Sarah's Cottage (Sarah Morris Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  The description didn’t sound attractive—and I wanted to get on with my work. “Do you think he wants to sell something?” I inquired.

  “No, no, he’s not that sort of gentleman! He’s not the sort to be selling books or vacuum cleaners. He’s wearing beautiful shiny patent-leather shoes. What’ll I do with him, Miss Sarah? I put him in the study till I asked if you wanted to see him.”

  “I suppose I shall have to see him,” I said reluctantly.

  When I went into the study the stranger was standing gazing out of the window so I had a few moments to look at his back view before he saw me. He certainly looked “foreign,” but there was something about the way his neck sprang from his wide shoulders which wasn’t “foreign” . . . and, quite suddenly he stretched his arms above his head in a gesture that was very familiar indeed! At that moment I knew, quite definitely, that this was Charles’s brother—perhaps I had half known it before.

  My heart sank. What was “Rudi” doing here? Why had he come to Craignethan? Charles was settled now, quite settled and happy in his new life, and this man would remind him of all the miseries that he had tried so hard to forget! If only I could get rid of him before Charles came home! But, as this was impossible, the sensible thing to do was to find out what he wanted.

  I went forward and said, “Good afternoon. I’m Mrs Charles Reede. What can I do for you?”

  The moment he turned his resemblance to Charles vanished; his face was oval with a high forehead—it was the “Reeder face,” of course. There were deep lines from his long nose to the corners of his mouth and little pouches beneath his brown eyes which gave him the look of a sad and rather bewildered bloodhound. He was older than Charles—I knew that, of course—but this man looked so much older than Charles that I wondered if I could have been mistaken.

  “Goot afternoon,” he said slowly in guttural English. “I come to speak mit my brudder, Ludovic, please.”

  “My husband is out fishing today,” I replied. I could have spoken to him in German quite easily but somehow I didn’t want to . . . and, although I was aware that Charles’s family called him Ludovic, I was quite determined that I would not.

  “Ludovic not here?” asked my visitor, with a puzzled frown.

  “No, he’s out fishing.”

  “Ludovic not live here?”

  “He lives here but he’s out today. He won’t be home until about six o’clock.”

  “You say this not his home?” asked my visitor in dismay.

  It was hopeless. If I intended to find out why the man had come I should have to speak to him in his own language.

  “Please sit down,” I said to him in German. “I am your brother’s wife. Your brother has gone out with a friend for the whole day. Why do you want to see him?”

  Rudi collapsed into the nearest chair. “Ach, what a relief! You speak our language! You speak it with Ludovic, of course.”

  “No, never,” I replied firmly. “My husband has no desire to speak German; he has become a British subject . . . but you know that, I suppose?”

  “Yes, my father showed me the letters; they made him very angry. Our family has a long and distinguished history, Frau Reeder.”

  “My husband’s name is Charles Reede,” I said coldly.

  “Do not be angry with me! I have no wish to annoy you—it is difficult for me to remember that he has changed his name—and the quarrel is not my fault. I tried to persuade my father to write a pleasant letter to Ludovic, in answer to his, but it was useless. If you knew my father you would understand.”

  I knew a great deal more about his father than he guessed. “Well, it is no good digging up the past,” I said. “It is over now. Charles has made a new life for himself, here in Scotland.”

  “It is a delightful place,” said Rudi, (gemütlich was the word he used). “I was admiring the house and the garden before you came in. The house is old and dignified, one can see that it is well cared for. Does it belong to Ludovic? . . . but no, that is impossible!”

  “Craignethan belongs to Charles and me,” I said firmly. It was not strictly true, of course.

  “It belongs to you?” asked Rudi in surprise.

  “Yes. We are both very fond of the place and intend to live here for the rest of our lives. Charles is perfectly happy here—happier than he has ever been—I hope you have not come to upset him.”

  Rudi was silent for a few moments. Then he said, “My errand is a difficult one. It will be better for me to explain it to Ludovic himself. I have engaged a room at the hotel in the town and I shall stay there tonight. What time can I come and speak to my brother?”

