A Dream Came True

by Betty Neels

  ‘You are in love, perhaps?’

  Jemima looked down at her hands and willed herself not to blush. ‘That would hardly fit into my life at present, Lady Manderly. Would you like me to continue playing?’

  Her companion shot her a peevish look. ‘You’re sometimes too ready with your tongue, Jemima. I enjoy offering advice to those who need it. But you know your own business best, of course.’ Her voice was as peevish as her look.

  ‘You’re very kind, Lady Manderly, but I have no need of advice, thank you.’

  Lady Manderly snorted. ‘You prefer to eat your heart out, do you? I’ll say no more. Fetch Pooley for me, will you? I shall go to bed, and I suggest that you do the same.’

  Jemima got to her feet. ‘Goodnight, Lady Manderly—I’ll get Pooley at once.’

  Sitting up in bed later, she discovered that she wasn’t at all sleepy. She should have been, because she had spent the afternoon walking the two miles or so to Arisaig, and although the hotel was empty of guests, they obligingly gave her tea after she had walked along the sands to the north of the village.

  It had been cold and very beautiful, with a stormy sea and a biting wind and flurries of icy rain, but she had enjoyed every minute of it. She had even enjoyed the walk back to the lodge, uphill all the way. Next week, she promised herself, when she had her half day, she would explore further. It was a pity that Lady Manderly liked her to have her day off on Sundays, because there was little to do on that day especially at this time of year.

  She lay back in her comfortable bed, her forgotten book on the counterpane, planning her future, although she could do little about it at the moment, but once there were some replies to her advert… If there were any.

  There were, the very next morning. Three, and none of them sounded promising. She had anticipated a temporary post, so that she could decide what she intended to do. She would have to have a career and the easiest way would be to learn shorthand and typing. If she could arrange to go to night school for three months she might get a small job to start with and work up from there. Her heart wasn’t in it, though; to sit at a desk all day seemed a dull way in which to earn a living, but it could lead to better things. She re-read the letters. The first one wanted someone to care for the granny of the family, blind, and if she read correctly between the lines, difficult. Daughter and son-in-law worked all day, and there were three children at day school. The second was for a strong young woman to care for a disabled boy; so few details were given that Jemima put it back in its envelope and turned to the third one. The worst of the lot; someone to housekeep for an old married couple living in the granny annexe of a house in Hampstead, and also expected to help in the main house, do the shopping and take and fetch the children to and from school. None of them would do, she decided unhappily; unless something more suitable turned up, she would have to go back to Mrs Adams and live on her savings until she could find a job—any job. She was making things hard for herself, she realised that; Lady Manderly would keep her on if she asked her, but she couldn’t bear to stay, not with the chance of seeing Alexander Cator several times a week. Blow the man, said Jemima forcefully, and went downstairs to sit with Lady Manderly and read the daily papers to her.

  They went to Fort William in the afternoon. On the road, narrow to begin with, but widening as they approached the town, and Jemima was able to glance around at the scenery—mountains and yet more mountains and thick forest. And the town was charming; bustling and cheerful, the shops already decked with decorations for Christmas. She parked the car and accompanied Lady Manderly on a present-finding excursion which lasted until the afternoon began to darken.

  ‘We’d better have tea,’ observed Lady Manderly grudgingly. She led the way into a tea-shop and ordered tea and scones and bade Jemima check her list. Very few presents had been bought: Jemima thought privately that it would be a far better idea if her employer waited until she got back to London and then spent an hour or so in Harrods. She had an account there, so she wouldn’t have the pain of parting with actual money from her purse—an opinion borne out presently by Lady Manderly declaring that she had no small change and would Jemima pay.

  It was dark as they drove back and by the time they reached the lodge, the wind had freshened. ‘I do believe it’s going to snow,’ observed Jemima as she collected parcels from the car and saw Lady Manderly into the house. And sure enough, by the time she had put the car away in the garage at the back of the lodge, the first soft flakes were floating down.

