by Sara Seale
“The Myth?”
“We began to hope he really was one, but no such luck. He’s coming down tomorrow, and Sophie’s running round in circles like a scalded cat.”
James looked interested.
“But why should Sophie run round in circles?” he asked. “She must have known about the fellow.”
“Of course she knew,” said Sarah patiently, “but she never expected he would turn up here—we none of us did. He never bothered before, so naturally we took his absence kind of for granted. Poor old Sophie thinks she’s due for a whole lot of raspberries.”
“Does she? Why?”
“Oh, some interfering locals wrote to the man about me. You’re not a local yourself, are you?”
“Well, no, not exactly.”
“That’s a good thing. You see, Sophie was left in charge of me and she feels she didn’t keep a strict enough eye on me. Sophie’s an absolute sweetie, and we always kept out of each other’s way, so there’s never been any trouble. But now this man’s coming down to throw his weight about and Sophie’s afraid she’ll lose her job. Of course she won’t really, because I wouldn’t allow it.”
“Oh, could you stop it?” asked James gently.
She looked up at him with amazement.
“Of course I could stop it. I could stop anything,” she said grandly, then added with a sudden doubt: “I could, couldn’t I? How much authority has a guardian really got?”
“The authority of a parent, I’m afraid,” said James gravely. “The last word on most subjects until you are of age.”
“Even when you don’t know him?”
“That doesn’t make any difference. What a guardian says still goes in law.”
She wriggled angrily in her corner of the swing.
“But it isn’t fair,” she protested. “He’s never taken the smallest interest in me. I don’t know him—he’ll be a complete stranger—and yet he can come busting in and order me about and be as beastly as he chooses.”‘
James looked amused.
“But why should you imagine he wants to be beastly?” he asked.
“Of course he does. If he didn’t, why should he be coming here now when he’s never bothered for three years?”
“I don’t quite see the logic of that,” James said. “Surely the fact that he is bothering now must mean he’s interested. He probably wants to get to know you.”
“Oh, well, he won’t stop long, so I expect it will be all right in the end,” she said comfortably, her annoyance forgotten. “I keep telling Sophie that to cheer her up.”
“Why do you think he won’t stop?” asked James with interest. “He may want to settle down.”
“I have a plan,” Sarah said confidingly. “That’s why I got this dress.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I’ve been reading a book. It was all about a strong and silent guardian and a rebellious ward. Well, that girl was a halfwit. She went all defiant the minute she saw him. Of course he was very bossy and she kept saying I hate you, I hate you’ and he kept saying ‘I forbid you to do so-and-so. Don’t forget I have complete authority over you,’ which, of course, would rile anyone, wouldn’t it? But this girl went all the wrong way about it.”
“Go on.” said James when she paused for breath. “It sounds very interesting.”
“Well, don’t you see, he expected her to be all rebellious and tiresome and she was, so she just played into his hands. Now the Myth will expect me to be like that because of what the old cats have written to him. But I’m going to surprise him. Tomorrow for dinner I shall wear this dress and do my hair on top of my head and be frightfully poised and soignée and hardly talk at all and be very gentle and meek, and after about two days he will decide I don’t need any looking after and that the old cats were mistaken, and then he’ll go off to Antigua or somewhere again and we can all settle down happily.”
James repressed with some difficulty a desire to laugh. She was really rather a charmer, this naive young thing.
“I see,” he said with suitable gravity. “It sounds all right, but supposing he rather falls for that line and decides to stay?”
She looked alarmed.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted. “In this book, of course, the ward married the strong and silent guardian in the end. I’d better not make it too attractive, had I?”
“No. You’d better go easy with the poor man at first. He may be susceptible.”
“Well, I must get rid of him somehow.”
“Don’t you think,” said James carefully, “it might be quite fun having a man around to take you out and be generally interested in your welfare?”
“J.B.’s never been interested in my welfare.”
“J.B.? Is that another rude name?”
“No, just his initials. J. B. Fane. All the letters used to come signed J. B. Fane. I’ve always called him that. I believe his real name is Joshua.”
“Joshua? Oh, surely not!”
“Well, Jeremiah, perhaps. But I always think of him as J. B. Fane.”
“I can see he’s going to have a tough job acquiring a human personality. You might give the poor man a chance.”
She said: “You didn’t know my father, did you? He wasn’t really my father, of course, but he brought me up.”
“John Silver? Yes, I knew him very well.” She moved nearer to him and her face was alive with pleasure.
“Did you really?” she said eagerly. “Then you must understand how hard it would be to take kindly to someone else—even supposing he bothered with me.”
“You were very fond of him,” he said gently.
Her green eyes were suspiciously bright.
“I miss him still,” she said simply. “You could talk to Long John, he was sensible. You never can pin Sophie down to anything. But Long John was all right. He used to enjoy shocking our neighbours. He said they were a set of stiff-necked snobs with no sense of humour who only sucked up to him because he had money. He used to say to me: ‘You and I can get along without conventions, Sarah. Be yourself and to hell with the lot of ’em’.”
