The Brave In Heart

by Mary Burchell

  Then, just as she thought he was preparing to drive away, and she herself was going to say goodbye, he leant forward and said:

  “May I ask something which is not at all my business?”

  “Yes — if you like.”

  “Has young Forrest some idea that he’s in love with you?”

  Jessica opened her eyes very wide, until they shone, clear grey, between their dark lashes.

  “I shouldn’t think so. Whatever made you ask?”

  “I don’t want him to get any such idea — that’s all. Good night.”

  And, with a smile and a little nod to her, he drove away.

  CHAPTER THREE

  FOR QUITE a long time after Ford Onderley had driven away, Jessica stood leaning her arms on the gate and looking out across the countryside, from which the last gleams of daylight were fading.

  What had he meant by that last curious question and comment?

  Did he presume to disapprove of David? Or to suggest that she would have no time for romantic side lines if she were to do her job thoroughly? Or could he possibly mean that he, personally, preferred not to have another man interested in her?

  But the last suggestion was so ridiculous, on the strength of one evening’s acquaintance, that Jessica dismissed it with a smile. And, finally deciding that this was just one side of her unpredictable landlord which she did not yet understand, she went back into the house, to receive the amused congratulations of David and Mrs. Forrest.

  “David’s just been explaining to me, dear, that we were all more or less on probation this evening,” Mrs. Forrest said. “I do hope we all passed the test all right.”

  “With honours.” Jessica assured her with a laugh. “Though you weren’t exactly on probation, you know. Only in so far as you were subjects for demonstration.”

  “But we did help, I hope.”

  “I’ll say you did!” Jessica declared gratefully. “Your unrehearsed tributes were just what were required.”

  “I do wish I’d known beforehand what was happening. I’d have said so much more.” Mrs. Forrest said regretfully.

  “Then you’d have painted the lily out of all recognition, Mama dear,” her son assured her. “It was much nicer as it was.”

  “But you knew, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but that’s different. I’m a born diplomat,” David explained complacently.

  “You weren’t very diplomatic over painting Jessica’s portrait,” his mother reminded him.

  “That was Judy’s fault,” David declared. “But you are going to let me do it, aren’t you, Jessica?” He turned to her eagerly.

  “Of course, I’m flattered. I gathered you don’t paint just — anyone who wants to be painted.”

  “Oh, you mean the lord of the manor’s precious sister?” David dismissed her with a scornful gesture.

  “She’s quite lovely. David.”

  “Very likely,” said David with supreme indifference. “He’s quite a good-looking beggar himself. Is she like him?”

  “Yes. She is rather. Not quite so much character, I should say.”

  “But then a woman doesn’t need so much character as a man, does she?” Mrs. Forrest said. And, as neither of her hearers could either agree with her or bring themselves to voice their dissent in sufficiently restrained terms, the subject was dropped.

  The next few days were the happiest Jessica had experienced since the death of her father and the realisation of their changed circumstances.

  Most of her anxieties had been removed. That is to say, the helpless feeling of having her future and that of the twins taken out of her hands had now gone. If hard work and reasonably good fortune could keep them independent, then independent they would remain.

  Curbing her enthusiasm and her optimism within reasonable bounds, she wrote to her uncle and aunt, explaining in terms of great moderation the success of her interview with Ford Onderley, and received in return a cautious letter of commendation from her uncle.

  In the same envelope (because, after all, there was no need to waste another stamp) was a note from her aunt, stating that the weather was changeable, but they were enjoying the scenery, and she hoped that dear Jessica would not count her chickens before they were hatched.

  “I suppose she regards future prospective paying guests as the unhatched chickens,” Jessica said to Mary when she was giving her a full account of all that had happened.

  “No doubt. But I detect a note of relief in both letters, don’t you?” remarked Mary thoughtfully.