  By the time they were sitting at dinner, it was snowing in real earnest, but when she mentioned this: ‘The snow will cease by morning,’ declared her companion in much the same tone of voice King Canute must have used when ordering the North Sea not to come any nearer. ‘There’s no need to get excited about a moderate fall of snow,’ she pointed out in her usual hectoring manner. ‘Martha and Angus have driven to Mallaig for the night, and they would never have gone if they had expected the snow to settle.’

  Jemima thought privately that if she had been Martha and Angus with the prospect of snow stopping them from visiting their daughter, she would have gone while the going was good. But she didn’t say so.

  She spent the evening addressing more envelopes, for as her employer reminded her, she had done nothing to earn her keep all day.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JEMIMA SLEPT SOUNDLY, to be wakened by Pooley with a cup of tea a good deal later than Martha usually brought it.

  ‘Oh, miss,’ said Pooley, with a face as long as a fiddle, ‘the snow’s awful, and we’re all alone—Martha and Angus will never get back. What are we going to do?’

  Jemima leapt out of bed and pulled back the curtains. It was snowing steadily, piling up into hills where there weren’t any, with drifts covering the hedges and shrubs, the drive quite invisible, all unbelievably white and quite unrecognisable. She got back into bed and drank her tea.

  ‘Well, I don’t think we need to worry too much, do you? Even if we can’t get far there’s the telephone and the television…’

  ‘I can’t cook, miss,’ said Pooley in a doomladen voice.

  ‘I can. If you could manage the fires, I’ll scout around the kitchen and get breakfast and get round to the shed by the garage—there’s masses of coal there, and there’s bound to be a shovel. The thing is to keep Lady Manderly cheerful.’

  Pooley scurried off, and Jemima dressed and went down to the kitchen. Breakfast was easy—orange juice, toast, butter, marmalade and coffee, arranged on a delicate cloth upon a tray while Pooley took tea up to Lady Manderly. Jemima had it all ready by the time she came downstairs again, and then she set about getting a meal for themselves. There was less food in the fridge than she would have liked to see, but there was a small sack of oats, plenty of tea, not much bread and even less milk, although there were tins of things like pâté de fois gras and truffles and caviare. The fridge yielded some bacon, half a dozen eggs, a bowl of salad and some cream, and the deep freezer, beyond a couple of iron-hard chickens and some stewing steak, was empty. It seemed a funny way to run a house remote from even the nearest village shop, but Pooley solved the mystery when she came back. The stores at Arisaig delivered the week’s groceries on Wednesday afternoons; she had heard the housekeeper phoning it through only the day before and saying that they were very low in supplies. And, Pooley pointed out, today was Wednesday. They stared at each other for a long minute. ‘Oh, dear, oh dear!’ sighed Jemima, and then: ‘I hope you like porridge!’

  ‘We’ll have to make a plan,’ Jemima pointed out over their porridge. ‘I mean, we’ll have to keep the house tidy and make the beds and see to the fires. The central heating’s oil-fired, isn’t it? I hope the oil won’t freeze—I don’t even know where it comes from…I’ll go and talk to Lady Manderly presently and explain that we’ll have quite a bit to do—thank heaven for the radio and the telly!’ She poured them both more tea. ‘Let’s go round the store cupboards and see what there is. I wonder how long this weather lasts
?’

  Pooley had no idea. ‘What about Coco?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, lord, I’d forgotten all about her.’ Jemima got up from the table. ‘Look, I’m going to look for some wellies and an old coat. I’ll take Coco out—I’ll have to—and then we’ll explore the kitchen thoroughly. I wonder if Lady Manderly knows where Martha and Angus are and if they’re on the phone.’

  There were both boots and thick cape with a hood behind the back door. Jemima scooped up Coco under one arm and opened the door, to be met with a flurry of snow, almost blinding her. But she saw that it was whirling past the door, piling up against the wall in deep drifts; at least they would be able to get in and out for the moment. She set Coco on to the snow. ‘And for heaven’s sake be quick!’ she begged the little dog.

  Coco needed no urging. She bolted back through the door when Jemima opened it and went to sit by the Aga, which was warm, while Jemima took off the cape and boots, tidied herself in front of the kitchen mirror, and went upstairs to see Lady Manderly.

