“Well, if I don’t come with you now, when am I to see you, beautiful?” he enquired.
Emma tugged jealously at his arm as he came near to Ann. “You called me beautiful before,” she pouted.
“So I did, beautiful. And that’s what you are — or what you will be when you’re a big girl. You’ll break a few hearts in your time, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Stop talking such nonsense to the child,” Ann frowned. She hadn’t the least doubt that at some time or other these remarks were going to be repeated in Iain Sherrarde’s hearing.
“Why, I believe you’re jealous.” He roared with laughter and flicked his finger at Emma’s rounded pink cheek. “She’s jealous, isn’t she, beautiful?”
Ann had had enough. She was to blame, she supposed, for indulging in any conversation at all with the creature. With compressed lips she urged the children on, Guy willing enough at another reminder of tea, but Emma hanging back to smile, showing her extravagantly pearly teeth at everything Gateworth said. Ann began to appreciate more and more Iain Sherrarde’s concern for his young charges.
Gateworth had the sense to leave them when they entered the gardens of Fountains. “But we’ve got to have that talk,” he reminded her significantly.
“We’ll meet you tomorrow,” Emma said readily. “We always go out in the afternoon, don’t we, Auntie Anne?”
Ann shook her head and demanded coldly that Emma should hurry.
“I’ll let you have another card,” Gateworth said. “And you’d better come unencumbered.” He looked significantly at the children.
Ann did not deign to reply. She didn’t, at the moment, feel particularly worried about Gateworth and his threats, which she was sure were empty. It was what Maureen Lyntrope would tell Iain that was worrying her.
As they went towards the house, Guy remarked thoughtfully: “Auntie Anne, I don’t like that man. Do you?” — “No,” returned Ann briefly.
“I think he’s a gentleman witch, don’t you, Auntie Anne?” He addressed himself to his aunt, but his look of accusation was for his sister.
“He isn’t! He isn’t!” she screamed. And then, triumphantly, “There isn’t such a thing as a gentleman witch, is there, Auntie Anne?”
“I believe they are sometimes called wizards,” Ann returned. “But I’m sure Mr. Gateworth isn’t one of those.”
Guy pondered. “Then he’s a gentleman witch,” he declared.
“He isn’t! He isn’t!”
Ann separated the children as they fought and struggled beside the steps. She was sorry this idea had come to Guy. She felt more convinced than ever that sooner or later the complete episode would be detailed to Iain Sherrarde. And his opinion of her would be lower than it already was.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE telephone bell fang just before dinner-time, and Ann, who was in her room, went out to answer it. But hearing Mrs. Woods’ voice in the hall, she closed her door again.
A few minutes later, with the most perfunctory of knocks, Mrs. Woods, her face red with anger, and her voice raised with irritation, entered the room.
“That was Mr. Sherrarde, in the hell of a temper,” she announced crudely.
Ann shrank. She had expected repercussions about this afternoon’s happenings, and had been nerving herself since she arrived back at Fountains. But she had fully expected that Iain would descend on her here, in all his arrogance. She had not anticipated the coldness of a telephone complaint — and not even direct to her.
She was thoroughly worked up, and now, to her horror, tears threatened to overcome her.
Mrs. Woods stared at her in exasperation. How much good had she done by bringing this girl here to Fountains? There seemed to have been even more trouble since she came than there had been before.
Mrs. Woods had no patience with tears. “Why on earth had you to take Emma and Guy into that copse near Dainty’s End?” she demanded. “You know that Lyntrope woman is always there with her wretched dogs.”
“I didn’t know. I never even thought of her,” Ann replied miserably.
She wasn’t really thinking of Mrs. Woods and her arrogance. She was reflecting that she had reached another stage in her relationship with Iain Sherrarde. He wouldn’t bother now to see her personally to be unpleasant. He had preferred to make his complaints by telephone — and to Mrs. Woods. But she was whipped to furious resentment at the woman’s next words.
