Heaven is High

by Anne Hampson

  His words, so coolly spoken, brought the colour to her cheeks. She accepted his decision—there was no alternative—but, profoundly conscious of the damaging impression he had obtained of her, she met his gaze seriously and apologized once more for the presence of the caravans, and of the girls, admitting her action in allowing them to come had been most imprudent.

  ‘I’m glad you realize that. Miss Ramsey. It will then give you some better understanding of my decision not to retain your services. I make it a rule to keep in my employ only those people who have my interests at heart and respect my property.’

  Kathryn’s cheeks coloured more hotly and she lowered her head. She did not cry easily, but tears pricked the backs of her eyes now. She had grown so used to the life here, had become so steeped in the history of the Hall that she couldn’t envisage herself in any other employment. She wondered if he knew of the provision made for her by Mr. Southon, knew that he couldn’t dismiss her for another six months. Not that it mattered, she thought, for she wouldn’t dream of insisting on his strict adherence to the wishes of his predecessor. He didn’t want her, and therefore she would go when he told her to. She inquired about this, in a voice that was low and clear, but certainly not very steady.

  ‘You’ll have the usual month’s notice, naturally, Miss Ramsey. That can begin from the end of this week.’ He paused, then changed the subject, asking when she expected her sisters to be leaving.

  ‘They must go tomorrow,’ she replied at once. ‘Mother will have to take them until they find a flat.

  His blue eyes became fixed on her and for a moment she thought he intended asking for some more explicit reason as to why all this had come about, but he changed his mind and went on to inquire about the new caravan site and when it was expected to be opened.

  ‘In about a week’s time; then they’ll go immediately.’ If only he had arrived when he should! she thought again. Everything would have been orderly, giving him a far different impression. And it was reasonable to assume he would have kept her on, although he would, she felt sure, have relieved her of much of the responsibility—and the freedom of action—which she had always enjoyed with Mr. Southon. ‘They can stay, the old people, until next week?’ she added, anxiously scanning his face.

  ‘It seems they’ll have to, for I now see it’s impossible to get them away in the morning.’ A flash of anger crossed his brow, but it was gone instantly, replaced by a look of resignation.

  Silence followed and as awkwardness began to sweep over her again Kathryn asked if he wanted more coffee.

  ‘I’ve had enough, thank you.’

  ‘I’ll take the tray away, then. He watched her for a moment while she put the cups and saucers on the tray, then he said curiously,

  ‘Didn’t Mr. Southon have a private sitting-room—one for his own use entirely?’

  ‘He spent much time in his bedroom—lying down, during the last two or three years. Until then he had this room and my room was furnished as a sort of bed-sitting-room.’ She took the tray from the table and straightened up. ‘If you want this room to be private I’ll find another one to use.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he returned shortly. ‘I can arrange everything to my satisfaction as I go along.’ In other words, Kathryn thought, he would tolerate her for the short time she would be here.

  With the dishes washed and put away she looked in merely to say goodnight and left her new employer in sole possession of the sitting-room.

  As word spread that the new owner of Marbeck Hall had taken up residence, so the number of visitors increased, for interest in the Hall and its occupants had always been great; owing mainly to its historical associations and the fact that its earliest foundations dated back to the middle of the twelfth century. In addition, it was one of the most beautiful and carefully maintained stately houses in the whole of the north of England. Adding to its interest, from the visitor’s point of view, was the fact that it was lived in by the owner; for so many of these great houses were just museums, totally lacking in atmosphere and warmth. And Mr. Southon had been so inordinately trusting, leaving all his treasures around, for he had a genuine love for his fellow men and wanted them to share, at least in some measure, the beautiful things which he had been fortunate enough to inherit. And now the regular visitors wanted to know what the new owner was like, and whether he would be as free and trusting as his predecessor. The difficulty in finding an heir, and the fact of his being an American, had been given much publicity. And when it was known he came from the ranching country it was rashly assumed that he worked on a ranch—that he was in fact a cowboy. How this mistake had originated no one knew, but on the appearance of the new lord of the manor it was speedily rectified. Ranching was John Hyland’s business, it was true, but it was now rumoured that he owned so much land, both in the Rockies and on the great wheat-producing central plain, that he didn’t know just how much money he was worth.

