Sometimes in the afternoons, as she dozed off after one of Hettie’s nourishing meals, she would wish wistfully that Blane might come to see her, but in her clearer moments she realised he would not come. He was not the kind of man who would tolerate Hettie’s insulting words.
Then one day she had a very unexpected visitor.
She had fallen asleep after lunch, and woke up to the sound of Senga’s voice in the sitting-room. She raised herself on her elbow, straining her ears to hear.
From what she gathered, Senga was in an affable mood. There was the clink of tea-cups and she could hear her say, ‘Everything I’ve been told about your baking is quite true, Mrs. Gillies. Your sultana scones are absolutely terrific!’
Briony heard Hettie’s deep chuckle—always a sign that she was pleased. ‘Oh, there’s nothing to them, I can assure you. It just happens I have the knack.’
The next words Briony heard were, ‘Then you’re quite sure that Briony feels up to seeing me?’
‘Och yes,’ came Hettie’s voice. ‘She’s quite on the mend, and I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see a visitor. Go straight on upstairs. I shan’t come with you, if you don’t mind, because the stairs are very steep and I have to make so many trips up and down these days—and as you know, I’m not as young as I used to be.’
So Senga was coming up to see her! Briony slid out of bed and quickly ran a comb through her tousled hair. Then from the wardrobe she took her new bedjacket and slipped it on. Yes, the deep apricot shade lent a glow to her complexion and complemented the russet of her hair.
As she was getting into bed again she could hear Senga’s footsteps lightly running up the stairs. But what could Senga have to say to her? Briony wondered, and had a sudden dread of this coming interview. Somehow it boded no good.
There was a short knock on the door and Senga’s head appeared. ‘May I come in?’ she enquired sweetly. ‘Am I disturbing you?’
‘No, of course not,’ Briony answered.
Senga settled herself on the end of the bed, crossed her legs and regarded the invalid, ‘Well, your godmother’s right—you definitely look as if you’re coming round. You’ll be up and about in no time, I expect.’ Briony nodded, regarding the girl warily. There was something almost too self-possessed about her manner.
‘I suppose you’ve gathered by this time that I’m really not the type to pay visits to sickbeds with jellies and sweet words, so I’ll get straight to the point.’
Briony looked at her wide-eyed, wondering what was coming next.
For a moment Senga regarded the tips of her elegant sandals, then with a tight smile said abruptly, ‘I suppose you remember the evening Sandra was lost. You should—after all, you have good reason to remember it. Well, that evening, when I rang to Blane to tell him Sandra was missing, I discovered you were at the house. Now why was that? After all, I think I’ve a right to know, considering how things are between Blane and myself.’ She fixed Briony with a bleak eye.
‘I—I—’ To her annoyance Briony was aware that she sounded quite guilty. ‘I was there because Blane asked me to come,’ she said shortly. ‘He wanted me to come back after tea.’
‘Indeed!’ Senga’s eyebrows rose. ‘And why on earth did he want that?’
‘Because we hadn’t decided on a hiding-place for the prizes—at the end of the treasure hunt, you see. And I knew of a hollow in the oak tree, and—’
But these details didn’t interest Senga. She jumped to her feet, her face contorted with anger, and began to stride up and down Briony’s small room.
‘That treasure hunt!’ she cried. ‘I’m sick of the very sound of it! I wish I’d never thought of it! All day long I hear nothing else from the children at school, and now Blane is all wrapped up in it—madly keen to make a success of things. He’s the kind of man who throws his whole heart into anything he tackles. That’s his way. People don’t exist for him when he’s taken with one of his enthusiasms. But as far as I’m concerned, I’ve had more than enough of it!’
So that was what was troubling Senga, Briony thought. She was not getting enough attention. She wanted Blane’s full concentration fixed on her, and would be content with nothing less.
