Beloved Rake

by Anne Hampson

  One after another she opened the letters. Some contained snapshots of handsome young men; some were from educated people, some from near-illiterates. Some were from old people who mentioned long-dead incidents of which Serra could not possibly be aware. By the time the last of the hundred or so letters was opened Serra was in a state of utter confusion. That all these were not her relatives was now seeping into her brain. What did not seep into her brain was the fact that among this pile of letters there were many from cranks, from would-be beggars—and from sharks. It did not dawn on her that the advertisement might have been much better for the insertion of a box number in preference to the very impressive address of the Grange.

  After taking her lunch alone in the dining-room Serra began a sorting out, but she was not very experienced at detecting the fraudulence that clearly ran through the majority of the letters, and those she eventually picked out appeared to her innocent judgment to be the ones she must answer, and this she did, at once. Meanwhile, the telephone continued to ring, and the following day another huge batch of letters arrived. Feeling rather sick at the sight of the tray brought in by the wooden-faced butler, Serra began to wonder where this would end.

  ‘Thank you.’ She tried to sound dignified, simply as an act of defence against His Majesty, as she had come to think of him. ‘Just put the tray down on the table.’ The phone rang and she lifted the receiver. ‘I’m rather busy,’ she added, nodding a dismissal.

  Preston’s eyes moved almost imperceptively from her flushed face to the tray he had put down on the table as requested.

  ‘I’m sure you are, madam,’ he agreed suavely, and with his customary gliding silence, he was gone from the room.

  When on the fourth day another batch of letters arrived Serra put the whole lot into a shopping bag which she had brought with her from Greece, and, going out, dumped them into a waste bin on the side of the road where, in a lay-by, several cars had pulled up while their owners and passengers got out to stretch their legs.

  ‘That’s that!’ Serra gave a deep sigh of relief. ‘There can’t be any more Goodwins living around there!’

  But for several days letters poured in, though in gradually diminishing numbers. They all went into the waste bin, and it was only when the replies to her own letters came that she was really interested.

  One, from a young man who had said very little in his first letter, interested her greatly and she decided to ask him to the Grange. She answered some of the others, but was cagey. Roderick Melsham, if he proved to be the cousin of her mother’s niece twice removed, would help her to find any other relatives who might be around.

  He arrived promptly the following afternoon after receiving her letter only a few hours earlier. He had telephoned, telling Serra when to expect him, and it was with a wildly fluttering heart that she heard Preston announce him.

  ‘Show him into the drawing-room,’ she ordered, avoiding his gaze. ‘I’ll be there in a few minutes.’

  What was Preston thinking about all this? Did all the servants know about her huge mail—and the telephone calls? They must do; one would not have secrets in an establishment like this. Well, she thought, tossing her head as she went out into the hall, it was no concern of theirs what she did, so they could just mind their own business!

  The young man was dressed soberly enough, but somehow Serra gained the impression that he was decidedly uncomfortable. His chin was red and she frowned in puzzlement until it dawned on her that he had only recently shaved off a beard. His voice, however, was quiet and cultured, his smile one of charm and pleasure. He held out a hand and Serra took it.

  ‘Please sit down,’ she invited awkwardly, indicating a chair. ‘Are you really related to me?’

  ‘I feel pretty sure of it.’ His eyes wandered round the room, taking in every expensive detail before returning to Serra and resting on the third finger of her left hand for a second or two. He asked Serra questions about her mother, which she answered, and only then did he begin telling her about himself. Details linked up flawlessly with what Serra had so eagerly told him and before very long she was fully convinced her advertisement had not been wasted. She found her companion charming, and although for some incomprehensible reason she felt a little access of misgiving she shook it off, assuring herself that its cause was merely the result of the strangeness of the situation.

  Roderick asked about her husband. She talked a little about Dirk, saying she was sure he’d be delighted to meet Roderick. At which Roderick frowned, much to Serra’s puzzlement, and asked why Serra had been so anxious to discover her relations.

