The Tall Stranger

by D. E. Stevenson

  ‘I’m to go?’ asked Barbie.

  ‘Well, of course! That’s the whole ideer. It would scare me stiff to go and stay at a grand place like that, but you can hold your own. You go and stay and “discuss the matter.” Stay as long as she says – and if you want a new dress you can put it down in expenses.’ He sighed and added, ‘Thank heaven you’re back!’

  part two

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Barbie’s job at Garfield’s had taken her to a great many places in southern England and occasionally to Wales but it had never before taken her to Scotland, so she was considerably excited at the prospect of visiting Oddam Castle. Her mother’s name had been Helen Roy and sometimes, when Barbie felt romantic, she liked to toy with the idea that she was descended from the famous freebooter in Sir Walter Scott’s novel. There was no proof that she was (except that her hair was red and her temper somewhat fiery) but there was no proof that she was not. When questioned upon the subject Aunt Amalie had replied vaguely that Helen’s family had hailed from Oban but she had never met any of them.

  Of course Barbie was not going to Oban – nor anywhere near it – but as she travelled north in the train she could not help wishing that she knew more about her mother.

  The train was late in arriving at Ryddelton Station and Mrs Scott herself was waiting on the platform when Barbie got out. Barbie had imagined rather a ‘grand personage’ (judging from her letters) but there was nothing ‘grand’ about her. She was much younger than Barbie had expected, with brown curly hair and blue eyes, and she was perfectly natural and friendly. That was Barbie’s first impression – later she revised it a little, for there was an air of dignity about the lady, and her light easy manner was the natural outcome of her assured position. She was confident that her word was law (or very nearly) so there was no need to be ‘grand.’

  ‘Awfully good of you to come,’ she said as they shook hands. ‘I hope you’re quite fit again. We’ve got to go over the bridge but they’ll bring your suitcase across the line when the train goes on. Which one is yours?’

  ‘All of them,’ said Barbie smiling. ‘It looks as if I had come to stay with you for six months, but most of it is patterns. I thought it might be a good idea to bring some books of patterns – for curtains and things.’

  ‘An excellent idea,’ agreed Mrs Scott. ‘It will be fun looking at patterns. I was so glad when you said you would come and stay for several days because it’s going to be a bit difficult to do up the Castle without spoiling it. Sounds silly, I know, but you’ll see what I mean when you see the Castle.’

  ‘I think I know what you mean,’ Barbie told her. Obviously this was going to be a job after her own heart.

  ‘It will be nice having you as a guest,’ added Mrs Scott.

  This was a tactful way of instructing Barbie what her status was to be. She had wondered about it, for she had been to houses where she was immured in a hastily converted bed-sitting-room and treated as neither fish nor fowl. She did not mind, of course, for it was all part of her business life (it was the way she earned her living) but here at Oddam Castle she was to be a guest … and very pleasant too, thought Barbie who had taken a liking to her hostess at first sight.

  By this time the three large suitcases had been packed into the car and they were on their way. Mrs Scott was driving herself, crisply and confidently – and rather fast. The country was beautiful; there were high rounded hills covered with heather, purple as an emperor’s robe. There was a little river, a cheerful river, silver in the sunshine, dashing along between rocks and stones. There were clumps of trees and old grey cottages with flowers in their gardens. There were a few small, rather stony, fields fenced off from the road by grey stone walls.

  ‘It’s different!’ exclaimed Barbie impulsively. ‘I mean different from what I expected. I thought the hills would be more rugged.’

  ‘They’re more rugged in the north. These hills were made by glaciers, they’re very old and full of fossils. Are you interested in geology?’

  Barbie was interested in everything under the sun.

  ‘Well, you must get my husband to tell you about them,’ said Mrs Scott. ‘He’ll be delighted if you admire them. Some people are disappointed when they see our Border hills.’

  Barbie was not disappointed; she liked the easy sweep of them; they reminded her of great green billows in a stormy sea.

