Bird of Prey

by Henrietta Reid

  “Then you haven’t studied singing? You haven’t won arty awards?”

  Caroline studied him anxiously. Was this interest in her singing a sign that he was softening in his attitude towards her, or was it simply a form of covert mockery?

  “The only prize I ever won was at holiday camp,” she told him cautiously.

  “Holiday camp?” he queried. He leaned against the oak panelling of the corridor, those strange grey eyes of his

  regarding her detachedly. “And what was the prize for?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t anything very interesting. It was just for singing the highest note. ” In an effort to cover her embarrassment she righted the polisher, fervently hoping that she had done it no damage.

  “Well, go on,” he commanded peremptorily. “You can’t stop there. How did it come about that you achieved such a triumph?”

  Was he really interested, Caroline thought desperately, or was this simply a preliminary before she received her marching orders from this rather terrifying employer, who so obviously did not approve of members of his staff vocalizing?

  “You see,” she told him hastily, “Uncle Trevor insisted that I should have a holiday, although Aunt Muriel thought it a waste of money, and—”

  “Just a moment, is this the Uncle Trevor who drinks port?”

  “But only occasionally,” Caroline rejoined a little primly. “He’s my mother’s brother and he’s always been very good to me.”

  “So he isn’t the guardian who doesn’t want you any longer?” “Oh no, Uncle Trevor wanted me to stay on. It was Aunt Muriel, and that was only because I was so clumsy. You see, they’d hoped I’d be able to learn how to mend china. They have a little business, mending antiques, but I could never master it. I always seemed to be all thumbs.”

  “I see, mending antique china!” For a moment she thought she detected a faint interest in those steely grey eyes. “Yes, I can well imagine that if you were as careless with the Dresden as you are with the polisher, the business wouldn’t pay.”

  “Oh, but I was doing all right before you startled me,” she exclaimed defensively.

  “Don’t make excuses!” he commanded abruptly. “Get on with your fascinating story about winning the prize for singing the highest note at the holiday camp.”

  “Well, you see it was the only rainy afternoon we had,” she

  told him earnestly. “The weather had been wonderful up till then and Dick Travers got up a competition to keep us amused.”

  “And who might Dick Travers be, my good girl? Do you realize you’re being extremely obscure?”

  “Oh, he was one of the games organizers,” she informed him. “He used to get up swimming and diving competitions and cross-country runs, and—and that sort of thing, if we were getting bored.”

  “So you enjoyed yourself at this holiday camp?”

  “Oh yes, it was wonderful: I loved every moment of it: it was far and away the best time I’ve had in my whole life, I think. We had such fun, and I made friends and I wrote to the girls afterwards and sent them postcards, and—”

  “And what about the boys? You sent them postcards too, didn’t you? You must have been attracted by some of them.” Caroline considered. “Yes, some of them were very nice, but mostly rather young and immature.”

  He flung back his head and, to her amazement, burst into laughter.

  She gazed at him in astonishment. Somehow she had not realized that this stern employer was capable of laughing so heartily.

  “No doubt they were as young as yourself?” he inquired.

  “Yes, but Dick was different.”

  “He was older, then, was that it?”

  “Oh yes, Dick knew everything. He was a wonderfully competent person.”

  “So you like older men, is that it?”

  “Oh yes, I think they’re much more fascinating. They’ve travelled and seen things and their conversation is so much more interesting.”

  “But you were telling me about the singing competition this Dick Travers character got up on your one rainy afternoon. Don’t let’s get sidetracked.”

  “It was nothing, not really! Just to see who could sing the highest note.” “And of course you won hands down.”

  “Well—yes.”

  “And after that, what happened?”

  “Oh, nothing—the sun came out, you see.”

  Again he threw back his head and burst into laughter. “So that was the end of your promising career?”

  “Yes, you see, they all wanted to go swimming then. ”

  “And was there no award for your spectacular achievement? No silver cup?”

  “No, of course not! Just a sort of fun prize,” she told him rather shyly.

