Victoria and the Nightingale (7 page)

But Victoria always thought of her as Miss Islesworth, and under no circumstances could she ever think of her as Georgie.

Half way down the main staircase Johnny stumbled, and Victoria had to grab him quickly to prevent him from falling. The main hall was like a pool of silence, thick with shadows and glowing with the odd splashes of color created by massed flowers in copper and bronze containers. The smell of flowers and opulence lay heavily on the hushed morning atmosphere, and outside the great hall window the eastern sky flamed with cerise and banners of flamingo pink. Victoria had decided beforehand that it would be no use trying to open the great front door, for only the butler knew how to deal with the ponderous bolts and locks. Miss Islesworth was a nervous sleeper, and she liked to think that when she went to bed at night there was no danger of her repose being interrupted by housebreakers. Therefore one of the side doors— and there were quite a number of them opening on to the outside world—would have to provide them with their means of exit.

Victoria had such a strange, panic-stricken feeling that someone, or something, would prevent them getting away, and this feeling made her fingers fumble when she fought with the locks of one of the side doors—the first that they came to. This defeated her, and they went on to the next. Then, to her wholehearted relief, they really were outside, and the exquisite, wine-like freshness of the morning, laden with the perfume of summer flowers, dew-drenched grasses and moist shrubberies, came at them, together with a wild chorus of bird song that was enough to lighten anyone’s heart. Victoria felt as if a load had been lifted from her shoulders, and only the future had to be coped with.

But the future was still a part of the present. Johnny moved like a sleepwalker, and the freshness of the early morning caused him to shiver noticeably. He was wearing only the T-shirt and short pants in which he’d survived the accident—Victoria preferring to leave the new clothes that had been provided for him behind—and she wished that she had had the foresight to buy him a warm sweater before they left. This was an omission, however, that could be rectified as soon as they reached the world of shops.

But before they reached the world of shops there was a long drive to be traversed, and then three good miles of country road before they reached the village and the bus stop. Johnny walked with bowed shoulders and his head down, and not even the swelling chorus of birds excited him. He loved identifying bird calls, but this morning he was either acutely depressed, or very, very tired indeed, for he seemed unable to lift his eyes, and his feet dragged.

Victoria sought to encourage him. She told him that it would not be long before they reached the village inn, and then he could be provided with breakfast. And after that there would be the ride in the bus, and then a long journey by train as far as London, where he always seemed to like living. She was sure he would like to be back again among familiar scenes. But Johnny merely made a supreme effort and lifted his weary eyes to her face, and she felt quite shocked as a result of what she saw in them.

“Won’t we ever live in the country again?”

Victoria sought to convince him that they might one day.

“It all depends on—on a lot of things,” she said. She added vaguely: “Things like whether or not I can get a job in the country. If you really want to live in the country I could try.”

“But it won’t be the same, will it?” Johnny persisted, peering up into her face.

“You mean there won’t be a Sir Peter Wycherley to buy you things, and take you for rides in his big car?”

“I was thinking of—of the country itself,” Johnny replied, waving a hand to indicate the ordered lawns on either side of them. “It won’t be like this, will it? With horses and dogs, and lots and lots of flowers like there are here?”

Victoria understood perfectly.

“No, it won’t,” she answered truthfully. “But I did point all that out to you yesterday, didn’t I?” she reminded him with just a trace of gentle rebuke in her tone.

Johnny, who had been clutching limply at her fingers, gave them a sudden squeeze.

“It’s all right,” he said manfully. “I don’t mind.”

They reached the lodge keeper’s cottage, and although it was so early a plume of smoke was rising from one of the chimneys into the pale blue of the sky, and a smell of bacon and eggs floated out to them by way of an open kitchen window.

Victoria hurried Johnny past the lodge, and then they were outside the grounds of Wycherley Park, standing on the edge of a broad, tree-shaded and extremely beautiful country road. The road, Victoria knew, was broad at this point, where the elegant gates of Wycherley Park opened out on to it, but it narrowed considerably and ran between high hedges smothered with honeysuckle and wild roses at this season of the year, and whichever way they turned they would be caught up in a wilderness of green after a few yards or so. The village of Wycherley lay to the left, so to the left they were about to turn, only the sound of a car coming from the opposite direction caused Victoria to glance round hurriedly over her shoulder, and considerably to her dismay she recognized Sir Peter Wycherley’s car approaching at a reduced rate of speed.

Johnny, too, recognized the car ... and he was even quicker than Victoria to recognize Sir Peter himself at the wheel. Despite the early hour he was apparently out and about, about to turn in at the gates of the Park. But the two forlorn figures standing at the side of the road deflected his purpose.

To Johnny’s infinite relief—and his eyes grew several degrees brighter as he realized that a miracle had occurred (from his point of view, at any rate)— the car, with its long, sleek bonnet and effortless motion, arrived alongside of them, and Sir Peter threw open the door that was near to them and invited them to get inside.

“I don’t know what you’re doing up so early,” he remarked, “but it’s quite obvious you need a lift back to the house. Do you often do this sort of thing?” a slight smile quivering at the corners of his mouth as he addressed Victoria: “Go for long country walks at this hour of the day, I mean?”

She could have retorted by asking him whether he often did the sort of thing he was doing on that particular morning, and left his bed before the sun was properly up and warming the world; but she did not do so, instead she answered with truth:

“Not often. This morning is an exception.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He glanced at Johnny. “The child looks as if he’s only half awake. Wouldn’t it have been more sensible to let him enjoy the comfort of his bed a little longer?”

Johnny told him mechanically:

“We’re running away.”

“You’re what?”

“Running away.” Johnny’s eyes glistened a little as he fixed them on the half open, inviting door of the car. “Victoria said we had to.”

