It was the best way, of course, but to play the part of being cool and indifferent and completely natural is not easy when one is feeling angry and upset and Barbie was not at all sure that she would be able to do it. She dawdled in her room, trying to calm herself and to decide what to say, and she dawdled for so long that the rest of the party was gathered in the hall when she went downstairs. They were talking and laughing and drinking sherry, but they stopped talking and looked up when she appeared … it was natural that they should, but Barbie felt a sudden unreasonable panic.
Mrs Scott moved forward and took her arm. ‘Come and meet everybody, Miss France,’ she said and performed the introductions.
Barbie was interested to observe that Commander Buckland was considerably disturbed at her appearance. His face went crimson beneath its tan and he was speechless. Obviously he had not been warned of the meeting, obviously he had not forgotten her. This was so satisfactory that Barbie was cured of her embarrassment and was able to say in a cool and indifferent manner that they had met once before at a wedding.
At dinner Barbie found herself sitting at her host’s left hand with Mr Delaney on her other side. Opposite her was Mrs Delaney with Commander Buckland on her right. Beyond him was Mr Elliot; Mrs Scott was at the other end of the table.
Mrs Delaney had certainly ‘dressed up.’ Her frock was more suitable for a ball than for dinner in a country district. The men were in dinner-jackets.
At first the conversation was fairly general; Colonel Scott explained Barbie by saying, ‘Miss France is a big noise in the decorating world. We’ve managed to get her to come up to Oddam and tell us how to modernise the castle.’
‘What an interesting job,’ said Mrs Delaney in a tepid voice.
‘It is,’ agreed Barbie. ‘Of course I don’t often get such a delightful job as this, but even small houses and flats can be interesting.’
‘Oddam Castle will be difficult to modernise,’ said Mr Elliot.
Barbie smiled. ‘Yes, and getting more difficult every moment. I don’t want to change a hair of its head.’
Colonel Scott looked pleased. ‘I like it,’ he admitted. ‘The old-fashioned furniture seems to suit it.’
‘Wouldn’t you like steel tubes?’ asked Barbie in mock surprise.
‘Steel tubes are quite demodé,’ said Mrs Delaney solemnly.
There is nothing so pleasant as sharing a joke that somebody else has failed to see. Barbie and her host caught each other’s eyes for a moment and then looked away.
‘Tell us what you do, Miss France,’ suggested Mr Elliot. ‘I’m afraid I’m very ignorant. If my carpet wears out I go and buy another – preferably at a sale. I don’t bother about the colour as long as it’s the right size. I suppose that makes you shudder.’
‘Do you want me to talk shop?’ asked Barbie. She was really replying to Mr Elliot, but Mrs Scott leant forward and nodded.
‘Yes, of course we do,’ she said.
By this time Barbie was feeling on top of the world so she proceeded to tell them about some of her experiences and as Colonel Scott played up to her and asked her a lot of silly questions there was a good deal of laughter. Once or twice Barbie glanced across the table at Commander Buckland to see how he was taking it. The first time she glanced at him she found that he was staring at her with an odd sort of expression. The second time he was gazing at his plate.
‘Are you of Scottish descent, Miss France?’ asked Mr Elliot. ‘I mean your – er – colouring –’
Barbie nodded. ‘Yes, partly. My mother was a Scot. That’s where I got my red hair. Sometimes I like to think I’m descended from Rob Roy MacGregor.’
They all laughed and Mr Elliot said, ‘Rob Roy was not a very attractive person. We are told that he was short and thick-set and that his arms were so long that it amounted to a deformity. He was a thief and a murderer –’
‘What about your own ancestors, Padre?’ asked Colonel Scott. ‘They were thieves and murderers –’
‘So were yours, Alec,’ put in Mrs Scott. ‘But you’re frightfully proud of them, aren’t you?’
‘It’s a curious thing,’ said Mr Delaney. ‘Quite a lot of respectable people are proud of being descended from notorious ruffians. It must be far back of course, so that their desperate adventures are seen through a romantic haze …’
When the subject of ancestors had been discussed Mr Elliot asked Colonel Scott if he would read the lesson on Sunday.
