by Betty Neels
* * *
THE FIRST THING that he did when he got to his rooms on Monday morning was to instruct his secretary to make no appointments after four o’clock, and then later, in the hospital, he went over his week’s schedule with his registrar, making sure that his evenings as far as possible would be free. Emergencies, of course, would have to be dealt with if they arose; they were unavoidable and part of his life.
It was a great pity that after all his careful planning he should receive an urgent request to fly at once to Washington, where a member of the British Embassy had been struck down with a subdural haemorrhage, and whose wife had insisted upon his services and no one else’s. He flew out that same afternoon.
Henrietta heard of it in the kitchen, where they had heard of it from the milkman, who had it on the best authority of Mrs Patch. It meant that she was free to walk to the village without looking round every corner first to make sure that he wasn’t there; it also meant that she worried about his safety all day and a good deal of each night. Not only his safety; would he get enough rest? And would there be someone to see that he had proper meals? Iron his shirts? And what about Watson?
Excusing herself from her dinner, which she didn’t want anyway, she went along to see Mrs Patch, who came to the door with Watson at her heels.
‘Henrietta, come in, my dear. Is something the matter? You’re not ill?’
‘No, no. I’m fine, Mrs Patch. It’s just that I heard from the staff that Mr Ross-Pitt has had to go to America, and I wondered about Watson. I mean, his walks...’
‘Bless you for thinking of him. He’s that lost without his master. I took him a walk this morning, but I’ll have to get someone to take him for his proper run in the evenings. My legs aren’t up to it.’
‘Would I do, if Mrs Pettifer doesn’t mind? I could take him along the drive up to the house and back and he could run loose. Only I’d have to ask first.’
‘Would you really? I’m sure I don’t know how long Mr Adam will be away, but if things don’t go as they ought he might be there for several days—weeks, even.’
She patted Henrietta’s arm. ‘You must have missed your dinner. Just you come in for a few minutes; I’ve just put everything ready to make an omelette, and there’s a loaf just out of the oven and a glass of milk.’
It was strangely comforting sitting in the kitchen in Adam’s house, with Watson beside her and Mrs Patch sitting opposite her at the table. ‘It’s a shame,’ declared Mrs Patch, offering a dish of apples, ‘for he told me that he hoped to come home each evening this week without fail—barring emergencies, that is.’
When appealed to, Mrs Pettifer could see no harm in her taking Watson for his evening walk. ‘As long as you stay along the drive and are back in good time for our supper.’ She saw Henrietta’s face light up and gave a relieved sigh. The girl wasn’t looking her best... This would give her an interest for a few days.
* * *
IT WAS TWO days later at dinner that Addy told the table her news. ‘I was serving morning coffee,’ she told them. ‘Old Mrs Porter called, and she always expects coffee and biscuits—well, I heard her telling Lady Hensen that Miss Stone has gone to America. Flew over, sudden-like. Good riddance, I’d say—’
‘Curb your tongue, Addy,’ said Feathers. ‘You’re speaking of your betters.’
‘If that Miss Stone’s better than me, I’m a Dutchman,’ said Addy—a remark which prompted Feathers to make a dignified speech encompassing rudeness, respect for elders and betters, and not listening to gossip.
‘It wasn’t gossip,’ protested Addy. ‘It was Mrs Porter, and if she’s my elder and better how can she gossip?’
In the ensuing arguement, in which almost everyone joined, no one noticed Henrietta’s stricken face except Mrs Pettifer, who made no comment. Once dinner was over, though, she sent Henrietta up to the attics to look out a pair of ormulu candlesticks that Lady Hensen had decided would look just right on the serving table in the great hall.
‘You have plenty of time before two o’clock, when that coachload of children will be coming from Braintree. As long as you’re at the entrance by fifteen minutes before the hour.’
So Henrietta went to the attics and, since the candlesticks were easily found, she was able to sit down on a rather tattered love seat and pull herself together. She was behaving badly, she told herself. After all, she had known that Mr Ross-Pitt and Deirdre Stone were going to marry; what could be more natural than for her to go with him to the States? She would be there to see that he had enough rest and his proper meals, although it was unlikely that she would bother about his shirts.
Henrietta shed a few tears; she would have liked to have wept buckets, but presently she would have to go downstairs again and present a welcoming face to the children, so she blew her nose with resolution, wiped her eyes and took the candlesticks down to Feathers’ pantry, where she asked him politely if she could leave them there until she had time to clean them.
Feathers, wishing that Addy could learn a few nice manners like Henrietta, gave his consent. He said graciously, ‘Cook has a pot of tea ready in the kitchen—why not have a cup? There are still ten minutes before the gates open.’
