Unwary Heart

by Anne Hampson

  ‘Sweetheart?’

  ‘You will come to my home, won’t you?’

  ‘But of course, darling, just as soon as you like.’

  ‘It’s only a small house, in a row—’ She was checked by the rebuke in his eyes.

  ‘I hope I’ve never given you reason to think me a snob, Muriel.’ It was the curt, rather arrogant tone he had used more than once on the ship. A tone that seemed to belie his own words; a tone she did not like to hear.

  ‘I’m sorry ... I was only trying to tell you—Don’t be cross, Andrew.’ Would she always be so abominably hurt by a mere change of tone? It was a frightening thought.

  The pleading had its effect; Andrew’s face softened instantly, bringing back the happy glow to her eyes; convincing her that he would never be angry with her for very long.

  It was arranged that Andrew should visit Muriel’s home the following week, after Muriel had ascertained which evening would be convenient to her mother. Then Andrew brought up the question of an engagement ring.

  ‘You shall choose it,’ Muriel told him. ‘I know I shall like what you like.’

  But Andrew shook his head.

  ‘A friend of mine did that ... and his choice did not happen to agree with that of his fiancée; with the result that, now they’re married, she never wears it. That’s not going to happen with us. You’re having all your own way in this.’ There was the merest hesitation before the last two words, and because she noticed it, Muriel said banteringly,

  ‘Does that mean that I’m always going to have my own way ... in everything?’

  ‘No, my dear, it does not ... and you knew it before you asked the question.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ she said, with a candour that was soon to become incurable where Andrew was concerned, ‘I liked the answer.’

  ‘I’m profoundly relieved to hear it.’

  ‘No, you’re not!’ came the quick retort. ‘It wouldn’t make the slightest difference whether I liked the answer or not.’

  ‘No, quite honestly, my pet, it wouldn’t.’ And, after glancing at his watch, ‘If we don’t move you’re going to receive a severe ticking off.’

  Gathering up her handbag and gloves, Muriel rose hastily. ‘Will I be late?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘A little, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, dear—What will Mr. Pickard say?’

  ‘Well,’ began Andrew teasingly, ‘you will first receive a reproving glance, and then a frigid, “You do not appear to know that we have one hour only for lunch, Miss Paterson. Take five hundred lines”.’

  ‘Stupid!’ she laughed. ‘No, really, what will he say?’

  ‘Nothing—the people in that department are allowed ten minutes or so, both morning and lunchtime.’

  ‘Just in that department? But why?’

  ‘At certain times of the year they have to put in a good deal of overtime; and in return we make them this small concession.’

  What a lot she was learning about him, Muriel mused as she trotted to keep up with the pace that always appeared to be unhurried. Only this time yesterday—was it only yesterday?—she had known so little. She had not thought him capable of such infinite tenderness, of such consideration for his staff.

  ‘Are you coming over for a few minutes before you go home?’ Andrew was saying. ‘I must have a goodnight kiss to see me over till tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘I ... well, all right, then.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic,’ he frowned.

  ‘I wanted to see—er—Peter,’ she told him hesitantly.

  ‘Peter?’ Andrew’s frown deepened.

  ‘Peter Thomson—you remember, the young man who—who—’

  ‘Ah, yes, the young man who was not making love to you.’ His brow cleared. ‘You want to tell him?’

  ‘Yes, please, Andrew. I do want to tell him myself. You don’t mind?’

  ‘No, but I intend to have my kiss. I’ll send over for some more figures at ten to five.’

  Peter hid his feelings admirably, and after the first shock of surprise offered Muriel sincere congratulations and wishes for her future happiness. Nevertheless, she knew he was hurt, and she was feeling far from happy as she entered her sister’s ward at the hospital. Dil’s first words, however, drove all thoughts of Peter from her mind for the moment.

  ‘You’re a dark horse! Getting married next month and not a word to anyone!’

  ‘How—how do you know?’ Muriel stared at her in astonishment.

  ‘Aunt Edith has been to see Mother this morning; she was on her way to Aunt Sarah’s. Why didn’t you tell Mother last night—Oh, yes, I know he proposed to you last night. Aunt Edith rang him up this morning.’