  “Oh, yes. It’s natural enough, you know.” Jessica smiled. “The poor old dears are completely set in their ways, and I’m sure it was only the strongest sense of duty that urged them to offer something like a home to me and the twins. They’d have hated it quite as much as we should. I think it was rather sweet of them even to make the offer, in the circumstances.”

  “Of course. But now.” said Mary, thoughtfully and wickedly, “thanks to the magnanimity of the harsh Mr. Onderley, everyone is happy.”

  “He’s really rather a darling when you get to know him, Mary,” Jessica protested.

  “Nonsense, my dear. You only say that because you’ve tamed him a bit. Every woman would rather tame a dragon than drive a sheep any day.” Mary declared. “And you’re no exception — and I don’t blame you, considering what a very personable dragon he is. Really, when I saw you drive past with him in the car. I felt like the ranks of Tuscany and ‘could scarce forbear to cheer’ “

  “Idiot,” laughed Jessica. “Though it was quite a moment,” she agreed reflectively.

  “I’ve asked my papa to find out all about him,” Man’ went on. “Put, of course, men are so silly. They always find out the uninteresting things with the greatest ease, and forget to make the simplest enquiries about things that really matter. But, at least, I understand that the money is in shipping. His father started a private shipping line, and your Ford —”

  “Not mine!” protested Jessica, but Mary ran on without paying attention to the interruption.

  “Your Ford was made to start right at the bottom and work up, in the approved style.”

  “I approve of that style too.” Jessica said firmly.

  “Oh, yes,” Mary agreed indifferently. “Only one gets tired of the same story. All captains of industry start at the bottom and work up. I sometimes think it would be interesting to headline the story of a failure with, ‘I started at the top and worked down,’ don’t you?”

  Jessica laughed.

  “Well, anyway, go on about Ford Onderley. What else did Mr. Skelton know about him?”

  “Not very much,” Mary admitted regretfully. “Only that he is head of the family firm now, and that there’s a very tidy amount of money. He’s not married or engaged.”

  “I know that,” murmured Jessica. At which Mary put up her eyebrows and said:

  “Darling, what an interesting conversation it must have been!”

  “It was rather,” Jessica admitted demurely, and they both laughed.

  “Well, I’m going to get Father to arrange a nice little dinner party,” Mary said reflectively. “After all, it’s time we started being neighbourly. Just the Onderleys and yourself, and you might bring your nice Mrs. Forrest and David. And — let me see — we shall need another man. I suppose Arthur Tenby would do. He’s quite sweet and ought to marry money. He’s the sort of man who needs a rich wife to bring out the best in him.”

  “Who were you thinking of casting for the role of rich wife?” enquired Jessica interestedly.

  “Why the Onderley sister, of course. There must be lots of money attached to her, as well as him.”

  “Ummm.” Jessica shook her head. “I can’t see her bringing out the best in an impecunious husband. She’s the harder one of the two Onderleys, if you ask me.”

  “Very likely. Women often are harder than men,” Mary said. “Anyway, it was only a passing idea. Arthur is always good as a fill-in, without my bothering about future advantages for hi
m. I’ll tell Father to get busy.”

  Jessica knew that Mary had only to issue affectionate orders for her father to carry them out. She was therefore not at all surprised to receive a definite invitation for herself and the Forrests a couple of days later.

  “Wear something really pretty, won’t you?” begged Judy, who liked her sister to look her best. And she sighed exaggeratedly when Jessica said regretfully:

  “There isn’t very much to choose from, pet. It will have to be my old pleated grey-green chiffon, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, dear! It’s awfully pretty, of course, but not a bit distinguished,” wailed Judy.

  “Well. I don’t know that I’m specially distinguished,” Jessica said with a laugh.

  “Yes, you are.” cried Judy indignantly. “Mr. Forrest said you are. At least, he said you’re awfully unusual — like something beginning with ‘d’ that means a wood nymph.”

  “I’m not a bit like a wood nymph.” declared Jessica emphatically. But naturally she was gratified, and she secretly wished very much that she had something to wear at the dinner-party which would make her look distinguished, as Judy put it.

