Victoria Holt (22 page)

“All I can do is wish you well.”

“There will be horrid gossip, but one lives that sort of thing down, doesn’t one?”

“I suppose one does.”

There was a tap on the door and Mrs. Gittings appeared with Miranda.

“Come here, my darling,” said Marcia, now the doting mother.

The child approached but, I noticed, clinging very tightly to Mrs. Gittings’s hand.

“My little one, come and say how do you do to Miss Grant.”

“Hello, Miranda,” I said.

The blue eyes were turned to me. She said: “I’ve got a corn dolly.”

“A what, darling?”

Mrs. Gittings said: “It’s hanging on the wall in my sister’s cottage. Miranda always says it is hers.”

“How old is she?” I asked.

“Nearly two,” said Mrs. Gittings. “Quite a big girl, aren’t you, pet?”

Miranda laughed and snuggled up to Mrs. Gittings’s skirts.

It was quite clear who had Miranda’s affection in that house.

I felt a great desire to get away. I was tired of hearing of Jason Verringer and his affairs. It was all rather distasteful and there was an air of such unreality in that house that I never wanted to see any of them again—except perhaps Mrs. Gittings and the child.

After a while Miranda was taken away and I left. I had the excuse that I must get back to the school. As I rode home I thought what a pity it was that the school was so close to the Hall and a part of it really. It made escape difficult. But I certainly would not again visit Rooks’ Rest in a hurry.

It must have been only two weeks later when I ran into Mrs. Gittings with Miranda in the town. Her rosy face lit up with pleasure when she saw me.

“Why, it’s Miss Grant,” she said. “Lovely day, isn’t it? Spring’s on the way. I came in with Miranda in the dog cart. She loves that, don’t you, Miranda. We’ve got one or two bits of shopping to do before we go away.”

“Oh, are you going away?”

“I’m taking Miranda with me down to my sister.”

“You’ll love that. Miranda too.”

“Yes. She’ll see her corn dolly, won’t you, pet? And Aunt Grace, that’s my sister. Very fond of Miranda, she is, and Miranda’s fond of her. It’ll be lovely on the moors. I was brought up there. They say you always want to go back to your native spot.”

“How will they get on without you at Rooks’ Rest?”

“They won’t be there. The house is to be shut up till I’m told when to go back.”

“So Mrs. Martindale is going to London, is she?”

“Farther than that, she says. She keeps rather quiet about it, but sometimes it comes out. She is going to him.”

“To him?”

“To Sir Jason. Somewhere on the Continent. Maisie will go with her.”

“Do you think they will get married out there…wherever it is?”

“Well, that’s what she seems to have in mind.”

“I see.”

“I can’t wait to get to the moors. It was nice seeing you, Miss Grant. I think Miranda quite took to you.”

I said goodbye and felt faintly depressed.

What a sordid affair, I thought, as I rode back to the Abbey.

***

Teresa came to me in a state of great distress.

“It’s the cousins,” she said. “They want me to go to them for Easter. Miss Hetherington sent for me in her study. She said she’s just heard. I said I don’t want to go but Miss Hetherington says I’ll have to.”

“Oh, Teresa,” I said. “Aunt Patty and Violet will be so disappointed.”

“I know.” There were tears in her eyes. “Violet was going to show me how to make hot cross buns.”

I said: “Perhaps we can arrange something. I’ll go and see Miss Hetherington.”

Daisy shook her head grimly.

“I have often wondered about the wisdom of your taking Teresa home with you. I know Patience and Violet and the effect they’d have on a girl like Teresa. Poor child, she was almost demented when I told her.”

I said: “Surely it can be explained to them.”

“I don’t think they’ll change their minds. It’s not that they want her. I can read between the lines. They feel they look remiss in the eyes of the parents as they are supposed to be looking after her, and two vacations away from them is a bit too much. She’ll have to go for Easter and then perhaps it can be arranged that you take her in the summer holidays which are the longer ones.”

“We shall be so sad. You see, she quickly became part of the household.”

“That’s the trouble. One has to be careful with girls like Teresa. They become so intense. She became too involved too quickly.”

