The Unknown Mr. Brown (13 page)

“I’m not given to
them
!” she replied with scorn.

“You relieve me mightily! In that case, you’ll doubtless take any future slip on my part in the spirit in which it is meant.”

“What sort of slip?” The conversation was becoming confusing, or she was too sleepy and too content
in her new-found felicity to follow him.

“Oh, just the occasional lapse into unrestraint which can overtake the impatient lover.” He spoke lightly enough, but she was suddenly wide awake. Surely even Robert wouldn’t carry his mockery to these lengths.

“Are you joking?” she asked, and the quizzical amusement immediately died out of his face.

“No, my bewildered sleepyhead, I’m not joking—just feeling my way. Do you find it so difficult to visualise me in the light of a lover?” he said, and the tenderness which she found so difficult to resist was back again in his voice.

“No—oh, no,” she replied; then, because her conscience would continue to prick until she could silence those early unconfirmed suspicions, she added with naive abruptness: “But what of Kate?”

“Kate?” He sounded faintly surprised, then one eyebrow rose a shade cynically. “Well, I shouldn’t advise a spate of girlish confidences at this early stage. Kate takes her responsibilities seriously and tends to be over-anxious.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“No? Well, whatever you meant, you can safely leave Kate to draw her own conclusions.”

It was not, Victoria thought, a very enlightening reply, and short of asking him point blank if Kate had once been in love with him there was nothing more she could say to clarify the situation. She stood there a little hesitantly while he closed the windows and switched off the lights, and wished she had not rubbed off some of the evening’s magic by mentioning Kate. Perhaps Robert, too, was aware that something had been spoiled, for he opened the long window into the garden again and said:

“Come out for a few minutes before I lock up. It’s a perfect night for making promises under the stars.”

She went with him willingly, grateful for that touch of fantasy which seemed to bring him closer, and in the moonlit garden with shadows etched sharply across the dewy lawn and the warm air sweet with night-scented stock and new-mown grass, the magic returned.

They lingered for a while in silence, listening to the owls calling from the woods below and the myriad small night sounds which stirred in the leaves and grass about them, but he made no move to take advantage of the romantic setting and suddenly a brilliant point of light detached itself from the glistening galaxy above them and swept down to earth to be forever lost.

“Oh, look—a shooting star!” Victoria cried in delight. “You must wish, Robert. You must always wish on a shooting star, and this is the first I’ve ever seen.”

“Then let’s hope it’s a good omen,” he said, observing with tender amusement the way she instantly closed her eyes and moved her lips as if in unconscious prayer.

“Did you wish?” she asked anxiously, opening her eyes again, but he gave her no reply, only stooped to kiss her good night so lightly that she was scarcely aware of his lips touching hers.

“Bed,” he said, brushing off a white moth which had settled on her hair, as long ago he had brushed away the white petals of apple blossom, then turned her gently back towards the house.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SUNDAY proved a sad disappointment after such seemingly settled weather, for rain had come with the dawn and the laden sky gave no promise of lifting.

“You’d never believe things could change so quickly after the heat of yesterday, would you?” Victoria said to Robert when they met for breakfast. “Everything seemed set fair for a lovely week-end.”

“Which just goes to show that you can’t trust nature any more than your own feelings,” he replied with rather discouraging promptitude, and she eyed him uncertainly.

“What, exactly, do you mean by that?” she asked, wondering if he already regretted his mood of yesterday.

“Nothing very profound, merely a passing comment on life’s depressing uncertainties,” he answered, extracting a wasp from the pot of marmalade and squashing it irritably on his plate.

“
Are
you depressed, Robert? The weather certainly isn’t helping, I’ll admit, but we can find plenty to do indoors and Timmy will welcome an excuse for his Uncle Rob’s undivided attention,” she said, not realising how wifely she sounded until he cocked a sardonic eyebrow at her across the table, observing acidly:

“Trying your make-believe out on me?”