  Mrs Scott continued to chat, pointing out various places of interest, but Barbie could not give her undivided attention to her companion’s words. As a matter of fact Barbie was a little nervous. The road went up and down and zig-zagged round corners like a super switch-back. Mrs Scott knew the road – but Barbie did not. They swooped down a hill, crossed a narrow bridge and careered up an even steeper hill on the other side. If they were to meet a bus … but perhaps buses did not come this way …

  The idea had scarcely crossed her mind when they turned a sharp corner and came upon a large blue bus drawn up at the side of the road. There was room to pass – but only just room and not a foot to spare. Mrs Scott drew up beside the monster and put her head out of the window.

  ‘You’ve come the wrong way,’ she said in authoritative tones. ‘This road leads to Oddam Castle and a couple of farms. There’s no through road and the bridge isn’t intended for heavy traffic. The best thing you can do is to go on as far as the Lodge and turn at the gates. If you try to turn here you’ll get bogged.

  ‘Such a nuisance,’ added Mrs Scott to Barbie as she let in the clutch and drove on. ‘That’s the third bus we’ve had up here in a week. They think it’s a short cut. One of them got stuck and the farm tractor had to pull it out of the bog – wasted the whole afternoon.’

  ‘What about a notice at the cross-roads?’ suggested Barbie.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Mrs Scott. ‘I hate notice-boards, they spoil the look of the country, but if this goes on we’ll have to do something.’

  All this time the feeling had been growing that she had seen Mrs Scott before, but when she mentioned it Mrs Scott denied firmly.

  ‘I’m sure we haven’t met,’ declared Mrs Scott. ‘I don’t claim to be particularly good at remembering people but I wouldn’t have forgotten you.’

  ‘Red hair,’ murmured Barbie.

  ‘Well – yes – but a very unusual red – and other things. Look, Miss France, there’s the castle!’ She drew up beside a gap in the trees and pointed across the valley.

  The Castle was set upon the shoulder of a hill, it was a square rugged-looking building with a turret at one side and crow-stepped gables; a flourishing virginia creeper covered the whole front. There was no symmetry about it for the windows were of different sizes – some large and some small – and they were at different levels.

  ‘Not beautiful,’ said Mrs Scott. ‘But there’s something rather nice about it. There’s been a castle here for six hundred years. It was burnt down twice, once by the English and once by mistake, so it’s very higgledy-piggledy inside. There are a lot of little passages and steps up and down and rooms on different levels. Of course we can’t do any rebuilding.’

  ‘You wouldn’t want to, would you?’

  ‘I could do with another bathroom and some more fixed basins but anything like that is out of the question. The walls are so thick and solid that it costs the earth to burrow into them for pipes. We can’t have central heating for the same reason.’

  Barbie thought at once of electric radiators, and then she thought she would wait and see. A castle in the wilds, miles from anywhere, was probably lighted by paraffin lamps.

  ‘My husband’s family have been here for generations,’ continued Mrs Scott. ‘We’ve lived here since we were married, but we never had much money to spend on the old place – just enough to keep it going and no more. Now we’ve had a little windfall so we decided to spend it like this; new curtains and carpets and things,’ added Mrs Scott vaguely.

  They drove on past a small lodge and through an entrance gate with big stone pillars and up a gr
avelled drive. As the road turned and twisted the castle disappeared and then appeared again in a fascinating way … then suddenly it was there before them; larger and more rugged than ever.

  There were steps up to the front door and as the car pulled up at the bottom of the steps two dogs came bounding out to meet them; a retriever and a spaniel, both black as jet.

  ‘Down Medda! Down Tansy!’ cried Mrs Scott, warding them off. ‘It’s all right, they won’t hurt you. They’re just excited. Down, you silly creatures!’ She led the way into the castle with the dogs leaping round her like mad things.

  Barbie found herself in a big square hall with a fireplace at one end and a flight of stairs at the other. The stairs led to a gallery with a carved oak balustrade. The roof was very high and supported by huge beams. Doors led off the hall in all directions. There were electric fittings (Barbie observed) which meant that the castle was not as uncivilised as she had feared. This would certainly make things easier. In the middle of the hall was a large oak table, a pedestal table which looked like a slice of a very old tree. It was beautifully grained and polished. Barbie, who loved fine wood, fell in love with it at once. She was somewhat distressed to see a large brass tray on the table, two dog’s leads and several caps. Mrs Scott added to this assortment by throwing down her driving gloves.

