When her uncle was particularly disagreeable to her, she would lie awake at night, wondering if there was anything she could do to earn her own living.
Alternatively, she wondered if she dared write to any of her other relatives and suggest that she might live with them.
But her father’s cousins were, of course, also Uncle Hereward’s, and she had a feeling that although he did not want her, he would resent her leaving him and would deliberately prevent her from doing so.
“Now that I am your Guardian you will do as I tell you,” was a phrase he continually used.
It gave her the feeling that he wanted to dominate her and assert his authority simply because she was her father’s daughter.
As she was very sensitive and extremely perceptive about other people, it was not always what they said which hurt her so much as what she knew they were thinking and feeling.
Because her father and mother had loved the country and never regretted missing the excitements of London, although they had both spent part of their lives in the Social World, Diona loved the country too.
Her mother had talked vaguely of presenting her at Court and taking her to balls and receptions once she had finished with her lessons and become a debutante.
But her father had died six months before her eighteenth birthday, and she was now getting on for nineteen without ever having been to a ball or visiting London.
When she was a child, there had of course been parties in the county to which her mother had taken her.
But as she grew older, what she enjoyed far more was hunting in the winter, and being a spectator at the point-to-points and the steeplechases in which her father took part.
There she met a number of what were known as the “country gentry,” but the men who admired her father most were the yeoman farmers.
They called her “pretty little Miss Grantley,” tipped their hats to her, and invited her into their farms to eat the fresh bread their wives had baked, spread with golden butter from their cows.
But, however kind they were, they were not exactly the sort of friends her mother had envisaged for her.
“I want you to have the same success I had when I was a debutante,” Mrs. Grantley would say. “I am not being conceited, dearest, when I tell you I was greatly admired, and quite a number of very charming and wealthy young men asked my father if they could pay their addresses to me.”
“Do you mean they wanted to marry you, Mama?”
“Yes, but I did not want to marry them,” her mother replied. “I was waiting, although I was not aware of it, until I met your father.”
“And when you did?”
“I fell in love with him! He was the most handsome, dashing, exciting man I had ever seen!”
Mrs. Grantley sighed before she said,
“I wish you could have seen him in his uniform! It was enough to make any young girl’s heart beat the faster!”
“And he fell in love with you?” Diona asked.
“At first sight!” her mother replied. “And I do not think any two people could be happier than we are.”
It was that happiness she missed, Diona thought, happiness that seemed as brilliant as the sunshine.
She could not remember their home when the skies had been grey or the rain had beaten against the windowpanes.
Now as she rushed into her bedroom followed by Sirius and shut the door, she felt as if she were fighting her way through a black fog, which was suffocating her.
She flung herself down on her knees and put her arms round Sirius, feeling the tears beginning to run down her cheeks.
He was aware that something was wrong and licked her cheek, and as he did so she knew that she could not lose him. If she did she must die too, for there would be nothing left to live for.
Then as she felt Sirius’s body warm and close against her, she felt something strong and resolute awaken within her that she had never known before.
She had been so unhappy when she had come to her uncle’s house that she had accepted the misery of it like a cross that she must bear because there was no alternative.
When she was abused and cursed for something she had not done, she told herself there was no point in fighting and she would merely apologise humbly and promise to try to do better.
Now she knew she must rebel not only for her own sake but also to save Sirius.
She gave him another hug, and, as if he did not understand but was doing his best to help her, he licked her cheek again, wagging his tail.
Then he sat down to look up at her pleadingly as if he was suggesting that they should go for a walk and get out in the open air.
“That is what we will do, Sirius,” Diona said to him. “We will go for a walk and we will not come back. Why did I not think of that before?”
She rose to her feet and locked the door, not that anybody was likely to intrude on her.
At the same time, she realised that she had to be secretive.
Then she spread out on the bed a large silk shawl that had belonged to her mother and began putting into it everything that she thought was an absolute necessity.
There was not very much, for she knew that if she had to walk a long way it would be no use taking something which would weigh her down and be too heavy to carry.
She therefore sensibly placed in the shawl only the lightest things she possessed and two muslin gowns, which weighed infinitely less than anything made of a heavier material.
Nevertheless, it seemed quite a large bundle when finally she knotted it together.
She hesitated for a moment.
Then she changed her gown for her best and also put on her newest pair of shoes and her prettiest bonnet, which had belonged to her mother.
She had discarded mourning a month ago because her uncle had said in one of his rages that he disliked having a “black crow” moaning about his house.
Because she still had a little left of the money he had given her to buy mourning-clothes when she had first come to the Hall, she had bought a few pretty gowns from the nearest town.
When she appeared in them he had given his grudging approval until, as if inevitably he had to find fault, he started to complain about how much she was costing him.
However, Diona was glad now that her gowns were new, for the simple reason that they would have to last her a long time.
What was worrying her was that she had very little money left.
She had, however, though it was agony to think of parting with them, a few small pieces of jewellery that had belonged to her mother.