  She was at a loss, because she had not given a thought to the fact that she must account for having done this all on her own. It struck her suddenly that perhaps it was not quite the thing for the squire’s wife to advertise in the newspaper for relatives. If she had consulted Dirk he might have known of a better way of tackling the problem—through his lawyer, perhaps. However, there was nothing to be gained by dwelling on that now and she tried lightly to pass off the question by saying it was only natural that she should want to find some of her mother’s people.

  ‘My husband is away from home quite a lot,’ she went on to explain. ‘He has business matters which take up a great deal of his time and—and I thought that if I could find some relatives of my own I’d have someone to visit, and to visit me.’ She smiled at him and his lids came down, hiding his expression. ‘I wondered if you’d take me around? I want to visit theatres and go to dances and—things,’ she ended vaguely.

  ‘Your husband won’t mind?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she blithely assured him. ‘We both—I mean, he doesn’t mind my having some freedom.’

  Roderick leant forward and helped himself to a cigarette from the gold box, then picked up a matching lighter and flicked it to the cigarette. He held it in his hand, examining it for a moment before his eyes moved to Serra, sitting there, small and dainty, her hands clasped in her lap. Roderick’s eyes narrowed as smoke went into them; he blew it away and watched it curl towards the great chimney, sucked in by the draught. Slowly he replaced the gold lighter on the table.

  ‘I’ll be only too willing to take you about.’ Roderick paused a moment before pointing out that Dorset was some distance from where he lived, but Serra obligingly told him he could come and stay at the Grange. In Greece relations were always staying at the house.

  ‘I expect you have week-ends free,’ she said. ‘What sort of work do you do?’

  A small silence and then,

  ‘I’m an executive,’ he replied, pulling on his cigarette.

  Her eyes opened appreciatively.

  ‘That sounds very important.’

  ‘It is, rather.’

  ‘What kind of house do you live in?’ He had already told her he was an orphan, which disappointed her, rather, because she would have liked to think she had other relatives. Roderick had a brother, but he was living in Canada, having married a Canadian girl who had come over to England last year for a holiday.

  ‘It isn’t like this,’ he promptly answered, and she laughed.

  ‘Not many people live in houses like this, I think.’

  ‘You were lucky to marry a man of this standing. How did you come to meet him?’

  Serra shrugged.

  ‘We just met,’ she said, and changed the subject, asking again if he had his week-ends free.

  ‘Yes. I have Saturdays and Sundays free.’

  ‘Will you come and stay here, then?’

  He regarded her through half-closed eyes, a thoughtful frown on his brow.’

  ‘Is your husband away at present?’ he wanted to know, ignoring her question for the moment.

  ‘Yes—but he should be back about Monday or Tuesday.’

  ‘Not till then? Well, I can come tomorrow evening and stay until Sunday night.’

  She smiled happily.

  ‘That’ll be lovely! It’s very good of you. You’re sure you haven’t made any other arrangements?’
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  ‘It wouldn’t matter if I had,’ he responded gallantly. ‘I’ve never found a new relative before, so I must make an occasion of it.’

  ‘Will you stay to dinner tonight?’ she ventured, but he shook his head, saying he had a long journey in front of him, and after they had taken afternoon tea together he said goodbye, promising to return the following evening.

  Serra did a little dance round her room as she dressed for dinner an hour or two later. A real relation! She could do without Jenny now. Roderick would know what to do about meeting people; very soon her dream would be realized and she would have made some nice friends of her own.

  Preston’s face was a study when, the following afternoon, Serra told him to see that a room was prepared for a friend of hers, and that the friend was a male.

  ‘He’ll be here in time for dinner,’ she said, hoping she sounded haughty as she added, ‘Dinner might have to be later than usual—please bear that in mind, Preston.’ So much for His Majesty! He now knew she could give him an order.

  Over dinner Serra told Roderick about the stacks of letters she had received in reply to her advertisement. His eyes flickered but, strangely, he did not appear half so surprised as she would have expected.

  ‘How did you pick mine out?’ he wanted to know, eyeing the silver plate in an oddly thoughtful way.

