The Tall Stranger

by D. E. Stevenson

  (Barbie could not imagine the Scotts saying this, but she took the point.)

  ‘Really, I don’t know when I’ve been so pleased about a job,’ declared Mr Garfield. ‘We’ve had bigger jobs of course, but this is special. It’s what I call romantic. An old castle in the mountains! Would they let us use it in our ads?’

  ‘No,’ said Barbie with conviction.

  ‘Oh well, you can’t have everything,’ said Mr Garfield philosophically. ‘I can’t see why they should mind, but some people are a bit shy.’

  The matter was now settled so Barbie collected her notebooks and prepared to go.

  ‘Just a minute, Miss France,’ said Mr Garfield getting up and beginning to walk about the room. ‘There’s another thing I wanted to see you about. It isn’t a new idea; I’ve been thinking about it for some time. What about a partnership? Garfield and France sounds pretty good to me. If you can raise a bit of money to put into the business I won’t say no, but if you can’t – well it can’t be ’elped, that’s all.’

  Barbie was astonished. It was a very good business and in the last few years it had expanded enormously; she knew that, for she had access to the books. She had often wondered why Mr Garfield did not take a partner with a little capital and enlarge the premises, but she had never thought of herself. A partnership in Garfield’s! It was beyond her wildest dreams.

  She said feebly, ‘Mr Garfield, do you really mean it?’

  ‘Would I say it if I didn’t mean it?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Barbie hastily. ‘It was silly of me but I was so surprised. I never thought of such a thing for a moment. As a matter of fact I think I could raise some capital, my aunt would lend it to me, but …’

  ‘But what?’ asked Mr Garfield.

  Barbie hesitated.

  ‘My goodness!’ exclaimed Mr Garfield, gazing at her in dismay. ‘My goodness! You aren’t thinking of getting married, are you?’

  ‘Nothing – is settled.’

  He flung himself into his chair. ‘That’s the worst of women! ’Ere am I, offering you a partnership in the best Interior Decorating business in town and you chuck it aside like an old glove!’

  ‘Oh no, I don’t!’ cried Barbie. ‘I’m terribly pleased and grateful – but I don’t quite know –’

  ‘Like an old glove,’ repeated Mr Garfield bitterly. ‘Why, Miss France, you’re a genius in this line of business – a genius, that’s what you are – and you chuck it all up because some bloke wants you to keep ’ouse for ’im – cook ’is dinner and mend ’is socks!’

  ‘Nothing is settled,’ repeated Barbie. ‘And even if I do – get married – I might stay on.’

  ‘I’ve ’eard that tale’ before,’ said poor Mr Garfield, his aitches flying in all directions. ‘That’s what they all say, “I might stay on.” They stay on and then they find it interferes with ’is comfort – or they’re going to ’ave a baby – or something. I know.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Barbie, blushing like a rose. ‘I really am awfully sorry. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind waiting for a day or two. Nothing is settled yet – and please don’t say anything about it to anybody.’

  Somehow she managed to get herself out of Mr Garfield’s office and fled.

  There was a great deal to arrange, for if Oddam Castle was to be ‘top priority’ other work would have to be shelved. Some of it could be shelved quite easily, but other work could not. Barbie had so much to think about that she forgot her appointment with Glore, and when she got home she found Glore waiting for her on the landing.

  ‘Oh, Miss France!’ exclaimed Glore. ‘I thought you were never coming. I’ve been waiting for ages.’

  ‘Ten minutes,’ said Barbie, glancing at her watch and assuming the Jennifer Scott manner in which she meant to conduct the interview. ‘Come in, Mrs Evans, and sit down. Perhaps you’d like a glass of sherry.’

  ‘I’d rather have gin,’ said Glore. ‘And I do wish you’d call me Glore. It sounds funny calling me Mrs Evans. Everyone calls me Glore. Agnes does too. Mummy is such a silly name, isn’t it?’

  Barbie was not anxious to call her visitor Glore and was even less anxious that her visitor should call her Barbie (she was aware that Agnes called her mother by the ridiculous name and did not approve of it at all. In Barbie’s opinion ‘Glore’ was very much sillier than ‘Mummy’). Thus thinking, Barbie did not reply, but busied herself pouring out the drinks.

