Mistress of Elvan Hall

by Mary Cummins

  Caroline managed a faint smile.

  “I may be related to Francis. You never know. Perhaps that’s what she has against me, or ... or she just feels I’m not good enough. But then Francis had married you and I ... I felt all shattered. I thought it would be me, you see. Even afterwards I thought ... somehow ... there must be some mistake.”

  Anne sat down, feeling rather faint. She could have dealt with a different sort of girl, but Caroline was soft and gentle, and it looked as though Francis had let her down badly. Anne tried to think of him objectively, wondering if her love for him had blinded her to his true nature. Could he really make promises, then turn away without a word? And why had he then married her? She had no more to offer than Caroline.

  She felt her face go cold and clammy, as the blood drained from her cheeks, and Caroline’s sudden exclamation of concern.

  “Do you feel all right, Mrs. Wyatt?”

  Anne nodded weakly.

  “Oh dear,” cried Caroline. “I ... I shouldn’t have said all that. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry,” said Anne, fighting off a wave of giddiness.

  She heard the other girl’s sudden intake of breath. “You ... is it a baby?” she whispered.

  Anne hesitated and immediately Caroline again began to apologise.

  “No, it’s all right,” said Anne. “I know you’ll respect my confidence. I rather wanted to keep it to myself for a little while, so I told no one.”

  She emphasized the last words, and Caroline nodded, understanding.

  “Some people are secretive about... about certain things. I find I like to get used to major happenings before I tell anyone else.”

  “I understand.”

  The girl’s tears had vanished and she was looking at Caroline with more reserve.

  “Can I ask you to keep my secret and tell no one?” asked Anne.

  “Of course. I’m not a tell-tale.”

  “I’m sorry,” Anne told her, ashamed. “I shall see you before I go, but in case we don’t have time for a chat, I wish you well in your course. I ... I’m sorry you’ve been disappointed, but... there’s nothing more I can say.”

  “Of course not,” said Caroline crisply, as though ashamed of showing her wounded feelings to another girl.

  Anne left the room feeling uncomfortable and rather vulnerable. Now she would have to tell Francis, since her secret was no longer entirely hers.

  But she had no opportunity for a private word with Francis before she and Judith left the following Saturday. He telephoned to say that he was very busy and likely to be late each evening, so he would just stay at the flat which he still kept for emergencies.

  “There’s something I’d have liked to discuss with you before I left, Francis,” Anne told him slowly.

  “But surely you won’t be staying away too long?”

  “About a couple of weeks.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “I’ll come home then, Anne, though I may be late, or perhaps you could postpone your visit till Monday? I ... I thought you were just going for a few days.” Was he beginning to take her for granted? wondered Anne, still thinking about all Caroline had told her.

  “No, it’s all right, Francis,” she said briskly. “It will all keep till we get back. My parents are expecting us on Saturday and Judith is looking forward to it.” Again there was a short silence.

  “And you’ll also be seeing Graham Lord?”

  This time she couldn’t keep the anger out of her voice.

  “Most probably. He happens to live in Arndale, and we’ve been friends since childhood. We ... we became even better friends when we realised we wouldn’t be happy together if we married. Surely you understand that, Francis.”

  “Of course,” he told her quickly. “Have a good journey, Anne. If you need extra money, don’t hesitate...”

  “Thank you, I’ve quite enough,” said Anne, still feeling annoyed.

  She put down the receiver and met Helen’s amused eyes as she came downstairs, having just had a bath and change of clothing.

  “Hello, Anne. You and Francis sound rather at odds with one another. Is it a lovers’ tiff?”

  “Of course not,” said Anne shortly. “Just making arrangements before I leave with Judith.”

  “Oh yes. Can’t wait to get away now. Is that it? After rushing to get here, too.”

  “Now don’t you start, Helen,” said Anne, nettled. “I’ll be jolly glad of the break.”

