Katherine Wentworth (The Marriage of Katherine Book 1)

by D. E. Stevenson

  ‘It sounds very mysterious,’ said Mr. Maclaren.

  ‘It isn’t,’ I told him. ‘I was one of the crowd, that’s all.’

  ‘It was at Dinwell,’ put in Zilla. ‘You came with Father and Mother to watch a cricket match and you were very high-hat about the whole thing—strolled about with your nose in the air. Didn’t he, Kit?’

  ‘Oh well, it was natural,’ I said uncomfortably. ‘You couldn’t expect him to take any interest in a girls’ cricket match. We all understood that.’

  Mr. Maclaren had sat down by this time. He said, ‘I seem to have behaved very badly. Will you forgive me and let bygones be bygones, Miss—er—er. Zilla, why on earth didn’t you introduce us properly?’

  ‘Oh, I thought you knew,’ said Zilla. ‘She used to be Kit Loudon, but she’s married now, of course. I shall have to make fresh tea for you, Alec. This won’t be worth drinking.’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ he said quickly. ‘Please don’t bother, Zilla. I don’t really want any tea.’

  Zilla took no notice; she rose and went away.

  There was a slightly uncomfortable silence after she had gone. The introduction—if you could call it that—had been made ungraciously and was incomplete. I was wondering if I should tell him my name when the silence was broken.

  ‘Do you still play cricket?’ asked Mr. Maclaren politely.

  I laughed involuntarily. ‘Goodness, no! At least I hadn’t played cricket—or thought of it—until last year. Then I had to, because of Simon. He wanted some coaching in the Easter holidays, but I couldn’t afford proper lessons so I had to do something about it myself. I found I could still bowl quite reasonably enough to give him a little practice and he got into his house eleven, which was what he wanted.’

  ‘Excellent! Simon is your young brother, I suppose?’

  ‘No, my stepson. This year he’s hoping to get into the first eleven, but I’m afraid it’s doubtful. My bowling won’t be much good to him now.’

  ‘Why not?’

  I smiled and replied, ‘Because he’s too big and clever. It’s the same with chess. I taught him to play but now he can beat me hollow.’

  Mr. Maclaren smiled too. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said. ‘It’s slightly galling when that happens, but of course one can always bolster up one’s self-esteem by the reflection that one has been a very good instructor.’

  This idea was new to me. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that. I’m just pleased, that’s all. You see, Simon’s father died, so I’ve had to try . . .’ I stopped suddenly. It was quite ridiculous to talk like this to a complete stranger.

  ‘I see,’ said Mr. Maclaren thoughtfully.

  There was another short silence.

  ‘This is a lovely garden,’ I said at last.

  ‘I’m fond of it,’ he admitted, almost apologetically. ‘It was a dull sort of garden when I bought the place, with beds of flowers cutting up the lawn, and a shrubbery—mostly laurels. What I wanted was a big expanse of lawn and flowering shrubs and herbaceous borders—lots of colour! And I made a rockery over there in the corner. It was a big job and it took several years. Gardeners have to be patient, especially in this part of the world.’

  ‘You mean things don’t grow very well?’

  ‘They grow quite well, but they take their time about it.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I told him. ‘It’s so peaceful.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, I like pottering round in the evenings after a day in the office. It’s a rest and a refreshment. I have a man twice a week to keep it tidy but I do all the planning. Would you like to walk round and have a look at it, Mrs.—er——’

  ‘Wentworth,’ I said, smiling at him. ‘Yes, I’ve been longing to walk round your garden but I’m afraid I haven’t time. My bus goes at six.’

  ‘I could easily run you home later.’

  ‘Oh no, why should you bother?’ I rose as I spoke and added, ‘I’m afraid I shall have to go now, Mr. Maclaren. I don’t want to miss the bus.’

  ‘Won’t you let me take you home in the car?’

  ‘No, really——’

  ‘It wouldn’t take ten minutes——’

  We were standing there, arguing about it, when Zilla returned with the tea.

  ‘Zilla!’ exclaimed Mr. Maclaren. ‘Do persuade Mrs. Wentworth to stay. I’ve been telling her that I can take her home later.’

