by Betty Neels
It would be difficult. She remembered James Scott-Thurlow's somewhat acid remarks when she had asked him rather a lot of questions in his car. He had called it a cross-examination; he wouldn't take kindly to any prying on her part.
She coaxed a rather tired old lady upstairs to have a nap when they had finished lunch and then went to her room and sat in a chair by the window. It was a splendid day and she would have liked to have gone into the garden, but she wanted to avoid Mr Scott-Thurlow: besides if he and his grandfather wanted to talk she would be a nuisance. She poked her head out into the summer sunshine and was accosted from below.
`Come on down, Matilda,' said old Mr Scott-Thurlow. `James is going to tell me something of his stay in Spitsbergen.'
`Later perhaps?' She thought wildly for an excuse. `Mrs Scott-Thurlow is a little unsettled; I thought I might read to her for a while.'
`A good idea. Please come down when you can.'
She withdrew her head and sat down again and since she had said that she was going to read aloud she had better go and suggest it. The old lady was sound asleep.
For the rest of that day Matilda contrived to keep in the background, and since Mrs Scott-Thurlow had had strict instructions to go to bed in good time she was able to accompany her to her room to help her to bed. This took some time so that, beyond polite regrets, neither gentleman appeared put out when she bade them goodnight and went to bed herself. It was a lovely evening just right for a stroll in the gardens. With James Scott-Thurlow, of course; such a pity that she was forced to go to bed instead. If she had been Rhoda... Matilda had a very hot bath and, as pink as a lobster, got into her bed and lay listening to the drone of the men's voices coming faintly from the open windows of the drawing-room below. Old Mr Scott-Thurlow's rather slow voice, and his grandson's, deep and deliberate. She closed her eyes and slept.
It was pouring with rain when she woke in the morning, dressed and went down to the diningroom. It was barely eight o'clockk and she hoped that she would be able to eat her breakfast, or at least most of it, before anyone else came down. She was doomed to disappointment Mr Scott-Thurlow the younger was already there, reading The Times newspaper and consuming bacon, mushrooms and eggs. He got up when she went in, gave her a polite good morning and begged her to help herself. She noticed that he folded the paper and put it on the table beside him with a faint air of annoyance, so that she said in a voice she strove to keep amiable, `Don't stop reading for me; I don't mind in the least.'
She poured coffee, filled a plate with bacon and egg and began to eat. There was a slight edge to her voice as she went on, `So unfortunate that I should still be here, isn't it? I'm going immediately after I've seen to Mrs Scott-Thurlow.'
It was disconcerting when he didn't answer, and, quite reckless because she wouldn't be seeing him again, she added sharply, `Well, has the cat got your tongue?'
He leaned back in his chair and looked her over. `What an abominable girl you are, Matilda; I'm not surprised your hair is so fiery for you have a temper to match it.' He poured himself some more coffee. `And why should you suppose that I should object to finding you still here?"
'The look on your face when you saw me,' she said, not beating about the bush. She glanced across at him and all her ill humour evaporated at the sight of his weary face. `Heavens, you're worn out; was it very busy at Spitsbergen?'
His eyebrows rose. `Why the volte-face? But yes, I was kept busy.'
`Then you should take a holiday,' said Matilda, `and have some fun. Miss Symes was here, you know, and she said there were several parties she would take you to when you got back.'
`And is that your idea of fun?"
'Parties? No, well, I'm different, aren't I?'
She didn't hear his, `Indeed you are.'
`I mean, I don't fit in awfully well-with your kind of people. I like dining out and dancing and going to the theatre, but there's no conversation at parties, is there? Or, if there is, I can never hear it.' She gave him an almost motherly smile. `But I expect you will enjoy yourself.'
`I am touched by your solicitude, Matilda, but you have no need to concern yourself with my way of life.' He spoke gently in a cold voice so that she went very pink and blurted out,
`I'm interfering-'
Old Mr Scott-Thurlow coming into the room at that moment saved her from uttering whatever she had intended; she wished him good morning, murmured that she would go and see how his wife was and took herself off.
Beyond giving his grandson a good look, the old gentleman said nothing and it was James who spoke. `The matron phoned soon after seven o' clock to say that Nurse Watkins should be here by half-past nine.'
`Good. I'll tell Slocombe to drive Matilda back.'
`No need, sir. I must call in on my way and see how my patient is getting on. She was taken to King's Hall. Matilda lives only a few miles further on-I'll drop her off.'
`Splendid. Have you told her?"
'No. Did grandmother have a good night?'
By mutual consent, they began to discuss his grandmother's health.
Nurse Watkins arrived soon after nine o'clock, by which time Matilda had got Mrs Scott-Thurlow out of her bed and into a comfortable chair while she got a bath ready and put everything in order so that she might dress. She was wondering just what she should do next when the nurse joined them and the following ten minutes were taken up with apologies, regrets and goodbyes. Mrs Scott-Thurlow put up her face for a kiss and pressed a small box into Matilda's hand. `You have been so good, my dear, and we shall both miss you. You must come and see us again soon-and that isn't an empty remark, I really mean it. Now run along and I hope this job you're going to will be a pleasant one.'