  ‘It looks untidy,’ she said, ‘but it’s a sort of message-board. When Alec comes in he chucks his cap on the table and then I know he’s in – and when he sees my gloves he knows I’m in. It’s rough and ready but it works. Bet must have gone out because her beret isn’t here. I wonder why she didn’t take the dogs –’

  ‘She’s away to look at the new kittens, that’s why,’ said a husky voice which seemed to come from the ceiling.

  Barbie looked up in surprise, and saw a face leaning over the balustrade. It was a small brown wrinkled face, framed in iron-grey hair.

  ‘Come down, Jardine,’ said Mrs Scott. ‘You had better get Annie to help you to carry in Miss France’s suitcases. Then you can put the car away; we shan’t be needing it again.’

  ‘You will so,’ declared Jardine. ‘The Colonel said I’d need to take the meenister hame efter denner … but I’ll bring in the luggage. I’m not wanting the lassie’s help.’

  The face vanished and a moment later a small wiry man came running down the stairs. He shot across the hall and out of the front door like an arrow. If Jardine was as old as he looked he was amazingly active.

  ‘Jardine keeps me in my place,’ said Mrs Scott, smiling at her guest’s astonishment. ‘You see he’s been at Oddam much longer than I have. He thinks he’s indispensable – and I’m not. I believe he’s right,’ she added. ‘I couldn’t tell you what he does – he does everything – and his wife is an excellent cook. His daughter, Annie, is the housemaid and of course she helps to look after Bet.’

  ‘Bet is your daughter?’

  ‘Yes, she’s seven. We have a governess to give her lessons but she runs wild in the holidays – very wild, I’m afraid. That’s all the indoor staff we’ve got,’ continued Mrs Scott. ‘Just the Jardine family and a woman from one of the cottages who comes in and does the rough work. I’m telling you this so that if you can think of any labour-saving devices you can make a note of them. Of course we used to have a big staff,’ added Mrs Scott with a sigh.

  ‘Do you use the hall for sitting in?’ asked Barbie as she followed her hostess upstairs.

  ‘We can’t. There’s always a howling draught and one’s feet get like ice even in summer. We’ve put draught-excluders on all the doors but it hasn’t made much difference.’

  ‘Screens might help; big brown-leather screens.’

  Mrs Scott liked the idea. ‘We could have several,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘They would have to be big – or they would look rather silly – but not too heavy to move about. Where could I get them?’

  ‘We could make them for you in our work-rooms. Not real leather, of course. They would be far too heavy and expensive.’

  ‘Not artificial leather! I shouldn’t like that.’

  ‘I think you would – honestly,’ said Barbie and, taking a note-book out of her handbag, she rapidly sketched her idea of a screen. ‘It would look like this, more or less,’ she explained.

  Mrs Scott was half convinced. She said, ‘Oh yes, I see.’

  ‘We could try it,’ said Barbie. ‘The best thing to do would be to have one screen made, on approval. No need to have it if you don’t like it.’

  ‘That seems a very pleasant way of doing business.’

  ‘It’s Garfield’s way,’ replied Barbie smiling. ‘We like satisfied customers.’

  ‘Any other brilliant ideas?’ asked Mrs Scott.

  ‘I thought of electric radiators. There’s a new kind – very efficient – and they don’t use a great deal of current.’

  ‘Oh, we’ve got lots of electricity. We make it ourselves with water-power, so we can have as much as we want and it costs very little. We have a man who looks after the dynamo – an odd sort of creature but he’s been here for years. He does nothing else.’

  ‘Nothing else?’ asked Barbie in surprise.

  ‘He’s not – really employable,’ said Mrs Scott.

  Barbie, who was somewhat inquisitive, would have liked to hear more, but Mrs Scott’s words had a final ring about them so she did not like to pursue the subject. Probably there was no mystery. The man might be incapacitated by age or infirmity.

  She decided (without much grounds) that the man was an old and valued retainer, wounded in the war.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  They had been leaning on the balustrade of the gallery, looking down at the hall; but now Mrs Scott opened a door and said, ‘This is your room, Miss France.’

