With a great deal of ostentation on his part, and a great deal of noise and movement on Dingo’s, they turned and went to the opposite side of the courtyard. Lesley looked round and saw Blake Defontaine making a leisurely approach from the great doorway. His attention was concentrated on the boy and the dog.
‘Has that puppy received training of any kind?’ he enquired sharply.
‘He’s house-trained,’ Lesley replied defensively. ‘As to any other sort of training, we’ve had him only a short time and don’t know him very well.’
A mocking gleam came into his dark grey eyes. ‘So you didn’t bring him from Australia and smuggle him in! No, perhaps not. He isn’t a likely candidate for that sort of episode. He’s much too disobedient and too vociferous to lie doggo under a lady’s coat.’
‘And much too large,’ Lesley added sharply, knowing exactly what Ricky had meant in his bitter description of ‘the Enemy.’
There was more to come. ‘I’ve been wondering why your brother couldn’t go into St Benga Town for that prescription?’
Lesley went very tense until she saw that he was staring meditatively at her clenched hands. She shrugged and put them behind her. ‘Ricky hasn’t a driving licence.’
‘Hasn’t he now? And he doesn’t drive?’ He was still eyeing her speculatively and Lesley looked away. He knew Rick had been driving that night, and now he was baiting her, waiting for her to say something that would reveal the truth. She clenched her teeth, determined not to speak, and he went on, ‘If he can’t go into St Benga Town then I must. It’s a nuisance, but...’
Colour swept across Lesley’s face. Blake Defontaine had a subtle air of distinction, and yet within the borders of courtesy he succeeded in being more completely ungracious than any man she had ever met.
‘Please don’t bother. I’ll go myself.’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t take offence so easily, Miss ... er ... Trevendone. I thought you Australians appreciated plain speaking and that the last thing you could tolerate is what I think you refer to as the hypocrisy of the Old World.’
‘Some of us appreciate good manners,’ Lesley returned bluntly.
‘I wonder what the difference is,’ he asked laconically. ‘I’ve merely told you what’s true—that it was a most inconvenient moment for me to be called from my work to confront uninvited guests and then to have to drive into St Benga Town. I should be a hypocrite if I pretended otherwise.’
Lesley shrugged. ‘Quite frankly I still don’t understand why you have been brought into what is a family matter. But we’re wasting time. Will you give me the prescriptions and then I need not keep you any longer from your own affairs.’ She tried to snatch the papers which he was holding in one hand, but he moved quickly and the next moment he had her by one wrist and swung her round. ‘Go back to your sister, Miss Trevendone. I’ll see that you get the tablets in a short time.’
With black anger in her heart, Lesley watched him walk away.
Rita proved to be a difficult patient. For four days she was really ill and after that so weak that the doctor would not allow her to get up.
To all intents and purposes for those first few days Lesley remained a prisoner in the luxurious room she was sharing with Rita, seeing only the doctor, Mrs. Piper and Ricky. The boy twin had been given a room in the same corridor and had his meals with Lesley, carrying their trays up and downstairs. Ricky was Lesley’s only link with the rest of the world, and he seemed oddly out of touch too, though he was remarkably cheerful. He spent his time going for long walks with Dingo and sometimes sitting with old Mrs. Trevendone listening to her reminiscences of seventy and more years ago.
On the first afternoon of their arrival, Lesley had drawn the boy to one of the windows of the big bedroom, speaking quietly so as not to disturb Rita. ‘Rick, just refuse to discuss our ... your claim to Trevendone Manor with anyone till we’re all together. The two people who matter are Dominic and Jennifer. She is over at Torquay staying with friends, Miss Piper says, and Dominic is living at the Home Farm while his sister is away. Apparently it’s the late lambing season and they’re all very busy. I haven’t asked her about “the Enemy”. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.’
‘Nor I,’ said Richard in a heartfelt voice. ‘I’m just going to ignore him. And by the way, Les, there’s a marvellous piano in one of the rooms off the great hall. Do you think I could get some practice?’
‘I should think so if you keep the door closed and play properly—not that theatrical vamping you started doing back home. But get permission from Mrs. Trevendone first.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Rick promised.
‘And remember, no talk of any kind about your ... our claim ... until Rita is better and we have a united front.’
