Fortune's Lead

by Barbara Perkins

  He gave me a sharp look—rather too sharp—but at that moment my attention was diverted by a new arrival at the front door. The party was spreading itself between the hall and the drawing room, and from where I was standing I had a clear view across several groups of people to the sight of a surprisingly familiar face. Michael Chace was limping in through the door, in the company of a girl of about my own age who was dividing her attention between concern for his progress and a rather prim greeting of Mrs. Mott who had opened the door for her. Kevin, beside me, followed my gaze, and when he spoke it was with a calm satisfaction.

  ‘Ah, your friend from the village has arrived. I wondered when he was going to make it. We’ll go across and greet him, shall we?—and you can introduce him to Henry.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I called in and invited him,’ Kevin said coolly into my surprised face. ‘I’ve seen you with him several times, and you seem to be on such good terms that I thought you might like him to come. Since he didn’t have any transport I asked Rosalind to pick him up. You seem startled. I wonder why? Henry wouldn’t object to a friend of yours, I’m sure. But come along, we mustn’t leave him standing there.’

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say tartly that if he hoped Michael was going to prove to be an unacceptable type to be entertained at Thurlanger House he would be disappointed—but, I thought confusedly, it was quite possible that Kevin’s lordly gesture in inviting Michael for my benefit, without remembering to tell me, was quite simply well-meant. I didn’t have to suspect a trick in it. Besides, it was very pleasant to see Michael, who had caught sight of us by now and was giving me one of his open smiles. Kevin shook him by the hand, and turned to introduce me to the girl—Rosalind Marten—who must be Essie’s ‘this Rosalind’ who kept a riding stables and was Kevin’s girl-friend. She was a couple of inches shorter than I was, brown-haired, and of an obviously serious disposition. She also had a tendency to flutter her eyelashes every time Kevin spoke to her—either from nervousness, or admiration. I found myself deciding unkindly that if she admired him that much and showed it so clearly, she was undoubtedly very bad for him.

  For the next half-hour I was constantly with Michael, taking him to meet people, and standing-back while he made all the right comments. Henry seemed not in the least put out at having an extra guest. It became a little embarrassing to have Michael repeatedly introduced as ‘Charlotte’s friend’ when we were in fact no more than acquaintances, and I wondered if he too felt we were being rather firmly bracketed, particularly when I caught him giving me a thoughtful look. He was too good-mannered to do otherwise than let it pass, but after a while I took care to detach myself from him—which was simple enough, since he had both an enviable ease of manner, and the ability to join in discussions on horses and hunting which I lacked. It was a little dispiriting to feel that I was so hopelessly out of place amongst this company, as I listened politely to remarks which were only marginally addressed to me, and tried not to notice that Mrs. Laidlaw turned her shoulder on me to continue a loud and uncharitable discussion of an acquaintance in a nasal drawl as ugly as her daughter’s. However, I had only to catch sight of Essie amongst the throng to be able to remind myself that I had succeeded, a little, in doing what Henry was employing me to do. If he had also suggested that he himself would value my company rather than having to talk to his neighbours, he was too busy playing the host tonight to remember it ...

  The party began to break up at last. Kevin was going out somewhere, and offered to drive Michael home: I wondered if he had a date with his Rosalind, but the disappointed look she cast him made it seem unlikely. She was one of the last to leave, and said her goodbyes with an effusiveness which made Essie give her a disgusted look rather too plainly for politeness. I had the impression that Henry didn’t think too highly of Rosalind, either: no doubt she was too serious for his taste, not to mention the fact that her interests, as far as I had been able to gather, were centred exclusively on her riding school, or on committees for the preservation of bridle-paths. When all the guests had gone, I made the tentative suggestion that I should go out to the kitchen and help Mrs. Mott with the clearing up; but Henry vetoed the idea at once. Over a late cold supper, he dissected his party guests with entertaining malice, complimented Essie on her appearance with a lightness which fortunately called for no answering comment, and asked me with apparent interest how well I knew Michael Chace. When I explained we were no more than acquaintances he seemed oddly relieved—though that might have been my imagination, or the amount of cocktails I had consumed while trying to look politely attentive.

