by Betty Neels
‘Yes, of course. Not that I particularly want to, you know, only it was rather nice to have someone to talk to. I wouldn’t upset the others for the world; they’re so kind. Cook gives me scraps for Dickens and Ollie, and the housekeeper lets me go to the ballroom to look at the family portraits...’
‘Mrs Dale’s bark is worse than her bite. You like Mrs Pettifer?’
‘Oh, yes, very much. She knows everything.’
They had arrived at the lodge and she bade him goodbye and stood watching him walk away, watched in her turn by Mrs Pettifer from the sitting-room window.
‘Don’t look surprised,’ she said as Henrietta went in. ‘I came back to collect an address I had for Mrs Dale. Was that Mr Ross-Pitt’s enormous back I saw disappearing? He’s lunching at the house, I expect.’
‘Yes, he was in church and walked back this way—he was too early, he said.’
Well, if he didn’t hurry he’d be late, reflected Mrs Pettifer. It was natural enough, she supposed, for him to enquire of Henrietta how she was getting on, but she had caught the look on the girl’s face, watching him go...
Give him his due, she thought; he would have no idea of the havoc he was causing to Henrietta’s feelings—nor, for that matter, did she have any idea either, which was all right as long as things stayed that way...
‘Shall we go over for our dinner? I’ve looked out some more repairs for you to start on this afternoon.’
* * *
MINDFUL OF MR Ross-Pitt’s words, Henrietta took care to avoid Mike Hensen. It was inevitable that they should meet from time to time, but beyond a polite greeting she had nothing to say, and for the next two weeks she took herself off to Thaxted on her day off.
She was still adding to her wardrobe—another blouse, a leather belt, leather gloves since they were going cheap in a sale, sandals, low-heeled and sensible, although she longed to get a pair of high-heeled, strappy ones.
She had joined the library there, too, and carried books back with her, poring over them in the evenings, learning about silver, and antique furniture, paintings and china. By Easter, Mrs Pettifer told Lady Hensen, Henrietta would be quite capable of acting as a house guide.
It was the beginning of April now, and Easter would be very soon. The early mornings were a delight to Henrietta after a lifetime of traffic rumbling and noise.
Now she slipped into the garden with Dickens and Ollie, watching them play as the sun rose higher and listening to the birds. She found it difficult to know one from the other, but she was learning fast. There were squirrels in the trees at the back of the lodge too. Mrs Pettifer said that they were pests, but turned a blind eye when Henrietta put nuts in a convenient hollow, well out of reach of Dickens and Ollie.
She was now able to take long walks on her days off again. Mike Hensen had gone the previous weekend, and although she missed his friendly greetings and obvious pleasure in her company it was a relief not to have to remind herself of Mr Ross-Pitt’s words. Despite his charming persuasion, she had refused to go for walks with Mike, and now that he was away she was free to roam where she wanted to.
Besides, it meant that she saved more money—there was a respectable sum in a brown paper bag in the chest of drawers in her room. It wouldn’t go far, of course, but she was adding to it as quickly as she could—although she would have to buy some summer dresses.
She had seen Mr Ross-Pitt seldom—his back in church, of course—and he had made no attempt to talk to her since their walk together that Sunday. She avoided that end of the village if she knew he was at home. She had seen Deirdre Stone one day, as she was setting out for her hike, getting out of a car by his house, and Henrietta had hurried quickly away in the opposite direction.
* * *
THE FOLLOWING WEEK, unaware that Mike Hensen was back again, she met him as she was setting out to walk to Little Bardfield; there was a church there worth visiting, Mrs Pettifer had told her, and Henrietta, drinking in local knowledge like a thirsty flower, was intent on seeing it. There was a bridle path, she was told, which she could follow, and if she was tired she could make the return journey by local bus.
‘Not that they run very frequently,’ warned Mrs Pettifer, ‘but I know there is one around five o’clock; you can ask at the pub.’
Mike Hensen fell in beside her. Back from a few days with friends in the West Country, he was already bored. He had managed to get another week of what he called sick leave but was already regretting that. If it hadn’t been for the need to keep on good terms with Sir Peter he would have got into his car and driven back to London.