The boy laughed and threw a careless arm around her neck. ‘You’re like a mother hen with us, aren’t you, Les? Too right you are!’
‘Too right I am,’ agreed Lesley. ‘One more thing, Rick. Keep an eye on Dingo all the time. We don’t want, him chewing up anything in the house. And don’t let him off the lead when you go out in case he chases someone’s cat ... or something...’
‘... or snaps at someone’s horse’s fetlocks,’ grinned Ricky unrepentantly. ‘I’d let him do that any time, except that I’ve too much respect for the horse.’
Leslie’s brows were knitted. ‘Rick darling, avoid that man whenever possible. Actually, though I didn’t ask for the information Mrs. Piper did say that he lives at the Lodge—that pretty little house just where we turned in at the entrance to the drive. Do you remember? I expect he rents it, and that’s why he was walking round as if he owns even the Manor, and that silly Miss Yelland sending for him made him feel all the more important. I shouldn’t be surprised if he gets the Lodge at a peppercorn rent too. But we’ll look into that later.’
‘... and hand him his notice to quit,’ grinned Ricky wickedly. ‘I shall enjoy that, and I’m sure you will too.’
Lesley looked thoughtful. She wasn’t at all sure they would be able to dismiss Mr. Blake Defontaine quite so easily. For one thing he hadn’t accepted that they were Ralph Trevendone’s children. Where had the story that Ralph had been killed in a mine disaster in Queensland twenty-five years ago come from? She decided not to remind Ricky of that remark, but it continued to worry her. Just now she merely said again, ‘Avoid him whenever you can, Rick, and especially when you’re with Dingo.’
‘Okey doke,’ returned Ricky cheerfully.
Later, when she came to think back on it, that continued cheerfulness of Ricky’s should have roused her suspicions. He hadn’t wanted to come to England and once they were in London he most certainly hadn’t wanted to come down to Cornwall.
London was his scene, he had assured Lesley. There he would be able to get somebody interested in his musical talents. He could play the piano quite well, was an accomplished guitarist and had a good voice. Once he got into a group, he had said hopefully...
All the way down to Cornwall he had been gloomy and depressed, so that to find he wasn’t moping here at Trevendone Manor under these trying conditions was one of the bright spots for Lesley while she nursed Rita.
The others were those moments when she was able to stand by the bedroom windows, or occasionally in the doorway of the great hall while she waited for a tray to be brought from the kitchen and was able to look out at the masses of snowdrops and crocuses which painted the brown earth of the flower beds, or the flowering shrubs some with pretty little red flowers, other purple. And always there was the brilliant green of the grass, its smooth sward filling her with admiration and wonder.
That would be her lasting impression of England, the greenness. As to Cornwall! Through the conifers which grew far down beyond the lawn, she could get glimpses of the sea and the creaming, surf, the sea of that pewter colour which always made her think of ‘the Enemy’ and his penetrating cold impartial grey eyes. Yes, so far as Cornwall was concerned, it would always be the sea ... and those eyes.
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She found the lack of sunshine this spring surprising, and it was that which filled her patient with the deepest gloom.
‘I shall never get used to it,’ Rita said wearily. ‘Why did we ever come here, leaving our friends and everybody we knew, leaving a country that is sparkling and alive for this place which is ... dead?’
‘It’s a bad period, darling,’ Lesley told her. ‘When spring really comes there’ll be lots of sunshine. They say an English spring is like nothing else in the world.’
‘Then let it come quickly,’ Rita sighed.
It was that afternoon that Ricky said rather sheepishly,
‘Les, you haven’t been out for nearly a week. If you like I’ll stay with Rita this afternoon. I’ll get the transistor from my room and find a programme to cheer her up.’
Lesley was touched. ‘All right, Rick. I’ll slip out, just for half an hour, perhaps, on the beach. I take it you can get down.’
‘I expect so,’ he muttered, ‘but I haven’t explored down there.’
Lesley, shrugging into her leather coat, turned to give him a puzzled look. That was odd. Then where had he been? Some days he hadn’t come in for lunch, saying he had asked for a sandwich and an apple from the kitchen. It hadn’t been like Rick to be so fond of the fresh air, but Lesley with her mind on Rita hadn’t given it much thought till now.