Matilda kissed the elderly cheek, shook Nurse Watkins's hand and fetched her jacket and case from her bedroom. She still had to say goodbye to old Mr Scott-Thurlow and, although it broke her heart not to see James just once more, she was determined to avoid him.
He was in the hall with his grandfather and stood quietly by while she bade that gentleman goodbye. It was impossible to avoid him now, she gave a brief nod in his direction. `Goodbye.'
`I'm driving you back.'
`Oh, but there's no need, thank you. Slocombe is taking me.'
He shook his head. `No, I am-'
She didn't give up easily. `But I saw him only a short time ago and he never said '
`I told him not to. Come along; I have no time to waste.'
She was aware that his grandfather was standing there looking amused and at the same time thoughtful. She said with dignity, `Very well,' gave the old gentleman a delightful smile, handed James her case with a scowl and a flash of her green eyes and marched out of the door. The Slocombes had come to wave goodbye so she changed the scowl to another smile, got into the car while her case was put in the boot and then waved until the group by the door was out of sight.
They drove for several miles without speaking until he asked, `Still sulking, Matilda?'
`I don't sulk. I have no reason to do so.'
`Good. In that case let me talk sensibly...' He ignored her cross mutter. `You will find your fee waiting for you at your home. What do you intend to do next?' He added, `And don't tell me to mind my own business.'
`I had no intention of saying any such thing,' said Matilda, who had been on the point of uttering those very words. `I have no idea what I shall do next; certainly I shall stay at home for a short time. I cannot think why you should want to know.'
`Nor can I.'
The conversation seemed to have come to an end, such as it was. But presently he said, 'Theobald should be quite recovered; he is a splendid companion for my Labrador, who mothers him relentlessly. He loves it.'
`It was kind of you to take him in,' she said stiffly.
`Youu have no dog of your own?"
'No. Our dog died last year. I would love to have another one, but if I get a job away from home it's hardly fair on the rest of the family.'
`And you intend to leave ho
me?'
Now who was cross-questioning? `I haven't decided.'
Mr Scott-Thurlow allowed a small sound to escape his lips-it could have been a chuckle or a grunt-and he said smoothly, 'I'm sure that you will find something worthwhile to do. But why not get married?' He gave her a quick sideways glance. `I'm surprised that no man has snapped you up.'
She said fierily, `And I am not a bargain what a horrid thing to say.'
`Not a bargain-a prize. Once you have been tamed a little and have lost your prickles and your impulsiveness-but that, of course, is the fault of your hair-'
`If you weren't driving this car, I would box your ears-you're more than horrid, you're deliberately baiting me. I hope I never see you again.' She was being childish but she didn't care.
He went on talking just as though she hadn't spoken. `And yet you were splendid when Mrs Chubb severed her fingers; I don't know of anyone else who would have dealt with the situation with such good sense, nor can I think of any woman I know who would have retired to the kitchen and cooked a meal to cordon bleu standard. And Theobald-you made it your business to help him and you didn't stop to think, did you? The men could have turned nasty; you had no idea what to do with him, had you? Yet you rushed to his aid-and you have been kindness itself to my grandmother and Roseanne. I am forced to the conclusion that it is I who rub you up the wrong way.'
`This is a pointless conversation, Mr Scott-Thurlow.'
She peeped at him; his profile looked grim. He had looked so tired... Her ill humour evaporated, she said, 'I'm sorry if I annoy you-you must be tired. Mother will have coffee ready; perhaps you would like a cup before you go to King's Hall?'
His stern mouth relaxed. `Why, thank you, Matilda.'
Her mother flung the door open as the car stopped. `There you are-how nice to see you, Mr Scott-Thurlow; come on in, both of you. There's coffee ready and I made a lardy cake.' She embraced Matilda and shook hands with Mr Scott-Thurlow. `Dr Bramley told us that you had gone to Spitsbergen to help those poor men in that frightful accident.'
She led the way to the kitchen. `Sit down, won't you? You don't mind having your coffee here? The sitting-room's being cleaned.'
Mr Scott-Thurlow sat down facing Matilda, made polite small talk with the rector and then said that he must go.
`I expect that you will take a little holiday,' said Mrs ffinch chattily. `You must need a rest and a change. I dare say it's rather different at Spitsbergen.'
He agreed pleasantly. `But I hear from Matilda that my fiancee has several parties lined up for me.' He bade her goodbye, shook the rector's hand and paused by Matilda's chair.
'I'll give Theobald your love,' he told her. `Goodbye, Matilda.'
The rector went with him to his car and Mrs ffinch poured more coffee. `Such a nice man,' she commented. `He looked tired-he should go somewhere quiet for a few days but I dare say he won't get the chance; Lady Fox was telling me that his fiancee has been to visit Roseanne at the hospital and told her that she had planned dinner parties and theatres and I don't know what else; she said that he needed to be taken out of himself, whatever that means. I don't think she should be his wife-he needs someone more suitable.'
Matilda said slowly. `But she is suitable, Mother: she comes from a similar background, she's lovely to look at and dresses marvellously and she'll be a perfect hostess...'