  “I am expecting him home about six o’clock.”

  “That is good. I shall return to the hotel for dinner and will come back afterwards.”

  I looked at him and wondered if I should offer him dinner and a bed for the night. Would Charles want him here . . . or not?

  I was still hesitating when Rudi got up from his chair. He bowed politely and said, “Auf wiedersehen, gnädige Frau! My cab is waiting for me. Will you be so kind as to explain my plans to the driver? It is difficult for me to make myself understood.”

  We went out together and I arranged with Rob Saunders to take the gentleman back to the Ryddelton Arms for dinner and then call for him again at nine o’clock and bring him to Criagnethan.

  Rob agreed. I could see he was bursting with curiosity and I was aware that a garbled account of “the foreign gentleman” and his visits to Craignethan would be spread all over Ryddelton with the rapidity of fire in old heather.

  *

  Charles was later than I had expected. I was dressing for dinner when he came up to my room with a fine basket of trout for my admiration. He had thoroughly enjoyed his day’s fishing and was in such good spirits that I shrank from telling him my news. I tried my hardest to show an interest in the story of his adventures but Charles knew me too well to be deceived.

  “What on earth is the matter, Sarah?” he exclaimed. “Are you feeling ill, darling?”

  “Yes, ill with worry. I’ve something to tell you and I don’t know how to tell it. I had an unexpected visitor this afternoon.”

  “Who?”

  “Your brother.”

  “Rudi! Rudi here . . . at Ryddelton!” cried Charles in dismay. “What did he want?”

  “I don’t know, darling; he wouldn’t tell me. He wants to speak to you. He said his errand was a difficult one.”

  “Where is he? Not here, I hope!”

  “He’s having dinner at the Ryddelton Arms and coming back to see you afterwards.”

  “I don’t want to see him!” exclaimed Charles impetuously.

  I had known that Charles would be upset so I wasn’t surprised at his reaction. Usually Charles was calm and sensible, but beneath the surface he was sensitive and excitable. (Bob knew this; he had said “Charles feels things more than other people, he takes things harder.”)

  “Charles,” I said quietly. “You’ll have to see your brother, won’t you? We can’t send him away without——”

  “I don’t want to see him, Sarah!” cried Charles, getting up and beginning to pace up and down the room. “I’m happy here. I’ve put the past behind me! I’ve tried to forget. Rudi has come to drag me back into all the misery and wretchedness. They’re in trouble of some sort! They always send for me when they’re in trouble—you know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know, but——”

  “I told you years ago, when we were married, that I would never go back to Schloss Roethke. Nothing will induce me to go back! Nothing, nothing, nothing!”

  I rose and took his arm. “Perhaps it isn’t that. Don’t worry too much——”

  “It must be that! What else can it be?”

  “He can’t make you go back.”

  “Rudi wouldn’t come all this way for nothing!”

  “He can’t make you go back,” I repeated earnestly. “Let’s wait and see what he has to say. It may be something quite diff
erent.”

  “I can’t wait! I’ll go to the hotel and find out what he wants. I must, Sarah! I must go now!”

  He tried to loosen my grasp on his arm, but I held on firmly.

  “Listen, Charles——”

  “I can’t bear the suspense!”

  “Please listen, darling! He’s coming here at nine. It will be better for you to see him here, won’t it? You can talk to him much more comfortably. You’ve been out all day and you’re tired and hungry. Please be sensible, Charles. You’ll be more able to cope with the situation after a good meal.”

  “Well, perhaps you’re right,” agreed Charles with a heavy sigh. “Yes, there’s no place to talk privately at the Ryddelton Arms; it would cause a lot of gossip if I were to talk to him in the lounge. I expect there’s a lot of gossip already. Oh heavens! Why can’t my family leave me in peace?”

