Heaven is High

by Anne Hampson

  However, for the present he appeared to be satisfied with her answer and for the next half hour or so they discussed Kathryn’s birthday party.

  ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting to ask your sisters?’ His lips pursed and she found herself blushing, for he must be remembering that rowdy scene, and that dreadful room of Rita’s.

  ‘They can behave,’ she submitted. ‘I’d like them to come.’

  ‘Certainly they shall come,’ he responded swiftly. ‘You must ask whom you like, Kathryn. It’s your party.’

  The list was made out; Kathryn had two friends whom she wished to ask, and her father and mother. Then she mentioned Michael, watching John’s face as she did so.

  His expression told her nothing as he agreed that Michael be invited.

  ‘And that’s all,’ Kathryn said. ‘It won’t be a very big party unless you invite someone, John.’

  ‘I did think of the Slades. You get on very well with them, I’ve noticed.’ Was he being tactful, or could he be in ignorance of the hostility existing between Delia and herself? As for Mr. and Mrs. Slade, he was quite right about them. Kathryn had always liked them and in Mr. Southon’s day they had treated her with the utmost kindness and consideration, regarding her more in the light of a daughter of the house than an employee.

  ‘Yes, we’ll ask the Slades,’ she agreed, noticing his questioning gaze at her hesitation. She could keep away from Delia, Kathryn thought, wondering if, perhaps, she would decline the invitation. However, all the invitations were accepted; the guests including the two school friends of Kathryn’s and a young married couple who lived at the Old Smithy, a charming Tudor house set on a hill overlooking the tree-lined lane and the ancient church. Andrea Martin had been friendly with Kathryn ever since she and her husband had come to the village three years ago on their marriage; and when John arrived at the Hall both she and Bernard had called, being introduced to John by Kathryn. Bernard and John had taken to each other on sight, and it now seemed that a close friendship between the two couples would swiftly develop.

  The great Dining Room was lighted by candles only. They were in ornate silver candlesticks and set amid lovely floral decorations which were displayed right down the centre of the lovely sixteenth-century refectory table.

  ‘Don’t you feel important, Kate?’ Dawn was seated on one side of her and she laughed as she asked the question. ‘I never thought to be sitting here as a guest of my sister. I think I’ll have to reform and act as the sister of the lady of the manor should.’

  ‘You don’t need to reform,’ Kathryn quickly replied. ‘All you need do is settle down.’

  ‘Get married, you mean?’

  ‘Not necessarily, but quieten down, that’s what I really meant.’

  ‘You mean become old-fashioned and staid like you?’ Dawn paused in thought. ‘Well ... if this is where staidness gets you, I don’t think it’s a bad idea after all. Yes,’ she nodded, ‘I might take your advice at that.’ Kathryn laughed, and caught her fiancé’s eye. He smiled at her and her heart fluttered with sudden joy. The past six years at Marbeck Hall had been years of quiet pleasure, and a continuance of this was all she had hoped for when, after Mr. Southon’s death, a new heir was traced, so far away across the Atlantic. Yes, she had hoped with all her heart that this John Hyland would keep her in his employ, allowing her to go on living there, in that state of quiet pleasure ... But this, this was sheer wonderment, not only because she would be here for the rest of her days but, much more important, because she would be John’s wife. Her quiet pleasure had turned to excitement bordering on ecstasy. John’s smile deepened, and Kathryn knew it was owing to the blush that had suddenly tinted her cheeks. She looked down at her plate, and spent the next few minutes concentrating on her food.

  The meal over, they all went into the Drawing Room, and it was only then that Kathryn and Michael found an opportunity to talk. Michael, Kathryn knew, had bought some rare Sevres porcelain and she began to ask him about it. But he was not interested in antiques, strangely, and his usual bright smile was absent as, sitting down beside her on the couch, he asked her if she were happy.

  ‘Yes, Michael, I’m happy,’ she replied truthfully. Her eyes were on Delia, who was sitting at the other side of the room talking to Andrea and Bernard. She was smiling in her charming way, but suddenly sensing Kathryn’s eyes upon her, she lifted her face; the smile faded, and its place taken by an expression of sheer hatred. Kathryn started visibly and Michael followed the direction of her gaze.

