by Mira Stables
“Nobody in his senses would ever believe that I climbed up them steps to look at a lot of dusty old books,” said Hilda practically. “Besides, credit where credit’s due, and it was you that found them. I daresay you don’t want a grand fuss, but surely you want to see if they really are the jewels? And it’s only decent to give Mr. Winfield an opportunity of thanking you.”
“Then at least will you help me to conceal my identity,” pleaded Katherine. “Think of the talk it will make in the neighbourhood if the whole story comes out. Could you not say that I was a friend of yours, just visiting you, and that I mended the tapestry for my pleasure and to pass the time. It is true enough—and the rest follows naturally. There is no need to tell him my name, and I shall be safe away before he thinks to ask. Then you can tell him that I’m very shy and don’t like to be thanked, and that you promised faithfully not to tell anyone.”
Hilda thought this was a silly idea, and argued that it would be very difficult to refuse information to her employer, but Katherine seemed so distressed that she eventually gave a grudging consent. The interview, which ensued when Mr. Winfield came across to the Priory in response to Hilda’s urgent message, went off much more smoothly than Katherine had feared. She had taken some pains to ensure that her own appearance should be as inconspicuous as possible. Her gown was the plain morning one that she kept at the Priory to wear when she was working, since one could not sit about in riding dress all day; and she took the added precaution of re-dressing her hair in a very severe style that was far from becoming. Her obvious timidity bore out the character that Hilda was to give her, and Hilda herself, garrulous in her excitement, was quite happy to do most of the talking. If Mr. Winfield thought the tale an odd one, he was too kind-hearted to take the nervous little creature to task for her rather encroaching behaviour, and confined himself to hoping that she had not irretrievably damaged the tapestry by her unskilled attentions. He listened patiently to her own rather faltering account of how she had come to examine the old journals, and woke to startled interest when she showed him her discovery.
“So then we thought as how those parcels might have the lost jewels in them, sir,” concluded Hilda eagerly. “Won’t you please open them and see?”
Mr. Winfield’s own heart-beats were not as steady as usual, and he was in no mood to study the reactions of the onlookers. If this odd child really had stumbled across the long lost treasure, then a hundred schemes that had been reluctantly rejected for lack of money to finance them could now be put into operation. From being a continual struggle to make ends meet, life could now offer the fulfilment of his modest dreams. His strong hands shook a little as he picked up the largest parcel and almost fearfully unfolded its dingy wrapping.
There could be no mistaking them. Even in the dimly lit library, the diamonds glowed and sparkled in the candle light. Mr. Winfield held up the necklace, wordlessly, to Hilda’s clasped hands and joyous exclamations. Carefully he unwrapped the other parcels. There were more diamonds—a circlet to wear in the hair, two bracelets and several brooches. There was a charming little sapphire pendant, a stone of good colour set in tiny diamonds, and a sapphire and diamond chain. The last two parcels yielded a number of rings and buckles and a gold snuff box.
Mr. Winfield gave a deep sigh of relief from strain, and held out his hand to Katherine. She hesitated briefly before putting her cold little fingers into his clasp, and freed them as soon as she decently could. She was delighted with the outcome of her meddling, but more interested in making her escape. Mr. Winfield—she would not have recognised him, so tall and broad had he grown—picked up the sapphire pendant.
“On your own admission,” he said, his voice not quite steady, “it is entirely thanks to you that the jewels have been found. I would like you to accept this as a keepsake, to remind you of a strange adventure, and of the inestimable service that you have rendered me.”
Katherine shrank back. “Oh, no sir. No, thank you. I could not. It is reward sufficient to know that I have been of service.”
He thought her diffident about accepting a gift of jewellery. “It must be as you wish,” he bowed, “but I shall consider this pendant as yours. The other jewels will all be sold. Perhaps you would rather have the price that the pendant will bring.”
She did not look the kind of girl who would have much use for a costly jewel, he thought briefly, but if she were in humble circumstances, as her friendship with Hilda would seem to suggest, a respectable sum of money must always be useful.
But the suggestion of financial reward seemed even more distasteful to the girl. She blushed and stammered as she begged him not to think any more about it. She had discovered the jewels by the merest accident, which could have happened to anyone, and could not endure to profit by such a chance circumstance. Mr. Winfield thought her attitude did her credit, and noticed, vaguely, that her speech was quite refined despite her agitation. There was no hurry about the pendant. It could very well wait until they had all had time to recover from so much excitement. No doubt when the girl had had time for sober reflection she would take a more practical attitude. He began to rewrap the jewels, and allowed Hilda and her protégée to withdraw to the housekeeper’s quarters. He was not to know that having packed her working equipment in a basket obligingly lent by Hilda, the two of them promptly repaired to the main gateway, where they waited for half an hour in the chilly dusk until the carriage from Hays Park arrived. It had seemed prudent to both that this vehicle should not be permitted to drive up to the house, where it might attract undesirable notice. Their farewell was brief, Hilda anxious to get back to her cosy fireside, Katherine to be on her way. With a promise that once all the fuss and gossip about the recovery of the jewels had died down she would visit Hilda again, she stepped up into the chaise and sank back thankfully against the squabs.