  To everyone’s delight and satisfaction the new heir was often about during the week-ends when the Hall and gardens were thrown open to the public. He might be seen wandering in the grounds, or moving about the house, and always he would smile or nod in response to some such gesture from one of the visitors.

  ‘This is what they like,’ Kathryn had said once or twice during the first week-end. ‘It brings the crowds.’ Even as she spoke she wondered if he were interested in the profits from all this. He had said he was a business man, though, so she surmised that he was just as eager to make money as anyone else. As for Kathryn herself, the increased numbers meant also an increase in her own hours of work, for there was always the book-keeping to do afterwards. In addition, she spent almost every evening with her employer, answering his numerous questions, explaining how the business was run, and giving him a general idea of the workings of the estate as a whole. He meant to run it himself—as Mr. Southon had done until his health began to fail—and Kathryn felt that when she had gone he would employ someone to come in at the week-ends only.

  From the first his manner towards her had been cool, to say the least, and Kathryn knew he had formed the impression that Mr. Southon had allowed her far more than normal privileges ... and that she had taken advantage of them. The two girls had left the day after his arrival, and the caravans had moved off a few days later, to Kathryn’s intense relief. During the week, and in the evenings, the house was now quiet, and filled with that strange atmosphere of peace that only age and mellowness can provide. John Hyland seemed to enjoy this and the only alteration he intended to make at present was the closing off completely of that part of the house in which he intended to live. As it was now, the ‘Private’ notices were all that kept the visitors out of his apartments.

  Kathryn was leaving at the end of July and the Sunday prior to her going was expected to be extra busy, for in the early morning a heat haze hung over the Derbyshire hills, and over the lakes in the grounds of the Hall, while the pearl-like ball of the sun began to penetrate and disperse the mist, promising a perfect day.

  Naturally by this time Kathryn was quite resigned to leaving, yet the prospect, ever with her, was still so dismaying that she had the greatest difficulty in maintaining the pleasant, lighthearted manner to which the regular visitors had become so used. Nevertheless, she made a heroic effort and to her relief no one seemed to notice her dejection. She had never been a guide in the sense that she took parties round the house, mechanically rattling off dates and events in the history of the Hall; she was there to comment on some picture or other beautiful object, to answer questions or direct people to any part of the Hall they particularly wanted to see. Also, she naturally kept an eye on anyone who appeared not to have the proper respect for the lovely things they were privileged to view, and also that small minority who allowed their children to run wild about the house.

  She was discussing one of the paintings with Michael Robson, an antique dealer who, at only twenty-three, had already been in the business for nearly eight years. She had a great respect
for his knowledge, and he for hers, and whenever he visited the Hall they would have a long and interesting discussion on the merits of one or two of the beautiful paintings displayed lavishly on every wall in the house.

  John Hyland, too, was keenly interested in the paintings, and while Kathryn and Michael were talking he paused on his way through the Drawing Room to stand in the background listening to their comments. Suddenly aware of his presence, Kathryn felt a hint of colour rise, but she continued her conversation as before. When Michael discovered his presence he drew him into the conversation and in the most immodest way imaginable a wealth of knowledge poured forth from his lips. After widening in astonishment John Hyland’s eyes became fixed and interested as Michael discussed the methods and technique of various painters, and when eventually he paused a look of admiration had spread across John Hyland’s face. He seemed about to speak and before he did so Kathryn introduced them and then, approached by one of the students who was having difficulty in controlling some young children, she excused herself and left the two men together.

  On returning about ten minutes later Kathryn found them still in conversation and was just about to join them again when she heard her name called and she turned to encounter the beaming smiles of an elderly couple, and the less cordial nod of greeting from their daughter.