“It was just holidays she had with us in an ordinary little home.”

“My dear Cordelia, no house is ordinary with Patience in it.”

“I know. She is quite the most wonderful person. I was so happy for Teresa to have a share in all that.”

“You’re too sentimental. Let Teresa go for Easter and I am sure it will be all right for the summer.”

“Couldn’t we explain to them?”

“Explanations would make it worse. They’d feel more guilty. They are just making this gesture to preserve their kindly image with the parents. We’ll have to let them this time. And perhaps Teresa will make it so that they don’t want her again for a very long time.” Daisy smiled grimly. “Oh come, Cordelia, it’s not so tragic as all that. Just this once. Teresa has to learn that life is not a bed of roses. It’ll be good for her and make her all the more appreciative of Moldenbury next time.”

“She’s appreciative enough already.”

Daisy shrugged her shoulders. “She’ll have to go,” she said firmly.

Poor Teresa was heart-broken and her grief cast an air of tragedy over the rest of term.

When I waved her off with the rest of the girls the day before my departure we were both of us on the verge of tears.

***

It was a sad household at Moldenbury. Teresa would have been very gratified to see how we missed her.

Aunt Patty said: “Never mind. She’ll be here for summer and those are the long holidays.”

“We shan’t see her again,” said Violet prophetically.

Everyone in the village asked where she was. I had not realized what a part of the household she had become. We decorated the church with daffodils and I was regretful thinking of how she would have enjoyed that. The hot cross buns did not seem nearly such a treat as they would have done had she been there.

“She loved it so much here,” I said, “and she made us all realize how fortunate we are to have each other.”

“I always knew that, dear,” said Aunt Patty, solemn for once.

I went for long walks and thought about Marcia Martindale on the Continent with Jason Verringer. I imagined them on the canals of Venice, strolling beside the Arno in Florence, riding down the Champs Élysées, visiting the Colosseum in Rome…all places I longed to visit.

I thought rather maliciously: They are worthy of each other, and I am sure they will get all the happiness they deserve.

It was the day after Easter Monday, in the midafternoon, and I was in the sitting room reading when I heard the gate click. I got up and looked out of the window. Teresa was coming up the drive carrying a suitcase.

I dashed out. “Teresa!” I cried.

She flew at me and we hugged each other.

“Whatever are you doing here?” I asked.

“I just came,” she replied. “I got on a train and came. I couldn’t stand it any longer.”

“But what of the cousins?”

“I left a note for them. They’ll be glad. I was such a nuisance to them.”

“Oh, Teresa,” I cried, trying to sound stern but only conveying my pleasure.

I called up the stairs. “Aunt Patty. Violet. Come down at once.”

They came running. For a few seconds they stared at Teresa. Then she flung herself at them and the three of them were in a sort of huddle while I stood looking on and laughing.

I said: “It’s really rather awful. She’s just walked out on the cousins, leaving a note.”

Aunt Patty was trying not to laugh and even Violet was smiling.

“Well, I never!” said Aunt Patty.

“She just packed a suitcase and came.”

“All that way by herself,” said Violet, looking shocked.

“She’s nearly seventeen,” I reminded them.

“I knew the way,” said Teresa. “I had to go to London first. That was the tricky part. But the guard was helpful. He showed me.”

“What about those cousins?” asked Violet. “They’ll be out of their minds with worry.”

“With relief,” said Teresa.

“And you just left a note,” I said.

Teresa nodded.

“I’ll write to them immediately explaining that you arrived safely and I’ll ask their permission to let you stay for the rest of the holiday,” I said.

“I shan’t go back if they say No,” said Teresa firmly. “I couldn’t bear to think of you all eating hot cross buns without me.” She turned to Violet. “How did they come out this year?”

“Not as good as last,” said Violet predictably. “Some of them lost their crosses in the baking.”

Teresa looked mournful and Violet went on: “We could make another batch. There’s no law I know of that says you can only eat them on Good Friday.”

“Oh, let’s do it,” said Teresa.

She was back. It was wonderful and we were all delighted.

