Only by Chance

by Betty Neels

  Henrietta went pink. Praise, even in its mildest form, was delightful to hear. She ventured, ‘I came on a week’s trial, Mrs Pettifer...’

  ‘So you did. Since you’ve heard nothing I think you may take it that you’re here on a permanent footing.’ Mrs Pettifer glanced across at her. ‘What are you going to do with your day off?’

  ‘Go to Thaxted and do some shopping. There are quite a few things I need.’

  Her companion nodded. Henrietta’s wardrobe was scanty to say the least.

  ‘There are one or two quite good outfitters—not expensive, but plenty of choice. I have bought several things there—a jersey skirt and cardigan are both useful with different blouses. I should not be telling you this, but I believe that Lady Hensen is considering you as one of our guides once the tourist season starts—you have plenty of time to get a nice little wardrobe together before then.’

  A piece of news which, upon reflection, caused Henrietta to add some of her savings to the fifty pounds. It made sense to get one or two suitable outfits. Even if by some evil chance she lost her job at least she would have a better chance of getting another if she looked decently dressed.

  * * *

  THERE WAS AN early morning bus to Thaxted from the village. On Tuesday Henrietta joined the queue, the quilted jacket buttoned over the second sweater, a scarf over her hair, her handbag with its precious contents tucked under one arm. She had the day before her, and she couldn’t wait to start her shopping.

  She was deep in thought, weighing the advantages of tweed against blue serge, when Mr Ross-Pitt drew up beside her. He opened the car door and said briskly, ‘Get in, Henrietta.’

  She was the last one in the queue, and the two men ahead of her were deep in talk. ‘I’m going to Thaxted,’ she told him, and then added, ‘Good morning, Mr Ross-Pitt.’

  ‘Let us be civil by all means. Get in, Henrietta.’ When she shook her head he said, ‘I’m going to Thaxted; I’ll drop you off.’

  Something in his voice caused her to get in, followed by one of the men’s voices. ‘That’s right, ducks, do as you’re told; you’ll come to no harm.’

  ‘Well, really,’ said Henrietta crossly. She wanted to add to this rather useless remark but didn’t know how. Instead she said frostily, ‘This is very kind of you, Mr Ross-Pitt.’

  ‘Considering that I’m already late and you have wasted several precious minutes, yes, I am kind. Is this your day off?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry if I’ve made you late, but you need not have stopped.’ She added reasonably, ‘I could have caught the bus—’

  ‘For God’s sake, stop harping on the bus, Henrietta.’

  After a couple of minutes of heavy silence he said, ‘All right, I know I’m in a bad temper; take no notice.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t going to,’ she told him kindly. ‘We all have our bad days.’

  ‘You more than most.’

  ‘Well, yes, perhaps, but not any more. I’m very happy now, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough—’ His irritable grunt stopped her. It was strange, but seeing him so testy made her feel uneasy. Something must have upset him badly...

  Presently he asked her, ‘What are you going to do with your day? Shopping?’

  ‘Yes, I do need quite a lot of things.’ They were on the outskirts of Thaxted and he slowed the car, not speaking again until he drew up in the main street.

  ‘Don’t get out,’ said Henrietta. ‘You’re late—you said so. Thank you for the lift, Mr Ross-Pitt.’

  He closed the door, lifted a hand and drove away. A bit rude, reflected Henrietta; not like him; he must be sickening for something.

  Mr Ross-Pitt, racing towards London, would have been amused at that; he never sickened for anything. He had behaved badly, he mused; Henrietta hadn’t deserved his ill-humoured remarks. He was, had she but known it, suffering from a surfeit of Deirdre’s company.

  Henrietta made for the shops, very certain about what she needed to buy. She wasn’t going to be hurried; to spend so much money all at once was a serious matter and needed thought. She found the shop that Mrs Pettifer had recommended and bought a navy jersey jacket and skirt, mindful of that lady’s words. She didn’t think she looked her best in dark blue, and she was right, but she consoled herself by buying two blouses—one floral in muted pastel shades, and a navy and white striped one, with a neat little bow at the neck.

