New Boss at Birchfields

by Henrietta Reid

  As he showed her one room after another, Briony found her wonderment growing. How on earth could Hettie have turned her back on such an exquisite little jewel of a flat!

  The kitchen too was perfect in every detail. It gleamed with pristine cleanliness and contained the most up-to-date equipment.

  ‘This cost a pretty penny, I can tell you,’ Blane told her, as Briony moved about the kitchen examining the micro-wave cooker, the electric mixer and other electric gadgets, all to hand upon spotless pale green work surfaces.

  She shook her head in bewilderment when at last they returned to the balcony. ‘I can’t imagine why Hettie should have given up such a wonderful flat. The cottage, of course, is quaint, but—well, give me modern conveniences every time.’

  ‘From what I gather your godmother is not very keen on her present quarters, is she?’

  Briony shook her head. ‘No, she grumbles a bit, I must admit. It all sounds so mysterious. Did she give any reason why she left?’

  Why was it Hettie had abandoned this convenient flat and gone to Amulree Cottage? What was behind it all? Briony was asking herself uneasily.

  ‘She gave no reason. Your guess is as good as mine,’ Blane told her as they reached the ground once more. ‘But I can assure you that as far as the flat is concerned there are no strings attached. It was part of the agreement. I had no intention of throwing your godmother on the scrapheap, just because I’d bought her home.’

  ‘All the same, not many people would have gone to such trouble to see that everything was right for her,’ Briony told him. ‘After all, you owed her nothing. You’d bought a property that was going downhill anyway. Even when I was a child I realised that things at Birchfields were very neglected.’

  ‘Well, that’s the way things are! But I thought you might like to see it anyway, because I had the feeling you hadn’t been told about it. And anyway, I don’t want one more nail in my coffin,’ he ended wryly.

  As they reached the front of the house they paused and after a moment Briony said rather awkwardly, ‘Thank you for showing me the flat. I must say I was worried about Hettie, but now—well, I feel so much better about everything.’

  ‘As long as you’re content that’s all that matters,’ Blane replied.

  ‘Well, I’d better be getting back,’ she said. ‘Hettie will be wondering what’s become of me. I’ll let you have your coat.’ As she spoke she was unfastening the toggle at her throat.

  ‘Just a moment,’ he said. ‘It’s growing dusk. I’m wondering if I ought to drive you home. I wouldn’t have two thoughts about it, but as it happens I have an appointment this evening—’ he looked at his watch.

  ‘But it’s still quite bright,’ she protested, ‘and somehow I never feel the smallest bit afraid here in Abergour.’

  But as she was about to turn away, he detained her. ‘By the way, do you think you’ll have trouble thinking of a clue leading to the treasure?’

  ‘It struck me that King Charles the Second hid in the hollow trunk of an oak tree when he was fleeing from his enemies,’ Briony said, ‘and I thought this might be used in the clue. It will make it more difficult, but after all that would be quite fair, because this will be the last clue.’ Rather apologetically she went on, ‘I don’t know if anything like this would do, but here it is:

  “Look where King Charles hid when from his enemies he did flee.

  You may find an acorn, or the treasure you may see.

  She wasn’t too surprised to hear his burst of laughter, ‘it’s easy to see you’re no lover of poetry!’

  ‘Oh, but I am,’ she protested. ‘I know I can’t write poetry, but I love to read it.’

  ‘Is that so?’ His voice held amusement. ‘Come in a moment, and I’ll try to rout out something helpful.’ When they went into the house he led her into what at one time had been the main sitting-room of Birchfields. But how different it looked now!

  When he switched on the central lights Briony found herself in a room that seemed much larger and more spacious, now that the clutter of Hettie’s days had been swept away. In place of the worn, shabby furniture were broad modern armchairs covered in cream-coloured vinyl and brilliantly tinted rugs lay on the shining wood floor.

  ‘Take a seat,’ he ordered, as he crossed to one of the low bookcases against the walls. As he threw open the glass doors and plucked out a couple of volumes, Briony slowly laid his coat over the back of one of the armchairs and took a seat near the bright fire.