As Briony gazed at her in amazement, Senga seemed to become aware of how irrational her behaviour appeared. With an effort she pulled herself together and sat down on a chair beside Briony’s bed. ‘But that’s not really what I came to speak to you about,’ she continued.
She opened the large black leather handbag she was carrying and took out something loosely wrapped in brown paper. She handed it to Briony and fixed her with an accusing glare.
Briony parted the brown paper and gasped as she saw the book of Scottish ballads which Blane had given her, but stained and discoloured almost beyond recognition. The once beautiful pale green cover was faded and muddied and some of the pages were torn.
‘But—but—what happened to it? Where did you get it?’ she gasped.
‘So you recognise it!’ Senga accused tightly.
‘Why yes, of course,’ Briony told her. ‘It was in the pocket of the jacket I was wearing when I found Sandra.’
‘The jacket which you so nobly wrapped around her,’ Senga remarked. ‘Quite the little angel of charity, weren’t you?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Briony said weakly. ‘I’d forgotten it was in the pocket. I mean, it’s not the kind of thing you’d think about at a time like that.’
‘It was found when they went to pick up her cycle. With her usual genius for mischief she’d let it fall in a patch of damp heather.’
‘I wouldn’t have had this happen for the world,’ Briony said miserably.
‘I’m quite sure you wouldn’t,’ Senga agreed sardonically. ‘But as it has happened, perhaps you’d be good enough to let me know how it got into your hands in the first place. As you can see, it was a present from me to Blane.’
‘We were talking about the clues, and—and—as I’m not very good at making up verses, he thought it might give me ideas, and—’
‘He gave it to you?’
‘But not to keep, of course,’ Briony told her quickly. ‘But he let me have it for a day or two—and he warned me to take good care of it,’ she added placatingly.
‘I see,’ Senga replied. ‘And what exactly do you intend to do about it? As you were responsible for its safekeeping, I assume you have some ideas about its replacement.’
Briony looked at her in dismay. ‘But how could I? I can see it’s a beautiful old book. How could I ever get one like that again?’
‘You’re right,’ Senga snapped, ‘I don’t think you could. I bought that in an auction of rare books. There’s not the remotest chance you could lay your hands on one like it. Not unless you’re prepared to scour the booksellers—and pay through the nose as well!’
Briony felt her heart beat faster with dismay. ‘Then what on earth can I do? I can’t give it back to him like this! He’d be simply furious, especially as it’s a gift from you!’
Senga could not restrain a slight smile of satisfaction. ‘Yes, indeed! But that’s exactly what I think you should do—face up to it and hand it back.’
Briony looked at her pleadingly. ‘You couldn’t give it back to him yourself? I mean, he wouldn’t mind so much if it were you.’
‘I wouldn’t consider it for a moment,’ Senga told her coldly. ‘You got yourself into this mess and you can get yourself out of it. We’re in love, you know. Very much in love! I think it might be as well for you, Briony, if you kept that strictly in mind. And I suggest you return that book as soon as possible. You’re perfectly well now and you’re not going to escape your responsibilities by skulking in bed. I’ll leave you now to think of a few excuses—that’s if you can find any convincing enough.’ And without waiting for Briony’s reply she ran lightly down the stairs.
When she heard the door of the cottage shut behind Senga, Briony turned the book over in her hands. She was shocked anew by its look of dilapidation. This was a
book that had been precious to Blane because it had been a present from the woman he loved. How was she going to face him? She flinched at the thought of what he would say to her when she returned it. But Senga had been right—it would have to be done! And she had no possible excuse for delay. She was fully recovered, and the sooner it was done the better.
On the following morning she got up very early, tiptoed into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. Hettie was a light sleeper and Briony dreaded the thought of awakening her and of having to face the angry scene which would undoubtedly take place. Hettie was determined she should not return to the Lennox Riding School, and Briony was equally determined to do all in her power to keep her job there. Better to encounter Hettie’s anger later, when she had got this unpleasant chore over.
