The Hostage Heart

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  “Mrs Grainger, have you seen Poppy?” he began, and then saw Emma, and frowned. It seemed, she thought resignedly, his natural reaction to her “Ah, Miss Ruskin. You’re here, are you?” His voice sounded cool and disapproving. “I was wondering where you were. I went up to the schoolroom, expecting to find you there, but of course it was empty.”

  Checking up on me, she thought indignantly. She stood up. “We were having our morning break, Mr Akroyd,” she said with dignity, “but I was just about to go back. Poppy’s through there looking at the kittens.”

  Gavin’s face seemed to flush slightly – with anger, Emma decided. “Don’t let me drive you away,” he said. “I’m surprised to see you here, but what you do during your break is your own affair.”

  She thought he was being sarcastic. “Our break is over, Mr Akroyd,” she said stiffly. “It’s time we got back to work. Thank you for the tea, Mrs Grainger.” And without waiting for any further comment she made her escape, bristling indignantly, through the door Poppy had taken before her.

  She always had breakfast, lunch and tea with Poppy in the day nursery, but dinner was taken with the family. It wasn’t a very cheery meal, but at least she got to chat to Mrs Henderson, who could usually be relied on to be sociable.

  On this particular evening Mr Akroyd was absent, and Gavin took his place at the end of the table. Lady Susan was silent as usual until about half way through the meal, when she suddenly laid down her fork and addressed Emma out of the blue, cutting across a rather rambling account Mrs Henderson was giving of some alterations to the gardens.

  “I understand that you took Arabella down to the kitchen this morning.”

  Emma looked at her, surprised, and just managed not to say, “What, me?” Instead she said, “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I should be glad, Miss Ruskin,” Lady Susan said with something approaching animation, “if you would never do such a thing again.” Her eyes were fixed on a spot somewhere beyond Emma’s left shoulder. Emma felt her blood rise. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Gavin eating steadily with his head bent over his plate, his whole attitude redolent of guilt. Oh, I see, so that’s what this is about, she thought. Sneak! Tell tale! Getting his mother to do his dirty work, is he?

  “May I ask why?” Emma asked, her voice rising a little with resentment.

  Lady Susan’s eyes brows went up. Clearly she was not used to being questioned. “Because I don’t wish her to be there. She is too fond of associating with the servants as it is. She must not be encouraged by you. That is all.”

  Emma had never heard anything so archaic. “I see. You think she’ll be corrupted, or pick up bad habits, I suppose?”

  Lady Susan was so astonished at Emma’s answering back that she actually looked directly at her for an instant. But she spoke in the same, languid tone as always. “I will not be questioned in this way, Miss Ruskin. You will adhere to the rules I lay down concerning my daughter’s upbringing, or you will seek another position.”

  Emma opened her mouth to say she would do just that, when she caught Mrs Henderson’s anxious eye across the table. The housekeeper gave her a pleading look and a little shake of the head; and Emma thought of Poppy, and how the little girl needed her, and knew she must not sacrifice her for the sake of her own temper. So she swallowed her retort and bent her head to her plate instead, and forked in some food to prevent herself from speaking.

  In the silence she heard Gavin clear his throat, but it was Mrs Henderson who spoke, reverting to the broken topic of gardens, and so the meal passed on.

  As they were walking out from the dining-room later, Mrs Henderson said to Emma with an attempt at cheerfulness, “What are you going to do this evening?”

  Get out of this house for a bit, at the very least, Emma thought; but she phrased it more politely. “Oh, I thought I’d go out for a walk, see a bit of the neighbourhood. I haven’t set foot outside the park since I arrived here.”

  “What a good idea,” Mrs Henderson said. “Are you heading anywhere in particular?”

  Emma hadn’t actually thought, but she said now, more or less at random, “I think I’ll go down to the village and have a drink at the pub.”

  She hadn’t realised Gavin was right behind her until he said, before Mrs Henderson could speak, “I’d rather you didn’t do that.”

  It was the wrong way to put it, for the mood Emma was in. She turned, bristling. “And why not, may I ask?”

  His face was grave. “It’s not a very nice place,” he said.

