Too Close to the Sun (19 page)

‘I’m going into Corster. Mrs Spencer needs a few art materials, and some silks for her petit point. I have to see Cook before I go, also, in case she needs anything for Saturday when your guest arrives.’

‘How are you getting into town?’

‘I just told Mrs Spencer I shall walk to the station then catch the train. Either that or I’ll take the omnibus.’

‘Why don’t you get Mr Johnson to take you in?’

‘He’s busy, sir, and I can manage perfectly well.’

‘Well, if Johnson’s busy, then get Mr Rhind. He’s free, I know that.’

‘No,’ she said, a little too quickly, ‘really, sir, but I think I’d prefer to make my own way.’

‘Really? He’ll have the time right now. Why walk when you don’t need to?’

‘No, truly, I wouldn’t want to bother him, and it’s not far.’

‘It won’t be any bother.’ He made as if to turn and step away. ‘Let’s go and find him.’

‘No, really, please.’

He stopped, turned back to her. ‘Why are you so reluctant to use Rhind’s services?’ he said. ‘Do you have a particular reason?’

Grace was at a loss as to what to say, and remained silent a moment too long.

‘You
do
,’ Mr Spencer said. ‘You do have a particular reason.’

‘Well –’ Grace got out the one word then fell silent again.

‘Tell me.’

‘I think that for some reason or other he doesn’t like me.’ And even as she finished speaking she thought how pathetic her words sounded. But the words had been said.

‘Has he been rude to you?’

And could she tell him of those words that Rhind had spoken to her in the trap back in the summer of the previous year when he had been with Mr Spencer and Grace had been given a ride to Green Shipton? Now, at this remove, she was not even certain that she had heard the man aright. Perhaps she had imagined it. After all, there had been nothing on his face, no expression, no hint of any kind to indicate that he had said anything amiss.

‘If he has,’ Mr Spencer said, ‘then you must tell me. All right?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s been a most faithful helper over the years,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without him.’

‘He’s been with you a long time, has he?’

‘Oh, many years. And no one more loyal. But tell me, why do you suppose he doesn’t like you?’

‘Please – Mr Spencer, forget I said anything.’

‘No, we can’t forget it. You must have a reason.’

‘No, really, it was just – just perhaps a feeling I got.’

He thought about this for a moment, then said, ‘Very well, I won’t press you any more. But if there is anything you must let me know.’

‘Yes.’

‘Remember that now. All right?’

She nodded.

‘I do know that he can get rather – possessive at times. But he means nothing by it. And I have the greatest loyalty from him. It’s a rare thing. Anyway,’ he smiled, ‘be that as it may.’ And then in a different tone: ‘How are you? Are you well?’

As he spoke he took a small step closer to her, and it was all she could do not to take a step away.

‘Yes, I’m very well, thank you,’ she said.

‘And your brother? Young Billy?’

‘He’s in excellent health. He’s off at school right now.’

‘Yes. My wife’s been telling me that you and she have had a fine old week. She says you got the train into Redbury and looked at the town’s museum.’

‘Oh, yes, it was so enjoyable. We took our sketchbooks.’

‘And did you produce some good work?’

‘Well, Mrs Spencer did. Speaking for myself, I can’t say. It was certainly interesting, though. We had a very pleasant time.’

‘That’s good. I’m delighted to hear that Mrs Spencer is getting out a little. She’s been staying in far too much. She got out of the habit of leaving the house. So let’s hope there’ll be plenty more opportunities.’

‘I’m sure there will be, sir. We’ve talked about driving out somewhere and taking our drawing materials.’ And now she had the chance to step away. ‘And which I have to buy some more of today for Mrs Spencer.’

He nodded. ‘So you’re off into Corster, are you?’

‘Yes, sir. Is there anything you need from the shops while I’m there?’

‘Thank you, but I can’t think of anything. No doubt I shall remember something the moment you’ve left the house.’

The only thing Mrs Sandiston needed was a small quantity of angelica, and with the item added to her list, Grace set off, heading for Berron Wick and the railway station.

She had been walking for just a few minutes when a horse-drawn carriage came along beside her. Looking up, she saw that the driver was Rhind. She came to a stop and he pulled up the horse beside her.

‘Mr Spencer sent me after you,’ he said. ‘If you want, I’m to drive you to Berron Wick station, or if you’d prefer it, I’m to take you into Corster, and wait while you do your shopping.’