  However, the best she could do was to press her old grey-green chiffon, and shampoo her copper-gold hair the night before, and then brush it until it shone.

  And when she had dressed her hair in its characteristic little coronet on top of her head, and carefully drawn in the waist of her dress to hide the fact that it had been mended at least twice, she hoped she would pass muster.

  Judy surveyed the net result with qualified approval, and was just beginning her bit about something distinguished being needed all over again when there was a tap on the door and Mrs. Forrest came in.

  “Do you mind doing me up the back, darling? It’s so difficult to manage for oneself with these ‘poured-in’ effects.” she explained.

  And. while Jessica proceeded to fasten the simple but perfect black frock, Judy said candidly:

  “That’s what I call distinguished.”

  “It’s rather sweet, isn’t it?” agreed Mrs. Forrest with an air of contented understatement. And then, because she was a genuinely kind-hearted woman, she added, “Your sister’s frock is very pretty too.”

  “But not distinguished,” objected Judy, clinging to the essential adjective.

  “We-ell.” Mrs. Forrest, now securely fastened into her own black model, surveyed Jessica critically. “What you need is something dramatic round your waist — and possibly at your neck as well. Something that catches the eye without detracting from the very good line of that dress, dear.”

  Jessica, well aware that her wardrobe contained nothing which Mrs. Forrest could possibly consider “dramatic,” smiled and said:

  “Yes, I dare say. But I really haven’t got anything like that.”

  “But I have,” cried Mrs. Forrest, as sudden inspiration struck her. “I have the very thing, I do believe!” And, before Jessica could form any polite protests, she ran out of the room with the grace and speed of a much younger woman.

  She was not gone more than a few moments, and Judy had hardly had time to say more than, “I hope it’s something lovely” before she came hurrying back again.

  In her hand she held a girdle of curious flat green stones, set in a heavy, almost primitive gilt setting, and from her rather dramatically outstretched forefinger dangled a short necklace of the same green stones.

  “Here you are, my dear. They were never my style at all. Rather too primitive, you know. Curious rather than chic.”

  And, as she spoke, she clasped the girdle round Jessica’s waist, and the thick, flat necklace round her throat.

  The effect was quite extraordinary. Even Jessica’s inexperienced eye told her that. While Judy bounced up and down on the bed with satisfaction.

  “You look lovely and fairy-tale-ish,” she cried. “And that funny shade of green makes your eyes look greenish too, and your hair looks marvellous, Jess!”

  “The child’s quite right,” Mrs. Forrest declared. “You look like a small edition of one of those Norse goddesses — one of the nicer ones, you know,’ she added, under the impression that mythology and Hans Andersen were one and the same thing.

  But Jessica was in no mood to query the origin of the compliments being showered upon her. She knew, simply and deliciously, that she had never looked more attractive in her life. And, as she thanked Mrs. Forrest, her voice actually trembled with pleasure and excitement.

  It was left to David to put the final and unmistakable seal of approval on her appearance. As he stood in the hall and watched her come down the stairs, he said, with an air of satisfaction:

  “That’s how I shall paint you. And it’s going to be the best thing I’ve ever done.”

  So Jessica went off to Mary Skelton’s party happily aware that she could reasonably hold her own with anyone else who was coming. And by “anyone else” she naturally meant Angela Onderley.

  Jessica and the Forrests were the last to arrive, and the Onderleys and Arthur Tenby were already in the long, light, pleasant drawing-room, drinking their host’s excellent sherry and engaging in the light, casual talk peculiar to people meeting each other for the first time.

  As they came into the room, Jessica was aware that Ford Onderley turned to her (or perhaps it was to all three of them) with the natural pleasure of someone finding a familiar figure amid unfamiliar surroundings. And she was more than ever glad that Mrs. Forrest had lent her the belt and necklace to give “distinction” to her appearance.

