“Marcia, please,” Sydney spoke quietly but with a sudden assumption of authority. “Don’t say anything more. You’ll be so very sorry afterwards. Things like that are so difficult to unsay, and they do no good to anyone. Least of all to the person who says them.”
“I’m sorry.” Marcia recovered herself instantly. “You’re quite right, of course. Only you—you upset me when you sneered about the newness of my engagement.”
“I wasn’t sneering about it,” Sydney said earnestly. “It’s the last thing I’d do. I think I was really trying to convey the fact that most people find it all rather nice and romantic that Hugh has only just become engaged. But anyway, I feel we have talked enough about a subject best left alone, don’t you?”
Marcia bit her lip angrily. She was not, Sydney saw, at all in the habit of having her wishes thwarted or her own intentions reversed. However, she was certainly not stupid, and obviously realised that in dealing with Sydney she had overshot her mark. After a moment’s hesitation, therefore, she said, “Very well, if you feel that way about it. But I hope you’ll think over what I’ve said, and realise that it would be dreadfully uncomfortable for you, as well as us, if you stayed on here. Hugh also thinks—”
“I have Hugh’s own assurance that he wishes me to feel quite free to make my own decision,” Sydney interrupted quietly.
“You mean that—that you’ve talked this over with him?” Again she saw that Marcia was both angry and disturbed.
“Not in any detail. But he gave me a lift from the station the other evening and was kind enough to make himself quite clear on the subject. I appreciated his—his generosity.”
“Well, I hope you won’t impose on it,” returned Marcia rather shortly, as she rose to go. “Men are so stupid about these things. They never realise that a little painful frankness in the beginning often saves a great deal of unhappiness and trouble later.”
Sydney saw no reason to reply to this useful generalisation. So they bade each other a rather formal good-bye and Marcia went away.
When she had gone, Sydney sat down again and leaned her head on her hand. It had been a horrible and shaking experience, in spite of the fact that only once had the social surface been seriously cracked. For Sydney saw clearly the full force of Marcia’s arguments, even if they had been put in such a way as to make them unacceptable to anyone with pride and deep feelings.
I probably shall have to go, she thought sadly. But she need not have been quite so eager to point the way. She’s jealous and resentful, of course. And frightened.
On that last reflection Sydney paused. For why, after all, need Marcia be frightened? She spoke touchily of the engagement being a new one. But then it was surely in the first flight of a romantic decision that one need fear no rival? If Hugh were really madly in love with her—
And here Sydney paused again. For the absolute and unshakable conviction came over her that Hugh was not madly in love with Marcia.
It was a suspicion, perhaps a hope, which had, of course, hovered in the background of her mind ever since she had known of the engagement. But now she was sure of it, and the question was—how should this affect her own actions?
She could take it as some sort of encouragement if she had, as Marcia had accused her of having, any lurking hope that Hugh might come back to herself. But she might also take the view that she could cause nothing but trouble if she stayed, to introduce into a conventionally satisfactory marriage the element of nostalgic regret which must always cling to a lost love.
Sydney got up to go about her own affairs once more. But at that moment the telephone rang and, hoping profoundly that no other crisis had arisen, she picked up the receiver.
“This is Matron,” she heard herself say, and the pleasant normality of her own tone gave her a sort of mild satisfaction.
This was shattered the next moment, because Hugh’s voice replied, “Oh, Matron—Sydney, is that you?”
“Y-yes.”
“I’d be very much obliged if you could come over to my house right away. There’s something rather tricky that’s just arisen, and I should like a word with you.”
Sydney felt as though her heart took a downward lurch.
“Why, of course,” she said, still in the same pleasant, normal tone. And before she could add anything to that, he had rung off.
She replaced the receiver and stood there trembling in spite of her efforts to be calm. For of course there was only one explanation, she told herself. Marcia must have gone straight back to the Head’s house and made some sort of scene. And now—there was to be the showdown.
‘I should never have challenged Marcia,’ she thought. ‘She was unfriendly enough as it was. Now I’ve made an implacable enemy. And I should have remembered that she is the one in the strong position. She’s the one who has easy access to Hugh, and the one to whom he owes loyalty. Oh, I can’t go on and have a scene with him too! I wish I could run away and never, never come back to Fernhurst.’
But of course, one could not deal with life on those terms. And so, instead of running away, she mounted the few steps to the Head’s house and rang the bell. As she did so, she noticed that there was a very elegant grey car outside the side entrance to the house, and guessed that this was a new acquisition of Marcia’s.
“Good afternoon, Matron.” The maid who opened the door smiled at her. “Mr. Lulworth’s got a visitor at the moment, but he told me to put you in the study.”
This did not sound quite like an impulsive and emotional showdown, and slightly relieved at what might prove to be a reprieve, Sydney entered the pleasant, book-lined study. She could very well imagine Hugh here, she thought, as she took a seat by the open fire. Indeed, the open papers and the abandoned pipe on the desk suggested that he had very recently been here.
And, even as she thought this, she heard his step in the hall, and a moment later he entered the room.