“Not consciously,” she replied, making an effort to laugh at her own absurdities. “I suppose Kate being away gives me a false feeling of being mistress of the house, but it’s only pretence.”

“And what part am I playing in this pretence of yours?” he asked rather in the suave, misleading tones he had employed for his cross-examination, but she was not going to be trapped into incoherent admissions or denials as she had been then, and replied coolly:

“I haven’t got as far as casting you, yet. My imaginary master of the house is a very intangible character—just a dim figure in the background.”

“Like Mr. Brown?”

“Not at all like Mr. Brown. I picture
him
living in some remote mansion in chilly isolation except for minions he pays so well that they never give him notice. I don’t think he’d suit Farthings at all.”

He laughed then and seemed to shed some of his early morning irritability.

“Poor Mr. Brown! I fear that his star is at last on the wane for want of a more substantial identity, and a good thing, too,” he said, sounding rather pleased with himself, but she remembered the roses, undeniable evidence of an interest not wholly dutiful, even, perhaps, of a change of heart, and felt she had been unduly flippant.

“Oh, no,” she said softly, “it wouldn’t be a good thing at all. Even if we never met I should still feel bound to him in a queer sort of way.”

The look Robert gave her was neither conciliatory or particularly sympathetic, but he spoke quite gently:

“In that case you seem likely to be caught in your dream world for the rest of your days. I wonder if you could meet this ubiquitous ghost the spell would be broken.”

“What spell?”

“A spell you have made for yourself, I fancy, but no less potent for that I’m not at all sure it isn’t you who are awaiting for the traditional disenchantment and not me.”

Despite the prosaicness of the breakfast hour and the discouraging sound of rain beating on the windows, something of last night’s magic returned with his words.

“I’m glad you haven’t forgotten all those things you said to me, even if you didn’t mean them,” she told him, and that unconscious smile began to turn up the corners of her mouth and then stopped abruptly as if uncertain of a welcome.

“I meant them, but possibly you misinterpreted my reasons,” he said, but she answered quickly, instinctively avoiding a reply that could pin him down to more concrete explanations:

“There doesn’t have to be a reason in make-believe—that’s the beauty of it.”

For a moment it seemed as though he would have liked to dispute the point, but he evidently had second thoughts, for he only shook his head at her and got up from the breakfast table to stand staring out of the window at the rain-soaked garden.

“Well, what shall we do with ourselves this uninviting morning? Shall we take advantage of the contrary weather and go to church?” he asked

“I should like to,” she said, “but I don’t think I ought to leave Timmy to his own devices, and Elspeth will be busy with the Sunday, joint and won’t want him under her feet. Why don’t you go?”

“I think perhaps I will,” he replied. “You didn’t expect that, did you?”

“Well, you’ve never bothered much when you’ve been down before.”

“To everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven—or didn’t your expensive education include a bowing acquaintance with the Bible?”

“Oh, yes, that was one of my favourites. A time to be born and a time to die ... a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance ... a time to love and a time to hate ... practically everything’s catered for, isn’t it?” she said, delighted, if surprised by this fresh twist in his personality, but although his eyes softened as they momentarily dwelt on her eager face, his voice held a hint of asperity when he countered swiftly:

“A time to keep silence, and a time to speak ... you’ve forgotten that one, possibly the wisest of them all. Well now, it’s certainly time for me to get cracking if I don’t want to be late for church, so I’ll leave you to your nursery duties.”

Up in the nursery, Timmy was contrary and inclined to be fretful, alternating between affectionate demonstrations which became a trifle exhausting and sudden withdrawals into silence which were equally difficult to treat with patience. Nothing she suggested for his amusement seemed to please him, and Robert returning from church with an hour before lunch to devote to his godson, fared no better. In the end his patience gave out.

“Very well,” he said firmly but kindly, “since you prefer being rude and naughty to behaving nicely, you can have your lunch up here, instead of with us. Elspeth will bring up a tray.”

“But it’s
Sunday
!” Timmy protested, too astonished to resort to more usual methods for the moment.

