Seven for a Secret (7 page)

“I don’t mind,” said Tamarisk ungraciously.

“Very well. We’ll have a little tea-party.”

Aunt Sophie was amused when I told her.

“You ought to see something more of the house than that old schoolroom,” she commented.

“It’s worth a bit of attention. I’m glad you and Miss Lloyd are friends. Sensible woman. She realizes how much cleverer you are than the others.”

“Perhaps I’m not so handsome but I learn more quickly.”

“Nonsense. I mean nonsense to the first and true to the second. Hold your head high, my dear. Think well of yourself and others will too.”

So I went to the tea-party. There were dainty sandwiches and delicious cherry cake; and Miss Lloyd said that, as the hostess, Tamarisk should entertain us.

Tamarisk made a familiar gesture of indifference and behaved just as usual.

Miss Lloyd had apparently asked Mrs. St. Aubyn, who, it transpired.

Tamarisk visited at four-thirty on those days when her mother was well enough to see her, if she would like to meet the girls who shared her daughter’s lessons. To Miss Lloyd’s surprise, she had agreed to do this, providing that, when the time came, she felt well enough and they did not stay too long.

Thus it was that 1 met the lady of the house the mother of Tamarisk and Crispin.

Miss Lloyd ushered us in and we hovered.

Mrs. St. Aubyn was clad in a negligee of mauve chiffon with lace and ribbons decorating it. She was lying on a sofa with a table beside it on which was a box of fondants. She was rather plump but seemed very beautiful with her golden hair the same colour as Tamarisk’s piled high

on her head. There was a diamond pendant about her throat and the same gems glittered on her fingers.

She looked languidly at us and her eyes alighted on me.

“This is Frederica, Mrs. St. Aubyn,” said Miss Lloyd.

“Miss Cardingham’s niece.”

She signed for me to come closer.

“Your mother is an invalid, I heard,” she said.

“Yes.”

She nodded: “I understand … I understand full well. She is in a nursing home, I believe.”

I said she was.

She sighed.

“That is sad, poor child. You must tell me about it.”

I was about to speak when she added: “One day … when I feel stronger.”

Miss Lloyd laid her hand on my shoulder and drew me away, and 1 realized that Mrs. St. Aubyn’s interest had been in my mother’s illness rather than in me.

I wanted then to get out of the room and so it seemed did Miss Lloyd, for she said: “You must not tire yourself, Mrs. St. Aubyn.”

And Mrs. St. Aubyn nodded with an air of resignation.

“This is Rachel,” said Miss Lloyd, ‘and she and Frederica are very good friends. “

“How nice.”

“They are good girls. Tamarisk, say goodbye to your mother … and you, girls.”

We all did so with some relief.

I thought what a strange family this was. Mrs. St. Aubyn was not in the least like her son or daughter. I remembered Aunt Sophie’s saying that she had lived very merrily and had not really cared about anything except enjoying life. It must be very different for her now. But it occurred to me that she might enjoy being an invalid and lying on a couch dressed in chiffon and lace.

People were very strange.

Tamarisk and I were becoming quite friendly in a somewhat belligerent way. She was always trying to get the better of me, and to tell the truth I rather enjoyed it. She had more respect for me than she had for Rachel and when I contradicted her, which I did frequently, she enjoyed the verbal battles between us. She was faintly contemptuous of Rachel and pretended to be of me, but I think that in a way she admired me.

Sometimes in the afternoons we used to walk together on the St. Aubyn estate which was very extensive. She liked to show her superior knowledge by pointing out the landmarks. It was in this way that I visited Flora and Lucy Lane.

They lived in a cottage not far from St. Aubyn’s and had both been nurses to Crispin, she told me.

“People always love their old nannies,” she went on, ‘particularly if their mothers and fathers don’t take much notice of them. I like old Nanny Compton quite a bit, though she fusses and is always saying “Don’t do that.” Crispin thinks a lot of Lucy Lane. What a funny name!

Sounds like a street. I suppose he doesn’t remember Flora. He had her first, you see, and she went all funny. Then Lucy took over. He looks after them both. Makes sure they’re all right. You wouldn’t expect Crispin to bother, would you? “

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I’ve never really met him.”