  ‘I honestly don’t know. I chose several at first, and answered them. Then when you replied I liked the sound of your letter.’ She gave him a delectable smile. ‘I had realized by this time that some of the letters weren’t genuine, but yours did sound genuine—and it was!’

  Roderick beckoned for more wine, his expression hidden from Serra as he watched the sparkling liquid rise in his glass.

  After dinner they walked in the grounds, making plans for the following day. Roderick had come by train, having a taxi from the station, but Serra said they could go out in one of the cars, which were in the garage. It would be quite all right to take one, she decided, for hadn’t Dirk said she could do as she liked?

  On returning to the house Roderick helped himself to a drink and sat down with it, his eyes hidden from Serra as he said,

  ‘You haven’t shown me over this lovely home of yours.’

  She smiled and said they would go on a tour the following morning.

  ‘There are wonderful things here,’ she added enthusiastically. ‘You’ll be thrilled with all the treasures.’

  ‘I’m sure I shall.’ He took the gold lighter from the table and held it to his cigarette. And once again he kept it in his hand, looking at it for a long while before returning it to the table. ‘In fact, I’d love to have a look round now.’

  ‘There’s such a lot,’ she began doubtfully. ‘It will take ages.’

  ‘In that case,’ he smiled, ‘we had better do it now—if we’re going out for the whole day tomorrow. We shall want to be off early.’ They had decided to go to Bournemouth for the day, and had already said they would set off immediately after breakfast.

  ‘All right,’ agreed Serra, getting up. ‘I’ll show you round now.’

  As they came into the hall Preston emerged from somewhere and silently disappeared into another room.

  ‘Does that fellow always prowl around like that?’ Roderick asked sharply.

  ‘He isn’t prowling.’ Odd that she should resent her cousin’s phrasing, especially as she so disliked the butler. ‘He’s doing his job, I suppose,’ she added vaguely.

  Serra took Roderick into the magnificent dining-room, where he seemed particularly interested in the fine Meissen china and beautiful silver candelabra. He examined the pictures and ornaments, and an eighteenth-century gilt salver. The next room was the breakfast room, then the Chinese Room, but it was in the Silver Room that he appeared to be most interested, giving a little gasp on entering, a gasp which he instantly tried to cover by a sudden cough.

  There were masses of Georgian silver in the form of candlesticks and trays and condiment sets. There were several solid gold teapots with matching cream jugs and sugar basins; there were exquisite bread-baskets and dressing-sets. All were set out on shelves or on priceless silver-inlaid tables.

  ‘Aren’t they beautiful?’ Serra watched his face, smiling at his expression. ‘They took my breath away at first.’

  ‘They take mine away,’ he admitted, then frowned suddenly. ‘Did you hear anything?’ He seemed nervous all at once, she thought, seeing him turn swiftly to look at the open door.

  ‘No, I didn’t hear anything.’

  ‘That butler—I’m sure he’s still around. Hasn’t he got his own place? I mean, surely he doesn’t just walk about the house all the time?’

  ‘He isn’t about.’ Serra became faintly uneasy, although she could not have said why. ‘I don’t know what you mean?’

  ‘I’m sure he was at that door. The fellow wants putting in his place; he’s only a servant.’

  Serra glanced away, once again resenting her cousin’s remarks about the butler.

  ‘Shall we go back to the drawing-room?’ she said, deciding she did not want to show Roderick any more of the house. He agreed and they sat talking and drinking—at least Roderick was drinking. And far too much, she thought, wondering if her husband would want his whisky to be taken like this.

  ‘Is there any chance of your husband coming home earlier than he said?’ Roderick’s soft voice broke into Serra’s thoughts and she looked swiftly at him.

  ‘No, I shouldn’t think so.’

  ‘He could come tomorrow.’ The words were scarcely audible; Serra had the impression that Roderick had spoken his thoughts aloud.

  ‘He said Monday or Tuesday, so I don’t expect he will change his plans.’

  Roderick was thoughtful; Serra began to talk about tomorrow’s projected outing, but he now appeared to have lost interest and merely answered her in monosyllables. However he did ask about the car they would use and she said there was a Rover and a Jaguar. Her husband had taken the Mercedes, she told him.

