by Susan Barrie
Frederica realised that this was her moment.
“Then hadn’t you better let me drive you?” she suggested quietly.
He appeared to recoil at the suggestion.
“And risk losing my life amongst other things?”
“I’m not as bad a driver as all that,” she protested in the same quiet voice, but with a gentle note of rebuke in it this time.
He directed at her rather a quizzical look, and then agreed to the change-over.
Once the Daimler was running smoothly again, and Humphrey Lestrode gave the impression of being reasonably relaxed in his seat, Frederica put to him rather a direct question considering she had no right to put questions to him at all.
“What was the cause of your accident, Mr. Lestrode?”
For an instant his eyes twinkled—and she had decided by this time that they were really rather peculiar eyes, at one moment grey and the next almost black—as he made his admission.
“I had a head-on collision when I was driving a Continental sports car. I should have been killed, but by some strange freak I wasn’t even badly hurt. My arm was injured, and the driver of the other car received concussion. But we both survived.”
Her eyes met his in the driving-mirror.
“And your arm still plays you up?”
“It does sometimes, particularly in wet weather. It wasn’t exactly playing me up today, but I thought I’d better find out what you can really do when you’re in charge of a car ... and despite the weight of this one I think you’re managing pretty well!”
“Thank you,” she breathed, in a husky whisper. She set him down outside the main door of the Hall. He repeated the compliment he had already paid her, and added that on the whole he thought she was quite an efficient driver.
His eyes gleamed at her whimsically as he stood at the foot of the flight of steps leading up to the impressive front door and studied her through the open window of the car.
“But I’ll confess I feel strange being driven by a chit of a thing like you,” he admitted. “There’s so little of you that I suggest you prop yourself up with cushions in future.”
She answered eagerly:
“I could do with a cushion behind my back, I think, otherwise it’s a bit difficult to reach the gears.” But her eyes were glowing at him as if they were constructed of light green water made radiant by sunshine. “Does this mean that you’re going to continue to let me drive you, Mr. Lestrode—sir?”
“You can cut out the ‘sir’.” He spoke shortly. “And I suppose I’ll have to let you drive me since I’ve got to pay you a salary—and apparently support that family of yours! But I warn you,” bending down to peer at her through the window, “I shall expect a lot in return for the amount I pay you! You will not simply have to drive me, you’ll have to look after the cars, and if that means getting yourself smothered in grease and oil I can’t help it! You’ve elected to call yourself a chauffeur—or a chauffeuse, if there is such a word any longer!—and I don’t expect to employ a chauffeur and pay garage bills at the same time—not unreasonable garage bills, anyway. Care and maintenance is your province, and if you try to shirk your duties I shall fire you!—With or without Robert Rawlinson’s permission!”
She dimpled demurely, and her eyes continued to make him feel slightly dazzled by their uncanny brilliance.
“I understand perfectly, Mr. Lestrode.”
He looked grim all at once, and brought her down to earth with a thud.
“And now you’d better go and inspect that cottage your mother appears to have earmarked, and get it ready for her and your sister’s occupation. Not that they’ll be able to occupy it tonight ... I believe it’s in a bit of a mess. But between you you’ll probably be able to fix things up, and I’ve no doubt Lucille will help you. In the meantime,” he added, “you’d better make some provision for them at the local inn ... the Black Bull. I believe they’ve got two or three rooms they let to visitors during the summer, and as it’s not summer yet they should be able to cope with this sudden influx.”
Frederica, whose voice always grew very husky when she was moved by some strong emotion, or feeling under an obligation—and on this occasion she was the victim of both sentiments—tried to convey to him how deeply appreciative she felt. “You’re being so—so extraordinarily kind...”
“I assure you,” he told her almost coldly, “I’m not kind. But I’ve never met anyone quite like you before—and I’m dreading the thought of meeting your nearest and dearest relatives. Get cracking, Fred!” he added with sudden crispness. “And be sure to lock the garage doors once you’ve put the car away!”