  “Not very nice?” she repeated coldly. Like the kitchen, she supposed.

  “It’s rough. It’s not suitable for someone like you.”

  Contamination of members of the household by the lower classes: that’s what he was afraid of, the beastly snob! “You forget,” she said, poison-sweet, “that I come from Hoxton. I expect it will seem nice enough to me.”

  “I doubt it,” he said coldly. “Anyway, I would prefer you not to go anywhere near it.” He said ‘prefer’, but the tone was a tone of command.

  “Really, my dear,” Mrs Henderson jumped in as Emma drew breath to answer, “I think perhaps you’d better give the pub a miss. I tell you what, why not stay in tonight, and tomorrow evening early, go in to Cambridge on the train? You could go to the theatre or a movie and have supper there – there are some nice restaurants and bistros. Much more suitable.”

  Emma didn’t want to have a row with Mrs Henderson, who was only trying to keep the peace, so she just said, “Very well,” and left them, going up to her room. But inwardly she was seething. Did they think they owned her body and soul, just because they paid her wages? They didn’t want their precious child’s governess mixing with the lower classes – or their precious child mixing with servants, either. Really, these people! What world did they live in? Then she caught sight of her expression in the mirror, and laughed, her brow clearing. If she stayed here long she’d become as left-wing as Suzanne!

  All the same, she wasn’t going to be dictated to. If she wanted to go to the pub for a drink she’d go. She changed into slacks, put on her coat, took her handbag, and went out; down the backstairs to avoid bumping into anyone, and across the back hall. The evening was fine, and it was still light, and though it was a long walk into the village, she was glad to be out, and enjoyed the fresh air and the smells of grass and earth and evening dew.

  By the time she reached the village, she was ready for a drink – and a sit down: country distances somehow seemed further than town ones. The pub, called the Dog and Duck, looked picturesque from a distance, a cob cottage with a thatched roof and crooked mullion windows, and there was a group of cheerful locals standing outside enjoying their evening ale al fresco. As she came closer, however, she found her enthusiasm waning a little. The place had a definite air of seediness about it: paint was falling off it in chunks, the thatch was infested with weeds, and the tarmac surrounding it was full of holes. Pop music was blaring out of the open door, and the men standing outside were not genial, ruddy-faced farm lads off the set of a BBC costume drama, but a bunch of scruffy and extremely disagreeable-looking youths such as might be found hanging about any inner-city street corner – or, these days, the centre of any rural town.

  They were watching her approach, and with the emptiness of the dark countryside behind her, she began to feel very exposed, and to realise how conspicuous she must look to them. The Dog and Duck did not look like the kind of pub a lone female would enter for fun; indeed, she wondered whether in this benighted place women ever went out alone. The youths were obviously talking about her, making remarks which she couldn’t quite hear, but which made them laugh raucously amongst themselves.

  Her footsteps slowed. Part of her wanted to turn tail and run, another part could not bear to be thwarted of her legitimate desires by a bunch of brainless yobs.

  “’Ello, darlin’, ’ow about a drink, then?” one of them called to her. She said nothing, but her heart sank, and her footsteps slowed sti
ll further.

  “You out on your own?” another asked. “Ain’t you scared, goin’ about on yer own on a dark night like this?”

  “Ne’ mind, we’ll look after yer, won’t we?”

  They all giggled and shoved each other, but their eyes were predatory.

  “Well, say summink, can’t yer? Wojjer want to drink, then?”

  “She don’t want to ’ave one wiv you – do yer, darlin’? She fancies me, dun’t she. Come an’ ’ave one wiv me.”

  “Nah, she don’t mind – she’ll ’ave one wiv all of us – won’t yer, love?”

  They roared with laughter at that, but they had drawn closer together and were now blocking the entrance to the pub, so that if she did want to go in, she would have to push past them, or ask them to move. Instinctively she knew that in either case, they would not let her by, and physical jostling would follow, which was what they wanted. They were five and she was one, and they had absolute belief that they could do anything they wanted, and no-one could touch them for it.

