Fortune's Lead

by Barbara Perkins

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right to do this? You seem to know what you’re doing. I didn’t think you would, looking at you. What weight are you?’

  ‘What?’ I had been concentrating on her arm at the same time as trying to take in the mixture of information her husky little voice was throwing at me, and the question seemed peculiarly irrelevant.

  ‘Weight. You’re pretty tall. Not all that heavy, though, I shouldn’t think, are you? Still, you’d need something more than a pony, and Thunder’s the only sizeable beast in the place and he’s Kev’s private preserve. Besides, I shouldn’t think you’d hold him. Bet I could, though, if I got the chance. The Laidlaws might have something we could put you up on—’

  ‘I don’t ride,’ I said hastily.

  ‘You’ll need a quiet hack to start on, then,’ Esther said amiably, as if the flat statement was quite impossible to accept. ‘There’s—’

  ‘I don’t want to ride, thanks. I—I’ve come here to work,’ I added, seeing the amazement in her face and feeling lamely that some excuse was needed.

  ‘Oh, yes, but Pa won’t keep you hard at it all the time! I can’t think what he wants a secretary for, anyway. And surely he wouldn’t be nutty enough to bring a towny out here—’She broke off, and with a sinking feeling I saw that she was reassessing me. So much for Henry’s calm assumption that I might be able to have some influence over his daughter: she was already writing me off as a ‘towny ‘and that was that. She said doubtfully, ‘I suppose you could learn. But lord knows what we’re going to do with you if—if—’

  ‘You don’t have to do anything with me.’ I found myself saying it snappishly as I split the ends of the bandage and tied them in a neat knot. ‘There. Keep your arm fairly still for this evening, will you? Otherwise it might start to bleed again.’

  ‘All right. Sorry. Was I rude? I didn’t mean—well, yes, I suppose I did, really.’ Esther, examining the neat job I had made of her bandage, suddenly shot me a quick and disarming grin. ‘You can’t help it, after all, can you? I suppose you just haven’t had the chance. But Pa said you’d fit in, and I’m afraid you’ll be terribly bored.’

  Despite her devastating habit of saying exactly what she thought, Henry was wrong about his daughter’s not having any social graces. She was smiling at me now in a way which took the sting out of her words, and showing a lot more poise than I felt. She went on, though with a shade of doubt in her voice, ‘You may find you like living in the country, of course. I must say though, it was a bit silly of Pa to bring you here for the hunting season, wasn’t it? And if he wanted some typing done I don’t know why he didn’t get one of the girls to come up from the village and do it.’ She looked at me again, looked at her bandage, and added, ‘You’re quite good at this. And you didn’t faint, either.’

  It was startling, after all my years in hospitals, to be looked on as someone who might—until I remembered abruptly that this was supposed to be the New Glamorous Me. A more elaborate make-up and frivolous clothes instead of a nurse’s uniform obviously changed me a great deal. I said, with as much gravity I could muster against a sudden inclination to laugh, ‘It must be watching television. You know, all those hospital programmes th-they used to put on, like Emergency Ward Ten.’

  ‘Haven’t ever watched ‘em. P’raps I’d better, but they’re always so blasted romantic,’ Esther said, with a fine disregard for ladylike language. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-five.’ She seemed to have a habit of shooting direct questions.

  ‘And you’ve never been up on a horse? Phew! I’ve been riding since I was three. I s’pose I’d better not have a bath with this on—oh, I don’t know, I could hold it up out of the water. Pa’s sure to complain if I don’t look reasonably clean. Stay and talk to me,’ Essie added casually, beginning to peel off the rest of her clothes.

  ‘Oh, and you might pull my boots off for me, will you? Should’ve asked Phil to come up and do it.’

  ‘Who’s Phil?’

  ‘Phil Mott. Mottie’s son. He’s sixteen—works in the stables.’