There was a cold note in my voice which was there whenever I said his name, which was not often, of course. I would recall his voice when I thought of him asking who was the plain child.

“Well, they live in this cottage. I might have had Lucy for my nurse, but she had left us when I was born to look after her sister because their mother had died. Flora had to be looked after. She does odd things.”

“What sort of things?”

“She carries a doll round with her and thinks it’s a baby. She sings to it. I’ve heard her. She sits in the garden at the

back of the cottage near the old mulberry bush and talks to it. Lucy doesn’t like people talking to her. She says it upsets her. We could call on them and you could see her. “

“Would they want us to?”

“What does that matter? They’re on the estate, aren’t they?”

“It’s their home and, as your brother nobly gave it to them, perhaps they should have their privacy respected.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” mocked Tamarisk.

“I’m going anyway.”

And I could not resist going with her.

The cottage stood alone. There was a small garden in the front.

Tamarisk opened the gate and went up the path. I followed.

“Anyone at home?” she shouted.

A woman came to the door. I knew at once that she was Miss Lucy Lane.

Her hair was going grey and she had an anxious expression which looked as though it might be perpetual. She was neatly dressed in a grey blouse and skirt.

“I’ve brought Frederica Hammond to see you,” said Tamarisk.

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Lucy Lane.

“Come in.”

We went into a small hall and through to a small, neat, highly polished sitting-room.

“So you’re the new pupil up at the House,” said Miss Lucy Lane to me.

“Miss Cardingham’s niece.”

“Yes,” I replied.

“And taking lessons with Miss Tamarisk. That’s nice.”

We sat down.

“And how is Flora today?” asked Tamarisk, who was disappointed because she wasn’t there for me to see.

“She’s in her room. I won’t disturb her. And how are you liking Harper’s Green, miss?”

“It’s very pleasant,” I told her.

“And your poor mama … she’s ill, 1 understand.”

I said that was so and half-expected her to say “That’s nice.” But she said unexpectedly: “Oh … life can be hard.” Tamarisk was getting bored.

“I was wondering if we could say hello to Flora,” she said.

Lucy Lane looked dismayed. I was sure she was preparing to say this was not possible when, to her dismay, and Tamarisk’s delight, the door opened and a woman stood on the threshold of the room.

There was a faint resemblance to Lucy and I knew this must be Flora;

but where Lucy had a look of extreme alertness. Flora’s large bewildered eyes gave the impression she was trying to see something which was beyond her vision. In her arms she carried a doll. There was something very disturbing about a middleaged woman carrying a doll in such a way.

“Hello, Flora,” said Tamarisk.

“I’ve come to see you and this is Fred Hammond. She’s a girl but with a name like that you might not think so.” She giggled a little.

I said: “My name is Frederica. Frederica Hammond.”

Flora nodded, looking from Tamarisk to me.

“Fred has lessons with us,” went on Tamarisk.

“Would you like to go back to your room. Flora?” asked Lucy anxiously.

Flora shook her head. She looked down at the doll.

“He’s fretful today,” she said.

“Teething.”

“It’s a little boy, is it?” said Tamarisk.

Flora sat down, laying the doll on her lap. She gazed down at it tenderly.

“Isn’t it time he had his nap?” asked Lucy.

“Come. Let’s go up. Excuse me,” she said to us.

And laying her hand firmly on Flora’s arm, she led her away.

Tamarisk looked at me and tapped the side of her head.

“I told you so,” she whispered.

“She’s batty. Lucy tries to make out she’s not so bad … but she really is off her head.”

“Poor woman!” I said.

“It must be sad for them both. 1 think we ought to go. They don’t want us here. We shouldn’t have come.”

“All right,” said Tamarisk.

“I just wanted you to see Flora.”

“We’ll have to wait until Lucy comes back and then we’ll leave.”

Which was what we did.

As we walked away. Tamarisk said: “What did you think?”

“It’s very sad. The elder sister she is the elder, isn’t she Lucy, I mean?” Tamarisk nodded.

“She is really worried about the mad one.

How awful really, to believe that doll is a baby. “

“She thinks it is Crispin … only Crispin when he was a baby!”