  When they had both sat down Glore said, ‘I’ve read the letter. It’s funny isn’t it, Miss France? I mean it seems queer. I suppose you told them about Agnes.’

  ‘Mrs Scott explained all that in her letter didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, but it seems queer. I’ve been thinking all day and really I don’t think I could bear to part with Agnes.’

  ‘In that case there’s no more to be said about it. We’ll just write and explain to Mrs Scott that you –’

  ‘Oh, but it wouldn’t be right!’ said Glore hastily. ‘I mustn’t think of myself, must I?’

  Barbie said nothing. Her impression was that Glore never thought of anybody but herself.

  ‘It seems funny,’ repeated Glore. ‘I mean letting Agnes go all that way to people I don’t know anything about. It would be better if I went with her and stayed for a day or two and saw how she got on. If I did that they wouldn’t have to send that gentleman to fetch her.’

  ‘Does Mrs Scott suggest that?’ asked Barbie.

  ‘Well – no, but I thought –’

  ‘If Mrs Scott had wanted you to go to Oddam she would have invited you.’

  ‘Oh!’ exclaimed Glore, rather taken aback.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll either have to say yes or no,’ said Barbie. She smiled and added, ‘That’s the sort of person she is.’

  ‘Would they be kind to Agnes, Miss France?’

  ‘They would be very kind indeed. The Scotts are delightful people and if you decided to let Agnes go to Oddam Castle they would treat her as their own child. I can promise you that.’

  Barbie smiled encouragingly for she was pleased with Glore, and for the first time a little sorry for her. Unfortunately Glore spoilt the good impression with her next question.

  ‘I was wondering if they would pay,’ said Glore. ‘I mean if Agnes is going to be a companion to that little girl … I mean companions get paid, don’t they? I wouldn’t want them to pay Agnes, but they could pay me, couldn’t they? It will be lonely without Agnes.’ She took out a dirty little handkerchief and wiped the corners of her eyes very carefully – so as not to smear the mascara.

  ‘They won’t pay anything except the expenses,’ replied Barbara with conviction. ‘Agnes would be clothed and fed and educated free of charge. It seems to me a most generous offer.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Glore. ‘It will be lonely without Agnes. She’s my own little girl, you see. She’s my ewe-lamb, Miss France. Of course you wouldn’t understand what it’s like to be a mother. I don’t know how I could bear it – really I don’t.’

  Nothing annoyed Barbie more than hypocrisy. It would have given Barbie great satisfaction to walk into Glore and tell her exactly what she thought of her, but fortunately she managed to refrain. Instead she said coldly, ‘Well, we had better write to Mrs Scott and refuse her offer. Shall I do it, or will you answer her letter yourself?’

  ‘Oh no!’ cried Glore in alarm. ‘No, really! I mean I mustn’t be selfish. I must think of Agnes, mustn’t I? It would be nice for Agnes to go.’

  ‘You needn’t decide tonight,’ said Barbie. ‘You can think it over and let me know what you decide. It will be time enough if we send Mrs Scott a wire tomorrow morning.’

  Barbie rose and added, ‘I’ve got a lot to do.’ And Glore (who usually was impervious to hints) rose and departed.

  But before Barbie had shut the door behind her she turned and said, ‘Oh, Miss France, perhaps you ought to wire tonight. I mean they might hear of someone else, mightn’t they? It would be a pity if …�
��

  ‘Yes, it would,’ agreed Barbie. ‘I’ll wire tonight, shall I?’

  ‘I think you’d better,’ said Glore.

  Glore would have been surprised if she could have seen what happened when the door closed behind her. Miss France threw her hat in the air and danced a jig.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Nell was very much interested to hear of the latest developments, for by this time she was quite as keen as Barbie on the plan. The two friends chatted about it in their usual uninhibited manner as they washed up the supper dishes. It had been decreed from Oddam Castle that the child was to be handed over to Jardine at Euston Station in time for the night train to Scotland on Thursday evening, and Barbie was particularly anxious to take Agnes herself so that Glore and Jardine should not meet. She did not think Glore would make a good impression upon Jardine. Of course Nell saw the point at once and with commendable unselfishness offered to take Glore to the latest American ‘Musical’ on Thursday evening.