Poor Hilda was obliged to endure a very uncomfortable quarter of an hour with her master on the following morning. That gentleman, in the understandable belief that her young friend was staying in the house, asked when it would be convenient for him to talk with the girl. He not only wanted to discuss the matter of some reward, but also to thank her for the renovation of the Priory tapestry, which he had now had time to inspect. The skill with which the work had been performed came as a surprise, and did more to arouse his curiosity about the needlewoman than had her discovery of his jewels. He also suspected that it had involved weeks of work, and would very much have liked to know how it had been managed without his knowledge.
He came up against a blank wall. Hilda, realising that she could all too easily be trapped into damaging admissions if she volunteered any information whatsoever, stuck firmly to Katherine’s own excuse of shyness and a dislike of being thanked.
“And I promised her faithfully, sir, that I wouldn’t say who she was or where she came from.” And then, suddenly inspired, added, “She said that was the only reward she wanted—no notice taken and no fuss.”
In the face of so plain a request, there was nothing that Mr. Winfield could do; but oddly enough the girl’s disappearance caused him to think about her a good deal more than her presence had done. Shamefacedly he realised that probably he would not even recognise her if he met her in some place dissociated from the Priory. To be sure, the light had been poor and he had been preoccupied with the jewels, but it was shocking to think that he had paid so little heed to one to whom he was so greatly indebted. He strove to recall her appearance, but the only thing that he could remember clearly was her pleasant speaking voice, which had provided a marked contrast to Hilda’s more rustic accents.
He gave up the attempt to summon up a more exact picture of the girl. But when the jewels came to be sold, he kept back the sapphire pendant. He had said he would regard it as hers. Some day, somewhere, he might come across her again. Then they would see.
Chapter Six
After the excitement of her last day at the Priory, life at Hays Park seemed sheltered but uneventful. Katherine was thankful e
nough to have come off safely from what could have been an awkward sort of business; but as the days passed she could not help missing a certain spice that had put interest into her days at the Priory, and began to realise how deeply she had been involved in the life of that ancient establishment. She had only been an onlooker, a listener, but insensibly she had shared every phase of the Priory’s battle for survival. When crops had been saved by a lucky spell of fine weather, she had rejoiced with the workers. When two sturdy heifer calves had been born on successive days, she had shared the cowman’s satisfaction.
At Hays Park, everything was too easy. She tried dutifully to interest herself in the housekeeping and the tenantry. But the housekeeper was no Hilda. She was intimidatingly efficient, and the courteous manner in which she listened to Katherine’s occasional suggestions was distinctly chilling. The house ran on oiled wheels. Money, of course, supplied the oil. There were plenty of servants, able-bodied and well-trained. No dust or damp was permitted to encroach here. Naturally Katherine was glad of this, but she missed the stimulus of the alternating victories and disappointments that had coloured life at the Priory. Here, such trivial matters were unimportant.
She also missed, as she confessed to herself with some shame, her own private excitement in doing a good turn by stealth, the fun of staying hidden when the occasional visitor called, and her final satisfaction in concealing her identity and evading the suggestion of reward. This seemed to have been completely successful. It was all the more annoying then that she was left wondering how Mr. Winfield had reacted to her disappearance. Curiosity was a weakness in her, she admitted. She should be satisfied to have made good her escape.
She heard a good deal about present existence at the Priory. The finding of the jewels had been a nine days’ wonder in the neighbourhood, and speculation as to how the master of the Priory would make use of his unexpected windfall was the favourite conversational topic at social gatherings. It was, perhaps, fortunate that Mr. Winfield himself, absorbed in disposing of the jewels to the best advantage, and in setting on foot certain long-cherished schemes for the future of his estates, was not present at any of these functions. Tongues were able to wag as freely as they liked. On the whole they wagged approvingly. Mr. Winfield was moving slowly, which appealed to a naturally cautious rustic community. The only major work on which he had embarked immediately was the repair of the Priory roof. He was still living in the bailiff’s cottage, though it was understood that he would move into the big house as soon as repairs had made it more habitable. A number of new servants had been engaged, both indoors and out, and Mr. Winfield had also attended several cattle sales in the neighbourhood buying half a dozen likely looking heifers and a fine young bull. There was some argument about the wisdom of this procedure, one or two of the older men estimating the cost of a winter’s keep for these animals when feed would be scarce and expensive, others pointing out that he had bought them more cheaply because that very problem had caused other buyers to hang back. Every one approved the one purchase that might have been considered extravagant. Mr. Winfield had bought himself a fine upstanding hunter, and it was to be assumed that he would now be seen out occasionally with the local pack.
