Fortune's Lead

by Barbara Perkins

  Between him and Essie, I was forced by my conscience not to say I would like to go back on the original bargain, and leave to look for a nursing job.

  I heard Kevin come in, quite late, and move around quietly in the room along the passage from mine. Buying my head in the pillow, I thought resentfully that he would have to be right—and me to be wrong. But he had started it. Furthermore, I thought with more resolution, his manners were atrocious, and some of the names he had called me made it quite out of the question to feel I owed him an apology.

  Henry made such a fuss of me next day that I found myself wondering uneasily if I had given him grounds for sounding so affectionate. For once it wasn’t raining, and I made out that fresh air was good for incipient colds, and took myself off in my car to work off my confusion. It must have been a connection of ideas that made me find myself aiming for Tyzet and Michael’s cottage—but when I had parked outside it I told myself that there had been quite long enough for him to get over any embarrassments, and it was merely civil to call and see him. He looked, I thought, a little surprised to find me on the doorstep—but I made the excuse that I had been passing, and had wanted to know whether he had collected up any interesting books on Suffolk that I could read. He found me one, obligingly, and after a small hesitation offered me a cup of tea. We had a slightly stilted conversation, during which I discovered that he knew far more about the local families than I did—such as that the Tetleys weren’t very well off, the Carlocks had two daughters who were engaged to be married, and the Laidlaws had more money than they knew what to do with (almost as much as the Thurlangers, Michael said with a deprecating smile). Because I could feel, depressingly, that he was still feeling awkward with me, when I got up to go I took the plunge.

  ‘I haven’t been avoiding you—at least I have—b-but it was a bit difficult at the cocktail party, wasn’t it? I mean, you must have wondered why we were taken for such old friends, but it really wasn’t my doing!’

  He studied me for a moment, and then gave me a pleasant smile. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t. It’s all right, I quite understand. In fact, I think we both understand, don’t we? Is Kevin Thurlanger going to marry that riding-school girl, by the way?’

  ‘I really wouldn’t know,’ I said lightly, making an effort not to bristle at the sound of Kevin’s name.

  ‘I’ve seen him out and about a bit lately. He’s only a nephew, of course, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said shortly, remembered it was Michael I was talking to, and smiled at him. ‘It—was nice of you to keep Essie out of the way while she was in such a rage about not being able to ride—she was rubbing everyone up the wrong way, you know!’

  ‘It was nice of you to bring her.’

  ‘Well, with both of you not being able to ride—’I remembered, belatedly, about his ankle, and glanced down at it. ‘But I suppose you can again now—is your ankle completely better now the plaster’s off?’

  ‘I’ve promised Essie not to ride until she can—as a bargain. But it’s useful to be able to drive.’ He looked at me, gave me another smile, and asked, ‘How are you getting on?’

  ‘Oh—oh, fine. Henry hasn’t been well, but he’s getting better now, and—but I expect you know all that, since you’ve been with Essie. I’ll be going now. Thanks for the tea.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He opened the door for me, and added, ‘We’ll keep to our own sides of the fence. But with luck we may see each other some other time. ’Bye for now, Charlotte. And—er—let me know if I can help you, some time!’

  I wasn’t sure what he meant—and his remark about keeping to our own sides of the fence had sounded a little rude, as if he thought I was seeking him out deliberately—but I gave him a polite smile, thinking I had probably misunderstood something, and left him. I wasn’t quite sure that I liked him so much this time: he had had an odd hard look in his eyes once or twice. I dismissed the thought, deciding I wasn’t in the mood to like anyone very much, and drove back to Thurlanger. Thurlanger—and Henry being charming, and saying with anxiety that he hoped I hadn’t made my cold worse, and that I really must take care of myself. I tried very hard to remind myself that gypsies couldn’t really see into the future, and told myself that if I thought Henry was getting too fond of me, I was obviously suffering from conceit ... I had been at Thurlanger House two months, but that wasn’t long enough for anyone to get fond of anyone.