“Why?”

“Because Miss Islesworth does not want us to stay.” He wriggled his fingers free of Victoria’s restraining hand and slipped on to the seat beside the well-shaven man in the quiet suit of country tweed. “But it’s an awfully long way to the bus, and I’m awfully hungry as well.” He looked earnestly at Sir Peter. “Do you think you could take us to the bus, sir? It would be much better than walking!”

“Of course I’ll take you to the bus.” He signalled to Victoria, and intimated that she was to take her place in the back of the car. “After all, what is a large car like this for, if it isn’t to be placed at the disposal of other people?” But there was a certain wry twist to his lips as he started it up.

Victoria endeavored to explain from the back seat. “I thought it best that we should go away. I—I—”

“Didn’t even think it necessary to say goodbye?”

“Yes; of course I thought it necessary, but...” She bit her lip hard. The tweed-covered shoulders confronting her were displeased—she could tell that—and Sir Peter’s shapely light brown head seemed to be set somewhat rigidly on those same shoulders, and from where she sat she could just see the angle of his very square jaw, and the slight compression at the corner of his mouth. “But I thought you might—might try to stop us . . . or at any rate, that you might try and prevent me taking Johnny away.”

“And you’re quite certain Johnny is unhappy at Wycherley Park?”

“Oh no, no! But Miss Islesworth—”

“Miss Islesworth doesn’t in the least object to my keeping Johnny at the Park.”

“No, but I know she does object to my staying there, too, and looking after him. And you know very well that it’s only a very temporary thing ... Johnny staying with you. In a few weeks he’ll have to go away.”

“When?”

His tone was so dry and interested that she found it difficult to answer.

“When—when you’re married, Sir Peter.”

“Oh, is that all?” They were cruising along at a very moderate rate of speed for such a powerful car, and he turned and looked at her over his shoulder. “If you were Miss Islesworth would you object to Johnny staying on after you were married?”

“No, but I’m—I’m not Miss Islesworth.”

“True.” The narrow lane was a series of unexpected twists and bends, and he negotiated them carefully, frowning as he did so. “You are not Miss Islesworth. . . You are Miss Victoria Wood! And I can’t think why you had to get up so early in order to disappear out of my life! Wouldn’t a more reasonable hour have satisfied you just as well?”

“I—I—You might have tried to prevent me!”

“That’s true,” he agreed again.

“And it seemed the best thing to do....”

“Even though Johnny is very small, and it’s quite a long way to the village ... and the bus I presume you intend to take?”

“Yes, but—”

“However, we’ll have you at the bus much more quickly in this car, won’t we?” This time he glanced at Johnny, and Johnny was so happy sitting beside him in such a splendid means of transport that he grinned expansively.

“Yes,” he said, plainly without any thought of the bus.

“But first we’ll have breakfast at the George and Dragon.” They drew up beside the white-fronted hostelry, and as the sun was climbing high in the sky by this time it all looked very serene and mellow with the golden rays bathing it in a kind of golden balm, and the giant oak tree in the center of the village providing a delicious form of shade for a contingent of ducks that were parading as a matter of routine, and in order to discover their own breakfast. “I know the man who runs this place, and he always gets up early, so he won’t mind cooking us bacon and eggs. And I expect you’d like a

rather generous sized plateful, wouldn’t you, Johnny, after walking all the way down my two-mile drive?”

Johnny agreed, showing a gap in his teeth as he smiled again as if he had discovered Elysium.

“And toast and marmalade,” he added, in case it should be forgotten. “And tea. I like tea,” he confided.

Sir Peter agreed with him that there was nothing like a pot of tea in the early morning.

“We English don’t go in much for coffee,” he observed conversationally. “Or not seriously. Certainly not in the early morning.”

“Victoria said we’d have breakfast at the inn, but I didn’t think we’d get there very quickly,” the child admitted, dropping his eyes to his own small feet, as if he recognized their deficiencies.

Sir Peter laid a lead brown hand on his knee.

“Poor Johnny!” he said.

Then he glanced quickly over his shoulder.

“Poor Miss Wood!” he added, before helping them both to alight.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Victoria has always thought that an English inn in the heart of really beautiful and peaceful country, with wonderful views opening out on either hand, and the scent of flowers and wood smoke and perhaps even cow manure coming in at the open front door—particularly in the early morning—was a really wonderful place.

She didn’t frequent them, and she had only once stayed in such a place, but she considered that its picture postcard-like qualities far outweighed any inconveniences, such as the lack of running hot water in the bedrooms, and central heating in the winter time. They were traditional places, redolent of history, and when they had an enormous oak tree not far from their front porch it all added to the picturesqueness.

Johnny was intrigued by the George and Dragon because it had a connection with one of his favorite heroes, and the waiter who brought their breakfast told him that it had once been a favorite hideout for highwaymen, and anything more exciting and satisfying than that Johnny couldn’t think of.

He ate his breakfast with an appetite that proved he had recovered entirely from the depression that had held him from the moment he opened his eyes that morning, and while his two companions ploughed more sedately through similar fare he chattered in such a way that the silences which might have existed between the other two—at any rate, during the opening stages of the meal—were not possible under the constant fire of his questions, and his eager comments on his surroundings and the amount of toast he could consume once his early morning lassitude had departed.

Victoria wished he wouldn’t talk quite so much since she herself felt strangely bewildered ... not entirely surprising since she had scarcely closed her eyes all night. But Peter Wycherley was obviously both amused and intrigued by the childish chatter. He encouraged

Johnny to talk as much and as continuously as he pleased, and only when they arrived at the stage of the meal when he lit a cigarette, and Victoria declined to follow suit, did he revert to the subject of their imminent departure and the possible arrival of the bus.