  ‘You can’t,’ said Zilla firmly. ‘The Carews are coming for drinks. Kit can easily go home in the bus. We arranged that.’

  ‘Blow the Carews!’ said Alec Maclaren sotto voce.

  ‘Here’s your tea, Alec,’ added Zilla. ‘You had better sit down and drink it while it’s hot.’

  Zilla walked to the gate with me to see me off. ‘He’s so selfish,’ she complained. ‘He didn’t even thank me for making fresh tea . . . and the Carews are my friends. If they were his friends it would be a very different story. You heard what he said about them, didn’t you?’

  ‘He didn’t mean it, Zilla.’

  ‘He did,’ she declared. ‘He doesn’t like them coming to the house because they’re my friends—not his. Last time they came he was annoyed because he said they stayed too long and we had dinner a little later than usual. The Carews are so gay and friendly. You’d like them, Kit. I must arrange for you to meet them. . . .’

  ‘Zilla,’ I said desperately, ‘did you really mean it—about the cottage?’

  ‘Of course I meant it,’ replied Zilla, laughing. ‘What an old goose you are!’

  As I went home in the bus I thought a lot about Zilla. It seemed sad that she couldn’t settle down and be happy in that lovely house. I felt puzzled about her; she was such a queer mixture. I didn’t like the way she treated her brother, and I had been annoyed with her for her curiosity in my affairs, but it was extremely kind and generous to offer me the cottage. I wondered if it were big enough—whether we could all fit in—and just how ‘primitive’ it was. Perhaps there was no bathroom! Could I bear it if there were no bathroom? I decided not to mention the cottage to the children until it was settled.

  It was not until I got home that I found I had lost my scarf. This was a major disaster for it was a very pretty one and quite new. I tried to remember where I had left it, but I couldn’t be sure. If it was at Zilla’s she would keep it for me, but if I had left it in the bus it was unlikely that I should ever see it again.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning was dull and rainy. I got the children off to school as usual and then decided to clean the kitchen cupboard (the task had been on my mind for weeks). Clad in a faded overall with my hair tied up in a duster I set to work without delay. The glass and china dishes had been taken out and washed, the shelves scrubbed; it only remained to put back the dishes—and I was thinking longingly of a cup of coffee—when the door-bell rang.

  It was sure to be Aunt Liz; she often dropped in at eleven for a cup of coffee . . . but it was not Aunt Liz, it was Mr. Maclaren.

  ‘I’ve brought your scarf,’ he said, handing me a little parcel. ‘Zilla thought you might want it.’

  ‘How kind of you! I was afraid I’d lost it. Won’t you come in?’

  ‘Well, just for a minute—if it wouldn’t be a bother,’ he replied.

  It was a bother, of course. I was dirty and untidy and I wanted to finish the cupboard, but it was my own fault for asking him. To tell the truth I had been certain he would refuse. It just showed that you should never offer an invitation unless you really meant it!

  ‘Yes, do come in,’ I said as warmly as I could. ‘I was just going to make coffee. You’d like a cup, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Wentworth.’

  Fortunately the sitting-room was tidy so I left him there and went to get the coffee, wash my hands and take the duster off my head. When I returned with the tray he was standing at the window, looking out.

  ‘You’ve got a beautiful view,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I love it—and it always looks different. I l
ike it best when there’s a slight haze and the Fife hills are a misty blue. You can’t see them at all to-day.’

  ‘I can imagine them, which is almost as good. Shall I move the table for you?’

  ‘Yes, and pull in that chair.’

  We sat down together and chatted. I asked him about his work and he seemed pleased to talk about it; he told me he was a W.S., a junior partner in a well-known Edinburgh firm of lawyers.

  ‘Zilla wants me to retire,’ he said. ‘But what on earth would I do with myself? Besides I enjoy the work, it’s interesting and rewarding, and I want to get on and make good. Do you think it wrong to be ambitious?’

  ‘No, indeed I don’t! People aren’t much good unless they’re ambitious. Zilla would be annoyed with me for saying so, but honestly I think it would be a great mistake to retire. Time enough to think of that when you’re twice your present age.’