  ‘Aunt Edith was going to see Aunt Sarah? ... It was only to tell Christine about our engagement. Oh, she’s dreadful!’

  ‘Why? She’s got to know some time.’ Dil chuckled. ‘Aunt Edith said that as she did all the work she was taking good care she had her reward. Gosh, I envy her! I’d give a lot to see Christine’s face when she hears the news. Imagine little you grabbing her bloke—she’ll never forgive you—’

  ‘Stop it, Dil! I hate your talking like this.’ Muriel’s eyes glinted angrily as she sat down by the bed.

  ‘Sorry.’ Dil took her hand. ‘I didn’t mean that about grabbing. I know everything, and it’s pretty obvious that you’ve been through it since you parted at the end of the cruise. It’s obvious, too, that you confided in Aunt Edith because you felt you had to tell someone. I hate myself for everything I’ve said to you. I should have been the one in whom you could have confided. I’m sorry, Muriel, and I’m glad that you’re going to be happy.’

  There was no doubting her sincerity. This was a new Dil, the sister Muriel had always longed for ... a real sister. Muriel felt she was going to cry.

  ‘Thank you, Dil ... oh, I’m s-so h-happy...’

  Seeing the tears, Dil said briskly,

  ‘Well, if this is how you look when you’re happy, heaven forbid that I shall ever see you in the depths of despair!’ And the tears turned to laughter.

  ‘I know I’m stupid; but everyone is so kind. Andrew—’ Muriel drew an audible breath. ‘Dil, he’s wonderful!’

  ‘I knew he must be something exceptional,’ Dil returned with a grin, ‘when Christine wanted him.’ She paused, becoming serious. ‘Why didn’t you tell Mother last night?’

  ‘She told me you’d found a house, and I thought we wouldn’t be able to be married for a long time. I wanted to talk to Andrew about it first.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Dil looked at her curiously.

  ‘He said he would make it possible for me to allow Mother something.’

  ‘Couldn’t wait, eh? He sounds a pet. When’s the wedding?’

  ‘We haven’t fixed the date yet.’

  ‘You realize you’ll have to invite our charming cousin?’

  ‘No.’ Muriel shook her head. ‘I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘But you’ll also have to leave out Aunt Sarah and Uncle Herbert.’

  ‘Oh, dear, yes. And Andrew is a business friend of Uncle Herbert’s.’ Muriel looked worried. ‘I suppose we shall have to invite them all—but Christine won’t come,’ she added with conviction.

  ‘I rather think she will, if only to save her face. She won’t want you to know she’s feeling vindictive.’

  ‘I know already,’ said Muriel, and went on to tell her sister of Christine’s threat. ‘Of course,’ she added, ‘Christine didn’t know that Aunt Edith had already told Andrew; neither did I, that’s why I agreed to leave the factory.’

  The deep, angry colour had slowly fused Dil’s cheeks as her sister was speaking, but her voice was more perturbed than angry as she said.

  ‘You’re sure, Muriel, quite sure, that Aunt Edith told him everything? She says she did, but you don’t think she may have glossed it over a bit?’

  ‘I think she would tell Andrew in a different way from what Christine would have done, but she told him ev
erything,’ Muriel answered, realizing that her heart was suddenly fluttering strangely. ‘Why—why are you looking like that, Dil? Christine can’t do me any harm now.’

  ‘I don’t know...’ Dil fell silent for a moment. ‘I’d rather trust a viper than Christine. Are you sure Andrew knows the whole of it?’ she asked again. ‘That he knows you went on the cruise hoping to find a rich—?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Muriel interrupted hastily. ‘And he’s overlooked it all—Dil, you’re frightening me!’

  ‘I’m sorry; but I have such a queer feeling inside me ... Christine’s poison, and after what you’ve told me I can’t see her letting this wedding go on without doing something to stop it.’

  ‘But what can she do? Christine can only tell Andrew what he already knows—that is supposing he would listen to her, and he won’t. He said she would get more than she bargains for if she goes tale-carrying to him,’ but her voice was shaking in spite of its confidence.

