by Mary Cummins
There was no mistaking her meaning and Anne felt a rush of anger against Helen. It was as though she were pointing out clearly to Francis that Caroline Cook would have been a better choice to leave in charge of Elvan Hall than she had been.
A moment later the door of the small room opened, and Caroline poked her head in. Anne felt surprised as Caroline had never before interrupted breakfast if they were a little late.
“Oh ... oh, sorry,” she said, confused, and began to withdraw uncertainly.
“No, come in, Caroline,” called Helen. “Like a cup of coffee?”
“I ... I was just about to start work,” the girl began, then immediately accepted the coffee, sitting down in a vacant chair.
This morning she looked as perfectly lovely as a miniature, her face delicately made up and her lovely hair brushed until it shone like silk. Anne was even more conscious of her own rather plain appearance. She glanced at Francis and saw that he was looking at Caroline and that the tight look was back on his mouth, as though he had to make a conscious effort to control his feelings for her.
“I love doing the tapestries, Francis,” she was saying softly. “They’re so beautiful, so well worth saving.”
“Yes,” he agreed stiffly.
She flushed and lowered her eyelids, and Anne again felt the sickness of jealousy.
“She does love him,” she thought miserably, “and how could he help loving someone so pretty? She’s like a piece of Dresden china.”
“I used to think how interesting they were when you used to show them to me,” Caroline went on bravely, because his face had darkened. “In fact, I’m sure it’s because of seeing all that lovely work that I took up embroidery in the first place. The designs are so marvellous. I’ve used part of the design in one of your old Persian rugs for a panel I did at Christmas. Would you like to see it some time?”
The small vivid face was eager, and Anne couldn’t help her own interest.
“I’d love to see that,” she assured Caroline, then turned uncertainly to Francis.
“I’ll bring it tomorrow,” the girl was saying. “If ... if that’s all right.”
“That’s perfectly all right,” he said stiffly. “My wife will be most interested to see it, I’m sure.”
Anne heard the faint emphasis on the word “wife” and her eyes flew to Caroline, seeing the colour leave the girl’s face. As their eyes met, she could see how much the other girl had been hurt, and how much she still loved Francis. She felt an outsider suddenly, as though she were standing outside a circle which had been shattered and the pieces repaired haphazardly.
Francis was standing up, throwing his napkin down carelessly on the table.
“I have to leave for Carlisle as soon as possible,” he told Anne, “but first of all I want to speak to my mother. I’ll go up to her room now. I ... ” he hesitated as he strode towards the door, “I’d like to see you, too, Anne, before I leave.”
“Very well, Francis,” she said quietly. Caroline, too, was on her feet and excusing herself in order to start work in the morning room.
“What have you done to Francis, Anne darling?” asked Helen, the mischief back in her eyes, as she drank the last of her coffee.
“What do you mean?” she defended.
“He’s even more of a bear than ever, yet once he...”
“Once he what?”
“Was such a darling,” said Helen, with a sigh. “He was so sweet-tempered, and he wouldn’t have dreamed of crossing Mummy. Though, of course, Daddy was here to make himself responsible for the place. And he and Caroline were so sweet together, a real boy and girl affair, though he was quite a bit older. He used to look after her as though she were a precious ornament of some kind, or one of his delicate wild creatures which needed protection. But now he’s so unpredictable, as though he’s been hurt, and is bent on taking it out of us all.”
“He has heavy responsibilities,” said Anne stiffly. “He holds down a difficult job.”
“You should know, darling, since you were some sort of typist to him.”
“I was his secretary.”
“Of course.”
Helen buttoned up her jacket.
“Are you and he terribly in love, Anne?” she asked casually. “I thought I knew about love, but you two!”
“What do you mean?” asked Anne, scarlet cheeked.
“You could be married for years and years, you’re so casual with one another. Now Roger and I...”
“It’s serious, then?” asked Anne quickly. “You and Mr. Baxter, I mean?”
“Don’t change the subject. We’re talking about you and Francis.”
“I don’t want to discuss my relationship with Francis.”
“Nor I mine with Roger,” said Helen softly, her eyes dancing.
“But if you’re serious, then why don’t you bring him home?” asked Anne quickly. “I’m sure Francis and ... and your mother will want to meet him.”
“Francis didn’t bring you home,” said Helen equably. “Yet I’m sure Mother and I would like to have met you too ... before you were married.”
“You were invited to the wedding,” said Anne.
“To see Francis marrying a stranger? Would you have gone in our place?”
Anne slowly shook her head. But the wedding hadn’t been of her arranging. It had been Francis who wanted it that way.
“Was he making sure of you ... or of himself?” asked Helen. “I could understand a hurried engagement, but not a hurried wedding ... not with Francis.”
No doubt from Helen’s point of view, the hurried engagement would have been designed to show how much less suitable she was than Caroline. It would have been to win Mrs. Wyatt’s approval ... for Caroline!
But Francis had decided on marriage. Had that been ill-considered? Was he, even now, regretting it now that he had seen Caroline here in his own home again?