  “I see, and just what was the fun prize? You seem rather reticent. ”

  “Well, it was a little donkey; a toy really, with a long ribbon around its neck, so that you could hang it up, a sort of mascot.”

  “Tell me, did you bring it with you?”

  Caroline nodded.

  “Just as I thought! So you keep it with you to remind you of Dick! Now let me guess where you keep it. On your dressing-table, perhaps?”

  Again she regarded him cautiously, scenting mockery. But it was so hard to tell. Those steely grey eyes beneath the heavy brows were so piercing and expressionless. Like a hawk’s, she told herself, cold and implacable!

  “All right, now that we’ve got so far, why don’t you go the whole hog and tell me where exactly you keep this precious souvenir?”

  Somehow it was almost impossible to be devious with her imperious employer and in spite of herself she found herself answering, “I hang it on the brass knob at the foot of my bed.” She waited, almost flinching, for his abrupt laughter, but instead he remained silent, looking at her curiously for a long moment. “You know, you’re a strange little person, Caroline Downes. In all my long career I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

  As he spoke he bent down and tried the switch on the polisher. “Yes, you seem to have broken it,” he remarked as it remained silent. “What Mrs. Creed will have to say about this, I dread to think. However, this time I’ll try and make things right for you—but only this once, remember. Afterwards you’ll have to fight your own battles. By the way, you may see your cousin again sooner than you expect. How she managed to hear of your existence here at Longmere so quickly I don’t know, but already the Lynebeck grapevine has been in operation and she knows that, instead of meekly taking the train home, you’ve managed to establish yourself here. At any rate, she rang this morning to say she’s coming over and wants to see you. I shouldn’t be the smallest bit surprised if that excellent woman you were talking about has decided she’s had just enough of Robin and that your cousin’s once again in need of a nursery governess.”

  “Then you know Grace?” Caroline blurted out in surprise.

  For a moment he remained silent and Caroline wondered if she had only imagined the strange expression that seemed to gleam for a moment in those strange, hawk-like eyes before they regained their usual cold detachment.

  “Yes indeed, I know your cousin quite well. ” But now his eyes were hooded and inscrutable. “In the meantime,” he said crisply, “could you possibly restrain your daydreaming, otherwise I’m afraid Mrs. Creed will demand your marching orders.”

  And, before she had time to frame an answer to this devastating remark, he turned and strode swiftly along the corridor.

  Caroline gazed after his retreating figure disconsolately, knowing full well that if she were to receive her marching orders it would not be because of Mrs. Creed’s importunities but rather that the master of Longmere no longer desired her presence. Left to herself she decided that now that the polisher was no longer operating, she would dust the small intricately carved tables that stood at intervals along the corridor. On one stood a bronze bust, and as she dusted it, she decided that there was definitely a great deal of resemblance between the head of the rather austere-looking old gentleman an
d her employer: there were the same deep-set eyes and hollow cheeks and cold inscrutable gaze. It was probably Randall Craig’s father, she decided.

  Mrs. Creed, when she at last arrived, confirmed this. There was a certain subtle difference in the housekeeper’s manner as she addressed Caroline, a wariness that had not been there formerly. She glanced fleetingly at the polisher, but much to Caroline’s surprise made no remark. Obviously Randall Craig had already smoothed the way for her, as far as the accident with the polisher was concerned.

  “I see you’ve started the dusting,” Mrs. Creed said approvingly.

  Caroline nodded. “Yes.” As she rubbed a gleaming patina was coming up on the bust. A little hesitantly she added, “It looks rather like Mr. Craig, doesn’t it?”

  Mrs. Creed smiled a little grimly. “It’s not surprising, considering he was the master’s father.”

  “He looks so stern and implacable—rather like his son,” Caroline went on, encouraged by the fact that Mrs. Creed’s manner showed none of its former hostility. “Did you know him?”

  The housekeeper shook her head. “No. The old master was dead many years before I came here. He was killed in an accident and Mr. Craig had to take over the place when he was little more than a lad. But from all accounts he was, as you say, a stern old gentleman and ruled the house with a rod of iron.”