In due course I received a letter from the cousins thanking me for my interest in Teresa. They knew how she had enjoyed the holidays spent at my house, but their great concern was not to impose, and if I found I had had enough of Teresa I was to send her back to them at once. I had asked their permission for her to spend the summer holidays with us and it was graciously—and I felt eagerly—given.

When I showed the letter to Teresa she was overcome with joy.

We went into the village where she was warmly greeted by almost everyone and reproached by some for missing the Easter services.

She was pink with pleasure.

So it was a happy holiday after all. But soon it was time for us to return to school—and that was the end of the peaceful days.

Part Two

The moment I stepped off the train I was aware of him. Emmet was there to take us back to the school but as we came into the station yard, I saw the Verringer carriage with him beside it.

He came forward, hat in hand.

“Miss Grant, what a pleasure to see you. It has been so long.”

I was taken aback, not expecting to see him so soon, but I confess I had been wondering whether he would have returned by the time we got back to school.

“So…you have come back,” I said, and thought how foolish such a statement of the obvious must seem to him, and it would of course expose my embarrassment.

“I have my carriage here,” he said. “Give me the pleasure of taking you back to the Academy.”

“That is kind of you,” I replied. “But Emmet has the school carriage here to take us.”

“It is something of an old rattler, isn’t it? You’ll be more comfortable in mine.”

“We’ll be quite all right with Emmet, thank you.”

“I shall not allow it. Emmet, you can take the baggage and perhaps Miss er…”

He was looking at Teresa who returned his gaze defiantly.

“I was going to say perhaps you would do me the honor of riding in my carriage,” he went on with a faint hint of mockery.

“I shall ride with Miss Grant,” said Teresa.

“That’s an excellent idea. Emmet, I’m taking both the ladies.”

“Very good, Sir Jason,” said Emmet.

I felt angry but it would have looked ridiculous to make a fuss, like making an issue about something which was not really very important. But I had a feeling that everything which brought me into touch with him was important. I felt furious with myself for not refusing in a way which would have been polite and coolly conventional and at the same time conveying to him that I had no wish to be under an obligation to him.

“This is pleasant,” he said. “You can both sit beside me. There’s plenty of room, and it’s the best way to enjoy the scenery.
I
shall enjoy showing you how my bays perform. I am really rather proud of them.”

And there we were seated beside him, turning out of the station yard into the lanes.

I said: “I trust you had a pleasant tour.”

“Well, one gets a little tired of being away from home. Homesick, I suppose. One broods on what one has left behind. Did you and Miss er…”

“Hurst,” I said.

“Miss Teresa, yes, I remember. Did you enjoy your holiday?”

“Very much, didn’t we, Teresa?”

“The last bit,” answered Teresa.

“Oh…not until the end?”

Teresa said: “The last bit was with Miss Grant, the first with my cousins. That was the bit I didn’t like at all.”

“I can understand how enjoyable it must have been to be with Miss Grant. I envy you.”

I looked straight ahead. “It is to be hoped we don’t meet another carriage in this lane,” I said.

“Ah, memories return. If we do…”

“You will insist on their going back.”

“But of course. I hope I shall see something of you this term. I heard from Miss Hetherington that there is going to be a midsummer pageant. They might involve us at the Hall as well as the school as it is concerned with the Abbey.”

Us? I thought. Who is Us? Does he mean himself and Marcia Martindale? Is she Lady Verringer by now?

“I remember the last one but one. That was some years ago. It was commemorating something. We have some costumes tucked away somewhere. We had actors down last time and they left the things behind. Monks’ robes. I must tell Miss Hetherington about them.”

“That will be interesting,” I said coolly.

We had come through the narrow lane.

“Safe,” he said, looking at me sideways. “You are relieved that I shall not embarrass you with a show of arrogance and selfishness.”

He pulled up suddenly.

“Just so that you can admire it for a few moments,” he said. “Looks grand, doesn’t it? It must have looked very much like that six hundred years ago. You’d never guess from here, would you, that it is a ruin?”

“I can see the school,” said Teresa.

“No ruin, thank heaven. I don’t know what we should do without our good Miss Hetherington, her pupils and her wonderful mistresses.”

“I should not have thought they made a great deal of difference to you at the Hall.”