  Introductions followed, and Jessica found herself talking to Angela — a lovely, self-possessed, critical Angela who surveyed her, she thought, with not entirely friendly attention.

  “I remember you now.” Angela spoke politely rather than cordially. “You called to see my brother one evening, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Jessica said. “I remember you too.”

  And she had the impression that Angela had no idea of the reason for her visit, but would very much have liked to know it.

  “Miss Skelton was just telling me about your deciding to keep a home going for your young brother and sister at The Mead. How enterprising of you.” Angela said, but in rather the tone she would have used if commending a kitchen-maid’s ambition to become a parlourmaid.

  “Oh, I don’t know that it’s particularly enterprising.” Jessica smiled with determined affability. “It’s surprising what you find you can do, once an emergency arises.”

  And then she met Ford Onderley’s eyes by chance, and his gaze was so quizzical and amused that she almost laughed in reply, and. glancing from Jessica to her brother, Angela must have noticed that they were sharing some private joke. At any rate, Jessica thought that her manner grew even colder, and she was glad when Angela turned away to talk to David.

  During dinner the talk was fairly general, and it was not until afterwards that Ford Onderley had an opportunity to draw Jessica aside and enquire, with genuine interest:

  “What are the latest reactions of Uncle Hector?”

  “Oh, he’s practically come to heel.” Jessica explained. “Though he won’t give a real decision until he and Aunt Miriam have had what they call ‘a final discussion’ when they come here next week on their way back from their holiday. But he’s greatly impressed by your generosity — just as I am,” she added with a quick, half-shy smile at him. “I know I didn’t thank you properly the other evening, Mr. Onderley, but I’ve been thinking ever since how good you’re being to us.”

  “All right, child.” He smiled down at her. “Don’t make too much of it.”

  “That.” said Jessica gravely, “would be rather difficult. But there’s one other thing —”

  “Yes?”

  “If Uncle Hector turns difficult again while he’s here and seems hard to convince, would you — would you mind very much if I sent him down to see you?”

  “Not at all. But do you think I should have a softening influence on him?”

  “Oh, not sof
tening, exactly,” Jessica said, with an emphasis which he seemed to find amusing. “But he’ll think that, if a stern business man like you is willing to support the venture, it can’t be such a fantastic idea, after all.”

  “I see. Then I’ll do my best.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Onderley. You’re really very kind and understanding,” Jessica said earnestly.

  “Perhaps I’m trying to live down my dark reputation,” he replied gravely, and Jessica laughed and flushed slightly.

  Then she wished Angela had not chosen just that moment to glance in their direction. For the coldly speculative glance of those bright dark eyes seemed to attribute all sorts of disreputable motives for that very innocent laugh and blush.

  “She doesn’t like me,” thought Jessica positively. And then: “Good heavens! she thinks I have designs on her brother.”

  The idea was so piquant and absurd that Jessica nearly laughed out loud, and she thought Angela could hardly be so intelligent as she looked if she could allow herself to be led astray on quite such a false trail. Anyway, possibly she herself was fanciful.

  But that very evening she had unexpected confirmation of at least Angela’s dislike of her and desire to disparage her. Goodbyes had been said and the Onderleys had already gone out to their car when Jessica picked up a scarf which Angela had dropped.

  “Why, this is Miss Onderley’s,” she exclaimed. “I’ll try to catch them.” And she ran out into the darkened drive, where the Onderleys were already seated in their car, about to drive away.

  As she came up from behind, they were still unaware of her presence when she was quite near, and, through the open window of the car, Angela’s clear, cool tones floated distinctly to her.

  “The Edom girl is quite pretty in a red-headed way, isn’t she?” the casual voice said, and, though the wording might convey a contemptuous compliment, Angela was obviously implying to her brother that she thought Jessica Edom common and inconsiderable and not to be encouraged.

  Jessica stopped dead, as though she had been struck in the face. So that, without any intention of eavesdropping, she heard Angela’s brother reply coldly: