by Mary Cummins
Mistress of Elvan Hall
Mary Cummins
“One ought to love a person for marriage, not a house,” Anne Drummond told Francis Wyatt when he asked her to become mistress of Elvan Hall. “One doesn’t marry for love of a house.”
Anne loved both Francis and Elvan Hall, but Francis loved only the Hall. There were special reasons for his asking her to marry him, but Anne was only interested in the one, which was not mentioned.
CHAPTER ONE
ANNE DRUMMOND climbed a small hill, then lay flat out on the grass, gazing down on the quiet valley which had been her birthplace. Soon her father would retire from the old Manse where he had been minister to the parish of Arndale for almost quarter of a century, and go with Nell, his wife, to the small cottage they had bought on the Ayrshire coast in preparation for his retirement.
Anne sighed, thinking that an era of her life was now coming to a close. The fact that the cottage was too small to hold three had not troubled her, because she had been engaged to Graham Lord, whom she had known all her life. Graham’s father, Dr. Lord, had also served Arndale for as many years as Stephen Drummond. The two children had been brought up together and their parents had often smiled indulgently at their close-relationship. Anne and Graham were ideally matched, in their opinion.
They had become engaged after Graham, too, had qualified as a doctor, and Anne had just started her first job as secretary to Francis Wyatt of the Wyatt Engineering Company in Carlisle. Three weeks ago she had handed over her job to another girl, her wedding to Graham being eagerly awaited by the whole of Arndale, then two days before the wedding, Graham had backed out.
“It’s no good, is it, Anne?” he asked her, having taken her in his arms to kiss her goodnight, then released her abruptly.
“What’s no good?” she asked.
“You and me. You especially. You don’t really love me, Anne. Oh, I know you love me in a way, but not real love... not as I want it to be.”
She stared at him in the fading light.
“I don’t know what you mean, Graham,” she whispered.
“Oh yes, you do. I can feel you stiffen against me whenever I try to kiss you properly. You’re only marrying me because it’s what has been expected of us for years. At first you were happy to go along with it, but not any more. I can feel the change in you, Anne.”
Her knees began to tremble a little.
“Change?”
Graham reached out and held her close again.
“It’s all right, darling. Don’t think I’m angry. Only nobody is going to force you into marriage if it isn’t right for you, even if it’s marriage to me. You hate to disappoint your father and mother, especially your father, who wants to see you settled.”
They were both quiet for a moment. They both knew that Stephen Drummond’s health wasn’t at its best these days. Dr. Lord’s eyes had often been anxious as they rested on his old friend.
“And my folks are every bit as bad,” Graham said wryly.
“How ... how long have you felt like this?” Anne asked. “Couldn’t you have spoken before ... before the arrangements went so far?”
A small smile twisted Graham’s mouth.
“I wasn’t sure before. Now I am. And besides, I thought you’d be the one to call it off. There’s someone else important to you, isn’t there, Anne? Could it be Francis Wyatt?”
She threw her head back as though he had stung her cheek.
“No!” she cried. “What a thing to ask! Mr. Wyatt is ... was ... my employer. How could you think such a thing!”
“Because I saw you with him in Carlisle just before you left Wyatt’s for good. You and he were having a cup of coffee in a restaurant there, and I saw you ... you were at a table just by the window. I almost rushed in to speak to you, then I saw your face, Anne. It was a shock, I’ve had to wait a little to decide whether or not it was true. You’ve fallen in love with him, haven’t you, my dear?”
Anne swallowed.
“I don’t know,” she said huskily. “It’s hopeless anyway. He doesn’t even notice me. I’m only the girl at the typewriter. That day ... that day we were working on a special order and he was rather worried. I think he had home worries, too. I ... I was sorry for him, Graham. I hated to see him upset. He hides his worries so well, but I always know...”
“You’re in love with him, that’s why you know,” repeated Graham. “I can’t take the chance on marrying you while your heart belongs to someone else.”
Anne drew a long breath, and looked squarely at Graham. She had been trying to hide from the truth ever since she had left Wyatt’s. There had been a great gaping hole in her life as she walked out of the quiet offices, resigning her desk and chair to Louise Dalton, Francis Wyatt’s new secretary.
Now she knew that Graham was holding up the truth to her like a bright mirror, so that she could see it reflected clearly for the first time.
“And you, Graham?” she asked. “What about you? Have we both been pushed into marriage, do you think?”
He grinned.
“It’s all been mapped out for us since our cradles. I don’t think we’re ready for it, Anne. I’m no more ready for marriage than you are to marry me. No doubt I’ll fall properly in love some day with someone else, too. Are you willing to be brave, Anne darling? Shall we be ourselves for once and tell them to stop ringing those wedding bells? Can you go through all the fag of returning those presents? I’ll help, you know, and so will your mother when she sees we mean it. Our parents aren’t ogres, but they are wishful thinkers, my dear. Shall we give ourselves an uncomfortable week and avoid making the mistake of our lives?”
Anna’s eyes searched his for the truth, and saw that Graham meant every word. He wasn’t just thinking of her. He was thinking of himself, too. He wasn’t yet ready for marriage.