  ‘You’ll have trouble with her,’ he declared, for the moment diverted from what he had intended saying. ‘She was all set to becoming mistress of Marbeck; it’s a coveted position you have, Kathryn.’ She felt uncomfortable. Did everyone believe what Michael had so subtly hinted—that she was lucky only because of the position she would hold?—because of living in this, the most beautiful and famous house in the whole of Cheshire? Returning his gaze to Kathryn, Michael’s eyes became clouded and anxious. ‘I suppose this isn’t the time to bring it up,’ he said, ‘but you know how I feel about you? I asked you to marry me—’ He broke off awkwardly and Kathryn glanced down at her hands, hiding her embarrassment.

  ‘I wasn’t in love with you, Michael,’ she submitted in rather gentle tones.

  ‘Are you in love with John Hyland?’ he countered bluntly, and she swiftly raised her head.

  ‘Why should you ask that?’

  ‘Simply because you’ve never got along all that well.’ A difficult pause and then, ‘Was this engagement the result of what happened on the moors—or had you both decided to marry before then?’

  ‘I can’t answer that.’ She glanced at him indignantly. ‘You shouldn’t ask these pertinent questions, Michael.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘I agree—but the engagement was so sudden. You were all set for leaving here at the end of the year, and, it appeared, John was all set to marry Delia Slade.’

  In spite of her protest of a moment ago she had to ask, on a note of deep concern,

  ‘Are people thinking our engagement’s the result of what happened on the moors?’ If so, she thought, then John’s manoeuvre was not to be effective after all.

  ‘Not that I know of. Most people seem to think it was to be announced anyway. Was it, Kathryn?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘But that’s all I can say, Michael. Please let this matter drop.’

  ‘I love you, Kathryn,’ he began, but she shook her head.

  ‘We’ve a good deal in common; we love the same things, but that’s all.’ She looked at him squarely and, as she had half expected, he could not meet her gaze. ‘You haven’t found the right one yet, Michael,’ she smiled. ‘You’ll be in no doubt at all when she does eventually come along.’ The happiness in her voice impressed itself upon him and he did look at her then, eyeing her in some amazement.

  ‘You do love him?’ he said wonderingly.

  ‘Yes, Michael, I love him,’ she returned simply, adding, with a little self-conscious laugh, ‘I think I’ve known it for some time.’

  ‘And he—does he love you?’

  ‘We’re engaged,’ she exclaimed, managing to laugh. ‘Of course he loves me!’

  A few minutes later Dawn and Rita came over and Kathryn introduced them to Michael. They all sat talking for some time and then Kathryn went over to her parents. They had been chatting to John and Mrs. Ramsey’s face was fairly glowing when she looked up at her daughter.

  ‘We do like your John,’ she exclaimed impulsively. ‘He’s nice, Kathryn, and I think you’ll both do very well, in spite of the reason for your marrying.’

  Kathryn smiled, and glanced at her father; his eyes twinkled as, moving to one side of the couch, he made room for Kathryn to sit between them.

  ‘When’s the wedding to take place?’ he asked, glancing proudly at her. She was dressed in turquoise velvet and wore the lovely diamond necklace John had given her for her birthday. Her hair, falling like a shower of gold on to her shoulders,
was held off her face with a diamond and ruby stud, matching the ring on her finger. ‘John doesn’t appear to be the sort of man who will want any unnecessary delay.’

  ‘We haven’t discussed the date,’ she said, her eyes straying to where John was standing by the beautiful William and Mary bureau. Delia was beside him and they appeared to be deeply engrossed in a discussion on the Zuccaro portrait which hung alongside the bureau. It was the portrait of Lady Anne Fitton, with her children Edward and Mary, the portrait which Kathryn had particularly pointed out to John on that first evening when, at his request, she had taken him over the house.

  ‘We can probably expect it to be fixed soon after the house is closed for the winter.’ Mrs. Ramsey’s eager and expectant tones broke into Kathryn’s musings and she turned, puzzled.

  ‘Fixed?’

  ‘The date for the wedding,’ her father interposed, a grin suddenly creasing his face. ‘Mother’s in a hurry.’

