Dark inheritance (2 page)

"Oh, don't pay any attention to his manner, my dear. He's not as frightening as he seems."

Coming from someone who was obviously quite
terrified of him this was a strange remark, but Barbara
made no comment.

"Unless, of course, you're in a hurry?" the woman
went on quickly. "Perhaps you've got another appoint
ment?"

"I don't mind waiting," Barbara said gently.

"Good," The old lady settled herself against the cushions. "I'm sure my nephew won't be long, and
meanwhile we can have a
little
chat. It's so nice to talk
to someone instead of sitting here alone all the time."

"But doesn't your nephew ..."

"Oh, I'm afraid Dominic's too busy to bother about a silly old woman like me. When we're at home there's so much for him to do on the estate that he's hardly
in the house at all, and whenever we're in London there
are so many people to see that he has no time."

Barbara felt a stirring of pity. "You must find it very lonely, then. I suppose that's why you're looking for a companion?"

"Yes. Mind you, it wasn't my own idea, it was Dominic's. He put the advertisement in without felling
mc, so you see he does look after me." Barbara thought
the reasoning naive, but said nothing as the woman went on: "I must admit I wasn't very pleased when I first heard about it. I didn't like the idea of being watched all the time, and some of the women we've seen have looked more like wardresses than com
panions. I was terrified in case Dominic engaged one of them."

"I hope I don't look like a wardress!"

"Oh no, you're different, my dear. As soon as you walked into the room I liked you. You're so young and alive—we could do with someone like you at Crags' Height."

"Is that where you live?" Barbara asked.

"Yes. It's the name of our house in North Wales."

"How unusual."

"It suits the house," came the reply, "as you'll sec if you go there with us."

Barbara smiled. "I won't be able to unless your nephew approves of me."

"I'm sure he will, my dear. If not, he wouldn't have
started to ask you all those questions about yourself. You don't know Dominic, If he hadn't thought you suitable he would have hustled you out of the room as he did the others." Barbara thought wryly that if his
attitude to her had bespoken liking, then Heaven help
anyone to whom he objected, but she said nothing as
the old woman continued: "You will consider the job,
won't you? I've taken such a liking to you. You seem
a well-balanced girl, able to stand up for yourself, and Crags' Height needs someone with spirit. Do say you'll
cornel"

Impulsively Barbara put her hand over the thin white
fingers. "I'm sure I'd like being with you, but I'm afraid I haven't any references for a job like this."

"Oh, that won't matter. Your duties will be very simple—just keeping me company and reading to me. I'm glad you have such a lovely voice. One of the
women Dominic nearly engaged spoke like a buzz-saw
and I couldn't have borne listening to her read."

"I'm glad you don't find me rasping," Barbara inter
posed. "It wouldn't have said very much for my voice if you had. You see, I used to be a singer."

Tried old woman withdrew her hand with a startled exclamation. "Do you mean you're on the stage?"

Barbara nodded. "I was, until something went wrong with my throat and I had to give it up.

The old woman clasped her hands together in agita
tion. "Whatever you do, don't tell Dominic you were on the stage!"

"But why not?" More than ever, Barbara was con
vinced that there was something unnatural in the old
woman's relationship with her nephew. "Why should it make any difference?"

"We can't go into that now, there isn't time. But please, please, promise not to tell him! I couldn't bear it if you didn't come with mc now. I've wanted some
one like you for so long . . ." Quick tears started to fill the faded eyes.

"Don't cry," Barbara said gently. "I won't tell him if you don't want me to."

At that moment the telephone tinkled as the receiver was replaced, and a few seconds later the man came back into the room, and seated himself in the shadows again.

"Sorry to have been so long." He surveyed the two
figures by the fire. "Well, Aunt, have you come to any decision?"

"I—I didn't know you wanted me to, Dominic," the old woman faltered. "I thought you were going to decide."

"Come, come, this young lady is going to be your
companion, not mine. If you leave all the decisions to mc she'll think you have no say in the matter." Then
to Barbara: "But perhaps you've already decided your
self whether or not you'd like to come?"

She faced him squarely. "I think your aunt and I would get on very well, and if she wants to have me I should be glad to accept your offer."

"I see. Then you've obviously made up your minds."
There was a pause. "We have to return to Wales to
morrow, and I should like you to start immediately."