  That lady, still snug in her bed, was disposed to make light of the situation. ‘You have Pooley to help you,’ she pointed out, ‘two strong women—and no one but myself to look after.’

  Jemima stood her ground. ‘I’m afraid we shall be busy this morning, Lady Manderly. We must clear the snow for a start, get in some coal, find some shovels, tidy the house, make the beds, cook the meals…’

  Lady Manderly waved a dismissive hand. ‘I can see that I am the one to suffer,’ she said with selfconscious fortitude. ‘Send Pooley to me and I’ll dress. Presumably I’m not to have your services this morning, Jemima?’

  ‘Well, it would help a bit if you could manage on your own, Lady Manderly,’ observed Jemima forthrightly. ‘This is quite a big house. I thought it might help a bit if we just had a fire in the sitting-room. I’m not sure where the coal is, for a start, and it’s going to be difficult to get it indoors.’

  Lady Manderly cast her eyes up to heaven. ‘What a number of mountains you’re making out of a few molehills! And I thought you to be such a sensible girl.’

  ‘I am, that’s why I’m suggesting that we just have one fire, Lady Manderly.’ Jemima beat a retreat before Lady Manderly could answer.

  Pooley was away a long time; Jemima had washed up the breakfast things, tidied the kitchen, Hoovered the hall, the sitting-room and as much of the stair carpet as she could reach, and rushed around with a duster before the maid appeared looking agitated.

  ‘My lady wants chicken supreme for her dinner tonight,’ she almost wailed. ‘Whatever shall we do?’ She would have wrung her hands, but Jemima, anxious to get the chores done, thrust a duster into them.

  ‘Well, there is a chicken in the freezer—I’ll get it out now—it’s rather short notice, but that can’t be helped. Lady Manderly shall have her chicken supreme. I’ve been going over the cupboards; there are plenty of jelly packets and tins of fruit, that’ll do for a sweet. She can have an omelette for lunch.’

  ‘What about us?’ asked Pooley.

  ‘Potatoes in their jackets and some cheese on top—we’ll worry about dinner when we get to it.’ Jemima glanced out of the window; the sky was a nasty dead grey, although it had stopped snowing. ‘Look, will you whip round the bedrooms and make the beds, make up the fire and get the coffee? I’m going outside to see where everything is.’

  ‘You’ll catch your death of cold,’ said Pooley mournfully. Not an ideal companion for an emergency, thought Jemima, taking off her apron and going to hunt among the garments hung haphazard on hooks by the kitchen door. She got into the boots again, selected a well worn anorak several sizes too big for her, added a disreputable old cloth cap and some woolly gloves, and pronounced herself ready.

  Outside, with Pooley’s unhappy voice begging her to be careful echoing through the shut door, she took stock of their surroundings. She knew the garage, of course, but she had never had occasion to look into the shed alongside it. Probably there would be a spade there, and that was the most urgent thing, and after that, to find the coal…

  The snow was deep. By the time she had reached the shed it had seeped over the tops of her boots and was melting down into her feet. It was only as she reached for the handle of the shed door that she remembered that she hadn’t thought about it being locked. It wasn’t. She heaved a sigh of relief and began on the slow job of shifting the snow so that she could open it, muttering to herself the while. ‘This is a man’s job, but as usual there isn’t one handy. If only Alexander were here!’

  She felt a quite unexpected sob choke her, but she swallowed it down, attacked the snow once more, and prised the door open. There was a spade inside and even better, a snow shovel, rather large and heavy, but it would do the job much faster. Perhaps she could get Pooley to help her. There was no coal, though. She dragged the spade and shovel outside and shut the door and started back to the house, to search the back wall for a likely door which might lead to coal. She found it presently, dug it free, and opened it. There was coal enough and stacks of logs, too, it was just a question of getting it to the house. She would need a wheelbarrow, and there was one in the shed. She toiled back the way she had come, this time shovelling a narrow path, fetched the wheelbarrow, and returned to the coalhouse. She was a strong girl and not impatient, which was just as well, because it took time to fill the barrow and almost as long to get it to the kitchen door. She had to thump for some time before Pooley came to open it and then wait while she found coal scuttles and buckets, and then gingerly help to transfer the coal.

