Katie’s Hero (2 page)

Katie stopped for a moment, setting the suitcase down. The handle was cutting into her hand, hurting her. “Sorry,” she murmured apologetically.

“Let me,” Mrs. Mallory insisted. “You’ve been struggling with that for nearly a mile. I’ll take it the rest of the way.” She grabbed the case in her strong right hand and set off at a fast clip.

Katie tried to protest. Mrs. Mallory was definitely a member of what some people called “the better sort.” It didn’t seem right for her to be carrying the suitcase. Katie would rather have carried it until her fingers bled than endure the embarrassment of seeming like a girl who didn’t know her place. Still, Mrs. Mallory insisted.

“Not far now. No need to be a martyr!”

Katie smiled weakly. Sometimes, when the tanks roll in, you just had to stand back and watch.

“There are one or two things you’ve got to understand about Michael, my dear.” Mrs. Mallory paused, as if she didn’t know how to broach the next bit. “You see, poor Michael — I refuse to call him Lord Farrenden; I’ve known him since he was a little boy and he’s only twenty-six now. Anyway, Michael was flying sorties and participating in dogfights — he was a wonderful pilot, by all accounts — when his plane caught fire and … ”

“Oh, ma’am, is he terribly disfigured?” Katie was getting more and more frightened, imagining the worst. Her new employer was a man living alone, which was bad enough. Now, in her mind’s eye, he was some kind of gargoyle, a fearsome sight, ranting incoherently and roaming the corridors of his posh house. On the lookout for young Irish girls, no doubt.

Mrs. Mallory actually laughed at that. “No! He bailed out. He was injured, though, and he won’t fly again. He’s bitter. War does that to people. I’m old enough to have seen it all before, but that would have been before you were born. I should think you’re a bit too young to understand.”

At nineteen, Katie certainly didn’t feel young after everything that had happened to her during the last year, but she bit her tongue. Older people always thought they knew it all already. Or else they must have forgotten all the pain involved in being young, or they wouldn’t hate young people so much for something that they couldn’t do anything about. That was Katie’s theory, anyway.

“He can’t go on rattling around in his empty house mourning the dead,” said Mrs. Mallory, “when we’ve got a trainload of youngsters to find places for by Friday. Everyone else in the village has been approached. Michael can’t pull rank and refuse to help when he has so much and the rest of us have so little. I went in there and had a stern talk with him last week. He only agreed to it when I said I’d find him a girl to help out. He’s only got Mrs. Jessop, now. She comes in to do a bit of cooking and cleaning for him, but she’s nearly seventy if she’s a day. You’ll need to pitch in with the work.”

Katie nodded. She didn’t mind hard work at all, as long as there was a warm kitchen, regular meals and a safe place to sleep at night.

“How do you get on with boys, Katie?”

“I … I beg your pardon?” Katie knew she had begun to blush.

“Boys. Farrenden Manor seemed the ideal place to send boys. So I’m afraid you’re getting a small horde of them. I thought they could run about on the lawn or work off their energy in the woods. There’s good fishing in that river, as long as they’ve got some supervision, or swimming in the lake if the war isn’t over by next summer.”

“That sort of boys, ma’am. No problem at all,” Katie said.

“Excellent. Excellent,” Mrs. Mallory said. “But don’t take any nonsense from them, dear. I’ve had the village hall full of these kids before, and some of them were right little devils. I had to find billets for them all, so I know exactly what to expect. This lot are Londoners, too, so you’ll have to keep a close eye on them.”

Katie nodded.

Finally and suddenly, the house, grand and imposing, stood in the clearing in front of the two travelers. It was breathtaking, a lovely place made of pale gray stone. It was an elegant building with tall windows. Three stories high, with a huge double door, approached by an imposing set of stone steps.

“Oh, but it’s beautiful!” Katie said, indulging in a good long look. “Imagine me, working in a place like that! It’s like a pale gray version of the White House, Mrs. Mallory. Not that I’ve ever seen the White House, of course, only in picture books and the like. But isn’t it grand!”

“All of a sudden you sound so very Irish, my dear,” Mrs. Mallory said, but her face creased into a smile, so Katie knew she didn’t mean it unkindly.

Still, Katie was quite alarmed when the indomitable Mrs. Mallory started marching up the stone steps leading to the great front door.