  ‘No such thing!’ she retorted, flushing. ‘But there’s no sense in waiting.’ Kathryn turned to look at her. Was her mother afraid something would occur to prevent the marriage? She appeared happy enough, but Kathryn sensed this underlying anxiety. Kathryn’s gaze returned to John and his lovely companion and a tinge of fear took the happiness from her eyes. Was it the picture they were discussing? Or could Delia possibly be telling John—?

  But no, even Delia would not be so malicious as that. Her words were merely an idle threat, uttered in the heat of the moment and stemming from her quite understandable disappointment at the idea of John’s marrying someone else. Making a determined effort to crush down her apprehension Kathryn turned her attention to her parents.

  ‘We’re supposed to be having dancing,’ she told them, looking at the clock. ‘John’s engaged a small orchestra from Macclesfield, but it hasn’t arrived yet. I wonder what’s happened?’

  But within a few minutes Burrows was informing John that the orchestra was here and a little while later the dance was in progress in the Long Hall, from where most of the furniture had been removed.

  ‘Who’s that girl making eyes at your bloke?’ Rita wanted to know as, rather breathless, she flopped down beside Kathryn on the wide, plush-covered seat that had been placed along one wall. ‘I seem to remember seeing her here before he came. Is she a friend of his?’

  Following the direction of her sister’s gaze, Kathryn watched her fiancé dancing with Delia. He held her much too close, Kathryn decided, wondering whether the odd little sensation that assailed her was the result of hurt—or jealousy. Perhaps something of both, she thought, conscious of a return of that fear which she had so determinedly endeavoured to throw off.

  ‘She is a friend, yes.’

  ‘Well, I’d have something to say if she looked at my fiancé like that! What nerve—and with everyone watching too. She’s downright brazen, Kate! And what’s she saying to him, with her face so close to his ear?’

  ‘You have to get close—with the band playing,’ Kathryn said reasonably. ‘I don’t suppose it’s anything important.’

  Michael came to her and she got up with him; then she danced with her father. John came later and smilingly took her hand, urging her to her feet with a noticeably proprietorial gesture. He held her just as close as he had held Delia—closer in fact, for at one time his head was bent so that his cheek lightly touched hers.

  ‘You look very beautiful tonight, Kathryn,’ he murmured softly. ‘I’m proud of you, my dear.’

  All her fears vanished and she thought her heartbeats would surely reveal more than her lips would have dared to tell. Suddenly the pressure of John’s arm tightened as he swung her out, avoiding a collision with Bernard and Delia. Bernard threw them a good-humoured smile, but, catching Delia’s eye, Kathryn gave a start. Never had she seen such venom in a glance, and all at once she heard again Michael’s declaration that she would have trouble with Delia. Involuntarily she shuddered and John held her away.

  ‘What was that for? You can’t be cold.’ He sounded anxious, and Kathryn sent him a reassuring smile.

  ‘It was nothing,’ she murmured, but her fingers moved convulsively in his, as if she sought comfort from his touch.

  The buffet was set out in the Dining Room, on the great oak table, and when the music stopped John and Kathryn went for some refreshments, joining Mr. and Mrs. Slade, who were sitting at one of the small tables by the wall.

  ‘You look very happy tonight,’ Mr. Slade remarked, his eyes straying appreciatively over Kathryn. ‘And very pretty, if I might say so.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Kathryn spoke demurely, aware of the hint of colour rising in her face.

  ‘Yes—turquoise suits you,’ his wife added, but although her comment was sincere, as was her smile, Kathryn sensed her bitter disappointment at the way things had turned out.

  John had gone for the refreshments, and he returned carrying two plates containing a variety of snacks.

  ‘I didn’t know what you wanted,’ he said, putting a plate down in front of Kathryn. ‘Is that all right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, John.’

  After a little while the older couple left them, but almost at once Delia came from the Long Hall and sat down at their table.

  ‘I’ll get you something,’ John offered graciously, rising. ‘What would you like? The same as we have?’

  ‘Yes, please, John. It looks very appetizing.’ Her lovely lashes fluttered and, glancing up at her fiancé , Kathryn saw a muscle move in his throat, as if he were swallowing something hard there. She frowned, recalling, against her will, Delia’s assertion that John was making a sacrifice by offering to marry Kathryn.