“Oh they do. They add a spice to life. And think how useful to my wards. Where else would they get such an excellent education? Where else would they get that whiff of culture? It would mean sending them to an establishment abroad. How much more convenient for them to be a short ride away from home.”

“Miss Hetherington would be gratified by your comments.”

“I have made them to her time and time again.” He glanced at me. “But I have never felt this so strongly until lately.”

“I daresay those sentimental thoughts came while you were away. It is said that absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Absence did make mine, I’ll admit.”

“Shall we go? Miss Hetherington will wonder what has happened when she sees Emmet returning without us.”

“Do you think he is already there?”

“He has taken the shortcut,” said Teresa. “You took the long way round, Sir Jason.”

We went on and in a short time arrived at the school.

Miss Hetherington came out to meet us. She did look a little disturbed.

“Oh, there you are, Miss Grant. I wondered. And Teresa…”

“I was at the station,” said Jason Verringer. “I saw the ladies and thought it would be discourteous of me not to offer them a lift. Now that I have safely delivered them I’ll say au revoir. By the way, Miss Hetherington, we have some monks’ costumes up at the Hall. Residue of the last affair. I’ll get someone to look through them or perhaps one of your people could do that. You might find them useful.”

“Thank you. I shall most certainly take advantage of your kind offer, Sir Jason. Are you sure you won’t come in?”

“Not now, but I will call later. Good day to you, ladies.”

With a gallant gesture he swept off his hat and then his horses were trotting away.

“Teresa,” said Miss Hetherington, “you’d better get to your room. I suppose you met Miss Grant at the station?”

Teresa was silent and I said quickly: “I’ll explain. You go along, Teresa.”

“Emmet has taken your bags up,” said Daisy. “Come into the study.”

I followed her and when the door was shut I told her about Teresa.

“She left them and traveled on her own! I shouldn’t have thought Teresa would have had the courage to do that.”

“She’s grown up quite a lot lately.”

“She evidently hated it with the cousins. I wrote to them and it was all amicably settled. They were really rather relieved. I think that much was obvious and I got their permission for her to spend the summer holiday with us.”

Daisy nodded.

“Her traveling on her own like that was not our responsibility,” she said. “I hope Teresa is not getting too fond of you, Cordelia. You have to be careful with these impressionable girls.”

“Actually I think she is more with Violet than with me. It is amazing how they get on.”

She nodded. Then she said: “And Sir Jason…I was surprised to see you in his carriage…and seated next to him.”

I explained: “It was as he said. He was there. He was so persistent. I couldn’t refuse his offer without seeming impolite and…uncivilized.”

“I understand. Be careful of him. He’s a dangerous man.”

“Dangerous…in what way?”

“I mean it would be unwise for a young woman in your position to become too friendly with him.”

“I am not likely to do that.”

“I hope not.”

“Did he marry Mrs. Martindale, or is that to come?”

“There has been no marriage…yet. There is a good deal of speculation as there has been since Mrs. Martindale came to Rooks’ Rest.”

“She is there now, is she?”

“Oh yes. She has been back for about three weeks. So has he and people are waiting for the next development. The general opinion seems to be that they will be married. The unpleasant rumor that he helped his wife to her death so that he could marry Mrs. Martindale still persists. I don’t like that sort of gossip about someone so close to the school. It is a pity the place belongs to him and he shows an interest in it. I am sure all those rumors are nonsense. He might be all sorts of rogue but he isn’t the sort to murder his wife. But until he marries and settles down I am afraid these rumors will persist. In the meantime it is well for our people to remain as aloof as possible.”

“I agree,” I said. “And it is certainly what I intend to do.”

Daisy nodded, satisfied. “It is not easy,” she went on, “he being our landlord and this connection between the Hall and the Abbey.”

Later I saw Eileen Eccles in the calefactory and I looked in to have a word with her.

“Welcome back to the grindstone,” she said. “Had a good holiday?”

“Very good, thanks. And you?”

“Lovely. It’s a long time to wait for the summer break. I always think this term is the most difficult. I suppose it is because the longing to get away is more acute than usual.”

“Oh, please,” I laughed. “It hasn’t begun yet.”