“I will, sir,” Frederica promised, and drove off in an exemplary manner with an utterly radiant face.
Her mother and Rosaleen arrived two hours later. She had barely put the car away and received a smiling welcome back from Lucille than a telegram was received which indicated that Mrs. Wells and her other daughter had left London by a train which must have been actually on its way while Frederica was sitting on the platform at Greater Corsham and waiting for a train that would return her to London.
But for the sudden appearance of Humphrey Lestrode she would have passed her relatives about half way to London, and what exactly they would have done when they reached Little Corsham—which was the nearest village to Farthing Hall—and found that she had severed all connection with Mr. Lestrode she couldn’t think.
As it was, she telephoned the Black Bull and asked whether a reservation had been made for her family, and learned that it had. Later she discovered that Mr. Rawlinson had put himself out sufficiently to make the reservation, but Electra when she arrived seemed to think this perfectly natural.
“My dear, I’ve known him for years ... although of course I hadn’t seen him for years until the other day,” she admitted when Frederica at last arrived at the Black Bull, Mr. Lestrode having given her permission to use the Bentley for the purpose.
She had taken possession of a very comfortable double bedroom, while Rosaleen was digging herself in to the other principal room of the hotel. Her cases —and she seemed to have brought everything with her—were unpacked and the contents scattered about the room, and Electra herself, in a ravishing house-gown that she had picked up during the January sales at a very select West End boutique, was ensconced comfortably in a chair with her feet on another, while an electric fire helped to dissipate the chill of the spring evening, and smoking a cigarette in a long jade holder.
She looked entrancingly attractive and as fresh as a daisy after her journey, and delighted to be where she was.
“Darling, it’s such an adorable village, and the landlord of this hotel has gone out of his way to make us comfortable. I’ve told him, of course, that we shall be moving into your cottage in a few days, but for the time being we’ve got nothing to complain of where we are.”
Frederica gaped at her. For several seconds she found it difficult to know what to say to her mother. Then the words came with a rush.
“But, Mother, I haven’t even seen the cottage yet, and for all I know there just won’t be room for the three of us. And Mr. Lestrode wasn’t at all happy about engaging me ... a woman! And as a matter of fact I wasn’t going to stay ... I wasn’t going to be allowed to stay!”
“Oh, come now, darling,” Electra protested, beaming at her complacently, “we all know you’re a wonderful driver, and Mr. Rawlinson—Robert as I always called him!—impressed upon me the fact that Mr. Lestrode is a charming man, and even if you didn’t suit as a chauffeuse he’d find you something else to do. Robert refused to let me believe otherwise ... and that’s why we came! I paid that awful woman in the basement who owns the flat two weeks’ rent instead of one, I was so glad to get away, and just packed up our things and called a taxi.”
“And what,” Frederica enquired a trifle hollowly, “will you use for money? To settle the bill here, I mean!”
Electra continued to be completely complacent. “I do wish you didn’t
allow money to become an obsession with you, Frederica,” she rebuked her gently. “It’s a vulgar commodity, anyway. But if you must know how I come to be temporarily in funds I borrowed a little something from Robert, and I also sold one or two pieces of my jewellery. You remember that diamond scarf brooch my Great-Aunt Ursula gave to me...? And the necklace of garnets and the ruby ring dear old Aunt Catherine left to you in her will? Well, I disposed of those ... most advantageously as it turned out, because I happened to know the man in the jewellers quite well—”
But Frederica was staring at her in horror. “You borrowed money from—from Mr. Rawlinson?” she demanded in a slightly cracked voice.
“Yes, darling, but not very much.” She dismissed the amount with a wave of her hand. “And I didn’t feel at all bad about it because he was such a very close friend at one time, and as a matter of fact I didn’t have to ask him for a loan. He offered it!”
“I don’t believe it,” Frederica declared in a very flat voice this time. “And if it’s true then I wonder you weren’t insulted!”
