“I hope Lottie won’t change her mind at the last minute,” I said apprehensively.
“It’s all fixed up,” replied Charles. “Freddie is coming straight here from school. Miss Fairlie said she would send someone with her to London to see her safely into the train.”
“Miss Fairlie?”
“Oh yes, I should have told you before. She’s the new headmistress of St Elizabeth’s—you knew that, didn’t you? She rang up this morning when you were out to make sure it was all right. She said, ‘Lady Hudson left it rather vague.’ So like Lottie, isn’t it? I told Miss Fairlie that I was one of Frederica’s trustees—as well as being her uncle—and that her father had given permission for her to come. She said, ‘Oh yes, that’s what Frederica said. I just wanted to make sure. Lady Hudson didn’t answer my letter.’ Then I said we were looking forward to having Frederica very much indeed and we would meet her in Edinburgh on Thursday evening . . . so it’s all tied up securely.”
“Freddie said Miss Fairlie was ‘absolutely marvellous’.”
“Yes, underlined twice,” agreed Charles, smiling. “I must say she seemed very nice indeed. I liked her voice and I liked the way she spoke of Frederica. She sounded kind and capable . . . and charming.” He hesitated and then added thoughtfully, “She’s nearly fifteen.”
“I knew Miss Fairlie was young, but that sounds a little too immature for a headmistress,” I suggested.
“Don’t tease!” exclaimed Charles, laughing. “It’s very interesting because I remember you when you were nearly fifteen and Freddie is exactly like you.”
“She’s like her father,” I said.
“She’s like your father,” Charles declared emphatically. “She’s like your father—and you’re like your father—so it’s natural that you and Freddie should resemble each other.”
We had debated the matter before but had never convinced each other. Likenesses in a family are subjects upon which opinions differ . . . but, of one thing I was sure: Freddie wasn’t like me inside.
“You were fifteen when you went to France,” continued Charles. “You stayed with that dreadful family at Nivennes and were sent home in disgrace.”
“Because I met you at the gate in a clandestine manner and talked to you for a whole hour,” I reminded him.
Charles smiled. “It was a terribly wicked thing to do!”
“Madame said it was ‘épouvantable, revoltant, dégoutant, atroce’; she said I was ‘fausse, maline, et perdu de réputation’!”
“Was that all?” exclaimed Charles, laughing.
“No,” I said gravely. “The other things are too horrible to tell you.”
We had finished dinner so we went into the study. We were still doing translations of foreign books for Mr Maxton; we enjoyed working together and it kept our brains active. We had intended to work tonight but, having begun to talk of old times, we went on reminding each other of things we had said and done. Charles declared that he never saw an apple tree in bloom with the petals falling softly in a gentle breeze without thinking of the day at Fairfield when he had asked me to marry him and had given me the signet ring off his little finger as an engagement token. It had fitted the third finger of my left hand very comfortably and had remained there throughout many vicissitudes until it had been replaced by a plain gold band.
Now it was my turn. “Charles, do you remember the day you entertained Mother and me to lunch at The Golden Hind in Larchester? We went out on the river in a boat and you took off your jacket to row. You had a lovely blue silk shirt.”
“That was the day that the man in the punt fell into the water and wanted us to take him back to Larchester.”
“You refused,” I said, smiling.
“It was better that he should walk,” declared Charles. “Better for us—and better for him. He was very angry with us. I told you to put your fingers in your ears but you didn’t stop them up securely.”
“How did you know?” I asked in surprise.
“I could tell by your expression of unholy glee that you were listening to every word he said.”
*
We met Freddie at Waverley Station on Thursday evening, as arranged. She was wearing her school uniform, a camel-hair coat and a shapeless felt hat so she didn’t look very different from the last time I had seen her at Larchester.
Freddie leapt out of the train door and hugged us both in an ecstasy of excitement. “Oh, it’s so lovely!” she cried. “It’s so lovely to see you again—and to know I’m going to be here all the holidays—it’s worth all the bother and fuss! I’m longing to see dear old Craignethan—I remember it quite well. I remember having tea in the drawing-room with Grandmama. How is Grandmama?”