‘Yes, of course if you want me, Padre,’ replied the Colonel promptly. ‘At least if it’s not full of frightfully difficult names. I like that bit about Gideo – you know the bit, Padre. I mean where he told all the chaps in his army “Whoever is fearful and afraid let him return and depart” and smote the hosts of Midian with three hundred volunteers. That’s the stuff,’ declared Colonel Scott with relish. ‘Gideon knew what was what. Give me three hundred dare-devils and I’ll guarantee to lick any army under the sun – go through them like butter!’
Commander Buckland, who had scarcely opened his mouth during dinner – except to eat – looked up and said:
‘He which hath no stomach to this fight
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man’s company …’
‘Dear me,’ said Mr Elliot. ‘The parallel is very striking, very striking indeed. The Sword of the Lord and of Gideon – and King Henry the Fifth – most interesting!’
Barbie said she had forgotten the bit about Gideon and asked where it could be found and Mr Elliot replied, ‘In Judges, Miss France, Chapter Seven. The whole story is very curious, for after Gideon had eliminated his faint-hearted followers the remainder were told to drink at the stream and only those who “lapped the water with their mouths” were selected to take part in the battle. One cannot help wondering –’
‘They stood, Padre,’ interrupted Colonel Scott. ‘The other fellows got down on their hands and knees to drink, but the three hundred took up the water and drank it out of their hands. They were alert and ready for a surprise attack, you see. That’s the sort of chaps you want in a tight place.’
‘I never thought of that,’ said Mr Elliot. ‘One is always learning interesting things, especially from people with entirely different points of view.’
‘Well, that’s settled, then,’ said Colonel Scott. ‘Judges, Chapter Seven. I’ll just read it over and make sure there aren’t any snags … and could we have, “Rise up, O men of God,” as one of the hymns?’
Mr Elliot looked slightly surprised, as well he might, for he had intended Colonel Scott to read from the Book of Revelations, but he reflected that too few of his parishioners took an active interest in the services, or the hymns, but just sat and listened – or did not listen – so it was a good thing to encourage ones who showed enthusiasm, like Colonel Scott.
‘And I bet those three hundred fellows were awful bores when they were old,’ continued the Colonel cheerfully. ‘I bet they “stripped their sleeves and showed their scars” and boasted about how many Midianites they had killed.’
It was at this moment that Mrs Scott gave the signal for the ladies to withdraw and Barbie was sorry for she had been enjoying the conversation. She followed her two companions into the drawing-room.
‘What on earth is the matter with Henry?’ asked Mrs Delaney. ‘He’s usually so cheerful, but I couldn’t get anything out of him tonight. Is it a girl or something, Jennifer?’
‘Goodness no, Henry is a confirmed bachelor,’ replied Henry’s sister smiling.
‘Well, there’s something –’ said Mrs Delaney vaguely. She added, ‘Oh Jennifer, may I play the piano? Your piano is so much better than mine. Don’t listen of course. I can play more comfortably when people aren’t listening.’
‘Yes, of course, Kitty,’ said Mrs Scott.
Barbie had made up her mind not to speak to Commander Buckland if she could possibly avoid it, so when Mrs Scott produ
ced a large work-bag full of different coloured wool, and a piece of canvas which she intended to work in cross-stitch, Barbie sat down beside her on the sofa and they got their heads together over the pattern. When the men came into the drawing-room there was no reason to move – in fact there was every reason not to move – so she remained where she was, discussing the needlework and sorting out the wools. Mrs Delaney had opened the piano and was playing quietly. It was a peaceful scene.
‘What about bridge?’ asked Colonel Scott. ‘There are four of us.’
The other men agreed.
Presently Mrs Scott said to Barbie, ‘I expect you’re tired. If you’d like to go to bed just drift away quietly. No need to disturb anybody …’
Barbie nodded and drifted. She was just getting into bed when the light in her bedroom flickered and died out. It did not matter of course but it gave her food for thought. She had decided that Oddam Castle should be warmed by electric radiators but if the supply of electricity was unreliable she would have to think again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next morning was very bright and sunny. Barbie was awakened by the sun shining in through the window; or perhaps by a movement near her bed. She opened her eyes and saw a sprite, perched upon the arm of the shabby old chair and looking at her in a contemplative manner.
