“It was a pity Vera had to leave,” I suggested.
“She didn’t ’ave to leave, Mrs Reede. She took the huff and gave notice. ‘You’ll regret it, my girl,’ I said. ‘You won’t get a place like this in a ’urry with such good money,’ I said. Not but what I don’t feel like giving notice meself some days! There’s a lot to do and ’er ladyship’s very pertickler—as you know, Mrs Reede! It gets me down sometimes, with me breathing and all. Dinner parties and supper parties and luncheons—and more often than not it’s all in a ’urry with no time to think out the meenoos. I wouldn’t mind so much if I ’ad a good kitching-maid but I can’t trust Iris an inch. Girls nowadays!” exclaimed Mrs White, turning her eyes upwards. “The cheek you get and the langwidge! You wouldn’t ’ardly believe it, Mrs Reede! I won’t soil your ears to tell you what that chit said to me this morning when I asked ’er to be more pertickler about cleaning my pans.”
“How awful!” I said sympathetically.
“Yes, awful. I’d give in me notice termorrow . . . but the money’s good and I get what I asks for. There isn’t any pinching and scraping in this ’ouse. You can’t send up a nice dinner if you don’t get the ingrediments, which I didn’t when I was with the Honourable Mrs Carruthers.”
“About Vera?” I said, when she stopped for breath.
“I ’ad a letter from Vera this morning. She’s at Hounslow with ’er mother. She ’asn’t got a place yet—and not likely to, unless she comes down a bit in ’er ideers. It’s my belief she’d come back if ’er ladyship was to ask ’er.”
“That would be a good plan, wouldn’t it? I mean she could look after Miss Frederica until Nurse comes back.”
“If Nurse ever does come back! She looked gashly, Mrs Reede. They took ’er away on a stretcher,” said Mrs White with ghoulish relish.
“Well, we must hope for the best,” I said . . . and added hastily before she had a chance to give me any further details about nurse, “Miss Frederica doesn’t seem difficult to manage.”
“Not reely. She’s got a will of ’er own, of course, but if you take ’er the right way she’s all right. I could manage ’er myself—easy—if I didn’t ’ave me cooking. She’s a dear little thing, Mrs Reede. The trouble is ’er ladyship ’asn’t got no patience. Miss Frederica is just a bother to ’er.”
I didn’t like these confidences much but I couldn’t have stemmed the flow without being rude; if Mrs White’s breathing was trouble-some it didn’t affect her speech.
“Have you been to the doctor about your breathing?” I inquired sympathetically. It seemed a good way to change the subject.
“I been to ’im ’arf a dozen times,” replied Mrs White, rising to the bait. “He says it’s nerves. Strained nerves is what I’ve got,—and no wonder, with all I’ve got to put up with! He gave me pills but they made me so queer and sleepy that I could ’ardly walk straight. It was worse than me breathing so I stopped them. It don’t do to be queer and sleepy when you’ve got a dinner for twenty on your ’ands. Gracious sakes, look at the time!” cried Mrs White, reminded of her responsibilities. “Look at the time . . . and me with a mushroom soufflay to make! I’d better be off.” She hesitated and then added, “P’raps I’ve said more than I ought, Mrs Reede. You won’t get me into trouble?”
“No, I’ll be very discreet.”
“Discreet,” said Mrs White, nodding. “That’s what to be. I wouldn’t ’ave said as much if I ’adn’t been worried about the child.”
Chapter Six
Charles was in the west spare bedroom unpacking his suitcase and humming cheerfully the while.
“You haven’t gone to Oxford!” I exclaimed.
“I’m staying here for one night so that I can arrange everything satisfactorily. How is the child?”
“She seemed a little feverish but she was better when I had given her a warm bath. She’s sleeping quite peacefully now, and I expect she’ll be all right tomorrow, but I don’t see how I can leave her until——”
“They must get a temporary nurse; I intend to speak to Clive about it after dinner. Clive must engage one immediately so that you can get her settled before you come home. I shall spend a week in Oxford and then fetch you. Don’t worry, Sarah.”