“She’s wonderfully well,” I replied. “She’s looking forward to seeing you, Freddie.”
“Oh, so am I!” Freddie cried. “I mean I’m looking forward awfully much to seeing her. I haven’t seen her since I was eight and I stayed with you at the cottage, but she writes to me quite often—nice long letters—and sends me books and things.”
Charles collected Freddie’s luggage and we made our way to the car . . . Freddie talking excitedly all the time. She had never before travelled by herself and was anxious to tell us all about her journey. It had been quite easy—she had enjoyed it—everyone had been terribly kind. A young man in the compartment had asked Freddie to have lunch with him but the lady in the other corner had said that Freddie was going to have lunch with her.
“It was funny, wasn’t it?” said Freddie. “I mean, she spoke as if it had been decided before. She was very nice and chatted a lot at lunch. She said she had a daughter who was the same age—nearly fifteen—and she was going to see her at St Leonards.”
“You said there was ‘bother and fuss’,” I reminded her.
“Oh, that wasn’t the journey! That was Mummie . . . but it wasn’t anything much,” added Freddie hastily. “I’m here, that’s all that matters.”
By this time we were in the car and heading south, out of Edinburgh. Freddie was supposed to be sitting in the back seat but she had so much to say that she was kneeling on the floor with her face between Charles and me.
“Miss Fairlie came to London with me herself,” continued Freddie. “She was coming up on business so she took me to King’s Cross and saw me into the train; she bought me a paper and two bananas and a box of chocolates. She’s a darling—everyone loves her—everyone calls her ‘the old girl’ because she was at St Elizabeth’s when she was young. She’s not supposed to know—but, of course, she knows! She knows everything—she’s frightfully clever. Wasn’t it lovely that she brought me to London, herself?”
“It was a magnificent gesture,” said Charles solemnly.
“You’re teasing, Uncle Charles . . . but it really was magnificent. When I tell the other girls about the chocolates and the bananas they’ll be green with jealousy.”
“In that case you must keep the chocolates and the bananas locked in your bosom for evermore.”
Freddie giggled, “Oh, you are funny, Uncle Charles!”
The subject of Freddie’s headmistress kept us going half-way to Ryddelton.
“Beric will be here,” said Freddie cheerfully. “He wrote and told me he would be at home for the holidays. He often writes.”
“They’re having a dance at Dunnian House,” said Charles.
“Gorgeous!” squeaked Freddie in delight. “But—oh dear!—I haven’t got a proper frock.”
“Cheer up, Cinderella!” said Charles. “Your fairy godfather will wave his wand . . . and ‘Hey Presto!’ a ball-dress will appear.”
“Oh, how lovely! Will it be pink?”
“It will be pink . . . and there will be pink shoes to match—fairy godfathers never do things by halves—and your fairy godmother will provide a rose from her garden to pin in the corsage.”
“Your fairy godmother will do no such thing!” I exclaimed.
“It would get squashed when I was dancing,” said Freddie.<
br />
“Perhaps an artificial rose——” began the fairy godfather.
“No,” I said firmly. “Girls of not-quite-fifteen don’t wear artificial flowers.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Freddie. “Oh well, you know best. Anyhow it will be simply gorgeous. I do love you quite dreadfully, Uncle Charles. Not because of the frock but because you’re you.” A soft kiss was bestowed on the fairy godfather’s left ear, which was conveniently near Cinderella’s mouth.
“You’re making your fairy godmother jealous,” observed he, endeavouring to hide his pleasure.
“She isn’t a bit! She knows she’s best of all.”
We were silent for a little while: I had known before, in my inmost heart, that I was “best of all,” but I hadn’t faced up to it seriously. Now that I did face up to it I felt a little guilty, for surely a mother—even a negligent mother—should be “best of all” to her child? But, oh, poor Freddie! What a wretched childhood she had had! How different from our happy, carefree childhood with a loving father and mother, whose first thought was for us and our welfare and who were sincerely interested in everything we said and did!