  I restrained myself from suggesting she couldn’t very well have asked Phil to come up here—since after all she hadn’t—and took hold of the small foot held out to me. It was extremely muddy, but Esther didn’t seem to expect me to mind, and a hearty heave detached her from first one boot, then the other. With the memory that I was supposed to be making friends with Esther I decided to follow her suggestion of staying while she had her bath—and picked up the clothes she dropped absently around her on the floor. She gave me, irrespective of my avowed disinterest in horses, a graphic description of her day’s hunting: what I could understand of it sounded terrifying. She threw out a request—more of a command—to wash her back for her, and I couldn’t avoid noticing that her own idea of washing was to get the worst of the mud off and ignore what might not show. I was feeling distinctly nannyish as (again commanded) I held out a towel for her to step into as she came out of a grime-streaked bath. She wandered away with the towel round her into her bedroom, and I cleaned round the bath, out of habit. When I went to join her she was wriggling into some clothes, taking little notice of her injured arm, so that I felt obliged to offer a warning.

  ‘Mind you don’t start it bleeding again. Perhaps I’d better fix you up a sling for this evening, when you’ve got your things on—’

  ‘Oh no, you don’t! I’m keeping it hidden—when I’ve got this sweater on the bandage won’t show.’ She turned round to face me, underlip caught between her teeth, her enormous brown eyes suddenly threatening. ‘You’re not going to sneak on me—understand? I don’t want to hear one word out of you!’

  ‘Esther—’

  ‘Don’t interrupt! Nobody asked you to interfere—and you won’t, get that? If I find you’ve told Pa, or Mottie, or anyone, I’ll—I’ll set the dogs on you!’

  Startling as it might be to find a casually friendly young girl turning abruptly into a tough, commanding little madam; disconcerting as it might be to have been accepted one minute and spoken to like a very inferior housemaid the next; I had too many years as a Staff Nurse behind me to stand for that. I gave her back look for look. ‘You’ll—what?’ I asked in my most arctic voice.

  ‘You won’t have seen the dogs yet because they’re out. They’re Kev’s, and they’re huge,’ she said in the same threatening voice.

  ‘I don’t care if they’re Dobermann Pinschers trained to kill. Polite requests I might stand for—threats I don’t. If you want me to go straight downstairs and broadcast the fact that you’ve hurt yourself to the entire district, you’re going the right way about it!’ And that, I thought with a sinking feeling, was the end of any hopes I might have of making friends with Esther. I went on looking her in the eye nevertheless. To my surprise, after she had considered me for a moment to see if I meant it, the toughness vanished and she let out a gurgle of pleased laughter.

  ‘Oh, good! You’re not the blanket type after all! I was afraid you were, in there—you would keep doing things for me!—but we might make something of you after all! I don’t know where Pa found you, but you’ll do!’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ I said coldly. ‘Whether I’ll make something of you—after that—seems to be more in question!’

  ‘Oh, don’t stand on your dignity. I’ll apologize—okay? I had to try it on, that’s all.’ She was cajoling now, grinning at me with mischievous twinkle in her eyes she must have inherited from her father. ‘I just wanted to see what you’d say. I like people much better if they stick up for themselves—don’t you? Please don’t tell about my arm—is that asking nicely enough? After all, it’s not very bad, is it? And people do fuss so!’

  ‘We-ell...’ The twinkle was as infectious as Henry’s: I found myself, unwillingly, smiling. I was relieved, too—and somehow, despite her rudeness, I couldn’t help liking Esther. Standing in front of me in a pleated skirt, a jumper at least a size too large for her, and with her hair still tangled untidily, she looked
like a child—though a very beautiful one. ‘I’ll tell no tales on condition you let me dress your arm again in the morning,’ I said firmly, hoping it would do. ‘But I am not some kind of—of whipping-boy, not even if my job depends on it! And,’ I added hastily, remembering my job was supposed to be nothing to do with her, ‘I shouldn’t think it does, either!’