  ‘How nice to see you, Kathryn.’ Mr. Slade shook hands vigorously. ‘We thought we’d better come along and introduce ourselves to the new owner. Is he in?’

  Kathryn nodded, genuinely pleased at the appearance of the couple, but not so pleased that their daughter was with them. Mr. and Mrs. Slade were old friends of her late employer, and had at one time been regular visitors to the Hall, but towards the end Mr. Southon had seemed to weary of visitors within minutes of their arrival and the Slades had thoughtfully stayed away, though they made regular telephone calls inquiring about the old man’s health.

  How, thought Kathryn on many occasions, did such a charming couple come to have a daughter like Delia? From the first she had liked them—and from the first she had disliked Delia—intensely. She had always adopted an imperious and condescending manner towards Kathryn, and there was a conceit about her that seemed quite obviously to stem from the fact that, being extraordinarily beautiful in every way, she attracted the admiring stares of both men and women alike. Perhaps I’m jealous, Kathryn thought. Perhaps I’m a horrid jealous little cat.

  ‘I suggested we come on a visiting day,’ Mrs. Slade was saying, holding out her hand to Kathryn, who took it instantly, ‘so as not to intrude on his privacy should he feel disinclined to receive callers.’ She glanced vaguely around as if trying to pick out the new owner of Marbeck Hall from among the people strolling about. Failing in her efforts, she turned her attention again to Kathryn. ‘How are you, dear? Is everything all right? He’s settling here—at least for a while—from what we’ve heard, so I expect your job’s all right. You were rather worried about it the last time we called.’

  ‘I’m having to leave,’ Kathryn informed them quietly. ‘Mr. Hyland doesn’t require my services.’

  ‘What a shame!’ from Mr. Slade, who looked genuinely distressed. ‘You’ve been here since the place opened, haven’t you? People are going to miss you. I’m sure.’

  ‘I expect Kathryn will soon find herself another post,’ Delia put in, and Kathryn instantly chided herself for mentally describing that half smile as a rather supercilious sneer.

  ‘I expect I shall,’ she agreed, though with a little inward sigh. Jobs there were in plenty these days ... but not in such idyllic surroundings as this. She looked towards the Library, where John Hyland and Michael were still deep in conversation.

  ‘Would you like me to take you to Mr. Hyland?’ she offered, and at once noticed the flickering light of interest which appeared in Delia Slade’s lovely dark eyes. Faintly Kathryn’s lips curved to a smile. Word had spread quickly that the new owner of Marbeck Hall was a remarkably handsome man. And remarkably handsome men were always of interest to Delia Slade. But she had reached the age of twenty-seven and was not yet married, though rumour had it she had turned down a great many offers. Kathryn could well believe this, and thought the reason must be that none of the would-be husbands were wealthy enough. Well, perhaps she and John Hyland would get together.

  ‘If he isn’t too busy,’ Mr. Slade was saying hesitantly. ‘We’d very much like to meet him, but we don’t want to interrupt anything.’

  ‘He’s talking to a visitor, but I’m sure he’ll be pleased to meet you.’ She led the way into the Library. John Hyland stopped talking and turned at her approach. Kathryn introduced them, noticing as she did so that Delia’s interest was now deep and pronounced. Her dark eyes fluttered enchantingly; her lips parted in the sort of smile that only Delia could give, and a responsive smile came instantly to John Hyland’s lips. He seemed to hold her hand longer than he need have done and for a moment he appeared to be oblivious of everyone else in the room except the lovely girl at his side. Kathryn explained that Mr. and Mrs. Slade had been old friends of Mr. Southon and John’s attention came at last from Delia to her parents. He smiled charmingly at them, expressing his pleasure at meeting them. But his manners were not lacking and as they all fell into casual conversation he made sure Michael was included. As the minutes passed, however, Kathryn realized that she herself was being left out, and with a murmured word of apology that no one appeared to notice, she slipped away to join several people who, though obviously interested in some china in a cabinet, did not know anything about it and were looking round for someone who could help them.