Chapter Thirty-Two
The “young dance” at Dunnian House was taking place on Tuesday so there was no time to be lost. We took Freddie to Edinburgh on Saturday and after some trouble managed to find a very pretty rose-pink frock with a round neck, little puff sleeves and a silver girdle. It was impossible to get shoes of the same shade so we got silver shoes to match the girdle and a silver ribbon for her hair. The frock required a little alteration but I knew Minnie could make it fit, so we took all the parcels home with us. On Monday I took Freddie to Miss Blake to have her hair neatly trimmed and on Tuesday morning I washed her hair and set it with combs in a big water-wave; then I covered it with a net and she dried it in the sun.
The dance was due to begin at eight so we dined early and retired to our rooms to dress. I had been so busy with Freddie’s adornment that I had quite forgotten my own, however I had a black lace evening frock which would do. When I was ready I went to Freddie’s room and found Minnie there, helping her. The frock fitted perfectly, as I had known it would, and her hair was a great success. I was delighted with the child’s appearance.
“She’s nice, isn’t she?” said Minnie; this was the height of admiration, of course.
When we were ready we went down to the drawing-room where grandmama was waiting to see us in our war-paint. Charles was there, chatting to her.
“You all look very nice,” said grandmama happily. “Very nice indeed. Come here, Freddie. This little string of pearls will finish the picture. It belonged to your grandmother when she was a girl and I should like you to have it as a birthday present.”
Freddie kissed grandmama fondly and bent her neck to have the string fastened . . . and the picture was complete.
“I congratulate you, Sarah,” whispered Charles. “The child is delightful; she’s like a rose.” He raised his voice and added, “Come on, Cinderella! The pumpkin carriage is waiting and the white mice are pawing the ground.”
Dunnian was a perfect house for a party and tonight it was en fête, with bright lights, everything polished and shining and huge vases of flowers from the Dunnian gardens. The big drawing-room which had a parquet floor had been cleared of furniture except for a few chairs in one corner for the older guests; the dining-room had a cold buffet at one end with a fine array of hams and salads, sandwiches and pies and aspics, bowls of fruit salad and jugs of lemonade.
Celia and Courtney were receiving their guests in the wide hall and already, although the party had not begun, there was a festive feeling in the air and a buzz of happy talk.
Celia seized me and said, “There you are, Sarah! I’m so glad you’ve come early. It’s a children’s party, you know, so don’t expect too much.”
“It’s going to be a lovely party,” I told her.
“Oh, you feel it!” she exclaimed, smiling. “Dunnian House enjoys parties; it’s never happier than when it’s full of people.”
“That’s right,” said Major Raeworth, who was standing near. “My mother always said ‘Dunnian welcomes you when you come in at the door’.”
Most of the guests were from the surrounding district, so I knew them, but a few were strangers to me. Celia introduced me to her eldest sister, Mrs Rewdon, who had two very good-looking girls.
“Such a pity my other sister couldn’t come,” whispered Celia. “Joyce has two boys, who would have enjoyed it, but they’re coming next week and I wondered if they might come to Freddie’s picnic?”
“Yes, of course. We should love to have them.”
“Freddie looks perfectly sweet,” said Celia. Then she turned to greet some new arrivals.
I had been a little anxious as to whether Freddie would have enough partners—the young people in Ryddelton all knew each other and Freddie was a stranger—however I needn’t have worried for, no sooner had we entered the room, than we were surrounded by a group of would-be partners, eager to be introduced to her: the two Loudons and the Raeworth boy and Johnny Coates (and several others whom I had known since they were small children). And, of course, Beric, demanding a lion’s share of the dances.
Although it was supposed to be a “young dance,” a good many “grown-ups” were there and I, myself, was not short of partners. I danced a reel with Bob Loudon, a two-step with Courtney Dunne and a waltz with Mark. Major Coates, who had lost a leg in the war, asked me to sit out with him and won my heart by saying, “Who is that delightful child in the pink frock, Mrs Reede? I mean the girl who is dancing with Johnny.”
