The Tall Stranger

by D. E. Stevenson

  The postcript said, ‘Enclosed is the money from Toby Chancellor with many thanks for the loan.’

  ‘Is it bad news, Lady Steyne?’ asked Penney in concern.

  ‘Yes. At least – it’s a disappointment,’ replied Amalie. ‘Look, my dear, I should like you to read the letters and see what you make of them. Read Barbie’s first.’

  While Penny was reading Barbie’s letter Amalie read Edward’s again. There was nothing to be learnt from it except that he was angry and upset (which of course was quite natural) but there was something odd about the postscript which in spite of her perturbation caught her eye. There was something wrong about it … Toby Chancellor? Edward had said his friend’s name was Tony.

  I must have made a mistake, thought Amalie as she passed the letter across the breakfast table for Penney to read … and then she thought, but I didn’t make a mistake. Edward said Tony Chancellor! I know he did.

  The more she thought about it the more certain she became, for she had thought at the time: another Tony! Such a lot of Tonys! And Anthony is a nice name. And she had thought of St Anthony of Padua, who preached to the fishes. She would never have thought all that if the young man’s name had been Toby, which was probably short for Tobias – not a nice name at all and nothing whatever to do with St Anthony of Padua!

  She frowned, trying to solve the mystery. It was a silly little mystery and it didn’t matter in the least – or did it?

  ‘Oh dear, I am sorry,’ said Penney. ‘I don’t know what to say. They seemed so happy, and you were so pleased about it.’

  ‘Do you think it will come right, Penney?’

  ‘Well, I may be wrong, but somehow –’

  ‘I don’t either,’ said Amalie. ‘Barbie may be a little hot-tempered at times but she wouldn’t – do that – without a good reason. There must be something – but what could it be?’ She paused for a moment and then continued, ‘It all seemed so safe and secure, didn’t it? I was so very pleased because I’m so fond of them both, and also because it settled a matter which had been troubling me …’ and she went on to tell Penney about Ned’s will and how he had insisted on leaving Underwoods to her niece instead of to his own son. But she told Penney a good deal more than she had told Barbie – more about her own feelings – and she told Penney the reason why she had been so anxious that Edward should not know. ‘I thought it would be better if he married Barbie entirely for herself, with no thought at all of Underwoods,’ explained Amalie.

  ‘But surely you never imagined –’ began Penney aghast.

  ‘Not really,’ said Amalie. ‘All the same a thing like that might have influenced him – a little. You never can tell. It was more for my own comfort that I didn’t want him to know that Barbie would have Underwoods – eventually. It was just a feeling I had. Feelings are difficult to explain, aren’t they?’

  Penney agreed that feelings were very difficult to explain, but she thought Lady Steyne had explained her feelings very clearly.

  Presently Penney said, ‘It seems a pity that neither of them is coming for the week-end. You could have one of them, couldn’t you? I’ve ordered a chicken and –’

  ‘I think not,’ said Amalie with a little sigh. ‘I think we’ll just leave them both to “stew in their own juice,” and you and I will stew in ours – quite quietly and peacefully. We’ll have the chicken hot and we’ll go on eating it cold until it’s finished. There are lots of lettuces coming on and what could be nicer than cold chicken and salad?’

  Amalie was very disappointed, of course, but she was by no means broken-hearted. Strangely enough she was not even very much surprised. As she put on her old garden hat she tried to diagnose her own feelings. I must have known, deep down, that it wasn’t really going to happen, thought Amalie.

  The week-end was as peaceful as anybody could wish. Amalie and Penney, who were both rather tired, enjoyed it. They sat in the summer-house most of the time, knitting and chatting. Penney had profited from Barbie’s lessons and had learned how to chat – or perhaps it would be more true to say she had unlearned the lesson of silence which she had taught herself during her years of bondage. At any rate Amalie found her an extremely interesting companion.

  ‘There’s something worrying me, Penney,’ said Amalie. ‘It’s a very small thing and not a bit important, and I wouldn’t mention it to anyone else, but you’re so understanding – and safe.’ And with this introduction she proceeded to tell Penney the queer mistake about Mr Chancellor’s name.

