by Betty Neels
He left soon after that and when she asked him if he would like to come again, agreed that he would. ‘But not for a few days,’ he told her. ‘I have some business to do, in Carlisle—friends I promised to look up for someone back home, but I’ll call and see you again when I get back.’
She watched him go with some regret; he had helped to pass the day, it had been pleasant to talk to someone and have company for lunch. She went along to the kitchen where Mrs Body was sitting in the shabby, comfortable armchair she had used ever since Mary Jane could remember, and asked that lady what she thought of their visitor.
‘He seems nice enough,’ said Mrs Body, ‘very friendly too. Is he coming again?’
‘He said he would.’ Mary Jane picked up one of the jam tarts the housekeeper had put to cool on the kitchen table and ate it.
‘You’ll get fat,’ declared Mrs Body, ‘picking and stealing between meals. Where’s he from?’
Mary Jane ate another tart and told her.
‘Why did he come?’
Mary Jane explained that too and then asked a little worriedly, ‘Don’t you like him, Mrs Body?’
‘I’ve no reason to dislike him, but I don’t know him, do I? I’m not quick to take a fancy to anyone.’
‘You liked Mr van der Blocq…’
‘That’s different. Now if you take Major for a quick walk, I’ll have tea ready by the time you get back.’
‘Let’s have it here,’ begged Mary Jane, and went off obediently with the dog.
Mervyn didn’t came for five days, during which time Mary Jane thought of him quite a lot while she busied herself about the house and the garden, writing letters to her friends at Pope’s and answering a long dramatic letter from Cousin Emma, who, it seemed, had quite recovered from her father’s death and was engaged in refurbishing her wardrobe—several pages were devoted to the outfits she had bought and intended to buy, to the exclusion of all other news. Fabian wasn’t mentioned, nor had he written. That he was a busy man, Mary Jane was well aware, but he could surely have telephoned? But that took time, especially if he needed every free minute he had in order to take pretty girls out…she was aware that she was being unfair to him, but he could have taken some notice. When she wrote her Christmas cards, she sent him one too, and although sorely tempted to put a note in with it, she didn’t do so.
She was in the kitchen helping Mrs Body and Lily with the Christmas puddings when Mervyn arrived. He apologised for disturbing her, offered her a box of chocolates with disarming diffidence and invited her out to lunch. ‘There’s a place in Cockermouth,’ he told her, ‘where we could eat, and I wondered if you would help me choose one or two things to take home with me—presents, you know.’
She felt faint dismay. ‘You’re not going back to Canada before Christmas?’
‘I haven’t any reason for staying longer.’
‘What a pity! I was going to invite you to spend Christmas Day here.’
He didn’t answer at once and he had turned his head away as he replied:
‘That’s a sufficiently good reason for me to cancel my flight, Mary Jane.’ He turned and gave her a long, steady look. ‘I’ve thought of you a good deal. When I came to England I decided to come and look you up, because you were family—but now I keep thinking of all kinds of excuses to keep me here.’
Mary Jane listened to him, enchanted. No one—no young man, that was—had ever talked like that to her before. All of a sudden she felt beautiful, sought after, and dripping with charm; it was a pleasant sensation. She smiled widely at him and said a little breathlessly, ‘Well, don’t go until after Christmas—it’s only ten days.’ They stared at each other in silence and then she said, ‘I’ll go and put on my coat—there’s a fire in the sitting room, I won’t be a minute.’
It was the first of several such expeditions. They would return after their shopping and have tea, and then, later, dinner, to return to the sitting room fire and talk until Mervyn got up to go about ten o’clock. He was an amusing talker, preferring to tell her about his own life than ask her questions about her own, although sometimes she would find that, almost without knowing it, she was answering questions she had hardly noticed about the house and its contents and whether she had enough to run it properly and if her capital was in safe hands. She told him about Mr North, assuring him that he had been the family solicitor for years and was very much to be depended upon.
‘Oh, is that the North who lives in Keswick?’ he asked carelessly.
‘Is there one in Keswick? No, Carlisle—Lowther Street. The firm’s been there for ever.’
He had made no comment and had gone on to talk about something else.