  *

  It was the custom of the household for grandmama and Moira to have a light supper together, upstairs in the little sitting-room. Charles and I always dined alone and quite often we went out afterwards so we didn’t bother to change. Tonight, however, Charles was wearing his MacDonald kilt, his black velvet doublet with the square silver buttons and lace falls at his neck and wrists (I was aware that he had put on his Highland dress, not to impress his brother but as a sign that he belonged to his mother’s country . . . but all the same his appearance was impressive.) I, too, had “dressed” for Rudi’s benefit and was wearing the cherry-red frock which Minnie had made for me and which had won Lottie’s approval. I had no intention of taking part in the interview between the two brothers but I would be there in the background if I were wanted.

  Dinner was a silent meal—we were both busy with our thoughts—but I was thankful to see that Charles’s appetite was reasonably good and he drank a glass of claret.

  We had finished and were sitting in the drawing-room when we heard the taxi coming up the drive.

  Charles rose and said, “Give us half an hour, Sarah, and then bring in the coffee. If Rudi can’t tell me his ‘errand’ in half an hour he can go home without telling it.” Then he went and opened the front door to his brother and took him into the study.

  I should have liked to see Rudi’s reaction to a Highland gentleman in full fig, but it was not to be. I watched the clock and waited impatiently for exactly thirty minutes.

  When I carried in the tray of coffee and little cakes Rudi was sitting hunched up in a big chair, looking more than ever like a sad bloodhound, and Charles was pacing up and down the room with his kilt swinging from his hips.

  Charles halted when he saw me and said in German, “Sarah, Rudi’s errand is to ask me to play the part of the Prodigal Son. I have told him——”

  “No!” exclaimed Rudi. “That is not the truth!”

  “I have told him that I am not a prodigal son; I have never had a penny from my father to waste in riotous living; I am not eating husks. I want nothing from my family except to be left in peace.”

  “Ludovic, listen to me!” cried Rudi.

  “I have told him,” continued Charles, “I have told Rudi that already I have asked my father’s forgiveness. I wrote to him twice explaining my reasons for changing my nationality and I added that in spite of the way I had been treated I should always be his faithful son. What happened? He cast me off completely. There is nothing more to be said.”

  Rudi made a gesture of despair and turned to me. “Please listen, Frau Reede. Our father is getting old, his temper is uncertain, often he is irritable. My wife and I live with him at the Schloss—also our two small sons—but it is not a cheerful household; in fact our lives are exceedingly difficult. Anya and I are sure that the old man would be happier if the quarrel with Ludovic were resolved.”

  “You think you would be happier!” exclaimed Charles scornfully.

  “Does the Baron want to see Charles?” I asked.

  “He has not said so, but Anya and I are sure——”

  “He has not said so!” interrupted Charles. “He has never mentioned my name. Rudi admits that. Rudi’s idea is that I should accompany him to Schloss Roethke and ask my father’s forgiveness on my knees. I have told Rudi that I refuse to do so—but he seems unable to understand. Perhaps he would understand if you were to tell him, Sarah.”

  “Our father is old and unhappy,” said Rudi, looking at me beseechingly.

  They had come to an impasse and were looking to me for help . . . but what could I say? For a few minutes I was silent, arranging the coffee and the plate of cakes on a low table. It was not until Charles had sat down and I had poured out the coffee and given them each a cup that I found what seemed a reasonable solution. I said firmly, “Charles will never go back to Schloss Roethke . . . unless his father invites him to come.”

  They both looked at me in surprise.

  “That is true, isn’t it, Charles?” I said.

  “Yes, I suppose so,” agreed Charles with reluctance.

  “That will be never!” Rudi exclaimed. “Ludovic knows as well as I do that our father is not the man to make the first advance. He is too proud. Ludovic should not be resentful and vindictive; he should not be too proud to make the first advance and to ask the forgiveness of——”

  “I am not proud,” interrupted Charles. “I am not resentful nor vindictive. I am just . . . not interested in your proposition, Rudi.”

  “Not interested?”

  “No, not interested,” repeated Charles emphatically. “My wife has given you the correct answer: I shall never return to Schloss Roethke unless my father invites me to come and see him.”

  There was a little more talk, Rudi was unwilling to accept the decision, but eventually he realised that it was final.

  “I do not know what Anya will say,” he murmured as he rose to go.

