by Norrey Ford
She flew to him, knelt beside him. "Daddy, what's wrong? Shall I get a doctor?"
He stubbed a finger towards the instrument. "My brother John William! We haven't spoken for thirty years—and I don't thank him for what he had to tell me. Verity, why—why in heaven's name didn't you tell me?"
"I was going to. Believe me, I was going to tell you, when the telephone rang."
He tugged her head back by the hair, boring into her eyes with a searching look. She met his scrutiny steadily. It lasted a long time, and it was hard to bear the pain of her wrenched hair.
At last he released her. "You want to marry his son."
`I waited till I could tell you in person, not in a letter. Adam and I love each other and we're going to be married."
"Is this the paragon you offered me in place of Tom? His father has thrown him out. What makes you think I'd take him on?"
"He's your kinsman—a Bramhall. He's like you, Daddy. More like you than he's like Uncle John William."
"He's still John William's brood." He pressed his face into his hands. "Child, why did you have to do this to me? Couldn't you have chosen elsewhere? Of all the men in the world, why this man?"
"I'm sorry, Daddy. I mean I'm sorry it hurts you, not that I'm sorry to love Adam."
"You must give him up. I won't have it. Anyway you're ander age."
"We can wait. Or we can apply to the Courts for permission to marry."
"You little viper—you'd sting me, would you? By heaven, I made you—picked you up from nothing, gave you everything you have."
"I know that. I've thought about it a lot, and I am grateful. I'd do anything in the world to please you, but not this. I shall not give up Adam."
"What'll you do if I turn you out?"
"I'll work."
"What at? You're not trained for anything. You're useless."
She flashed back, "Whose fault is that?" She held up her two hands. "I've got these. I've been trained in your house. I can drive a car, arrange flowers, organize parties. I can sew and housekeep. I could drive a baker's van if I had to. I shan't starve."
"Get up, get up. Don't kneel on the floor. I never thought to have all I've given you thrown back in my face."
"You've given me everything, but there was one thing you took away. But if you take back everything, that's the one thing I'll have left."
"What are you driving at? I took nothing from you—you had nothing."
"Yes, I had. My identity as Mary Bell. I can find her now I know she exists in here." She pressed a clenched fist over her heart.
He was silent a frighteningly long time. He was still breathing heavily, and his eyes sought the painting of his wife which hung over the chimneypiece.
"Who told you that name? Are you threatening me?" "No more than you are threatening me. You've shown your hand and I'm showing mine."
Bull-like, he swung his head from side to side. "I wasn't threatening. I asked because I was curious to know. Child, why this man?"
She said simply, "Probably because I like Bramhalls best."
Again he looked up at his wife's sweet, youthful face. "So did you, lass," he muttered.
More calmly, he went on, "John William said you weren't good enough for his son. He said he'd have taken you if Adam had picked you out of the gutter, but he wouldn't tolerate my girl within a mile of his boy. I'll show him! I'll show him whether you're good enough! I'll get even with him for saying that."
"You've just said the same thing about Adam! So he'll want to get even with you. Daddy, couldn't you make up this silly quarrel? Adam's quite a normal man, not a fiend. He's ridiculously like you—it's almost laughable sometimes. And if you gave him side-whiskers and a high collar, he'd be Robert the First to a T."
"Like me? Is that true, or are you trying to wheedle round me?"
"Why not see him for yourself?"
He sat silent so long that her hopes began to rise. What if, by some fantastic chance, he took a liking to Adam?
"John William's turned his boy away. So now neither of us has a son to follow him. We're equal in that. But I have a daughter, and if J. W. had played his cards right, he'd have nabbed both son and daughter. He always was a short-sighted fool." He massaged his chin again thoughtfully. "If I took young what's-his-name into my business . . .?"
"Daddy—would you?"
"Don't interrupt, I'm thinking. You say this boy is like me?"
She could not imagine how his mind was working, but she knew he was not entirely against them now. "So like, Daddy. Your Elfrida would have loved him You must have been his image, at the same age."