“I’d feel a lot more comfortable if we went around the back, Mrs. Mallory,” Katie said, and tugged at the older woman’s sleeve. “I’m the hired help.”

“Yes, dear, but I am not, and in all the years I have known the Farrenden family, I have never yet felt so much in awe of them that I couldn’t use the front door.”

She rang the bell.

There was no sign of life from inside the house. Mrs. Mallory frowned.

“I do hope Lizzie Jessop hasn’t gone home. There’s no butler now, more’s the pity. A door like this deserves a butler, doesn’t it?”

“His lordship wouldn’t come to the door himself?” Katie asked in an anxious murmur.

“Not bloody likely,” the older woman said, “but he’ll want to have a look at you, no doubt.”

Katie gulped and glanced down at the scuffed toes of her soaking wet shoes. Instinctively, her hand moved to touch the place where her jacket was missing a button. She fought the urge to tidy her hair in case someone opened the door while she was in the middle of combing it. She knew her auburn curls would be in total disarray. Her heart stuttered when Mrs. Mallory rang the bell for the third time, and it seemed to stop altogether when a stern old woman with gray hair opened the door.

She wore her hair nineteen-thirties style, in a low bun on the nape of her neck. She was a bit of a hatchet-faced thing, and she wore a floral pinafore over her winter skirt and blouse. Mrs. Mallory addressed her as Lizzie, though she seemed far too starchy for a name like that, and Katie got the feeling that “Mrs. Jessop” — murmured in a submissive, deferential tone — would be the very least that was expected from
her
.

The housekeeper turned and studied Katie, giving her one of those up and down appraisals that people sometimes got at difficult job interviews, though Katie had been given to understand that the job was hers if she wanted it.

The housekeeper didn’t seem entirely happy with Katie, but she kept her criticisms to herself. “I’ll let him know you’re here,” she said instead.

She crossed the great square hall with its checkered tiles, and Katie and Mrs. Mallory followed respectfully in her wake.

The old lady knocked at the door of his lordship’s study.

“Come!” he called.

He had a commanding voice, Katie thought, a posh bloke’s voice. The housekeeper went in and crossed the room, but Mrs. Mallory didn’t follow her, so Katie stayed where she was. Peering through the ajar door, Katie was curious to catch a glimpse of her new employer. He was seated at his desk near the fireplace, with his back to her. His hair was fair, and shone gold in the firelight. He looked up to speak to his housekeeper and in profile he had an aristocratic face, with a long Roman nose — the kind that went with the commanding voice — though he looked a little more boyish than she had expected. He wore a gray civilian jacket, very nicely tailored. He was rather slim, from what she could see, and there was no sign at all of an injury or a war wound.

“About bloody time,” she heard him say, “the train must have drawn in at the station over an hour ago.”

Katie tensed. There was something familiar about his voice.

The housekeeper was apologetic. “They walked, your lordship.”

“They should have been met, Jessop. Why didn’t you organize that?”

“I didn’t think it my place, sir, to make that decision … ”

“Not your place! Have you no common sense, woman!”

He’s dreadful, thought Katie. For a man with quite a pleasing appearance, he had the most horribly arrogant and high-handed manner with his housekeeper. He was obviously in the wrong, too. He should have issued proper instructions if he wanted things done a certain way. If his long-time, faithful servant had to put up with that kind of tongue-lashing, what chance was there for her? Katie knew she’d never please him in a thousand years. Mrs. Jessop beckoned them forward, and Katie took a last look at Mrs. Mallory for solidarity before entering the dragon’s lair.

“Try to smile, dear,” Mrs. Mallory whispered, “I promised him I’d find him someone pretty!”

• • •

Michael maneuvered his wheelchair with expert skill. He backed it up about half a yard and then spun it around to face his visitors. He jerked his head up to look at them. He hated having to look
up
at people all the time. It was demeaning for a man who had stood at six foot two, last time he was able to stand. It was as if
they
were very important and he was kneeling at their feet.

“Michael, dear! You look awful,” Mrs. Mallory said.

Michael knew he’d become thinner and paler since the accident, but he had checked his reflection in the mirror just fifteen minutes ago and thought he still had the face of a handsome young flier.

“Thank you so much,” he said in a sour tone, as Mrs. Mallory plonked the suitcase down beside his chair and leaned forward to give him an unwelcome kiss.