  Rather like his son too, then, in that respect, Caroline thought a little mutinously.

  But Mrs. Creed had obviously other things on her mind and was not interested in discussing the former master of Longmere. “It seems,” she said tentatively, “that you’re a sort of cousin of Mrs. Brant.”

  Caroline nodded, still polishing assiduously. “Yes, we are, in a sort of way,” she admitted. “She’s related to my mother. She was a Perdue too, although we haven’t seen much of each other. ”

  “And you were going to visit her when Mr. Craig saw you on the platform?” queried Mrs. Creed, looking puzzled.

  “Well, not exactly,” Caroline owned. “Not as a guest, you understand. You see, I’m not well off now, not since my parents died, and I was hoping that I could pay for my keep by acting as a nursery governess to her little boy, Robin.”

  The housekeeper paused, and neatly looped the flex of the polisher as she considered this explanation. “I didn’t know you were related to Mrs. Brant. You should have told me. It makes quite a difference.” Her voice held a slight note of apology. “You may stop working here for the moment, Caroline. We have elevenses at this time. Perhaps you’d care to join me for coffee. You can get on with the dusting later.” Caroline laid down her duster feeling a little disconcerted. It was somehow faintly embarrassing to find the acidulous Mrs. Creed so greatly changed in manner. She followed her along passages and down the back stairs and found herself ushered into a cosy little sitting-room that held a small round table and several comfortable armchairs: a bright fire crackled in the brass-fendered grate. The chairs were covered with pretty chintz flower-patterned loose covers and the furniture shone and winked in the reflective flames of the fire.

  They were no sooner seated when Betty came in with a tray on which was a pot of steaming coffee and a plate of rich biscuits. She laid her burden down on the table, her eyes opening wide as she saw Caroline seated comfortably in an armchair before the fire, obviously an honoured guest in the housekeeper’s room. “Well, I never did! ” she exclaimed. “I thought Mrs. Creed had put you to polishing upstairs.”

  “That’s enough from you, Betty,” Mrs. Creed interjected curtly. “We’ll have an extra cup and saucer, if you don’t mind, and bring in the fruit cake too, while you’re at it.”

  The girl, still staring wide-eyed at Caroline, departed in silence, as though overcome by the novelty of the situation.

  “You mustn’t take any notice of Betty,” Mrs. Creed said primly. “I’ve always considered her an extremely brazen and ill-mannered girl. However, she’s a good worker when she puts her mind to it, so I’m prepared to overlook a lot.”

  Caroline, still a little overwhelmed by the housekeeper’s change of attitude, waited in awkward silence until Betty returned with the extra cup and saucer and a plate of rich fruit cake.

  When she had departed, Mrs. Creed poured coffee and pressed Caroline to a piece of cake. “It’s very good, if I do say so myself, although as a rule I make it only for Mr. Randall. But now to come to what I want to speak to you about! I’ve been thinking things over and I’ve been wondering if you’d like to stay on—let’s say, in a different capacity. There are lots of jobs I don’t trust Betty with, like—well, I never let her wash the good china, for instance. And then she’d be hopeless at fixing flowers and things like that. You could be useful in many ways, like seeing that Mr. Randall’s guests are comfortable when they come to stay and things I haven’t time for.”

  As Caroline sipped the coffee and nibbled at the fruit cake she felt her spirits rise. “Yes, I’d like that,” she said eagerly. Obviously Mrs. Creed was advancing the olive branch and she had no intention of refusing to grasp it firmly.

  But she could see that Mrs. Creed was not listening attentively. She poked the fire and looked everywhere but at Caroline, before clearing her throat and saying a little portentously, “It’s hard to know how frankly to speak to you. After all, you are related to Mrs. Brant, but you don’t appear to be on intimate terms with her.”

  “No, I hadn’t seen her for years,” Caroline admitted. “She’s older than I am, for one thing, and then she’s not a person who mixed much with people in a different social position from herself. I don’t fancy either that she has very strong family feelings,” she concluded thoughtfully.