  Essie got up from the supper-table and announced her intention of going to bed. She had been quiet through the meal: now, in a manner I had been half expecting, she said she’d be glad to get into something comfortable instead of being done up like a trussed chicken. I went up with her to take the pins out of her hair, and asked her, casually, whether she had enjoyed the party.

  ‘What, all that prosing? Can’t see that it’s necessary. I mean, why bother, when you could be doing something useful like cleaning tack?’ she demanded. I grinned at her.

  ‘Most of the prosing was about horses, wasn’t it? I couldn’t understand a word of it. Anyway it’s—oh, a convention. Does it matter too much?’

  ‘Dressing up’s a bore. At Ballyneelan—’

  ‘You lived in the stables and kept the horses in the drawing-room?’

  ‘You’re quoting Pa,’ she said crossly. ‘Anyway, why not? If you’re breeding horses they’re the most important thing. Uncle Joe wouldn’t waste money on a shindig like that, even if he’d got it, which he hasn’t. And besides—’

  ‘All right, all right,’ I said pacifically, seeing how cross she was getting. ‘There, that’s the last pin out. And I’m not trying to lecture you—I didn’t enjoy the party much myself, if you want to know! Do you need unzipping, or can you do it?’

  She was wriggling out of the dress herself, so I turned to go. She said abruptly, ‘That stupid James Tetley—’

  ‘That stupid James Tetley what?’ I asked, as she didn’t finish.

  ‘Oh, saying he hardly recognized me. People do make idiotic remarks.’

  ‘Which was James Tetley? Oh, the fair one, studying agriculture.’ I remembered him now—and the admiring looks I had seen him giving Essie. He had looked about twenty, and definitely inclined to be smitten. His sister Poppy, I knew, was a crony of Essie’s and, one of her riding companions. I asked cautiously, ‘Don’t you like James?’

  ‘I shan’t if he goes on like that. It’s almost as bad as that stupid Rosalind. I don’t know why Kev doesn’t tell her, and put her out of her misery,’ Essie said shortly.

  ‘Tell her what? I mean, perhaps he—’

  ‘Well, Kev’ll have to marry me in the end, won’t he?’ Essie said with astonishing coolness. ‘Not that he cares for her much anyway, at least he wouldn’t if he’d got any taste, and I don’t believe he does. But with things the way they are he’s booked whether he likes it or not.’ She glanced at my startled face, and made a gesture of impatience, which had something defiant about it. ‘Well, he’ll have to, won’t he? Thurlanger’s entailed to him, and Pa’s going to leave all his beastly wealth to me, so that’s why he’s throwing us together. I don’t suppose it matters much. I mean, one way or the other.’

  ‘Are—are you sure?’

  ‘Well, unless Pa married again and has a son.’ She gave me a sudden, disconcertingly sharp look. ‘The family used to get into flaps every now and again in case he provided me with what they called the wrong sort of stepmother, though to give Kev his due, it never seemed to bother him much.’ She let out a sudden chuckle.

  ‘Did you notice tonight, though? He was very hot on letting everyone know that that Michael person was your property. I thought at the time, I bet it was to stop people thinking you were a girl-friend of Pa’s. After all, you are living here.’

  ‘I’m your father’s secretary. Temporarily,’
I said, as soon as I had got my breath back. ‘I—I have no intention of ever being anything else!’ Memories of Gypsy Rose took hold of me and shook me, but I pushed them sharply aside. ‘But—but, Essie, you certainly don’t have to marry Kevin, for his sake, if you don’t want to! The idea’s outrageous!’

  ‘Pa insisting on tidying me up, as if he was going to put me on the market, is what’s outrageous,’ Essie retorted, but there was a note in the gruffness of her voice which worried me. ‘I told you, it doesn’t matter, anyway! For the lord’s sake, Shah, don’t look so shocked! If I can get over the idea I’m sure you can! And look, don’t go off in a dudgeon and leave because I said that about people thinking you were Pa’s girl-friend, will you? To tell you the truth, if he was going to weigh in with a stepmother I’d sooner it was you than some. I mean, from all I hear you’d be a lot better than that opera singer he was trailing around with!’

  ‘B-but I’m not—’

  ‘Yes, but don’t go away, will you? Not for a bit? Promise you won’t?’

  It was a genuine appeal, and for all the shattering nature of her previous remarks I had to respond to it. ‘All right,’ I said weakly. ‘I promise. But no one has to marry anyone if they don’t choose to, for all the—the property situation! And don’t you ever believe they do!’