  ‘It’s silly, isn’t it?’ said Amalie when she had explained the whole thing. ‘It’s ridiculous to worry about it – but for some reason I can’t get it out of my head.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s silly – or unimportant,’ said Penney thoughtfully.

  ‘Don’t you?’ asked Amalie. ‘Well, what do you think happened? Could Edward have made a mistake about the man’s name?’

  ‘You said they shared lodgings at Oxford.’

  Amalie nodded. ‘Yes, so it isn’t likely he could have made a mistake.’

  There was a short silence and then Penney said, ‘You ought to ask him, Lady Steyne.’

  ‘You really think I should?’

  ‘It isn’t fair not to,’ said Penney with conviction. ‘He ought to be given a chance to explain. I mean if I were he … I mean that’s just the way misunderstandings arise. I remember once …’ She paused. There was a time to speak of her own experiences and a time for silence. This obviously was a time for silence. Lady Steyne was looking very thoughtful indeed.

  ‘Yes,’ said Amalie doubtfully. ‘Of course I see your point, but it seems such a very small thing. It doesn’t seem worth bothering about.’

  ‘It is the little rift within the lute

  That by and by will make the music mute,’

  said Penney. She smiled and added, ‘So hackneyed, but so horribly true.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t let it – influence me,’ declared Amalie.

  Penney thought it was already influencing Lady Steyne – just a little – so she did not reply.

  ‘You were going to tell me something you remembered,’ said Amalie.

  ‘Oh, it was just – something that happened. It was when I was with Mrs MacBrayne. She misunderstood what I said and instead of telling me she brooded over it. Her manner changed completely and everything became very uncomfortable – so uncomfortable that I couldn’t bear it and I said I must leave. Then she told me,’ said Penney with a sigh. ‘She told me and I explained and it was all put right in a few minutes. If only she had told me before it would have saved me a great deal of misery – and not a few sleepless nights.’

  Although Amalie had never been in a position of that kind (balanced precariously on a tight-rope with nothing but the goodwill of an employer to depend upon) she was so sympathetic that she understood a great deal more than she had been told.

  ‘Poor Penney,’ she said gently. ‘We shall never fall out like that. You must stay with me until I die – because I couldn’t possibly do without you – and I may as well tell you now that I’ve left you a pension in my will.’

  After that Penney’s gratitude (which seemed to Amalie out of all proportion to the promised boon) put an end to the conversation about Edward’s friend, but afterwards when Amalie thought it over she realised the connection between Penney’s story and her own small problem. Probably there are few people in the world who have not had the same kind of experience, thought Amalie. It was not quite the same (for of course she had no intention of changing her manner to Edward) but she was aware that the mystery had slightly changed her feelings. The suspicion that Edward had not been quite open and above-board was unpleasant to say the least of it. The whole matter was too stupid for words because if Edward had asked straight out for the money she would have given it to him unquestioningly; she had helped him out of a good many scrapes before now.

  Amalie finally decided that Penney was right; she must clear up the mystery by asking Edward about it, but of course she
could no nothing until she saw him (it was not the sort of thing you could ask in a letter) so meantime the matter was shelved.

  Amalie replied to the two letters in a temperate manner; saying to Edward that she was sorry but she did not feel justified in interfering, and to Barbie that of course she must do as she thought best. Both letters were quite cheerful and full of local news (news about the bridal couple who were on their way to New Zealand, about Daphne’s latest sayings and the condition of the garden) and both letters surprised their recipients. Edward had expected sympathy and active support; Barbie had feared persuasions.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  After being away for so long Barbie found it more difficult than she had expected to settle down at Garfield’s, and it took some time to gather up all the threads. Miss Brown had muddled things considerably, so much so that one almost suspected the skein had been tangled on purpose! This suspicion was strengthened when Joan Waghorn let fall the information that Miss Brown had hoped to remain at Garfield’s permanently.