  But if she walked on past the pub, they might follow her. They must know by now that the pub was where she had been heading. If she walked by, they would know they had scared her, and would be elated by their power over her, and would certainly follow. And where else could she go? The few buildings nearby were in darkness. If they followed her into the darkness and caught her … She must go into the pub, even if it meant shoving past them, fighting her way in. Inside there would be a landlord and a telephone. It was her only chance of safety.

  But while she had hesitated, they had grown in confidence. They were moving towards her now. They meant to keep her out of the pub, then. She began to feel really afraid. Would anyone inside hear if she screamed – or pay any attention if they heard? Would it make the yobs more or less likely to do her harm? She swallowed and licked her lips, searching for something to say to turn the situation, as they inched nearer, their eyes seeming to glitter like animals’ eyes in the dark.

  And then the sound of a car engine broke the tableau, the gutteral roar of a twin-exhaust sports car approaching at speed. The eyes flickered away from her for an instant; then headlights swung round the corner and washed over the pub façade, and the yobs ducked a little and put their hands up to shield their eyes from the dazzle. Emma turned, hardly daring to hope: but yes, it was Gavin’s car, and it pulled up beside her with a squeal.

  “Get in,” he said tersely, leaning over to open the passenger-side door.

  She didn’t argue. She hurried round to the other side and got in, aware of the derisive hoots of the disappointed pack. Gavin barely waited for her to shut the door before gunning the engine, performing a tight and violent u-turn, and speeding away down the road. Emma was flung about, jerked backwards in her seat, and now had her hair blown forwards into her eyes.

  “Do you have to drive like this?” she protested; but turning to look at him, she saw that he did. His lips were grimly closed, his nostrils taut and arching with fury. If he didn’t take it out on the road, she thought, he’d probably take it out on her.

  Then he did anyway. The words burst out of him like a major dam being breached. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? I told you not to go to the pub! Did you think I was talking to myself?”

  In the relief of being rescued, her own anger revived. “I don’t see what business it is of yours where I go in my free time!” she retorted.

  “Of course it’s my business! In my father’s absence I’m responsible for everybody in the house, even if it means protecting them from themselves! What d’you mean by prancing about the countryside in the dark like that? And going to the pub? Good God, Zara gives me worries enough, but even she knows better than that!”

  This interesting reference passed Emma by in her fury. “I am not your sister, and I can take care of myself, thank you very much!”

  “Oh, that’s very evident! What did you intend doing about that gang of yobs? Wrestle them to the ground single-handed? I suppose you’ve got a black belt in karate you haven’t told us about? Don’t you know what would have happened if I hadn’t turned up when I did?”

  A slight tremble in his voice on the last words made her wonder if he had been really worried about her, as opposed to merely miffed that she had disobeyed him. Together with the realisation that he had rescued her from a horrid fate, it softened her a little.

  “Look,” she began in a more reasonable tone.

  But he was not yet ready to be reasonable. “You were told not to go out. You were told the pub was rough. Yet you still went there. Are you stupid, or just infantile?”

  Her anger flared again. “You told me, yes! You’re very good at telling people what to do! You know all about what’s suitable and what isn’t. Maybe if you’d tried talking to me instead of issuing orders, I might not have assumed that it was just another example of your beastly snobbery!”

  As soon as the words were out she trembled for her own rudeness – not that she cared if he sacked her, but she would be letting Poppy down. But instead of being furious, he seemed only surprised.

  “Snobbery? But I’m not snobbish,” he said in a voice that sounded genuinely puzzled.

  “Not much, you’re not!” she retorted. “You forbade Poppy from talking to Mrs Grainger, who’s as kind a soul as I ever met, just because you didn’t want a sister of yours mixing with servants!”

  Her genuine grievance sounded clearly in her voice. Gavin threw a look sideways at her. “You don’t think I had anything to do with that, do you? That was my stepmother’s ban, not mine.”

  “But who put her up to it? You were the one who came in while we were there, and made it very clear you disapproved. You practically ordered me out of the kitchen.”

  To her surprise, Gavin stopped the car at the side of the road and turned to survey her thoughtfully. “No,” he said quietly “you’re quite wrong there. I wanted you to stay; I wanted to make conversation. But you were off like a scalded cat. I thought you disliked me so much you couldn’t bear to be in the same room with me.”