Anne was left alone to think about it, as Helen left the dining table. A moment later Mrs. Hansett appeared, and Anne helped her to clear the table on to the trolley. Upstairs the bedroom door had not been closed properly and Anne could hear the swift even tones of Francis’ voice, interspersed with shrill comments from his mother.
A moment later they heard the bedroom door slam and Francis’ quick footsteps on the stairs.
“I’ll see to these, ma’am,” said the housekeeper, as she began to wheel away the trolley. “I think Mr. Francis wants a word with you.”
Anne nodded, and walked towards the study where Francis appeared a moment later.
“I have someone coming to do the panel in two days’ time,” he told her briskly. “He’s an expert on restoring old wood carvings. He may have to do the job over several days.”
“Oh, good,” said Anne, with relief. “That’s splendid.”
Francis rubbed a hand wearily over his face, and Anne had a sudden almost irresistible desire to run to him and put her arms round his neck to comfort him. But the thought of a rebuff kept her sitting still, well away from him, listening politely.
“I ... I’m sorry it happened, Francis.”
“It can’t be helped,” he said briefly. “I ... I shouldn’t have blamed you. I realise I expected too much of you.”
She felt a stab of hurt, aware of his disappointment in her, and the hurt made the distance between them greater than ever.
Francis was regarding her searchingly, and thoughtfully.
“You’re not happy,” he said abruptly.
“I ... I ...”
“No, I can see that you aren’t happy. I ... I made a mistake. I thought all this...” he waved his hand around, “... all this would make up for love, but I was wrong, wasn’t I, Anne?”
No material thing ever made up for the absence of love, thought Anne forlornly, as she nodded.
Francis held his head in his hands, and again she longed to comfort him, but now it was impossible. He was recognising his own mistake in marrying her instead of Caroline, and Anne felt too wretched even to f
eel pain.
“I’m sorry, Anne,” he said quietly, “but I’m asking you to try to make a go of it with me. We can’t turn back, my dear. We’ve tied the knot too firmly to go back.”
Anne’s cheeks flamed, knowing he was referring to the start of their marriage. There could be no question of having the marriage annulled, and divorce was also out of the question.
“Can we try to do a good job together?” Francis appealed, and she nodded wearily. He was right, there was no turning back. She was still her father’s daughter, and she must stand by her vows.
He came round to stand behind her, then bent to kiss her cheek.
“Please,” she cried, “I don’t want ... kindness.”
“Then what do you want?”
Some sort of positive emotion, she thought, her eyes darkly unhappy.
“It doesn’t matter. Anything. I’m sorry, Francis, I didn’t mean to be difficult. I ... I suppose I just want common sense.”
He said nothing more, but picked up his briefcase and left.
Anne sat still for another few minutes, then went to find Mrs. Hansett. She still had a job to do. She was still mistress of Elvan Hall.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT seemed a long strange day to Anne, a day in which she tried hard to face up to the realities of her life. Mrs. Wyatt came downstairs looking peevish and short-tempered, but Anne didn’t feel in the mood to cope with her tantrums.
The morning was well advanced before she had time to think about her mail, which normally consisted of bills, circulars and business letters pertaining to the house. This morning, however, had brought three more letters, one from her parents, one from Graham Lord and one from Judith.
She kept Judith’s to the last, reading the news from home with a small stab of nostalgia, then she picked up Graham’s letter, which was full of cheerful news. He was going into practice with his father at Arndale, and he would welcome an opportunity to speak with her next time she came home. In the meantime he sent his regards to the lucky man who was her husband.
Lucky man, thought Anne wryly, and wondered what Francis would say if he could read the letter.
Judith’s letter was strangely unlike herself. She had taken to writing to Anne, pouring out her small worries and troubles on paper, and Anne had encouraged the child, feeling that Judith needed a sympathetic ear. But now she found Judith’s letter stilted, full of awkward little sentences. She would be coming home soon for the long holidays.
Was that what was worrying the child? wondered Anne. Perhaps she was worried about coming home. Anne frowned and remembered the slightly frightened look which had come into the girl’s eyes now and again. She had hoped it was only a temporary thing, usual in a young girl growing up when all sorts of fear and imaginations could intrude into her well-ordered life.
Now Anne began to look forward to having Judith home. At least she was happy to have her here ... or could the stilted letter mean that Judith, too, was now fighting shy of her?
Anne sighed and laid her letters aside, then looked at her notebook to see if there was anything which required her attention. Francis had asked her to see Tom Hansett regarding the hiring of some odd-job men to help with repairs to the greenhouse, and some fencing round the estate. Last week a flock of sheep had strayed on to the lawn, and had eaten up some of their more colourful flowers before being driven back out into their field. The lawn had become pitted with their small hooves and Tom Hansett had not been at all pleased. He had tried to repair the fence, but had found it a bigger job than he anticipated.
Now Anne slipped on her cardigan and made her way to the greenhouse where she knew she would probably find Tom working among some of his more exotic plants. Ever since he had watched her, admiringly, as she arranged flowers for the house, using a variety of containers, and chicken-wire secured with plasticine, or pin-holders and Oasis, he had been fascinated by how beautiful his flowers could look after Anne had completed her arrangements. It had encouraged Tom to look after his more exotic plants, and to help Anne choose the choicest blooms for indoor decoration.
