would be a welcome member of any society if only he could—Rae fell back on Judy’s expression—string two words together. As it was…
She heard Richard’s voice beside her.
“It’s pretty hot, isn’t it? You’re looking nice and cool— and very thoughtful. What were you brooding on?”
“Edward. Perhaps Judy’s right and he ought to shut himself up somewhere and shout out loud until he gets used to the sound of his own voice.”
“I don’t agree,” said Richard. “There’re far too many voices shouting in the world. The whole planet’s one vast yap yap yap. People talk all the time, mostly about nothing. We want more Edwards.”
“But if he talked more—or at any rate, talked more fluently, then people would be able to get to know him better.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Edward. He’s a pretty smart chap, when you come to know him. He plays good tennis, good golf, good bridge, and he holds down a good job. I’m very fond of Edward. You girls ought to look beyond obvious charms like mine and explore the more subtle ones of the Edwards. Here he comes.—Oh, I’ll be out to lunch—will you tell Mother? Edward’s giving me lunch.”
“Edward? But he’s—he’s going back to—”
“To Town? No, he isn’t—he’s changed his mind. Haven’t you, Neddy my boy?”
“Yes.”
“But you said good-bye!”
“Well, I’m going,” explained Edward, “but I’m not going to London. I’m—as a matter of fact, I’m putting up at the—at the inn at Allbrook. It’s—it’s a bit hot for London.”
“Allbrook!” Rae hoped that there was more surprise than dismay in her exclamation, but in her mind was Judy s face of relief when she had spoken of Edward’s departure. And now he was to be almost next door to her....
“How long are you staying there?” she asked.
“Well, I don’t know. It rather depends on—on how things go, as it were,” said Edward. “Won’t you drive over and have lunch with us?”
“No, thank you,” said Rae. “I’m—well, no, thank you, all the same.”
She walked with them to the car and stood watching it out of sight. She went slowly back and saw the General coming across the lawn.
“They’ve gone, have they?”
“Yes.”
“It’s going to be hot—a pity, as I’ve got to walk round and see one or two things this afternoon. Don’t fancy it in this heat. What do you plan to do with yourself, eh?”
“I’m going to—well, I’m seeing the people at the farm—I promised the boys.”
“Ah yes. Well, you’ll get some shade if you—” He stopped abruptly, staring at the sweep of gravel in front of the house. Rae, turning, saw to her surprise a bath chair standing on the drive; a familiar figure was climbing stiffly out of it. The General muttering something unintelligible under his breath, took a step forward to greet her.
The Duchess came towards them, and Rae saw that she was extremely short—less than five feet—and stout. She was dressed for the heat-wave—her coat and skirt were of shantung, her stockings of grey silk, and her shoes a pair of pale grey kid of a kind so old-fashioned that Rae found it difficult to keep her eyes off them.
The Duchess showed no reciprocal interest; she approached with firm strides, surprisingly long in so squat a figure, and stopped before the General.
“Ah, General! Good morning.”
“How d’you do, Duchess?” The General’s greeting, though polite, was not cordial. He stood looking down upon the caller, and Rae thought that he looked like a camel stooping down to identify a mound in the sand.
“Very hot, don’t you find?” asked the Duchess, in her sharp accents “Don’t care for the heat, m’self. Your sister well, I hope?”
“Very well, thank you. Won’t you—”
“Came round to see about a picture,” said the Duchess. “Understand that that artist, what’s his name—Aylmer Ferris—is doing a portrait of Lady Ashton. That so?”
“Yes,” said the General. He turned towards Rae. “I don’t think you’ve met—”
“Yes, I have. Silly gel. Sees a vehicle approaching, and puts herself immediately in front of it. Never saw anything so dangerous—might have upset the whole thing and flung me into the hedge.”
She glared at Rae, obviously waiting for an apology but Rae, summoning her fortitude, kept her lips closed: The Duchess, with a contemptuous toss of the polo topee, resumed her conversation with the General.
“I’m by way of giving an exhibition—I’ve got all those students from the Art School coming up to the Castle on Friday week, bringing their stuff with them. Be a good thing, I thought, to include this picture that Ferris is doing of your sister—no objection to that, I suppose?”
“You must ask my—”
“I’ll only keep it a day, and I’ll fetch it myself—I’ve got to use the car to collect the stuff from Allbrook, so it won’t be out of my way. Friday morning, and tell your sister to take every care, naturally.”
“Perhaps,” began the General, “you d better—”
“Come up yourself, if you like, in the afternoon, I’m throwing the place open, but I’m not going to let ’em in without charging an entrance fee, naturally.”
“Naturally.” The General’s word fell and froze, like an icicle.
“Going now. Y’r garden’s looking as brown as mine,” said the Duchess. “These dry spells don’t do anything any good—There’s a nice property beyond Marefield coming on the market—wouldn’t interest you, I suppose?”
“I’m afraid not.”
The Duchess gave what Rae, in anybody else, would have called a sniff.
