The Baker’s Daughter

by D. E. Stevenson

  “It’s a fine old place,” said Sue, looking at it with interest. “Wouldn’t it be splendid to own a place like that?”

  “It would be hard to keep,” replied her grandmother dubiously. “I wouldn’t like it, myself.”

  “But you’d have servants, Granny.”

  “Aye, a regiment of them, eating their heads off,” retorted Mrs. Bulloch. “No, no, Sue, one girl is enough for me. A wee cozy house and one girl to do the scrubbing—that’s all I want, and all I’ve ever wanted. It’s lucky too,” added Mrs. Bulloch thoughtfully, “for it’s all I’m ever likely to have.”

  They stood and looked at the house for a few moments longer, and then Mrs. Bulloch shook herself out of her trance. “Come away, Sue,” she said briskly. “The gardens are around at the other side. I’ve been here often, so I know the way. It’s a pity the Admiral never married, isn’t it? The place goes to a nephew when he’s dead.”

  “Why did he never marry, I wonder,” said Sue as she followed her grandmother down the path.

  “Dear knows,” declared Mrs. Bulloch. “He was a fine young fellow with a joke for everybody. All the young ladies were mad about him. He used to come over to Beilford in his wee car—before the war it was—but yer grandfather and I were better pleased when he stayed away.”

  “I thought you said he was nice, Granny!”

  “He was a bit too nice,” replied Mrs. Bulloch enigmatically.

  Sue was about to inquire further into this mysterious pronouncement when a party of people came around the corner of the house and met them face-to-face. It was the Admiral himself with Mrs. Murray of Greenkirk and several other ladies. Mrs. Bulloch would have turned back if there had been time, for she was rather shy of gentry and preferred to give them a wide berth when possible, but there was no time to turn back.

  “Mrs. Bulloch!” exclaimed Sir Rupert, stopping and holding out his hand. “How are you, Mrs. Bulloch? I haven’t seen you for ages.”

  “I’m well enough, thank ye, sir,” she replied, her thin face somewhat pink with excitement.

  “That’s splendid,” declared the Admiral heartily. “I’m glad you’ve come over. And is this—”

  “My granddaughter, Sue Pringle,” Mrs. Bulloch told him.

  Sue held out her hand and felt it taken in a firm grip. She was conscious of a pair of keen eyes searching her face, searching it so intently that her own eyes dropped before the glance.

  “How d’you do, sir,” she said in a soft, low voice.

  “I’m very glad…” he said, a trifle incoherently.“The rhodies are early—and the daffodils. I’d like to show them to you—”

  “But yer friends!” exclaimed Mrs. Bulloch, nodding toward the ladies who had passed on and were now waiting indecisively at the corner. “Sue and I’ll manage quite well,” she added. “I know the way.”

  Sir Rupert took no notice of her protest. He had begun to talk to Sue and was leading her toward the sheltered wood where his early rhododendrons were in bloom.

  “This way,” he said, opening a little gate. “Tell me what you’re doing now. Are you still with Darnay?”

  Sue hesitated and looked back at her grandmother, for she was a little shy of the Admiral, and besides, it seemed somewhat rude to go off and leave Mrs. Bulloch in the lurch.

  “This way,” said the Admiral again, smiling at her kindly. “I’d like to take you around myself.”

  There was nothing for it but to walk through the gate that was being held open so invitingly and leave Mrs. Bulloch to follow, which she did with all speed.

  “I’m afraid we’re going too fast for you,” said Sir Rupert with solicitude. “There’s a sheltered seat here and one or two rugs. Perhaps you would like to sit down for a few minutes.”

  “Sue and I will be fine and comfortable here,” declared Mrs. Bulloch somewhat pointedly, but unfortunately, her host did not take the hint; he placed a rug over her knees and led Sue away to see the rhododendrons.

  This was not at all what Mrs. Bulloch had intended. She had felt slightly uneasy at the way in which Sir Rupert had singled out Sue and carried her off, but she was now quite alarmed. Anchored to the seat by the rug—which had been firmly tucked in by Sir Rupert’s own hands and was, therefore, in some strange way, as immovable as steel shackles—Mrs. Bulloch watched her granddaughter disappear into the wood.

  “But it’s nonsense,” said Mrs. Bulloch to herself. “I’m just daft. The Admiral’s old enough to be her father.”

