Mistress of Elvan Hall (8 page)

“I’m feeling unwell again,” Mrs. Wyatt said peevishly. “That girl upsets me, and Helen is going out again with that strange man. If he’s a proper person for her to associate with, then he should be calling here for her, not ringing her up and asking her to meet him in Carlisle.”

This time Anne was in complete agreement with her mother-in-law.

“Surely Helen has sense enough to judge people she meets, and to recognise if they’re worthwhile or not, she said slowly. “I mean, a girl of her age...
”

In other words, I should have brought her up better able to choose her friends,” said Mrs. Wyatt dryly, and Anne flushed again. The thought
had
crossed her mind.

“We can only be taught to recognise good value, then left to find it ourselves,” she said defensively.

“And you found it?”

“Yes.”

Anne’s tone was emphatic, and there was an unreadable gleam in the older woman’s eyes.

“Then you’ve nothing to worry about, have you?” she asked blandly, and Anne hesitated, feeling slightly at a loss. Her efforts at having it out with her mother in-law seemed to have accomplished nothing. They were just different kinds of people and Anne visualised the years ahead when she would have to keep fighting for what she considered to be right for Elvan Hall.

Her hand caressed the beautiful wood on the banister rail as she descended the stairs, the smell of paint and turpentine from the drawing room making her heartsick with frustration and disappointment. Would the men succeed in undoing the damage before Francis got home? She had been so looking forward to the room being completely finished, and she had visualised just how she would arrange it by altering the position of several small items, and placing bowls of flowers, which she had learned to arrange while she still lived at the Manse.

But now she felt worried in case the panelling would never look the same again. Luckily very little had been painted so far, and could, perhaps, be hidden with an item of furniture. Nevertheless there was no disguising the fact that the patina was going to be spoiled.

CHAPTER SIX

ANNE felt a headache coming on as she made for the small morning room, where Caroline would no doubt be packing up, ready to go home. She would just check up on the work she had already done.

But as Anne rounded the corridor at the foot of the stairs, she heard the sound of voices, and a moment later she was looking along the corridor to where Francis stood, the morning-room door open, as well as the drawing-room door opposite.

Anne’s heart turned to ice at the expression on his face, and she could hear Caroline’s light voice greeting him half-fearfully, then Francis closed the door with a sharp click and strode towards her down the corridor, his dark eyes flashing in his white face, his mouth grim with compressed lips.

“Francis?” she said nervously, then felt a lump catching her throat. “Oh, Francis! I’m so glad to see you.”

For a moment he wavered, catching her to him and kissing her. Then the fury was back in him.

“I’ve no doubt, and I shall be very glad of a word with you, Anne. In here.”

He propelled her into the study, and shut the door, before turning her to face him, his fingers biting into her arm.

“Can you please explain why some of our lovely old wood panelling is being painted, and why you thought fit to invite Caroline Cook to this house?”

“I ... I didn’t expect you home so soon,” she stammered.

“Obviously.”

“I
... I ... it was a mistake ... about the panelling, I mean.”

“I’m glad to hear it!”

She bit her lip at the granite-like expression on his face. How could she talk to him when he was so hard in his anger that his ears were closed to reasons and explanations? Besides, how could she blame it on Mrs. Wyatt, when she had been left in charge?

“Obviously whatever I say won’t make any difference, Francis,” she said quietly. “You aren’t in the mood to listen to reason.”

“Beautiful panelling spoilt and you expect me to listen to reason! I left you here in charge as my wife. I thought I could trust you to carry out my wishes because they were
your
wishes, too, but instead ... instead...”

He choked on his anger, and she felt waves of sickness pass over her as she tried to keep her wits about her. She couldn’t blame him for his rage. Her own feelings had been almost as intense, though her natural desire to seek for explanations had made her understand, and had tempered her own anger and disappointment. Francis had nothing with which to lessen his.

“I can only say I stopped the work immediately I found out, and the men are going to clean off what has already been done.”

“They will not lay a finger on it!” shouted Francis. “They could cause as much ruin undoing their charming handiwork as they’ve caused in the first place. No, I shall have someone who knows something about it here as soon as possible. It will probably cost me a fortune!”

Her legs were trembling, and he pushed forward a chair, saying rather more gently: “Sit down, Anne. And Caroline Cook? Why is she here?”

“To mend the tapestries and chair-covers, of course. All the old embroidered items such as pictures, panels, bedspreads. Didn’t you know she had qualified in embroidery at university, and she’s about to do a post-graduate course?”

He nodded. “Of course I knew. If I’d wanted Caroline to do work, I’d have asked her myself.”

“Then why didn’t you?” she asked, slow anger beginning to burn. He had been away for several weeks, but instead of being pleased to see her, he was giving her nothing but censure. Maybe she hadn’t got his love, but she was his wife and surely entitled to some sort of affection. Instead, all he could do was criticise, without even trying to find out how far responsible she was for these mistakes.

“Why...
?”

“Didn’t you? You must have known this work had to be done. It seems eminently sensible to me to ask this girl to do this work, when she lives nearby and is a friend of Helen’s. I’ve seen samples of her work, and she’s well qualified to do it. Surely it’s perfectly natural for me to ask her, and I’m at a loss to understand your anger.”