"H'm! Oh, run away, girl, run away. I must think."
She kissed him goodnight and went up to bed. After the emotions of the last half hour she was shivering with excitement. Robert Bramhall was taking a hand and something was bound to happen now. The deadlock was over. Whatever happened, good or bad, it would be a relief from inaction.
Good or bad? What would the three Bramhall men make of her life, between them? Two of them so dearly loved, so much alike, yet pulling her in opposite directions.
She looked in on Aunt Fidget, but rather to her relief that good lady was asleep. She was in no mood for talking over the scene with Robert, or speculating upon the action he would most certainly take.
Robert Bramhall took a week to think. Aunt Fidget crept about the house like a guilty mouse, hourly expecting blame to fall on her like a ton of bricks.
Verity had difficulty in restraining Adam.
"I ought to go and see him," he insisted. "I can't leave you to stand the racket alone."
"There's no racket. It may be the lull before the storm, but he'll come up with something sooner or later. He won't forget or let it slide. If anything happens I'll let you know and you can come dashing up on your white charger to rescue me, I promise."
Laurie was sympathetic. "He likes to see you dancing on a hot griddle, the old beast. It's a form of punishment for going against him. Why not come to the tennis club hop with us? It'll take your mind off Father."
"Do," said Sally. "It'll have to be my last fling. Laurie's new cowman can come too."
"Cowman?"
Laurie laughed and tugged her hair. "Don't look so startled. Ted Bartlett's gone sick, so I've had to employ an out-of-work spice importer."
`
Verity's face flamed. "Adam? Laurie, how lovely! Is he a good cowman?"
"He suits me. You'd better consult the cows if you want a further reference."
"I'll ask them to give him an evening off for the dance."
The tennis dance was always a gay, informal affair. Adam took Verity into his arms and whirled her out on to the dance floor.
"Let's forget everything to-night, sweetheart, except that we're young and you are beautiful, and we're fathoms deep in love. I've come to the conclusion that you're right and always have been. I ought to have followed your hunch from the beginning."
She gave a silvery chime of laughter. "What a handsome admission, from a Bramhall!"
"But I'm only fifty per cent Bramhall, remember. I had a mother who was an angel of gentleness and patience. Bless us, I hope you don't think I'll grow old exactly like the old boys?"
"I won't let you. They were too much indulged by their womenfolk . . . Yes, Robert—you're perfectly right, John William! I shall not allow your ego to become bloated, my lad."
"Not even if I beat you?"
"What'll I be doing, while you're beating? I shall bite your ear. But what was I right about, oh great one?"
"Getting married. Nailing our colours to the mast. We'll do it next week."
"This is so sudden!"
"Not nearly sudden enough. I should never have allowed you to go on that cruise. When two people love as we do, Verity, anything—anything at all, which keeps us apart must be wrong. I—good grief!"
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing. I've just seen Rosemary, dancing with Tom. There—look."
Rosemary, in a classicall
y simple dress of white silk jersey, looked a picture of cool perfection.
Verity sighed. "She is beautiful, Adam. She doesn't even look as petulant as she used to. I wonder why?"
"She looks a cat in sight of the cream. I have a horrid feeling that I'm the cream."
"Do you suppose she knows? If so, I'm truly sorry for her. It must be awful to feel one's grandfather is trying so hard to buy a husband, and failing so spectacularly."
During the next interval Tom and Rosemary halted a moment to speak to the party from Springwater. Verity thought Tom seemed embarrassed, lacking his usual self-possessed manner. Rosemary was charming. Within a very short time, they moved away with a light excuse.
Verity sat with Sally while the men went. to fetch ices from the buffet.
"Why the change of heart, Sally? Nothing has changed. I'm still going to marry Adam, and if her grandfather has told her about the situation between Adam and his father, it must be wretched for her."
"Do you think she does know?"
"It's possible she doesn't. Old Sam Brown may be more tactful than Uncle John William; he may wait until things are cut and dried before telling her."