Here, however, was a chance to while away a few hours. No doubt Henrietta was as bored as he was. He asked her with deceptive casualness where she intended to walk and, when she told him, asked in the nicest possible way if he might go with her. ‘I’ve been staying with friends and I’ve been longing for some peace and quiet here. The bridle path takes us along the edge of a little wood; there might be bluebells...’
He was careful to talk about nothing much at first, but presently, as she lost her shyness, he began to question her. He put the questions so carefully that she hardly realised them for what they were.
Lady Hensen had never told him much about her and Sir Peter had turned his queries aside. ‘Girl’s had a rough time of it,’ was all he would say, and Mike wanted to know about that rough side. It was easy for him to discover that she had no boyfriend—indeed, had never had one.
‘Sweet sixteen and never been kissed,’ he said jokingly, and watched the pretty colour creep into her cheeks. He saw her quick frown too, and began to talk about something else. He had thought that she was an insipid girl, more than ready to be flattered and dazzled by him, but now he wasn’t so sure. The doubt added interest, though, and he was careful to keep the talk to mundane topics.
At Little Bardfield he invited her to have a sandwich and drink in the pub. ‘It’s a quiet little place,’ he assured her, ‘but the church is worth a visit.’ He hadn’t been into it himself, but it was always safe to say that of a village church.
Henrietta followed him into the pub, her faint uneasiness in his company melting under his casual friendliness. She ate her sandwiches and drank the ginger ale she had asked for and accompanied him across the street to the church. She liked its cool interior and the smell of old wood and candles, and wandered up and down, looking at the memorial plaques on its walls, not noticing how impatient Mike had become. Not that he allowed her to see that.
‘We could wait and get the bus back,’ he told her, ‘but if you’re game we could walk back—there’s a short cut which will bring us back onto the bridle path.’
The short cut was actually a long one, taking them well away from the bridle path, but Mike was talking amusingly, telling her droll tales of people he had met, and she hardly noticed where they were going, until presently she asked, ‘Oughtn’t we to be back on the bridle path by now? It seems ages...’
They were following a narrow path beside a hedge; the field was ploughed and something was growing there, and as far as she could see the hedge went on for miles.
‘Ages?’ Mike laughed and caught her arm. ‘My dear girl, when I’m with you time flies.’
Henrietta, not having had the benefit of a normal girl’s upbringing, looked startled. ‘Whatever do you mean...Mr Hensen? We haven’t exchanged half a dozen words since I saw you at Mrs Tibbs’. Actually, I shouldn’t be with you—you know that. I’ve enjoyed our walk, but it’s time for me to go back, so perhaps we could hurry a bit.’
‘You really mean it, don’t you? You’re a green girl, aren’t you?’ He caught hold of her and bent to kiss her. She turned her face away, though, and the kiss landed on her hair. That annoyed him; it looked as though he wasn’t going to have his little bit of fun after all. She was only a servant; she should be delighted at having been noticed...
‘Let me go,’ said Henrietta in a fierce voice. ‘At once.’ She sounded like an irate schoolmistress.
‘You’re behaving like a little nun—perhaps you were educated in a convent. Although servants aren’t usually educated.’
He was still holding her, and she kicked him smartly on the shin with the toe of her sensible lace-up shoe.
‘Nicely placed,’ said a well-remembered voice. ‘Just wait a tick while I get through this infernal hedge.’ Mr Ross-Pitt thrust his way between its branches, followed by the faithful Watson. He said lightly, ‘I should like to see myself in the light of an heroic rescuer, but I see that you are coping very nicely, Henrietta.’
He flung a large arm round her shoulders. ‘You’d better make yourself scarce, Mike, before I forget my manners. If it is of interest to you, Henrietta was educated in a children’s home—a little world of its own where the young have little chance of learning about the wicked ways of our world.’
‘It’s none of your business—’
‘There you are wrong. Henrietta, we will walk back together, with your permission.’
