Garth of Tregillis

by Henrietta Reid

  She stared up at me, her face pinched and knowing.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I demanded with as much disapproval as I could inject into my voice at such short notice. ‘How on earth could you know how the Comtesse looks without make-up?’

  ‘I know,’ she repeated, ‘and she’s not a bit pretty—not even as pretty as you are!’

  I decided to ignore this backhanded compliment. ‘She’s very lovely,’ I said severely. ‘Anyone can see that.’

  ‘She wouldn’t be if she didn’t spend hours and hours and hours on her face and doing up her hair. I made a little hole in the panel and peeped in at her. She didn’t know I was watching,’ she added with satisfaction.

  ‘Oh, Melinda,’ I gasped, ‘you know you shouldn’t do such things. What would your uncle say if he knew you were sneaking around staring in at his guest?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll be glad later on when I frighten her away,’ she said confidently. ‘I didn’t make the hole just to peep at her, you know, because I’m going to lay a curse on her and I could only do it if she didn’t know I was watching.’

  ‘But I thought you liked the Comtesse,’ I protested.

  She sniffed. ‘Well, I’ve changed my mind. I hate her now. I thought she would be nice, but she said I was a horrible, horrible child and she’s made Uncle Garth cross with me, and now he won’t even look at me and makes me stay up in the schoolroom most of the time with Emile and you. But I’ll pay her out yet. She’ll be sorry, you’ll see,’ she added fiercely.

  ‘Oh, don’t be so silly, Melinda,’ I said irritably. ‘You know you’ve no one but yourself to blame if the Comtesse was annoyed with you. You ruined her beautiful dress, and your Uncle Garth was bound to be angry with you for coming down and creating such a scene just when she had arrived at Tregillis.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not only that!’ Melinda scuffed her shoe on the pebbled path. ‘She’s wicked—I can tell. And she’s up to no good. But I’ll make her sorry she ever came here and she’ll be glad to go away when I’ve worked my spell. Just you watch!’

  Something in her tone of voice filled me with alarm and I gazed at her in dismay. It was impossible to know what mischief this strange child was concocting, but I was afraid to question her too closely in case she attached too much importance to my curiosity.

  ‘Why do you hate everyone, Melinda?’ I asked, as mildly as I could.

  ‘I don’t,’ she protested. ‘It’s just that I heard Mrs. Kinnefer saying that the Comtesse is here to stay that she’s going to marry Uncle Garth and never go away again—and I couldn’t bear that.

  Besides, I don’t hate everyone: I like you since you bought me that big box of paints.’

  ‘So you like people only when they give you things!’ But secretly I was glad to have made even this dubious amount of progress.

  In Melinda’s painting I hoped that I had found the key to communication with the child. The only time I saw her absorbed and truly happy was when she was crouched on the floor over a big sheet of paper, painting with those wonderful, bold, sure strokes of colour that held a touch of genius. Her pictures were, like herself, stormy and wild and full of an unchildlike passion and vitality. But if ever Melinda wanted to make her mark in the world and to claim the attention of that other untamed person—her Uncle Garth—it would surely be through her painting she would do so.

  If she had intended to sidetrack me she had certainly succeeded.

  My thoughts were diverted from her threats to Armanell and I let the subject drop.

  If only I could have known how Melinda’s childish jealousy of the woman who aspired to marry her beloved uncle would eventually show itself, I would have probed deeper. Perhaps I should have been able to gain her confidence and so have prevented further mischief—but all that was in the future.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE expedition with Paul had been all that I had hoped it would be and more. He made a wonderfully gay companion. I had not realized how bored and dreary I had felt during the previous days until I obtained release for a few hours and escaped from life up in the schoolroom with only two children for company.

  I had enjoyed the carnival from the moment we had gone through the giant doors painted with garish pictures of the delights to be found within and I had heard the loud, strident hit tunes from the past ground out as the hobby-horses sailed around and around, rising and dipping. We had had several rides before we moved on to the dodgem cars and the chairoplanes and I found myself screaming with delight as we whirled through the air high above the milling, good-natured crowd. Paul had won a little white stuffed poodle for me with soft curling ears at the shooting gallery and somewhere or other on our wanderings I had managed to acquire a giant mop of pink candy-floss.