Instinctively, she rose to her feet trying to look calm and collected, and groping in her mind for the quiet, dignified phrases with which she would try to answer any charges which Marcia might have made.
But he simply said, “Sit down, Sydney. I wouldn’t have troubled you only I understand Mrs. Dingley is unwell, and so I’m afraid you will have to tackle the situation for me. As you know, we don’t encourage visitors for the boys in the early weeks of term, but the circumstances are unusual.”
“Yes?” said Sydney, trying not to look as bewildered and relieved as she felt.
“Carstairs’ elder sister has just turned up from America. Though, to tell the truth,” Hugh added with a smile, “she looks altogether too glamorous to be anyone’s elder sister. It seems she hasn’t seen the boy for a dozen years or more and wants to give him a surprise. My own feeling is that it’s rather too much of a surprise, and so I’d be glad if you would take her over to Park House with you and arrange the meeting in as tactful and unsensational a manner as you can.”
CHAPTER FIVE
FOR a moment Sydney felt almost hysterical with relief at the discovery that the crisis did not concern her personally, and with a sort of nervous amusement over Hugh’s comically inappropriate use of the word “unsensational”. But she pulled herself together, decided rapidly against any complicated explanations just then, and said pleasantly, “Why, of course, I’ll take Miss—Mrs.—”
“Miss Carstairs,” Hugh supplied.
“I’ll take her over to Park House right away.”
“If you would be so kind.”
“Perhaps—” Sydney groped for something that would guard against at least some of the risks involved, “perhaps Miss Carstairs and her brother would like to have my sitting-room to themselves. That would give them rather more privacy than the Dingleys’ drawing-room where anyone might disturb them.”
“A very good idea,” Hugh approved. And then he led the way into the other room where Anne Carstairs was waiting.
She had been sitting by the fire, but she got up as they entered, and Sydney was immediate
ly aware of a delicate, appealing presence difficult to associate with the mother of two schoolboys, and still less suggestive of the woman Lucas Manning had described.
She was slightly above medium height, but so lightly built that one instinctively applied the word exquisite, and she wore her clothes with consummate grace.
“This is the Matron of Park House,” Hugh explained. “She will take you over there and arrange for you to have a chat with your brother.” He paused, then smiled at his visitor. “We do realize that this is a very special occasion, but you won’t forget that your brother has probably a good deal of work to do this evening, will you?”
“Of course not. You’re being very kind.” Her voice was soft but, like Alistair’s, unexpectedly deeply pitched, and the wide, dark-lashed eyes which she turned on Sydney were the eyes of her younger child.
In spite of everything she had been told about the lovely creature, Sydney immediately found herself feeling gentle and indulgent, and as they went out she said solicitously, “We have a short walk across to Park House. I hope you won’t find it too cold.”
“Oh, no.” Anne Carstairs smiled at her winningly. “But shall we drive over? I have my car here,” and she indicated the car which Sydney had taken to be Marcia’s.
Sydney said they could certainly drive over. Though, having said so, she immediately wondered anxiously whether Edward might not see the car outside Park House and, in some mysterious way, recognize its connection with his mother.
Edward was her special anxiety. The likelihood of their meeting Alistair was remote in the extreme, but with his brother it was another matter. And, even now, Sydney realized, she did not know how long it was since he and his mother had met, or whether even a momentary glimpse of each other would be sufficient for recognition on either side.
Fortunately the boys in Park House were still at tea so that she was able to spirit Anne Carstairs up to her own rooms without meeting anyone, except Curtis, who had been released for choir practice but lingered instead to make certain mystic signs on the landing window with a dirty thumb and a considerable amount of spit.
“Curtis, shouldn’t you be on your way to choir practice?” enquired Sydney, in duty bound to make enquiries although she would have preferred not to let Anne linger before his observant gaze.
“Yes, Matron. I was just going,” declared Curtis, who had obviously been static.
“Then wipe away that disgusting mess and go now,” Sydney said.
“Yes, Matron.” With an owlish glance at Anne, Curtis rather slowly drew a repulsive-looking handkerchief from his pocket and reluctantly erased the signs of his work. Then he went away, presumably to practice hymns to his Maker in his angel voice.
“How quaint!” Anne Carstairs laughed as they went on to Sydney’s rooms. “I suppose that’s the age when they just start to be interesting?”
“No,” Sydney said slowly, thinking of Alistair. “I’d say they are interesting at all ages. That’s the age when they begin to get fiendish, but in a very entertaining way.”
Anne laughed again, a sweet, light, rather silvery laugh.
“You must be a very nice person, Matron, to be able to put up with them all,” she declared. And then, before Sydney could think of a reply to that, “Oh, what a charming room!”
“It is rather nice, isn’t it?” Sydney was gratified in spite of herself. “Do sit down and make yourself comfortable, and if you like, I’ll arrange to have some tea sent up. Your brother will have had his, but I daresay you would like some.”