"That's rather short notice," Barbara demurred.

"I can't help that. If you want the job you must be ready to leave with us in the morning."

The man's manner was so curt that for a second Barbara nearly decided to refuse, but a glance at the
old woman's face made her change her mind, and she
nodded briefly. "I'll be ready."

The woman on the couch gave an exclamation o
pleasure and as she leant forward to catch Barbara's and the ball of wool lying in her lap fell on to the floor and rolled across the carpet, coming to rest at her nephew's feet.

Silently the man bent and retrieved it. "How often do I have to tell! you to keep your knitting in a bag, Aunt?"

The old woman fluttered her hands nervously. "You
needn't have bothered to pick it up, Dominic. You could have left it where it was."

"If I had you would only have forgotten it, as you
SO Often forget things. Now put it away and make sure
it doesn't happen again."

He placed the ball of wool in her hands, and as he
straightened up the firelight flickered on his head and
Barbara saw with a strange sense of shock that the hair she had thought to be black was in fact dark red—a
red so deep that it was almost mahogany—and it struck
her that there was already someone of spirit and character at Crags' Height.

He moved back and stood with his powerful figure
outlined against the fire. "You had better know now that this job will entail a certain amount of travel. I intend taking my aunt away in a few weeks time, so I hope you're a good sailor."

"To tell you the truth I'm not sure," Barbara con
fessed with a slight smile. "Apart from a couple of trips
up and down the river, I haven't had much experience of the water."

No answering smile crossed his face. "When we're in
the Bay of Biscay you'll soon find out. My aunt isn't, so I hope you'll be able to look after her until she gets her sea-legs." His tone suggested that as far as he was concerned they could both be confined to their cabins for the entire voyage. "Another thing you'd better know is that my home is very isolated and we
receive no visitors. If you expect any social life I must
disabuse you of the idea. Crags' Height is self-contained,
and I prefer to keep it that way."

Barbara flushed. "I can assure you I'm not a gad
about," she said quietly.

"Good, That's settled then. The only thing I haven't mentioned is your salary. It will be ten pounds a week."

Knowing this would exclude all her living expenses,
Barbara was surprised at his generosity. "It's very good," she murmured.

"I shall expect you to earn it."

"I'm sure she will," the old woman put in tremu
lously.

"You
may be sure, my dear aunt," he replied coldly,
"but then you always believe the best of everyone.
Life hasn't taught you very much. Incidentally, I don't
believe you remembered to give Miss Mansfield your
name."

Seeing the confused look which came into the old
woman's face, Barbara leant forward quickly. "It's my fault, I assumed it was Miss Rockwood."

"Your assumption was incorrect," came the cold reply, "my aunt is my mother's sister, and her name is Berresford."

He turned away as if to indicate that the interview was at an end, and Barbara rose to her feet. "Do you wish me to come here in the morning or shall I go straight to the station?"

"You may as well go straight to Paddington. We're catching the ten-fifty North Wales Express." He lit a cigarette, his face still averted.

Barbara extended her hand to Miss Berresford who
took it in a fervent grasp. "I'm sure we'll be very happy
together, my dear, she exclaimed, "I do hope you'll
I
 
enjoy being with me as much as I shall enjoy having you."

"I'm sure I shall." Barbara smiled, drawing on her gloves. "Good night, Miss Berresford—Mr. Rock-wood."

She moved across the room, but although the man
answered her murmured good night, he did not turn, and the old lady waved silently as Barbara shut the door behind her.

CHAPTER TWO

PADDINGTON Station was teeming with people when
Barbara hurried down the platform, trying to keep her porter in sight as he trundled her luggage ahead. She could still hardly believe she was embarking on this strange journey and was wondering whether it had
all been a figment of her imagination when an incisive
voice cut across her thoughts.

"Ah, there you are. You're late."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, seeing the man's an
noyance. "I had to wait in a long queue before I could get my ticket."

"I've already got your ticket," he exclaimed in exas
peration.

"Oh, I didn't think you- "

"Never mind. Give it to me and I'll see you get your money back."

She handed him the green pasteboard slip and he
pocketed it without a word, leading her to a reserved
first-class carriage where she found Miss Berresford already installed in one corner with a rug wrapped round her. In the daylight the woman looked younger than Barbara had first taken her to be and there was a child-like expression in her eyes and manner as she sat looking out of the window.