*
I was standing near the door when Freddie came to speak to me. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were pink with excitement. “I’m having a lovely, lovely time,” she whispered. “I’ve never been to such a gorgeous party before.”
At that moment a tall young man in perfectly fitting “tails” came up behind Freddie and touched her arm. “Hallo, Lorna! Nice to see you!” he exclaimed.
“I’m not Lorna!” said Freddie, turning and looking at him in surprise.
“Oh, how silly of me! I just saw your back, of course. You’re much prettier than Lorna . . . and what a lovely frock! Pink is my favourite colour.”
“It’s new,” said Freddie, smiling happily. “It’s a birthday present.”
“What a lovely birthday present! I wish someone would give me a pink frock for my birthday . . . and a silver ribbon for my hair.”
“You are silly!” said Freddie, with a little chuckle.
“Don’t you think it would suit me?”
“No, I think you’d look very funny.”
“Let’s dance this.”
“But I promised Harry——”
“Harry can have the next one.” He put his arm round her waist and swept her away.
It was years since I had seen Shane Vidal. He looked a good deal older than the boy I had met at the Brig, but he was still extremely handsome and his methods seemed to be as successful as ever.
I didn’t like it. Perhaps, if I hadn’t met him before, I wouldn’t have worried: I might have thought he really had made a mistake . . . or I might not have noticed the incident at all! But I knew too much about him to take it calmly. Not only was I annoyed with Shane, I was a little frightened. It was one thing for me to amuse myself with a good-looking boy on a sunny afternoon and quite another to see Freddie “collected” and swept away in that masterful fashion!
I stood and watched them dancing; it was a waltz and they were dancing beautifully together . . . but that only added to my unease.
“May I have the pleasure?” asked Charles, who had approached me unnoticed.
“No, wait! I’ve lost Freddie!”
“Lost her? What do you mean?”
“I saw her a moment ago—she was dancing—but I can’t see her now.”
Charles chuckled. “Don’t worry; she’s probably sitting in a cosy corner with a nice young man and he’s t
elling her she’s like a rose.”
“But she’s only a child! I must go and look for her!”
“Goodness! I believe you’re really worried,” said Charles, smiling down at me. “How very illogical of you, Sarah! You spent hours dressing her up and doing her hair and making her beautiful and now you’re worrying because she’s the ‘belle of the ball.’ If you didn’t want her to be admired why did you——”
“But it’s Shane!” I exclaimed.
“The distinguished Admiral’s nephew? My dear lamb, he’s absolutely harmless! Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.”
“You don’t know him, Charles!”
“Yes, I do. I met him one evening at the Loudons’. He’s so harmless that he’s practically half-witted.”
“He isn’t,” I said. “I mean he can be like that—or he can be—different.”
“Oh, nonsense!” exclaimed Charles, laughing, and with that he put his arm round me and led me on to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” I said when, for the third time, I had missed his lead.
“So you should be,” declared Charles. “I’ve done my duty; I’ve danced with half a dozen other women . . . just bags of flour they were! All except Elspeth, who was more like a sack of potatoes.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised but not ill-pleased.
“Heavy and lumpy and inanimate.”
“Really?” I repeated.
“Yes, really. I’ve been looking forward all the evening to dancing with my wife.”
After that I put Freddie out of my mind and concentrated on what I was doing. Charles had learnt his dancing in Vienna; he was a wonderful partner—much the best dancer in the room—so he deserved something more responsive than a sack of potatoes.
“That’s more like it,” said Charles cheerfully. “Honestly, Sarah, you needn’t worry about your chick.”
“I can’t help worrying.”
“Well, if she doesn’t turn up for the next dance I’ll go and look for her myself. Does that satisfy you?”
“Yes,” I said. He could deal with Shane much better than I could.
When the next dance began there was no sign of Freddie, but after a few minutes she came in with Charles and they danced it together. I caught Charles’s eye as they passed and he winked at me.
Sarah's Cottage (Sarah Morris Book 2) Page 25