  Pleased with her purchases, she went in search of shoes and was lucky enough to find a pair of plain black court shoes, half price in a closing-down sale, and that left enough money for a little velvet hat with a soft brim—navy blue again, but it was a useful colour.

  There was very little money left now; she had a cup of coffee, bought stockings and some cheap gloves, and then spent the rest of the morning inspecting the shops, deciding what she would buy the following week. A raincoat, she decided—she hadn’t enough money for a winter coat—and the week after that she would stock up with coloured sweaters, and the week after that... The list was never-ending...she wouldn’t be able to save much for several months, but once she had some decent clothes she would save every penny.

  By dint of eating an economical lunch, she had enough money to go to a chemist and purchase face cream and powder, shampoo and a lipstick. It was still early afternoon, so she went and sat in the church for a while before having a cup of tea in an Olde Worlde tea shop—all cretonne and with tables too large for one and too small for two—but the tea came in an elegant teapot, the china was pretty and the scones and butter were delicious.

  She caught the bus back then and, since Mrs Pettifer wasn’t at the lodge, set the table for their supper. She went into the garden with Dickens and Ollie, and then went upstairs, the cats with her, to inspect her purchases.

  She showed them to Mrs Pettifer when she returned presently, and was pleased to see that she approved of them. ‘I thought I’d buy something new each week,’ she said.

  Mrs Pettifer thought that that would be just as well; Henrietta was always as neat as a new pin, and she wore her shabby clothes with an air, but all the same she would be able to tell Lady Hensen that next time Henrietta was called upon to appear amongst her guests she would be suitably dressed.

  ‘Not that I mind,’ Lady Hensen had declared, ‘but there are those who would make a joke of her, and I won’t have that! You think she would do as a guide?’ she had asked.

  ‘Yes, I do. She’ll need to learn about the place, of course, but she’s quick and intelligent, even if she isn’t much to look at.’

  Lady Hensen had laughed. ‘Mike thinks she’s a jolie laide with beautiful eyes. He’s very taken with her. Not seriously, of course!’

  Mrs Pettifer, discretion itself, had had nothing to say to this. Mr Mike was a nice enough young man, but careless and selfish and self-indulgent. It would amuse him to captivate Henrietta, who anyone could see knew very little about the world, and moreover would give her heart to anyone who wanted it. She had lacked love all the years of her life and was more than ready to offer it to anyone who showed the least inclination to need it.

  She and Henrietta finished their supper, and as they washed up together Mrs Pettifer said carefully, ‘Have you any idea that you might have some family somewhere?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I can remember Grandmother and Grandfather, but I don’t think there was anyone else. Anyway, it’s all so long ago that even if I had cousins or aunts and uncles I wouldn’t know them, would I? And I’m sure they wouldn’t want to know me.’ She reiterated, ‘I’m really very happy, Mrs Pettifer.’

  Always, though, at the back of her mind, was the image of Mr Ross-Pitt’s handsome face. Try as she would, she found it impossible to relegate him to a past best forgotten.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WINTER WAS GIVING way reluctantly to spring. The sky, for so long uniformly gr
ey, became for long periods a pale, washed-out blue and the sun shone with a tepid warmth. It rained a good deal, of course, but Henrietta, now the owner of a raincoat and a matching hat, didn’t care.

  Over the next couple of weeks she used her day off to good effect, adding to her wardrobe garments which would stand her in good stead for some time to come. She had been tempted once or twice to eschew these sensible clothes for something colourful and bearing the hallmarks of the latest fashion, but common sense warned her that, delightful though it was, a little pink wool jacket with its matching pleated skirt would look out of date in a year’s time and she would have to wear it for a good deal longer than that.

  She bought a beige jacket instead, long enough to pass for a winter coat and guaranteed to be unnoticeable for years to come. A pity Mr Ross-Pitt couldn’t see her now, she thought wistfully as she tried it on, and dismissed the thought as useless. He might live in the same village but they never met. She saw him in church on Sundays, but only from the back, and she slipped away before the rest of the congregation had gathered up their gloves and hymn-books.