  Henry was getting into full cry over plans for the dance. Since it was to be given in his own house, he brushed aside objections over his health, saying that he wouldn’t have to move away from his own central heating, and that anyway by the planned date in almost three weeks’ time he would be as fit as a fiddle. He produced a long list of people to be invited—and told me very pleasantly that he’d like to keep strictly to it, something which made me look at the list closely. It seemed to contain all the names with which I was by now familiar: the only one I could find missing was Kevin’s Rosalind. Looking again, I realized that Michael’s name wasn’t on the list either—though why should it be? But he had, from Essie’s conversation, been very much part of her particular group lately ... I wondered again with some uneasiness whether Henry thought Michael should be kept away from it, and pushed the thought aside quickly. At least I had plenty to do for once. There were invitations to write: a suitable dress for Essie to be thought of; arrangements to be made with caterers, because the dance was to be on too lavish a scale to be left to Mrs. Mott. I busied myself, and tried not to notice that Kevin was still behaving impersonally, and avoiding me. If he hadn’t been, I might have asked him politely whether he knew Rosalind had been left off the invitation list. At least, I thought I might.

  Essie and I went into Henning for her dress—this time being made for her. She displayed resignation at the thought, but beneath it I sensed that she was getting used to the convention which required her to dress up occasionally and ‘do the proper’ as she called it, pulling one of her grimaces. I wondered whether the attention she was getting from James Tetley, Simon Carlock, Peter Raglan, and most other young men in the district was having any effect on her at all. (She liked Peter Raglan, I knew, but mainly because he was such a daring rider.) She let fall mischievously that once ‘all this’ (the dance) was over, she’d have done her bit, and Pa couldn’t say she hadn’t—and that he couldn’t say she wasn’t fit enough to ride if he saw her dancing all evening. I smiled at her, and asked,

  ‘Another bargain?’

  ‘Sort of. You have to be careful making bargains with Pa,’ she said cheerfully, ‘but I’ve dropped a hint or two! Dominic would have been back in the saddle by now, I’ll tell you, but he doesn’t have to sit around and be coddled!’

  ‘You don’t sit around. You’re always off somewhere or other.’ I tried not to sound wistful: after all it wasn’t my job to be always off somewhere or other, neither would I have felt particularly at home amongst Essie’s group of friends and admirers. Casually, because I was curious, I asked,’ Is Michael still driving you around? I—noticed he wasn’t there when the others came up yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, your friend Michael?’

  ‘Not my—’

  ‘All right,’ Essie said, but she gave me an odd look.

  ‘Pa doesn’t like him too much—nor does old Tom Laidlaw, funnily enough, I don’t know why he shouldn’t, but he snubbed him a bit last time we were over there. Still, the Laidlaws are a cliquey lot. Oh, I know what I was supposed to remember, while we’re in Henning. Pa said you were to have a new dress too for the dance. It’s no use looking like that, Shah, he did! He gave me a cheque, too, and told me I was to see you spent it. And if you’re going to object, I will make that a bargain—if you don’t dress up, I won’t.’

  ‘He didn’t say anything to me—’

  ‘That was because he knew I could handle you,’ Essie said, regarding me with eyes dancing. ‘What with shutting the door on your boy-friends, and insisting on dressing you, you might almost think he had intention
s! No, I was only teasing, honest—but if you won’t buy a dress you’ll spoil everything, because I promised Pa I’d make you! And I don’t want to put him in a fuss just now, so you’d better do it, or I’ll refuse to wear anything decent myself, I swear I will!’