I smiled—and ceased to worry. When Charles took a job in hand he accomplished it with the least possible fuss. I had my own plan, of course, but it might not work . . . and I had promised to be discreet.
“Good thing I brought my dinner-jacket and all the etceteras,” continued Charles in the same cheerful tone. “I very nearly didn’t . . . and then I thought there might be some junketings at Oxford. It’s pre-war, of course, but quite wearable.”
Charles’s garments may have been out-of-date but when he was ready I thought he looked marvellous. He was tall and strong with wide shoulders and slender hips. His hair was brown with reddish lights; his eyes were blue and sparkling in his weather-tanned face.
“It’s rather a foolish rig-out,” suggested Charles, regarding himself in the mirror.
“Possibly, but extremely becoming—and well you know it,” I retorted.
He laughed and took my arm and we went downstairs together.
Clive’s evening clothes were doubtless new and in the latest style—though to my untutored eye there seemed to be little difference—but the difference in the two wearers was extreme. Clive was small and insignificant; he was twenty years older than Lottie and looked as though the weight of the world was on his frail shoulders.
There were no other guests tonight; but the four of us sat down to a beautifully appointed table shining with glass and silver; the dinner, produced by Mrs White and served by a butler and a footman, was Lucullan.
Charles and Clive hadn’t met before except at family functions and I had wondered how they would get on. I liked Clive; I found him interesting—and I was sorry for him. He was extremely wealthy but his riches didn’t make him happy. (Very unwisely I had tried to “explain” him to Charles but Charles had shown little interest and had replied “Oh, I’ve met these business men before; they’re money-making machines.”)
At first the conversation was stilted. Charles mentioned a play we had seen in Edinburgh; it had been produced there before its first night in the West End of London.
“I don’t care for plays,” said Clive.
“What are you interested in?” asked Charles, who was nearing the end of his tether.
“Good music,” replied Clive.
After that I didn’t bother about them any more; Charles was a musician to his finger-tips; he played the piano like a professional; he had a beautiful baritone voice; he could talk music for hours without stopping.
When we had finished dinner Lottie and I left them, still talking, and went up to the small sitting-room which she called her “boudoir.”
“You should have come before,” said Lottie, as she poured out the coffee. “Frederica was so naughty that I’m quite worn out. You’ll have to stay till Nurse is well enough to come back.”
“That depends on Charles.”
“Depends on Charles?” asked Lottie, opening her blue eyes wide in astonishment.
“Charles is my husband.”
“Oh, but he won’t mind! I’ll explain to him that I can’t do without you.”
“Yes, do that,” I agreed.
“He won’t mind,” repeated Lottie confidently. Lottie was used to getting her own way, but I had a feeling she would meet her match in Charles.
“Sarah, you aren’t listening!” she exclaimed. “You’re sitting there smiling to yourself. What’s the matter with you?”
“I was thinking of something funny.”
“I want you to help me,” said Lottie. “I’ve been explaining what I want you to do but you haven’t heard a word! We’re sisters so we ought to help each other.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked apprehensively. When Lottie appealed to me in these terms her request was invariably troublesome and unpleasant.
“Oh, it’s quite easy. I just want you to find me a maid. A Scots girl would be nice. I want a woman of about thirty with a good appearance; she must be pleasant and agreeable and a skilful needlewoman. I shall want her to shampoo my hair and set it—I can’t be bothered with hairdressers. She must be a good packer and used to looking after clothes. I want someone who doesn’t mind staying up late and helping me to undress when I come home from parties . . .”
When I had heard the full list of Lottie’s requirements, I said, “Lottie, you don’t want a Scots girl, you want an angel.”
“Don’t be stuffy, Sarah. You can go to a registry in Edinburgh and choose a girl for me—you can do it when you go home. I don’t mind how much I pay. You can get anything you want if you’re willing to pay more than other people,” she added with conviction.