  It was Mike Hensen who saw her from time to time; he was staying at the house, apparently on holiday. He had developed a habit of strolling around inspecting the public rooms which Mrs Pettifer, almost always aided by Henrietta, was getting ready for the expected flow of tourists around Easter.

  There was a great deal to do—pictures to take down and dust and examine for repairs, great chandeliers to take to pieces, and each crystal drop to be carefully washed and dried and rehung, candelabra to be treated with the same delicacy, curtains to be taken down and examined for repairs and cleaning. Some of the ladies from the village came in to help, and Henrietta, for the first time in her life handling beautiful furniture and ornaments, loved every moment of the work.

  She hardly noticed that Mike Hensen was often close by, watching her. Once or twice, when she had climbed a stepladder to reach a picture or ornament, she had found him steadying it for her, and she had thanked him politely and replied in her friendly way when he had made some joking remark, but she hadn’t time to waste on idle chat; Mrs Pettifer, although kindness itself, expected her to work for her wages.

  Mike was intrigued by her lack of interest in him. Women liked him—he was good-looking, well mannered and an amusing companion—but this rather drab girl was impervious to his charm. He was killing time before joining friends on a trip to India and he was getting bored; it might be amusing to coax the girl to fall in love with him... He would have to be discreet, of course, and that dragon Mrs Pettifer mustn’t suspect.

  It was pure chance that he happened to be in the village pub one Tuesday when Henrietta walked briskly by, making for the other end of the village. He finished his pint and then followed her in a leisurely fashion. He was surprised when she turned down the lane close to Mr Ross-Pitt’s house, and waited until she was crossing the field beyond. There was nothing much beyond that, he knew—only a handful of cottages, and he could reach those by going the long way round and joining the lane half a mile away.

  So it was that when he came upon her at Mrs Tibbs’ door he was able to look surprised. ‘Henrietta—are you enjoying a day off?’ Then before she could answer him Mrs Tibbs came to the door.

  ‘Come in,’ she said at once, and then added, ‘Mr Mike Hensen, isn’t it? Out walking, are you?’

  She looked from him to Henrietta with smiling curiosity.

  ‘I don’t know about Henrietta, but I’ve been hiking around for quite a time. I was hoping that you’d give me a cup of tea.’

  Mrs Tibbs was charmed. A pity, he thought sourly, that it wasn’t Henrietta, who merely looked faintly annoyed.

  ‘Of course. Perhaps you’d share a pot? And I’ve baked some of those little cakes you liked last time, Henrietta, if you wouldn’t mind?’

  Henrietta had been looking forward to a half an hour’s gentle gossip with Mrs Tibbs, but she hid her disappointment and said that no, she didn’t mind in the least, and sat down at one of the little tables in Mrs Tibbs’ crowded front room.

  Mike sat down too, saying easily, ‘This is kind of you—I don’t think many people know about Mrs Tibbs...’ He began to talk in a casually friendly way—the weather, the country around them, amusing little stories about the tourists—and never one question did he ask of her or probe her own life with.

  He watched with satisfaction as she slowly lost her shyness and uncertainty about him, and when they had finished their tea it seemed quite natural for him to walk with her.

  He said, ‘If you care to, I can show you a rather nice alternative route back to the other end of the village. It makes a change—you came down the lane, I dare say? This way takes a bit longer, but it’s such a nice afternoon that it seems a pity to hurry back.’

  He talked of this and that as they walked, and Henrietta found herself enjoying his company. Though she had had very little to do with young men—the children’s home had certainly not encouraged such friends—and although she had got on well with those she’d met at the hospital, none of them—the young men—had shown any inclination to get to know her better. This was something that she had accepted in her sensible way, but Mr Hensen—she refused to call him Mike—had made her realise how pleasant it was to spend time in the company of a man of her own age—one who laughed and joked and didn’t ask questions.

  They gained the village high street and paused outside the village shop. ‘Thank you for my tea,’ said Henrietta. ‘I enjoyed the walk too.’ She smiled at him, and Mr Ross-Pitt, driving himself home after a particularly trying outpatients clinic, saw the smile.