Still with his heavy arm on her shoulders, he walked her away, not looking at her and ignoring Mike, who stood irresolute, white with rage. Mr Ross-Pitt had really treated him like a silly boy, and he’d get even with him for that. What was more, he’d take care to see that Henrietta was sent packing.
Mr Ross-Pitt must have read his thoughts, for he turned round and said, ‘By the way, I shouldn’t go telling tales to Lady Hensen. It would do no good, you know; and if I find you annoying Henrietta again I shall make mincemeat of you.’
He urged Henrietta along with a firm hand, whistled to Watson, and set off along the path. He didn’t look at her—a good thing, for she was doing her best not to cry. ‘Fortunate that Watson and I chose to come this way for a walk,’ he observed casually. ‘Has he been bothering you much?’
She found her voice. ‘No—no, I haven’t seen Mr Hensen much for the last three weeks, and I believe he’s been away with friends for the past week. He—he met me in the village and said he was walking to Little Bardfield and wanted to see the church—’
‘You haven’t been out and about very much, have you, Henrietta?’ His voice was gentle.
‘Well, no.’ She sounded suddenly snappish. ‘It wasn’t encouraged at the children’s home, and I—after that I never had time.’
He said soothingly, ‘No, no, of course you didn’t. But don’t go walking with anyone unless you’re sure they’re your friend.’
She said in a watery voice, ‘But I’m walking with you—I didn’t even say I’d come...’
‘Ah, yes, but I’m your friend.’ He felt in a pocket and produced a beautifully laundered handkerchief. ‘Here, give a good blow.’
It might have been a kindly uncle or big brother talking, if she had had either; his reassuring normality did much to restore her spirits. She did as she had been told, muttering her thanks, and presently said, ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a fool. I’m glad you came... You always do!’
‘Yes, but only by chance. Don’t count on me, Henrietta.’
The path ended presently and they crossed a stile and found themselves in a high-banked lane. ‘Not far,’ said Mr Ross-Pitt. ‘We’ll be in nice time for tea.’
Henrietta stood still. ‘No, no—I mean, thank you very much, but I won’t come to tea.’ She studied his placid face. ‘You see, it wouldn’t do—it would be the same as going for walks with Mr Hensen, if you understand what I mean. I’m what he said—a servant—’
‘Shall we ignore Mr Hensen? You are not a servant, Henrietta, and, even if you were, what is so wrong with that? I am also a servant in my profession, am I not?’ He bent suddenly and kissed her cheek. ‘Now, be a good girl and rid your head of nonsense and come and have tea with me. Mrs Patch was only saying this morning that she hadn’t seen you.’
Which somehow made things perfectly clear.
Mrs Patch was pleased to see her. She made no comment on Henrietta’s slightly pink nose, nor did she remark upon Mr Ross-Pitt’s handkerchief hanging from her jacket pocket. All she said was, ‘Well, here’s a sight for sore eyes—how well you look; I can see you’re happy up at the house.’
She bustled off to the kitchen. ‘Tea in five minutes,’ she assured them. Which gave Henrietta time to do something about her face and tidy her hair.
She peered into the cloakroom looking-glass and longed to be beautiful, and she touched with a gentle fingertip the spot where Mr Ross-Pitt had kissed her.
Mrs Patch produced hot buttered toast, fairy cakes, tiny sandwiches and what she described smugly as ‘one of my cakes’, still smelling faintly of the oven and stuffed with currants and sultanas and chopped nuts. Henrietta ate everything she was offered; lunch had been a long time ago and, anyway, she preferred not to think of it.
She sat opposite Mr Ross-Pitt, with Watson on the rug between them, and wished that she could stay there for ever.
That wasn’t possible, of course. She finished her tea, and in answer to his quiet questions told him about mending the curtains and cleaning the chandeliers and how kind Mrs Pettifer was and how she liked the people with whom she worked. She told him about Dickens and Ollie too, and about the little bird with a nest at the bottom of the garden. ‘Quite high in one of the trees, too high for Dickens...’
‘Why Dickens?’ asked Mr Ross-Pitt, amused at this conversation.