"Or he may not tell her at all, leaving Adam to make his own approach. That would be the most tactful way of all. Verity, I'm sorry for her too. It must be wretched to be a pawn in a bargaining game."
Verity was watching the pair dancing together, gravely, with polished, practised skill. "She doesn't look sorry for herself," she said thoughtfully. "She looks as if some tension has dissolved in her, as if she'd no more reason to be jealous. As if she'd—won."
"But she hasn't!" Sally spoke almost too quickly, Verity considered. As if I needed reassuring. But I don't, because I know Adam loves me, and will never give in and marry Rosemary. Never, never—even though his refusal costs him his dearest ambition.
The morning after the dance, Robert Bramhall told Verity to send for Adam. "I've made my plans, and I want to talk to you both, here and now. Do you know where he is?"
"I know where he's working. I—I think his employer would let him come straight away, if I telephoned. May I know what your plans are, Daddy?"
He rubbed his hands with satisfaction. "No. Get him here and I'll tell you both. I've had my scouts out and I know a good deal more than perhaps you think I know. I intend to please you, if that's what you're worrying about."
"You mean you'll agree to our marrying?"
"Under certain conditions, yes."
She stood up very straight. "I think I ought to tell you that we intend to marry in any case. But it'll be easier and happier all round if you agree. I'd hate to hurt you and go against your wishes."
He shot a glance under heavy eyebrows. "But you'd do it, eh?"
"If necessary, yes. I don't mean to be defiant, I just want to be honest and let you know how matters stand between Adam and me. Loving him doesn't make me love you any the less."
"Right. You'll be none the worse for what you've said. I admire straight speaking. Just wait till you hear what I've got to say! It'll fix J.W. It'll fix him properly." He chuckled again.
Verity went to look for her aunt. "Keep Daddy talking, to give me a chance to telephone Laurie," she begged. "I don't know what he's up to, but there's something diabolical in it."
"Oh dear, I don't like the sound of that. Stick to your guns, ducky. The whole trouble with all the Bramhall men is that their women have given in to them too easily. The trouble my poor little sister brought on herself because she didn't stand up to him from the first! Don't be downtrodden, love."
Verity hugged her. "I won't, I swear I won't, Auntie. I'm excited and frightened all at once, but I'm utterly deter-
mined." She gave a quick, too high-pitched laugh. "I think Daddy's going to marry us out of hand, to spite John William."
"There never was a Bramhall yet who didn't cut off his nose to spite his face. What shall I talk to him about?"
"The housekeeping money. That'll fix him till I've finished. Somehow I don't think Daddy ought to know Adam is working for Laurie."
An hour later Adam entered Nutmeg House for the first time in his life. Verity was radiant with happiness. She had changed into his favourite dress of emerald green wool, with a narrow waist broad-belted in black patent leather, and a bouffant skirt. Her shining crown of hair was piled high in a Victorian bun at the back, and tied with a narrow velvet ribbon. She pulled him towards the library door, eager to hear Robert's ideas.
"Hey, wait a bit," he grinned. "Probably I'll be out on my ear in ten minutes. Give me a chance to look at the home of my ancestors. Hello, there's Grandfather Bramhall." He studied the big dark-toned painting with frank interest.
"Do hurry up," she begged. "Daddy has worked out a wonderful plan."
"I thought you said you didn't know what it was?"
She put a hand over her mouth, suppressing a giggle. "It's a nice one—for you and me. I don't know whether everybody concerned is going to like it."
In her high-flown mood it was impossible to resist teasing him. "If I do, I shan't tell you. You must hear it straight from the horse's mouth, then you'll be as wise as I am."
He shook a fist at her. "Witch! All right, then—lead me to execution."
Uncle and nephew took stock of each other. The Bramhall blood was unmistakable; the wide shoulders, the well-set head, the square jutting chin. A minute ticked by. If Robert thought to try the young man's nerves by silence, he failed. Adam met his scrutiny steadily.
"So you want to marry my daughter?"
"I intend to, Uncle Robert."
"And that's the reason my brother threw you out of Bramhall and Son? Don't you care for the business?"
