by Betty Neels
It was hardly a good day for driving; there had been a hard frost again and the roads were treacherous, but Mr Trentham didn’t appear to mind. He drove fast but with more patience than she would have credited him with, and after a little while she sat back and enjoyed herself. Only as they approached London’s suburbs did she lose some of her content. Who would be at the Highgate house? Was she expected to be housekeeper there as well? Was she to be in sole charge of the children, and what would they do with themselves all day? She sat very quiet, her fine brows drawn together in a thoughtful frown.
Mr Trentham, glancing sideways at her, smiled to himself. ‘I’ve not told you anything about my home, have I, Sadie? It’s run by Mrs Woodley and her husband and there’s a maid besides, Teresa. They’ve been with me for a long time now, and I think you’ll like them. The house is quite close to Hampstead Heath and I don’t think you’ll find it too bad. The house is comfortable enough and Highgate is a kind of village, not quite like Chelcombe perhaps, but still, in its way, charming. The children have a few friends, not enough, I realise that now. Miss Murch was too strict in many ways—I had no idea that children could change so much. My fault, of course, I thought that if I had someone to look after them, dress and feed them, that was enough.’
Sadie was shocked. ‘But they are your children,’ she pointed out.
‘Yes, but until they came to the cottage I saw precious little of them. My fault.’ She glanced at him and saw how stern he looked; remembering something unhappy in his past perhaps, missing his dead wife. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t been able to love the children. And yet, in the last week or so, he had seemed to enjoy their company. And they certainly loved him, although Sadie had been puzzled at their air of wariness when they were with him— Miss Murch probably dinning into them that they must never disturb him or take up his valuable time. ‘I expect we shall find heaps to do,’ she told him with an assurance which wasn’t altogether genuine.
They were there by teatime and Sadie, getting out of the car in the quiet street with its row of tall houses along one pavement and an enclosed garden on the other, was agreeably surprised. Indeed Mr Trentham had been right; it was charming, and the house, three-storeyed Regency with ample gardens, could have been in any quiet country town and not the edge of London at all. Their welcome was just as agreeable, with Woodley, short, stout and balding, opening the door to them and beaming at her as well as the children, and Mrs Woodley, tall and thin with a long sharp nose, and a severe expression, wasn’t severe at all, but hugged the children with real affection and greeted Sadie warmly.
‘You’ll be wanting to go to your rooms,’ she said in a motherly voice which sat strangely on her severe appearance. ‘The children can run upstairs and take off their hats and coats and I’ll show you where your room is, Miss Gillard.’
‘Everyone calls me Sadie. I’m the housekeeper, you know.’
‘Then Miss Sadie, if you would prefer that.’ A motherly smile which matched her voice lit up the severity.
They went up the stairs together; a charming staircase built in a graceful curve against one wall, leading to a small gallery above. Here Mrs Woodley turned down a corridor leading to the back of the house.
‘I’ve put you next to the children,’ she explained. ‘They’ll like to know you’re close by. That Miss Murch slept on the floor above, she said they disturbed her in the mornings.’ Sadie detected tartness in the pleasant voice. ‘They’re looking bonny, the pair of them—Mr Trentham said they’d come on a treat. Not that he saw much of them up here, Miss Murch saw to that.’
They had come to a halt outside a closed door at the end of the passage and before Mrs Woodley opened it, Sadie asked: ‘Why, they’re dear children.’
Her companion nodded. ‘Indeed they are, Miss Sadie, and now they’ll get the chance to be real children, bless them.’ She opened the door. ‘This is your room. If there’s anything you need, just ask me or Woodley. The children are next door just up the passage, I expect you’ll all come down for tea when you’re ready.’
She smiled and nodded and went away, and a moment later a small brisk little person came in with Sadie’s case. ‘Teresa’s the name,’ she said cheerfully. ‘If there’s anything you want me to do, just say so.’
‘Why, thank you, Teresa. I forgot to ask where the bathroom is.’
Teresa crossed the room and opened a door. ‘And the little girls have got one of their own.’ She whisked to the door. ‘Nice to have you, miss,’ she said, and nipped away.