Yes, James could hear him saying it, and thought a little grimly, all very well for John Silver snapping his fingers at convention, and finding the easiest way into a little girl’s affections. James would have bet his last shilling the old man would have changed his tune when the girl was growing up.
“But you can’t really get along without conventions, Sarah, in this world,” he said aloud. “One has responsibilities to one’s fellow creatures, whoever one is.”
She looked surprised.
“Has one? Do you suppose J.B. feels I’m a responsibility?”
“A great responsibility, I imagine, when he knows you, poor man!”
“You’re sorry for him! Lady Bollard’s sorry for him, too.”
“I’m not in the least sorry for him. I think he might have fun if you give him half a chance.”
She studied his lean, clean-shaven face regarding her with interest in the moonlight, and suddenly liked what she saw. It was a strong face and it held understanding and a gentleness which was lacking in the younger men of her acquaintance.
She moved closer to him, setting the seat swinging gently, and snuggled up against his shoulder.
“You’re nice,” she said, “And different, somehow. Why?”
He looked amused.
“Perhaps because I’m older.”
“How old are you?”
“About the same age as this guardian of yours.”
“Oh, you can’t be. He’s quite old—old and soured.”
“Don’t you be too sure. But since we’re becoming personal, how old are you, Sarah?”
She hesitated, gave him a quick glance, and said glibly: “Twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one?”
“Yes—nearly twenty-two,” she said firmly.
“I see. A young woman with a certain amount of experience, then.”
He felt her grow suddenly still besi
de him, and smiled over her head.
“Of course,” she said, and lifted her face to his. “Do you like me?” she asked naively.
In the soft light her rather high cheek-bones stood out in delicate relief. She blinked nervously once or twice, but her invitation was quite clear. He kissed her gently once, felt her stiffen, then yield with soft, inexperienced lips, and smiled as she moved hurriedly back to her own corner.
“Do you think it’s very wise to invite perfect strangers to make love to you?’ he asked, and thought she flushed faintly in the pale light.
“It was because you are a stranger,” she said a little breathlessly. “And—sober, not like the others. I don’t know anything about you and you don’t know much about me, thank goodness. Besides, Peronel said I’d have to start some time.”
“I see. But I thought you said you were a young woman of experience You weren’t, surely, starting on me?”
“Of course not. Of course I am,” she said with confusion, and wishing James would kiss her again, added hastily: “Would you like to come and see my rabbits?”
CHAPTER TWO
They met no one on their tour of inspection that, besides the rabbits, took in the stables, the kennels, and the barn, which housed a newly-born calf. Once or twice, James nearly gave himself away. So little was changed.
“Mind that shutter—it pinches your fingers if you’re not careful,” he said once.
Sarah looked at him with fleeting curiosity.
“Yes, I know, but how did you?”
“Oh, that old-fashioned kind are given that way.”
Another time he found the stable door on which he had carved his initials as a boy.
“It’s still there,” he said, fingering the rough letters.
“J.B.F.,” she said with distaste. “That must have been him. Did you know they were there?”
“Small boys usually carve their initials on things,” he said casually. “He was here a lot as boy, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, I believe he was. That must have been before I was born. Have you got a knife? I’ll put mine above his just to show I’m the boss.”
Grinning slightly, he opened a pocket-knife.
“Really above?” he asked quizzically. “The place belongs to him, doesn’t it? So I suppose, technically speaking, he’s the boss.”
“Um...” The decision was really causing her distress. “Oh, well, let’s be fair to the man. Put it underneath,” she said generously.
“We’ll put them side by side, then there can be no dissension,” said James, and carved her initials beside his own.
She stood watching with her head on one side.
“J.B.F. and S.S.,” she said critically, “I hope, when he sees it, he won’t take it as a mark of affection.”
“It hasn’t got a heart round it,” said James solemnly.
She looked relieved.
“No, it hasn’t, has it?” she said. “Come and see old Belle’s new pups. She had them in Falcon’s manger.”
“Haven’t you ever seen this guardian of yours?” James asked suddenly, watching her cradle a tiny pup in her arms.
“Only once.”
“Well, then you must have some idea what he looks like.”
She put the puppy down.
“Well, not exactly. You see, I couldn’t see him very well.”
“Oh? Why was that?”
“He was spanking me,” said Sarah with dignity.
“Dear me!” he said, “And had you deserved such drastic treatment?”
She grinned. “I suppose so. I’d set a booby trap for him and it worked.”
“Why did you do that?” James asked. He really wanted to know. He had wondered at the time why she should have taken such a violent dislike to him.
She thought for a moment, then answered slowly:
“I was jealous. He came down to spend a night on the very first day of my holidays, and Long John and I had been going to spend the day at the sea. We couldn’t go. I thought J. B. would stop on, so I set the trap to drive him away.”
“I see,” said James, and for the first time regretted that spanking.
He glanced at his watch.
“Do you know what the time is? Ten past one. Won’t your guests want to be saying good-bye?”
“Oh, they won’t bother, they’ll go when they’re bored,” she said carelessly. “Peronel will push them out when she’s had enough. I hope they don’t wake Sophie up again—it makes her so cross the next morning.”
“But isn’t she there?”