They were well out of Paddington before her employer came' into the carriage and seated himself in the far corner where he took up the top copy of a pile of newspapers and proceeded to read in silence, paying no attention to the two women until second lunch was called, when he escorted them to the dining-car. When they returned to the carriage he resumed his perusal of the papers until they had all been read, after which he sat staring out of the window at the fields and farm
houses flashing past.

It was a long and tedious journey but Miss Ber
resford dozed for most of the time, leaving Barbara free to study her and her nephew. Daylight did not soften the man's appearance and she thought his intense brown eyes and rugged face made him look more uncom
promisingly stern than ever. She judged him to be about
thirty-five, although he bad the demeanor of a much older man.

It was late afternoon and they were already nearing their destination before he addressed a remark to her. "You'd better get my aunt ready," he said briefly. "It takes her some time to wake up."

Gently Barbara roused the old woman and it was several minutes before Miss Berresford realized where she was. By the time she had recollected herself the train was running into Llanfestiog, and Barbara just had time to gather their belongings together and cram her hat on her own unruly hair before Rockwood, who had put his things silently and efficiently in order, stepped out on to the platform almost before the train
jerked to a stop. He was obviously well known here, for
the only two porters in the station both came forward
and respectfully touched their caps as he gave them
instructions.

In the gathering dusk .Barbara saw that Llanfestiog
was little more than a halt in the mountains, and as she
watched the rear light of the train Waver into the dis
tance had a sudden feeling of disquiet as she realized for the first time what a remote place she had come to with two complete strangers. But she had no time to ruminate on this, for Rockwood hustled them into the back of a waiting car before he took the seat beside the driver.

Miss Berresford was still sleepy and the swinging motion of the car soon lulled her into a doze. The
 
drive took them along narrow mountain roads and now and then they passed the lights of a village, but for the most part the darkness was unrelieved, and eventu
ally Barbara too fell into a doze, only waking as they swung through a pair of wrought-iron gates into a long drive. She peered sleepily through the window, but it was so dark that she could only make out the bulk of a great house before they drew up at the front door, and was too tired to notice very much beyond the fact that the hall into which they stepped was huge and gloomy, with high ceilings and a magnificent stone staircase. The housekeeper, a short, stocky woman with greying hair, came forward and helped Miss Berresford up to bed, while Barbara had supper on a tray in the bed
room which had been prepared for her, fatigue making her indifferent to the newness of her surroundings. Of her employer she saw nothing more that night and presumed that having made all the arrangements he considered necessary he intended to keep out of her way until the following day.

Pale December sun awakened her next morning and for an instant she stared at the ceiling, puzzled by its strangeness. Then memory flooded back and she sat up and looked around.

By the light of day her room seemed larger and more cheerful than it had looked the night before. The wall
paper had a faded air and the curtains at the window gave the same impression of age. Everything was spot
lessly clean, the very rugs on the floor looking as though they were taken up for a weekly wash. But her gaze was held longest by the four-poster bed in which she was lying, the Hessian hangings matching the counter
pane and the narrow oak pillars were carved with a twisted design of intricate, scrolling that fascinated the eyes.

When she was dressed and ready to go downstairs it was still too early to awaken Miss Berresford, and the long, narrow corridor outside her room was de
serted. She hesitated outside the door, uncertain whether to turn left or right, then noticed a window at the far end and walked down the corridor towards it. Four
shallow steps led down into the gallery overlooking the stair-well, and she paused outside Miss Bcrresford's door for a moment. But there was no sound, and she continued on her way downstairs. The ceiling was lofty, and turning to look up at the way she had come Barbara saw the beauty of the stone vaulting in the roof and the majestic sweep of the stairs. The hall itself was unfurnished apart from two long, polished oak chests on each side and a square oak table in the middle, and she glanced at the doors on either side, wondering which was the dining-room.

At that moment there were footsteps on the stone floor and the housekeeper came out of a door under the gallery, her impassive face breaking into a smile as she saw her.

"Good morning to you, miss. I hope you slept well." Then, without awaiting an answer: "I suppose you'll be ready for your breakfast—the mountain air always makes people hungry."