The Young Intruder (15 page)

Next evening he dined with his solicitor, and Douglas, hearing this, knew at once what was afoot. Alison was Peter’s ward, and Peter was finding out what action he might take to get Alison back. It was while Douglas and Priscilla were drinking their coffee together after dinner,
that Brenda announced Miss Peyton, and Lydia came in, smiling.

“Come and have some coffee,” said Douglas, bringing her a chair.

“Thank you. Good evening, Priscilla.”

“Good evening, Miss Peyton,” said Priscilla quietly, but feeling a wild elation that she would never have to live in the same house as this woman.

“Peter is at home, I take it?” asked Lydia.

“No, I’m sorry,” said Douglas. “He’s dining out. You do take sugar, don’t you?”

“What?” said Lydia. “Dining out? But he is taking me on to the Merediths’. Perhaps he will be back soon?”

“I couldn’t say,” said Douglas. “If he is expecting you, then I should say yes. Allow us the pleasure of you
r
company while you wait for him.”

Lydia did not like to be kept waiting. That was obvious. She was impatient, and consulted the diamond
-
surrounded watch on her wrist every few minutes.

“Where can he be?” she asked. “He knew that I was coming.”

“I expect the anxiety about Alison made him forget,” said Priscilla.

“Alison?” asked Lydia. “Why should he be anxious about Alison? Is she ill?”

Priscilla looked at Douglas, wondering if she had said too much. Douglas gave her a scarcely perceptible wink, and said to Lydia:

“No, she is not ill. She has run away.”

“Run away?” Lydia stared at him. “What, exactly, do you mean by run away?”

“Just that. She has gone, left us, deserted her loved ones and got herself a job.”

“Really?” asked Lydia, recovering herself, sounding polite and mildly interested. “And where has she gone?”

“That is what we all want to know,” said Douglas, “and what Peter is determined to find out.”

“Is that what is occupying him to-night?” asked Lydia.

“I don’t know. But he is dining with his solicitor, so it could be,” said Douglas.

“Oh,
”
said Lydia. “May I have some more coffee, Douglas?”

“Certainly.” She sat waiting for her coffee, her min
d
attacking this new development ceaselessly. One thing was patent immediately. If Alison had run away, she had run away as much from Douglas as from anybody else; and this at once gave the lie to the sto
r
y of their being in love and wanting to marry. Unless it was still possible to cook up a story of a quarrel between them. Douglas looked altogether too bland and self-possessed for that to be true, but it might be worth trying. But she would have to tread carefully, that was obvious. She had no means of knowing how much the brothers had discussed this thing: she must present nothing as fact, but everything as conjecture.

She had now no intention of leaving before Peter returned. She must see how this development had affected him, to gauge its effect on herself.

So she sat with Douglas and Priscilla, and made conversation with Douglas, ignoring Priscilla so pointedly that she was more than ever glad to have the consoling thought of her little cottage behind her. She had no illusions as to what her life would be like, lived in this house with Lydia. From Douglas, too, Lydia was chiefly anxious to discover how soon he would be off on his introductory journey. In fact, it seemed that she could not clear her own pitch quickly enough.

When Peter returned, he was surprised to see Lydia waiting, and at once remembered the Merediths.

“Good Lord,” he exclaimed, in consternation, “I’m afraid I forgot our appointment this evening, Lydia. I’m terribly sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, smiling. “It wasn’t very important.”

It was so unusual for Lydia to overlook any slip of this kind that he looked at her a little sceptically. He had discovered, particularly within the last twenty
-
four hours, that it was not safe to take Lydia at her face value.

“Douglas has been telling me about Alison,” said Lydia. “How very thoughtless of her not to leave an address, and so leave you all to worry about her. Or was that, do you think, what she wanted?”

“She particularly asked us not to worry,” said Priscilla. “She assured us she would be all right, but of course, we can’t be sure that she is.”

“I don’t see why she shouldn’t be. She seems to me to be particularly good at looking after herself.”