  ‘Oh well, we’ll see. But I’m glad you’ll stay. You don’t fuss, and things,’ Essie said, and swept the subject away. ‘I’m going to bed now. I want to take Fiddlestick out early in the morning and give him some jumping practice—he’s out of training, and I want to enter him next week as well as Cora. G’night, Shah.’

  It was too much of a dismissal for me to stay longer, so I went away, still feeling shaken. Essie’s calm appraisal of the situation—or perhaps not quite as calm as she made it out to be—was enough to rock anyone’s composure. I reserved the angriest of my reflections for Kevin Thurlanger. His position in all this seemed far too clear. I found myself disliking him more intensely than ever, and resolving that if I had anything to do with it, he should never get anywhere near marrying Essie. I could add up as well as she could that inheriting Thurlanger House and its grounds would be less of a proposition if one didn’t also gain the wealth to run it—and I could gather from Essie’s remarks that what money his own family possessed was tied up in Ballyneelan. No doubt Kevin, so tall, so handsome, so arrogant, thought himself a satisfactory catch for his cousin anyway ...

  I remembered his annoyance at my arrival, and set my teeth. He had had the nerve to look on me as a grasping opportunist. His reasons for thinking so were abundantly clear.

  A moment’s reflection brought an uneasy train of thought and quite a number of doubts. Nevertheless, I went to bed feeling resolute on one point: I couldn’t abandon Essie to a fate which included Kevin. And furthermore, it was time someone showed Mr. Kevin Thurlanger that he couldn’t always have things his own way.

  CHAPTER VI

  Caution dictated that I should be civil to Kevin while Henry was present: according to Essie, the marriage between the two cousins was her father’s idea. I couldn’t believe that Henry would force Essie into something which was repugnant to her—and yet, remembering the stubbornness which lay behind his charm, and the logic of the whole idea, it did seem likely that he had the link in mind. The thought that he might also have an alternative in mind was flustering, and prevented me from doing what I felt would annoy Kevin most—playing up to Henry, and even flirting with him. I wasn’t sure I knew how to flirt, since Robert would have frowned on the impropriety of such behaviour and I had, I knew bitterly, taken cues from Robert for far too many years; so it was just as well that there were other considerations to be thought of besides planning revenge on Kevin.

  Kevin chose this moment to start being a great deal more pleasant to me. If I hadn’t been given an insight into his motives, I might have thought he had decided to accept me and show a friendly spirit: I might even have concluded that he was setting out to repair the damage of his original insulting behaviour. As it was, I decided he was either playing a subtle game, or felt satisfied with his manoeuvre in setting up Michael as my apparent boy-friend. I would have gone down to attempt an apology to Michael for the embarrassment of the situation—after all, we really didn’t know each other all that well—if it hadn’t been for the fact that my wrist still prevented me from driving. I found myself thinking about Michael with a certain warmth: he was pleasant and uncomplicated. If it hadn’t been for Kevin, I thought grimly, I might even have liked the thought of starting up a friendship with him. As it was, I was left with the unfortunate feeling that Michael might think I had been the one to give the wrong impression, so I would be forced to avoid him. I brooded on ways to annoy Kevin—but conscience prevented me from dallying an extra length of time in our joint bathroom, in case he might be in a hurry to get to a case at the hospital. It was self-preservation rather than conscience which made me reject another idea to occur to me—that of disconcerting Kevin by flirting with him, rather than Henry, in response to his newly amiable behaviour. I decided moodily that (a) I wasn’t Rosalind, and (b) Kevin was conceited enough to think I meant it—and, even if he didn’t, it only took one surreptitious glance at him to make me feel that I might bite off more than I could chew.