To her relief she was able to slip out of the house without awakening her godmother. As she trudged along in the gloomy morning light, the book of ballads in the shoulder-bag she usually carried to work, she had plenty to think about.
Apart from Hettie’s stinging remarks to Blane and her emphatic statement that Briony would never work for him again, she had to consider whether Blane was prepared to keep the job open for her. When she arrived at Birchfields would she be met with an abrupt dismissal?
Even if he disregarded Hettie’s remarks as too contemptible to be taken seriously, there was still the matter of the book. No amount of patching and smoothing and fixing pages with plastic tape had been able to disguise that it had received very rough treatment indeed.
Briony’s brows were furrowed as she continued on her way. The only bright spot was the mildness of the day. Abergour was enjoying one of those lovely calm autumns which so often happen in the Highlands of Scotland. The trees were a riot of colour, and when she came to the gate of Birchfields she could see the Shetlands in their paddock. The two boys must have pitched in and added the ponies to their own workloads, for the little animals were obviously well cared for.
As usual she turned towards the tack room, this time half expecting it to be locked, but the door was already open and she wrinkled her nose at the smell that came to meet her. Someone was already making up a mash for a horse.
She entered to find Blane stirring a huge pot on the stove.
He turned and surveyed her. ‘So you’re back! Fully recovered, I hope!’
He seemed in excellent humour, and Briony, considering Hettie’s final speech to him, was taken aback. Had he forgotten that she had been forbidden to return to the Riding School, or did it simply not matter to him what Hettie said?
She decided to reply in an equally casual manner. ‘There was really nothing much the matter with me. I stayed in more to satisfy Hettie than anything else—she was so fussed and upset.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, I think Hettie’s bark is worse than her bite. If you stick to your guns she won’t be able to do much about it. After all, you’re a big girl now, and capable of making your own decisions.’ He turned back to stirring the mash. ‘Has a horrible smell, this stuff,’ he remarked after a moment, ‘but it’s just what the doctor ordered—or rather the vet—a nice hot mash with molasses added!’
His words only added to Briony’s discomfiture. The picture was only too plain. Not only the two boys had been shouldering her share of the chores, but Blane himself had had to pitch in. But what did it mean? Was this a temporary thing, meant to fill in until her return, or had he decided that the School could very easily dispense with her assistance?
She waited awkwardly and then said, ‘I—I suppose it’s all right, is it?’
He turned his head. ‘All right? What on earth do you mean?’
‘I mean, it’s all right for me to come back and start again?’
‘And why should it not be right for you to come back?’
‘Well, I mean, about Hettie—’ she began. ‘You see, I overheard what she said to you, and—When she’s in a bit of a temper she flies out and says anything that comes into her head, and she doesn’t seem to understand that I can’t sponge on her. She seems to think I could live quite happily with her, without having a job, or earning anything.’
‘Yes, your godmother is a very warlike little woman,’ he agreed. ‘And I must say when she lived here at Birchfields I found her a great trial. But since our last encounter my estimation of her has gone up.’
‘What?’ Briony could scarcely believe her ears.
‘It’s true, she told me off in no uncertain manner. But at least this time her remarks made some sense. I could see she had your welfare at heart. She would fight for you like a tiger, if any danger threatened—or rather like a hen for her chick.’
Briony looked at him speechless. This was the very last reaction she had expected from the hot-tempered Blane. Then, at the realisation of what this meant, she drew a deep breath. That Hettie and Blane should ever have the slightest understanding of one another was something she had not dared to hope for.
‘And now,’ he continued briskly, ‘let’s take this opportunity while the mash cools a hit to have a chat. We always seem to be too busy for the social graces, don’t we?’
Reluctantly Briony seated herself near the table and he pulled forward a chair on the other side. Now for it, she was thinking. How quickly his affable manner would disappear when he caught sight of his precious book!
But his first words astounded her. ‘Well, and how does it feel to be the heroine of the hour?’ he demanded.