  He smiled and said, ‘Yes, Zilla would be annoyed. She doesn’t like Edinburgh, you see. Do you like living here?’

  I said I did—and explained that I had lived here most of my life. I found myself telling him about Oxford. He seemed interested.

  Presently he said rather diffidently, ‘I expect you’re wondering why I’ve come, Mrs. Wentworth.’

  ‘To bring my scarf,’ I suggested.

  ‘Yes, of course—but I could have sent the office-boy with your scarf. Zilla said I was to send the boy.’ He paused and then continued. ‘The fact is I wanted to see you and talk to you about Simon.’

  ‘About Simon?’ I echoed in surprise.

  ‘Yes. Perhaps I could give him some coaching in the Easter holidays. I don’t play cricket now—I haven’t time—but I still belong to the club so I could take him down there in the evenings and we could have a bit of practice at the nets.’

  ‘How kind of you to think of it! But wouldn’t it be a most awful bother?’

  He smiled and said, ‘No, it would amuse me to do it—if you think it would be any good.’

  ‘Any good! It would be splendid. You see, he’s really keen and I’ve been wondering what I could do about it.’

  ‘Well, we’ll consider it fixed—if Simon approves.’

  There was not much doubt about that. ‘Simon will be thrilled,’ I declared emphatically. ‘He’ll think you’re simply wonderful.’

  ‘That will be a pleasant change,’ said Mr. Maclaren rather sadly. ‘All the same I’d rather you didn’t mention it to him. I’ll sound him carefully myself. Boys of sixteen are sometimes a bit touchy, so——’

  ‘Simon isn’t,’ I said laughing. ‘But of course I won’t tell him if you’d rather not.’

  Now that the matter was settled I expected Mr. Maclaren to go, but he seemed in no hurry.

  He began to talk about Zilla. ‘She’s so pleased to have met you again. She’s lonely, you know.’

  ‘But she has lots of friends, hasn’t she?’

  ‘They aren’t the right kind. For instance those Carews; they came to drinks last night after you had gone.’

  ‘Zilla likes them.’

  He nodded. ‘I can’t understand it,’ he said. ‘There’s something—something bogus about them. Oh, I suppose they’re quite amusing in their way—if you like that kind of thing. Jack Carew laughs all the time and makes silly jokes. He calls me Old Sobersides. Madeline never ceases talking for a moment—mostly about people one has never heard of, so it’s difficult to look interested and intelligent.’

  ‘Why does Zilla like them?’

  ‘She says they’re “good company”.’ He sighed and added, ‘She’s making plans to go abroad with them in August and I wondered if you could persuade her not to go.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly!’

  ‘Couldn’t you try, Mrs. Wentworth? You see, Zilla isn’t at all strong. I’m afraid it will be too tiring for her, tearing about the Continent with two such exhausting companions.’

  ‘I couldn’t,’ I repeated. ‘In any case she wouldn’t listen to me.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ he said gloomily. Then he added, ‘But you’ll go and see her as often as you can, won’t you? She enjoys talking to you.’

  ‘I’m rather a busy person, Mr. Maclaren.’

  ‘Do try to go. She gets so bored and miserable.’

  ‘It seems strange when she has so much to make her happy.’

  ‘I don’t think Zilla could be happy anywhere; it’s a matter of temperament,’ he said seriously. ‘It doesn’t make any difference whether you’ve got a lot or very little. If you feel miserable you can’t help it. You can’t make yourself happy and contented.’

  ‘That isn’t true!’ I cried.

  He looked at me in surprise—as well he might, poor man!

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I said hastily. ‘I don’t mean that I disbelieve you, of course. I just mean that people needn’t give in to being miserable and discontented. They can get the better of it if they try hard enough.’

  ‘It sounds as if you were speaking from experience.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Could you tell me about it?’ he asked.

  I was silent for a moment or two. ‘It would be—difficult,’ I said at last.

  ‘I wish you’d tell me about it. You see, it might be a help.’

