Gates of Dawn (3 page)

CHAPTER THREE

WOLD HOUSE had stood empty for nearly a year, and as it was full of oak beams and sombre panelling its atmosphere was ever so slightly forbidding upon immediate entry. But one single shaft of sunlight pierced the gloom of the late September afternoon and found its way into the library, which was lighted by diamond-paned windows at either end, and the shadows dispersed, and the place was full of charm.

Melanie felt the charm strongly as she sat waiting in the wide window seat for her employer
’
s brother to finish his inspection overhead. She herself had already examined every room with interest, and had even wandered in the neglected wilderness which was the garden and traced with her finger the time-worn message on the sundial:

“
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
…

And now, with the hush of the house around her, she listened to those purposeful footsteps moving above her head, and when they started to descend the stairs she drew herself slightly more erect because any moment now, she felt, he would appear in the doorway to the library. And when he did he had to bend his head because of the low-hanging beam just inside it, and he glanced across at her rather quizzically because she looked like a pale and watchful wraith now that the sun had suddenly disappeared.

“
I
’
m sorry I
’
ve kept you waiting,
”
he said,
“
but I
’
ve made up my mind to buy this house, and I wanted to discover its secrets.
”

He crossed the room and sat down beside her in the window seat, giving a hitch to his carefully creased trousers before he did so; then he produced his cigarette-case and offered it to her, preferring, however, to smoke a pipe himself.

“
If you don
’
t mind?
”
he inquired, with detached politeness.

“
Of course not,
”
she answered.

She watched him as he stuffed the bowl full of tobacco, pressing it down with the tips of those extraordinarily sensitive but sure fingers of
his. Then he
puffed it alight
and a
most pleasing aroma stole all about
them, and
a faint haze of tobacco smoke
c
ircled their heads and then drifted behind them to the window which he had
o
pened to throw away his match.

As he closed it his eyes lighted upon the garden, and he observed that a great deal would have to be done to the place before it was really habitable.

“
But it
’
s a perfectly genuine old house, and some of the panelling, is quite remarkable. And apart from that I like its atmosphere. Do you believe in the atmosphere of old houses, Miss Brooks?
”

“
Well
,
”
Melanie
hesitated, not quite sure what he meant.
“
You mean that they have a
‘
lived-in
’
feeling? That they are quite different to modern houses because, even when you know you
’
re alone you are not quite alone—not
always
alone, that is—but it isn
’
t in the least frightening ...
?
”

She paused, expecting to see him smile in an amused way, but he was merely watching her with something a little more disconcerting in his eyes—something thoughtful and appreciative.

“
That
’
s precisely what I do mean,
”
he told her.
“
Old houses have souls. They sometimes seem to be actual living things, and if the people who have once dwelt in them have been happy people you soon get to know about it. Happiness leaves its mark just as surely as unhappiness. If this room in which we are now sitting is filled with ghosts, probably watching us two very closely at this particular moment, they are happy ghosts. I have already decided that.
”

She shivered a little, for the dusk was deepening moment by moment, and he could feel her move instinctively nearer to him along the seat.

“
Oh, don
’
t!
”
she said.
“
It—it sounds a bit eerie.
”

“
Does it?
”
He laughed, and there was a teasing note in his voice.
“
But I thought you said there was nothing in the least frightening about it!
”

“
Neither there is,
”
she defended her weakness,
“
in the daylight!
”
she added.

He smiled and stowed away his pipe, and then he stood up and started to move restlessly about the room. She felt that he was occupied by a problem, for his shoulders were bowed a little and with bent head he appeared to be studying the floor boards, as if seeking some sort of inspiration from them. And then abruptly he came back to her and stood in front of her, looking down at her from his superior height with rather a grim expression on his face.

“
Miss Brooks,
”
he said almost curtly,
“
from our conversation at lunch-time you have probably gathered that, as a family, we Trenchards are not sentimental. But whereas my sister is a complete egoist I have certain weaker sides to my character which will not permit me, for instance, to neglect to fulfil a promise. And I made a promise in connection with my niece Noel, the daughter of my half
-
brother Andrew.
”

Melanie looked up at him as if amazed that he should open up a conversation of this sort with her, and holding her wide brown eyes with his own he continued:

“
My brother and his wife were both killed in an accident while their daughter was no much more than an infant, and I promised my brother before he died
”
—he paused, and Melanie felt that although he mentioned his brother he was thinking almost exclusively of his brother
’
s wife—
“
that I would do all I could for the child. And I did send her to school, and I
’
ve spent quite a lot of money on her in one way and another, but my sister Eve is like that—completely absolutely self-centred!
”

Melanie was silent. He produced his pipe again and once more stuffed it full of tobacco, and once more he puffed it, but more violently this time.