‘Well, it was in the market. I was buying some fruit and he was sitting on a pile of sacks behind the stall, and Mr Spink, who owned the stall, hadn’t seen him until he turned round, and he said, “What the Dickens?” No one wanted him so I took him back with me and called him Dickens.’
Mr Ross-Pitt laughed. ‘He’s a fine cat,’ he said kindly, ‘and Ollie will grow up just as fine, I dare say. Perhaps...’ He didn’t get any further because the phone rang and he got up to answer it.
When he said, ‘Deirdre,’ Henrietta got up, murmuring that she would get her jacket, and slipped out of the room. To listen to him talking to Miss Stone was something she didn’t wish to do, although she wasn’t sure why. The call was brief and he followed her into the hall. ‘Sorry about that—I’ll drive you back.’
‘It’s only a short walk and such a fine evening. I’ve taken up all your afternoon.’
‘I’ll drive you back, Henrietta. If it makes you more comfortable, I have to see Sir Peter about a small matter.’
She sat beside him in the car, with Watson on the back seat, and because she thought that he was relieved to be rid of her she was silent, anxious on her part not to annoy him further. She watched his large, well-kept hands on the wheel and thought how capable they were—thoroughly dependable, like the man...
She hoped that Deirdre Stone, once she was married to him, would look after him and love him. She gave a little gasping breath; never mind the hateful Deirdre, thought Henrietta, in a sudden overwhelming flash of awareness; it’s me who loves him!
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Mr Ross-Pitt without looking at her.
‘Nothing, nothing at all,’ said Henrietta wildly.
‘You sounded as though you had just had a disturbing thought.’
Which was true, but not to be mentioned. At the lodge she skipped out of the car, thanked him in a breathless manner for her tea and his help, and nipped smartly indoors.
Mrs Pettifer was already home. ‘Got a lift back?’ she asked kindly, and peered at Henrietta’s troubled face. ‘You’re upset. Do you want to tell me?’ She paused. ‘Not Mr Ross-Pitt?’
‘No. Oh, no, he’s been so kind; he always is—I mean, I didn’t realise... I thought Mr Hensen—he said he wanted to see the church...’
‘Sit down, Henrietta, and tell me what has happened...but first I’ll make us a cup of cocoa.’
So Henrietta collec
ted her thoughts and gave a blow-by-blow account of her day off. ‘And perhaps Mr Hensen will complain about me and I’ll get the sack. He—he was so angry because Mr Ross-Pitt treated him as though he was a silly boy.’
‘Which he is. Don’t worry, my dear; Mike Hensen wants to keep on good terms with his uncle and aunt—he won’t risk annoying them. They would be very annoyed if they knew. Besides, Mr Ross-Pitt is quite capable of knocking him down. A quiet man is our Mr Ross-Pitt, but what he says he means. I think you will find that Mike Hensen keeps well away from you in future.’
‘I should never have gone with him.’
‘No, you shouldn’t, but I can see that it would have been awkward for you to have refused his company. Besides, you had no idea that he was going to behave badly. My fault—I should have warned you.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘I wish I had seen Mr Ross-Pitt coming through the hedge. Did Mrs Patch give you a good tea?’
They had their supper presently and Henrietta, convinced that she would lie awake half the night, went to bed and was asleep in two minutes. She woke once in the night and remembered in a sudden rush that she loved Adam. It would have to be a secret, of course, and she must contrive not to see him, but there was nothing to stop her from thinking about him and thinking of him as ‘Adam’.
* * *
SHE ACCOMPANIED MRS PETTIFER up to the house the next morning, feeling nervous, but halfway through the morning as they drank their elevenses in the kitchen with the rest of the staff she heard the housekeeper telling Cook that Mr Mike had gone off to London early that morning.
‘Said he felt fit enough to do some work and he wouldn’t be down for a bit. Not like him, I must say; I wouldn’t have said he was one to do an honest day’s work if he could get along without it. Going to India, too.’
Feathers hushed her in a dignified way. ‘It’s not for the likes of us to criticise our betters,’ he pointed out severely. ‘Not but what you’ve the right of it.’