Perhaps Lottie was right, but I wasn’t keen to undertake the commission. “Why did you part with Vera?” I asked.
“Oh, it was a mistake; I didn’t mean her to go. It was one night when I came home from a dance; I had been out four nights running so of course I was tired—and I suppose I said something that annoyed her. She said I didn’t appreciate her, so I said she’d better find a place where she would be appreciated. I didn’t mean it, of course; I never thought for a moment that she would leave like that. I was paying her the earth and giving her clothes that I had got a little tired of . . . really good things that only required a few small alterations to fit her. It was so inconsiderate of her,” declared Lottie plaintively. “She knew I had been out four nights running; she knew I was tired to death.”
“She was good at doing your hair, wasn’t she?”
“She was marvellous. You see she intended to go in for hairdressing, and she had had some training, but the long hours of standing didn’t suit her so she had to give it up. Vera enjoyed doing my hair,” added Lottie. “She said she had never seen such beautiful hair in her life.”
I wasn’t surprised. Lottie’s hair had always been one of her beauties; it was the colour of flax and delightfully wavy . . . but tonight it wasn’t as lovely as usual. I told her so, with sisterly candour, and added, “What a pity about Vera! Couldn’t you ask her to come back?”
“Well, that’s an idea,” said Lottie thoughtfully.
I said no more. I had promised to be discreet . . . and I thought I had managed it quite well. I had never seen Vera, of course, and if Lottie had thought for a moment she might have wondered how I knew such a person existed . . . but Lottie was so interested in her own affairs that she believed everyone else must know all about them and be interested too. Quite a number of people suffer from the same curious hallucination. Lottie had begun to tell me a long story about the misdemeanours of the gardener when the door opened and the two husbands came in.
“We’ve been on the roof,” said Charles. “Clive has got a wonderful telescope. You’d like to see the moon, wouldn’t you, Sarah?”
“It’s much too cold,” said Lottie crossly.
“Yes, I’d love to!” I said, leaping up eagerly.
“You must have a coat,” said Clive.
I got my fur coat and followed Clive upstairs. We went into the nursery on the way and found Freddie sleeping peacefully; she hadn’t moved since I left her. One little hand was under her cheek, the other was lying on the pink blanket.
Clive looked at his daughter and sighed. “It was good of you to come, Sarah,” he said. “Poor Lottie seems quite unable to cope with her—she’s very spoilt, I’m afraid. We must get a temporary nurse; I’ll see about it tomorrow when I’m in town.”
“I hope you’ll be able to get someone soon.”
“Oh, yes,” he replied. “You can get most things if you’re willing to pay for them.”
Lottie had made the same statement—or almost the same.
After that we climbed the ladder to the roof and looked at the craters on the moon through Clive’s magnificent telescope.
*
I had decided to sleep in the nursery and Charles made no objections. He came upstairs with me and helped me to make up nurse’s bed with clean sheets, which we found in the nursery linen cupboard. There was a large staff at Brailsford Manor (Lottie would have been surprised if she had known what we were doing) but that did not occur to me until the deed was done.
“You succeeded with Clive,” I said in a low voice.
“Clive was easy,” replied Charles in the same muted tones. “I merely pointed out that I liked to have my wife about the place; I said I could spare you for a week and no doubt he would be able to engage a temporary nurse by that time. He said ‘Yes, of course! I’m afraid we’ve been rather selfish about Sarah.’ I didn’t contradict him. Lottie was a little more difficult to convince—but she understands now. I have also put my foot down very firmly upon the idea of your finding her a maid; you would never be able to find anyone to suit Lottie.”
“I know that as well as you do!”
“Lottie said you had promised.”
“That’s just her way. She has always had what she wanted.”
“She knows now that she can’t have you for more than a week; she knows now that she must find a maid for herself. When she realised that I meant what I said she decided to write to the maid she had before and ask her to come back. I left her writing the letter. Oh, I didn’t quarrel with her,” said Charles. “I just explained it all quite kindly in simple words that a child of nine years old could have understood. Nine is your sister’s mental age.”