“
I am a busy man—I am not even a married man, and a girl in her teens is a problem. I
’
ll admit that when I tackled my sister at lunch-time I had a kind of faint hope that she might, for once, come to my rescue, especially when she heard that Noel
’
s health is none too good. But—
”
with a sudden, almost angry sneer on his well-cut mouth—
“
might have saved myself the effort. I might have known that the leopard does not change its spots, and certainly the Eve Duplessis of this life do not do so.
”

Melanie found herself murmuring in a concerned way that she was very sorry—it was certainly a problem,
a
particularly awkward problem for a man, but surely there must be some way out?

“
There is,
”
he agreed, very shortly, and sank down beside her again on the window seat, looking at her so directly this time that for an instant her eyelashes wavered.
“
I have decided to buy this house, and at great personal self
-
sacrifice I have decided to put my own housekeeper in charge here and my niece in her care. But an elderly housekeeper is not enough for a young girl of sixteen, particularly one accustomed to the society of plenty of other young people. And that
’
s where you, Miss Brooks, if you have not become too devoted to my sister
”
—a little sarcastically—
“
can be really helpful!
”

“
I?
”
Melanie looked at him in astonishment.

“
Yes, you!
”

“
But I don
’
t understand
—”
she got out, when he
interrupted her impatiently.

“
Of course you don
’
t understand. You haven
’
t the faintest idea what I am about to suggest, but it is simply this: You will take over the charge of my niece—as her companion, or governess, or what you will—and Mrs. Abbie, my housekeeper, will look after the pair of you. I shall not be here because naturally I could not work at all in an atmosphere so thick with females, but I shall see to it that you have all the comforts you require, and from the financial point of view you will benefit rather than otherwise. I am in a position to offer you double the money my sister pays you if necessary.
”

Melanie actually gasped a little. How dared he imagine she was to be bought!

“
And my sister will find somebody else quite competent to write her letters and drive her car and so forth.
”

“
I see,
”
Melanie said quietly.
“
You have worked it all out, Mr. Trenchard.
”

“
To the last detail,
”
he assured her calmly.

Melanie felt almost revolted by the calculating manner in which his brain worked.

“
Is that why you permitted me to come here with you this afternoon?
”
she asked.

He shrugged slightly.

“
I am not at all sure. The germ of an idea concerning you may have been agitating my mind when we set off, but I think it is much more likely that I actually thought of you as a suitable companion for Noel when I saw you sitting here just now in the gloaming, and you struck me as being so exceedingly youthful—much too youthful for my sister Eve. It might flatter you a little if I say
‘
to be wasted
’
on my sister Eve! At the same time Eve is a sufficiently sound judge of value to make me feel quite safe in putting my proposition to you.
”

“
Thank you,
”
Melanie responded stiffly, standing up,
“
but although it may not have occurred to you I do have some consideration for my employer
’
s wishes, and I hardly think she would wish to dispense with me without any warning whatsoever.
”

“
Meaning that you consider a reasonable notice necessary?
”

“
I don
’
t consider giving notice to Mrs. Duplessis at all—at any rate, not at the present time.
”

“
And you don
’
t think she owes anything at all to her niece
?
—an orphaned niece!
”

Melanie hesitated.

“
A child whose parents were killed almost at her birth, and who has known nothing but school life and school holidays ever since?
”
he got in swiftly.
“
Think of it!
”
He went a little closer to her.
“
Think of what you yourself would feel if, say, that child happened to be your sister—and her health was anything but good! Up here in this clear atmosphere she might be put right in no time. And Eve would be so thankful to know that she was not going to be asked for any further sacrifices that she would probably part with you almost gladly, to ease her conscience,
”
he urged persuasively.

Melanie was silent, looking up at him. It was getting so dark in the room now that they could scarcely see one another
’
s face, but she knew that he was watching her, and watching her very closely. She could smell the faint scent of the lavender shaving-soap he used, and that attractive odor of his tobacco heavily in the room.
He placed one hand lightly on her shoulder, barely gripping it.

“
Think of it!
”
he urged again.

Melanie could not reply immediately, she was so overwhelmingly conscious of that loose hold of her shoulder. He was not even seeking to detain her by forcibly imprisoning her to the spot, and it would have been the simplest thing in the world to have brushed his fingers away. Yet some curious sensation like magnetism, utterly strange and disturbing, seemed to speed from him into her, and for a moment she felt weak.