“I wonder what made her go like that?”

“I never thought of that. It’s years and years since Crispin was a baby, and after Flora went funny, Lucy took him over he was still only a baby then. Then he went away to school when he was about nine.

He always liked old Lucy. Her father used to be one of the gardeners and they had the cottage because of that. He died before Lucy came back here. First of all she was working somewhere in the North. Their mother stayed in the cottage when the father died and Lucy came back.

Well, that’s what I’ve heard and soon after that Flora went batty and Lucy became Crispin’s nurse. “

“It is good of Crispin to let them stay in the cottage now neither of them work for St. Aubyn’s.”

“He likes Lucy. I told you, she was his nanny and most j people are like that about their nannies.” ;

As we walked back I could not stop thinking about the strange woman and her doll which she thought was the baby Crispin.

It was hard to think of that arrogant man as a baby.

In Barrow Wood

My fellow pupils had been to tea at The Rowans and at St. Aubyn’s. Then we were invited to the Bell House. Tamarisk found an excuse for being unable to go and consequently I was the only guest.

When I entered the front garden I felt a twinge of uneasiness. I passed the wooden seat where I had sat that day when I was waiting for Rachel, and her uncle had talked to me. I hoped he would not be there today.

I rang the bell and a maid opened the door.

“You’re the young lady for Miss Rachel,” she said.

“Come in.”

I was taken through the hall to a room with mullioned windows which looked out on a lawn. The curtains were thick and dark, shutting out much of the light. I immediately noticed the picture of the Crucifixion on the wall. It shocked me because it was so realistic. I could distinctly see the nails in the hands and feet and the red blood which dripped from them. It horrified me and I could not bear to look at it. There was another picture, of a saint, I presumed, because there was a halo above his head:

he was pierced with arrows. There was yet another of a man tied to a stake. He was standing in water and 1 realized that his fate would be to drown slowly as the tide rose. The cruelty of men seemed to be the theme of all these pictures. They made me shudder. It occurred to me that this room had been made dark and sombre by Mr. Dorian.

Rachel came in. Her face lit up at the sight of me.

“I’m glad Tamarisk didn’t come,” she said.

“She makes fun of everything.”

“You don’t want to take any notice of her,” I said.

“I don’t want to but I do,” replied Rachel.

“We’re going to have tea here. My aunt is coming to meet you.”

Not the uncle, I hoped.

Rachel’s Aunt Hilda came in then. She was tall and rather angular. Her hair was drawn back tightly from her face which ought to have made her look severe, but it did not. She looked apprehensive, vulnerable. She was very different from the uncle who looked so sure that he was always right and so good.

“Aunt Hilda,” said Rachel, ‘this is Frederica. “

“How are you?” said Aunt Hilda, taking my hand in her cold one.

“Rachel tells me you and she have become good friends. It is good of you to come and visit us. We’ll have tea now.”

It was brought by the maid who had let me in. There was bread and butter, scones and seed cake.

“We always say grace before any meal in this house,” Aunt Hilda told me. She spoke as though she were repeating a lesson.

The grace was long, expressing the gratitude of miserable sinners for benefits received.

When she had served tea. Aunt Hilda asked me questions about my mother and how I was fitting into life in Harper’s Green.

It was rather dull compared with tea at St. Aubyn’s. 1 wished that Tamarisk had been with us, for, although she could be quite rude at times, at least she was lively.

To my dismay, just as we were finishing tea, Mr. Dorian came in.

He surveyed us with interest and I was aware that his eyes rested on me.

“Ah,” he said.

“A tea-party.”

I thought Aunt Hilda looked a little guilty, as though she were caught indulging in some bacchanalian feast; but he was not angry. He stood rubbing his hands together. They must have been very dry because they made a faint rasping noise which I found repulsive. He continued to look at me.

“I suppose you are just about the same age as my niece,” he said.

“I am thirteen.”

“A child still. On the threshold of life. You will find that life is full of pitfalls, my dear. You will have to be on guard against the Devil and all his wiles.”

We had left the table and I was seated on a sofa. He took a place beside me and moved close to me.

“Do you say your prayers every night, my dear?” he asked.