He got up to go soon after and she walked with him to the door. As he put on his coat he said, ‘I’ve some business to see to in the morning—a call to Winnipeg. May I come after lunch and take you out to tea?’
She nodded happily and he kissed her lightly on the cheek as she opened the door. It took her a long while to go to sleep that night; it was a pity that her excited thoughts of Mervyn were interlarded with unsolicited ones of Fabian.
She felt a little shy when he arrived the next afternoon, but it seemed that he felt no such thing; he kissed her again, a good deal more thoroughly this time, and told her gaily to get her coat and drove her into Keswick, where they had tea, bought a few things Mrs Body had need of, and drove home again. It was dark already, although it was barely four o’clock, for the mountains had swallowed up what light there had been, only the water of the lake gave back a dim reflection. It would be cold later on, but they didn’t care. They roasted chestnuts by a blazing fire and ate their dinner together, and after Mervyn had gone, with yet another kiss, Mary Jane had skipped into the kitchen, her plain face alight. Mrs Body looked up as she went in, asked Lily to take some more logs to the sitting room and when she had gone, observed, ‘You’re happy, Miss Mary Jane.’ Her kind eyes were sharp. ‘Has he proposed?’
Mary Jane flung her arms round Mrs Body’s ample waist. ‘Oh, Mrs Body, do you think he’s going to? No one has ever proposed to me before.’
‘Which is no good reason for accepting him,’ counselled her companion shrewdly.
Mary Jane knitted her fine pale brows. Mrs Body’s remark was a sensible one, but it didn’t fit in with her own reckless mood. ‘Oh, I know that,’ she declared gaily, ‘but we get on so well and he’s such a dear—you know, thoughtful and interested in the house and careful of me—making sure that my future’s secure and all the rest of it.’ She laughed. ‘He actually wanted me to take out an insurance policy!’
Mrs Body said quickly, ‘You didn’t take any notice of that?’
‘Well, I couldn’t even if I’d wanted to, Mr van der Blocq sees to all that, but I didn’t bother to tell Mervyn… What shall I give him for Christmas?’
Mrs Body made one or two uninspired suggestions, adding, ‘And that nice Doctor van der Blocq, what are you sending him?’
‘Why, nothing,’ said Mary Jane. ‘He’s got everything in the world, you know.’ She danced off again to take Major for his bedtime trot around the garden.
It was several days later, when they were out walking on the hills, heavily wrapped against the cold, that Mervyn let fall that he had met someone who had a roan for sale, sixteen hands, with plenty of spirit but good-tempered with it. ‘I know you promised this guardian of yours not to buy a horse, but if you gave me an open cheque, I could buy it for you. I’m not a bad judge and I dare say I could strike a good bargain.’
Mary Jane paused on the slope they were working their way down. ‘Well, I’m not sure—I should love it, but Fabian did say that I wasn’t to buy one…’
‘Yes, but don’t you think that he said that because he wasn’t here to give you his advice? Probably he was afraid that you might be tricked out of your money—you know how unscrupulous some people are—but surely if I picked out a good mount for you, he wouldn’t raise any objection?’
Put like that, it had a rin
g of reasonableness. Besides, Fabian probably wouldn’t come again for months—she would never get a horse of her own. She said thoughtfully: ‘All right, I’ll give you a cheque. Will you see to it for me, please? I’m sure Fabian won’t mind.’
The words sounded curiously false in her own ears, Fabian would mind. He would mind on principle, because he was her guardian and considered that she shouldn’t do anything at all without first asking his permission. Indignation swelled her bosom and gave way to a feeling of sneaking relief because he wouldn’t know anyway.
The horse arrived two days later, a nice beast who went to his stable quietly enough, although he had a rolling eye. Mervyn explained that the animal was little nervous but would settle down in a day or so. He told her what he had paid for him too, a price which rather shocked her, but when she ventured: ‘Isn’t that rather a lot?’ she was met with a chilly surprise.
‘I had to haggle to get him at that price, but if you could have done better…’ He left the rest of the sentence in midair, where it hung between them like a small, disturbing cloud. It evaporated during the day, but she made a mental note that Mervyn was touchy about money and she would have to remember that.