“You know nothing about it,” he told her, his eyes flashing.

“Obviously. Do you want to tell me or shall I guess? Can it be that you’re in love with her? Can it be that you regret not having her here permanently, instead of me?”

She stood up and faced him, her chin high and her eyes flashing as angrily as his own. For a long moment their eyes met, and she saw him struggling with some sort of strong emotion as he gripped her hands, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her fiercely, almost bruising her in his arms.

“There! Is that how I should welcome you?” he asked.. “Is that better?”

Again Anne felt a wave of sickness pass over her as she fought against the threatening tears.

“No, Francis,” she said quietly. “No, that isn’t the welcome I expected. I shall instruct Mrs. Hansett to prepare something for you if you need a meal, then ... then I shall unpack for you. I’ll see that Caroline leaves in the morning.”

“Oh, don’t trouble,” he told her wearily. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. She can stay and finish the job. You undertook to engage her, so we’ll both honour that contract. As for a meal, I need none. I have work to do here at the desk.”

“Very well. I’ll leave you to get on with it. Perhaps we can discuss things further tomorrow?”

He drew a hand across his forehead.

“There’s nothing to discuss. I shall have the panelling put right. I shall also hire another firm of decorators who don’t employ charlatans. I...
”
he looked at her
.
“I can no doubt guess as to how it happened, and I look to you to see that nothing further goes wrong. No doubt you’ll be rather more vigilant from now on, but I expect you to oversee the rest of the work.
You
are the mistress here, not ... not...
”
His voice trailed off. “My mother,” he muttered.

Anne left, a heavy dullness in her eyes. She was mistress here, but she wasn’t his wife. She was being asked to love an empty shell. Slowly she climbed the stairs and went into the large bedroom they shared, then on impulse she removed her immediate necessities to the small room she used as a dressing room next door. It had a small bed in it, which, she understood, had been put there for the use of a nurse when Henry Wyatt had been so ill. It was quite big enough for her, and she sat down on it, her heart bruised and aching. She loved Francis, but she refused to share his bed while he regarded her as part of the fitments.

Perhaps he had cared for her a little, but anger and disappointment at her incompetence had soon dispelled that. He didn’t really need a wife, she told herself bitterly. He only needed someone in whom he had vested the authority to run his home.

She was already in bed, but far from being asleep, when he came up that night. She heard him pause as he entered their bedroom, then cross the room quickly to open the door of the dressing room.

She lay still, her heart pounding loud enough for him to hear, then after what seemed a lifetime, while he looked on her still form, he walked back out and closed the door with a sharp click.

It was then that the tears came, and Anne allowed them to soak her pillow, feeling that she would weep her heart out. What would tomorrow bring? she wondered. And a lifetime of tomorrows? How could she bear this house which offered her everything, except love?

Next day Francis had recovered a little from his initial rage and greeted Anne quietly, a rather carefully searching look in his eyes as he looked at her. A glance in the mirror that morning had told her that she wasn’t at her best, and that her storm of weeping had given her shadowed eyes in a pale face.

“I trust you ... slept well?” Francis said rather heavily, and her chin lifted.

“Thank you, I slept comfortably,” she returned evenly.

Helen joined them for breakfast, her eyes speculative as she sensed the withdrawn atmosphere between them.

“The drawing room is rather a mess,” she said mischievously.

“It surprises me that you didn’t anticipate something of the kind, Helen,” said Francis bitingly. “You must have known Mother had this in mind.”

“You didn’t leave
me
in charge,” said Helen pointedly, “and anyway, I’ve enough to do with Goldie. She’s caught a cold. Peter and I have been worried stiff about her.”

But not enough to keep her from going out with Roger Baxter, thought Anne, then felt ashamed of herself. David Mellor, the young groom, was no doubt thoroughly reliable and competent, and Helen could leave her precious horses in his charge with a completely free mind. Peter Birkett, the young vet, was also very responsible, and wouldn’t let the horse be neglected.

“Caroline will be here soon,” said Helen, glancing at the clock, then at Francis from under lowered lids. “She’s making a marvellous job of all our old tapestries. She at least has a reverence for old treasures, and does her best to restore them.”

There was no mistaking her meaning and Anne felt a rush of anger against Helen. It was as though she were pointing out clearly to Francis that Caroline Cook would have been a better choice to leave in charge of Elvan Hall than she had been.

A moment later the door of the small room opened, and Caroline poked her head in. Anne felt surprised as Caroline had never before interrupted breakfast if they were a little late.

“Oh ... oh, sorry,” she said, confused, and began to withdraw uncertainly.

“No, come in, Caroline,” called Helen. “Like a cup of coffee?”

“I .
.. I was just about to start work,” the girl began, then immediately accepted the coffee, sitting down in a vacant chair.

This morning she looked as perfectly lovely as a miniature, her face delicately made up and her lovely hair brushed until it shone like silk. Anne was even more conscious of her own rather plain appearance. She glanced at Francis and saw that he was looking at Caroline and that the tight look was back on his mouth, as though he had to make a conscious effort to control his feelings for her.