‘I’ll take Dingo,’ she said.
Ricky said carelessly, ‘Oh, I shouldn’t. He’s worn out with racing about on the beach all morning. I’ve got him tied up in a shed at the back. He’s too exhausted even to howl, but I’ll go and get him later on and bring him up here.’
Lesley looked at the boy with apprehensive green eyes. Something was wrong, she was sure, but she didn’t want Rita upset. Ricky was being devious. She went downstairs and as she opened the great door she saw that a rather watery sun had come out and was glinting on the sea. But as she walked across the courtyard to the smooth green lawn her brow was pleated with worry. Ricky didn’t know the way down to the beach, yet the puppy was supposed to have been there all morning.
Perhaps the beach he was referring to was somewhere else, at St Benga Town, for instance. But would Ricky walk those three miles into the windy little town and back? Something like terror clutched at her heart. He hadn’t been fool enough to take the Mini. He wouldn’t, surely.
She bit her lip. She wasn’t going in the direction of the trees after all. Instinctively her steps were carrying her towards that shed where Ricky had put Dingo. She couldn’t see it, but now she could hear pathetic whines from a lonely puppy.
She followed the sound, along a yew hedge, through a formal Italianate type of garden and so to a part of the estate which was planted with rows of vegetables, with glasshouses and cloches.
She could see the hut now, and the whines had increased, as if by some sixth dog sense the puppy knew that a rescuer was close at hand. Dingo wasn’t so exhausted that he was quietly sleeping. She walked round the hut, pushed open the door and was greeted by an ecstatic yelp as he leaped forward, almost strangling himself in the effort.
‘Dingo, stop being a noisy fool,’ she said. ‘Why are you tied with rope? Stop it, silly! I don’t want my face washing, nor my hands.’
As she was talking to him she was busy trying to untie the rope which was secured to a stout post in the middle of the hut. Then there came a soft Cornish voice from the doorway.
‘I shouldn’t be doing that, missie. Not if I was you.’
Lesley swung round. For a moment she wasn’t quite sure whether she had understood. The accent was difficult to follow until your ear got attuned.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said, staring at the heavy, amiable face peering at her from the doorway.
‘I said I shouldn’t be undoing that there dog, missie, not if I was you. Orders is orders. I was told to tie ‘un up and keep ‘un here. He don’t like it, natural like, ‘un being only a pup, and a bit of a mixture in the bargain if you ax me. No offence meant, ma’am,’ of course.’
This time, Lesley got the gist of what he was saying. She smiled, ‘Oh, that’s all right. It was Ricky, my ... my brother who asked you to tie him up, I expect. But I’ll take him now. I’m going for a walk on the beach.’
The man pushed his woollen cap up and scratched his forehead. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but it weren’t anybody belonging to you who telt me to fasten up the dog and keep ‘un fastened. T’were the maister, Mr. Defontaine, I mean. Said it was a menace, he did. Seems ‘un was snapping at horses down on beach when Mr. Defontaine was riding with his lady.’
His lady! Even in the middle of her dismay, Lesley noted that phrase. So he was married! Then back to the important thing. She wished she could tell herself she hadn’t really followed properly what this old man was saying in his rich west-country burr, but she couldn’t pretend. Dingo, poor wretch, had fallen foul of ‘the Enemy’ once again. What had Ricky been doing to allow it? She had warned him so often. And why hadn’t he told her the truth just now? He was really the limit.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said through stiff lips. ‘I’ll see he doesn’t get loose again. Will you untie him for me now, please.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am.’ The man’s voice was apologetic. ‘But I just dusn’t disobey orders. Mr. Defontaine isn’t the man to stand fer it. “Wonnacott,” he says to me, “tie that craythur up and don’t let ‘un get away or I’ll never believe again you was once in the Royal Navy.” It’s the rope, ma’am,’ he explained. ‘You won’t get that knot untied not this side of Kingdom Come.’
Lesley said heatedly, f I don’t care whether you were in the Royal Navy or the Grenadier Guards. This is my ... our dog and I’m not moving from here till I take him with me.’