  ‘He thinks she may go to see him?’ Regretting having upset Muriel, Dil’s one desire was to reassure her.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, well, in that case, there’s nothing to worry about.’

  But Muriel was far from being reassured. On the contrary, she had an inexplicable feeling of guilt, a subconscious conviction that she had committed some crime of which Andrew was in total ignorance. It was ridiculous, she told herself. There was nothing ... nothing...

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  All the next morning Muriel was filled with uneasiness without knowing why. Over and over again she kept telling herself that her cousin could not possibly harm her, but when, at half-past three, Mr. Pickard told her that Andrew was now in his office and that she might go, she found herself trembling as she began to tidy up her desk. And there was no running along the corridor this time; her legs felt so weak that they could collapse under her at any moment.

  Andrew was standing by the desk, his powerful form appearing more massive than ever in the thick grey overcoat. Frantically Muriel scanned his face; the jaw looked more square, the eyes more stern—

  ‘Hello, precious.’ No sternness in his eyes now; they smiled at her and his arms were outstretched invitingly.

  ‘Andrew!’ How she covered the distance between them she never knew, but she was in his arms, her cheek resting against the rough tweed of his coat. ‘Andrew...’ At the choked little sob of relief, Andrew held her away from him, examining her face critically.

  ‘Are you feeling all right?’

  ‘Yes, wonderful,’ but she snuggled to him again, as though for safety. ‘Please let me stay like this for a little while.’

  He held her closely until her trembling was stilled.

  ‘Now, what is it?’ he asked gently. ‘What has upset you, my darling?’

  ‘I thought—I thought—Did Christine come and see you last night?’

  ‘No.’ He looked puzzled. ‘What difference could it make if she had?’

  ‘She might have managed to convince you that I was—wicked, I mean, if she’d given you her version of the story—’

  ‘Is that all that’s worrying you?’ he interrupted, shaking her slightly. ‘You are a little idiot, Muriel. Christine won’t be given the chance to say one single word against you. If she has the impudence to come to me she’ll receive the telling off of her life and then be shown the door. When did this stupid notion occur to you?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘And I suppose,’ he observed sternly, ‘you’ve had no sleep?’

  ‘Not very much,’ she admitted, feeling rather foolish at having worried so unnecessarily.

  ‘For that you’ll go to bed early tonight—You are staying?’

  ‘Yes; Mother didn’t mind at all.’

  An hour later she was being introduced to Andrew’s mother. She was just as Muriel had imagined her, tall and dark, with her son’s aristocratic bearing. She looked at Muriel critically, from head to toe, and Muriel found herself searching vaguely for the words of a song her grandmother used to sing. All she could remember was, ‘poor John’ and a sudden, irrepressible smile of amusement broke, dispelling her nervousness and bringing an unexpected twinkle to Mrs. Burke’s eyes. It was almost as though she read Muriel’s thoughts.

  ‘We all have to go through this, my dear; a son is a very precious possession to have to give to another woman. But Andrew always had such excellent taste; you’re approved.’

  ‘Thank you,’ returned Muriel, still smiling, but with an inward sigh of relief.

  ‘Where’s Betty?’ inquired Andrew, suddenly looking grim. ‘Not home from school yet? I suppose she’s loitering about with that boy-friend of hers again!’

  ‘Now, dear, please don’t be old-fashioned. He’s a very nice boy. Why should you mind if he carries her satchel home for her?’

  ‘I don’t—it’s the time it takes. Where on earth can they get to?’

  ‘Betty is nearly fifteen,’ Mrs. Burke reminded him. ‘Surely she can be trusted?’

  ‘If you knew one half the things she says to me, you most certainly wouldn’t trust her.’ He took Muriel’s arm. ‘Come into the drawing-room, Muriel. Tea will be ready in a few minutes.’

  All through tea he was uneasy, continually glancing at the clock; when it was over he went to the front door.

  ‘There’s a mist coming up,’ he said, with a mixture of anger and anxiety. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, it will be thick before very long.’

  He waited a few more minutes, then went to the door again.

  ‘It’s thicker already,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to go out and look for her.’

  It was nearly six o’clock; Mrs. Burke’s face was becoming harassed, too.