“Who is this man you’re meeting on the sly? That’s what Mr. Sherrarde is so furious about. Taking the children along when you were going — how did he put it? to an assignation.”
“Horrible word, and horrible man for using it,” the girl retorted spiritedly.
“I don’t suppose he thought of it first. It sounds much more like that Lyntrope creature. But he’s certainly in a fury. You were meeting someone, I take it. Who was it?”
“A male nurse from the Institute. It was only by chance that I saw him. I told you about him some time ago. He claims to be engaged to ... your daughter Anne.”
Mrs. Woods gave a scornful little laugh. “Oh, that fellow! Anne engaged to a male nurse! Don’t believe it. She’s determined to do as well for herself as Beverley did. She has always sworn she would.”
“He has been on leave and he says he has found out something ... at Queen Frida’s.”
Mrs. Woods gave a contemptuous gesture. “He’s a cheap blackmailer — just trying it on. My advice to you is to keep him at a distance.”
She went out of the room, leaving Ann staring miserably into space. She must get away from Fountains soon, or she would have no self-respect left.
She expected sarcasm and reproach from Beverley about the latest storm from Mr. Sherrarde in connection with the children, but on the following morning when she went into the lovely pink and cream room, she found her patient already up and full of excited chatter about the Matron’s Ball and the dress she had decided to order from London.
“We must do something about you, too, Sister Anne,” she said, with an upward sweep of her devastating lashes. “You’d like a new dress, I expect.”
Ann’s expression was surprised. “But I can’t go ... I haven’t anyone ... mean ...”
“We’re both going, in Mr. Sherrarde’s party,” Beverley returned calmly. “Why not, Sister Anne?”
“So he — he’s taking a party?”
“Of course. After all, he’s the most eminent member of the medical profession in this part of the country.”
“Yes ... of course.” Something was suddenly aching in her throat. Beverley had stated, quite simply, something that Ann was always in danger of forgetting — the simple truth that Iain Sherrarde was a very important man and held a very high position in the medical world.
She forced herself to a smile and a shrug. “You surely won’t be going, Beverley? Doctor Butler has relaxed a good many of his restrictions, but he’ll draw the line at that.”
“No,” the other smiled. “He has given me permission to go provided I stay with the official party — all highly decorous,” she added with a coquettish flutter of her lashes. “The ball only livens up after the official party has left. We, or at least I, shall leave with them. But there’s no reason for you to do so, especially if your boy friend is there.”
She either didn’t see, or decided to ignore Ann’s expression, as she continued, “Mummy tells me you were necking with him when that sneak Lyntrope intervened. Too bad! The woman isn’t, human except where Iain is concerned, and then, damn her, she’s much too human.” Ann swallowed her anger and humiliation. What was the good of protesting? Beverley would only laugh.
“You’ll have to go into Sunbury and get something to wear.” Beverley was examining her nails. “There’s a shop Mummy sometimes patronizes — they have some quite nice things.”
Ann was glad that Robert Leedon arrived at that point, and his light eyes grew unpleasant when he heard the news.
“Who says you’re well enough to attend a function of that kind?” h
e demanded.
Beverley pouted at him. “It’s nothing to do with you, Lee. You aren’t my doctor, and if Doctor Butler says it will be all right, it is all right.”
“If you do go, there’ll be no question of your dancing, or of your staying late,” he warned.
“Oh, I shall go with the official party and be very proper,” she promised him. “And of course I shall take Sister Anne to chaperone me, as well as my two watchdogs.”
He slanted a pale glance at her. “Your two watchdogs?” Great blue eyes were widened in a manner reminiscent to Ann of her small daughter. “Darling Lee, won’t you be going, after all?”
“Of course I shall be going,” he replied. “I shall certainly be there as your watchdog, but as to the other...”
Ann’s lashes flickered as she began to pick up the fashion magazines which Beverley had strewn all over the carpet.