  No sooner had he moved away than Delia looked across at Kathryn and whispered vehemently,

  ‘Quite the experienced hostess, aren’t you, Kathryn?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say I was experienced.’ Kathryn swivelled round, watching John’s tall figure moving towards the refectory table.

  ‘Give him up,’ snapped Delia, watching her. ‘I’ve told you you’ll never marry him, so you’ll save yourself a good deal of humiliation if you take my advice without further delay.’

  ‘Your advice, Delia, sounds more like an order.’ Kathryn was trembling inwardly, although her voice was cool, and even held a small note of hauteur in its depths.

  ‘Very well, it’s an order!’ Delia’s eyes were narrowed, and her mouth was twisted in an ugly line. ‘I’ve warned you, Kathryn, if you don’t give him up, then he’ll throw you over, because I meant what I said about opening his eyes to what you really are.’

  Fear touched Kathryn again, but as she stopped to consider Delia’s threat she began to realize her fears were stupid. For even if Delia were inclined to reveal her suspicions to John, what form of approach could she make? She could scarcely turn to him and say, baldly, that Kathryn had deliberately trapped him into marriage. No, Kathryn felt sure she had nothing to fear, nothing at all.

  ‘I’m not afraid of you.’ Kathryn gave a little toss of her head and Delia’s mouth took on a tight and almost cruel line. ‘There’s no way you can tell him. I’ve thought about it carefully, and you couldn’t even begin to broach such a subject. You’re bluffing, Delia, and I’m calling your bluff!’

  ‘You—!’ The dark eyes became embers of hate. Her glance flicked past Kathryn; John was returning, with the plate of refreshments in his hand. ‘Calling my bluff, are you?’ she hissed. ‘Very well, if that’s your last word—’ She broke off, and the change was miraculous. Her lips became full and adorably inviting; her eyes were wide and softly feminine; her silken lashes fluttered in the most enchanting way. A smile from John brought her lovely mouth curving in swift response. Kathryn gasped audibly; John cocked an eyebrow questioningly, but Delia spoke before either he or Kathryn could do so.

  ‘Thank you John—Oh, my head! I feel quite dizzy.’

  ‘You’re ill?’ John’s brow knit in concern. ‘What is it, Delia?’

  ‘My head—oh, it’s spinning.’ She put a
trembling hand to her brow. ‘I didn’t say anything to anyone, but I slipped and fell just before I came out, and banged my head against the corner of the wardrobe. I went dizzy then, but it passed off and I thought no more about it.’

  ‘But you should have,’ John said sternly. ‘Where did you bang it?’

  ‘On the back...’ Her hand moved and she winced. ‘The dizziness will go in a minute; it can’t be anything serious.’ She looked up appealingly at John. ‘Could I have a glass of water?’

  ‘Of course; I’ll get you one. Kathryn, fetch Mr. and Mrs. Slade—’

  ‘No—’ Delia shook her head, then winced again. ‘No, please don’t mention this to them—they’ll worry so and—and I’m sure it will pass in a moment or two.’

  ‘But we ought to fetch your parents,’ Kathryn protested. ‘If you feel so ill.’

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ insisted Delia. ‘If I could have that water?’

  John went out to get it; Kathryn examined Delia’s face anxiously, expecting it to have lost some of its colour. This was not so, but Delia was trembling visibly.

  ‘Do you feel very bad?’ Kathryn asked, rising. ‘Can I do anything for you?’

  ‘I’d like to lie down ... perhaps in the small sitting-room? It’ll be quiet there—and the guests won’t know anything about this.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a good idea. You can lie down on the couch by the fire.’

  John fetched the water and Delia sipped it; the hand that held it still trembled.

  ‘I think you ought to go home,’ John began, when Kathryn interrupted him.

  ‘Delia wants to be quiet, so she’s going to lie down on the couch in the sitting-room for a while. Will you help her, John?’

  ‘Don’t say a word about this to my parents,’ begged Delia again as, a few minutes later, she lay on the couch, her head propped against the cushions Kathryn had arranged for her. ‘They’d be so anxious—and Father’s heart’s not too good; any shock might be dangerous. Promise you’ll not tell them?’