  She was quite capable of carrying out any threat, and we could hardly stand stock still in the middle of Henning arguing it out, so I went with her helplessly. She even displayed more interest in what I was to wear than she ever had in anything for herself—which might have shown that I was succeeding in making her more clothes-conscious, or might just have been part of a plot to keep her father sweet so that he would let her ride again. I hoped, fervently, that it wasn’t her way of indicating a willingness to have me for a stepmother—and all my confusions crowded in again. Henry was a very nice man: I liked him, and he was charming company. On the other hand ... It was no use going into a panic about what was on the other hand because of a teasing remark from Essie, nor to feel that I had landed myself in a situation which was getting too much for me. I could only hope, as Essie showed signs of an inherited good taste by picking out the most expensive dress in the shop, that this was nothing but a manoeuvre on Henry’s part to make his daughter more aware of what people did and didn’t wear at a formal country-house dance. She was making me feel even more helpless as she commanded me to try things on, eyed them with unusual attention, and organized me into purchasing a very beautiful, and becoming, sea-green dress with a long, sweeping skirt. Her behaviour made me realize that she could quite capably be left to grow up on her own now without any help from me—if only two-thirds of the Thurlanger family hadn’t adopted the habit of making me feel obliged to stay.

  When I thanked Henry for the dress I found myself blushing, but he waved thanks away with the assurance that I was getting nothing more than I deserved. In Kevin’s absence, we seemed like nothing so much as a united and happy family—a fact which kept giving me a wild sense of unreality. I tried my best to see Henry’s treatment of me as paternal and almost succeeded in persuading myself that it was. I threw myself into the preparations for the dance—about which I kept failing to feel any kind of excitement—and tried to ignore the cold feeling I had every time Kevin stepped silently out of my way, or went back into his room as I came into our shared passage, or addressed me at meals with a kind of impersonal civility. It was just that I had grown used to his propinquity—and there must be a flaw in my character which made me want to throw things at him when he was behaving with unexceptional quietness. I must have been crazy to feel that I would almost rather have been quarrelling with him...

  I took myself out for long drives when there was nothing to do in the house. The weather was too stormy for walking, and even Bess and Royal couldn’t tempt me into gumboots to splash through fields and wet woods. Henry was still tolerating the presence of the dogs in the house, and they were apt to sit on my feet unless Kevin was there, when they would go to him immediately to have their ears pulled in a casual caress. As I drove round the countryside I caught myself wondering about Kevin: what kind of doctor he was, whether he was good at his job, whether he intended to stay at the Cottage Hospital near Thurlanger for ever. Never having seen him at work, I tried to imagine how he looked, and behaved, with his patients, or in an operating theatre. When I found myself doing it, I decided crossly that it was simply a reflection of the fact that I missed working in a hospital myself. That led me on to other thoughts. Gypsy Rose, for example, who would keep coming into my mind at very inopportune moments. Would I ever have come here if I hadn’t been so credulous about having my fortune told? I remembered my fourth wish, to be happy, and decided that I wasn’t, so that ruled out all the rest: a satisfactory and yet unsatisfactory conclusion ... If I set my mind to it, I thought moodily, I ought to be able to be happy amidst all this luxury and comfort—then I pulled myself up sharply: there I went again, believing in all that superstitious nonsense, when all it really inspired in me was a feeling of shame—and unease. There was also guilt for letting myself think along such lines, which was one reason why I kept taking myself out of the house, with the feeling that things were getting far too involved.

  It was two days before the dance when I took myself out yet again and gave myself a lecture on reading too much into ordinarily friendly, paternal behaviour. Being confined to the house by rain was making me imaginative. The fact that Kevin was having a day off, of course, had nothing to do with my decision to get out of the house at all costs after lunch, but I invented an urgent errand and drove away with a feeling of relief. The rain had let up temporarily, but it came down again in sheets after a while, and I began to wonder if I would lose my way amongst the winding lanes. I had explored the countryside fairly thoroughly by now, but the rivers were swollen with floodwater which blocked lanes and sent me taking different turnings from usual: the early dark would be coming down soon, and I ought really to find my way back to Thurlanger. I turned into yet another lane, and saw water ahead of me, but this time there was a notice which said ‘Ford’ and it looked familiar. After the ford there would be a turning I remembered, surely ... I drove into it, found the water startlingly deep, pressed my foot down hard on the accelerator as brown mud began to swirl alarmingly almost half-way up the doors, and decided hastily that I had better reverse out instead. At once, the engine stalled.