  ‘Heavens, no—Pa never takes any notice of what I think,’ Esther said cheerfully. ‘Sorry if I was rude, but I haven’t got any manners, you know. We’re all frightfully bossy in this house. If Kev starts in on you, you’d better stand up to him, too. He can be quite inhuman. He’s a bruising rider, when he gets the time, though.’ She gave me another grin, while I wondered why being a bruising rider should be something one said with approval. ‘I shouldn’t think you’ll see much of him—when he’s here, he’s out on Thunder. Or hopping over to see that dreary girl of his at Whatham Hall. I suppose she’s not bad over the jumps—but it’s not going to do her any good giving him soppy looks, I don’t know why she doesn’t realize it! I hope—‘she had turned to the mirror, and was giving her hair an apology for a brush—‘you’re not the type to fall for Kev. I shouldn’t, if I were you.’

  ‘I should say it’s very unlikely,’ I said drily.

  ‘Some people think he’s handsome, though I can’t think why that’s supposed to have anything to do with anything,’ Esther said dispassionately. ‘It’s a pity he’s the eldest. Dominic and Con are more my cup of tea, but they’re over in Ireland, of course. Okay, I’m ready. Shall we go down?’

  We went down. Tea, Mrs. Mott had said, would be in the drawing-room at four o’clock: it was a quarter past now, but I hoped Henry Would feel my arrival with Esther showed that I was already making an effort to do what he expected of me, even if it made me late. I couldn’t feel, however, that I was going to be much use with Esther, since her personality was nothing if not overwhelming—and if her manner was abrupt, she was so undeniably attractive as to need absolutely no help from me. Even if I could see what he meant about her conversation, and her way of dressing, there seemed little use in supposing she would take any notice of anything I said or did, or benefit from it.

  It was unfortunate that while I was pouring out the tea from an elegant silver tea-service (at Henry’s request) I should find myself suddenly caught up with memories of Gypsy Rose. The drawing-room was as beautiful as the rest of Thurlanger House—and here was I, teapot graciously poised, feeling like someone in a suitably captioned Totter photograph ... Hastily, I made myself listen to what Henry was telling me about Beemondham and its district’s inhabitants. He wasn’t—no, of course he wasn’t—talking as if after a suitable period had elapsed, these were going to be my permanent neighbours...

  ‘Some more cake, Shah?’ Henry enquired solicitously—making a helpful interruption to my attempts to wrestle with the unreal picture of my future which kept creeping up on me. Or not such a helpful interruption: forced to look at him, I almost blushed. At this rate I would have to repeat six sensible things to myself every day before breakfast. Having ascertained that I didn’t want any more cake, he suggested that Esther showed me round the grounds—if I wasn’t too tired—and made a point of saying, drily, that he didn’t mean I’d want to be shown round nothing but the stables.

  ‘But you can’t show anyone round without spending time with the ponies,’ Esther objected.

  ‘You may not. Some people’s tastes differ.’

  ‘Yes, but honestly, Pa—’

  ‘Shah has already assured me she doesn’t know one end of a horse from the other. Which comforts me very much,’ Henry said firmly—an approach which, though truthful, didn’t strike me as being particularly helpful. Sure enough it wasn’t: Esther got up from the chair in which she would (if she hadn’t already been sharply corrected for it) have been lounging.

  ‘It had better be you that shows her round, then,’ she said, casually rather than defiantly. ‘I’ve got to go down and see to Cora. Told Phil to groom her, but I want to check she didn’t pull anything when we stumbled at Denbigh Corner. Poppy Tetley swears she’s seen snares laid down there, but—’

  ‘Does the conversation have to be entirely agricultural?’

  ‘Well, you know the trouble the Tetleys have had with poachers! The time Rufus broke a leg—’

  ‘If you’re going,’ Henry said, repressing a shudder, ‘please go. If you find you can spare the time, dinner will be at eight—and please change into something.’

  ‘Okay. Charlotte already told me she didn’t know about horses, but you don’t have to keep her in ignorance, do you? Don’t let him bully you, Shah—I never do,’ Esther said impishly, adopting her father’s nickname for me as casually as he had originally given it. She swaggered out, giving me the feeling that she was accentuating a stable-boy walk particularly to annoy; and Henry raised his eyebrows at me with a look of patient resignation.

  ‘You see, my dear—I did warn you, didn’t I? We shall have to do something to make the situation bearable. And don’t, I beg of you, let her persuade you to learn to ride! Unless you really feel you want to. But you might develop the same passion, which would be dreadful!’