Sadie went and sat on the edge of the bed and looked around her. The room was large—enormous if she compared it with the cottage—with a small bay window overlooking the back garden, a pretty stretch of green with flower borders and one or two ornamental trees and a high brick wall shutting away the neighbours on either side. Even on a cold winter’s day it was pleasant. She turned away from it and looked at the room again. It was furnished with a small brass bed and white-painted furniture and there were two velvet-covered easy chairs, as well as a dear little writing desk in the window and a shelf of books. There were delicate china ornaments here and there and a bowl of hyacinths on the dressing table. Sadie hugged herself with delight and called, ‘Come in,’ as someone knocked on the door.
The children, bubbling over with excitement, both talking at once. ‘Isn’t it super that you’re next to us? Miss Murch wouldn’t stay in this room, whenever Daddy went away she moved upstairs—she said we were noisy. She wouldn’t let us have a light either, Sadie. May we have just a teeny one, like we do at the cottage?’
‘Why, of the course, and I’m here all night, you know. What a lovely room, isn’t it? Is yours as nice?’
She was led away to inspect the room next door, even larger than hers, delightfully furnished with small beds and pretty mahogany furniture. There was a small bathroom too and a large closet half full of clothes.
‘My goodness, when do you wear all these?’ asked Sadie.
‘Almost never. Miss Murch bought things she liked for us and sent the bills to Daddy. She used to buy things for her too.’
‘Well, one day when it’s wet and we can’t go out, you shall show me all your pretty things and try them on. Now what about faces and hands ready for tea?’
They took her downstairs to a small sitting room to one side of the hall. There was a cheerful fire burning and comfortable chairs and a big sofa drawn up before it. The room was restful, the curtains and carpet a warm honey colour, the chairs covered in green and amber chintz. Mr Trentham was sprawled in one of the chairs, staring at the fire, but he got up as they went in and asked them to sit down, then went to the door and shouted to Mrs Woodley for tea. Woodley brought it, with Teresa coming behind with a stand of plates of bread and butter and cakes. Just like a Hollywood film, thought Sadie, pouring tea at Mr Trentham’s request.
She sat quietly, joining in the talk when she was addressed but otherwise letting the children chatter and listening to Mr Trentham’s deep voice answering them. She looked round her from time to time, seeing the splendid pictures on the walls and the china ornaments lying around. No wonder Miss Murch hadn’t liked the cottage after living in a house such as this one!
‘You like it?’ Mr Trentham’s voice broke into her musing.
‘Very much. It’s so peaceful too, not a bit what I expected.’
‘It’s peaceful now—the trouble is everyone knows where I live and the house is often far too full for my liking. Your room is comfortable?’
‘Oh, it’s lovely, I’ve never had such a lovely room…’ Her words sounded inadequate to her own ears, heaven knew what they sounded like to him.
He nodded. ‘Good. Don’t let Julie and Anna annoy you.’
‘But they never do.’ Her voice was drowned in their squeaky protests.
‘I’m glad to hear it. I’ve got tickets for Cinderella on Saturday evening—who wants to go?’
There were screams of delight from the children and a concerted rush to embrace him.
His eyes met Sadie’s over their heads. ‘And you, Sadie, will you come with us?’
She smiled slowly, ‘I’d love to’, and added like a well brought up child, ‘Thank you very much.’
‘It’s the evening performance—I’ll leave you to arrange a meal, Sadie. I’ve an evening date, but I’ll be back in time to drive you all to the theatre—it starts at eight o’clock. We’d better allow half an hour, I suppose—so be ready by about twenty past seven, will you?’
Her pleasure was a little dimmed, for it seemed as though he were giving up his own evening’s pleasure in order to go with them, and that must have been the case, for he went on: ‘I shall be out quite a bit while we’re here, so I’ll leave you and Mrs Woodley to sort out mealtimes. Feel free to take the children out, Sadie. The Savilles at the end of the road are bound to ask them round to tea one day, of course, and you’ll go with them—they’ve got rather a nice au pair—you’ll be glad to meet someone of your own age.’