  ‘My lady wants her coffee,’ Pooley moaned.

  ‘So do I,’ said Jemima. ‘I’m going to get a load of logs and firewood—do listen out for me, Pooley.’

  The logs were easier, and lighter too. She flung them in a heap on to the kitchen floor and went back for more and then once again, this time for more coal which she left in the wheelbarrow just outside the door. She was tired now, but this afternoon she decided to get another load of wood and stack it by the barrow. The snow was holding off, but the sky was a very nasty colour and the wind, which had died down, was beginning to blow again. She stumped inside, kicked off the boots and pulled off her sodden anorak and cap, then sat down thankfully to drink the coffee Pooley had ready. She looked at the unhappy middle-aged face opposite her and decided that there was bad news. She was right.

  ‘The telephone’s out of order.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, are you? Who did you try to get?’

  ‘My lady wanted to speak to Martha, and then I tried the post office in the village. The line’s dead.’

  ‘Oh, well, we’ll manage. I’m going to tidy myself and go and talk to Lady Manderly.’

  Her employer she found sitting before the fire in the sitting-room, working at her embroidery with a martyred air. She put the canvas down with deliberation and eyed Jemima coldly.

  ‘Ah, Jemima. Am I to have the pleasure of your company after all? I supposed I was to sit here in neglect for the whole day.’

  ‘Perhaps Pooley didn’t explain very well,’ said Jemima, pleasantly matter-of-fact. ‘I’ve been fetching and carrying coal and wood and checking the food in the house, and if I’m to cook the meals and clear the snow away from the doors, I’m afraid I can’t be here as well. Pooley doesn’t cook and I don’t think she’s strong enough to shovel snow. She’s doing the housework, though.’ She added kindly, ‘Probably this snow won’t last, but I think we ought to prepare for the worst, don’t you?’

  ‘You’re being over-anxious, Jemima, but if you feel you must do these things, then by all means do them—they make a splendid excuse for leaving me to my own devices.’ Lady Manderly allowed a shudder to shake her considerable frame. ‘I am quite at your mercy.’

  Jemima, whose feet were still cold and who saw nothing but a day of cooking and shovelling snow and humping coal before her, spoke quite sharply. ‘That’s nonsense, Lady Manderly. And if you’re lonely, you could come down to the kitchen and help get the lunch.’ />
  She flounced out without waiting to hear her companion’s horrified answer.

  Well, I’m leaving anyway, she reminded herself as she raced downstairs, and even if she sacks me I can’t leave until there’s a road clear.

  She had another cup of coffee when she got back to the kitchen and laid a tray for Lady Manderly’s lunch, set out the ingredients for an omelette, made Melba toast, and opened a can of soup. There weren’t enough eggs for all of them; she and Pooley would have to be content with the soup and toast. It was a disaster that the larder should be so empty, and her opinion of Martha fell sharply. If the snow didn’t thaw in a couple of days they would have to live on caviare and the other delicacies in the cupboard. She peeled potatoes—and there weren’t many of those left either—cleaned some leeks and scraped the last of the carrots ready for Lady Manderly’s dinner, then got back into her still damp things, pulled on the boots and went outside again. There might be potatoes in one of the outhouses, the difficulty was getting to them. She gave up presently and struggled back and forth with more logs and finding another bucket, filled that with coal before getting the shovel and starting to carve a path around the side of the house. The snow had drifted thickly against one wall and there seemed no point in trying to shift it; besides, the wind was fast becoming a gale and it was freezing. She tried the other way, working round to the front of the house, and had just cleared a narrow track when it started to snow again, gently at first but caught now and then by a gust of wind, so cold that her face was numb. She went back to the kitchen door and as she opened it remembered that the water pipes would probably freeze.

  She threw off her things, got out of the boots and padded round the kitchen, the pantry and several small dark empty rooms leading out of the kitchen, but she couldn’t even see anything which looked like a main water tap.