“I’ve had tea, thank you, with your nice Headmaster.” Anne Carstairs was walking round the room looking at things with an interest that was somehow flattering rather than curious. “So please don’t bother about me any more. If you’d just fetch Robert. Oh!” she had stopped suddenly by the desk, and for a moment Sydney did not see what it was that had arrested her attention. Then Anne picked up something off the desk and Sydney saw it was the programme of Yours to Command, lying open to show a photograph of Lucas Manning.
“Have you been to see this?” Anne glanced up, smiling, and suddenly her smile was not quite so guileless as Alistair’s.
“Yes. It’s—very good.” Sydney strove to make her tone casual. “Have you seen it?”
“No. I haven’t been back in London long enough to go to any plays. But I must see that. I used to know Lucas Manning very well.”
“Did you?” Sydney said, with the uncomfortable feeling that she was somehow eavesdropping. “He is excellent in the part.”
“He’s usually excellent,” Anne conceded. “Besides, nowadays he can choose the parts that suit him. I suppose this is sophisticated comedy with a touch of real charm to warm it?”
“That describes it pretty well,” Sydney agreed with a smile. “Well then, he just has to be himself.”
The other girl shrugged. “And hide the fact that underneath he is really as hard as nails.” With difficulty Sydney restrained herself from arguing that point. But it was essential that she should show no personal knowledge of Lucas Manning. So she smiled noncommittally and went away to fetch Carstairs.
She found the head boy in his study, already settling down to his evening’s work. But when she looked in he got up at once and said, “Hello, Matron. Did you want something?”
“Only to have a word with you, Carstairs,” Sydney said.
“Won’t you sit down?”
Sydney took the chair he offered, “It’s about your sister,” she began. “You spoke of her the other evening, Carstairs, and said you were expecting her home from America sometime this year.”
“Why, yes, I did. How nice of you to remember.”
“Well, something has just happened which reminded me very forcibly,” Sydney explained with a smile. “I don’t know just how soon you expect her. But—there’s a visitor waiting for you now in my room.”
“A visitor, Matron? D’you mean—” Carstairs flushed suddenly with excitement and got off the desk. “Good lord! You don’t mean that my sister—that Anne is here now?”
“Yes, I do. She arrived quite unexpectedly this afternoon. Mr. Lulworth thought I’d better have a word with you first, so that it wasn’t too much of a shock. I’ve put your sister in my room, and you can have the place to yourselves until dinner time. I felt that would be pleasanter for you.”
“Matron, how sporting of you!” He actually wrung her hand. “Anne! Good heavens, I can’t imagine it! In a way she’s like a stranger, of course. But, on the other hand—Well, I must go and see her. Are you coming too?” He seemed almost nervous for a moment.
But Sydney shook her head with a smile.
“You won’t need any introductions,” she assured him. “Go along and make yourself known. I’m sure she’ll be very pleased to find she has such a nice brother.”
He laughed and ran his hand through his rather untidy hair.
“Is she still very pretty?” he asked curiously.
“Perfectly lovely,” Sydney told him with sincerity. And then she went away, ostensibly to attend to her duties, but really to see that Edward was not involved in any awkward meeting.
Here she found Edward safely involved in some game which required match-sticks and string, and a good deal of shouting from everyone.
Presently the group tired of their distraction and Curtis, having won nearly everyone else’s matches, drew near and said sociably to Sydney, “Was that your sister with you this evening, Matron, on the stairs?”
“No, Curtis. That was the sister of one of the boys,” Sydney replied.
“She didn’t look like anyone’s sister,” remarked Curtis.
“Why didn’t she?” Edward wanted to know suddenly. “How does anyone’s sister have to look?”
“Oh, well—” said Curtis, “She was very pretty, you know, and smelt nice.”
“I bet she didn’t smell nicer than my mother,” put in another little boy in a provocative sort of tone.
This led to a competitive discussion on matern
al perfume which would, Sydney could not help thinking, have probably both surprised and gratified some down-trodden parents.
Edward took no part in this discussion until Curtis turned suddenly to him and said, “What scent does your mother use?”
“I don’t know.” Edward was suddenly rather pale and tense.
“Well, is she pretty?” asked Curtis, giving him another chance.
“I don’t know,” said Edward rather wildly.
“Coo—” began Curtis. But Sydney interrupted calmly.
“It’s always difficult to judge anyone near to you,” she said. “But Edward’s uncle told me that his mother was perfectly beautiful.”
“Did he, Matron?” Edward actually came and leaned slightly against her.
“Yes. And I’m sure he’s a very good judge.”
Edward did not reply, and presently the others, drawn by some fresh interest, began to drift away.
Conscious though she was of him, Sydney did not look at the child who was leaning against her, for she guessed that a kindly, matter-of-fact acceptance of his presence was what would disturb him least. Then, after a minute or two, he spoke.
“I don’t really remember her much, you know,” he said rather anxiously, and frowned as though making some sort of effort.
“Don’t you, Edward?” Sydney carefully kept her voice from showing all the tenderness she felt for fear of stirring the child’s emotions further. “Well, I shouldn’t worry about it. Sometimes one forgets things or people for quite a while, and then something brings them back again quite clearly.”
Yours to Command Page 6