“That’s rather what I think,” said Douglas. “She’s got herself a job, she’s gone away because she wanted to go, and I don’t see why we’ve got to drag her back. Of course, it would be better if we knew where she
was; and I dare say, when she has settled down, she will write and tell us. But she had her reasons for going, obviously.”

Peter had not spoken since his apology to Lydia, and he did not speak now. The others looked at him, awaiting his contribution to the conversation, but he smoked in silence, listening to them without comment.

“Perhaps you were one of the reasons, Douglas,” suggested Lydia.

“I?” queried Douglas. “If you mean that I am no longer in desperate need of her help, yes, you might call me one of the reasons. If you mean anything else, then I can assure you that I am not. Funny, how that idea has got about.”

“Not very funny, when one considers your association this summer,” said Lydia. “It could have misled anybody.”

“And apparently, did,” said Douglas, looking at her coolly. “But it was only wishful thinking, I’m afraid.”

Lydia decided that Douglas could not leave England too soon for her liking. She said:

“Well, after all, Alison herself assures you all that there is no need to worry. So I don’t see what all the fuss is about. She’s really a very naughty girl.”

Douglas looked at Peter, still smoking silently.

“But Pete is worried all the same, aren’t you, Pete?” he asked.

Peter stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Worried?” he repeated. “Not exactly worried. But Alison is my ward, and it is my responsibility to look after her. And so I am determined to find her. What she does afterwards is her concern: I will not interfere in anything she wants to do; but I will find her first. That’s all there is to it.” He rose to his feet. “I’m afraid it is too late for the Merediths now, Lydia. You had better let me take you home.”

His coolness infuriated Lydia. She could not tell what he really thought about Alison’s disappearance, and Alison, by this latest move, had concentrated all his attention on herself; but Lydia knew that, angry as she was, she must not let Peter be aware of it. She was still not sure of Peter. Her unexpected move at Monte Carlo, which she had seemed to take so calmly, had brought her no relief from anxiety. She felt that she would not really breathe freely until they were married. He had made no scene, he had not denied her reports of their engagement, yet she did not feel secure. And now perhaps this stupid move of Alison’s would put o
ff
the question of their early marriage. Alison, Alison, always Alison. It had been quite unnecessary for Peter to make so definite a move as to make her his ward in the first place; now there would never be complete respite from her.

She said goodbye to Douglas and Priscilla, and allowed Peter to escort her downstairs, and into a taxi. They sat in silence, and Lydia guessed that his thoughts were still concerned with Alison; but when they reached the flats where she lived, and Peter would have kept the taxi waiting, she thought this had gone far enough.

“But will you come up for a drink, darling?” she said. “That’s the least you can do after forgetting all about the Merediths.”

So Peter sent the taxi away and went upstairs with Lydia.

He poured a drink for her and then one for himself, and propped himself on the arm of the settee, looking as if he intended to stay only a moment or two; not intending to settle down for a chat with her. Although Lydia was not demonstrative herself, she could not forgive Peter for being undemonstrative; but she did not dare to be too pressing, for fear of driving him away altogether.

“By the way,” said Peter, “I have telephoned the Maxters that I shall not be going down to Melton this week-end.”

“Oh Peter! Why?”

“Well, with this business of Alison not settled, I don’t want to go away. It’s just possible that we should hear something of her.”

“But how disappointing of you, Peter. I specially wanted to go to the Maxters’.”

“I’m not stopping you, Lydia. I hope you will go just the same. I can lend you Thomas and the car for the week-end.”

“It’s not t
h
e same at all,” said Lydia. “I don’t want to go without you. It’s really too bad of you.”

“Please forgive me this time,” said Peter. “I shouldn’t enjoy it a bit with this affair of Alison disturbing me all the time.”

“But why should it disturb you? Aren’t you carrying this a bit too far, Peter? After all, she assures you she is all right—can’t you take her word for it? I really do think you are taking it too far.”

“Not as far as I intend to take it,” said Peter grimly. She looked at him quickly, wanting to challenge him on that, deciding, after all, not to.