“All right,” she agreed. “It’s a deal. And Graham—I do love you.”
He paused for a moment, then his eyes twinkled. “And I love you,” he assured her. “Never more so than now. We’ll always be friends, won’t we?”
“Always,” she agreed happily.
“Look, darling, if you want that chap, why don’t you grab him?”
Anne’s eyes widened.
“Oh, Graham, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? Listen, my sweet, you can grab any chap you want, take it from Uncle Graham. In fact, even now I’m tempted to tell you it was all a mistake, and let’s keep to the original arrangement. Oh, don’t panic! I can see all this has come as a relief to you, but Seriously ... he’s not married, is he?”
“No, but...”
“Then the best of luck. I’ll keep in touch. And remember, if you want him, grab him.”
Anne watched Graham go, a smile playing about her lips, then she remembered the task ahead. How to undo the strings of a life which had become rather tangled.
It had been hard convincing their parents and Stephen Drummond had taken the news harder than anyone. Anne could see the anxiety in her mother’s eyes as they followed her husband who was looking thin and frail.
“Don’t worry, Mummy,” Anne comforted her. “Daddy’s just tired. He’ll be much better at the cottage and he can write heaps more of his books for small boys. You know how he loves that”
“I know, dear,” said Mr. Drummond. “They’ve been profitable, too. They’ve practically bought the cottage. But ... but, Anne, what will you do? You know...”
“I know and it’s all right, really. You won’t want a daughter of my age parked on you at the cottage for always. It’s far too tiny to hold three of us permanently. No, I’ll get another job.”
“Back at Wyatt’s?”
“No,” said Anne quickly, the
n continued more gently, seeing the surprise in her mother’s eyes, “No, Mummy. My place has been filled, don’t forget. I returned my wedding gift to Mr. Wyatt, of course, but I can’t ask for my job back. Anyway, I may try somewhere else instead of Carlisle ... Ayr, perhaps. Then I wouldn’t be far away from you and Daddy.”
“That would be lovely, darling,” said Mrs. Drummond, rather absently. Anne knew that already she was again thinking about Stephen and planning how to save him from stress and strain over the few short weeks till his retirement. The parish had been disappointed over her wedding, and Stephen Drummond felt that the disappointment reflected on him.
“I’ll contact an agency tomorrow,” Anne promised. “I’ll get fixed up again as soon as I can.”
Anne had written many letters, but the replies had been disappointing, and she had come out to her favourite spot, a grassy slope on the hill overlooking Arndale, in order to think things out.
She could not go back to Wyatt’s. If Graham had guessed at the strong emotion which had grown in her for Francis Wyatt, could it be that Francis himself had also guessed and had welcomed her resignation with relief? Anne’s cheeks burned at the thought.
Yet he had accepted the fact that she was leaving in order to marry Graham with detachment, asking few questions, and wishing her a future of great happiness, as though he cared what happened to her.
He had always been a considerate employer, even in times of stress, and Anne remembered the only occasion when she had glimpsed another Francis Wyatt behind the careful, competent business man.
“Have you always lived in Dumfriesshire, Miss Drummond?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Always.”
“Your father is a minister of the church?”
“At Arndale. He’s ... not very well at the moment and is seeking an early retirement. He has a secondary occupation.”
This time small dimples showed in her cheeks, and she brushed back her soft honey-coloured hair, smiling at him with warm brown eyes.
“He writes books for small boys of eight to eleven. They’re rather popular and they give Daddy a lot of pleasure as well. They’re full of exciting adventures among the planets, and no doubt teach young boys the relative size and distance of each planet, one from another.”
His dark eyes were full of interest as he listened, and he looked suddenly much younger as he grinned, while she described the latest book.
“I type his manuscripts each weekend when I go home,” she explained. “The illustrations occupy a large part of the book.”
“Your father does these as well?”
“He trained in art before he became ordained.”
“I see. Then you aren’t artistic?”
She blushed.
“A little, perhaps, but my talent isn’t good enough to earn me my living at art, so I settled for something much more mundane. I settled for a secretarial training.”
“I see.”
He was thoughtful for a moment.
“Do you have an eye for beauty, though ... I mean beauty of landscape, of snow-capped mountains against a blue sky, of ancient trees which adorn themselves with new leaves year after year, of old and beautiful buildings which have grown into that landscape?”
She felt he was speaking more to himself than to her.
“Do you know Cumberland at all, Miss Drummond?”
She shook her head.
“Not very well. I’ve had little opportunity of getting to know other places so far.”
He was silent for a long time while she studied his lean dark face with well-cut black hair, straight eyebrows and a nose which could give his features a hawklike appearance when he was troubled. Looking back, she knew now that she had been aware, then, of his attraction for her. She had tried to tell herself that her feelings for him were loyalty and affection for someone she held in great respect, and that her real love was for Graham. But she knew now that Graham was right, and she had already lost her heart to Francis Wyatt.
“My home is there,” he told her, “near Cockermouth. It’s an old house, very old, in fact. The Wyatts have lived there for generations. Time was when the Elvan estate spread over many acres, but those days have gone, though many people would consider Elvan Hall a sizeable property for the present day.