Now she walked into the greenhouse with a pencil and pad in her hand, smiling at the tall genial man who was snipping suckers off a vine.
“No flowers today, Tom,” she assured him, “though I shall want plenty of blooms when the drawing room is finished.”
She remembered that it might take longer for the drawing room to be back in service than she had hoped.
“I ... I was sorry about the trouble, ma’am,” Tom said slowly, as though reading her mind.
“Yes, Tom, I was very careless,” she said, as evenly as she could. “Now, with regard to the repairs, could I have a complete list, and we’ll hire a firm to come and do them all at the same time.”
“Very good,” Tom told her, and began to go over everything with her, recommending a firm which could do the work.
Anne noted it all down competently, then turned to smile at Tom, saying she would put the work in hand straight away. On impulse she decided to walk back to the house via the stables, and as she neared the house she suddenly heard voices and looked round rather bewildered, until she realised she was near the back of the house where the young groom, David Mellor, was standing by an open window talking to Caroline Cook.
“I must see you, Caroline,” he was saying, in a low urgent voice.
“No.”
“But I must talk to you. Surely you can see...”
The voice faded and Anne took an uncertain step, wondering how to get back into the house without making her presence known. She liked young David Mellor and didn’t want to embarrass him unduly. Was he, perhaps, interested in Caroline?
“No!”
Anne could hear Caroline’s soft voice coming even more firmly. A moment later David had almost blundered into her, his face flushing scarlet at the sight of her.
“Oh, sorry ... I’m so sorry, Mrs. Wyatt,” he apologised. “I ... I didn’t see you there.”
“How could you?” she smiled. “I’ve only just come.”
He looked relieved and apologised again, awkwardly: As she went on towards the kitchen door, she looked up at the morning room window and saw that it had been closed, firmly. Anne walked on into the kitchen thoughtfully. How well did David Mellor know Caroline? Probably very well. They were of an age, and both had lived near each other all their lives.
Then Anne shrugged off her speculations. She had enough to worry about without adding on David Mellor.
There was Helen, who still seemed to be infatuated by Roger Baxter, and was still determined to keep him apart from her family. Then there was Mrs. Wyatt whose natural taste had to be thwarted for the good of the old Hall. Anne’s mind switched to Judith, who seemed so nervous and uncertain of herself, and lastly there was Francis ... and Caroline Cook, whom she herself had brought into close contact with him, no doubt unwisely for the sake of all three of them.
She felt as though she were being propelled along a dangerous road by some sort of non-stop vehicle, and she had no idea how to get off, or how to stop before they were all injured by collision.
She was about to go upstairs when Caroline called to her, and Anne turned to see her standing in the open doorway of the morning room.
“Could you approve a colour I would like to use?” asked Caroline. “As you see, the original is unrecognisable, but I rather think it might have been a dark shade of green ... like this.”
She looked up at Anne, her lovely dark eyes questioning.
“Green looks beautiful,” she said slowly. “I trust your judgement, Caroline.”
The girl flushed and Anne thought she caught a sudden flash of tears in her eyes.
“I ... I don’t want to usurp your authority,” she said, in a low voice. “Sometimes ... sometimes I can’t help listening to my own feelings.”
“I’m sure your own feelings will be a good guide,” Anne assured her, and turned away.
It was only later, when the conversation returned to her in fu
ll clarity, that she realised Caroline might have been referring to something quite different.
That evening Francis came home late, and Anne ordered a light supper for him. Mrs. Wyatt had asked Helen to take her to see an old friend living nearby, and they hadn’t yet come home.
“It’s late for Mother,” Francis frowned, glancing at the clock. “She usually goes to bed early.”
“It will do her good to get out,” Anne told him. “She stays in far too much. It isn’t good for her to be here all the time.”
He darted a shrewd glance at her.
“What about you?” he asked. “Do you want to get out more? Shall I make time to give you a better social life?”
“No, of course not ... not at the moment,” she assured him. “I realise how busy you are, and there’s much to be done here in the house. In a month or two, though, perhaps...”
She thought of ways to take a break, and remembered her letters.
“Perhaps I could go home for a few days. I had a letter from Mother today, and one from Graham. He’s going into general practice with his father. It ... it would be nice to see them all again,” she finished, rather lamely.
Again it seemed as though a shutter had come over his face.
“You aren’t imprisoned here, Anne,” he told her coldly. “By all means go and visit your parents whenever you wish. And Graham,” he finished curtly. “Only I’d have supposed...”
“Supposed what?”
“Supposed that now you are married to me, you wouldn’t be so ready to run back to see Graham Lord.”
“He’s my friend!” she cried, stung. “When we parted, we said we would always be friends. Graham ... well, he understands.”
“And I don’t!”
“Not much,” she told him honestly. “I can’t talk to you like I can to Graham.”
“Am I such an ogre?”
She eyed him thoughtfully.
“Sometimes I can’t approach you. It’s as if ... as if...”