`I should have thought that what he needed was a perfect wife and mother of his children.' She saw the look on Matilda's face and went on quickly, `Now do tell me about this nice old couple you've been staying with, and is Mrs Scott-Thurlow quite well again?'
Matilda listened to the gentle purr of the Rolls going down the drive-she would never see him again; she didn't want to believe it but it was true. She began to tell her mother about her stay. She looked unhappy but her mother pretended not to notice that. Her dear Tilly would tell her why in time, although she could guess very welI who it was that had taken the happy look from her eyes. She frowned a little; Mr Scott-Thurlow had paid scant attention to Matilda in fact he had behaved with the scrupulous civility of someone being polite at all costs towards a person they disliked. She had been very stiff too. They must have quarrelled. Somehow the thought cheered Mrs ffinch; at least they weren't indifferent to each other. He was of course engaged to marry that other girl but she dismissed that with a maternal singlemindedness. Tilly would make him a good wife. When Matilda had finished her disjointed tale, Mrs ffinch said brightly, `There's a letter for you, Tilly. It's in the hall.'
It contained a cheque and a short businesslike note stating what it was for; it was signed
J. Scott-Thurlow'. Or, at least, that was what she supposed it was; it was almost unreadable.
`Isn't it funny,' she observed to her mother, `that someone who can put bones together again is unable to write legibly?"
'Yes, dear, but we can't excel in everything. I'm told that Roseanne is doing very well. I didn't realise that he was so well-known until Lady Fox waylaid me the other day-she has a new hat, dear, tweed and floppy, quite terrible-where was I? Oh, yes-well, she kept on and on about his brilliance and then told me what his fees were for the operation on Roseanne. Not that I wanted to know; she is sometimes vulgar, you know. I must tell you something else, though; Dr Bramley told me that Mr Scott-Thurlow refuses his fees when he is asked to give his aid at some disaster. The trip to Spitsbergen must have left him very out of pocket.' She added thoughtfully, `It's a pity that Lady Fox doesn't know that.'
She glanced at the tell-tale face Matilda turned to her and went on cheerfully, `It's lovely to have you home again, Tilly. They missed you in Sunday school, thought I must say Esme does very well, your Father did say.'
`It's grand to be back, Mother.' Matilda studied the cheque; it was quite a nice sum of money. `I'll pop into Sherborne tomorrow and pay this in, and at the same time I'll poke around and see if there are any jobs going.'
She had friends there but none of them knew of any likely job; she had no qualifications, but they were full of suggestions as they sat over coffee at the cafe opposite the abbey. None of them very practical, though; Matilda parted from them presently and went off to do some shopping for her mother. That done, she wandered into the bookshop in Cheap Street and thumbed through the magazines. The Lady had pages of adverts, too many to skim through in the shop. She bought a copy and took herself off to the restaurant in Denners where she sat down with a pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches and began to search the pages.
There were dozens of jobs, mostly for trained nannies and married couples, and she had nearly given up when her eye lighted on a lengthy advertisement under the heading 'Educational". A young lady was needed for the rest of the school term-barely a month now-and the week subsequent to that, to take the place of a junior matron to work under the school matron, and to be in charge of the youngest girls-all boarders. No teaching would be required, but a sense of discipline and common sense were essential. The salary, from Matilda's point of view, was adequate, and to crown everything the school was situated in a small town north of Sherborne, a few miles on the other side of the A303, a mere matter of fifteen miles or so from her home.
Never one to beat about the bush, she gobbled her sandwich, drained the teapot and went off to find the nearest phone box.
The voice at the other end of the line sounded severe but faintly desperate. There had been several applicants but none of them had been satisfactory-the voice gave Matilda the strong impression that she wasn't expected to be satisfactory either, but she persevered. Having a rector for a father, once she disclosed this fact, was the turning-point in her favour. She was bidden to attend an interview on the following morning.
The occasion warranted recognition of some kind; she had paid her cheque into her bank account, put aside a good deal of it to give to her mother for Esme's fees, and went on an impulsive shopping spree. She didn't dare spend too much, though-probably the owner of the voice wouldn't think her good matron material-all the same she bought choc
olates for Esme, tobacco for her father's pipe, a bottle of perfume for her mother and a charming little teapot from the china shop in Cheap Street for Hilary-it would do very nicely for her to use when she was married. The boys could have money-she would send it to them at school.
She bore her gifts home, told her family what she had done, handed over the presents and went to select an outfit for the interview. Something sober, she decided, suitable for a junior matron. Eyeing her rather basic wardrobe she found herself thinking about Mr Scott-Thurlow-probably at one of the parties Rhoda had lined up for him. A pity she couldn't tell him that she had found something worthwhile, and in record time. Being Matilda, of course, she never doubted that she would get the job.
CHAPTER SIX
MATILDA, soberly clad in a jacket and skirt, borrowed her father's car and drove herself to her appointment. It was for eleven o'clock and she allowed plenty of time. She knew where the school was; it was fairly well known, taking mostly boarders, children whose parents were overseas and, unlike most schools, it was for girls only.