  A little while later she was right at the top of the house, having just been explaining about the priest holes, and remarking on how cleverly they were hidden, when she heard Mrs. Slade’s voice on the landing below.

  ‘I do love the view from this window...’

  So they were sauntering round. It was not unusual, for Mr. and Mrs. Slade loved the house and in the old days when they were regular visitors to the Hall they would often stand and admire the view over to the heights of the Derbyshire Pennines. After a while Kathryn came to the lower floor, but the Slades and their host had disappeared and she presumed they had gone down to the sitting-room. However, on passing her own room, she was amazed to see the door marked ‘Private’ standing wide open. Delia and her parents were in the room; Delia was handling one of Kathryn’s hairbrushes, and just as a surge of anger brought the colour to her cheeks, Kathryn sensed the presence of John Hyland behind her.

  ‘This is Miss Ramsey’s room,’ he said. ‘The door was marked private, but perhaps you missed it.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ murmured Delia, replacing the brush on the tray. Then she smiled at Kathryn. ‘What lovely silver. You have excellent taste—and plenty of money, by the looks of things.’

  ‘They’re Christmas and birthday presents from Mr. Southon,’ Kathryn supplied, her colour deepening as her anger increased. Delia Slade knew very well that this was her room and, therefore, was never open to the public.

  ‘They look like part of a collection,’ purred Delia, her eyes on John while she spoke to Kathryn. ‘Like family heirlooms, in fact.’

  ‘I believe they are part of a collection.’ Kathryn stood there, in an attitude of waiting, expecting them to leave her room, but Delia did not intend taking the hint as, still purring Softly, she added,

  ‘Mr. Southon must have thought a great deal about you.’

  ‘He did,’ remarked John suavely and, turning to Kathryn, ‘You enjoyed many privileges, didn’t you, Miss Ramsey?’

  What did he mean? Convinced that his words hid a subtle insinuation, Kathryn walked stiffly past him and on to the landing, her temper almost out of control. How dared he make comments like that?—and in front of Delia Slade and her parents!

  She was still fuming when, later in the afternoon, Burrows came to her as she was talking to some other visitors in the Gallery.

  ‘Miss Ramsey,’ he interrupted apologetically, ‘Mr.
Hyland rang for one of the maids, but as you know it’s Edna’s day off and Emily’s gone to bed with a cold.’

  ‘It’s all right, Burrows,’ she said, after a slight hesitation. ‘I’ll go and see what Mr. Hyland wants. Where is he?’

  ‘In the sitting-room, with his visitors.’

  John Hyland glanced up in surprise as she entered, and asked her to send Emily to him.

  ‘She went to bed after lunch,’ Kathryn informed him. ‘She isn’t at all well.’

  ‘I see.’ The merest pause and then, ‘We require tea, Miss Ramsey; will you make it, please? Just something light, sandwiches and cakes—and quickly, because my visitors haven’t much time.’

  Kathryn hesitated, noticing the patronizing glance of Delia Slade and wondering whether or not to remind her employer that making afternoon tea was not part of her duties. But in the circumstances that would be churlish, for there was no one else to do it. Nevertheless, she felt that John Hyland could have used a rather more gracious approach, for he was after all requesting a favour.

  She took the tea in on a silver tray, put it down on a table and turned to go.

  ‘We’ll have it over here.’ John Hyland’s voice was crisp; he seemed to know she was faintly annoyed at having to do this task. ‘And I think we shall require more sandwiches.’

  Kathryn flushed and left the room, returning ten minutes later with the sandwiches.

  ‘Thank you.’ He took the plate from her before she had time to put it on the table, and began to pass it round to his guests. Delia took one and, as she placed it on her plate she knocked her cake fork on to the floor.

  ‘Oh—’ She looked up at Kathryn, who was just moving away from the table. ‘My fork. I’m so sorry.’ She waited for Kathryn to stoop and pick it up, but Kathryn turned and would have left the room had not her employer called her back.