“Sophie!” Sarah laughed. “Sophie always goes to bed when the fun starts. She says if she doesn’t know what’s going on she needn’t feel responsible. A very good idea, don’t you think?”
“Come along,” said James firmly. “It’s time we both put in an appearance.” Really! Sophie seemed to take her responsibilities a little too lightly, even for these freedom-loving times.
They walked back to the house over dew-drenched lawns. The front door stood open, and all the cars had gone from the drive. Only James’s new Bentley stood shining in the moonlight
“They’ve all gone,” said Sarah. “I wonder if Peronel’s still up. She and Bill Grafton are staying the night. Do you know Bill? Oh, if you don’t know Peronel, I suppose you wouldn’t. Is that your car? How super! Have you got to drive far?”
She shot the questions at him as they went up the steps and he was saved an immediate reply to the last by the presence of a little group of people in the hall. A tall slender woman with long dark hair knotted smoothly on the nape of her neck sat indolently on the arm of a chair, drinking a glass of champagne. Pepper was clearing away dirty glasses as fast as he could, assisted by an amused-looking man who was presumably Bill Grafton, while Sophie, obviously re-dressed in a violent hurry, with her hair rolled up messily on the top of her head, was emptying ashtrays and twittering: “Hurry, hurry. Get some of it cleared up anyhow.”
“Don’t bother,” James said politely. “I’ve seen it at its worst.” They all turned to look at him, but Sarah, staring openmouthed at Sophie, laughed:
“What on earth are you doing down here at this hour all dressed up? Has anything happened?”
Sophie’s plump little hands fluttered to her hair.
“So he found you all right, did he? Sarah! Look at your dress! You’ve been in the stables again, I suppose. My dear child, how is it you can never keep tidy? And tonight of all nights when I wanted you to look your best.”
“Sophie, what are you talking about?” asked Sarah and shrugged a shoulder in James’s direction. “Do you know him? Peronel, Bill, this is Mr.—Mr.—” she looked at James and laughed. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name,” she said.
There was a split second of silence, during which Peronel’s curious gaze travelled over them both, then Pepper rattled two glasses together, and Sophie broke into a flood of disjointed speech.
Sarah nearly stamped in her impatience.
“Sophie, what are you trying to tell me?” she asked, and then Peronel’s cool voice broke into the confusion.
“Didn’t you really know, darling? You’ve been with him for the best part of three hours.”
“Know what?” cried Sarah.
Peronel nodded at James, who was not trying to help anyone out.
“That, my sweet, is your revered guardian.”
Sarah stood quite still and for a moment her face held no expression.
“What! The Myth?” she said unbelievingly.
“Only, you see, I’m not a myth after all,” said James, laughter in his voice. “How do you do, Sarah?”
“Dear me!” said Sophie, suddenly becoming very social. “What has happened to my manners? How do you do, James, and welcome home. We didn’t expect you till tomorrow, you know—I mean today—of course it’s really morning, isn’t it? You would, I need hardly say, have had a very different reception, but I see you discovered Sarah for yourself, in the stables as usual, I suppose, the naughty girl, and
I hear Pepper looked after your...” She tailed off, darted across the hall and shook James by the hand, then looked round on everyone, and remarked brightly: “Now we can all go to bed.”
Sarah stood perfectly still, staring at James.
“Are you—are your really—?” she asked.
He smiled. “I’m afraid it’s true, Sarah,” he said, and couldn’t resist adding: “Not so old as you see, and the name is James, not Joshua.”
Her green eyes narrowed.
“What a dirty trick! You might at least have told me,” she said, and he replied quickly:
“I’m sorry, Sarah, but I couldn’t resist it. You were being so informative, and I must say I spent a very instructive evening one way and another.”
Bill Grafton gave an appreciative laugh.
“Put one over on you at the very start, did he, Sally? Bad luck.”
“Don’t call me Sally,” Sarah exclaimed automatically, then the rich colour suddenly flooded her face, but whether in dismay at the free discussion of her plans, or the recollection of his kiss, James could only guess.
“Well, it won’t make any difference,” she cried, and she seemed to be on the verge of tears. “You wormed things out of me by guile! You seemed so—so decent. It wasn’t fair. I shall just think up another plan, that’s all, you—you snake-in-the-grass!”
“Sarah!” exclaimed Sophie.
But Sarah was half-way across the hall, making for the stairs. “It’s true!” she shouted at Sophie, “He is a snake-in-the-grass. If you knew! But I’ll pay him out, you’ll see!”
She ran up the stairs, and James saw her thrust her knuckles into her eyes like a small boy as she fled round a bend in the stairs.
“Oh, dear,” said Sophie helplessly. “Miss Chase—Mr. Grafton—I think we had better go to bed.”
She turned, and forgetting all about James, began to climb the stairs.
Peronel, moving gracefully and without hurry, followed her. “Good night, Mr. Fane,” she said, giving James a long, appraising glance.
“Good night, Miss Chase.
“Have a night-cap?” said Bill Grafton, then laughed self-consciously. “Sorry, I forgot it’s your own house. Do you mind if I do? I’ll take it up with me. Good night.”