“No roses in your cheeks,” she said, pinching them with her fingers as if she could improve them, while Michael shrank back in his chair in disgust.

“Marjory — ”

“And you always look so cross!”

Michael rolled his eyes in annoyance. Mrs. Mallory always treated him as if he was a small boy. She started asking him some rubbish about the house, but he didn’t hear the details because he was too busy staring at the girl. She looked frightened out of her wits. She was very pale, with wide, dark eyes that did nothing to hide her fear. Mrs. Mallory obviously hadn’t warned her about the bloody wheelchair, because she was staring at it as if it might burst into flames, or start careening toward her like Boadicea’s chariot. He gave a little snort of amusement. His hands stayed firmly on the wheels to keep it in place. Some things, at least, were completely under his control.

“Miss Rafferty?”

“Very pleased to meet you, Mr … my lord … ship,” she said uncertainly.

That amused him a little, too. “Have you come all the way from Ireland, today?” he asked. He didn’t care if he sounded laconic. Lords were allowed to be laconic.

She looked at her feet, and a strand of curly auburn hair fell in front of her face. “No, sir. From London, sir.”

“Have we met before? At a dance, or something?”

“No, sir. I don’t believe we have,” she replied.

He didn’t think he was mistaken, but he didn’t challenge her. He noticed the missing button on her little tweed suit, and the way she tried to conceal it with her left hand. He noticed her hands, too. Lily white and very shapely. He suspected her ankles were shapely too, though it was hard to tell because she was wearing such awful, wrinkly stockings.

“The place she was staying was bombed out, Michael,” Mrs. Mallory explained, since it was clear that Katie was keeping her responses as minimal as she dared. “Katie has been living in a Tube station, according to my sister-in-law. She needs alternative accommodation, and we need her help. So here she is.”

“Indeed she is.” Michael appraised her once more. She was still almost quaking with fear, he realized. Surely she was over the initial shock of the meeting a cripple by now? “Why on earth did you leave Ireland, Miss Rafferty? Why didn’t you stay where there isn’t a war?”

“For heaven’s sake, Michael, where are your manners?” Mrs. Mallory scolded. “We need a hot drink, if not something stronger, and Katie needs to know where she will be sleeping.”

“The attic would be absolutely fine,” Katie announced, a little too fast.

Michael raised an eyebrow.

Katie gave a nervous laugh. “Then I won’t be disturbing anyone with my Hail Marys.” She turned to Mrs. Mallory, as if she was silently asking for her help.

“Miss Rafferty is very anxious not to get under your feet,” the older woman explained, “until the children arrive on Friday.”

“I see,” Michael said, though he wasn’t sure that he
did
see.

“She comes from a very respectable family, Michael, and she is very young.”

“I can see that. I almost thought she was one of the bloody evacuees when she first arrived.” Michael noticed that Katie colored up a little at his blunt remark.

“Yes, she’s young and far from home,” Mrs. Mallory said, “and she hasn’t worked for anyone but her own mother before, helping out with her brothers and sisters. So, she needs to know that you wouldn’t compromise her in any way, Michael.”

Michael stared back in disbelief, but apparently Mrs. Mallory was quite serious. Her face didn’t flinch. She was a marvelous ambassador for the WRVS, with her unbreakable spirit and her undentable hat, but she was a real pain in the neck as far as Michael was concerned. She sat, stately and imposing in her enormous dark blue uniform, waiting for his reply.

Michael felt a flash of anger. “How very kind you are, Marjory,” he said in a hostile voice. “How amusing to suggest that I might be able to compromise a woman, now that I’m stuck in this thing.”

• • •

Katie knew her face was scarlet with embarrassment. Surely this wasn’t the way it was meant to go when a girl met her new employer. If that’s how he spoke to Mrs. Mallory, she dreaded what he might say to her next. She hoped, desperately, that he wouldn’t ask her any more questions about where they had met before. She couldn’t — she wouldn’t — think about that night. Then Mrs. Jessop came in with a tray of tea, although she hadn’t been summoned.

Mrs. Mallory clapped her hands in delight. “Look Katie, there’s a lovely fruitcake, too! Now isn’t that a welcome sight after all the shortages in London?” Mrs. Mallory removed her hat as if to indicate that a more relaxed mood would be appreciated. She reached for the teapot. “Shall I be mother?”