Electra’s ripe lips curved with amusement, and her delightful dark eyes gleamed with it.
“You poor sweet!” she exclaimed. “As if anyone is ever insulted when someone offers to write out a cheque. And I shall pay it back, of course,” she vowed. “I shall make it my business to pay it back as quickly as possible.”
“How?” Frederica enquired.
Her mother began to look petulant.
“Darling, I have my allowance, small though it is, and that horrid brother of your father’s insists on keeping it. But it is my allowance, and when you’re not working we do manage to subsist on it.”
The door opened and Rosaleen came in, fresh from a bath and already dressed for the evening. Disapprove of her though she often did, Frederica also took a kind of delight in her sister’s appearance, and tonight she was looking at her best, and obviously wearing a new dress—one Frederica, at any rate, hadn’t seen before. It was a slim little black number that made her skin look entrancingly fair; and with it she wore a row of pearls that would have fetched quite a large sum if they had been offered for sale, fragile gold shoes that matched the gold embroidery on the hem of the dress, and a plain gold slave bracelet that had been her last birthday present from her godmother, a woman who could afford such presents.
“Why are you all dressed up like that?” Frederica asked, once admiration for her sister had been replaced with dismay.
“To give the landlord a treat.” Rosaleen dimpled at her, and her dark blue eyes shone wickedly, gaily. “As well as any other man who happens to be staying at the Black Bull at the moment ... although I must say that so far I haven’t glimpsed anyone really promising-looking. However, one can never tell, and sometimes they book in late, for dinner and just one night. This could be one of those nights,” and her little teeth gleamed.
Frederica hardly knew how to answer her, and her mother spoke critically.
“You look so hot, darling, and rather shiny—as if you’ve been lying under a car. Have you?”
Frederica shook her head.
“No, not yet. I’ve hardly handled the cars as yet.”
“Cars?” Rosaleen spoke up eagerly. “How many?”
“Two—a Daimler and a Bentley.”
This time it was Rosaleen who looked critical. “A pity,” she remarked. “I would have thought your boss, since he’s obviously pretty rich and apparently still quite young, would have had a Porsche or a Mercedes tucked away in one of his garages. By the way, how big and attractive is Farthing Hall?”
“Fairly big, and extremely attractive.”
“Are you going to like working there?”
“I don’t know.”
“When are we going to see the cottage?”
“I don’t know. Tomorrow, perhaps. Yes; I expect tomorrow.”
She rose, feeling suddenly very tired as if she had done a really gruelling day’s work, and as deflated as a burst tyre. Her mother and sister always had the effect of making her feel just a little unable to cope ... and tonight they made her feel not only unable to cope but rather acutely alarmed. They had installed themselves at the inn on borrowed money, and neither of them had the least idea that their conduct was outrageous. It was bad enough for a girl to have to take up a job that many people regarded as a man’s job, and to satisfy a new employer. But to have to inflict her family on him as well, and know perfectly well that Electra was capable, if the need arose, of asking him for an advance of salary on behalf of her daughter...
Well, the very thought of that made Frederica’s knees feel weak.
“I must go now,” she said, making for the door. Vaguely she wondered whether it would be a good thing if she took Lucille into her confidence and asked her for her advice before all three of them became too involved. “I don’t know what my duties will be tomorrow, but I’ll telephone you some time during the morning and let you know how soon I can get hold of the keys of the cottage. Even if I don’t have time to look over it with you I’m sure you and Ros will be able to decide whether it’s really habitable, and how well our own bits and pieces will fit in there.”
She need not have worried. Mrs. Wells and Rosaleen had acquired the keys of the cottage and were being shown over it by the gardener—released temporarily from his duties for the purpose—while Frederica was working on the Bentley as her first chore of the day after breakfast, and giving it a brilliant shine with a mixture of elbow grease and special car polish that earned her a word of approval from her employer when he strolled round to the garage block.
“You’re doing well,” he said, eyes glued to the car and ignoring her. “So long as you remember that this is a daily routine and must never be skipped.”