  He drove past them with a casual wave and without smiling. Henrietta, pink with the pleasure of seeing him, swallowed her disappointment. She quite understood that for him to stop and speak to her was unlikely, but he could have smiled.

  Mike Hensen, watching her face, smiled to himself too. It would amuse him to turn her attention to himself and away from Adam Ross-Pitt—a man he didn’t like overmuch; few people saw through Mike’s apparent charm and good nature—Adam was one of them. He was sure that Adam had no interest in Henrietta other than that of someone who had given her a helping hand, but all the same...

  Mike nodded goodbye and walked away, and Henrietta went to the shop to buy toothpaste and soap and the chocolate mints that Mrs Pettifer liked.

  * * *

  IT WAS ON Sunday morning as she left the church that Henrietta came face to face with Mr Ross-Pitt. He had overtaken her easily enough as she crossed the churchyard to go out by the little wicket-gate at one side of it, and his hand on her arm pulled her up short.

  He didn’t bother with good morning. ‘Avoiding me?’ he asked.

  And he smiled at her breathless, ‘Good morning, Mr Ross-Pitt. No, of course not.’

  He fell into step beside her. ‘Good. Are you still quite happy working for Lady Hensen?’

  ‘Yes. Oh, yes, thank you. It’s... You have no idea...everyone is so kind...’ As she spoke she realised that even if she had been unhappy she would never have told him; he had gone to a great deal of trouble to find her a job, and the least she could have done would have been to tell him how happy she was.

  It was nice to be able to tell him the truth. She was happy; her days were long, and she had no time to herself until the evening, but she had money in her purse now and new clothes. She was thankful that she was wearing the beige jacket and the velvet hat and her new shoes.

  She asked him, ‘Have you been busy at the hospital? You must be glad to have a quiet day here.’

  ‘Indeed.’ He smiled down at her. ‘I’m almost always busy, but I must admit that I don’t care for London. Coming back here at the end of the day is always a pleasure.’

  She was anxious to be at her ease. ‘How is Watson?’

  ‘In splendid condition. Dickens and Ollie—are they nicel
y settled in?’

  ‘Yes, Ollie has grown and Dickens has become quite handsome.’ They had reached the gates to the manor and she paused. ‘It is nice to see you again, Mr Ross-Pitt.’ She held out a hand. ‘I’m going back by the back drive; we don’t use this front drive.’

  ‘In that case I’ll walk with you; I’m lunching with the Hensens and I’m early.’

  She was aware of delight welling up her insides. They could never be friends, of course, but just to see him and speak to him made her feel happy and content. She longed to ask him about Miss Stone; the kitchen had it that he would marry her, but that had been gossip. All the same, she wished that she knew. If I knew, thought Henrietta, I would be able to stop thinking about him.

  Mr Ross-Pitt was saying something. ‘I dare say that you have discovered some of the walks around the village.’

  She answered readily, ‘Oh, yes. There’s a cottage I go to sometimes on my day off—Mrs Tibbs; she has a tearoom by the lane on the other side of the fields beyond your house. Now I’ve found another way to it—at least, I met Mr Mike Hensen last time I went there and he showed me. He knows the country around here very well, he said.’

  ‘A very pleasant companion,’ agreed Mr Ross-Pitt mildly. ‘It is nice that you have met someone of your own age.’

  She was quite shocked. ‘Oh, we’re not friends. I mean, he’s family, isn’t he? I’m one of the domestic staff. We—don’t mix.’

  ‘What a good thing that I’m not one of the family,’ observed Mr Ross-Pitt gravely.

  She looked at him uncertainly, then decided that he was joking and smiled. ‘Yes, isn’t it.’ And she added thoughtfully, ‘Do you suppose it wouldn’t do if I were to meet Mr Hensen—by accident, of course—and he stopped to speak to me?’

  ‘I presume that Mike stops to speak to anyone in the village; there is no reason why he shouldn’t pass the time of day with you, Henrietta.’

  ‘But not go walking?’

  ‘Perhaps not, but that is for you to decide. You see,’ he added gently, ‘the other staff at the house might resent it.’