“Oh Charles——” I began, but I couldn’t go on. It was true, of course—or nearly true.
Charles walked over to Freddie’s bed and looked at her. “She’s like you,” he said in surprise.
“She’s exactly like her father!”
“She’s like you,” repeated Charles. He felt her hand very gently and added, “It’s cool and moist . . . I don’t think there’s much the matter with her.”
“Unloved and mismanaged, that’s all,” I said huskily; I was trying to control my tears.
“Poor little scrap! It was careless of her to come to the wrong house, wasn’t it?”
“Very careless.”
“Shall we kidnap her?”
“There would be no need for ‘kidnapping’; she isn’t wanted in this house.”
When we came out on to the brightly-lighted landing Charles saw the tears in my eyes and put his arms round me. “Don’t cry, darling,” he said. “There’s still lots of time. Some day, when we’re least expecting it, a child will come to a little house where it will be loved and cared for.”
Chapter Seven
Freddie slept all night; she awakened me at six o’clock by creeping into my bed. “So nice,” she said, snuggling down happily. “I thought it was Nurse—but it’s you. Nurse smells of soap but you smell of flowers. It’s nicer. Tell me about Goldilocks and the free bears.”
“Does Nurse tell you about them, Freddie?”
“No, but you will. Go on. ‘Once upon a time——’”
“Who tells you stories?”
“Vera . . . but Vera’s gone away. Why did Vera go away? She didn’t have a pain. I want Vera to come back.”
“Perhaps she will come back.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, go on,” said Freddie. “Tell me about Goldilocks.”
I told Freddie about Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Then I had my bath in the nursery bathroom and we dressed and went downstairs to breakfast. Freddie was perfectly well—her temperature was just below normal—so I saw no reason for keeping her in bed.
Clive and Charles were having breakfast together and presently Lottie appeared, dressed in town clothes and looking very smart.
“Oh, I thought Frederica would be staying in bed,” said Lottie. “I don’t think you should have brought her downstairs, Sarah; you must have your meals in the nursery.”
“Why banish Sarah to the nursery?” asked Clive.
“I’m not ‘banishing’
her! It will be more convenient; I’m going up to town with Mrs Meldrum.”
“I shall be here for lunch,” said Clive. “I should like Sarah and Frederica to have it with me in the dining-room”—and so saying he got up and went away.
“I must go, too,” said Charles, rising. “Thank you very much for your hospitality, Lottie—and please thank Clive. I’ll fetch Sarah on Wednesday morning.”
When I had seen Charles off at the door, and had taken a fond farewell of him, I went back to the dining-room to finish my breakfast. Lottie was reading her letters and Freddie was finishing her porridge. I was glad to see she had been well taught by Nurse and had civilised table manners. I asked her if she would like a boiled egg and she nodded silently.
“You can manage, can’t you, Sarah?” said Lottie. “I’ve been tied up for a week and I’ve several things I want to do in town. I like going with Mrs Meldrum; she has got a new chauffeur who knows London well, which makes it easier.”
“Mrs Meldrum must be quite old, now.”
“She’s older, of course, but she still looks wonderful. You never liked her, Sarah, but she’s very kind to me. It’s fun going about with her because she knows all the best shops—and everyone rushes to serve her. It’s like going shopping with the Queen.”
Lottie was given to exaggeration but I knew what she meant, of course. I was about to reply when Freddie looked up and said,
“Does the Queen wear her crown when she goes shopping?”
“Of course not! You are silly,” said Lottie crossly. “Eat your egg and don’t talk with your mouth full.” She turned to me and added, “We shall probably go to a matinée in the afternoon so I won’t be home until dinner-time.”
“Freddie and I will be quite happy together,” I said.
“I wish you wouldn’t call her that silly name, Sarah!”
Sarah's Cottage (Sarah Morris Book 2) Page 5