‘Thank you, but it’s not necessary,’ she said. ‘I told Mr Spencer I could make my own way.’

‘I don’t know anything about that, miss,’ Rhind said. ‘All I know is what Mr Spencer told me.’ He managed to say all of this without meeting her eyes.

Grace realized it would be foolish to keep refusing, so she gave a nod to Rhind and said, ‘Very well. You may take me as far as the station. And thank you.’

‘There’s nothing to thank me for, miss,’ he said, then leapt down from the driver’s seat and offered her his arm to help her up. ‘I’m only obeying the master’s orders.’

When Grace was seated he swung up into the driver’s seat, and with a little jolt the carriage started forward.

Grace felt awkward and self-conscious sitting there with Rhind so silent and so close, and the only sound the sound of the horse’s hoofs and the carriage wheels. It was a ridiculous situation, she thought. They were both employees of Mr Spencer and there was no reason for Rhind to behave as if she were some kind of rival. She was no threat to him in his loyal relationship with Mr Spencer, and he had no call to be so rude, suspicious and cold in his manner towards her.

They rode on in their own silence for a while. The sun shone down, though the breeze was cold. The green of the
fields was rich and lush, and new spring lambs skipped in the meadows. Taking a breath, Grace said: ‘Mr Rhind?’

The man made no sign that he had heard, though she could not but doubt that he had. She spoke again, this time more loudly.

‘I say, Mr Rhind …?’

And now he half-turned on the seat. ‘Yes, miss,’ he said over his shoulder, throwing the words out into the breeze.

Now that she had his attention she was uncertain as to how to go on. Then, taking a breath, she said, feeling foolish as she did so, ‘Do you think the weather is likely to stay fine?’

‘I’ve no idea, miss,’ he said. ‘I’m not much of a judge when it comes to the weather.’ He turned back to face the road.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘let’s hope the rain keeps off – at least for a while.’

He said nothing to this, and she felt she could hear the echo of her words hanging in the air.

‘Mr Spencer was saying,’ she said after a moment, ‘that you’ve been with him a very long time.’

He kept silent.

‘Is that so, Mr Rhind?’ she said.

A pause, then he said, ‘Is this of interest to you, miss?’ She felt herself flushing. ‘I wouldn’t have asked if it were not.’

He said nothing.

‘Mr Rhind,’ she said, ‘I would like us to be friends. And if we can’t be friends, at least we can be polite to one another.’

‘I have no wish to be impolite to you, miss,’ he said.

She wished she could see his face as he spoke, but he kept looking ahead. She could make nothing of his tone. And then after a few moments he said, without so much as a half-turn in her direction, ‘Yes, I’ve been with Mr Spencer
for some time, miss. He’s been very good to me. I owe him a lot.’

Grace leaned a little closer to catch his words, for he spoke without raising his voice and it was not easy to hear him over the sound of the wheels and the horse’s hoofs.

‘I’ve been with him throughout his travels,’ Rhind went on. ‘I was with him in America and I was with him in Brazil. Pretty well wherever he goes I’ve gone too. And shall do, in the future.’

‘What did you do,’ Grace asked, ‘before you met Mr Spencer, and came into his employ?’

‘What did I do? It’s not important. It doesn’t matter.’ He half-turned on the seat and threw back a cold glance. ‘The only thing that counts is my time with him.’

His look lingered on her for a second, as if he was waiting for her to make some remark, some comment. As if he was somehow challenging her. Grace said nothing, and after a moment he looked away to face the road ahead again. From that time on he did not speak again until they had drawn into Berron Wick.

As Rhind pulled up the carriage outside the railway station, Grace said, making conversation and gesturing to the Leaping Hare public house that stood nearby, ‘Will you be having some refreshment here, Mr Rhind? I should think you could do with a little ale after that dusty road.’ With his help she climbed down out of the carriage.

‘I don’t drink ale,’ he said, ‘ – or any alcohol for that matter.’

‘Well, whatever you do, Mr Rhind,’ she said stiffly, ‘I’m sure you’ll please yourself.’ Turning, she started away.

‘Miss?’ he said. ‘Miss Harper?’

She stopped and turned. ‘Yes?’

‘Do you know what train you’ll be getting back? If so I’m to come and meet you.’