Henrietta had the tea, foraged in her shoulder bag for powder and a comb, and then took her place by Mrs Pettifer’s side as the coach drew up. The children tumbled out and Mrs Pettifer murmured, ‘Thank heaven the place is closed to visitors for the afternoon; this lot will keep us busy!’
They divided the children into batches, each accompanied by a teacher. It was to be an educational tour followed by tea, and it soon became apparent that being lectured about a lot of old furniture and pictures was only to be endured provided that there was tea to follow...
A tiresome afternoon, agreed Mrs Pettifer when they finally reached the lodge. ‘I have never had so many requests for the lavatory as I have had today.’
‘Perhaps they weren’t quite old enough to appreciate things,’ said Henrietta. ‘I must say some of the older boys behaved badly. I shall have to rub up the silver. I’m sure they would never steal anything, but they did like to finger it.’
Mrs Pettifer yawned. ‘A busy day for us tomorrow, then. You see to the silver and I’ll clean and mend that cushion cover someone tore. We need eyes at the backs of our heads, don’t we?’
* * *
THE WEEK WORE on, and Henrietta lay in bed at night making plans. She would have to go, there was no help for it; to have to live in the same village as Mr Ross-Pitt and Deirdre was too much. But where to and to do what? She was sure that Lady Hensen would give her a good reference, but what as? Domestic? Guide? Jill of all trades?... And master of none. She would have to train for something, but what?
She had money now—not a great deal, but she had learnt the hard way how to live on next to nothing and she could do it again. Only not in London—somewhere in the country, where Dickens and Ollie would be welcome and happy. A mother’s help, she decided finally, where she would be kept busy all day and would be too tired to think about Adam.
The weekend came and went, and there was no sign or word of him. She wrote a letter full of cheerful news to Matty, visited Mrs Tibbs and took Watson for his evening walk, and never once, when she went to collect him from Adam’s house, did Mrs Patch mention Adam.
Monday again, and another week to get through, thought Henrietta, getting dressed, going downstairs to the kitchen to let Dickens and Ollie out into the garden, putting on the kettle and fetching a saucepan for the eggs.
It’s time you pulled yourself together, she told herself; you’ve no business moaning. Remember what life was like for you before you came here, before you met Adam? Count your blessings...!
* * *
MR ROSS-PITT, thousands of miles away, his work brought to a satisfactory conclusion, packed his bag, checked his instruments and, in the quiet
of his room at the British Embassy, picked up the phone and glanced at his watch. It would be mid-afternoon in England; Mrs Pettifer should be at the manor.
* * *
IT HAD BEEN a warm day and there had been more tourists than usual. Henrietta was glad when she and Mrs Pettifer had finished and could go down to the lodge.
‘I’ll make a pot of tea, shall I? And I’ll get the supper when I get back from taking Watson for his walk. It’s been busy, hasn’t it?’
‘Very. Tea would be lovely. While you’re gone I’ll make us a salad—we can have an omelette.’ Mrs Pettifer didn’t sound at all tired; indeed, she looked pleased with herself although she didn’t say why.
They drank their tea and Henrietta changed into a skirt and top and comfortable sandals and went to fetch Watson.
Mrs Patch greeted her with a beaming face. She looked, thought Henrietta, just as pleased with herself as did Mrs Pettifer. Henrietta put the lead on Watson and walked him up to the drive where she let him loose for a time before taking him back.
‘I’ll come tomorrow at about the same time,’ she told Mrs Patch.
‘Yes, dear,’ that lady said. ‘He does love his walks. I’m afraid his morning trot is short; this weather plays havoc with my corns.’
She still looked pleased about something, and Henrietta had a sudden, heart-stopping thought—perhaps Mr Ross-Pitt was coming home. Bringing Deirdre with him? No, it couldn’t be that; there hadn’t been a murmur in the kitchen, and they always knew everything. She went back to her supper and then stayed in the little garden with Mrs Pettifer, idling away an hour or so before bed.
Mrs Pettifer kept her very busy the next morning, and even when she had a spare minute or two there was Mrs Dale wanting her to go and find the gardener and remind him to bring up the flowers for the house, and Cook sending her back to him again to ask for some fresh parsley.
In the afternoon there were the visitors. Not as many as usual, but mostly elderly and well informed, stopping to discuss this or that picture or admire a particularly fine piece of furniture. Mrs Pettifer left her to take the last group round and it was past five o’clock by the time she had ushered them out of the entrance, apparently unhurried, listening to their thanks and comments and longing for a cup of tea.
She turned back to the house at last and found Mrs Pettifer crossing the hall to her.