  ‘Oh yes, she thought she was going to stay,’ said Joan Waghorn. ‘She was only engaged temporarily – I know that because I saw the letter – but she thought you wouldn’t be coming back. It gave her a bit of a jolt when Mr Garfield told her you were coming back in a fortnight and she must look for another job. She’d been bad enough before – interfering with everyone and keeping back letters she ought to have given me to answer – but after she got her notice she was awful. I scarcely dared to speak to her she was so cross. Of course she hated you from the very beginning,’ added Joan.

  ‘How could she hate me when she’d never even seen me?’ asked Barbie in bewilderment.

  ‘People talked about you,’ explained Joan. ‘Everyone in the place talked about you and wondered how you were and asked Mr Garfield if he had heard from the hospital – and of course everyone kept on telling her that you always did this and never did that. You know the sort of thing.’

  ‘Poor Miss Brown!’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it must have been rather galling,’ agreed Joan. ‘But it was her own fault, really. I did my best to help but she wouldn’t listen and she was so horrid that I gave up the attempt. She really was horrid, Miss France. If anything went wrong she blamed everyone but herself. You were just the opposite. I’ve known you take the blame for things that weren’t your fault at all.’

  ‘I think you might have been a bit more tactful,’ declared Barbie. ‘It can’t have been easy for the woman coming into a job like this without any preparation at all.’

  ‘Well – perhaps –’ said Joan doubtfully. ‘But, honestly, I think everyone would have helped her if she had been nice. She started off wrong the very first day – went up to the work-rooms and found two of the girls going off ten minutes early to catch their bus. Miss Smithers had given them permission because they’d been asked to a party – and of course they were going to make up the time next day. Miss Smithers said you always let them do that, and Miss Brown said she wasn’t you, and Miss Smithers said That was Obvious (you know how she talks!). Golly, there was a row,’ declared Joan, her eyes widening at the recollection. ‘They went at it hammer and tongs. Some of the girls giggled and the others cried and everyone was late getting away. After that Miss Brown made a point of going up to the work-rooms to see that nobody left early. Of course Miss Smithers was furious – I mean the work-rooms are under her charge and always have been – so you see how it was, Miss France.’

  Miss France saw.

  ‘It made things awfully difficult for everyone, but specially for me,’ continued Joan. ‘Sometimes they didn’t speak to each other for days and I had to take messages and everything got muddled. If Miss Smithers said one thing Miss Brown said the other. It really was hopeless.’

  Miss Smithers had the same tale to tell and told it even more emphatically. ‘Impossible Woman,’ declared Miss Smithers. ‘Quite Impossible to Work With. She gave Orders to the girls Behind My Back and did all she could to Undermine My Authority. She went to Mr Garfield with Stories!’

  ‘How dreadful!’ murmured Barbie.

  ‘Yes, it was Dreadful,’ agreed Miss Smithers. ‘At first he was Completely Taken In – so much so that I decided to Resign – but happily he Found Her Out before I had actually written and Tendered My Resignation. I can’t tell you about it Now, Miss France,’ said Miss Smithers earnestly. ‘It would Take Too Long, but some day when we are not so busy I should like to tell you the Whole Thing.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Barbie.

  ‘It was all so very Disagreeable,’ said Miss Smithers. ‘That Woman Poisoned the Whole Atmosphere of Garfield’s. She Set Everyone by the Ears. We have always been so Happy at Garfield’s, but while She was here it was Quite Different,’ and with that Miss Smithers proceeded to unburden herself of her story, quite forgetting that she had said it would Take Too Long.

  Of course it took Far Too Long (or so Barbie thought as she listened to the tale of grievances and pin-pricks and petty persecutions); but there was no stopping Miss Smithers once she got started and as Barbie knew she would have to listen to it some time she thought it better to listen now and let poor Miss Smithers get it off her chest.