She thanked him again and added in her sensible way: ‘I’ll go and unpack now. Would you like me to take the little girls with me?’
Before he could answer her, Woodley opened the door. ‘Mrs Langley and Miss Thornton, sir,’ he announced, and stood aside to allow two ladies to come in. They were elegant creatures, wrapped in furs and bringing with them a wave of scent. They swam towards Mr Trentham with shrill cries of, ‘Darling, so you’re back from that dump in the country!’ before they kissed him and caught his arms, one on each side of him. They were pretty women, although not so very young, and Sadie envied them from the bottom of her heart.
Mr Trentham extricated himself gently. ‘Julie, Anna, come and say hullo to Mrs Langley and Miss Thornton. And this is Sadie Gillard, my housekeeper.’
Two pairs of blue eyes looked her over, although neither of the ladies bothered to speak to her, let alone nod a greeting. Mr Trentham said impatiently: ‘Take the children now, will you, Sadie?’ and turned to his guests. ‘Well, Eileen, how’s the play going? Kay, did you enjoy the Bahamas?’
Definitely not my world, Sadie decided shooing the children before her back to their rooms to unpack.
Presently Teresa came to tell her that they would be having supper at seven o’clock and would she like hers with the children or later. The master would be out.
‘Oh, with the children, please, Teresa. Are there any visitors downstairs or can we come down without disturbing anyone?’
‘Master’s in his study. The ladies have gone, Miss Sadie. But there’s a playroom just across the gallery. There’s a nice fire there too.’
‘We’ll go there, then. Do we have supper there too?’
‘No, miss, that will be downstairs in the dining room. The master likes the children to eat properly.’
The playroom was cosy with well used furniture and great cupboards filled with toys. The children were getting tired, so Sadie settled by the fire, and told them to choose a book and she would read to them.
They brought her a rather battered copy of Grimms’ Fairy Tales and took it in turns to choose a story. Anna decided on Faithful John, which Sadie found rather bloodthirsty. She much preferred Julie’s choice—the beautiful poor girl sewing by her window and the prince riding by and the girl’s needle going after him—absurd and impossible, but rather sweet.
‘You sounded as though you would have liked to have been the beautiful young girl, Sadie,’ said Mr Trentham from the door.
She hadn’t heard him come in and none of them had seen him, as they sat bunched together on the elderly sofa. He was dressed to go out, tall and good-looking and assured; he would meet interesting people, she had no doubt, lovely girls with witty tongues, and he wouldn’t get impatient or frown at them, because they were plain and wore sensible clothes. A great ache swamped her chest so that she could hardly breathe. She would have given anything in the world to have been beautiful and clever, so that Mr Trentham would take one look at her and cancel his evening out and stay with her. Because that was what she wanted, only she hadn’t known it until that minute. She wanted him to fall in love with her, because she’d fallen in love with him. She might just as well wish for the moon.
She drew rather an unsteady breath and said the first thing that came into her head. ‘It’s a charming story, Mr Trentham—but most fairy stories are.’
He smiled with a hint of mockery. ‘But it doesn’t do to believe them, Sadie.’ He kissed the children goodnight and nodded to her. ‘Breakfast’s at half past eight, I’ll see you then.’
Presently they went down to supper. At any other time Sadie would have enjoyed the delicious meal eaten in such elegant surroundings, but she had no appetite. She was still getting over the shock of discovering that she loved Mr Trentham, and not just a girlish infatuation; she loved him just as much when he was tiresome or impatient or ill-tempered, she knew that she would still love him when he was an old man, stomping round the house, bawling everyone out. She wouldn’t be able to stop loving him. Even if he married again, it would make no difference.
Julie and Anna chattered like magpies, but towards the end of the meal they became sleepy and made no objection when Sadie whisked them upstairs and into their beds, kissed them goodnight and tucked them up.
‘You won’t turn out the light, will you, Sadie?’ asked Julie anxiously.
‘No, love—look, I’ll leave this little lamp on over here, and I’m going to leave your door just a tiny bit open so that if you want me in the night all you have to do is call me.’