The gardener scratched his forehead and looked more apologetic than ever. ‘You’ll be staying here a long time, then, ma’am.’ His heavy face suddenly brightened. ‘Would you think of going down to the Lodge, ma’am, and seeing Mr. Defontaine? He wouldn’t be saying no to a pretty young lady like you.’
‘Saying no to my taking my own dog?’ ejaculated Lesley, her eyes sparkling with fight. ‘I should like to see him try!’
All the time she was speaking she was pulling at the formidable knots. She hadn’t brought her handbag out with her, which was a pity because in it she had a pair of nail scissors which might have made an impression on that thick rope.
She raised big, and for a moment, guileless green eyes to the gardener’s. If he’d been a sailor he surely wouldn’t be disobliging to a woman. Sailors had a reputation for chivalry.
‘Couldn’t you say he’d just got away?’ she asked.
The man shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but I couldn’t for shame tell Mr. Defontaine that. He’s got a tongue that bites and I’d feel real oncomfortable, that I would. I couldn’t look ‘un in the eye and say that a little old dog had got away when I’d tied ‘un up. Mr. Defontaine now, ‘un...’
‘Oh, be damned to Mr. Defontaine! Who does he think he is?’ ejaculated Lesley in exasperation. ‘The Lord High Admiral of your Royal Navy?’ She was hurting her fingers badly, pulling at these wretched knots.
She was suddenly conscious of a silence behind her, the sort of silence that can be felt. She saw that the gardener’s heavy face was wearing a look of consternation while Dingo, flat on his stomach, was crawling forward, wagging his tail ingratiatingly. Naturally, it was Mr. Blake Defontaine himself. He’d probably heard her last remark, hence the gardener’s embarrassment. For Dingo’s peculiar behaviour she had no explanation at all.
‘Will you tell this man to release my dog,’ she said in a curt clear voice as she got up from where she had been crouching.
‘Right, Wonnacott, I’ll deal with this. You get on with your own work,’ said Defontaine, ignoring Lesley and the dog—obviously both unimportant. ‘And don’t forget,’ he went on coolly, ‘I want those tomato seedlings brought to the lab first thing in the morning.’
Lesley was seething with fury. He
had turned away, deliberately ignoring her remark and causing the gardener to ignore her too. Yet this estate was theirs ... well, Ricky’s.
‘Will you be so good as to do as I ask? Get this man to release my dog,’ she said now in a voice that she tried hard to make cold and calm. Raging at him would have no effect, she knew that.
He made a gesture to the gardener who went lumbering down the path. Then he turned back to Lesley, eyeing her with a hard, expressionless stare. ‘You were saying?’ he queried.
‘I was asking you to release my dog,’ she said in a voice that she strove to keep very small.
‘So he’s your dog. I’ve tried to establish his ownership, but that young brother of yours didn’t seem very certain. Well, now we can get down to brass tacks. First of all, have you a licence for him?’
‘A licence?’ Lesley blanched and looked up quickly, noting the irony in his bleak eyes. She couldn’t help feeling that he had Ricky in mind for more than one thing. Ricky, who hadn’t a licence for his dog and hadn’t a driving licence.
She forced her voice into nonchalance. ‘A licence?’ she repeated. ‘I don’t really know.’
‘What do you mean by saying you don’t know? Either you have or you haven’t.’ His eyes were cold now, that same cold pewter colour of the February sea, and his voice had a contemptuous edge to it. As if in his own mind he was branding her as a liar and a cheat ... over more than the licence for Dingo.
She thrust her hands deeply into her pockets. ‘Look, I don’t see what business it is of yours whether we have a dog licence or not.’
‘I suppose that means you haven’t one,’ he said now, propping himself by the lintel of the open door. He looked consideringly at Dingo. That renegade was again wagging his tail ingratiatingly and looking up at his captor an adoring grin on his silly face—the sort of look he had never given any of them, thought Lesley indignantly.
‘If you’re going to keep him, you’d better get a licence for him,’ Blake Defontaine went on, making no attempt to meet Dingo’s friendly overtures half or even a quarter of the way. ‘And while you stay here,’ he continued, ‘he must be tied up except when you take him out for exercise. He needs training to come to heel when he’s called.’
The Girl From Over the Sea Page 6