by Anne Hampson
‘Oh, Kate,’ Dawn gasped, ‘isn’t he just too funny?’ Phil was now standing straight, waving his great hat in the air and shouting,
‘Behold, your new lord of the manor! Here I am, straight from those jolly ole Rockies...’ His mouth suddenly gaped; the great hat shook like a leaf being blown in the wind, then fluttered down as Phil’s hand dropped to his side.
Silence descended on the company and all eyes were fixed, staringly, on the man in the doorway. Kathryn turned, gasped, then lifted a trembling hand to her mouth.
In the few seconds before she spoke there became impressed on her mind the vision of a man immaculately dressed, a blue-eyed giant, brown-haired, with a face lean and bronzed, a mouth thin and tight with anger and a brow darkened with the same emotion.
‘Who—who—h-how did you g-get in? I mean, are y-you—?’ Lord, it couldn’t be! But why then this expression of fury? She swallowed hard and tried again.
‘You’re not Mr.—?’ Points of blue ice froze her to instant silence as, after a slow contemptuous examination of the squirming company, his eyes came to rest on Kathryn’s burning countenance.
‘My name’s Hyland—John Hyland. I’m looking for a Miss Ramsey.’ Cold fury could be sensed beneath the deep and apparently lazy drawl. ‘Take me to her, if you please.’ He addressed himself to Kathryn, and if her knees were weak before they felt like jelly now.
‘I’m—I’m Miss Ramsey,’ she admitted, and for a moment he appeared to be bereft of speech. Then he shook his head in a gesture of bewilderment.
‘There must be some mistake. I want Miss Kathryn Ramsey.’
‘I’m Kathryn Ramsey.’ She looked up at him unhappily, the only picture in her mind now being that of Phil’s antics, the noisy amusement of the onlookers, and her own apparent enjoyment of the skit on the new owner of the Hall. Never, she realized, could she live that down. He still seemed sure there was some mistake, and with ever-increasing dismay Kathryn recalled Mr. Lowry’s high, opinion of her. And the solicitor had said he had written to Mr. Hyland telling him all about her ... No wonder he still doubted the evidence of his own ears.
‘Perhaps you’ll show me a room,’ he requested at last, in a very soft voice. ‘Is there someone who’ll fetch my things from the car?’ He possessed all the assurance of a man used to receiving attention, and Kathryn wondered where the newspapers had received their information. But Mr. Lowry had said the man was from the ranching country ... Could it be that he owned ranches? He stepped back as he spoke, an indication that he wished Kathryn to precede him, which she did, thankfully closing the door behind her and breathing an almost audible sigh of relief as she did so. Surely Dawn and Rita would get rid of that crowd before Mr. Hyland came down again.
‘I’ll get Burrows—’ She broke off, a surge of anger spreading as, from behind the door, great peals of laughter rang forth. A fearful glance at her companion revealed the colour slowly rising in his face, and a little movement in his throat as if he had difficulty in controlling his wrath.
‘I’m—I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Hyland,’ she began wretchedly. ‘We weren’t expecting you—’
‘Obviously not.’
‘Mr. Lowry said you wouldn’t be here till next weekend.’
His eyes, made more disconcerting by the deeper, metallic blue in their depths, flickered over her for a second before he repeated his request to be taken up to his room.
‘Of course.’ On reaching the entrance hall Kathryn rang the bell and within a few moments Burrows appeared. ‘Mr. Hyland’s suitcases are in his car; will you take them up to the Hall Room?’ she said, noting his sudden start of surprise at her words. A smile of welcome then came to his lips and he seemed about to speak to the new owner of the Hall. But, as if warned by Kathryn’s expression not to make any comment at this time, he merely nodded and went out to the car.