  ‘A Jag, eh? It’s in the garage, you say?’

  ‘Yes—that’s the building I pointed out, if you remember?’

  ‘But the door will be kept locked?’

  She frowned in puzzlement.

  ‘It might be, but it doesn’t matter. Preston will give me the key in the morning.’

  For some reason she could not fathom Roderick was shaking his head.

  ‘I’ve just remembered I’ve a phone call to make,’ he said. ‘Is there a box anywhere close?’

  She blinked at him.

  ‘You can phone from here.’

  ‘I feel like a breath of fresh air, so I might as well walk to a box. Is there one?’ he asked again.

  ‘Yes, at the end of the lane—’ She noticed her hand trembling; her arm was resting along the arm of the chair and she assumed she was pressing on a nerve. She moved her arm, but her hand still trembled. So did the nerves of her stomach. She was alert, and frightened, although her fears were vague and inexplicable.

  ‘I’ll go, then.’ He stood up, smiling at her. His face was open and frank, she thought, and yet...

  ‘I m-might be in bed when you get back.’

  ‘That’s all right. I know where my room is. Good night, Serra, sleep tight!’

  ‘Good night.’ Something made her say, ‘Tomorrow—we are going out for the day?’

  ‘Of course. I’m very much looking forward to it.’ But Roderick avoided her eyes...

  She lay in bed, but sleep would not come. And as in the darkness her fears increased unaccountably, she sat up and switched on the light. It was only eleven o’clock; Preston would not have gone to bed. Why should she have a thought like that? But Serra was seeing Roderick in the Silver Room; she saw again his expression as he took in all the treasure there. She saw his uneasiness and heard again his comments about Preston’s being at the door. Neither she nor Roderick had seen Preston ... and yet Roderick had the impression that the butler was around. Had he been standing at the open door, watc
hing them? Suddenly Serra knew that Preston did not trust her cousin and, instead of feeling indignant, as should have been her natural reaction, she experienced an odd relief. But it did not last and she reached out for the telephone. But whom could she ring? ‘I’m being silly,’ she said, and replaced the receiver. But why should Roderick go out to phone? And this was surely an odd time to remember he had a call to make? Serra’s fear now became very strong—and it was no longer inexplicable. She knew nothing at all about Roderick...

  ‘Oh, supposing he isn’t honest. Supposing he’s—he’s a crook—’ Serra’s heart gave a jerk at the idea and naturally her thoughts went to her husband. One more scrape, he had said...

  ‘I’m being fanciful—whom can I ring? Of course Roderick’s all right—’ She put a brake on her inconsistent mumblings and tried to collect her thoughts, but all the while she was seeing clues that led clearly to the fact that Roderick was not what he appeared to be. The car—he had seemed to think that Preston would not let her have the key of the garage. Prior to that Roderick had asked if her husband was likely to return the following day. It was still puzzling, but Serra was now convinced that her ‘cousin’ was not straight. She slipped out of bed, but her legs were weak. Nevertheless she got dressed, but after that all she could do was walk about the bedroom, having visions of being shot or knocked out should she move through the door. She looked at the phone several times. The police? She dared not! Preston? No, not Preston. Mrs. Morgan—yes, Mrs. Morgan!

  There was no reply for a while and then a maid answered the phone. Serra knew she had got the girl up out of bed.

  ‘No, she isn’t here, Mrs. Morgan. She and Miss Jenny will be very late; they’ve gone to a party.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’

  ‘That’s all right, madam. Good night.’

  ‘Good night.’ Serra looked at the receiver for a long while. Charles! Charles would know what to do. Why hadn’t she thought of him before? She did not know his number, but she knew where he lived, and a few minutes after the operator had given her the number she was waiting agitatedly for someone to answer the phone. Supposing Charles were with Dirk? ‘If he isn’t in then I’ll get Preston to ring Dirk,’ she whispered, trembling all over now. Yes, loath as she was to petition help from Preston she knew she must. She could have by-passed him, but she herself had no idea where her husband was. A voice at the other end of the line ... Serra asked for Mr. Kershawe.