  ‘Now here’s the kind of thing I like,’ Blane was saying. ‘The old ballads, so simple that you’d think anyone could copy them, but full of good stories, like the one about the man from the North Country who stole away the bride on her wedding day. They believed in the success of first love in those days. If a new man came into the lady’s life, the hero just rode in and abducted her.

  “He’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand

  And by the grass-green sleeve.

  He’s mounted her behind himself.

  Of her kin he asked no leave.

  His broad brown fingers rapidly turned the pages. ‘They knew the price of love, these old poets. Here’s the story of Willie who had to fight fifteen knights to win his fair lady.

  “He has gone to his lady dear

  And given her kisses, many a one.

  Thou art my own, I have bought thee, dear love,

  And now we will walk the woods our lone.

  ‘A man doesn’t have to fight fifteen knights to win his fair lady nowadays, but love can still cost a man as dearly; but here, you’d better look through this yourself.’

  As he spoke he handed her the book.

  She took it from him, opened it and pretended to be studying the pages, but she had a curious sensation of unreality, a breathless feeling as if she were being swept along too quickly in some great tide. She had never seen him in this mood before, never heard him talk like this! This was a new Blane Lennox—a person she had not even suspected existed.

  The volume in her hands was beautifully bound in pale green with the title Old Scottish Ballads written on it in gold, and as she turned it in her hands it fell open at the flyleaf and she saw:

  ‘Then win me, win me, if you will,

  For well I know you may. ‘

  and ‘Senga’ written in bold lettering with a great stroke of the pen underneath.

  Briony, seated rigidly upright in her chair, was unconsciously turning over and over in her hands the volume of love ballads.

  Blane was walking restlessly about the room, talking more to himself than to her. ‘But then I don’t suppose this means an awful lot to you. After all, you’re very young and probably, apart from a few sentimental affairs, have no notion what a deep love is like.’

  His bright penetrating eyes were fixed upon her and she gazed at him in speechless confusion. What if she were to reveal to him that she had known what it was to be madly, crazily, and completely in love?

  For an instant she closed her eyes as she remembered Jeremy—his quick, utterly charming smile that could make the day brighten up for her. And how an angry word had cast her into the depths of misery!

  What if she were to reveal to Blane that she had known heartbreak? Would it make a bond between them when he realised that instead of being the naive and inexperienced girl he imagined her to be she had experienced all the bitterness of being rejected by Jeremy Warne? But then, she reminded herself cautiously, Blane Lennox was a man of quick temper and unpredictable emotions. Was it not more likely he would feel nothing but contempt for her? No, she daren’t risk confiding in him, no matter how much she longed to spill out her troubles.

  But how clearly this had brought Jeremy before her mind, reminding her of a past she had tried to thrust behind her.

  And yet she knew she did not want to bring this episode to a close.

  In a very short time Blane would very likely bring this little chat to a short and brisk termination. After all, he would be having dinner with Senga in Aberdeen t
his evening and he would have to change and drive to Laureston to collect her. What attraction could she possibly hold for him that Senga wouldn’t have a hundredfold? She could visualise the other girl dressed for the evening, looking almost beautiful in red silk, perhaps. Her dress floating about her tall slim figure, her hair drawn smoothly back to emphasise those high cheekbones, her wide mouth heavily lipsticked, she would be more elegant, more interesting than any other woman in the room.

  And no doubt this would be the very night when Blane would propose! Surely this had been in his mind when he had reached for that volume of ballads? So that explained the strange uncharacteristic mood that seemed to hold him. He had really been speaking his thoughts aloud to her, probably no more aware of her presence than of the chair she was sitting on. And the thought struck her like a blow. She stood up. ‘I’d—I’d better be getting home.’ The words came from stiff lips.

  She held out the book, but he said quickly, ‘Keep it for a while. Take care of it. It was given to me by a friend and I wouldn’t like to lose it.’