‘This way, Mr. Hyland.’ Still flustered by his untimely appearance, and crushed by his manner, Kathryn led him through the dining-room towards the wall staircase which led to those rooms not on view to the public. How could the mistake have occurred? she wondered, unable to believe that Mr. Lowry could have erred over the date of John Hyland’s arrival. No, he must have changed his plans, she decided. And he obviously hadn’t informed Mr. Lowry, for had the solicitor known of his arrival in England he would have made sure Kathryn had ample warning of when to expect him. Also, Mr. Lowry had said only last week that when the new owner did arrive he himself would bring him to the Hall and personally introduce them to one another. How different that would all have been, thought Kathryn, her footsteps flagging as she led the way upstairs.
‘Mind your head,’ she warned mechanically. The beautiful cut-glass chandelier hung rather low, and John Hyland was of much more than average height.
A narrow staircase led off from the Gallery, through which they were now walking, and Kathryn gestured towards it.
‘There are two priest holes up there,’ she murmured, not at all with the confidence she had acquired in six years of taking visitors over the house. ‘One has a shaft running right down to the ground floor. It’s an escape route.’ He made no comment, in fact she wondered if he had heard, for he was looking around with interest at the paintings on the walls, at the panelling and the massive oak beams. ‘This is your room.’ She opened the door of the Hall Room and stood aside for him to enter. He strode into the centre of the apartment and stood looking from one window to the other. Then his interested gaze rested on the great stone fireplace and, watching him, Kathryn explained that it was very ancient, dating from the end of the fifteenth century. ‘There has been little change here since Sir Thomas Fitton’s day,’ she went on. ‘The glass and the wainscoting and the plaster work were all put in by him.’ She turned as Burrows appeared carrying two large suitcases.
‘Put them down there, by the cupboard.’
‘Yes, Miss Ramsey. I’ll go and fetch the others now.’
‘Do you like the room, Mr. Hyland?’ she asked, and for a moment he seemed almost human as he scratched his head in indecision.
‘Not particularly,’ he replied at last.
‘Wh-what!’ She stared, bereft of further speech.
‘I said, not particularly.’
‘Why, it’s a beautiful room, the principal bedroom. All the heads of the house used this. And many famous people in history have slept on that four-poster bed.’
‘Including Queen Elizabeth,’ he responded, moving over to the window.
‘She didn’t visit Marbeck,’ Kathryn submitted, flushing at his hint of sarcasm.
‘She didn’t? He still scanned the view. ‘My house must be unique among English stately homes.’ He was looking out over the magnificent grounds to the largest of the lakes, and to the tower of the Norman church not so very far distant. ‘Show me another room, please.’
‘Don’t you like the view?’ she gasped, forgetting her recent embarrassment as she stared at his broad back in disbelief.
‘The view is perfect. Another room, I said.’
Kathryn quite suddenly became hot. Drawing a deep breath, she persevered, ‘This is the best bedroom in the whole house, Mr. Hyland, and as I’ve said, it’s always used by the head of the family. In the old days it was given to every distinguished visitor. The Duke of Monmouth slept here, and his father, Charles II, before him.’
Slowly he turned from the window to regard her with an icy stare that seemed to chill her very marrow.
‘Miss Ramsey, I do not care if Henry VIII and all his wives slept here, I want another bedroom.’
At his insistence her throat moved visibly and she swallowed hard.
‘I can’t think why you don’t like it—’
‘I haven’t said I don’t like it.’
‘Then why—?’ She shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I repeat, Mr. Hyland, it’s the best bedroom in—’
‘Then show me the second best bedroom!’ he snapped, glaring at her now from his great height.
‘Yes, Mr. Hyland
. If—if you’ll come this way.’ He followed her into the Gallery again and she opened another door.
‘This is the second best bedroom,’ she submitted, moving to one side, allowing him to enter before her. Her nightdress case lay on the elegant and beautiful carved French bed, and her negligee was draped across the foot. On the dressing table were displayed her silver-handled brushes and comb, an elaborate ring stand in antique porcelain and several trinket boxes of ivory and mother-of-pearl. ‘I can move out right away; I’ll get one of the maids up here at once.’
‘I suppose this is called the Blue Room—it must be.’ Moving over to the dressing-table, he picked up the ring stand, examined the mark on the underneath, then returned it to its place, his glance at the same time flickering over the rest of the treasures lying there. And most odd was the expression in his eyes as they again rested on Kathryn’s face.