‘Run and have your tea, Henrietta, and then go back to the lodge. I’ll go round and take Addy with me. You had more than your fair share this afternoon.’ She tapped Henrietta on the arm. ‘Do as I say now. I’ll be along presently.’
Henrietta drank her tea while Cook told her about her nephew, who had just passed his driving test. ‘I’ll see ’im on Sunday,’ she said happily. ‘Bake ’im a cake.’ She glanced at Henrietta. ‘Run along, ducks—you look fair tuckered.’ She frowned over her pastry. ‘Working you too ‘ard, are we? You’ve been looking a bit peaky, and no second ‘elpings at dinner...’
‘I’m fine, and the food’s so delicious I don’t need second helpings, Cook.’ She took her cup and saucer to the scullery. ‘It will be nice to sit in the garden for a bit. It was hot in the house today...’
It was still warm. She felt tired, despite her brave words to Cook. When she got to the lodge she would have a shower and change her clothes and do her hair and face. She always presented a neat and pleasant picture as she led tourists round the house, but she felt that she must be looking a fright at the end of this afternoon. Her head ached a little too; she would take the pins out of her hair and just tie it back. She took the key from her shoulder bag and unlocked the door and went into the sitting room.
Mr Ross-Pitt was sitting there, in Mrs Pettifer’s chair, with Dickens and Ollie on either side of him and Watson sprawled at his feet. Not Mr Ross-Pitt, thought Henrietta wildly, but Adam, calm and elegant and tired to his bones; her dear Adam... Only he wasn’t; he was Deirdre’s.
Mr Ross-Pitt got out of the chair, gently spilling Dickens and Ollie onto the floor. He hadn’t spoken, but now he came to loom over her.
An awkward situation, reflected Henrietta, supposing that he had come to see Mrs Pettifer about something. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. ‘You’re back from the States,’ she said in a polite voice, with only the slightest quaver in it. ‘Did you have a nice trip?’
‘No,’ said Mr Ross-Pitt.
She tried again. ‘When did you get back?’
‘About three hours ago.’
If only he would talk. ‘You must be tired. I expect you would like a cup of tea; I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘I would not like a cup of tea. I would like you, Henrietta.’
Her eyes and, regrettably, her mouth opened wide. ‘Me? Whatever do you mean?’ She remembered then. ‘Is Deirdre with you? I mean, did she come back with you?’
Mr Ross-Pitt was beginning to enjoy himself. ‘You expected her to do so?’
‘Well, yes. I mean, if she went with you she must have wanted to come back with you, if you see what I mean.’
‘I am doing my best to follow your train of thought, but it is a little difficult since we are at cross purposes.’
Anxious to have the conversation over and done with, and Adam gone so that she might go somewhere dark and quiet and have a good cry, Henrietta took another deep breath. ‘The kitchen knew you’d gone to the States; the milkman had it from Mrs Patch, and he told Cook who told us...’
Mr Ross-Pitt put his hands in his pockets and his handsome head a little on one side; he looked the picture of casual ease. Henrietta, on the other hand, was pale and untidy, her hair in wisps, her nose shining—by no means a captivating picture. Mr Ross-Pitt thought she looked adorable. ‘Yes?’ he murmured encouragingly.
‘Then Mrs Porter told Lady Hensen—while they were having coffee and Addy took in the tray and heard what she was saying—that Miss Stone had flown to the States, too—to be with you, of course!’
‘Of course! Henrietta, if I tell you that I have no idea where Deirdre Stone is, nor do I wish to know, and that I had no idea until this moment where she had gone, nor do I care, will you believe me?’
She stared up into his face; he didn’t look tired any more. She said, ‘Yes, of course I believe you.’
‘Good. Having disposed of the tiresome woman, let us forget her and allow me to do what I have come to do.’
‘What’s that?’ This was a lovely dream; presently she would wake up.
‘Kiss you,’ said Mr Ross-Pitt. ‘Something I should have done when you first trod all over me.’ He took her in his arms and held her tight. ‘I shall kiss you until you have just enough breath left to say that you’ll marry me.’
For the moment it was impossible to answer that, but presently Henrietta said in a small voice, ‘But you haven’t asked me...’
He kissed her again, slowly and thoroughly. ‘My dear heart, will you marry me, and soon? We have wasted so much of our time. We may have met only by chance, but it is clearly meant that we should meet and love and marry.’
‘You never said—if you had told me...’
He kissed her untidy head. ‘I shall tell you that I love you every day of our lives.’
‘Just once will do!’ said Henrietta.
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781460315736
Copyright © 1996 by Betty
Neels
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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