“My mother lives there now, with my two younger sisters. Helen is nineteen and Judith only eleven. My grandfather founded Wyatt Engineering, since the estate isn’t self-supporting. In fact...” he paused for a moment, “the house requires a great deal of attention. My mother ... well, she has her own ideas as to what requires to be done. I ... I have to approve of her plans before they can be carried out.”
His eyebrows suddenly looked dark as his brows wrinkled.
“I love Elvan Hall, Miss Drummond. I’m concerned to ... to be a good steward and see that my descendants have a home of beauty which can be handed on. My forebears have done as much for me.”
“Of course,” agreed Anne. “I suppose anyone who didn’t appreciate such a heritage could do irreparable harm.”
“Yes,” he agreed, and there was a rather harsh note in his voice. “Irreparable harm.”
Elvan Hall had caught at Anne’s imagination and she often fancied she could see the old grey-stone house, against a background of lawns, old stout trees and smoky blue hills, with the clear sparkling river winding past. In spring wild flowers grew in abundance along the river banks, and the woods were full of snowdrops followed by daffodils.
Then Anne would remember Mrs. Wyatt, a rather fluffy-looking woman in her fifties, who could nevertheless be autocratic. She had turned up unexpectedly at the office one day, and had made Anne feel small and insignificant, even in her role as private secretary to Francis Wyatt. She had seen the quiet controlled patience on his face as he listened, to his mother’s demands, and had guessed that although he loved and respected her, she put her own comfort and feelings before his.
“She loves herself more than him,” thought Anne, and wondered if it was because she obviously had not got him under her thumb. He was his own master.
But there was something lacking in his life, even though she had never again been allowed to glimpse behind the facade. There was something wrong about his home life. Even though her own home was sometimes beset by anxieties, it was nevertheless a place of love. It was that love which had helped her to face up to the curiosity of outsiders when she and Graham called off their marriage.
Anne sighed and pulled a blade of grass. She would not be an encumbrance to her parents, of that she was determined. She had a small amount of savings, and might even go to London where she was sure she could get a job. Besides, she loved London and could be happy there.
She paused as she chewed her blade of grass and stared down at a flash of colour in the Manse garden. Her mother had hung out something brilliantly red on the clothes-line, and with a lithe movement Anne was on her feet. The red article, which she suspected was her old swim-suit, was a signal since her schooldays that she was wanted urgently at home.
Anne brushed down her tweed skirt and zipped up her anorak, then set off at a pace. No doubt some well-meaning lady of the parish had come to call, and to reassure herself and her friends that Anne’s heart wasn’t broken, and that her marriage really had been called off by mutual consent.
Anne never resented interference of this kind, knowing that it was born of regard for her and her family.
Nevertheless, she thought with a sigh, it wasn’t easy to face the probing, with a natural smile, without showing any resentment. She quickened her steps. The sooner she got it over the better.
She took the path through the back garden and into the house through the kitchen door, passing her red swim-suit which flopped garishly on the clothesline. Her mother was brewing coffee and setting out cups on her best tray.
“Who is it?” asked Anne, peeling off her anorak. “Miss Simpson or Mrs. Clegg?”
“Neither,” said Mrs. Drummond, a speculative look in her eye. “It’s
Mr. Wyatt ... for you.”
Anne gulped and turned to stare at her mother, the blood rushing to her cheeks while her hands sought her hair and tried to brush down her skirt at the same time.
“Oh, goodness! And just look at me—all covered with grass!”
The speculative look her mother was giving her deepened. Was this the real reason behind the sudden calling-off of a wedding which had been arranged for years? Surely Anne would not be foolish enough to lose Graham because of someone like Francis Wyatt ... someone beyond her reach?
“Have you written to ask for your job back?” she asked, as casually as she could. “I know you hadn’t intended to.”
“I told you it had been filled,” said Anne, trying to keep patient. “You know I couldn’t ask to go back, Mother.”
“Well, he seems determined to see you, because he said he would wait until you came home, however long you were away. Your father is entertaining him in the drawing room, showing him some of his published books.” Mrs. Drummond’s face suddenly softened into a smile. “He’s rather a charming man, really. He was genuinely delighted to look at those books, as though he had missed reading that sort of thing as a boy. I always find it rather touching to see a boy peeping out of a strong, dignified type of man. Look, dear, if you want to clean up, I'll hold the fort, only don’t be long.”
“Thanks, Mummy. I only want to wash my face and change my skirt and shoes.”
Anne looked fresh and lovely when she appeared a few minutes later in the drawing room, and Francis Wyatt leapt to his feet as he shook her hand.
“I ... er ... I was sorry to have news of your ... er ... your broken engagement,” he told her, the colour suddenly high in his cheeks.
Anne nodded briefly, and made little comment. Mr. Wyatt wasn’t very good at discussing personal affairs. He was much more sure of himself rapping out business letters which were always very lucid.
“It was by mutual consent,” she said. “Graham and I are very fond of one another, but not enough to marry. We’re like...” she glanced at her parents, “brother and sister, to coin a phrase.”