There was her engagement ring, a brooch which was set with some diamonds which had been her father’s present when she was born, and a bracelet, rather ugly but valuable, which her mother had inherited from her own mother and which out of sentiment she had never sold.
“If I sell them they will feed Sirius for a long time,” Diona reckoned.
She put the jewellery and the money into a bag, which she slipped over her wrist, then collecting her bundle whispered to Sirius to come with her as she unlocked the door.
Sirius thought he was going for a walk and started to jump for joy, but Diona quieted him and he understood.
Because he had been with her ever since he was a puppy, she had only to speak for him to obey her orders.
He never left her side, and the lies Simon had told about his behaviour were even more infuriating because there was not a vestige of truth in them.
Now, knowing it was what she wanted, Sirius walked to heel and they hurried along the passage to a side staircase, which took them down to a back door.
Diona avoided the kitchen quarters because she knew that at this time of the morning the servants would be having their eleven o’clock tea and beer, and only in the hall would there be anybody on duty.
Once outside, she started off at a sharp pace down the back drive, which could not be seen from any of the main rooms of the house.
It was also not so wide or impressive as the front drive with its avenue of
oak-trees.
She walked quickly on the grass, with Sirius exploring and searching for rabbits but keeping only a little way ahead of her and returning to her side the moment she called him.
It took Diona about ten minutes to reach the back lodge gates, which were not so large or well built as those which guarded the main entrance.
She knew that the old couple that lived in this lodge were both rather infirm and seldom closed the gates unless specially ordered to do so.
There was no sign of them, and as she did not wish to be seen, she hurried past the lodge and out onto the dusty road.
For a moment she hesitated, wondering whether to turn right or left, but she realised there was really no choice because to go right would take her into the village.
Then just as she was about to walk left, knowing she would have to walk a long way before there was even a sight of a cottage, she saw coming from the direction of the village a horse and cart.
For a moment she wondered if it was somebody she had no wish to see, then with a leap of her heart she realised that it was the carrier.
She moved on a little way down the road until she was out of sight of the gates.
Then as the carrier drew even with her, she waved to him.
Everybody in the village knew old Ted, whose sole business was to carry parcels, farm-products, and sometimes people from one village to another.
Now as he drew in his fat, piebald horse he said,
“ Mornin’, Miss Diona! Moight oi ‘elp ye?”
“Please, will you take me with you?” Diona asked.
“Where be ye a-goin’?” Ted enquired.
“I will tell you in a moment.”
As she spoke Diona was already climbing up into his cart, and as she sat down beside him she saw that the back of it was full of young cockerels in slatted boxes.
Ted took her bundle from her and put it down at her feet, and then as they started off he said,
“Oi ain’t seen ye fer a long toim, Miss Diona, an’ Oi sees yer dog looks well enough.”
Sirius had jumped in after Diona, and as he disliked sitting on the floor she moved along the hard seat nearer to Ted so that Sirius could be beside her.
The dog was always intensely interested in what was going on, looking from side to side, and she put her arm round him protectively before she asked,
“Where are you going, Ted? A long way, I hope.”
“A very long way,” he replied. “Oi be takin’ these ‘ere cockerels to one of th’ farms on ‘is Lordship’s Estate. It’ll take Oi all day to get there.”
“His Lordship’s Estate?” Diona questioned.
Ted nodded.
“Th’ Marquis o’ Irchester,” he said. “They be fer ‘is ‘ome Farm.”
“The Marquis of Irchester!” Diona repeated.
She knew the name, of course, but she had never seen the Marquis, and she was aware that his estate was in the next county to theirs and nearer to London.
She remembered hearing her father speak of the Marquis’s racehorses, and recently she had seen in the newspaper that he had won a big race at Newmarket.
But he was no more than a name to her and she could not remember anything else about him.
They drove for a little way in silence before she asked,
“Do you think there is any chance, Ted, of my getting employment on one of the Marquis’s farms?”
“Employment, Miss Diona? Why should ye be wantin’ work?” Ted exclaimed in surprise.
“I have run away, Ted!”
“Now what’s ye want to go and do a think loik that fer?” Ted replied before she could say any more. “It’s not somethin’ yer father’d want ye to do.
He paused before he added,
“Fine ‘orseman, yer father. Many’s the toim Oi watched ‘im ridin’ to ‘ounds, or comin’ up to see yer uncle at th’ Hall, an’ no man could sit a ‘orse better’n he.”
“That was true,” Diona said. “But, Ted, I have to get away. Uncle Hereward has ordered Sirius to be shot!”
Old Ted turned his face to look at her as if he could not believe what she had said. Then he exclaimed,
“That ain’t roight! Yer dog’s young! There be no reason to shoot ‘im!”
“Papa gave him to me just before he was killed,” Diona said, “and – I cannot – lose him – I cannot!”
“Course not!” Ted agreed. “P’raps some’un’d look after ‘im fer ye?”
“That would be worse,” Diona said. “He has always been with me, and I would worry in case somebody was cruel to him or did not feed him properly, which would be – unbearable!”