  “Away from us all?” Helen sighed deeply, then her light brittle voice softened. “I don’t blame you, Anne.”

  A moment later there was gaiety in her voice again.

  “What’s the betting I shall be engaged when you get back?”

  Anne paused on her way to the stairs.

  “To Roger Baxter?”

  “Do you think Francis will approve? Or Mother? I have to get their approval, you know.”

  Helen’s voice hardened.

  “In this day and age! They have to okay my husband for me. Daddy saw to that.”

  Anne was rather startled as she looked at her sister-in-law curiously.

  It hadn’t occurred to her that Helen’s financial affairs were dependent on Francis and her mother. In fact, she suddenly realised that she knew little about financial arrangements for other members of the family, except that Francis looked after them all at the moment.

  “I can please myself at twenty-five, but meantime I’m dependent on Francis,” said Helen heavily. “But anyway, by twenty-five I shall be half-way towards being an old maid!”

  This time Anne laughed. Helen looked much too young and pretty to be looking forward to remaining a spinster.

  “You may laugh,” her sister-in-law said, rather crossly, “but it’s not much fun having to win over Mother and Francis. But I’ve tried out a plan, and I think it will work. We’ll soon see.”

  “Don’t do anything silly,” said Anne, suddenly alarmed.

  She looked at the younger girl, surprised to realise how fond she was of her, even though Helen irritated her at times.

  “I’m not as silly as I look,” Helen told her, “and I know Mother ... and Francis!” She looked at Anne, her eyes dancing again.

  “I think I know why he married you.”

  “Why?” asked Anne, before she could stop herself.

  “Don’t you know? I would have thought you’d know very well why a man asks you to be his wife.” Helen’s laugh was light with amusement and Anne felt cross with her again, and decided that Helen could go and jump in the lake. She irritated her beyond endurance at times. With flags of colour in her cheeks, she climbed the stairs.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ANNE had to control the sudden rush of tears when she eventually drew up her small white car on the gravel drive in front of her old home. Her mother was already at the door to meet her, and to embrace little Judith who had been very quiet on the journey, though Anne had sensed that she was enjoying the changing scene of the countryside. Now and again she had remarked on an unusual bird, on the beauty of a charming house set into the background of trees and hills, and on lovely flowers growing in a cottage garden.

  “I bet you’re ready for your tea, my dear,” Mrs. Drummond remarked kindly, her eyes concerned when she saw how slender and frail the child looked.

  “I doubt the air around your new abode isn’t doing much for either of you,” she remarked, her eyes going shrewdly to Anne’s face.

  “It’s wonderful air,” said Anne rather shortly. There were some things which she didn’t want to discuss, even with her mother, just yet.

  “We’ve just had rather a hectic time recently, giving the Hall a face-lift,” she explained more gently, with a smile. “We’ll soon come round after a rest.”

  Then Stephen Drummond came out of his study where he had been working on a new book, and welcomed them heartily. Once again Judith shrank a little, but Anne ran forward to hug her father, glancing briefly at her mothe
r. If anyone needed her care, it was Stephen, she thought, with a small pang.

  “When do you go to the cottage, Mother?” she asked casually, as she helped to make the final preparations for tea in the kitchen.

  “Next month,” Mrs. Drummond told her, “and don’t worry too much about your father. So long as he doesn’t have any sudden upset, he’ll gradually regain his strength when he gets a long rest. He’s just been overworked, that’s all. He has two parishes to run and it doesn’t give him much free time, hopping from one place to another, and doing his books as well. Er ... I gather that Francis seems to be keeping busy, too.”

  “It’s an American contract,” Anne told her briefly. “He has to look after a great many things to make sure everything is properly done.”

  “Then you’re happy, dear? You really love Francis?”

  “I do love Francis,” she said quietly. “There’s no need to worry, Mummy. It’s Judith I want to sort out. Somehow ... somehow there’s something wrong with the child, and I can’t think what it can be. I’ve brought her here to let her roam about in the fresh air for a while, with lots of peace and quiet for her own pursuits, but I mean to keep an eye on her and see how she reacts. If she grows rather more like a girl of her age should be, then I’ll know it’s something at the Hall which is responsible ... or ... someone.”