  This reflection, though it comforted her a good deal, did not entirely allay her anxiety, for she had always been a little dubious about Rupert Lang. In the old days, when Mary’s loveliness was turning the head of every man in the district, Mr. Lang had been a constant visitor at the shop. It was impossible—so the Bullochs decided—that any young man should find himself in need of odd pounds of sugar and butter, or even of peppermint balls, in such enormous quantities, and they had come to the conclusion that he had designs upon their one ewe lamb. They talked it over together, and Mr. Bulloch decided—most reluctantly—that he must speak to Mr. Lang and have it out with him, but the interview had never taken place, for the war started, and Mr. Lang disappeared, and Mary married Will Pringle. Once Mary was safely married, and the somewhat wild and irresponsible young man had become a captain and, later, a distinguished Admiral in His Majesty’s Navy, Mrs. Bulloch’s feelings had changed and she had felt proud of Rupert Lang—as all Beilford was proud—for it was a great thing to have known and spoken to Admiral Sir Rupert Lang when he was a mere lad and as full of mischief as a terrier pup.

  All this flashed through Mrs. Bulloch’s mind, and her old fears returned. Sir Rupert was not young any longer, of course, but once a rip, always a rip… “Oh dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Bulloch in dismay. “Oh dear, why didn’t I say I would go too. But I couldn’t, somehow.”

  The minutes passed on leaden feet, and at last she became quite desperate—they would have had time to inspect a whole forest of rhododendrons by now. She threw off the rug and rose to her feet, determined to pursue the couple into the wood and see what was happening.

  At this moment Sir James Faulds appeared from the direction of the house. He strolled in through the little gate, looking very neat and dapper in a gray flannel suit and a soft hat.

  “Hullo, Mrs. Bulloch!” he said, smiling at her in a friendly manner. “How are you? Everybody seems to be here today. It’s lovely, isn’t it? Have you seen the rhodies yet?”

  “I was just going to, sir,” replied Mrs. Bulloch, somewhat flustered by his sudden appearance.

  “Have you anybody with you?” he inquired. “Is Bulloch here?”

  “No, sir. At least…yes… I mean, he’s not here today, but my granddaughter, Sue, came with me.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In the wood,” replied Mrs. Bulloch. “They’ve been a long time, and I was just thinking I’d go look for them. The Admiral is showing—”

  “What!” cried the Laird. “Is she there—alone—with him?”

  These extraordinary words, and the obvious dismay of the speaker, frightened poor Mrs. Bulloch out of her wits.

  “Maircy!” she exclaimed. “Are ye thinking… But surely… Oh maircy, we’ll need to find them.”

  The Laird was obviously of the same opinion, for he seized Mrs. Bulloch’s arm and propelled her forcibly down the path. “It’s perfectly all right,” he declared incoherently. “He’ll not have had time. Besides, he practically promised. I mean it’s quite all right; there’s nothing to worry about—nothing at all. Still, you never know. You’d like to see the rhododendrons, wouldn’t you?”

  Mrs. Bulloch was too breathless to reply—even if she had been able to find any rational reply to such ravings.

  “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” he continued, dragging her past bush after bush of blazing blossoms without so much as a glance
in their direction. “Such color! But they’ve no scent—or none to speak of—and that’s a pity.”

  She was far too frantic to care whether rhododendrons had any scent. “Oh dear!” she gasped. “I never should have let her go with him. But I never thought…”

  It was warm, for the wood was sheltered and the sun streamed down like a golden shower. Mrs. Bulloch was not suitably clad for running races in the heat. Her face was crimson when at last Sir James stopped dead and pointed through the bushes.

  “There they are!” he exclaimed.

  Mrs. Bulloch stopped too and peered through the thick shining leaves. She saw the two figures standing on the path deep in conversation. At that moment Sue’s laugh rang out through the wood. It was a merry laugh and brought a good deal of comfort to her friends.

  “It’s all right. He hasn’t told her,” the Laird said with a sigh of relief.

  “Told her what?” inquired his companion.