It was Christmas Eve the following day, and Mervyn had said that he wouldn’t be out until the afternoon, but he had kissed her warmly as he had said it and she hadn’t really minded because she had planned to go riding—just a short canter across the fields by the lake, to see how Prince went. The morning was bright and clear and still very cold as she saddled him and led him out of the stable. He was still nervous, dancing along beside her, shying at every stone, and although she wasn’t nervous herself, she could see that she would have to go carefully; he was a great deal more spirited than Mervyn had led her to believe. Perhaps in Canada they were used to horses that bucked and shied at every blade of grass. She had him away from the house by now, walking him across the meadow towards the water, she coaxed him to a standstill with some difficulty and was preparing to mount when Fabian spoke very quietly somewhere behind her.
‘Don’t, Mary Jane, I beg of you.’ He was beside her now and had taken the reins into his own hands while she stared up at him speechlessly, a little pale in the face and with a most peculiar tumult of feeling inside her. He was pale too, but all he said was: ‘He’s not the horse for you—I told you to wait until I could find you something suitable. You broke your promise…’
‘I didn’t,’ she said quickly, ‘Mervyn bought him.’
She missed the sudden fire in his dark eyes. ‘Mervyn?’ repeated Fabian softly. ‘Let us go back to the house and you shall tell me about—er—Mervyn!’
He began to lead Prince back to his stable and she perforce, walked with him and waited while he saw to the animal, and then accompanied him into the house to find Mrs Body, beaming with delight, hurrying with coffee and some of her mince pies.
‘I knew you would come, Doctor dear,’ she told him happily, ‘with Christmas tomorrow.’ She put down the tray and went to the door. ‘I’ve the nicest piece of beef in the oven ready for your lunch.’
She went out of the room and Mary Jane said with polite haste, ‘I hope you’ll stay to lunch.’ She busied herself with pouring coffee and didn’t look at him. His clipped ‘thank you’ sounded coldly on her ears.
After a lengthening silence during which she sought for and discarded a number of conversational openings, Fabian said, ‘And now if you would be good enough to explain about this horse.’ He spoke in tones which brooked no hindrance; she explained at some length and in a muddled fashion which in the end left her with no alternative but to tell him about Mervyn too. He heard her out, no expression upon his calm, handsome features, and saying nothing, so that when she had finished she was forced to ask: ‘Well?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘My dear Mary Jane, what am I expected to say? I haven’t met this cousin yet, although I shall be delighted to do so, even if only to point out to him that I find his taste in horseflesh a little on the inexperienced side.’
Her gentle eyes flashed. ‘Pooh! You only say that because you didn’t pick Prince yourself.’
He ignored this. ‘And what did you pay for him?’
She was a truthful girl, so she told him, waiting for his expected comment on the excessive price, but he said nothing, staring at her with narrowed eyes. Presently he said, ‘Not a local animal, I fancy.’ He sounded so casual that she let out a sigh of relief. ‘No, Mervyn told me he had heard of him from someone he knew in Keswick.’
‘Is that all you know?’ She sensed the mockery in his voice and bristled as he continued, ‘Surely you have the receipt and the bill of sale?’
‘Mervyn will let me have them,’ she protested, feeling guilty because she hadn’t given the matter a thought. ‘How is your cousin?’
If she had hoped to change the conversation she was unlucky. ‘Very well, thank you. And when is Mervyn coming to see you again?’
She muttered, ‘This afternoon,’ and fidgeted under his look.
‘Excellent. I shall enjoy meeting him. Had you planned anything? I shan’t be inconveniencing you in any way?’ His cold politeness chilled her. He got up. ‘By the way, Prince has a slight limp in his left hind leg—you will agree with me that it should be attended to at once? I know it’s Christmas Eve, but I’ll see what I can do.’
He went out of the room, leaving Mary Jane with her mouth open in surprise. She hadn’t noticed any limp, though now that she came to think about it, Prince had stumbled once or twice. She wouldn’t be riding for a day or two; it might be a good idea to get it looked at.
Fabian came back presently and she asked, ‘Did you find a vet?’