  ‘This has never happened before—’

  ‘No, and it won’t happen again,’ Andrew cut her short grimly. ‘I shall see to that!’ And, turning to Muriel, ‘I’m sorry, dear, but I must go. You don’t mind?’

  ‘Of course not. Would you like me to come with you?’

  ‘No; it’s bitterly cold, there’s no sense in your coming out.’

  Muriel sat with Mrs. Burke, neither of them speaking for a long while. But at last Muriel said soothingly, ‘Don’t worry, Mrs. Burke, I’m sure Andrew will find her before very long.’

  ‘But she can’t be lost—Something dreadful must have happened to her!’

  ‘No ... don’t upset yourself. My brother has had us all in this state, many times, but he’s always turned up safe and sound.’

  Mrs. Burke was shaking her head, and a moment later she rose agitatedly.

  ‘I’ll have to go out myself; I can’t sit here doing nothing. You must excuse me, Muriel.’ She was gone before Muriel could offer to accompany her.

  Five minutes elapsed; it seemed like an eternity. Feeling that she, too, could sit still no longer, Muriel went to the front door. As she opened it the fog choked her and she was just about to close it again when a car pulled up with a screeching of brakes and a muttered exclamation from the driver. Then Muriel recognized the voice of her uncle’s chauffeur.

  ‘We should never have come; I don’t know how we’re to get back—’

  ‘Stop grumbling, Hooper, I’ve told you I’ll only be five minutes!’ Christine, muffled in furs, was already at the door. ‘You...!’ She stared at Muriel with hatred, but there was also an expression of triumph in her eyes and Muriel found herself trembling as she stepped aside for her to enter the house.

  ‘Why have you come here, Christine? If it’s to see Andrew, I must tell you that he won’t listen—’

  ‘Where is he?’ Christine cut in imperiously. ‘Tell him I want to see him!’

  ‘He’s not in at the moment—’

  ‘Then I’ll wait.’

  ‘Very well.’ With a little shrug Muriel led the way into the sitting-room. ‘Won’t you sit down?’

  ‘Quite the hostess, aren’t you?’ Christine sneered. ‘Where’s Mrs. Burke?’

  ‘She and Andrew are both looking for Betty; she’s out somewhere in
the fog.’

  ‘Is this your first visit here?’ and when Muriel nodded, ‘Came to meet the future mother-in-law, eh? Did she approve?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘How sad. Everything going so splendidly for you, and I have to come and spoil it all.’ Christine sighed mockingly and moved over to the fire.

  ‘Andrew knows all there is to know about me,’ Muriel said quietly, ‘and he has forgiven it.’

  ‘Because that meddling old busybody made excuses for you. She did it to spite me, because she’s always disliked me!’ Christine had raised her voice, but it dropped again to a malevolent softness as she continued, ‘but she has apparently been left in ignorance of one thing ... and you’ve forgotten it. I said nothing the other night because I thought I’d destroyed it—’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Muriel’s voice was sharp, because a terrible fear was creeping over her. ‘I’ve told you, Andrew knows everything.’

  ‘Not quite everything, my sweet, innocent little cousin.’ Opening her handbag, Christine withdrew a letter and waved it triumphantly in Muriel’s face. ‘So he’s forgiven you, has he? Do you suppose he’ll be so ready to forgive this?’

  ‘It’s the letter I sent on the cruise.’ Muriel looked blank. ‘There’s nothing in that.’

  ‘We shall see if he treats it so lightly—’ She broke off, looking at Muriel with puzzlement. ‘Have you forgotten what you wrote?’

  ‘I remember every word.’ Muriel’s bewilderment increased. The letter told only of her love for Andrew, describing him in flowery terms that would doubtless afford him considerable amusement, but nothing more. ‘Do you really imagine that letter can harm me? I think you must be out of your mind!’ She moved away, but still faced her cousin across the room. ‘Don’t you think you’re being very foolish, Christine? That letter is useless to you, and you will only make a complete fool of yourself by giving it to Andrew.’ What had come over Christine? Muriel wondered. It was incredible that she should suppose that the letter would turn Andrew against her.