  She received no answer, and the words were so strange that afterward, when she thought it over, she decided that she must have misunderstood the noble gentleman. She followed him around the bushes, trying to compose herself—mopping her face with her handkerchief and putting her hat straight—for, now that her fears had proved groundless, they seemed utterly ridiculous and shameful. Despite her efforts to improve her appearance, however, she did not fail to notice Sir Rupert’s face when he saw who it was arriving to disturb his tête-à-tête. He looked annoyed, and perhaps that was natural, but he also looked uncomfortable and a trifle guilty. In fact, he looked for all the world like a little boy discovered in the act of stealing jam.

  “Hallo, Rupert!” said the Laird. “You’re wanted at the house. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. How are you, Miss Pringle? It’s a lovely day.”

  “What do they want me for?” inquired Sir Rupert irritably.

  Sir James did not reply to the question. He said good-bye to Mrs. Bulloch and her granddaughter, slipped his hand through the Admiral’s arm, and led him reluctantly away.

  “Well, I never did!” exclaimed Mrs. Bulloch, subsiding into a convenient seat. “Of all the queer set outs… Maircy, I’m hot!”

  “What have you been doing?” inquired Sue anxiously. “Poor Granny, your face is like a beetroot. Are you feeling all right?”

  “All right!” echoed her grandparent. “It’s a wonder I’m alive. What with the fright and the Laird rushing me down the path like a fire engine…”

  “What on earth frightened you?” Sue demanded.

  Mrs. Bulloch hesitated for a moment, and then she smiled. “Maybe it was a lion,” she said.

  The whole affair was absolutely inexplicable to Sue, and Mrs. Bulloch refused to clear up the mystery or indeed to make any addition to the absurd statement she had already vouchsafed.

  “But, Granny, it couldn’t have been a lion,” Sue declared, perplexed beyond measure by the extraordinary way Mrs. Bulloch was behaving. “Did you see it in the bushes? Was it a big dog, or what?”

  “Maybe it was.”

  “Was he frightened too?”

  “He ran hard enough,” declared Mrs. Bulloch, “but never mind that now. We’ll take a walk around and see the rhodies. What was the Admiral telling ye about them?”

  Apparently the Admiral had told Sue very little about the rhodies, and Sue found it difficult to say what it was they had talked about. “He was very nice,” she declared in answer to Mrs. Bulloch’s searching inquiries. “He asked what I was doing and all that. I like the Admiral; he’s a fatherly kind of man.”

  “Fatherly, is he? That’s grand,” said Mrs. Bulloch, with a sigh of relief.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, the Admiral was being led firmly in the direction of the house, his anger rising at every step. “What the hell!” he was inquiring. “Really, Jamie, can I not have a chat with a young woman in my own garden without interference from you.”

  “Not that young woman,” declared the baronet firmly.

  “She’s a very nice young woman. Very nice indeed. In fact, she’s charming.”

  “All the more reason—”

  “But I wasn’t saying anything at all—not a blessed thing. I wanted to have a good look at her and see what she was like.”

  “Who she was like, you mean.”

  “Well, perhaps,” admitted Admiral Lang.

  “Did you think she was like you?”

  “God forbid!”

  “She’s like her grandmother,” declared Sir James. “That’s who she’s like. You think she’s like your mother because your mother had red hair.”

  “Auburn,” interrupted the Admiral. “It’s exactly the same color, James. That rich, dark auburn—”

  “For pity’s sake! How many of us have hair like that? I could name half a dozen straight off.”

  “And her hands—”

  “Rupert,” said his friend sternly. “You’ve a bee in your bonnet about that girl. You’ll raise hell if you’re not careful. The old woman suspects something—”

  “She doesn’t!”

  “She does indeed. She was scared to death when I found her.”

  “Great Scott!”

  “Promise me you’ll leave the girl alone,” adjured Sir James. “I’ll never have a peaceful moment if you don’t.”

  “I’ll promise, Jamie,” said the Admiral meekly.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The warehouse was closed for the night, but there was still work to be done, and Sue was helping Bob Hickie to unpack some cases that had arrived in the afternoon. There were two cases from China, with queer lettering marked upon them in jet black ink, and one from Marseilles, larger but less romantic. Hickie had opened the Chinese cases first, and now he was busy unpacking jars of ginger and handing them to Sue to put away on the shelves.

  “Sue,” he said, pausing for a moment and looking up into her face with his soft brown eyes. “Sue, are you liking it here?”

  “I like lots of work,” Sue told him.