"I care deeply. I'd like to have carried it forward another generation. But I love Verity and I don't intend to be bullied by my father." His chin tilted higher.
"H'm! I like you for that, Adam. Sit down, both." He studied them both with a puckish expression. "May I ask how you intend to support Verity?"
"On my earnings, sir. I'm no lay-about."
"Can you earn enough to support your wife as I've supported her?"
"I asked Verity to be a poor man's wife, not a rich man's daughter."
"Suppose I make her a generous allowance?"
For the first time, Adam hesitated. "I'd rather you didn't. But I've no right to refuse for Verity. She must decide." Robert glanced at Verity, eyebrows lifted.
Promptly, she said, "No allowance, thank you."
Robert nodded as if satisfied, folded his arms and assumed what Laurie called his captain-of-industry expression. "When your father telephoned me and told me what you were up to, young man, he said my daughter wasn't good enough to marry you."
Adam reddened with anger. "He said that, sir? If he weren't my father I'd punch his head."
"You shall, my boy, you shall! By marrying Verity with my blessing."
Verity clapped her hands. "I told you he was a dear, Adam."
Adam said stiffly, "You're agreeing to our marriage because you want to wipe Father's eye? I'd rather it were for a better reason."
Robert leaned back and nodded like a Chinese image. "I'm agreeing to it because my lass loves you, boy. It'll annoy J.W., but that's merely a by-product, as you might say. I've a better plan than that for wiping John William Bramhall's eye—and a scheme that will give you your revenge too. He's given you a raw deal these last few weeks, so I'm told."
"I haven't complained." Adam glanced suspiciously at Verity, who spread her hands and shrugged in a gesture which she hoped conveyed that she hadn't been telling tales out of school.
"There's a condition to the marriage," Robert went on. "You'll marry on condition that you're managing a successful spice importing business here in Earlton."
There was a silence, in which Robert pushed his thumbs into his pockets and stared at the ceiling. Verity watched Adam anxiously. She was a little lost in Robert's mental processes, but she knew him well enough to understand that everything would turn out we
ll in the end. He liked to batter his way through a jungle rather than go round by a simple path.
Adam stood up. "I came at your invitation, Uncle Robert, but not to be made a fool of. It looks as if we'll have to do without our blessing, unless you believe you can make my father change his views."
"I wouldn't try. I've a plan which evens the score neatly between myself and J.W. He did me out of the family business, and after thirty years I'll make him understand how it feels. You'll take over Brown's, lock, stock and barrel."
"By marrying his granddaughter. No, thank you."
Verity was anxious. She heard a warning note in Adam's voice. Robert was behaving very naughtily, playing with them both like cat and mouse, and it was beginning to get under Adam's skin. Heavens, they mustn't quarrel at this ticklish stage. She touched Adam's arm.
"Wait a little, Adam. Daddy has a scheme and I'm sure it's a good one. Hear him out."
Adam's jaw was set. "I'm waiting to hear it, but he talks in riddles. Could you explain yourself, sir?"
"I've been talking to Sam Brown. He tells me his granddaughter has interests elsewhere. She's no more disposed to do as she's told than you are, it seems."
"Daddy! You mean Rosemary wouldn't have Adam, anyway?"
"None of you clever young people thought to ask her, did you? Prompted by me, Sam put the question to her, and got his answer short and sharp."
Verity grabbed Adam's hand. "Then your father will have to give in, and everything will be splendid. Daddy, you are a genius!"
Robert patted his own waistcoat complacently. "I told you it took an old man to think out a proper scheme. There's still the little matter of your being my girl—and the trifling matter of my turning the tables on John William. Don't rob me of my small triumph, will you? I've waited a long time for it."
Adam moved impatiently. "I'll admit you've bested us on the Rosemary question. It's true nobody thought of asking her. In any case, I couldn't very well ask her if she wanted to marry me, could I? It would have been dashed awkward if she'd said yes."
Verity giggled nervously, then straightened her face resolutely. A tension was building up. Adam's face was blacker and blacker. He simply mustn't explode now.