  It was an attractive room and, although the furniture and hangings were faded and old-fashioned, it had a comfortable look. The bed was a four-poster, it was a double bed; Barbie saw at a glance that it had a modern mattress.

  ‘I hope you’ll be comfortable,’ said Mrs Scott in the usual manner of hostesses and she switched the bed-lamp on and off to see that it worked.

  ‘It’s a very nice room,’ declared Barbie.

  ‘Nice, but shabby. That’s just the difficulty. That’s what I meant when I said I wanted the Castle done up, but I didn’t want to spoil it.’

  Mr Garfield had said, ‘Find out how they got our name,’ and this seemed a good opportunity, so Barbie asked.

  ‘Somebody recommended Garfield’s,’ replied Mrs Scott, in a thoughtful tone. ‘Let me see – who was it? Oh yes, it was through my brother. He was talking about the Castle to a man called Rupert Something, that he plays golf with, and the Rupert-man said he knew somebody who knew somebody else who was in Garfield’s. That was how it was,’ declared Mrs Scott triumphantly.

  This explanation seemed vague but Barbie understood it at once without the slightest difficulty. Rupert Something (Barbie did not know his surname either) was Nell’s latest admirer and Nell had told him about her friend who did interior decoration at Garfield’s, so of course when Rupert met a man at the golf club, who mentioned that his sister was looking for a firm of decorators, Rupert had said, ‘Garfield’s.’

  That was the best sort of advertisement: people talking, thought Barbie … and then, quite suddenly, she knew why Mrs Scott had seemed familiar to her. It was not because she had seen Mrs Scott before, but because Mrs Scott was like somebody – somebody with very thick brown hair and very blue eyes.

  ‘Your brother …’ began Barbie, and hesitated.

  ‘Henry Buckland. Do you know him?’

  ‘I met him once – at a wedding.’

  ‘It’s a small world, isn’t it?’ said Mrs Scott in a casual sort of voice. ‘We’re always saying that, so it has begun to sound silly, but we’re always bumping up against people we know. He’s staying here at the moment for some shooting. Henry is mad on shooting.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Barbie.

  ‘Dinner is at eight,’ a
dded Mrs Scott. ‘The Delaneys are coming – they are our nearest neighbours – and Mr Elliot, the minister of Ryddelton Parish Church. Not exactly a “party,” just seven of us, but Mrs Delaney usually dresses up. So if you’ve brought a pretty frock …’

  Barbie nodded.

  ‘Good,’ said Mrs Scott smiling. ‘We’ll all dress up. Meanwhile you’ll have time for a little rest. Do you think you’ve got all you want?’

  ‘Oh yes, thank you,’ said Barbie.

  She had a good deal more than she wanted and although she lay down upon the exceedingly comfortable bed it was difficult to rest. Her thoughts were in a turmoil. That odious man – who had been so rude and had made her look such a fool – was actually staying here in the house. What a coincidence! But it was not really a coincidence. There was a clear line running from herself through Nell and Rupert Something to the odious man.

  Barbie tried to relax. It was silly to feel upset. Why on earth should she feel upset at the prospect of meeting a man who was merely a chance acquaintance? She had spoken to him at a wedding, months ago. He had said he would call; she had asked him to tea and he had not come. It was rude, of course, but why should she care? Rude; thought Barbie, her temper rising as she remembered the coffee cake and the frock put on for his benefit and Aunt Amalie and herself waiting for the expected guest! Rude, odious man! Of course she was angry!

  By this time she had worked herself up into such a state that she almost decided to plead a headache ‘after the journey’ and to ask if she might be excused from appearing at dinner … but that would be silly for he was a guest at the house and she would have to meet him some time. Better get it over, thought Barbie trying to be calm.

  She unpacked and put on the new frock (she had taken Mr Garfield at his word). It was cream lace with a copper-coloured sash which exactly matched her hair. The pearls, which Aunt Amalie had given her, were fastened round her neck. As she looked at herself in the mirror and made up her mouth she decided to be quite cool and indifferent to the odious man. She would be completely natural – that was the best way.