“I think it will be a grim one. Just think we are going to have that appalling Midsummer thing. I was here for the last one and you have no idea until you have suffered it what a ghastly business it is. Musical interludes, singing under the shadow of the great nave, prowling about in white, the robes of our founders…staging a little pageant…a play probably—act one the building of the Abbey; act two the Dissolution; and act three the rising of phoenix—our own dear Academy for Young Ladies.”

“In any case you can laugh at it.”

“Laugh, my dear Cordelia. One must either laugh or weep.”

“I daresay we shall do more of the former during the proceedings.”

“And after that—glorious freedom. Keep your eyes on that all through the weeks of toil and conflict: the light at the end of the tunnel. By the way, you came back in style.”

“Oh, you knew about that then?”

“My dear Cordelia, everyone knows. There you were seated beside him for everyone to see. This is not only the home of clotted cream and cider, but of scandal and gossip. And they are two of its major industries.”

“There is no need for scandal concerning me, I do assure you.”

“I’m glad. I shouldn’t like you to be stabbed with a poniard and your grisly remains buried beneath the ruined chancel…or perhaps your body thrown into the fish pond one dark night. Madam Martindale looks to me as if she might employ the methods of the Borgias or Medicis if the mood took her.”

“She certainly does seem a little theatrical.”

“And determined to reach her goal, which, my dear Cordelia, is the Hall and the title that goes with it. For these benefits she is prepared to take Sir Jason too, and it might well be woe betide any rivals for that desirable
parti
.”

“You talk such nonsense,” I said, laughing. “I can assure you that a ride in a carriage does not constitute a proposal of marriage—or intentions to such a thing.”

“I thought he might have his eyes on you, nevertheless. You are not without personal charms.”

“Oh, thank you! You said that gossip and scandal were the products of this place.
I
think some people suffer from an excess of imagination. I have seen very little of this Jason Verringer and what I have I don’t like very much.”

“Keep it that way, Cordelia. Be a wise virgin.”

I laughed with her. It was rather good to be back.

***

In spite of my assurances to myself that Jason Verringer did not concern me in the least, during the days which followed I was finding more and more that this was not so. Whenever I went out I looked for him; once I saw him coming from the Hall and turned and galloped as far from the place as possible. I believe he saw me but as he was on foot he had no chance of catching up with me…if he had been of a mind to do so.

Then when I rode out from school on my free periods very often I would meet him and I realized that he contrived these meetings. In my position it was natural that my outings must occur at regular times and he quickly discovered when.

This alarmed and yet intrigued me; and if I were perfectly honest with myself I would admit that I was far from indifferent to him, which was the state of mind I was striving for.

He was intruding, not only on my free afternoons but into my thoughts. Whenever his name was mentioned—which was frequently, for one could not go into one of the shops without hearing something about him or his affairs—I would pretend not to be interested, when all the time I was trying to glean as much information as I could.

I was very inexperienced of the world and of men. The only encounter had been with Edward Compton, and as I grew farther away from that the more like a dream it seemed. Perhaps if I had been more worldly I would have been more alarmed than I actually was. The fact was that I was allowing myself to be drawn into his orbit and he—a man who had a wide knowledge of my sex—understood my feelings and determined to exploit them.

He was attracted by me from the moment he had seen me riding with Emmet, and when he was attracted by a woman he was not the man to deny himself the pleasure of pursuit.

Therefore he now pursued me.

My acid manner did not deter him in the least. On the other hand, if I had been wiser, I should have known it made him all the more determined.

From a man who was on the point of marriage with another woman this was deplorable. I refused to accept it and told myself that his manner toward me was the same as it would be toward any woman who was young and moderately good-looking. There was nothing special about it.

But of course it was not so.

Once I was riding out for my afternoon’s exercise when he came cantering up beside me.

“What a pleasant surprise,” he said ironically, for he had clearly been waiting for me. “I am sure you won’t have any objection to my riding with you.”

“Actually I prefer to ride alone,” I said. “One can go at one’s own pace.”

“I will adjust mine to yours. What a glorious afternoon! The more so for me, I might say, since I have met you.”