She looked at him for a moment in silence then said, ‘I
have no idea. So please don’t bother to try to meet me. I shall walk or take the station fly. Whatever you do, don’t trouble yourself about me.’

She turned and started away again, but in moments he had hurried forward and overtaken her. Stopping in front of her and so bringing her to a halt before him, he said:

‘I didn’t mean to be rude, miss.’

‘Didn’t you?’

‘No, really. I get a bit – het up at times. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.’

Was this something near to an apology? Grace wondered. She said nothing. She could detect no note of contrition in his voice.

‘I’m sorry, miss,’ he said. But still he did not meet her eyes.

And now Grace did not care any more. She wanted nothing of him. She did not believe in his apology for one moment; it had only been offered, she guessed, for the sake of his relationship with his master.

‘Excuse me,’ she said. She went to step around him, but he moved to the side, blocking her way again, and now met her eyes with his.

‘Miss, please. I’m sorry I was rude. It was uncalled for, completely.’

She had determined to have no more truck with him, but his apology was disarming. She remained silent, not knowing what to say.

‘Will you accept my apology?’ he said. ‘We’re both employed by Mr Spencer. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t get on.’

‘That’s been my view all along, Mr Rhind. It’s you who’s chosen to think otherwise.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Grace gave a sigh. She had no wish to prolong this distance, this unpleasantness. ‘I just want to get on with
people,’ she said. ‘I have nothing against you, Mr Rhind. Let’s just forget the whole thing.’

‘Thank you.’ To her surprise his mouth was moved by the touch of a faint smile. ‘So,’ he said, ‘what time shall you want to go back to the house? I’m at your disposal.’

‘It’s not necessary,’ she said. ‘As I told you, I shall walk or take the station fly. I’ve no idea what train I’ll be getting back.’

As she finished speaking she moved past him and went through the station entrance.

Corster market square was packed with stalls, the aisles filled with busy shoppers, and the air filled with the sounds of voices, loudest of all those of the stallholders crying advertisements for their wares.

Grace decided that she would look around the stalls later, but would first make sure of getting the things that Mrs Spencer required. She went to the haberdasher’s initially, in a little shop just off the main street, to buy the little skeins of silk for Mrs Spencer’s embroidery, and that done set off for the small shop where art materials were sold. There, after consulting her pencilled list, she bought the tubes of oil paint, the bottle of linseed oil and the small sketchbook. There were certain art materials that she would have liked for herself, but for the time being she would have to do without.

She went to a grocer’s next and bought the angelica for Mrs Sandiston, and after that bought a daily newspaper and went into the Harp and Stars to sit down and have a little refreshment.

Over a cup of tea she looked at that day’s edition of the
Morning Post
. Then, rested and refreshed, she left the pub and set off for the tobacconist’s shop to buy Mr Spencer’s tobacco.

Arriving at the shop, she spoke to the young man behind
the counter, asking for an ounce of tobacco for Mr Spencer at Asterleigh House. The young man turned and called into the rear of the shop, ‘Tobacco for Mr Spencer at Asterleigh House, Dad. What’ll it be?’

In response an elderly man came through from the back and on looking enquiringly at his son was told, ‘This young lady here.’

‘Ah, miss, yes. You want tobacco for Mr Spencer at Asterleigh?’

Grace said she did. ‘I’m to get an ounce, but I don’t know which brand. Mrs Spencer said you would know.’

‘Yes, indeed, miss. Mr Spencer uses Franklyn’s Fine Shagg. An ounce, you say, miss?’

When the tobacco had been weighed and wrapped, Grace paid the man and took the small package and put it in her bag next to her purse. Then, thanking the man, she turned away. The door opened as she stopped before it, opened by a tall man who held it for her to pass through. But in the same moment the shop proprietor called out, ‘Miss, you didn’t pick up your change.’ About to pass through the doorway, Grace abruptly turned away from it and, without an apology, left the tall man standing there, holding the door open. As she picked up her change from the counter she heard the man behind her give a little sigh of exasperation and say with a chuckle, ‘It’s perfectly all right, miss, I have nothing better to do in my life than stand here as lackey to the passing trade.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Grace said, stung, turning back to him, ‘I didn’t mean to make you wait there.’ With her words she swept past him out into the street, and without looking back stalked away.