“I love doing the tapestries, Francis,” she was saying softly. “They’re so beautiful, so well worth saving.”

“Yes,” he agreed stiffly.

She flushed and lowered her eyelids, and Anne again felt the sickness of jealousy.

“She does love him,” she thought miserably, “and how could he help loving someone so pretty? She’s like a piece of Dresden china.”

“I used to think how interesting they were when you used to show them to me,” Caroline went on bravely, because his face had darkened. “In fact, I’m sure it’s because of seeing all that lovely work that I took up embroidery in the first place. The designs are so marvellous. I’ve used part of the design in one of your old Persian rugs for a panel I did at Christmas. Would you like to see it some time?”

The small vivid face was eager, and Anne couldn’t help her own interest.

“I’d love to see that,” she assured Caroline, then turned uncertainly to Francis.

“I’ll bring it tomorrow,” the girl was saying. “If ... if that’s all right.”

“That’s perfectly all right,” he said stiffly. “My wife will be most interested to see it, I’m sure.”

Anne heard the faint emphasis on the word “wife” and her eyes flew to Caroline, seeing the colour leave the girl’s face. As their eyes met, she could see how much the other girl had been hurt, and how much she still loved Francis. She felt an outsider suddenly, as though she were standing outside a circle which had been shattered and the pieces repaired haphazardly.

Francis was standing up, throwing his napkin down carelessly on the table.

“I have to leave for Carlisle as soon as possible,” he told Anne, “but first of all I want to speak to my mother. I’ll go up to her room now. I ...
”
he hesitated as he strode towards the door, “I’d like to see you, too, Anne, before I leave.”

“Very well, Francis,” she said quietly. Caroline, too, was on her feet and excusing herself in order to start work in the morning room.

“What have you done to Francis, Anne darling?” asked Helen, the mischief back in her eyes, as she drank the last of her coffee.

“What do you mean?” she defended.

“He’s even more of a bear than ever, yet once he...
”

“Once he what?”

“Was such a darling,” said Helen, with a sigh. “He was so sweet-tempered, and he wouldn’t have dreamed of crossing Mummy. Though, of course, Daddy was here to make himself responsible for the place. And he and Caroline were so sweet together, a real boy and girl affair, though he was quite a bit older. He used to look after her as though she were a precious ornament of some kind, or one of his delicate wild creatures which needed protection. But now he’s so unpredictable, as though he’s been hurt, and is bent on taking it out of us all.”

“He has heavy responsibilities,” said Anne stiffly. “He holds down a difficult job.”

“You should know, darling, since you were some sort of typist to him.”

“I was his secretary.”

“Of course.”

Helen buttoned up her jacket.

“Are you and he terribly in love, Anne?” she asked casually. “I thought I knew about love, but you two!”

“What do you mean?” asked Anne,
scarlet cheeked
.

“You could be married for years and years, you’re so casual with one another. Now Roger and I...
”

“It’s serious, then?” asked Anne quickly. “You and Mr. Baxter, I mean?”

“Don’t change the subject. We’re talking about you and Francis.”

“I don’t want to discuss my relationship with Francis.”

“Nor I mine with Roger,” said Helen softly, her eyes dancing.

“But if you’re serious, then why don’t you bring him home?” asked Anne quickly. “I’m sure Francis and ... and your mother will want to meet him.”

“Francis didn’t bring you home,” said Helen equably. “Yet I’m sure Mother and I would like to have met you too ... before you were married.”

“You were invited to the wedding,” said Anne.

“To see Francis marrying a stranger? Would you have gone in our place?”

Anne slowly shook her head. But the wedding hadn’t been of her arranging. It had been Francis who wanted it that way.

“Was he making sure of you ... or of himself?” asked Helen. “I could understand a hurried engagement, but not a hurried wedding ... not with Francis.”

No doubt from Helen’s point of view, the hurried engagement would have been designed to show how much less suitable she was than Caroline. It would have been to win Mrs. Wyatt’s approval ... for Caroline!

But Francis had decided on marriage. Had that been ill-considered? Was he, even now, regretting it now that he had seen Caroline here in his own home again?

Anne was left alone to think about it, as Helen left the dining table. A moment later Mrs. Hansett appeared, and Anne helped her to clear the table on to the trolley. Upstairs the bedroom door had not been closed properly and Anne could hear the swift even tones of Francis’ voice, interspersed with shrill comments from his mother.

A moment later they heard the bedroom door slam and Francis’ quick footsteps on the stairs.

“I’ll see to these, ma’am,” said the housekeeper, as she began to wheel away the trolley. “I think Mr. Francis wants a word with you.”

Anne nodded, and walked towards the study where Francis appeared a moment later.

“I have someone coming to do the panel in two days’ time,” he told her briskly. “He’s an expert on restoring old wood carvings. He may have to do the job over several days.”

“Oh, good,” said Anne, with relief. “That’s splendid.”

Francis rubbed a hand wearily over his face, and Anne had a sudden almost irresistible desire to run to him and put her arms round his neck to comfort him. But the thought of a rebuff kept her sitting still, well away from him, listening politely.