‘I didn’t waken you,’ said the sprite. ‘I was very quiet – really. I just wanted to see you – and it isn’t very early.’
Barbie accepted this as an apology and said it didn’t matter. ‘You’re Bet, I suppose,’ she suggested.
‘Elizabeth Mary Scott,’ replied the sprite, continuing to gaze at Barbie with large blue eyes.
She was just about the same size as Agnes Evans, but there was no other point of resemblance. This child was well fed and well cared for. Her limbs were rounded, her cheeks were rosy and she had the friendly assurance of a dog that has never been kicked.
Poor Agnes! thought Barbie rather sadly.
‘Jardine said you had red hair,’ said Elizabeth Mary Scott after a short silence. ‘But it isn’t really red – not what I call red, anyway.’ She added, ‘I suppose you wouldn’t like to come out. Grown-up people never want to go out before breakfast.’
Nothing she could have said would have accomplished her purpose so quickly. A few moments before Barbie had had no wish to rise from her remarkably comfortable bee – but now, suddenly and inexplicably, she felt it would be extremely pleasant to go out. It did not take her long to dress and soon she and her new friend were letting themselves out of the front door and walking rapidly across the grass.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Barbie, for it was obvious that this was not just a morning stroll.
‘To Bogle’s cottage,’ replied Bet. ‘I want to see him about something very important.’ She hesitated and then added in a burst of confidence, ‘It’s about the kittens. Jardine says he’s going to drown them – all except one – so Bogle will have to come and take them away. Bogle always does what I tell him. He’s not very wise, you know.’
‘Not very wise?’ asked Barbie who, despite her Scottish ancestry, was unfamiliar with the euphemism.
Bet tapped her head. ‘Wanting,’ she explained. ‘At least that’s what people say … but he’s not as silly as they think. He gets off with things,’ she added darkly.
They walked on up the steep hill path and Bet continued to chat in a friendly manner. Barbie listened, but there was a good deal that she did not understand, for although Bet spoke clearly and prettily (in fact very like her mother) she used colloquialisms unintelligible to her English-speaking companion … and, just to make things more difficult, Bet failed to realise that Miss France was a stranger to the neighbourhood which she herself knew so well.
Fortunately there was no need for Barbie to take an active part in the conversation so she was at liberty to look about her and enjoy herself. It was a perfectly beautiful morning; the sky was blue and cloudless and the sun was warm. The path wound between rocks and heather – heather which was incredibly purple and buzzing with wild bees. Every now and then the hills drew back from the path and disclosed breath-taking views of other hills peeping shyly over each other’s shoulders.
They came quite suddenly to a small grey cottage which was built into the side of a hill and was so like the surrounding rocks that it was scarcely visible. Bet ran forward and knocked upon the door.
There was no reply to the summons, the place seemed deserted, but Bet was undeterred. She knocked again loudly. ‘Bogle!’ she shouted. ‘It’s me – and you needn’t pretend you’re still asleep. The lum’s reeking.’
At this there was the sound of a bolt being drawn and the door was opened by one of the strangest-looking creatures Barbie had ever seen. He was a giant of a man, so large that he more than filled the entrance to his house. His head was small and covered with tufts of dusty-coloured hair; his eyes were pale-blue and set closely together.
The conversation which ensued between Bet and Bogle was one-sided as far as the listener was concerned, for the listener could not understand one word that Bogle uttered. This was due partly to his very broad accent and partly to his lack of teeth. She realised this, of course, but all the same it seemed queer and gave a dreamlike quality to the scene.
Bogle was annoyed, that was obvious. He began a rigmarole in a complaining voice.
‘Nonsense,’ said Bet crisply. ‘I didn’t wake you. If you didn’t light your fire, who did? And anyway you’re getting lazier and lazier. You let the light go out again last night.’
Bogle evidently denied this.
‘Oh yes, you did. Daddy was playing bridge and he was furious. I heard them talking about it. If you don’t look out they’ll get somebody else to run the dynamo. You wouldn’t like that, would you?’