  “Who?” asked Mrs. Drummond bluntly. “Who could be a worry to a child like that?”

  But Anne felt very reluctant to suspect, even, that it was her mother-in-law. She knew that Mrs. Wyatt deeply loved her youngest daughter, and wouldn’t harm her in any way, unless it was something beyond her control.

  “I don’t know,” she said heavily. “Let’s just see what happens over the next few days. By the way, do you see much of Graham?”

  “Not so much.”

  This time it was Mrs. Drummond’s turn to eye her daughter shrewdly.

  “Were you wanting to see him?”

  “I only wanted a word with him about Judith,” said Anne calmly, and met her mother’s eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m not having any regrets and neither, I’m sure, is he. Are we ready now that I’ve mixed this salad? I hope Daddy is talking nicely to Judith.”

  Mrs. Drummond and Anne walked through to the dining room where Stephen Drummond was proclaiming in his booming voice all about the interesting wild life in the area, while Judith listened in obvious fascination.

  “This young lady knows as touch about the habits of our wild life as I do,” Mr. Drummond said, turning to Anne with one of his rare smiles.

  “We had two roe deer on the lawn yesterday morning,” said Judith eagerly. “There was a mist off the river when I looked out of my bedroom early, and they were knocking heads together. They then ran off into the woods. Hansett says we must chase, them, or they ruin the trees.”

  “I didn’t notice them,” Anne admitted, sitting down beside Judith. “Was that before I got up, Judith? Judith?”

  But the child had obviously said all she wanted to say at the moment. She didn’t answer, and Anne caught her father’s eye and shrugged a little. She was getting used to Judith’s sudden withdrawals into herself. Later she would see what her father thought of the child.

  Over the next few days, Judith ran wild over the big garden, wearing tom jeans and sandals, her hair caught back in a ponytail. Her fair skin became freckled and her body began to look more sturdy as she ate with increasing appetite, but her odd, shy reserve was still much in evidence.

  “Have a word with Graham,” Mr. Drummond advised. “Doesn’t her mother feel that a doctor could be consulted?”

  “I don’t think she wants to recognise that Judith isn’t perfectly well, Father,” said Anne slowly, “and certainly her general health seems good. It’s just...”

  She broke off and her father nodded thoughtfully.

  “I know. As though she suddenly shuts herself off from everything. Don’t you think she’s frightened about something, Anne?”

  Anne nodded, wondering what it could be. There was no sign that Judith was any better here at Arndale than she had been at Elvan.

  “Yet she seems happy enough,” she remarked, going to the window where the child was romping with their old spaniel who was still game for a bit of fun which wasn’t too strenuous or rough.

  “All right, Father, I’ll go and see Graham.”

  It was odd meeting Graham again at their old trysting place. Anne had rung him up, hearing the pleasure in his voice when he talked to her again.

  “Are you coming over for dinner?” he asked.

  “No, Graham. At least, not yet. I’ve got Judith with me. Look, I want to ask you about something. Could we meet at our old place and I’ll tell you all about it?”

  Graham’s voice had been slightly cagey when he replied.

  “You sound very mysterious, my dear. Is there anything wrong, Anne?”

  She laughed.

  “Don’t get the wind up. I’m not trying to latch on to you again. Have you got a girl-friend likely to object to your meeting me?”

  “Dozens,” laughed Graham, “and I’m keeping it that way for now. What about you, though ... and Francis?”

  “He knows I want to talk to you,” said Anne shortly. “It’s about Judith, his little sister.”

  “Ah, I see,” said Graham, obviously relieved, then in turn concerned. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I want to talk to you.”

  “If it’s a medical matter, you should see her own doctor,” said Graham, slightly pompously.