  ‘I’ll—I’ll take good care of it and let you have it back in a few days,’ she heard her own voice say as though coining from a distance. All she wanted now was to be out in the dusk of the evening, to collect her thoughts to introduce some calm into the whirlwind that seemed to envelop her.

  But as she spoke they could hear the phone ringing in the office across the hall.

  When Blane went out, Briony left the sitting-room and began to move across the hall. But as she was about to leave the house, the door of the office was thrown open. ‘That call was from Senga,’ Blane told her. ‘It seems Sandra hasn’t arrived at Laureston yet.’

  ‘What? But she left ages ago!’ Briony exclaimed.

  ‘I know. I saw her leave just as I returned,’ he said. ‘What on earth can have become of her? Well, one thing is clear—she’ll have to be found. Senga is making up a search party of the older girls right away. And oh, by the way, she asked about you. I told her you were here and she wants to speak to you for a moment.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was with reluctance that Briony entered the office and picked up the receiver. What would Senga have to say to her? Nothing pleasant, she felt sure! And she was right!

  ‘I just wanted to ask you if you don’t feel that you should have driven Sandra back to the school,’ Senga’s voice enquired. ‘Blane tells me he saw her go off on that damned diminutive cycle of hers.’

  ‘But I did offer to drive her back,’ Briony said quickly. ‘I thought she looked tired, you see, but she insisted, and—’

  ‘She insisted!’ Senga’s voice broke in cuttingly. ‘Sandra insisted—and you gave way to her! And yet Blane tells me you’re a wonder with children. I must say that’s not my idea of how children should be handled! Sometimes they have to be taken firmly for their own good. Anyway, you’re out of it now. Blane’s coming over right away and bringing Johnny and Andy with him to help in the search. You can go home and rest. You’ve done a good day’s work—and managed to spoil my evening—but that will hardly cost you your night’s sleep, I expect!’

  And the receiver was abruptly replaced at Senga’s end.

  Briony found Blane waiting for her in the hall. He was wearing a windcheater and had put on rubber boots and was carrying a storm lamp. He flashed it on for a second and Briony saw that it had a powerful beam.

  ‘This is my fault,’ Briony said miserably. ‘I should have insisted on driving Sandra back.’

  ‘There’s no use crying over spilt milk,’ he replied. ‘Come, get into the car and I’ll drop you off at the cottage on my way to the school. Mrs. McPhee has gone to rout out the two boys, and we’ll pick them up on our way.’

  ‘But I must have a part in the search,’ Briony protested. ‘After all—’

  ‘After all, it was all your fault!’ he broke in. ‘Really, Briony, who on earth could tell what a child like Sandra will get up to? Any other child could have cycled home safely considering it’s a perfectly plain, flat road with the school visible for miles—but not Sandra. She has a genius for being different. But this I do notice—that while at times you can be rather severe with the other children, you seem to feel that Sandra must never be corrected.’

  ‘It’s—it’s just that she’s rather a lame duck,’ Briony defended herself, feeling rather foolish. ‘She’s easily discouraged, and one likes to encourage any little show of initiative.’

  ‘Well, this is one show of initiative that’s going to cost us dear. It just so happens that I had rather an important appointment this evening, but between you, you and Sandra have managed to put paid to it.’

  ‘All the more reason why I should have a part in the search,’ Briony said stubbornly.

  ‘All right. I’ll drop you off at the cottage for a moment and you can let your godmother know where you’ll be. But I warn you, don’t keep me waiting, or I’ll go off without you.’

  They found Johnny and Andy waiting by the gate. They piled into the back of the car and after a moment or two Johnny said on bated breath, ‘How did she manage to get lost? The road’s perfectly clear.’ He turned to Briony. ‘There’s no chance she’s run off, is there?’

  ‘What?’ Briony gasped. The idea had not occurred to her.

  But to her surprise Blane said, ‘The same thought crossed my mind, and that’s why I’m taking you with us, Briony. You have more influence over the child than anyone else. If Sandra is up to mischief you might be able to coax her to behave.’