“Can’t understand why you ever gave up an establishment of your own to come and live with a couple of women. Always told me it was a temporary thing, and you’re still here. You’d be much better up at Marefield, and you’d get some good rough shooting. I never could understand why people let servants drive ’em out of their houses. Servants can be had, and kept, if you know how to set about it. Naturally, if you’re going to give ’em the best rooms and the best china, and pay ’em enormous wages to go out and enjoy themselves, you’ve only yourself to blame when they assume you’re working for them.”
“The problem—”
“No problem at all. People like ourselves have got to have service, and good service. I’ve got it, haven’t I? And do I pander? Certainly not. Facts are facts and people have to face em. Look here,’ I say to them, ‘God made me a Duchess, God only knows why, and He made you a footman and there it is; it’s no use your railing against the fact —I don’t suppose you enjoy it any more than I do, but yo
u just go away and make up your mind to be a competent footman, and I’ll run my end of it as well as I can.’ That’s what I say, and the thing becomes quite clear. D’you think that servants don’t know when you make yourself uncomfortable on their account?—and do they thank you for it? No. You take my advice, General—you take that place up at Marefield and keep up an establishment. The Government tried to tax me out and the servants tried to drive me out, and I’m still there. Let ’em go on trying.—If you want to talk to my Agent about that property, you know where to find him. Good-bye; Friday morning. Tell Lady Ashton sorry, can’t stop to say How do. Good-bye. Tell that silly gel to look where she’s going.”
Throughout this harangue, the General had stood looking down at a point in the air just above the polo topee The stream ending, he bowed, handed the Duchess into her chair, and stood with Rae watching her disappearing round the bend.
“A charming woman,” he remarked with heavy sarcasm.
“Yes,” murmured Rae. “Delightful.”
“One can do nothing,” explained the General, “but listen.”
“I know.” Rae’s voice was soft and sympathetic. “It’s really so silly, because—well, you’re twice her size, and you could pick her up so easily and drop her over the wall but because she’s half your size, and a woman—”
“Ha-ha quite so,” said the General, completely restored by the knowledge that someone was so wholly on his side.
“I could pick her up ha-ha-ha—and can’t you just see the picture, ha-ha!—But, by Jove, that reminds me—I’d better go indoors and say something to Lady Ashton about it.”
“Oh, and please—would you tell her that Richard will be out to lunch?”
“Where’s he lunching?” asked the General.
“With Edward—Edward’s going to stay at the inn at Allbrook.”
“Inn at Allbrook? That’s where all those Art students are, isn’t it? And Judy. I heard Judy say she was glad to get rid of that feller—how can she be rid of him if he’s going to be in her pocket all through the week?”
“He’s—he’s got an aunt near there,” said Rae.
“Well, if he’s got an aunt, can’t he go and stay with her. What’s he doing—running after Judy?”
“Well, I don’t really know. It seems rather a waste of his time, in a way. Judy doesn’t—”
“Well, she might do worse,” put in the General unexpectedly. “Don’t know a thing about the feller except that he doesn’t talk. And if Judy gets hold of a feller who does, I don’t know where he’d fit in what he had to say.”
He went inside, looking thoughtful, and Rae was left to ponder on his words. She came to the conclusion that Edward must be given credit for exceptional tenacity; no man had ever received less encouragement. Richard had said he was good at a great many things; Rae found herself hoping that he was also a good loser.
She set off after lunch and, with an unfamiliar feeling of duplicity, turned in the direction of the farm and walked for some distance before branching off towards the swimming-pool. She reached it, to find the boys out of sight and Bianca sitting on the bank pulling off her dungarees.
“I’m going to thwim,” she shouted.
“Well, wait till I get in,” said Rae, taking her suit from the bush on which the boys had placed it. “Wait till I come, and I’ll teach you how to stay on top.”
She swam on her back, drawing Bianca’s small, kicking figure through the water, while Hugh and Alan gave a diving display which had in it more splash than skill.
“Was that one better, Rae?” shouted Alan, surfacing after a particularly unsuccessful attempt at a standing swallow.
“No it wasn’t; it was worse—your feet were miles apart.”
“Well, watch this one,” said Alan, scrambling out and getting into position. “Are you looking? I’ll do a—” He broke off abruptly and straightened slowly, gazing at his brother.
“What’s up?” asked Hugh.
“Did you hear anything?”
“Hear—no, I didn’t.”
“Well, I’m sure I did. Listen. Oh, shut up, Bi-an-KER.”
Rae put a hand softly on the tiny mouth, and everybody waited, listening intently. In a few moments there was the unmistakable sound of a long-drawn-out whistle; before it had died away, both boys were on the bank and reaching for Bianca.
“Hand her up, Rae—come on, Bi-an-KER—quick.”
“Wheres the other towel?” asked Hugh. “Oh there, Quick, throw it across, Rae. Now, all into those bushes—hurry!”