  Emma was thrown off balance. “Then who—?”

  “Who told my stepmother? I expect one of the maids mentioned it. But it was she who objected, not me, I assure you.”

  Emma couldn’t think of a thing to say. He seemed to be taking pains to justify himself to her – and when she had just falsely accused him of an ignoble sentiment. He studied her face in the moonlight filtering through the trees at the side of the road, and she stared back defiantly, feeling herself weakening.

  “So that’s what all this was about?” he said at last. “You were punishing me by ignoring my advice about going out. Well, I honour the intention, if not the method. Will you shake hands and call a truce? I was right about the pub, wasn’t I?”

  “Yes,” Emma said, and, determined to do the right thing if it killed her, she added, “I apologise for causing you trouble.”

  “I apologise too,” he said.

  “For what?”

  In the dark he reached for her hand, and as his warm fingers closed round hers, the sensation made her start, and then almost tremble. He was very close to her in the confines of the car, and she felt his presence like a kind of radiation, as though she had come within the range of a great fire.

  “For whatever I did to make you feel I wanted to drive you out of the kitchen. I assure you it was quite the opposite. I would have liked to talk to you, but—”

  They looked at each other for a long moment, and Emma suddenly knew with absolute certainty that he was going to kiss her. The tension of the moment made all her nerve-endings tingle, and she found herself leaning towards him, everything inside her fluttering with anticipation. Her eyes began to close as his face came nearer, nearer; she could smell the fresh tang of his aftershave, and underneath it, the warm scent of his skin …

  And then there was a roar, a blaze of light, the howl of a horn, and a car flashed past them at high speed, the headlight beams throwing the trees and hedges suddenl
y up into sharp relief, unreal, like a theatre backdrop. The wind of passing blatted briefly against the Elan, rocking it, and then swirled away with a scutter of leaves and grit as the car disappeared round the bend with a wag of its red tail-lights.

  Gavin had dropped her hand, startled; and now did not reach for it again. The mood was broken. He re-started the car and drove on in silence. It was not exactly an unfriendly silence, but it was an awkward one. Emma could not think of anything to say to break it, and in the renewed tension she began to wonder if she had been mistaken in thinking he wanted to kiss her. That made her feel uneasy and embarrassed. She had made a big enough fool of herself over the pub; she didn’t want to add to it by assuming more wrong and silly things about Gavin.

  When they reached the house he stopped at the front to let her out, and she said quickly, “Well, thanks for the lift. Goodnight,” and got out before he could say anything. She hurried up the steps, aware that he was sitting there watching her go. What was he thinking? Did he guess what she had expected and feel contempt for her because of it? Or had she just snubbed him again? She wondered what it was about Mr Gavin Akroyd, and whether she would ever manage to get her behaviour towards him right.

  Chapter Eight

  Over the next few days Emma found herself thinking more often than she was comfortable with about Gavin. Her mind continually strayed to the drive home, going over and over the words that were spoken, trying to recapture his tone of voice and expression. Most of all she kept thinking about that electrifying moment when she had been sure he was going to kiss her. Had it been pure imagination on her part? The more she thought about it the less she could be sure. Was it just wishful thinking? Maybe she had made a monumental fool of herself. Most likely he didn’t think of her at all. She was just an employee, and a rather troublesome one at that.

  But he had been worried about her. Surely that meant something? The tendency of her questions to herself made her realise that whatever his feelings, she was attracted to him. Maybe it was just because, shut up here in the house miles from anywhere, he was the only male within reach, and she had to be interested in somebody? Well, that was possible; but whatever the cause, she found herself looking forward more each day to the evening meal, the one time she might see him. Every evening she dressed herself with care, feeling that pleasant flutter of anticipation as she walked downstairs towards the drawing-room. And every evening there was the same disappointment. Gavin behaved towards her exactly as always, with calm, unemotional politeness. He joined in the conversation between her and Mrs Henderson, looked at her no more or less than before, called her, when he called her anything, Miss Ruskin. She might tell herself that there was a little more warmth in his eyes than before, but she could not be sure.