‘Yes, it is called the Blue Room,’ she said. ‘Does it please you, Mr. Hyland?’
‘Very much; but as it’s occupied, you can show me another.’
Kathryn became so hot now that the colour rose and fused her cheeks.
‘If this one pleases you—’ she began, when he interrupted her to repeat that she could show him another, but Kathryn ignored this, and went on, ‘I’d much rather you have the Blue Room, seeing that you like it. I don’t mind at all moving out.’ She knew his patience had been tried, but she was totally unprepared for the fury in his deep tones as he said,
‘Miss Ramsey, what is the matter with you! Show me another room, at once!’
‘This is the Solar Room,’ she informed him a moment later, and as it was in a state of complete chaos she had to add, though in a very small and rather frightened voice, ‘One of my sisters has this room, but if you like it we can soon move her things.’ Move them! It would take all night. And why, for heaven’s sake, did Rita have to use the floor for her undies and her stockings? Two sweaters were flung on a chair, her dressing-gown was in a heap on the floor by the bed, and the walls—Fixed up between the beautiful fifteenth-century timbering were all Rita’s pop singer heroes, and hanging from the ceiling, over a bed that looked as if it had never been made for days, hung a great hairy spider in black nylon fur.
A most awful silence followed before the new owner of Marbeck Hall said, in a dangerously quiet tone,
‘Did you say one of your sisters?’
‘Two of them are staying here. You see—’ She met his wrathful, questioning gaze contritely and went on to say she had better explain.
‘You better had, Miss Ramsey. I wasn’t informed that my house had been taken over by a band of hooligans.’
That prevented speech for a moment; Kathryn could only stand there, miserably conscious of the scene of slovenliness and disorder and wishing fervently that she’d hardened her heart against her sisters’ pleadings.
‘The girls,’ she began falteringly, ‘they were turned out of their flat, so I said they might come here, but it was only until they found somewhere else—’
‘How long have they been here?’
Kathryn bit her lip and confessed that they had been living at the Hall for the past four months.
‘I didn’t think they’d stay that long,’ she added hastily on seeing that movement in his neck again. ‘In any case, I meant to have them out by next week-end, that is, before you came.’
‘You say they were turned out? Why?’
‘They didn’t pay their rent,’ she had to admit, and kept her head averted, having no desire to witness the effect of that upon him. She at the same time recalled their conclusions—and her own—that the new master of Marbeck wouldn’t have the courage to murmur a complaint even if he did arrive upon the scene before they left. How different from what they had all expected! Never for one moment had Kathryn imagined she would experience discomfiture such as this. On the contrary, she had half expected to find herself adopting a faintly condescending attitude towards the heir to the Marbeck estate. Presently she glanced up, to see a look of resignation on John Hyland’s handsome face, though his eyes retained their icy gleam.
‘Perhaps you’ll show me a room where I can sleep, Miss Ramsey,’ he said, and Kathryn began twisting her hands as she told him baldly that there wasn’t one. His eyes opened very wide; he looked amazed.
‘A great house like this and there’s nowhere for me to sleep?’
‘My other sister has the Compass Room—over here—and that completes our part. The rest is on view, and therefore can’t be occupied.’
He was walking out and she followed him.
‘There was a place off the Hall Room, as you called it. Wasn’t that a bedroom?’ He took long strides and soon he had entered the principal bedroom again. ‘What’s through here?’
‘It was the dressing-room in the old days,’ she said. ‘Now it’s a modern bathroom—for this room.’
‘Hmm...’ He stood on the threshold, surveying the room. It was exquisite, in several shades of mauve, with just about everything a bathroom could have—even to a cushion on which to rest the head when lying in the bath! ‘It goes with this room, you say? Yes, naturally it must.’ He was eyeing the pretty jars of coloured bath salts and the sponge bag lying on the side of the bath.
‘I’ve been using it,’ she owned, lowering her head.