“There are one or two questions I want to settle with that young woman,” he said. “And I intend to find her as soon as possible.”

“Well, it’s all very tedious,” said Lydia, “and I think she deliberately wanted to create a disturbance, and I’m very cross at missing the week-end with you.”

Peter smiled at her, but did not move towards her. “There will be other week-ends, Lydia,” he said.

Next day, the second post brought Peter a letter from Alison, which he received when he returned from his office. It was very short, because, she wrote, she was in a great hurry, and only wanted to assure him of her safety. She hoped he was not at all worried, because there was no need to be: first impressions of the school were very favourable, and she thought life there would be quite interesting. She would keep him informed of her progress, but at the time of writing, she was too busy to write at length. She sent her love to Douglas and Prisc
i
ll
a
, and was Peter’s very affectionately.

He looked at the envelope and saw that it was postmarked from somewhere in Hertfordshire. He could not know that Alison had given it to the mother of one o
f
the pupils, asking her to post it in London; that the mother had forgotten it and posted it in her own home town. So he had his secretary looking up boarding schools near the town concerned, and telephoning to discover if a new mistress called Vale was employed in any one of them. This bore no fruit; but as he had again been assured that she was safe, he decided to wait until he received another letter from her, hoping that she might supply a few clues as to her whereabouts.

CHAPTER TWELVE

ALISON found herself in very pretty surroundings in Kent, with an Indian summer making everything even more pleasant, and a very busy, crowded life occupying so much of her mind and her time that she had few opportunities of brooding about Peter, or of missing the two brothers much. She knew that Peter would worry about her, and she suspected that he would not be content to leave matters as they were, so she dutifully sent him short letters every few days, reassuring him as to her safety, and assuring him that she was finding life very interesting. She did not give him an address; partly because she did not want to be engaged in a struggle with him about her return to Mayfair, and partly because she did not want him introduced into this world of women, always ready to be inquisitive. As far as could be judged after only a week or two of school, she got on very well with the other mistresses, but already one or two of the younger ones were curious about her clothes, which were far too expensive for so junior a mistress; and Peter would make them considerably more curious. So her little letters, without an address, continued to exasperate him.

Alison taught the younger children, but the ease and fluency with which she spoke foreign languages encouraged the headmistress to make use of so valuable an asset, and she appointed Alison to take conversation periods with one or two of the senior girls. Her bright, natural manner, her attractive appearance and clothes, made her popular with both the younger and older pupils, and she had little trouble in her classes. She shared dormitory duties, preparation duties and lunchtime breaks with other mistresses, but it was soon apparent that she knew little about games, as she had never played hockey or lacrosse; so she took little groups of girls for walks, and this she really preferred, since it gave her an opportunity of becoming familiar with the neighbourhood and the village.

She shared a small lodge in the grounds with two other mistresses, both a few years older than herself. Her room was small but comfortable, and what had been the parlour was now a study shared by the three of them. They sat there to correct the exercises of their pupils and prepare their lessons, and when their work was done in the evening, they often made themselves some coffee and sat chatting over it before going to bed, rather than walk back to the main building and have a supper drink in the mistresses’ common room. The mistresses naturally divided up into small groups, and there were always slight undercurrents between these groups, but on the whole, the atmosphere of the school was good and friendly; and the headmistress could, with some justification, claim that hers was ‘a happy school.’

The mistresses had an occasional week-end off duty, and they usually seized the opportunity of going away. If their homes were near enough, they went home; if not, they went to London, most of them having some friend or relative there, with whom they could stay. Alison entrusted them with her letters to Peter, so that most of them reached him from London, but now and then, one would bear an Eastbourne or an Essex postmark; but Peter had ceased to place any reliance on the postmarks.

When Alison’s first week-end off duty arrived, she stayed at the school, but this occasioned so much comment that she decided to go to London for the second one. She telephoned Douglas at his office, only to learn that he was in Brussels; and then telephoned Guy, who was so delighted to hear from her that she felt a pang of self-reproach that he had had nothing but postcards from her. She booked herself a room in a small hotel which she had heard Peter speak well of and was surprised to find it so expensive, but decided she could sustain the expense for two nights.