  ‘She won’t go,’ said Barbie with a sigh. ‘She’s sure to want to go to the station with Agnes.’

  ‘I think she’ll go,’ replied Nell. ‘If I offer to take her she won’t be able to resist it.’

  ‘She’ll smell a rat.’

  ‘No, she won’t. I’ll just get tickets and say you don’t want to go and ask if she would like to come with me.’

  ‘Nell – really!’ exclaimed Barbie, half shocked and half awed by the machiavellian scheme.

  Nell was right; Glore could not resist the invitation. She did not hesitate for a moment.

  ‘It’s no good us both going to the station, is it?’ said Glore cheerfully. ‘Pity to waste the ticket. I mean if Miss France wants to go to the station …’

  Barbie nodded.

  It was settled as easily as that.

  Glore’s way was to take an ell when an inch was offered. She had found it paid. ‘I’ll send Agnes over at half past two,’ she said. ‘That will be all right, won’t it? She can have her tea with you and it’ll give me a chance to do some shopping before I meet Nell at the theatre. I mean if you’re going to take her to the station you might as well have her for the afternoon.’

  This was more than Barbie had bargained for, but she was so stunned by the woman’s impudence that she agreed to the plan.

  ‘Was any mother ever so callous?’ said Barbie to Nell, when their visitor had taken her departure.

  ‘Lots are,’ replied Nell. ‘Some are worse. You’ve only got to read the daily papers. Look at that woman who shut her child in a dark cupboard for two whole days – and the one who strangled her baby.’

  ‘But they were different!’

  ‘What do you mean – different? Their neighbours didn’t know what was happening until it all came out. Murderers don’t wear the mark of Cain on their foreheads.’

  ‘Nell, you’re making my blood run cold!’ exclaimed Barbie with a shudder.

  ‘My blood has run cold several times,’ said Nell in thoughtful tones. ‘Sometimes at night – when I couldn’t go to sleep – but in the morning I always decided I was a perfect fool. Anyhow it’s all right now,’ she added cheerfully.

  No more was said upon the subject, and of course there was no difficulty in Barbie getting the afternoon off. Mr Garfield would have given her practically anything she asked for (he was willing to give her half his kingdom if only she would accept it) so Barbie was ready for Agnes when she appeared at the door of the flat at half past two.

  The idea was that Agnes would not need any clothes for her visit to Oddam Castle because she could wear some of Bet’s – and Bet had plenty – but the child had to travel in clothes. When Barbie thought of her arriving at the castle in those peculiar garments she decided that it wouldn’t do. All Agnes’s clothes had been bought at sales off the bargain counter; they were not only unsuitable for a child of eight years old but they were shabby and not very clean … and now that Barbie looked at her critically, she realised that Agnes herself was not very clean.

  Agnes had a button in her hand; she held it out and said, ‘Glore hadn’t time to sew it on for me. She said you would. It’s come off my coat.’

  Barbie was so angry when she saw the button that she threw discretion to the winds. The only thing to do was to take Agnes shopping and buy her some suitable clothes. She explained this to Agnes, and off they went.

  At first Barbie had intended to buy Agnes a coat in place of the yellow cloth coat (with the scrubby-looking velvet collar and the missing button); but the dress beneath the coat was bright-blue satin, trimmed with lace, and the shoes Agnes was wearing had holes in the soles … so Barbie let herself go. She bought a pair of cherry-coloured shorts and a white pullover, brown leather lacing-shoes and white socks; she bought a brown tweed coat and a cherry-coloured beret and some much-needed underwear as well. Having spent so much money on her protégée Barbie decided that the child’s hair would spoil the whole effect, so she whirled Agnes into the nearest hairdresser and had the absurd pony-tail cut off and the dark hair trimmed closely to what proved to be an exceedingly well-shaped head.