“I know it’s Sunday, but you should have thought of that before, shouldn’t you? Come along, Victoria, we’ll leave this naughty little boy to his own company. Perhaps we’ll find him in a better mood after lunch,” Robert said, extending a helping hand to Victoria, who was on her knees picking up tiddlywinks counters from the floor where they had been thrown in a temper.

“Well, perhaps if he says he’s sorry, we’ll let him come down after all,” she said, aware that the boy, jealous and provoked, was quite quick enough to imagine he wasn’t wanted.

“Certainly, if he’s really sorry. Are you, Timmy?” Robert asked pleasantly. “Your mother won’t be pleased, you know, if I have to tell her you’ve behaved badly while she’s away.”

Timmy, it was plain, had been wavering, but the mention of his mother brought his grievances to a head. He shouted. “
No
! I hate you! I want my mummy!” stamping his feet and bursting into angry tears.

“Oh dear!” Victoria exclaimed, wondering how best to quell the noise and offer comfort at the same time, but Robert said: “Leave him,” in no uncertain tones and taking her by the shoulders pushed her firmly out of the room.

Down in the parlour, Robert poured out drinks and Victoria, accepting hers with the comment that she had earned it, relaxed in a big armchair feeling tired and rather discouraged.

“Have I slipped up somewhere, do you suppose?” she asked him a little anxiously. “I’ve never known Timmy to be so unreasonable before. I generally manage him so easily.”

“Don’t upset yourself. The boy’s merely suffering from his first introduction to the green-eyed monster. It’s time he learnt he’s not the only pebble on the beach, anyway,” Robert said. “Kate, with the best of intentions, keeps him too much apart from other children. You and she teach him his letters, I know, but there’s no earthly reason why he shouldn’t be attending some kindergarten school like others of his age.”

“I understood John was against it. Kate sets great store by his judgment.”

“The gallant doctor obliged with the desired medical opinion to establish his own standing, but he won’t subscribe to sentiment much longer, from what I gather. Though we’ve little enough in common I have a great respect for Squire’s professional integrity.”

“Well, that’s something of an admission,” she retorted, eyeing him with faint disfavour. “Why, in that case, do you go out of your way to bait him?”

“For the same reason, probably, that you go out of your way to be upsides with me,” he replied promptly. “Something in the worthy doctor brings out the worst in me.”

She was silent, digesting the implication, then she said, sounding a little surprised:

“But I don’t any longer, or haven’t you noticed?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve noticed, my naive little charmer, but then I’ve been exerting myself in no mean measure to that end, or hadn’t
you
noticed?”

“That’s rather a silly question, considering you must know the answer, but Robert—” she stopped, leaving the sentence unfinished with an unspoken question in the way she pronounced his name and his eyebrows lifted quizzically.

“But Robert what?” he asked, mocking her gently, and she looked away.

“Nothing, only—I wouldn’t care to be just an experiment to bolster up your masculine ego,” she said, and quite suddenly he became angry.

“How dare you credit me with such shallow motives out of your prejudice and colossal ignorance!” he exclaimed in his courtroom accents. “Do you imagine I’d waste my time trying to make a conquest of one stubborn little girl when there are those less averse to being charmed?”

She was a little shaken by such an unexpected reaction but not prepared to capitulate without a struggle.

“I may have been prejudiced, but I’m not so ignorant as to be unacquainted with the rules of human behaviour,” she told him calmly. “I can imagine that if conquests, as you call them, have come easily, the one stubborn exception could present a challenge.”

For a moment he looked as if he would like to shake her, then the hard lines about his mouth slackened and he laughed.

“Well, I’ll give you this, Victoria Mary,” he said, “for all your uncomplimentary opinions of my methods in court you need never number yourself among the browbeaten witnesses! I’d back you to stand up to the toughest cross-examination.”

“But I didn’t, did I?” she said, forgetting the present in being reminded of the ignominious past. “They told me afterwards my evidence had lost the case.”