He parted a thick mass of foliage, and Rae, with some difficulty, pushed her way through and pulled Bianca behind her. She found that they had entered a little clearing in which they could sit comfortably, unobserved except by anybody standing close to the bushes and looking down at them. They arranged themselves and their clothes silently; Bianca, to whom the procedure was new, looked on in wide- eyed curiosity.
“Are we going to thwim and—”
Hugh put a hand over her mouth and glared at her fiercely.
“Quiet!” he hissed. “Don’t you say one single word—don’t you even breathe, d’you understand? There’s someone coming who’ll swallow you up whole if he hears you—understand?”
Bianca s eyes indicated that she understood, but was not unduly impressed. Hugh released her, not entirely satisfied, and stood up to scan the approaches. The others waited in silence.
“Down,” whispered the sentry suddenly. “He’s coming. Old Ginger-whiskers.”
A breathless hush fell; Bianca stared at her brothers, and they stared back, ready to stifle any sound issuing from her lips. For some moments she remained unmoved, but the tension soon communicated itself to her, and as the sound of the approaching enemy was heard, she put up a hand and clutched her nose tightly. Rae looked at her with dismay, watching her face grow pinker, and wondered whether she would be able to hold out until the footsteps went by.
There was a steady tramp, uncomfortably close and then the footsteps became fainter. Alan raised himself slightly and peered out.
“He’s going,” he reported. “Give him ten minutes and then he won’t hear us. Bi-an-KER, what’re you doing holding your nose?”
Bianca, now purple, released her nose and drew several gasping breaths.
“I didn’t breathe,” she announced triumphantly.
“Well you can breathe now,” said Rae. She stretched her cramped legs, but found herself still with a strange sense of tension. Looking at the boys, she saw to her surprise that they were far from easy; they wore anxious frowns, and were still unwilling to go into the open.
“He’s gone, hasn’t he?” asked Rae.
“Yes” Alan sounded unconvinced. I suppose we’d better go out now. I can’t see old Ginger-whiskers.”
“Old Ginger-whiskers,” said a frosty voice above them, “is entirely out of sight.”
Rae felt all her strength dram out of her. She saw the boys’ faces, white and upturned. Only Bianca looked up at the speaker with unabashed interest.
“Come on out, all of you,” came a crisp order.
The party made a crouching and undignified reappearance and stood upright. Rae, rising to her feet, stared into the cold eyes of Richard Ashton.
“Well,” he said slowly, “this is a fine—a very fine thing.”
Alan had recovered a little of his poise.
“If we are trespassing, then so are you, because this belongs to—”
“It belongs to my mother. Did she give you permission to come here?”
“Your mother? But I thought,” said Hugh in surprise, “that old—that it belonged—I mean, it was General Fitzroy who put up all those gates and padlocks and everything.”
“And you ignored the hint?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” said Hugh indignantly. “It was us. We—”
“Yes it was us,” said Allen. “We swam all last year before you were here, and—”
“I did too. I did thwim,” shouted Bianca triumphan
tly.
“Oh pipe down.” ordered Hugh.
“It was a pretty sight,” said Richard, addressing Rae, “to see you creeping into bushes and—”
“I didn’t breathe!” yelled Bianca.
“Quiet!” ordered Richard. “I’m talking. What was the matter with asking permission?” he went on. “If you’d told the General you wanted a swim, he’d—”
“She couldn’t,” pointed out Alan. “Not without giving us away. And she didn’t know we weren’t allowed to come. —we didn’t tell her.”
“I see. She thought she was just crawling into the bushes for fun—is that it?”
“There’s not much point in talking about it, is there?” asked Rae. “What are you going to do?”
“Tell my uncle,” said Richard without hesitation.
There was silence. Hugh and Alan appeared to be weighing up the situation.
“I suppose you’ve really got to tell him, now you’ve seen us,” agreed Hugh reasonably, “but we’re only here for another week, about—couldn’t you—?”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“Yes, you could,” said Rae with surprising firmness. “You needn’t say anything, and if you don’t, I’ll see that the boys ask your uncle—before they go away next week—for permission to swim in the summer.”
“Crumbs!” said Alan. “He’ll kick us out.”
“It doesn’t matter; you’ve got to ask him,” said Rae.
“But it isn’t even his—it’s Lady Ashton’s—he said so. Can’t we ask her?”
“She’d tell you to go and ask the General,” said Richard. “Do you promise, or don’t you?”
“Suppose so,” said Hugh gloomily.
“And next time you peer out of a hiding-place, peer all around you. You’re a rotten Scout, if you’re a Scout at all. I saw the whole thing, standing in the open, and you never no much as glanced in my direction. Is that the way to trespass?”
“We didn’t expect you,” said Rae.
“Well, you—and I mean you—should have expected me. You said you were going to the farm, and I walked all the ruddy way there, only to find that there wasn’t, and hadn’t been, any sign of you. So after prowling over the country-side, I caught sight of Uncle B., also on the prowl, and decided to follow him. And what do I find? You—practically a member of our household—aiding and abetting the—”
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