  Give a dog a bad name, Briony was thinking indignantly. But she did not dare to defend Sandra openly. When she reflected that this should have been the evening when Blane became engaged to Senga, she was only surprised that he was not in a rage, instead of showing a sort of weary contemptuous resignation to the situation.

  They drew up at the cottage. Briony was out of the car and racing along the path in a moment.

  ‘Now just where have you been?’ Hettie greeted her as soon as she put in an appearance. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been all this time showing that Lennox man the hole in the oak tree?’

  ‘Don’t delay me, Hettie,’ Briony pleaded as she turned towards the stairs. ‘Sandra is lost, and we must search for her immediately.’

  To her relief this diverted the kindhearted Hettie. ‘Is that the little girl you were telling me about—the one who rides a donkey?’

  ‘The very same,’ Briony agreed. ‘And Hettie, do me a favour! Make up a flask of coffee—the instant kind will have to do. Oh, and Hettie, if you could find the electric torch I could take it with me.’

  She ran on upstairs and changed into warm slacks and a sweater. She put on sturdy ankle-length boots and tucked the ends of her slacks into them. There was no time to comb her hair, so she snatched up a cap made of creamy Aran wool surmounted by a pom-pom and pulled it on. Then, taking a rainproof jacket with capacious pockets, she ran downstairs.

  Hettie had risen to the occasion. She hurried out of the kitchen with a big flask of coffee. ‘Here, here it is,’ she said. ‘A good thing I had the kettle boiling! And here’s the torch. The battery is still going, but I don’t know how much longer it will hold out.’

  ‘Thanks, Hettie.’ Briony slipped on the jacket, stuffed the flask into one of the pockets and snatched up the torch. ‘You’ve been wonderful. But don’t wait up for me. We don’t know what’s happened to her, or how long it will take to find her. There’s no use in sitting up worrying. Try to get some sleep.’

  ‘You may be sure I’ll get plenty of sleep tonight!’ Hettie told her ironically. ‘What do you take me for, Briony? I’ll be waiting up for you when you return, with hot soup. Now be off!’

  Trust Hettie to turn up trumps, Briony was thinking as she gave her godmother a hug and rushed out to the car.

  ‘This must be the world’s record for a quick change,’ Blane remarked as he started the engine. ‘I must say I didn’t hope to see you for another ten minutes.’

  ‘What’s more, I brought
a flask of coffee,’ she told him triumphantly as she took her place beside him once more. ‘If Sandra hasn’t been able to find shelter, she’s sure to be chilled this evening.’

  After that there was silence in the car as in tense concentration they watched the road as the powerful beam of the headlights illuminated it.

  ‘It’s a complete mystery,’ Blane said after a while. ‘Where can that child have disappeared to—that is if she’s not hiding somewhere trying to scare us and make herself important.’

  ‘I don’t believe she is,’ Briony told him quietly. ‘Sandra is doing her very best these days. The last I heard from her was that she was looking forward to her next lesson.’

  ‘What exactly did she say?’ Blane asked. ‘Did she give any hint as to what was going on in that strange little mind of hers?’

  ‘Let me think.’ Briony wrinkled her brow. ‘I warned her to keep to the road and she said she would, and she said that she could see the school from quite a distance. Then she said that she wouldn’t get lost in this part of the country, because Senga takes the girls out on paper-chases and they’ve learned to find their own way back to the school. But surely—’

  While she had been speaking the eyes of everyone in the car were fixed on the terrain through which they were passing, a wide expanse of moor, boulder-strewn and overgrown with heather and clumps of bracken.

  ‘But surely even Sandra wouldn’t be mad enough to attempt a short cut,’ Blane ended for her. ‘If I were you I wouldn’t count on it. I only hope Sandra knows her way through the moor as well as she thinks. Over there to the east,’ he pointed to a rise of ground which could be detected as the headlights swept through a slight bend in the road, ‘there’s a deep hollow where some quarrying work was carried on for a short while. The quarry was closed down, but the spot still remains dangerous. There’s what amounts to a short cliff face, and if she fell over that she certainly would be in trouble.’