  ‘You can say what you like, Miss France,’ declared Miss Smithers (rather unfairly, for Barbie had played the part of sympathetic listener). ‘You can say what you like, but That isn’t the way to get the Best Work out of girls. Snooping after them to see if they’re doing their work and Snarling at them. Snooping and Snarling,’ repeated Miss Smithers, her eyes blazing at the thought. ‘Wearing rubber-soled shoes, so that nobody could hear her coming, and Pouncing like a Tiger …’

  Fortunately, just at this very moment, Joan Waghorn interrupted the conversation to say that Miss France was wanted on the phone, so Miss France was able to escape to her own small office and laugh in private.

  Barbie had been back at Garfield’s for more than a month before she caught up with arrears of work and got her books in order, and during that time she had been too busy to think about much else. She was aware that Edward was yachting with friends on the Broads – Aunt Amalie had mentioned it in her letter – and this fact contributed greatly to her peace of mind. If Edward had been in town he might have called, or she might have met him somewhere. She was still a little scared of meeting Edward.

  It was towards the end of August when one morning Barbie had occasion to see Mr Garfield. She tapped on the door of his office and entered, for she was a privileged person and had access to him at any hour of the day.

  ‘Mr Garfield, are you busy?’ she inquired.

  ‘Never too busy to see you, Miss France,’ said Mr Garfield gallantly.

  ‘I’m afraid this is rather a serious matter,’ Barbie told him.

  He held out his hand and she gave him a letter which had just arrived by post. It was short but by no means sweet and was written in large bold writing upon thick white paper.

  Oddam Castle, Ryddelton,

  Scotland.

  Mrs Scott will be obliged if Messrs Garfield & Co will let her know by return of post whether they received her letter of 27th June and if so what they propose to do about her order.

  ‘Great Snakes!’ exclaimed Mr Garfield dropping the letter upon his desk as if it were red hot.

  ‘I know,’ agreed Barbie. ‘We looked all through the order book and it isn’t there, but Miss Waghorn is certain she saw the letter lying on Miss Brown’s desk. She remembers the thick white paper and the large writing. She wasn’t given the letter to read, and when she asked Miss Brown about it Miss Brown was – rather rude.’

  ‘Great Snakes, this is awful!’ cried Mr Garfield. ‘This is frightful! June, July, August – it’s nearly two months! I’d like to wring that woman’s neck. It was a big order, most likely. Look at the address and the ’igh-class notepaper and the splashy writing!’ (It was only in moments of stress that Mr Garfield dropped an aitch.)

  Barbie had noticed all these pointers herself. ‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘Bu
t we haven’t lost the order. I could write and explain, couldn’t I? Perhaps I should offer to go and see Mrs Scott. What do you think? If I were to go one night and see her, and come back the next night it would only mean one day away from business and it wouldn’t really cost very much –’

  ‘No!’ cried Mr Garfield, banging the desk with his fist. ‘No, Miss France. That’s not ’ow Garfield’s does things. You write your letter and offer to go and if she says “yes” you’ll go regardless. You’ll go First Class and you’ll stay at the best hotel. You’ll do it in style – regardless.’

  It was at times like this that Mr Garfield was at his best, thought Barbie admiringly. There was not much to admire in his appearance for he was rather like an owl, with his tufty grey hair and large round spectacles, but he liked to do things in a grand manner. Barbie appreciated that.

  ‘Yes, I’ll write at once,’ said Barbie.

  ‘Explain everything,’ said Mr Garfield more quietly. ‘Explain that you’ve been ill and we’ve had an imbecile in the office … but I don’t need to tell you what to say. Thank heaven you’re back!’

  Barbie wrote, and in due course received another letter on the same thick writing-paper and in the same ‘splashy’ writing, but in a very different tone. It began, ‘Dear Miss France,’ and ended ‘yours sincerely, Jennifer Scott,’ and contained an invitation to stay at Oddam Castle. ‘I do not want anything done in a hurry,’ Mrs Scott explained. ‘It may take several days to discuss the matter thoroughly and decide upon a scheme of decoration.’

  Mr Garfield almost purred when Barbie took him the letter. ‘You see I was right,’ he said. ‘They’re nobs. I knew it the moment I saw the classy note-paper and the splashy writing. I wonder how they got our name. People like that don’t usually read ads.’