by Robert Neill
The phrase was teasing. She seemed to be repeating it, thrusting it at him, as if she hoped it would give her meaning. But he did not yet grasp it. Her eyes fascinated, and clear thought seemed to stop.
‘Of course I shall be away a lot,’ she said brightly. ‘I shall always be going somewhere. But just now and then, when I want to stop and be quiet, and be myself, I shall have somewhere to go to. I never thought I’d ever have a home, not one that would mean anything.’
‘You mean--at his Manor House?’
‘Now, now! What would people say? And how could I be myself if I was doing sweet little girl with him?’ For a moment she mimed it, with her face soft and demure. ‘He’s letting me have the house--bless him! Do you wonder I’m sweet? All honey!’
‘What house?’
‘Oh, heavens, what a man! The one I told you of--my mother’s house, the one he built for her. I was put out of it when she died, when I was a fortnight old, and I’ve never been in it since. I lived in the cottage with Granny, but I used to go up there in the trees and look at the house and wonder what it was like inside. It was all shut up, and he never let anyone go in, and now it’s to be opened again.’
‘I’m so glad, Anice--for your sake.’
‘Only mine?’ For a moment she seemed to wait for him, and then she nodded. ‘Ah well! That’s how it is, and he was ever so sweet about it. Of course he was sorry for me. Another reason why I had to be an invalid.’
‘Had to--Anice, what do you mean? When was this?’
‘Tonight, of course.’ Her eyes were suddenly gleaming. ‘Didn’t he tell you he’d been to see me?’
‘He certainly didn’t. He packed us off to the theatre, and---’
‘Went for a walk, I suppose. Naughty old man. I don’t like artful people.’
‘You’re a good one to---’
‘Well, never mind.’ She gazed at him benignly, and then took another shift of mood. ‘He’s a nice old thing. But I’m glad for my mother’s sake. Of course, I never knew her, but they say I’m like her, and I think she’d be glad her house is coming back to me. After all, she died there--for me. Would she be glad?’
‘I’m sure she would. We shall all be glad. But is this what you were after when you tackled Barford the other day? Were you after the house all the time?’
‘And being his little girl. And the dower house, of course. I had to get that for Mary.’ Again her voice had changed, and suddenly she was sitting up in bed, vivid and eager, blue and gold against the lace of the pillows. ‘You see what’s going to happen, darling? You can marry Mary--oh yes--and live in the dower house with her--and mine’s just over the hill, behind the trees.’
‘Good God!’
‘Not such language, dear. Of course, I shan’t be there all the time. I’m not dancing attendance on you, and you needn’t think it. But just now and then . . .’ She swung her legs suddenly out of bed again, sitting for a moment on the edge of it, her eyes a sparkle of delight. ‘You’ll marry Mary, darling, and love her very much, and live happily ever afterwards, and take the children for walks--oh yes, you will. I can just see you doing it--and you’ll take them over the hill and you’ll say: “That’s where Auntie Anice lives.” ‘
‘Stop it, you silly creature.’
‘Oh no, I’m not. And just now and then--it might be only once a year--you’ll see smoke in the chimney--lazy smoke, just curling up and calling--and do you know what you’ll do?’
‘Run away, I should think.’
‘That’s just what you’ll do, and you’ll have a nice quiet day and quiet evening, and if she asks you what you’re thinking about you’ll say it’s a ship. You needn’t say whose mantelpiece it’s on. And when night comes, and the moon lifts above the trees---’
‘Anice, you’re---’
‘Darling!’ She jumped suddenly forward, flinging herself on top of him again. ‘Did you think I could ever give you up for always? Could you do it?’
‘No, my dearest--never, when you look like this.’
‘It’s more than looks. It’s right through everything. But you’ll be happy with her. I want you to be. But just now and then--well, a night like this?’
‘I was just going to tell you so. Are you still cold?’
‘This silly thing---’
She had grasped her thin silk nightgown, and suddenly she gave a chuckle of delight and wriggled out of it. She flung it across the bed and stood for a moment in front of him, as smooth and pink as the silk had been. Then she dived into bed, burying herself under the sheets till only her eyes and hair were seen. The eyes shone with merriment.
‘Now . . .’ she said.