“
I
’
ll—I
’
ll think of it,
”
she promised.

“
Good girl,
”
he approved, and let her go, and Melanie thought his voice sounded complacent and satisfied.

Two nights later his sister gave a small dinner-party in honor of his visit. It was a dignified and rather formal affair, with the oval Regency table in the dining-room ablaze with silver and cut-glass and flowers, and tall candles in Georgian candlesticks softening the hues of the women
’
s dresses.

There were three feminine guests, and only one young one amongst them. Old Lady Vine, who wore a deaf
aid and was the local autocrat whom no one ever dared to leave out of any party, lest the omission recoiled on their heads, brought with her her nephew, a junior partner in a firm of local solicitors. Mrs. Gaythorpe was a faintly pathetic widow, and her only daughter Sylvia was taking a short cut to stardom in British films. The vicar was a bachelor and had been invited to help swell the numbers
of the men.

Sylvia Gaythorpe, in cloudy black net and a curious snaky gold necklace which fitted her white throat like a dog-collar, had long and smiling greeny-grey eyes beneath the most entrancing eyelashes, and her hair was exactly the color of autumn beech leaves. She had a complexion like new milk, and a mouth so scarlet that it positively
drew the gaze.

At dinner she had Richard Trenchard as her neighbor on her right hand, and since he was, after all, the lion of the evening, and certainly looked it in his faultlessly tailored
dinner-jacket, and with his faintly disdainful and aloof expression, she sent many of her most warmly smiling glances in his direction. Sylvia had gone a long way towards success but she never believed in missing an opportunity to go a little way farther in the shape of a personable and much-talked-about playwright.

Melanie had been approached by her employer in the most tactful way in the world and requested, since the seating accommodation at the table was limited, to join the party after dinner in the drawing-room, and it was not until coffee was being handed round that she had a chance to examine the company. And then she saw that Sylvia was already
“
well away,
”
or so it seemed, with Richard. While the others talked about bridge fours she slid her hand inside his arm and led him away to a chesterfield in a
corner
on the pretext of talking
“
shop,
”
which she declared she found more entertaining than any other subject.

Melanie quickly grew bored with watching Lady Vine and her nephew, Mrs. Duplessis and the Vicar playing a solemn game of bridge, while Mrs. Gaythorpe turned over the pages of magazines because she frankly detested it. And after a while she stole away to the library with the intention of borrowing a book and then retiring upstairs with it to her room.

But she caught sight of her typewriter on the desk and recollected that there was still an unfinished letter in her notebook, and decided to get on with it. And when she had finished that there were some accounts to add up, and she was frowning over a varying total when the door behind her was flung open almost with a flourish and Sylvia Gaythorpe and Richard Trenchard stood framed in the aperture.

Sylvia
’
s eyebrows rose, and her glorious greenish eyes slid round humorously at Richard.

“
How lucky Eve is to have such a devoted secretary
!
Surely you don
’
t make it a practice to work as late as this, Miss Brooks?
”
she inquired in her cool, amused voice.

Melanie swept up the little pile of bills and locked them away in a drawer. “Not usually,” she replied, and prepared to leave the room.

Sylvia was still clinging to Richard Trenchard
’
s
arm.
She
l
ooked like a graceful black-and-white shadow with a mane of brilliant hair, and her exotic mouth was curve
d
mysteriously back from small and, perfect teeth. Richard Trenchard, with her scarlet-tipped fingers detaining him so slightly, was very much taller, but also black and white and elegant, and his expression for once was relaxed and human. He seemed to be very much amused about something.

“
Go to bed, Miss Brooks,
”
he ordered her lazily.
“
Little girls who sit up late in order to improve their arithmetic not only lose their beauty sleep but risk losing their eyesight as well. Can
’
t you find something more interesting to do to while away an evening?
”

“
That
’
s a polite way of telling you you
’
re not wanted, Miss Brooks,
”
Sylvia informed her, with a trill of careless laughter. Then she went forward to the fireplace and sank into one of the deep leather chairs, her red head a flame in the fireglow.
“
Give me a cigarette, Richard,
”
she commanded—already they were, apparently, on a Christian-name terms—
“
and tell me some more about this wonderful new idea of yours
...”

Melanie struggled to get the door open, but for some reason the handle stuck in her grasp. Richard leaned forward behind her and encircled her hand with his.

“
Treat it gently,
”
he remarked, mildly,
“
and you
’
ll get some results
...
”
The door flew open smoothly.
“
There!
”
he observed, studying her abashed face with faintest of smiles.
“
What did I tell you?
”