  Several attempts on the starter produced no result at all. I cursed my foolishness, and tried again—but the unsympathetic weather chose that moment to bring the rain down even harder, and I began to have a worried feeling that the river I was in the middle of was going to rise to alarming heights. If I couldn’t start the car I had better get out of it while I could. It was a struggle already to get the door open, and I was beginning to panic before I managed it, letting in a cold, dirty flood to wash round me. I scrambled out into waist-high water and pouring rain, and waded quickly for the nearest bank. Surely only a maniac would put up a notice that said Ford just here: this was a full-scale river—and a river which had burst its banks somewhere, or something, by the way the flood of it was increasing every moment.

  I had left my scarf in the car: I could see it on the shelf in front of the steering wheel. My hair was already dripping wet, so I felt even less inclined to risk drowning to go back for it. I had at least managed to get the car door shut again so that the river on the outside wasn’t on the inside too—or not too much of it. Now I would have to leave the car where it was and make for Thurlanger on foot. In this weather! I felt like crying, but that wasn’t very useful, so I turned my back on the Mini and set off to trudge—squelch—along the lane beyond the so-called Ford. After a hundred yards, I came to a place where the lane dipped again—into another river—and this one looked almost as deep as the last one. Besides, I realized with dismay, I didn’t actually know where on earth I was.

  Perhaps I would be able to see if only the rain would let up a little. Peering from side to side, I saw an ominously flooded field one way, but rising ground beyond the hedge on the other side of the lane. I decided to go up there and see if I could see anything more from the higher level. No one but me, I thought bitterly, would have been fool enough to go out this afternoon—even if there had been a brief break in the clouds when I set off—so it was useless to stand here and hope for rescue. Perhaps there would be a farm ... I saw a building ahead of me up the hill, made for it thankfully, and found myself looking at a large barn. It had an open front, but the inner depths of it looked dry. Temptingly so. With resolution, I made myself walk beyond the barn, but the ground at once started dropping again, and through the driving rain now going into my eyes and down my neck, I could see the gleam of floods ahead of me again. I seemed to be surrounded by water. And the clouds were dark enough already, but dusk must be coming. If I went stumbling through that lot, I would probably get benighted in a field—if I didn’t step into something deep, and drown.

  I fled back to the barn. At least in its shelter I might be able to think of something. Perhaps
the rain might even stop (perhaps pigs might fly), the rivers go down, my car start again, the whole situation turn out to be a bad dream. I wondered, shivering miserably, how late it would be before I was missed. Moving further into shelter, I leaned against the square scratchiness of a pile of baled straw, and wondered bitterly why someone like me, town-born and town-bred, had ever ventured into the country to start with. Gypsies—bah! If Gipsy Rose had foreseen my death from pneumonia, she might at least have warned me. It seemed to be getting duskier outside every minute, and perhaps I had better try to go back to the car, and wade (swim) back through that river to my original side, and try to find my way from there. At least if I was on a road I might meet someone...

  Ten minutes later, while I was still standing in the barn trying to decide what to do, I heard a shout. Then a second—and as I came stumbling out from shelter, I realized it was my name being called. With an effort I tried to shout back, though my voice came out as a squeak; and the deep male voice which went on shouting ‘Charlotte!’ was recognizable, too. A moment later as I staggered down the hill I could see him through the dusk and downpour—Kevin, as wet as I was, on the great black form of Thunder. As I managed to call out audibly he turned the horse and came towards me through the gate I had found, and I was even glad to see these two—though I backed away quickly as the horse came right up to me, looking huge and none too good-tempered. Kevin was down off his back as they reached me, and caught hold of me in the strong grip of one arm.