‘I’ll sleep here,’ he decided, turning back into the room. ‘Where’s that fellow with the rest of my things—? There you are. Put that one on the bed.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Burrows did as he was told, then looked at his new employer. ‘Welcome to your ancestral home, sir. I’m sure we all hope you’ll be happy, and decide to stay with us.’
‘Stay?’ A faint lift of his brows. ‘What makes you think I might not stay?’
A little colour came to Burrows’ rugged face; he cast a quick glance at Kathryn. She felt she could have shaken him.
‘I see...’ John Hyland glanced at Kathryn through slightly narrowed eyes. ‘Yes, I do see. Er—thank you, Burrows, you may go.’
The air of him! thought Kathryn. Clearly he was used to servants and clearly he knew what sort of person they had all expected!
Those stupid antics of Phil’s—and John Hyland’s entrance at that particular moment. It was her own fault, though, she had to admit. Perhaps this would teach her a lesson; perhaps in future she would act less impulsively and think before taking pity on people.
John Hyland was now standing by the other window; Kathryn excused herself and went into the bathroom to collect her belongings and to put out clean towels and new tablets of soap. When she returned to the Hall Room John Hyland was scowling darkly as he turned his head.
‘What the devil are those trailers doing on my land? It is my land, I take it?’
The caravans! Kathryn just stood there, looking almost stupefied. In her agitation and embarrassment she had completely forgotten about the caravans. Had anyone ever made such a disastrous start with a prospective employer? Well, whether or not he intended to carry on allowing the public access to his home he certainly wouldn’t have the least desire to retain her services. And she wouldn’t even insist on staying the six months, she decided, convinced as she was that her presence here could only be a source of irritation to him. Her lips quivered as she recalled how highly esteemed she was by Mr. Southon. In all the six years she had worked for him nothing had gone wrong; at no time had he ever had to complain about her conduct or her loyalty. But this...
‘Yes, it is your land, Mr. Hyland,’ she began with haste as he eyed her questioningly, his scowl deepening. ‘You see, they’re old age pensioners, and they hadn’t anywhere to go—’
‘You mean Mr. Southon gave them permission to come on his land?’
‘No, Mr. Hyland. I did...’
‘You did?’ He it was who appeared stupefied now. ‘They’ve come here since Mr. Southon’s death?’ She nodded dumbly and he went on, very quietly, ‘You actually took it upon yourself to sanction the siting of trailers on my land?’ He still seemed incredulo
us—and no wonder, thought Kathryn as she began to stammer,
‘They h-hadn’t anywhere to go b-because their site closed down, so I—I said they could come here—just until the new site’s ready. I intended having them off before you came.’
Turning his head to look over at the caravans again, he stood in wrathful silence for such a long time that Kathryn began to wonder if he had forgotten her presence. But at last he came away from the window, turning his attention to her again.
‘It seems to me, Miss Ramsey, that you intended doing a good deal of clearing up, shall we say, before I came. How much have you been making from all this?’
‘Nothing,’ she retorted, her eyes flashing with indignation. ‘I wouldn’t dream of making money that way.’
‘You mean to say you’ve taken in these boarders, and turned the place into a trailer park—all for no reward? My dear Miss Ramsey, I’m a business man, not an idiot—though you obviously expected me to be one. How much are you making on all this?’ he repeated sharply.
‘Nothing, truthfully,’ she faltered, indignant and even angry, but at the same time admitting he had excuses in plenty for his accusations. ‘I did it merely to help those old people, though I now know it was very wrong of me. As for my sisters, I knew at once that I’d made a mistake.’ She looked up at him miserably, and went on to assure him that in less than a week everything would be back to normal.
‘I’m not prepared to wait a week,’ he snapped. ‘I’ll have no gypsies on my land—!’
‘They’re not gypsies, Mr. Hyland. They’re respectable old people.’
‘Don’t your councils find these people homes?’ he wanted to know, frowning.
‘hey prefer caravans; they like living in a rural setting.’
‘Well, they’re not living in this rural setting. Get them off.’
She could only stand there, blinking at him, and he repeated the order.