  All this time Agnes had said practically nothing, for she was a silent child, but it was obvious that she did not approve of the new garments (she preferred something more ‘fancy’) and when she saw the pony-tail of hair lying upon the floor she shed tears and had to be pacified by a bag of toffee. After this they returned to the flat, laden with parcels.

  There was still one little job to be done, perhaps the most important; Barbie put Agnes into the bath, scrubbed her all over thoroughly and washed her hair.

  The result was astonishing – Barbie was more than satisfied – never had time and money been so well spent. Clean and tidy and dressed in her new clothes Agnes looked like a different creature. She did not look like Bet, of course, but she looked like the sort of child you might expect to see in Bet’s company – which she certainly had not done before.

  ‘You’ll do,’ said Barbie with a sigh of exhaustion.

  Agnes was surveying herself in the long mirror. ‘Goodness, I don’t look like me!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘You look like a very pretty little girl.’

  ‘Do I?’ asked Agnes, gazing at her reflection in wonder.

  ‘Yes, don’t you think so yourself?’

  For the first time Agnes smiled (Barbie had never seen Agnes smile before and she was surprised, for the smile lighted up the little face and filled it with intelligence).

  ‘It’s a pity Glore can’t see me,’ said Agnes. ‘I’d like Glore to see me, Miss France.’

  ‘But you’re pleased that you’re going to Scotland, aren’t you?’ said Barbie hastily.

  Agnes nodded. ‘It’ll be nice for Glore to get rid of me so that she can go to Montreal.’

  ‘Montreal!’

  ‘It’s a town,’ said Agnes. ‘I don’t know where it is, but she’s going there with Mr Banks.’

  This was the first Barbie had heard of it and she was considerably alarmed, for if Glore went off to Canada she might disappear completely and never come back. What then would happen to Agnes? Jennifer Scott had said they would have Agnes to stay for a bit and see how she got on. She had said no more and no less.

  ‘When is Glore going?’ asked Barbie anxiously.

  Agnes did not know. In fact Agnes knew nothing whatever about her mother’s plans except that she was going to Montreal with Mr Banks.

  They had a very belated tea – it was more like supper – and Agnes was quite cheerful; indeed it seemed that her new outward appearance had changed her inwardly as well. Barbie tried to prepare her for her visit to Oddam Castle (she had tried to describe London to Bet but this was even more difficult).

  ‘Will I have to wash the dishes?’ asked Agnes.

  ‘No,’ replied Barbie. ‘You’ll just have to play with Bet and have lessons with Bet – that’s all. Bet’s cat is called Fluffy and she’s got five kittens. I expect Bet will give you one …’

  Barbie went on talking about
Oddam and the pleasures in store for Agnes until it was time to go to Euston.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Jardine was waiting for them in the station-yard and just for a moment Barbie did not know him. She had seen him in his working clothes; she had seen him in his shirt-sleeves with his green-baize apron, but this was a dapper little man in an exceedingly well-cut navy-blue suit and a bowler hat. Barbie could not help smiling, for Jardine in his London clothes looked exactly like Mr Bolfry – even to the neatly-rolled umbrella. He could have walked on to the stage exactly as he was and played the part to perfection.

  ‘You’re nice and airly, Miss France,’ said Jardine, approaching and removing his bowler hat. ‘I was hoping you’d be airly. Leddies are a wee bit apt tae leave things tae the last meenit.’

  ‘This is Agnes,’ said Barbie when she had shaken hands with him.

  Jardine looked at Agnes critically and nodded. It was evident that he approved of her (what he would have said or done if he had seen her at half past two that afternoon Barbie could not imagine).

  ‘She’s a wee bit peaky,’ said Jardine. ‘But that’s not tae be wondered at – living in London. It’s an awfu’ place! Mistress Jardine’ll soon fatten her up. Are ye a guid traiveller, Miss Agnes?’

  Agnes gazed at him.

  ‘Are ye seeck in the train?’ asked Jardine putting the question differently.

  Agnes shook her head.

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Jardine with a sigh of relief.

  This realistic approach to his duties as a courier-nursemaid pleased Barbie considerably and she followed him on to the long platform with an easier mind.