by Mary Cummins
“Why, of ... of course not. It’s your home,” he assured them.
Anne looked at him speculatively. She had understood why Helen had apparently become so infatuated with him, but not his interest in a girl like Helen. Could it be that he was using her to worm his way into the Hall, which must be a very desirable site in the area? Property development was one of Roger Baxter’s pursuits.
But already he had turned the conversation and Helen was once again hanging on his words as he told them an amusing tale from one of his other business deals.
Anne looked for an opportunity to withdraw from the table. Mrs. Wyatt looked tired and Anne felt, for the first time, a warmth of affection for her. The older woman irritated her, and insulted her, but there were points on which they were at one, and ranging themselves against this polished, rather brash man was one of them.
Caroline Cook’s presence, too, hadn’t helped. The girl was so quiet, her devotion to Francis so apparent that Anne felt embarrassed and uncomfortable, and still at a loss to know what to do about it. She could see the now familiar inscrutable look on Francis’ face when his glance rested on Caroline whose beautiful face was an attraction for all eyes, thought Anne wistfully. Even Roger Baxter had looked at the girl with open admiration.
“Will you freelance, Miss Cook?” he was asking. “When you’re fully trained, I mean?”
Caroline flushed.
“It would have been nice, but ... but one needs capital. A panel, for instance, can cost a great deal of money. Gold thread comes from France, and really is made of gold. I’d have to lay out a great deal in materials before selling.”
“Give me your address,” Roger said expansively. “I’ll see what I can do for you.”
Helen threw a rather startled glance at Caroline. “Caroline’s going to London,” she said quickly, “doing a post-graduate course.”
“Then I’ll have your London address, too, Miss Cook,” Roger Baxter told her, and turned to smile into Helen’s eyes. Anne could feel the impatience in Francis, no doubt longing to shake his sister.
That evening, after Anne had seen her guests off the premises, she climbed the stairs thankfully. Roger Baxter had driven Caroline home, after a warm goodnight to Helen, and Mrs. Wyatt had already excused herself and gone upstairs.
“Come and see me before you go to bed, Francis,” she commanded, and he nodded briefly.
He was still with his mother when Anne began to unfasten the heavy Victorian necklace, though the catch was a complicated one, and she found it difficult to undo. As she heard him walk into the bedroom, she opened the dividing door and walked in.
“I can’t undo the necklace, Francis.”
He looked at her with bright hard eyes, and turned her round to undo the clasp.
“Couldn’t you have stopped her?” he asked abruptly.
Anne’s eyes widened.
“I have no control or authority over Helen,” she said defensively. “She chooses her own friends.”
“Ah yes ... Helen,” he repeated, and suddenly Anne’s eyes grew thoughtfully. Had he been referring to Caroline, not to Helen?
“Does it really upset you ... having Caroline here, I mean? Were you going to marry her, Francis?”
“Who told you that?”
“Helen.”
“Helen seems to be showing remarkably little common sense. I’ve never discussed my personal affairs with Helen.”
Nor was he discussing them with her, thought Anne wearily. Yet what could he say? That he had married her after a misunderstanding with Caroline, which might have been patched up?
“Try to make her see that she’s making a fool of herself,” Francis told her, a hand on her shoulder.
“Who?”
“Helen, of course.”
“Hadn’t you better speak to her?” asked Anne.
“Perhaps.”
Suddenly there was tension between them, and a queer sort of shyness. Anne, for a moment, wondered if she ought to tell him about the baby. Then Francis looked at her awkwardly.
“You must be tired,” he said, quite gently.
“Yes ... yes, I am rather tired,” she admitted, and saw that her room door still stood open.
“Goodnight,” she said, and walked towards it.
“Goodnight,” he echoed, and came to shut the door for her, gently but firmly.
Anne felt that she was being shut into a box, where she could only live within herself. It was lonely in that box, and she felt even more lonely in her marriage than she had ever felt before.
CHAPTER EIGHT
OVER the next two weeks, Anne had little time for brooding. The drawing room was finished, though the part of the panelling from which the paint had been removed would not look the same for some time, and Anne had cleverly managed to conceal most of it.
Mrs. Wyatt looked rather sourly at the finished work, and remarked that they need not have bothered to do any painting to. the room in the first place. There was absolutely no difference in the drawing room from what it had been before.
Anne bit back an angry retort, as the room was now quite beautiful, and warmly welcoming, thanks to her own efforts.
“It looks wonderful,” Francis told her, putting an arm round her to hold her close.
“I’m glad you’re pleased,” she told him, rather awkwardly and shyly.
Helen was spending more and more of her free time in Carlisle, no doubt with Roger Baxter, but Judith came home from school, and Anne warmly welcomed the young girl.
Mrs. Wyatt, too, was obviously delighted to have her youngest daughter home, and Anne saw that she had been wrong about one thing. She really loved this child.
“You’re too thin, Judith dear,” she decided.
“I agree,” said Anne, even though her opinion had not been asked. She was concerned to see the little girl looking pale and strained, and wondered if there was anything at school which would be troubling her.
“Are you finding lessons difficult, dear?” she asked gently, when she got the child on her own.