  Charles and I accompanied him to the door and watched him drive away in Rob Saunders’s taxi.

  “Poor little wretch,” said Charles in English. “He knows only too well what Anya will say.”

  “He looks much older than you . . . and not very happy.”

  “He’s too fat. Rudi enjoys rich food and takes too little exercise—I’ve no doubt they’re having a very uncomfortable time with the old man.”

  “Charles, it was awfully difficult for me. I didn’t know what to say.”

  “My darling girl, what you said was right,” declared Charles, putting his hand through my arm. “It couldn’t have been better. My father is a very old man and if he asked me to go and see him I should have to go . . . but there isn’t a chance of it! I’m free of my family at last.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The transcription was finished. I had written the last word, sitting at the old battered knee-hole table with the window of my writing-room wide open and the early morning sunshine falling like a blessing upon my work. On my right was the pile of tattered foolscap sheets, on my left was the neat transcription in my own writing. I had used quarto paper and the sheets were clipped together in proper order, all ready to dispatch to Willy. There was no time now to make up the parcel and seal it so I left the two manuscripts on the table, locked the door carefully, put the key in my pocket and went down to breakfast.

  “Hallo, there you are!” said Charles, who was demolishing a large plateful of bacon and egg. “What on earth do you do in the morning, Sarah? I looked for you all over the house . . . I suppose you were out in the garden. I don’t think it’s good for you to get up so early,” he added in grumbling tones.

  I kissed the back of his neck. “‘Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise’—and the same goes for a woman. Is that a letter from Freddie?”

  “Yes. There’s a long account of a ‘scrumptious lunch’ with the Dunnes at The Golden Hind. They went on the river afterwards, and Beric showed great prowess as a waterman. She writes a good letter, doesn’t she?”

  “What about the summer holidays? Clive said she could come, so I hope it’s all right.”

  “
She thinks it will be all right. Daddy and Mummie are going to Wales to stay with the Gallimores, as was arranged. It’s a big house-party and Mummie is too busy getting new clothes to answer letters . . . but, at least, she hasn’t said ‘no’.”

  “Daddy said ‘yes’?”

  “Yes. Oh, listen, Sarah! The new headmistress at St Elizabeth’s is ‘absolutely marvellous’—underlined twice! Here, you had better read it yourself,” added Charles, handing me the letter.

  He got up and went away, pausing at the door to inquire what I was doing this morning.

  “I’m going to the post office,” I replied.

  *

  There was a great feeling of satisfaction in my heart as I posted the neatly sealed parcel of manuscript to Willy. The work had taken much longer than I expected—it had taken years—but that was because of all the interruptions. I had made the transcription very carefully and I knew it wasn’t in my power to have done it better.

  Two days later a postcard arrived from Willy which said tersely, “Parcel received. W.M.M.”

  Meanwhile Charles had been making a thorough examination of the old stable buildings, with a view to carrying out grandpapa’s wishes. The buildings consisted of stabling for four horses, a large coach-house and a small cottage for the coachman and his family but unfortunately they were in such a deplorable condition, not having been used for years, that “renovation” wasn’t possible. Most of the buildings would have to be pulled down and completely rebuilt—and we hadn’t enough money to do it.

  Grandpapa had been generous and had left what he believed to be ample to maintain Craignethan but everything had gone up in price, so although we could jog along fairly comfortably, there wasn’t much over. We had sold the cottage—it was foolish to keep it standing empty—but most of the proceeds had been swallowed up in extensive repairs to the roof of Craignethan House. This was very vexatious of course but, in a way, I was pleased about it for when Charles remarked “Craignethan will be your house, of course,” I was able to reply, “Craignethan roof is your roof.”

  Charles and I were determined that grandmama shouldn’t be worried about money matters and she willingly agreed that Charles should manage all the business. Unknown to us she wrote to her trustees and told them that she wanted to forgo her life-rent in the property and make it over to us. There was a good deal of trouble about this; Mr Stewart came down from Edinburgh to see us and to explain the various difficulties, but grandmama was absolutely determined that it was to be done—and done as soon as possible.