He strolled over to the window and stood half turned away from her, looking out on to the wintry morning. He said at length, ‘Yes—he’ll see what he can do some time today.’
‘It’s not serious?’
He turned to look at her across the pleasant room. ‘No, but I don’t think you should ride him, though. Now tell me, how are you managing? Have you sufficient money?’
They spent the remainder of the morning in a businesslike fashion, and over lunch they kept to common places while she wondered silently why he was so abstracted in his manner. Once or twice she found him staring at her in an odd fashion, with an expression which she couldn’t understand, and indeed, he was so unlike his usual cool, arrogant self that she began to feel quite uncomfortable. And asking questions hadn’t helped either, for she had tried that with singularly little success, in fact he had remarked after one such probe into what he had been doing: ‘I have never known you take such an interest in my life—should I feel flattered?’
She felt as uncomfortable as she knew she looked. ‘No, of course not, but I haven’t seen you for several weeks. I just wanted to—to hear what you’ve been doing.’
His eyes held a gleam in their depths. ‘Then I am flattered. Tell me, what are your plans for Christmas?’
‘Well, nothing much. Mervyn’s coming for Christmas Day—after church, you know, and I expect he’ll stay until after dinner, and on Boxing Day some of Grandfather’s friends are coming for a drink. Mervyn will be coming to lunch again, but he says he can’t stay to meet Doctor Morris, he’s got some people to see. It’s a pity, because Doctor Morris knew his father, I believe.’
Fabian leaned back in his chair. ‘A great pity,’ he commented in a dry voice. ‘It sounds very pleasant.’
‘And you?’ she asked politely, and then struck by a sudden thought, added in tones of the utmost apprehension, ‘You’re not staying for Christmas, are you?’
Somehow the thought of Mervyn and Fabian together filled her with an uneasiness she knew was quite unjustified; she closed her eyes on the vivid picture her mind had conjured up of Fabian blighting Mervyn’s cheerful talk with his damping politeness.
His companion’s face remained unaltered in its blandness. ‘I wasn’t aware that I had been asked. Set your mind at ease, Mary Jane, I shall be leaving within an hour or
so.’
‘Oh well, that’s all right,’ she exclaimed, so relieved that she hardly realised what she had said. ‘Do you mind sitting here while I see if lunch is ready? There’s some sherry on the window table, do help yourself.’
She went out of the room, humming cheerfully. If Fabian was going so soon, he and Mervyn would only have to meet for a very short time, perhaps not at all.
Her optimism was ill-founded. They had barely finished Mrs Body’s excellent lunch when Mervyn drove up, parked the car in front of the door, and walked in. To say that he was surprised was too mild a way of putting it—Fabian had put his car in the garage; there had been no hint of anyone else being in the house, so Mervyn came breezing into the sitting room, to stop short just inside the door, looking so disconcerted at the sight of Fabian lounging in a chair by the fire that he could say nothing. It was Mary Jane who plunged into speech.
‘Mervyn—hullo. Fabian, this is Mervyn Pettigrew, my—my cousin from Winnipeg. Jonkheer van der Blocq, my guardian.’
Fabian had risen and advanced to meet Mervyn, saying in a suave voice which somehow disturbed Mary Jane: ‘Ah, Mr Pettigrew, Mary Jane has been telling me about you. I’m glad to have this opportunity of meeting you.’
He smiled, but his eyes were cold, and before Mervyn could say anything he went on: ‘You must tell me about your home—Canada is a place I have often wished to visit. Your home is in Winnipeg? In the city itself or outside?’ He waved Mervyn to a chair. ‘Sit down, my dear fellow, and tell me about it.’
The conversation was in his hands; Mary Jane sat helplessly listening to Mervyn answering her guardian’s questions, and even when she made attempts to change the conversation, she was frustrated by Fabian’s blandly polite pause while she did so, only to have him resume his remorseless cross-examination again. Quite fed up, she suggested an early cup of tea because then Fabian might remember that he was leaving shortly… She was half way to the door when she heard a car, voices and some sort of commotion; she got to the window in time to see a horse-box and a Land-Rover disappearing down the drive. Prince’s head was just visible.