Bogle began to explain.
‘Well, you’d better pull up your socks, that’s all,’ said Bet. ‘I’m just warning you – for your own good. See?’
Apparently Bogle saw.
‘Now listen,’ said Bet. ‘Fluffy has had kittens – five darling wee kittens – in the stable loft. You must go and get them and bring them all up here in a basket – and Fluffy too, of course.’
Bogle seemed surprised.
‘Because Jardine says he’s going to drown them,’ explained Bet. ‘If you bring them up here to your cottage they’ll be safe.’
Bogle began to raise objections to the plan.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Bet impatiently. ‘Of course you can manage it. You must creep in when Jardine’s having his elevenses. It will be quite easy … and of course I’ll pay you for Fluffy’s milk.’
An argument ensued but it did not last long, for Bogle knew he would have to do it. That was obvious.
‘Mind, I’m telling you,’ said Bet significantly. ‘If I find you haven’t done it there’ll be trouble.’
Bogle’s pale-blue eyes looked furtively from side to side and he muttered something below his breath. He looked so unpleasant that Barbie was quite alarmed, but Bet was undismayed. She explained again exactly what she wanted him to do and then they came away.
‘He’s not all that silly,’ said Bet as they walked home down the hill together. ‘I mean he pretends to be sillier that he is, so that people will say, “Oh, you can’t expect poor Bogle to do any work!” and “Poor Bogle, you can’t blame him!” ’
Barbie thought this quite likely.
‘Mummy often says it,’ added Bet. ‘She says he’s un-un –’
‘Unemployable,’ suggested Barbie.
Bet accepted the word. ‘That’s it,’ she agreed.
‘Why does he do what you tell him?’ asked Barbie – for this seemed to her distinctly odd.
For a moment Bet hesitated and then she said, ‘Oh well – you see – I know something. Oh, Miss France, there’s a heron! That big bird is a heron. Have you seen one before?’
Miss France had not seen a heron before, but although she was interested in the bird she was even more interest
ed in the revelation which had preceded her introduction to the bird. Bet knew something – about Bogle of course – so it was blackmail!
Miss France smiled at the thought, for it was unlikely that either Bet or Bogle knew what the word meant … and then she frowned, for blackmail is dangerous even if you do not call it by its ugly name.
Meanwhile Bet was skipping along by her side and chattering like a little brook. ‘You won’t clype about Fluffy, will you, Miss France?’
‘Clype?’ asked Miss France in bewilderment.
‘You won’t tell Mummy – or Jardine. You see Fluffy is my very own so Jardine has no right to drown her kittens and I want to keep them all. Rose Anne wants to see them.’
‘Who is Rose Anne?’
‘That’s another secret, but if you promise not to clype …’
‘I won’t clype,’ promised Miss France, who had added the word to her vocabulary.
‘We’re friends,’ said Bet, looking up and smiling in a friendly, charming way. ‘We’re friends – so I’ll tell you. It’s my very special secret. Rose Anne is my twin. The fairies took her away when we were born and she went to live on the island. Mummy thinks I don’t know anything about her, but of course I do. It’s a secret, you see. It’s fun having secrets. Sometimes I make Bogle take me to the island in the boat and then he goes and fishes and Rose Anne and me have games together. She’s the same age as me of course and she likes all the things I like. We play houses in the little hut with the dolls, but we never play hide-and-seek because she doesn’t like it either –’
‘Bet! You’re making it up, aren’t you?’
The child hesitated and then she said sadly, ‘I thought you’d understand. You’ve got to have somebody to play with.’
‘But I do understand. It’s a story – like Mary Rose.’
‘Oh, do you know that story, Miss France?’ cried Bet eagerly. ‘It’s a lovely story, all about a girl who got lost on an island and the fairies took her away for years and years. Mummy and I were going to see the play last Christmas but Mummy had a cold and Daddy wouldn’t come. Daddy said “I’m damned if I’m going to that piece of mawkish nonsense.” What’s mawkish, Miss France?’
The Tall Stranger Page 15