“I will, sir,” Frederica promised earnestly. She pushed back a strand of her hair from her heated face, and hoped she wasn’t perspiring noticeably, for even the light make-up she wore would suffer if she was.
Humphrey Lestrode’s eyebrows lifted themselves quizzically as he condescended to notice her.
“You sound very dedicated,” he observed. “Are you really so fond of cars that you choose to work with them in preference to banging a typewriter, or some simple operation like that?”
“I like cars,” she replied briefly. And she added, “I can’t type.”
“And you fancy yourself taking part in the Monte Carlo Rally one of these days.”
“It’s possible.”
He smiled in a way that kept her neatly to size. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” he advised. “You don’t appear to me to be very robust, and you wouldn’t have enough stamina.”
“Have you never heard of mind over matter?” she enquired, while she gave the bonnet of the car an extra rub.
He smiled almost contemptuously.
“I have. But I’m a practical man. I’d advise you to be a practical young woman.”
He glanced at his watch.
“By the way, I understand that your family turned up at the Bull yesterday, lock, stock and barrel, and the gardener is at this moment showing them over the cottage that seems likely to become your home. You’d better run off and join them. It’s the old lodge-keeper’s cottage at the entrance to the drive, and in pretty poor shape, I understand. But perhaps we can do something about that.”
Frederica wiped her hands on an oily rag.
“Thank you, sir.”
Lestrode frowned.
“I’ve told you I don’t want to be referred to as ‘sir’. You can call me Mr. Lestrode, but not sir.”
“Very well, Mr. Lestrode.”
He glanced at his watch again.
“I want to be taken in to Greater Corsham at twelve o’clock. I’m lunching with a friend at the George, and you can get yourself a snack at a cafe while you wait for me. Until then you’re free ... but remember, twelve o’clock!”
“Yes, Mr. Lestrode.”
She found Electra studying the walls of the living-room at the cottage, and declaring th
at if they were to live in the place something would have to be done to render it less primitive. It wasn’t so much that it was in a bad state of repair, but the present colour schemes were atrocious, and of course there was neither a refrigerator nor a washing-machine in the kitchen.
“I can dispense with a washing-machine, but I simply can’t dispense with a fridge,” she avowed. “We can always send the sheets to the laundry, but I refuse to keep the butter in one of those horrible little outdoor safes that remind me of outdoor sanitation. She looked peevishly at her youngest daughter. “Where is Mr. Lestrode, and how soon are we going to see him? I would have thought he would have come down here and welcomed us as he’s your employer.”
Frederica simply asked “Why?” and waited for the answer.
Rosaleen supplied it ... Rosaleen in a new spring suit of fine blue wool—a blue that did the most amazing things for her eyes.
“I thought he was a gentleman, not a snob,” she answered almost viciously. “Mr. Rawlinson said he was absolutely certain he would understand our position and treat us accordingly, but he hasn’t even been on the telephone at the Bull to Mummy.”
“Don’t worry, dear,” Mrs. Wells reassured her in the same faintly waspish voice, and looking quite spectacularly elegant in navy blue linen with white accessories. “I shall telephone him myself later today. I shall put the position to him ... and of course I shall ask for a few improvements for this place, and if possible a slight increase in Frederica’s salary. It isn’t enough ... it isn’t nearly enough when she has to lie about under cars and makes me feel slightly uncomfortable by confronting me at this hour of the day with a shiny face and absolutely no make-up, to say nothing of marks of oil on that new primrose blouse I bought you only a few weeks ago—
“But, Mother,” Frederica protested, “I can always wear an overall—”
“So you can, and so you should,” a voice addressed her through the open window. “Overalls are a hall mark of efficiency, and we’ll certainly have to procure you some without delay.” He was staring very hard at Electra, who was staring back at him with—for once—a wild rush of colour staining her alabaster skin. “Good morning, Mrs. Wells! ... It is Mrs. Wells, isn’t it?”