At first there was no answer, but Anne decided to be firm and repeat the question.
“Er ... lessons?” asked Judith, starting guiltily. “No, they’re O.K., most of them.”
Anne looked searching, then sighed. There had been no hesitation in Judith’s voice as she answered, and it certainly wasn’t school which was bothering her. Surely it couldn’t be her mother, wondered Anne a day or two later. Anne was realising now that Mrs. Wyatt enjoyed having the child with her, but Judith was at her most nervous state when Mrs. Wyatt was calling to her to fetch and carry.
“I think she needs a holiday,” Anne said firmly to Francis.
“She’s going to France with Mother in August,” Francis told her. “Helen was supposed to be going, too, but she wants to opt out ... no doubt because of that Baxter chap.”
Francis did not like Roger Baxter, and made no secret of this to Anne.
“I mean a rest, then,” Anne pursued. “Look, Francis, I ... I’d like to go home for a few days next week. If you remember, I said before that I would try to arrange to go soon. Couldn’t I take Judith with me?”
“That will be up to Mother,” he told her. “I leave her to deal with holidays and off-time for Judith.”
“And I think you should take more interest in her.”
“Interest!” Francis turned to her quickly. “I love Judith—surely you can recognise that? I thought all women can recognise love when they see it.”
Anne refused to rise to the bait.
“You can love her, but still neglect her. She’s not happy. She’s too close to you and your mother for you to see it.”
“She’s only unsettled because she’s separated from all her best friends at school. Young girls like Judith moon about when they have no friends to play with.”
Anne shook her head thoughtfully.
“She doesn’t moon about. She’s worried about something.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know.”
“All right,” he said slowly. “Get her away, Anne. If you feel she’s not herself, I ... we’ll be very grateful to you if you put it right.”
He came to stand beside her.
“I ... I’ll miss you, Anne. Don’t stay away long, will you?”
She felt a queer little ache. Soon she would have to tell him about the baby, but it was still her own secret. She would delay for a little while yet.
“I’ll have a word with your mother before I ask Judith, then I’ll ring up home.”
“Home?” he repeated, and she coloured.
“Mother and Father,” she amended.
But Mrs. Wyatt wouldn’t hear of Judith going to Arndale with Anne.
“Her holiday is already arranged,” she announced imperiously. “There’s really no need for her to have an extra one, especially when it’s only to a small village in Scotland. She’d probably catch cold or something, and spoil her proper holiday later.”
“Arndale has very good weather, being fairly near the sea,” defended Anne. “I just thought a rest would do her good.”
‘Children of Judith’s age don’t need a rest. She’s just naturally pale. She’ll soon have some colour in her cheeks running around here at Elvan.”
Was she trying to deceive herself, wondered Anne, or was Mrs. Wyatt so wrapped up in herself, surrounding herself in pretty things and indulging herself in everything she could want, to worry about anyone else? She loved Judith, and obviously wanted her to hand as well.
“It wouldn’t do her any harm,” she said mildly, “and ... and I’d like to see my parents again. They’ll be moving soon and it seems a good time to go at the moment, before we start on the plans for another room.”
A gleam of mischief came into the older woman’s eyes, making her surprisingly like Helen.
“And you don’t worry whether I shall carry out my own ideas while you’re away?”
“If you did, I’m sure they would be in perfect keeping with the house,” Anne told her smoothly. “I think you were glad to see the panelling restored again, and that your desire to see it painted was only a whim, one no doubt thwarted in the past.”
The bright eyes gleamed for a moment.
“Perhaps you’re right, Anne,” sighed Mrs. Wyatt. “I shouldn’t be feeling old at my age while I’m still in my fifties, but sometimes I do. I feel old at the moment.”
Anne decided that her mother-in-law took far too little exercise and ate far too many sweet things.
“A walk round the garden each day would do you lots of good,” she ventured tentatively. “You should go out more, visit your friends...”
“I get enough exercise walking round Cockermouth,” Mrs. Wyatt said, suddenly petulant again. “Anyway, I think you ought to ask Francis to accompany you, not Judith, when you go to visit your parents.”
Anne flushed. If only Francis could go home with her! They had been happy at Arndale, or at least she had been happy for a little while. But he was busy, and she was afraid of her mother’s sharp eyes, seeing them together, and suspecting that there was a barrier between them.
Was her desire to take Judith partly to serve her own ends, wondered Anne uncomfortably, and to focus the attention of her parents on the young girl? Then she pulled herself together and turned away from the window to face Mrs. Wyatt. It was no use. She didn’t really feel happy about Judith.
“Can’t you get her doctor to check her over?” she asked. “I think she’s run down.”
“I have little faith in doctors since Henry died,” said Mrs. Wyatt. “He seemed just to slip through their fingers.”
Anne again felt sympathy for her mother-in-law. It must have been difficult for her to pick up the threads of her life again after losing a husband who must have been a very strong character. Often Anne could still feel his influence on the old house, and wondered about Francis’s relationship with his father. Could it be that the feeling of uncertainty regarding his private life that she had sensed in him was born through being emotionally curbed as a child?