“But, darling, I’m going in Iain’s party. And you know how fiercely he’ll guard me.”
“Will he?” was the query. “I imagine the Director will be escorting his aunt and Doctor Lyntrope.”
The girl shrugged pettishly. “They’ll be in his party, of course, but do you really think he’ll look at that ginger cat when I’m around, Lee? And by the way, clever Sister Anne here let the children run riot again yesterday, and Iain is furious and champing and chafing about the poor little darlings being in need of care and protection.”
Ann realized her color was mounting as they both stared at her. “They weren’t running riot,” she protested. “I don’t know what Doctor Lyntrope told Mr. Sherrarde, but—”
“Mummy engaged you to keep them away from that woman,” interrupted Beverley, all her claws out now. “A fine lot of use you are, and so I told her earlier on. Oh, you needn’t look at Lee. You don’t suppose he was ever deceived by that Sister Anne act, do you? He’s known me too long.”
Robert Leedon put in angrily, “More to the point, Beverley, is this — that you’ve got to make Sherrarde understand once and for all that the children are yours, not his.”
“While he holds the purse strings—” Beverley stopped.
“All right, Sister Anne, scram. You’re far too much in evidence when you’re not needed. Go and see if you can exert a little authority over the children for once.”
Leedon’s expression was almost apologetic as he opened the door for Ann. She went out of the room, scarcely noticing him, any more than she had noticed Beverley’s rudeness.
Was Iain Sherrarde contemplating sending the children away now? But they couldn’t send children as small as Emma and Guy to school.
Ann was again “in evidence” that afternoon when Iain Sherrarde arrived to invite Beverley for a drive. She had been quite pleasant again, having sent for Ann to repair a faulty seam in a silk petticoat. But now her tongue became barbed.
“Darling Iain, I’m quite well. Don’t misjudge the presence of Nurse Anne. I thought she would do less damage here than with the children, who have gone out with Miss Pollard.”
This time Ann’s face was not expressionless. She folded up the froth of pink silk and lace and made for the door, not looking at Iain. But Beverley couldn’t resist another thrust.
“Anne will be happier when she’s back at her real job, won’t you, darling? You’ve always been so very frank about it, haven’t you? The chasing up of a wealthy patient Perhaps Iain has somebody at the Institute who might do. But no, you’ve already got a boy friend there, haven’t you? What do you suggest, Iain?”
Ann did not wait to hear any more. She hurried on to her own room, trying to stifle her indignation. She was a fool to mind so much. She ought to concentrate on the fact that Beverley was really a sick woman and not always responsible for what she said. She ought to do her best to forgive the bitterness of a young woman who had once lived a vivid, exciting life and who now was condemned to what for her was the sheer boredom of a semi-invalid existence.
It was several days later that Iain appeared in the children’s nursery and said in a curt voice, “Miss Woods, I’d like to speak to you.”
To her annoyance, Ann found that she was trembling. It had seemed so long since he had spoken to her directly.
Averil Pollard swept the reluctant children to the door. “We’re all just going out,” she said brightly.
The children lingered, but Iain suggested they should go down to see what he had left on the front seat of his car, and they flew away. He closed the door behind them and leaned against it. “I’m sorry you’re taking up this foolish attitude about Gateworth’s dismissal,” he rasped. “It was a decision made by Matron and endorsed by the committee.”
This was quite the last thing Ann had expected to hear. Her face registered her surprise. “Has he been dismissed?”
“You didn’t know?” It was his turn to be surprised.
Ann’s small face was cold. “Why should I know?”
“But I understood ...” His voice sounded grim. “That is, your sister said you had kept him dangling for a long time, but she thought you were really very fond of him.”
“Did she?” Ann smiled bleakly. “She must have been in one of her moods, Mr. Sherrarde, when she told you that. I never saw the man until I came to Fountains.”
“Then his dismissal means nothing to you?” There was a sudden tension in the room.
“Of course not!” The silence that came after her words had a quality that could almost be felt. Ann broke it deliberately.