Since being made privy to his daughter’s share in the changing fortunes of the Priory, Mr. Martenhays had taken a keen interest in his young neighbour. He had been told the story under a promise of strict secrecy. He approved her conduct in withdrawing so promptly from the scene of her benevolent activities, and shared her hope that if she should chance to meet Mr Winfield, he would not recognise her. However, a meeting was not very likely. Katherine had overcome her timidity with horses and rode quite competently, but she still preferred a quiet animal and she did not hunt. Apart from the hunting field or a meeting in going to or from Church, there was little chance of a casual encounter, and Mr. Martenhay’s circle of friends was drawn from the older section of the community. Reassured on this head he gave free rein to his interest in Mr. Winfield’s doings. He allowed that the hunter was a justifiable extravagance. Though not himself a hunting man, he thought that a young fellow needed some relief from the burden of responsibility imposed by running a large estate. It would do Mr. Winfield good to enjoy a gallop or two, and to get upon friendly terms with his neighbours. But he was much more interested in his neighbour’s schemes for draining a large area of unproductive wasteland and bringing it under cultivation. If rumour spoke truth, the plan was an ambitious one. The drainage would augment the flow of water in the little river that ran through the Priory grounds, and Mr. Winfield was considering the installation of a water wheel to power a small mill. Generous marling would improve the quality of the sour land, and so produce better grazing. This was the kind of farming practice that Mr. Martenhays understood and approved. To him it represented a wise investment of capital.
The mill scheme, too, intrigued him. Folk said that it was to be used for the spinning of fine woollen yarn, which, in turn, was to be knitted into caps and stockings by workers in the villages. A trifle quixotic, thought Mr. Martenhays shrewdly, but he could see the boy’s idea. Since so much of the common land had been enclosed, there had been much hardship among the labouring classes. There were fewer jobs—sheep did not need so much tending—and a man could no longer keep a cow or one or two sheep of his own to supplement his meagre wage. Such a mill as Mr. Winfield was proposing might well fill a useful purpose. It would provide work for several men, and the knitting would give the women folk a chance to earn a little money in their own homes. Whether it would also show a fair profit on the amount of capital that it would swallow was a different matter.
Katherine continued to find life a hum-drum business. It was difficult to win any response from the labourers and their families. In comparison with many of their kind the men were fairly treated, but they had no real stake in the land. They were concerned only to do what they were told and to give satisfaction to the master. This attitude they had communicated to their wives and families. Katherine found them meek and subservient, agreeing with anything that she said, humbly grateful for a gift of tea or soup in case of sickness, but crushed and spiritless. The Christmas season with its traditional celebrations brought a little life to the sedate cottages, but even then she felt that she knew their occupants no better. If they were really in any difficulty they would not dream of bringing it to the Master’s daughter. It might be construed as complaint.
Christmas came and went. January was open and mild, with a good deal of rain that made outdoor exercise unpleasant and Katherine grew more and more restless. Snowdrops came pricking through the soil, heralding another spring, but still her life seemed to be drifting along without purpose. A pale but welcome sun tempted her out to ride one morning in early February. She would dearly have loved to visit Hilda, to hear for herself about the various activities at the Priory, but she felt it was too risky. She did not want to chance an encounter with Mr. Winfield just yet. Jasper had told her that there was a meet in the village. She decided to ride that way in the hope of seeing something of the activities, feeling that it would give some purpose to an otherwise aimless ride.
All went well at first. She was riding a new horse, a handsome chestnut gelding named Ajax, a Christmas gift from Papa. Her favourite, Nelly, had an over-reach, but Ajax, though he was bigger and stronger than the mare, had proved himself a very comfortable ride. Unfortunately he also had a will of his own. He had been hunted regularly during the previous season, and had taken to the sport like a duck to water. As the mingled noises of horses, hounds and hunting horn came to his ears, he pricked them forward eagerly. This was something that he knew and understood. He had no notion of being an onlooker. He wanted to be off and away with the leaders, and since his rider seemed to have other ideas, he fought for his head. Jasper came trotting up anxiously to render assistance, but the close approach of another horse seemed to irritate Ajax. He slugged out his head, snatched the bit, and bolted after the vanishing hunt. Katherine could not check his pac
e. It was all she could do to stay in the saddle, and hope he would tire himself out before she came to grief. A low wall loomed across her path. She had no chance to steady him and he flew it in fine style but landed awkwardly, throwing Katherine clear before galloping off after the hunt. Jasper and another belated rider jumped the wall together.
Mr. Winfield, who had promised himself a day’s holiday on this spring-like morning, cursed heartily. He had already been prevented from getting to the meet by a minor accident to one of his men, but had hoped, by taking a short cut across country, to catch up with the hunt at the first draw. Chivalry insisted that he should stop and render what assistance he could. One could scarcely leave a female lying in a muddy field, though he did not think that she had come to much harm. She was already trying to sit up. Vaguely, he thought that he had seen her somewhere before, though he could not recall her name. He handed his reins to Jasper and went to help the lady to her feet. Katherine was shaken but otherwise unhurt. Her hat had come off in her fall, and she had a long streak of mud on one cheek, but apart from that she presented a charming picture in her beautifully fitting habit, her hair dressed in the loose ringlets that were the most comfortable under a hard hat.