  “You’re a good worker,” he agreed. “I like work too, and this is interesting work. I like to see the cases arrive and all the good things come out and fill up the shelves. I’ve been here nine years now.”

  Sue nodded.

  “It’s nine years since I saw you first,” continued Hickie. “You were just a wee girl.”

  “I was fourteen,” Sue told him in a matter-of-fact voice.

  “Fourteen,” he agreed. “That’s not very old, but you were always awfully serious. You were never one to tease the life out of a person like some I could name.”

  Sue was busy wiping the jars and polishing them. She arranged several on the shelf with great care before she answered, “I could never see the fun of that.”

  “You’re so kindhearted, Sue,” he told her earnestly.

  Sue was touched by his words and by the doglike devotion in his eyes. She liked Bob immensely—he was so good and kind and hard working—and she knew that he loved her dearly. It would be the best thing for everybody if she married Bob. It would solve all her problems, and her grandparents would be beside themselves with delight. She was so tired of battling with her misery, of trying to be cheerful and bright when her heart was breaking. It was no use thinking of Mr. Darnay anymore, for he had gone out of her life forever. Why shouldn’t she just say yes to Bob and make him happy? I’ll do it, she thought, and she turned and smiled at Bob. She was aware that a very little encouragement would bring Bob to the point.

  Bob Hickie was groping in the crate, so he did not see the smile that had been produced for his benefit. “What a pretty color!” he said, holding up a pale-yellow jar with little blue Chinese figures painted on it. “I like it’s shape too. It’s queer to think the crate was packed by a Chinese man and it’s being unpacked by you and me.”

  “Very queer,” said Sue. The smile of encouragement h
ad faded now, and she could not produce another to save her life.

  Afterward, as she lay in bed and thought about the incident, Sue was aghast. I’m crazy, she decided. I’m fit for a madhouse. I ought to be locked up. Fancy if I had taken Bob; we’d be engaged this minute, and I would be lying here wondering how on earth I was going to get out of marrying him! She thought about it for a long time, pitying Bob out of the pain in her own heart, and suddenly she saw her way clear. Bob could not be allowed to go away, for he was necessary to the business, but she could go herself. There was absolutely nothing to prevent her from leaving Beilford. Why hadn’t she seen that before?

  Sue broached her new plan to the Bullochs next morning and met with less opposition than she had expected.

  “Maybe a wee change would do ye good,” Mrs. Bulloch said thoughtfully.

  “Why not go to Bella for a while?” added Mr. Bulloch. “I’ll miss ye badly, of course, but Granny’s right, and a wee change would do ye no harm.”

  She had not thought where to go, and one place seemed as good as another. There was no reason why she should not go to London and stay with Aunt Bella if Aunt Bella would have her.

  “Bella will be glad to have ye,” declared Mrs. Bulloch with conviction, “and it’s so nice and near the station if ye’re wanting home. Do ye remember her, Sue?”

  Sue remembered Aunt Bella—a cheerful, bustling woman who occasionally came to Beilford to stay with the Bullochs. “She’s not very like Grandfather, is she?” Sue remarked.

  “She’s only his half sister,” said Mrs. Bulloch. “Thomas’s own mother died when he was born…” And she launched forth into a long and detailed account of the Bulloch family.

  Miss Bulloch kept a small hotel in London not far from Euston Station. The hotel was situated in a pleasant square, and as it was very comfortable and well kept, it was a flourishing concern. Miss Bulloch welcomed Sue with open arms. She had lived in London for twenty years, but she still felt an exile, and it was a great pleasure to be able to talk to Sue about her own people and to hear the lilt of her own language on Sue’s lips. Miss Bulloch could speak “English” with the best of them—so she declared—but the Scots fitted her tongue like a comfortable shoe. She gave her great-niece a little bedroom at the top of the house—a strange little slip of a room rather like a ship’s cabin. There was a fixed basin in one corner of the room and a built-in wardrobe in the other, and the divan bed—which was a great deal more comfortable than it looked—hid its real use beneath a gaudy chintz covering. Sue liked the room. It was very small—so small that you could hardly turn around in it, much less swing the proverbial cat—but it was fresh and bright and contained everything necessary to her comfort. The window opened onto a balcony and gave her a vast view of sky and chimney stacks. She put away her belongings tidily in the cupboard, hung her “White Lady” on the wall opposite her bed, and settled down to her new life.