  “That’s exactly how I visualised the situation.” The housekeeper nodded in a satisfied manner. “And I must say that you can consider yourself lucky that you didn’t get the job of taking on Robin—for a more spoiled and exasperating child I’ve yet to meet! Oh, I grant he looks like an angel, but he’s mischievous and trouble-making. Of course, his mother won’t hear a word against him. I admit that they look as pretty as a picture when they’re together, but the child’s unnaturally precocious as the result of always being in the company of grown-ups. Not that he tries anything with Mr. Randall when he’s here—but then no one tries on anything with the master.”

  Remembering the strange inscrutable expression that had flitted across Randall Craig’s eyes when he had mentioned Grace, Caroline asked curiously. “They know each other fairly well, then?”

  Again the housekeeper coughed, as though preparatory to a confidence, and sipped at her cup. “Well, yes, I should think there’s no harm in telling you, but as far as I can see, Mrs. Brant has her eye on the master as her next husband. Of course she’s very lovely,” she added hurriedly, “so it’s not surprising that a man could fall head-over-heels in love with her, but there’s no doubt about it, it would be a sad day for Longmere if she were to come here as mistress. All her life she has had the best of everything and being used to men dancing attendance on her, hand and foot. She would make a demanding mistress, and I confess at my age I dread an upheaval in my way of life here at Longmere. It’s all very well being housekeeper to a bachelor, like Mr. Craig, who’s away from home so much, and who doesn’t bother his head over much about domestic trifles, but it would be a very different matter with someone like Mrs. Brant in complete control, I can tell you that. ”

  Caroline looked at her in surprise. “Then Grace definitely intends to marry Mr. Craig?”

  The housekeeper nodded. “There’s every likelihood of it, and no doubt they’d make a very handsome couple. But I don’t see myself being able to stay on once she takes over. As it is, she’s gone through I don’t know how many nursery governesses, trying to find one who’ll put up with that child of hers. None of

  them stay longer than a few weeks.”

  “But last night she had an excellent one and appeared perfectly satisfied with her.” Caroline remarked. “That’s why she wouldn’t take me.”

 
“Huh! ” The housekeeper laughed shortly. “You mark my words, excellent as she may be, she won’t be there very long. No one can put up with him, not when his mother backs him up in every sort of mischief and won’t hear a word of criticism. However,” the housekeeper concluded grimly, “it may be a different matter for that young man when his mother marries Mr. Randall. He’ll see he toes the line, I can tell you that.”

  “So Grace is already engaged to Mr. Craig?” Caroline exclaimed.

  “Oh, dear me, no.” The housekeeper brushed a crumb from her lap. “That’s not the situation at all. I’m afraid I’ve given you quite the wrong impression. How shall I put it? Mrs. Brant and Mr. Craig have been neighbours: they meet frequently at the same houses: they mix in the same set. After all, there’s not much choice of society in this lonely place, with the result that it’s got about that they’re very close friends, although mind you,” Mrs. Creed concluded austerely, “I always discourage gossip, but it’s natural people should talk, for Mrs. Brant’s a very forthright sort of person, and never one to hide her feelings, and she makes no pretence of not caring for him. It seems to me that she’d say ‘yes’ like a flash if he proposed to her.”

  “And what about Mr. Craig?” Caroline asked curiously. “Is he in love with her, do you think?”

  “Well, he seems to enjoy her company very much. He’s quite a changed man as soon as she’s here. That austere, brooding way he has seems to disappear. Of course, she’s very witty and outspoken and says exactly what’s on her mind. She’s not a scrap afraid of him as most people are, and sometimes I wonder just how far things will go with them. To my mind Mr. Randall’s not the marrying type, but then he’s not the kind of man you can understand easily. There’s always a sort of wall between him and yourself, if you know what I mean. He never lets you know what’s going on in his mind.”

  Mrs. Greed sipped her coffee, a frown on her homely face. It was obvious that this enigmatic quality in her employer troubled the housekeeper: the knowledge that her future at Longmere was uncertain and rested wholly on the whims of the imperious Randall Craig.