She went to the door in a leisurely fashion, watched by the sleepy children. ‘When you get a puppy, I daresay, if you ask daddy very nicely, he might let him sleep in a basket between your beds.’
‘Miss Murch said dogs and cats are dirty, she wouldn’t let us stroke them…’
‘They’re cleaner than we are—you watch Tom washing himself next time we’re at the cottage. Goodnight, darlings, I’m coming to bed myself in no time at all.’
Mrs Woodley was waiting for her in the hall. ‘I wondered if you’d like to see over the house, Miss Sadie, it’s nice and quiet and it’ll be nice for you if you know your way around.’
It would be a good way of spending an hour before she could decently go to bed and she had no wish to be by herself, because then she would think too much. ‘I’d love it,’ said Sadie at once.
‘You’ve been in the small sitting room for tea,’ began Mrs Woodley. ‘This is the drawing room. The master doesn’t use it all that much, only when he has company—it’s a nice room; many’s the party he’s had here too.’
It was a lovely room, high-ceilinged and with a large bow window with window seats and elaborately draped curtains. The floor was polished wood almost covered by a thick carpet in pale pastel colours, and the chairs and two sofas were upholstered in the same pale colours. ‘They dance here, too,’ said Mrs Woodley. ‘Mr Trentham’s got a lot of friends.’
She crossed the room and opened a door in the farther wall. It gave on to a small room, comfortably furnished, at the back of the house, with french windows opening on to a conservatory which ran the width of the house at the back. ‘And if we walk along here,’ said Mrs Woodley, ‘we come to the music room, so-called.’ This was a smallish room with a grand piano and a pleasant arrangement of comfortable chairs and small tables. ‘And the library,’ and she led the way into another small room, lined with books, its polished floor covered with rugs and comfortable leather armchairs.
‘It’s a large house,’ ventured Sadie, a little out of her depth.
‘Well, a comfortable town house as houses go. Here’s Mr Trentham’s study.’ An austere room almost totally filled with a desk and chair and shelves of books and papers. ‘The dining room you’ve seen. Now, upstairs. There’s the master bedroom, not used and hasn’t been for years, the master’s bedroom, guest rooms…’
Mrs Woodley led the way upstairs and opened doors on to elegant rooms beautifully furnished and cared for. ‘Then there’s your room down this passage, and the c
hildren’s room, and two more guest rooms. Upstairs there’s our flat and Teresa’s room and an ironing room, as well as two more bedrooms. We won’t go there this evening, I daresay you’re tired.’
Sadie said that yes, she was, and bed seemed a good idea. ‘And thank you very much, Mrs Woodley, you’ve all been so kind.’
She went to sleep at once, although she had meant to stay awake for a little while and appreciate the luxury of fine linen sheets and a quilted silk eider-down. It was gentle sobbing from the children’s room which wakened her some hours later, a sobbing which got louder and wilder even as she got out of bed to listen. She didn’t wait for a dressing gown or slippers but ran into the children’s room, to find Julie sitting up in bed weeping uncontrollably.
Sadie sat down on the bed and took her in her arms. ‘There, there,’ she said in her gentle voice. ‘It’s all right, just you tell Sadie what frightened you. Did you have a dream?’
It was difficult to hear the words being sobbed out so heartrendingly.
‘She said she’d shut me in the cupboard if I told Daddy, and I started to tell him at breakfast and she stopped me and made him laugh,’ Julie stopped to sniff and choke, ‘and she put me in the cupboard and—locked the door!’
Two small arms were flung round Sadie’s neck, almost throttling her. ‘Don’t let her come back, Sadie, will you? It was d-dark and no one came for ages, and she smacked Anna when she tried to let me out, and we didn’t have our supper…’ Another bout of sobs took over and Anna woke up, got out of bed and got on to Sadie’s lap. ‘I had blue spots on my arms,’ she said, ‘but she made me wear long sleeves so that Daddy wouldn’t see.’
‘What didn’t Daddy see?’ asked Mr Trentham softly, and came to lean over the end of his daughter’s bed.