There was a note in her voice which told Ted more clearly than her words what she was feeling. Then he said,
“Ye can’t look after yerself, Miss Diona. Ain’t there some’un ye could go to an’ take yer dog with ye?”
“I have thought of that,” Diona replied, “but I think Uncle Hereward would insist on my going back to him, and then there would be no chance of my saving Sirius.”
There was a silence while Ted digested this. Then he asked,
“Wot you plannin’ on doin’, Miss Diona?”
“I can work on a farm.”
“But ye knows nothin’ ‘bout cows!” Ted remarked.
“I could learn.”
Again there was a long silence as the piebald horse trotted along at the steady pace at which Ted always travelled and which, whatever the weather, always resulted in his reaching his destination and delivering what he carried.
Diona spoke her thoughts aloud,
“What I do know about is horses, and of course dogs. “
“‘Is Lordship’s got some foin dogs!” Ted remarked. “Sportin’ spaniels, most of ‘em be.”
Diona turned to look at him with an expression of excitement.
“Perhaps he might want somebody to look after his dogs?”
“‘E’s already got kennel-men.”
“Why not a kennel-woman?” Diona enquired.
“Oi ain’t never ‘eard o’ one!”
“There must be a lot of jobs that a woman could do just as well as a man!” Diona persisted. “I could look after the puppies, and I could take care of the dogs if they were ill, and I could exercise them and of course make them obey me just as well as any man could do!”
There was a long silence until Ted said slowly,
“Oi bin thinkin’ of all the ‘ouses where they ‘as dogs and ‘orses, an’ Oi ain’t never seen no women a-workin’ there.”
“That is no reason to think they might not employ a woman if they had the chance,” Diona said. “Farmers have milkmaids. Why should there not be kennel maids and women grooms?”
Ted transferred his reins to one hand and scratched his head with the other.
“Now ye asks me, Oi sees no reason why they shouldn’t be,” he said slowly. “But Oi knows there ain’t no such thing at th’ moment, not wot Oi’ve seen leastways.
“But I could try to get somebody to employ, me,’ Diona said in a small voice. “If they say – “no”, then perhaps, Ted - you could think of – something – else I could do.”
She spoke a little hesitatingly because she knew that it had been an unforeseen piece of luck that Ted should be going so far from the Hall.
But, having reached the end of his journey, she must not on any account return with him.
Almost as if he was following her thoughts Ted said,
“Naw, if ye takes me advice, Miss Diona, ye’ll go back to yer uncle an’ ‘ave another word wi’ ‘im. Ye be too young to go a-wanderin’ about th’ world on yer own. Ye’ll get into trouble, that’s what ye’ll do.”
“If you are thinking of footpads or thieves of any sort,” Diona answered, “Sirius will protect me.”
“There moight be worse things than that.”
“What could be worse?”
Ted could find no answer to this, and they drove on until he said,
“It’s noice to ‘ave ye
wi’ me, Miss Diona, but Oi thinks Oi be doin’ wrong to takin’ ye so far from yer ‘ome.”
“It will save me from having to walk, Ted. I am running away, and I do not intend to go back!”
Ted lapsed into silence, and they drove on until Diona was just beginning to feel a little hungry, despite the eggs she had eaten for breakfast, when Ted said,
“Oi were a-goin’ to stop at The Green Man at Little Ponders End fer a bite, but if ye don’t want to be seen, p’raps oi better droive straight on?”
“I am very hungry too,” Diona replied, “and as I have only been to Little Ponders End once before when I was out hunting, I do not think they are likely to recognise me.”
She paused, thought quickly, and added,
“If I take off my bonnet and put a handkerchief over my head, perhaps you could say I was just somebody from the village who asked for a lift.”
“That’s an idea, Miss Diona,” Ted agreed, “an’ if ye sit outside Oi’ll bring ye some bread an’ cheese. The landlord’s not likely to be curious. He’s an old man, an’ ‘alf-blind.”
The cottages of Little Ponders End were just in sight and Diona undid the ribbons of her bonnet and put it under the seat.
She then reached into her bundle and found a scarf that she had brought with her in case it grew cold.
She was well aware that it would have been impossible to bring a heavy coat, and the only protection she would have later in the year, if she could not afford to buy anything new, was the shawl in which her things were wrapped.
The scarf was of pale blue silk and did not look very expensive at a distance, although it had belonged to her mother.
She tied it over her head and hoped she looked like one of the village girls who actually would have been wearing a sunbonnet.
The Village Green when they reached it was empty except for two old donkeys and several ducks on the pond.
There was no need for Ted to tie up his horse, for he immediately began to crop the grass, and he and Diona walked across to The Green Man.
Outside was the usual wooden seat, which later on in the afternoon would be occupied by the old men of the village.
Now there was nobody there, and as Diona sat down, Ted went inside.
It was only a little time before he came back with two plates on which were several large slices of cheese and the top of a cottage loaf.
Diona and a Dalmatian Page 2