‘What?’ she exclaimed, her voice rising in astonishment. At the same time she could not help feeling a certain amount of relief that she was to have a few moments’ respite before breaking the news to him.
He regarded her steadily with those amazingly penetrating eyes for a long moment and then said, ‘Apparently it hasn’t struck you that you made yourself quite ill when you got lost and had to spend most of the night in the quarry when you weren’t even properly dressed for the weather. I believe that by giving your jacket and cap to Sandra you saved her life. Apart from that, you kept her spirits up. She knew that help was close at hand and that she would soon be collected. Senga spotted the cap right away.’
At the mention of Senga’s name Briony remembered the book of Scottish ballads, so tattered and mud-stained. It seemed to be burning a hole in her shoulder-bag,
With a sigh she slipped the bag from her shoulder and slowly began to unzip it, thinking as she did so that this approval, which felt like balm to her, would disappear fairly quickly when Blane’s eyes fell upon Senga’s precious gift. How was she going to break the news to him tactfully? she wondered.
‘Something else happened that day,’ she began carefully. ‘Do you remember you lent me a book of Scottish ballads?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘And you told me to take great care of it,’ she rushed on a little desperately.
He frowned a little impatiently. ‘Yes, I remember. What about it?’
‘Well, you see, I had it in my jacket pocket. But I put the jacket round Sandra and—’ she pulled out the brown paper wrapping and opened the book out dramatically in front of him, ‘this is what happened to it.’ She saw his expression change and the familiar hard glaze seemed to settle on his features. She closed her eyes for a moment. Now for it, she was thinking. She waited shrinking as she anticipated the harsh cold words she knew could so easily overwhelm her with misery.
‘Put it away,’ he said shortly. ‘Don’t let me see it ever again.’
With a shaking hand she replaced it in her bag. One thing was clear, and that was that the destruction of the book meant even more to him than she had feared. He must hate her for what she had done.
But when he spoke again he had changed the subject completely. ‘I think it’s time we made the final preparations for this treasure hunt,’ he said. ‘Senga tells me the children are eager to have it now. If we delay too long they’ll only lose interest. If you feel up to it I wonder if you would help me to choose prizes for the winners. It should be easy to get something suitable in
Aberdeen.’ Briony hesitated for an instant. She was already in Senga’s bad books. If she were to travel into Aberdeen with him to select prizes for the children, surely Senga would resent it bitterly.
Although the thought of an outing with him made her heart beat a little faster, she said reluctantly, ‘I—I don’t think I’d better.’
Blane tested the warmth of the mash, then looked up with that swift, keen, assessing glance that she knew so well. ‘And why not, may I ask?’
What could she say that would sound convincing? she wondered. ‘Oh, I’ve so much to do—so much to catch up with after being off. The tack room should be tidied, and—’ She stopped, aware that he didn’t believe a word she was saying.
‘And why should Johnny not do some of the straightening up?’ he enquired with an air of feigned surprise. ‘After all, that’s what I employ him for, apart from his other duties.’
Briony gave a light laugh which, even to her own ears, sounded highly artificial. ‘Oh, you know—a woman’s touch and all that!’
‘Rubbish!’ he said curtly. ‘And now I don’t want any arguments. You’re coming to Aberdeen with me and that’s that! Unless,’ he added suavely, ‘you prefer to give in your notice?’
She glanced at him apprehensively. That was the last thing in the world she wanted—to be left helpless again, and living on Hettie’s charity. But she knew Blane well enough by now to know that his words were not to be taken lightly.
‘Well,’ he demanded impatiently. ‘Are you, or aren’t you?’
‘Yes, of course I’ll come,’ she said.
‘Well then, why not let’s start off immediately?’
She glanced down at her shabby jeans in dismay. ‘But I couldn’t possibly go in these clothes,’ she told him. ‘I’ll have to go back to Amulree and change.’
New Boss at Birchfields Page 12