  “Oh, Graham, you do sound stuffy,” said Anne, a hint, of laughter in her voice.

  “Thanks very much. You’ve wounded me to death. Will our old place do?”

  “Fine,” said Anne. “Usual time?”

  “No, we’ll have to make it before surgery. Five o’clock.”

  “Five o’clock,” agreed Anne.

  Now Graham was sitting on the style waiting for her, but to Anne he seemed very different from the rather untidy boy who had been the friend of her childhood. This Graham was a man who looked much more used to handling responsibility.

  Then he turned to smile at her, and Anne ran forward. Automatically Graham jumped down and gave her a bearlike hug.

  “It’s good to see you again, Anne.”

  “Good to see you, too, Graham.”

  He had brought his coat and a bar of chocolate and they sat down to eat it together companionably. Though, thought Anne, everything was different. She felt different. She felt older, even, than Graham.

  “I’ve brought Judith up with me,” she explained, telling Graham about her new family.

  “She must have been born when her mother was in her forties,” he remarked slowly.

  “An afterthought, as Mrs. Wyatt puts it. I know she loves Judith though, Graham. But she is inclined to order the child about and shows impatience when Judith appears to be very stupid at times. She’s not stupid either, though I don’t think her school reports are all that good.”

  “I see ... and you don’t want to take her for a normal examination?”

  “That’s her mother’s responsibility, not mine, or Francis’. Only he has such a lot on hand at the moment, and they think I’m just fussing.”

  “I see.”

  Graham found a blade of grass and began to chew it, as he had done countless times before.

  “Suppose I take you both out on Saturday? Where should we go? Sweetheart Abbey?”

  “No, not there,” said Anne quickly, remembering she had gone there on her honeymoon just eight weeks ago. “Somewhere near the sea—Creetown, perhaps. We’ll let Judith play on the rocks by the shore.”

  “Will you do the picnic?”

  Again Anne laughed and nodded. Graham loved her wholesome sandwiches.

  “Of course. What time can you make it?”

  “It will have to be after lunch, around three.”

  “We’ll be ready,” Anne promised him.

  Anne loved the
coastline between Gatehouse-of-Fleet and Creetown, having spent many happy hours there as a child. She hoped for a fine day on Saturday, as the weather had dulled a little during the week, and she had spent her time helping her mother to sort out more of their personal possessions before the move.

  “I shall have to find homes for a great many pieces,” Mrs. Drummond sighed regretfully. “The cottage will never hold all this. I don’t suppose you ... Anne?”

  Anne thought for a moment. Elvan Hall was already full of furniture, but it would be nice to have some pieces of her very own. But would Francis welcome extra furniture? Anne brooded, then lifted her chin. It was her home now too, and he could put up with it. She knew she could fit some things in very well.

  “I’ll be delighted to have them, Mummy,” she agreed, “and so will Francis, I’m sure.”

  “That’s good, darling,” said Mrs. Drummond, relieved. “Some of them have been in your father’s family for generations. Perhaps ... perhaps you can pass them on to your own family, Anne.”

  Anne flushed scarlet. Was it showing already? She had found some old dresses in her wardrobe which she had discarded, but which she now found very comfortable, and not at all tight round the middle. In fact, so far she could detect little change.

  “It will be a few years before my family will want them, surely,” she said, with a rather forced laugh.

  “I was talking about the future,” Mrs. Drummond said quietly.

  Judith was quite happy to go with Anne and Graham on the picnic. Graham had a way with children, and soon had her laughing merrily as they piled the picnic things into his old car.

  “Have you brought a spare dress for her, Anne?” Graham asked, peering in one of the bags. “She’ll fall in the sea, sure as eggs. Every time I get a new girl-friend and take her to the seaside on a picnic, she falls in and I have to bring her home dripping all over my car—like Anne here.”

  Anne grinned sheepishly.

  “I couldn’t do anything else,” she defended, “when you blundered into me and pushed me in.”