On Saturday morning she paid a visit to her favorite bookshop, having quite a long conversation with the young man who had been the means of getting Alison a job. She bought a few books and ordered a few others, and then went to meet Guy, who had been obliged to work in the morning, but was free to lunch with her. After lunch, they met George and Susan, and from then on, Alison completely enjoyed her stay in London. George’s ancient car was pressed into service, and the four of them went to watch a rugby football match at Twickenham in the afternoon, returned to town to eat at one of the vast restaurants which Alison found so fascinating, and went to a theatre in the evening. On Sunday they met again to enjoy a light-hearted day together, until it was time for them to escort Alison to the station, for her train to school.

“It has been lovely,” she said, standing on the platform t
alkin
g to them, while they waited for the train’s departure. “I would have had such a lonesome weekend without you all.”

“Next time you have a week-end, let us know,” said Guy, who was not at all sorry at the turn events had taken. He thought he stood a much better chance with Alison, now that Douglas was away, she had left her guardian’s house, and was earning her own living. He looked forward to many week-ends like this one.

Alison waved to them as the train carried her away, and settled down in her
corner
seat. This had been a delightful break in routine when it might so easily have been a lonely one. She would be delighted to repeat it. At the back of her mind there was a growing shadow, which concerned the Christmas holidays. She had not yet decided what she would do with this month, when it arrived. She knew that Peter’s house was always open to her, and, in the last event, she might have to take advantage of it.

Sitting in the train that hurried her through the darkness, she wondered what Peter was doing now. With Douglas away, the house would seem quiet and empty; the more so since her own departure. She wondered if Priscilla too had gone, or if she was still in the happy state of searching for her ideal cottage. Poor Peter would certainly find the house a changed place;
and surely, its very emptiness would hasten his marriage to Lydia. Alison’s face was serious and thoughtful as she thought of that marriage. It seemed such an unsuitable one to her. She realised that she did not know Lydia; that Lydia might be a really charming person in her own set, that she might have a hidden warmth that could make life happy for Peter; but she did not really believe this.

Peter, at the time that Alison was thinking about him, was actually talking about her; and not to Lydia, but to Erica Winlake, who had been, all the time, genuinely concerned for Alison.

“She writes that she is well,” he was saying, “and that she finds life interesting. But then I feel she would write that, simply to reassure me, even if it were not the case.”

“Do you think it possible,” asked Erica, “that Douglas himself misunderstood Alison and her feelings? Do you think she could have loved him, in spite of what he says, and that that is why she has gone?”

“It’s possible. I’ve thought of every possible reason. It may be quite true that she feels unwanted in a house that may be run by Lydia; but even if it were, she must allow me to see to her future. After all, I am her guardian; and it doesn’t seem reasonable for her to run away the moment I become engaged.”

“Well, what can you do?”

“I’ve put an agent on the job now
—
a private enquiry agent.”

“Oh dear, Alison won’t like that.”

“Then she should send me her address. I’m determined to find her.”

Finding her, however, suddenly became very much easier than he had dared to hope. Before the agent had time to do more than instigate a few preliminary enquiries, a postcard arrived at the Mayfair house for Alison, to tell her that the books she had ordered had now arrived at the shop. Priscilla (still absorbed in her search for her country cottage) brought him the postcard; and Peter at once telephoned his office to say that he would not be there that morning, and set off for the bookshop.

Obviously, a mistake had been made. Alison must have given the assistant her new address, but somebody else had sent the postcard to the old address. Peter asked for the assistant who had taken Alison’s order, and in a very few minutes, quickly overcoming a slight reluctance on the part of the young man, he had discovered where she was. As easily as that, he thought, with infin
i
te relief.

He drove to his office, deciding that he had time to deal with one or two important matters before driving into Kent; and finding that these occupied the rest of the morning, had his lunch before starting, and then made his way, with all speed, to the rural and picturesque part of Kent where the school was situated.