“Why was he dismissed?”
“For neglecting his duties.”
Ann shrugged. “Miss Pollard and the children will be waiting for me.” She could not understand this visit. She felt sure that he had not come just to tell her that Gateworth was leaving. Unless he had hoped that she would say immediately that she too would go ... perhaps that that was what he wanted.
“They’ll go without you,” he said indifferently, not moving from the door against which he was still leaning. She found his narrowed scrutiny embarrassing and turned away.
“No, we’re taking them into Sunbury for Miss Pollard’s birthday treat to look at the swans on the harbor and to see if there are any water chicks yet. They’ll be up here again in a moment.”
With a slight movement of his shoulder he pushed himself from his leaning position. “You’re right. Here they come. But what I want to know is why you are refusing to accompany Beverley and Mrs. Woods to the Matron’s Ball.”
Ann stood very still. Although Beverley and her mother talked of very little else at the moment, there had been no mention of Ann’s accompanying them, after that first idle invitation from Beverley.
“There has hardly been any suggestion that I should go,” she replied quietly, and then remembering the fact that she had no dress, she went on, “and of course I shall not go.”
His face changed, darkened. “So Beverley was right. She said you would make any sort of excuse not to go, once you knew Gateworth wouldn’t be there.”
“Beverley must have forgotten,” Ann told him in a flat voice, though her heart was beating high with indignation, “that I can’t go.”
She looked at him and stars shone in her eyes, stars of anger. What did they think she was, Mrs. Woods and Beverley? What were they trying to do to her?
“You can’t go? But why not? Beverley thought you would go to be with her, and then when our party left, she was going to allow you to stay behind and dance with ... your friend. She had it planned like that Mrs. Woods has spoken of it too.”
Such petty treachery on the part of mother and daughter puzzled Ann. They had guessed, she supposed, that even if Iain broached the subject to her — and that would seem unlikely — she would not tell him her real reason for not going.
Cinderella! Ann’s lips curved slightly. No, she did not see herself in that role.
And now the children were back in the room demanding that Ann should hurry. “We’re not going by bus after all,” Emma announced. “Burrows is going to drive us there.”
&
nbsp; As Ann had heard Mrs. Woods directing the handyman to some tasks in the basement, she stared. However she said nothing till they got down to the terrace where Averil was talking to Burrows.
“Mr. Burrows had to go into Sunbury later, so he’s decided to do his errands now and take us at the same time,” Averil explained.
Ann shook her head. “No, we’ll go by bus.” She turned to Sherrarde. “Goodbye, Mr. Sherrarde.”
“I’ll drive you into Sunbury,” he offered. The children greeted this with approval.
“Will you bring this car when you take Mummy to Matron’s Ball?” Guy demanded.
“No, Burrows will take everybody from here in the new car,” Mr. Sherrarde said, looking directly at Ann.
“Auntie Anne isn’t going,” Emma informed him. “Mummy says so. Mummy says she hasn’t got a dress.”
Iain swung round to look at Ann, and then, conscious of the interest on the faces of Miss Pollard, Burrows, and the children, he laughed.
“You ladies are all the same, Emma. You’ve never got anything fit to wear when you’re going out. Now then, in you get,” he said, opening the front door. “Your aunt and Miss Pollard will sit behind.”
Ann’s face was embarrassed. “But you said you were busy,” she protested.
“Not as busy as all that,” he returned, his glance sparing her. “Miss Pollard.”
Averil came with a certain amount of reluctance which she did not dare to express until later, and under her breath to Ann.
“This is spoiling the outing for me,” she muttered. “Why couldn’t you have let Burrows take us, Anne?”
“I heard Mrs. Woods giving him enough work to last for two afternoons,” Ann replied. “Don’t you realize, Averil, that what she had against you before was that you were wasting Burrows’ time? He is good-natured and will do anything for you, but you’ll lose him his job unless you’re careful.”
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