“I’ll think it over ... about Judith,” Mrs. Wyatt told her, an impatient note creeping in.
“Oh, all right,” agreed Anne. “Perhaps that would be best.”
She put on her coat and decided to go for a walk along the river bank to walk off her irritation. Why should Mrs. Wyatt be so difficult over an invitation which was born out of concern for Judith? She ought to be grateful that Anne wanted to take the child home, and that her parents would welcome the little girl. Surely this wasn’t another oblique way of trying to make her feel inferior! Lately she had been feeling that the older woman was beginning to accept her.
Anne hunched up her shoulders and strode on, and a minute later her heart bounded as she heard the baying of hounds and watched the approach of several men in sporting clothes who were bent on following the pack.
Anne was now used to fox-hunting, although she did not care for it, but otter-hunting was another matter and she ran forward and demanded to know where they had come from and what authority they had to be there.
“You’re trespassing on our land,” she told them furiously. “I will not have the otters hunted here! There are far too few already ... practically none at all.”
“They’re destructive.”
A man stepped forward to defend his sport, but Anne was too angry to listen.
“Go ... all of you!” she ordered. “You have no right here!”
Anger had given her authority, though deep down she wondered if she was in the wrong. They had come from another county and were no doubt entitled to cross boundaries if they had raised an otter.
She watched them go, then turned back home, a wretched feeling of sickness gnawing at her again.
“What was that?” asked Mrs. Wyatt, who had heard the commotion.
“Otter-hunters,” Anne told her, her eyes still sparking dangerously. “I stopped them, if you must know.”
She waited for the usual rather contemptuous lecture, but for once it didn’t come.
“Good for you,” approved Mrs. Wyatt. “I hate the otters being hunted. And Anne, you can take Judith, if your parents wish to offer her hospitality.”
Anne’s anger dissolved and a smile spread over her face.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “I’m certain Judith will benefit from the change.”
As she walked on into the house, she was unaware that the older woman was looking after her, a strangely soft expression on her face.
Judith looked better already when Anne began to make arrangements to take her to Arndale the following Monday. A telephone call to her parents had ensured that they were both expected, and a room prepared for the little girl.
“Won’t Francis be with you?” asked Mrs. Drummond, rather anxiously. “I was looking forward to having you both home for a few days.”
“He’s very busy at the moment,” said Anne quickly. “It’s an American contract. It will have to be dealt with carefully.”
“I understand,” said Mrs. Drummond, who didn’t at all. Surely Francis would find it was as easy to come to Arndale as to go home to Elvan Hall from Carlisle? Still, it would be nice to meet Anne’s young sister-in-law.
Judith took the news that she was invited to Anne’s home in Scotland rather quietly, but she felt the little girl was happy about the prospect of an unexpected holiday, and she encouraged her to make her own preparations.
As far as Anne was concerned, there was only one loose string to be tied up, and that was Caroline Cook. Mrs. Wyatt had been blunt that she did not want Caroline still “mooning around” while Anne was away.
“The girl’s got no pride,” she said roundly.
“I think you’re wrong about her,” said Anne. “She’s really very pleased to have this job to do. She loves the work and it must be excellent experience for her.”
“A fat lot you know,” her mother-in-law informed her. “I tell you, she’s hanging on with all her pretty kitten claws.”<
br />
“But ... but Francis and I are married. What you suggest is too ridiculous.”
“People don’t always stay married. Her cousin got a divorce from her husband last year and has married someone else. She’s seen it happen before.”
Again uncertainty gripped Anne, and a day or two before she and Judith were due to leave from Arndale, she went to see Caroline in the morning room.
“Can I interrupt you to talk for a moment?” she asked, sitting down.
The small dark girl looked up questioningly.
“Er ... have you got a great deal more work to get through, Caroline?”
“Not a lot, no. Since you found that material which matched as well as could be expected, I’ve been able to get on quite quickly.”
“That’s good,” said Anne, relieved. “It’s just that ... well, I shall be going up to my old home for a week or two, in Arndale, and Judith is coming with me. That means...”
“I know what it means,” said Caroline in a low voice. “It means Mrs. Wyatt won’t want me here, when there are mainly just the two of us in the house together. She glared at us just the other day when Francis and I were only just speaking together for a short while.”
So they did talk together sometimes, thought Anne. She’d thought Francis rarely saw Caroline.
“Don’t worry,” Caroline was saying quickly, “I can finish, except for a few items which could wait for a white, by tomorrow evening.”
“That will be splendid,” said Anne, rather awkwardly.
Suddenly Caroline put a small hand on her arm.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes beginning to mist over with tears. “I ... I should never have come here. It was wrong of me. Only the temptation was too great and I didn’t know you were going to be so ... so good to me.”
Anne began to rise, feeling rather uncomfortable.
“I do love Francis, you see.” Caroline’s tears were flowing more freely. “Helen knows. She’s always known. I ... I thought he loved me. He was always so loving towards me and when I finished College, I ... I told him I wouldn’t mind not doing my post-grad, if he wanted other plans for us. He ... he sort of ... changed. I think it was Mrs. Wyatt. She’s never liked me because there was some sort of scandal in my grandmother’s time.”