  Could my experience help Zilla? I didn’t see how it could be of any value at all but he was looking at me so appealingly that I couldn’t refuse. I said, ‘Well, I told you about Gerald, didn’t I? It happened quite suddenly. One day I was as happy as a king and the next day my life was in ruins. I was down and out, nothing mattered any more. It seemed—unfair. Why should this terrible thing happen to me? I was wicked about it. I was even wicked enough to—to blame God . . . terribly, terribly wicked and miserable. For weeks I floundered about like Christian in the Slough of Despond.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then I saw it was affecting the children—they were Gerald’s children and I was making them unhappy—so I climbed out of the bog.’

  I had never before told anybody about that dreadful time—but he had asked, so I had told him. I wondered what he would say. He said nothing for quite a long time, leaning forward and gazing at the floor.

  At last I could bear the silence no longer so I said, ‘The first thing I did was to go and buy a new frock—a coloured one—I had been wearing black, you see. It sounds silly, doesn’t it?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘It sounds brave. Thank you for telling me.’

  ‘So you see people can climb out of the bog if they try.’

  ‘If they’re brave enough—and have other people to think of.’

  I felt inclined to say, ‘Zilla might think of you,’ but I didn’t. As a matter of fact I felt rather dazed; it had been an effort to speak of that time. I hadn’t told him half of it, of course—the whole wretched experience had been condensed into a few short words—but remembering it had upset me rather badly.

  Mr. Maclaren rose to go. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you—for everything. I’m afraid I’ve taken up a lot of your time this morning. Are you going out? Can I take you anywhere in the car?’

  ‘I’m too busy to go out.’

  ‘Busy?’ he said. ‘What do you do, Mrs. Wentworth?’

  ‘Come and see,’ I said and led the way to the kitchen.

  It was in a muddle, of course, but everything was nice and clean: the empty cupboard and the glass and china, stacked in shining array on the table and the chairs.

  ‘Good lord!’ he exclaimed. ‘Isn’t there a woman to do that?’

  ‘Just this woman,’ I replied, laughing at his dismay. ‘Cupboards have to be cleaned occasionally and this seemed a good day to tackle the job. It’s nearly done now. Everything is cleaned; I’ve just got to put the things back. Then there’s the dinner to cook. The children come home from school at half past twelve. I told you I was a busy person, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t understand——’

  ‘Well, you understand now, don’t you? And pleas
e don’t be sorry for me because I’m perfectly happy.’

  ‘Yes, I can see you are,’ said Mr. Maclaren. He thanked me again and went away.

  *

  2

  ‘Don’t blame me if you hate the place,’ said Zilla.

  We had met at Brown’s for morning coffee and to settle details about the cottage. I had made a list of everything I wanted to know, but so far I had not managed to obtain from Zilla any very useful information. She had repeated several times that it was ‘frightfully primitive’ and ‘horribly isolated’ but that did not get me much further.

  ‘There’s a road, I suppose?’ I asked in dubious tones.

  ‘Oh yes, and a very good garage. We had to build it for Alec’s car. My little car doesn’t matter, it can stand out in the yard, but Alec is terribly particular about his Rolls.’

  The garage did not interest me because I had no car. I reminded Zilla of this fact which, if she had thought for a moment, she must have known already.

  ‘Then it’s hopeless,’ she said. ‘Unless you could hire, of course.’

  ‘The children have bicycles,’ I told her.

  ‘Oh, bicycles! Well, I suppose you could get about on bicycles. Loch Ron village is two miles away, but it’s no great shakes. Just a butcher and a grocer and a few other shops. You would be better to take the car and get what you need in Inverquill—it’s only twelve miles.’

  Should I remind her again that I had no car? I decided not to.

  ‘What about linen?’ I asked.

  ‘Use mine,’ said Zilla. ‘It’s all there—and plenty of dishes and silver and cutlery—you needn’t take anything like that. The cottage is ready to walk into.’

  ‘That’s awfully kind of you, Zilla. It sounds marvellous.’

  ‘It isn’t marvellous. It’s a wretched place, an absolute hovel.’

  ‘How many bedrooms are there?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘Two!’ I echoed in dismay.

  ‘Two decent bedrooms. There are two others in the attic—very monkish, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘But there are beds in them, I suppose.’

  ‘Of course there are beds.’