The headmistress received him graciously, mistaking him for the father of one of the younger girls; when he explained that he wished to see Miss Vale, she was a little less gracious. Miss Vale was accompanying some of the smaller children on a country walk, and in any case, she would not be free until she had taken tea duty. Peter thought with inward amusement that he would soon be informed that ‘followers’ were not allowed, and explained further that he was Miss Vale’s guardian. This caused Miss Gilton some surprise.

“I’m afraid,” said Peter, “you have been harbouring a runaway under your roof.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Miss Vale has been a really satisfactory person in school all this term, and has quite a way with the younger children.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. I think she has a way with almost everybody. But it is not at all necessary that she should teach; and I have been considerably concerned about her.”

“Surely, she wrote to you? Have you heard nothing from her all this term?”

“Yes, she wrote. Also you will be pleased to hear that she wrote that she was well and happy and found life here interesting. But she would have written that to reassure me, I think, if it had been less true than it obviously is.”

Miss Gilton acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod of her head. She was beginning to like this very prepossessing young man, and she relinquished the various duties she had set aside for this afternoon, and spent it instead in conversation with Peter, and in giving him tea. Later, when Alison would have finished her tea duty, and would be free, Miss Gilton let him go
.

“But I hope,” she said, “you are not going to take Miss Vale away from us. She has to give me a term’s notice.”

“A whole term?” asked Peter, startled.

“Yes. Until half-term this term—as she was a new mistress—she could have given me half a term’s notice. As I could have given her. This allows, you will see, of the early rectification of mistakes. But now, I am afraid, it has to be a term.”

“I see,” said Peter. “But there must be cases when it simply is not practicable.”

“Yes, that sometimes does happen,” admitted Miss Gilton.

She rang for Miss Vale, and then begged that Peter would excuse her as she had things to see to, and went away; so that Peter was alone when Alison came into the headmistress’s room.

“Peter,” she cried, astonished, delighted, her whole face lit up. “Peter. How do
you
come to be here? Oh, Peter, how nice to see you.”

Her hands were in his. She leaned back, looking at him, her lips curved in a smile. How wonderfully good
-
looking he was, she thought once more. And more than that, how satisfying, how completely right in every way.

“It’s nice to see
you
,”
he said, “after all this time. And you have some explaining to do, young woman. What do you mean by causing me all this anxiety and trouble?”

“But I didn’t. Didn’t you get my letters?”

“They could have been simply to keep me quiet.”

“They were. Well, not quite that—but to keep you from worrying.”

“What I cannot understand, Alison, is why you went off like that—no explanations, no goodbyes, just letters left behind you.”

“Well, we can’t talk here, Peter. Miss Gilton will come back at any moment. Let’s come down to my lodge.”

As they went down the stairs and across the wide hall, she explained that she shared the lodge with two other young mistresses. “And
—
bother,” she added, “they will either be there already, or else coming in quite soon. I don't think we’ll be able to talk in the lodge.”

“Are you allowed out?’ he asked her.

Alison thought for a few moments.

“I’ve got dormitory duty this evening,” she said, “and I should correct the exercise books of form three: but perhaps I could get Miss Brockwell to take my duty, and the exercise books must wait. I’ll see what I can do.”

Peter drove her down the long drive to the lodge, and strolled about while she went in to find Miss Brockwell. After a quarter of an hour she returned, having arranged everything to her satisfaction, and having changed her school dress for a less utilitarian one.

“I know a very ancient and reputable inn,” said Peter, “on the coast. If we drive there in a leisurely manner, we can have dinner there.”

“You must bring me back at an equally reputable hour,” stipulated Alison, and Peter promised that he would.

“Now,” he said, as the car nosed its impatient way through the narrow country roads, “begin your explaining, please.”

“Oh, later,” she said. “We have lots of time. You tell me the news first. You aren’t married yet?’

“Don’t be silly,
”
.said Peter.

“That isn’t silly. Engaged people do get married.”