  ‘I—I shouldn’t think I will. Who’s Rufus?’

  ‘A horse. Of course. James Tetley broke his collarbone, but that wouldn’t have been considered worthy of mention. But let’s talk about more civilized methods of transport. I’ve arranged to have an Austin Mini delivered for you to drive. I hope you’ll like it: it should be here tomorrow. And then we’ll start thinking about these parties we’re going to give. I haven’t told Esther about them yet—she affects the despise anything social—but we shall do our best to enjoy ourselves, shan’t we?’

  I had already considered telling Henry that I was sure I wouldn’t be able to influence Esther and that he might as well send me home—but, faced with his having ordered a car for me to drive, and with his smiling assumption that I was ready and willing to organize his social events, I was silenced. I could hardly back out after a mere two hours ... I wondered yet again, uneasily, what I had let myself in for, but at least I would have to try. Obediently, and feeling more than a little shy of him now I was here on his home ground, I let him take me and show me round. There was plenty to see—the rest of the house, which included a very fine library; the gardens, running down from a terrace at the back of the house; the garage, where my car (it was apparently to be my car) would be kept with Henry’s larger one, and with Kevin’s. Ganner, I gathered, looked after the cars as well as the stables: he lived in a flat over the garage. Mrs. Mott, together with Mr. Mott who had charge of the gardens and their son Phil who helped in the stables, lived in a cottage in the grounds. It was all very well run and sounded practically feudal; but with Henry putting me at my ease I began to calm down. He had a way of making it seem that it wouldn’t, after all, be impossible—that in fact, the whole scheme would be enjoyable...

  I didn’t see Esther again until dinner. Remembering that Henry had told his daughter to change, I put on a woollen frock (new, and distinctly smart) and tried not to wonder whether in fact as a secretary I shouldn’t expect to eat with the servants. (The feudal atmosphere was influencing me.) At the moment I was being treated more like a guest: Henry greeted me at the foot of the stairs when I came down, and I gathered that we would have sherry in the hall, dinner in the dining-room, and coffee in the library. When Esther arrived, she was still in her thick sweater, though she had changed her skirt, and I saw Henry frown. She said in her husky, casual voice that she hadn’t been able to find a dress she liked—and then winked at me when his back was turned, so that I suddenly remembered her arm and felt, with a twinge of conscience, that promise or no promise I probably ought to have told someone she was hurt. However, it didn’t seem to be affecting her very much, and she had said she would let me re-dress it in the morning; so I stopped battling with my conscience, ate the excellent meal provided by Mrs. Mott, and listened to Henry being, as usual, thoroughly entertaining.


  The fourth place laid for dinner—Kevin’s—remained empty, and I found myself thankful. It was enough to get used to Esther—and Henry—without him as well, for the moment. He still hadn’t come in when we moved to the library for coffee, and since Henry gained from me the admission that I knew how to play chess, we had a game—at which he beat me thoroughly. Esther went up to bed at ten, and shortly afterwards I went too: Mrs. Mott, I was told, would have seen that a hot water bottle had been put into my bed, and I was to feel free to make myself a hot drink in the kitchen quarters if I wanted one. Henry announced his intention of retiring early too, so the household went its separate ways still without Kevin—who was, I supposed, out for a gay evening somewhere. I had been tired when I went to bed, but the unfamiliarity of everything made me feel wakeful and I decided I would go down and make myself a hot drink after all ... and try to feel that I really belonged here. The kitchen when I reached it had a comforting air, which I tracked down to the fact that it had the atmosphere of a place where people actually worked. That was a great deal nearer to what I was used to—even if the frilly nylon dressing-gown I was wearing didn’t seem to suit it. I made myself some cocoa, told myself not to be awed by the fact that I was in a house which still kept an actual green baize door between living quarters and kitchen quarters, and was edging my way carefully through that door so as not to spill my drink when I heard voices.

  Esther’s. She must be on the stairs, above me. She was saying crossly, ‘It’s only a bandage, blast you—and it’s perfectly all right! Why on earth did you have to come in just as I was coming down for a book?’