  The point-to-point made a further illustration that I wasn’t Rosalind. Rosalind, plain on ground level, looked both graceful and competent on horseback. Henry had decided—with some resignation—that being sociable required him not only to attend the point-to-point but to make an event out of it by providing well-filled picnic baskets from which a group of Essie’s friends were invited to partake lunch. Ganner drove Henry and myself the fifteen miles to the course in Henry’s Bentley, after supervising the loading of Cora, Fiddlestick and Thunder into horse-boxes: Phil Mott, Essie and Kevin travelled with the horses. It seemed most of the county attended this particular event, and there had been much talk at the cocktail party about whether the ground would be too hard, or too wet, and who might be expected to win what. I had never been to a point-to-point before, but as far as I could gather the object was racing, jumping, and raising funds for the Hunt. It was definitely not an occasion for frightening anyone’s horse by wearing my shocking-pink suit—though I decided that was unfair when shortly after we arrived the air was split by the shattering noise of hunting horns (enough to frighten anyone) and the Master of the Hunt was to be seen in his scarlet (hunting pink) coat. He looked impressive, even though on closer inspection he turned out to be no one more glamorous that Mr. Laidlaw, Mamie’s father, who had exchanged five minutes of morosely monosyllabic conversation with me the week before.

  It was cold, with a rawness in the air. It had been feared that frost might make the ground dangerously hard, but the weather had spared that and provided a damp wind instead. Henry gave a theatrical shiver and announced that choosing to spend an English winter’s day in the open air was a madness in which he didn’t wish to participate: if anybody wanted to find him, he would be in the car drinking gin. He gave me one of his wickedest grins with the statement, but apparently meant it, since he climbed back inside the car without more ado. I wondered if I should stay with him, but be waved me away, saying with resignation that everyone should experience the lunatic habits of the English upper classes once. For himself, he could see more than he wished to see from where he was. I grinned at him, and moved to a spot where I could look round without, I hoped, getting underfoot. There were horses everywhere, which should have been an unnerving prospect. Slightly to my surprise, I found my experiences with Jimbo had made me a little less frightened, rather than more—though the sight of Kevin’s Thunder looking blackly beautiful but distinctly restive reminded me to be cautious of the wilder-looking beasts. Phil Mott was holding Thunder—with some difficulty—while Thunder’s owner stood a little further off looking up to hold a smiling conversation with a girl on a bay horse. It was then that I recognized Rosalind—and felt a stab of envy at the grace with which she sat her h
orse. The excessive neatness of her riding clothes suited her, too, making her look far more elegant than the unbecomingly frilled garment she had worn at the cocktail party would have led one to expect.

  Everyone except me looked thoroughly at home in the company of horses. I began to wish that I had Bess and Royal with me, to make me look more countrified, but they had been left behind at Thurlanger. I admired the pack of hounds as they came past me—their white, black and tan coats gleaming, eyes bright and eager. Their tour of the ground was a kind of opening ceremony. I wandered on, noticing several faces I had met the previous week amongst the groups standing chatting beside cars or horse-boxes. James Tetley caught sight of me and gave me a tentative smile, politely: I reflected with a little amusement that today he would find Essie had thoroughly reverted to type. I had already seen her, coping with a nervous Cora, and looking completely in her element.

  I paused beside a roped-off area where children and younger teenagers were about to start an unofficial showing of their control of their mounts—and spotted Rosalind again. She seemed to be in charge, which as a teacher of the art of riding was natural, but I moved on again with the firm feeling that I could do without having to admire the talents of Kevin’s girl-friend. Instead I made for a point where I could see the preparations for the first race—and across an empty area of field I suddenly caught sight of Michael. He was alone, looking rather handsome in well-cut tweeds, his black hair ruffled a little by the wind. I thought of joining him, remembered with annoyance that I had better not give him the impression I was seeking him out, and took care to make for the opposite side of the hurdles marking the start. Someone standing near me was explaining the course to someone else, so I listened in unashamedly, and tried to work out which of the distant fields was being referred to as the turning point where the riders would swing round to make for home. There were already a number of people getting into position for the starting gun, on horses of varied sizes, shapes and colours. Their riders were almost as varied—a solid-looking farmer; a slight, white-faced boy who looked delicately thin but whose hold on a savage-looking chestnut horse showed a whippet-like strength; an untidy young man who dressed like a gypsy but spoke like a lord: a man whose weatherbeaten face and experienced eyes reminded me a little of Ganner. I watched them all, trying to look like a student of form, and decided that a heavy piebald had too much carthorse in him for speed, and that the white-faced boy would probably come off his chestnut eventually, strength or no strength. They were lining up—and then they were off, making for a brush fence, and then for the flag which marked the first hedge to be jumped on their way out into the country.