  During the evening I had forgotten Garth and Armanell. They had driven away together that morning after breakfast and had not yet returned when I dressed for my outing with Paul in a very simple-looking but really expensive gingham frock and had tied back my hair in a big bow to match the blue check in the material.

  Now as we left the carnival grounds I wondered vaguely for a moment if they would be at home by the time I arrived back at Tregillis, but I wasn’t really very interested. I felt happy and carefree. Twilight was deepening into the velvety darkness of a summer evening. Paul caught my hand and I rested my head against his shoulder for a moment as we strolled along. We were just like the other happy couples drifting home after an evening’s entertainment.

  Then suddenly a big, powerful car swung around a bend in the road. It was forced to slow because there was still a little dark knot of people outside the gates of the carnival grounds and some of the couples were strolling on the road. For an instant I could feel Paul and me being picked out by those powerful lights that seemed to hold us frozen in a revealing spotlight and then we were restored to the dusk. As it passed us I looked up to find myself staring straight into Armanell’s eyes. For an instant we regarded each other and I was acutely conscious of the figure of Garth on the further side of the car, his face turned towards me for an instant. Then the car picked up speed and Paul and I were alone together again, once more sheltered by the dusk. But now all my pleasure in the evening was spoiled. I felt uneasy, acutely conscious of how I must have appeared. My head resting on Paul’s shoulder. Under my arm the ridiculous poodle and carrying the remains of the huge mop of candy-floss, evidence of the manner in which we had spent the evening. My first impulse was to shamefacedly throw away the candy-floss into the long grass growing by the side of the road. But what would Paul think of such behaviour? After all, he had tried to give me a pleasant and happy time!

  ‘It looks as though Garth and Armanell have been out on the town,’ Paul laughed as we got into the car. But I was silent as we drove the short distance back to Tregillis. The evening had somehow ended on a flattened and sour note for me. He drove along the avenue and swung the car around in a wide arc that brought us opposite the windows of the library and the first thing I noticed was the slight glow which showed that the floor lamps were switched on. I could picture the scene inside. Near the small wood fire lit against the slight chill of the evening Armanell and Garth would be seated with drinks in their hands chatting and laughing over the events of the day together.

  In that glimpse of her in the passing car, the contrast between us had shown up so clearly; Armanell so cool and sophisticated, me with my candy-floss and my toy poodle so obviously won at such bucolic events as hoop-la or the shooting gallery or possibly at the coconut shy. We had looked what we were—a couple of Garth’s employees out for an evening’s simple entertainment. While she had looked what she was—an honoured guest—and possibly future mistress of Tregillis—if, in fact, she was not already that, because they had come to an understanding. Had he already asked her to marry him? I could well imagine him choosing such a moment when they were alone, relaxed and happy after a wonderful day together.

  As I noticed that one of the big library windows stood open I was on the point of
asking Paul to drive on a little, until we were clear of them, but was reluctant to let him know that I cared whether Garth and Armanell should chance to look out and see me getting out of Paul’s car. Would I, perhaps, be the object of their amused speculation?

  My mood had changed with that momentary glimpse of Armanell, cool and poised in Garth’s car, but Paul was not to know this. ‘To tell the truth I was wondering if, when it came to the bit, you would really enjoy something as simple as this,’ he said, cheerfully, as I thanked him for the evening. ‘But you’ve been wonderful. I only hope you’ve been enjoying yourself even half as much as you appeared to do.’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s been wonderful, Paul. I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself so much.’ As I spoke I knew I was throwing into my voice a false enthusiasm. It came of my feeling of guilt that in fact the very glimpse of Garth and Armanell had been sufficient to wipe out my pleasure in the evening.

  But Paul took my enthusiasm at its face value. ‘You’re a wonderful person, Judith. I’m a lucky man to have found you.’ And without the slightest warning his arms were about me and he was kissing me.

  I drew back hastily, acutely conscious of that open window and the fact that we must be clearly visible to watching eyes inside.

  Even as he kissed me I was intensely aware that Paul was not the man for me. I had been deceiving myself during the evening in thinking that in Paul I might find an anodyne for the loneliness that seemed to engulf me here at Tregillis. I could not say this to Paul, however, and conscious of his enquiring and slightly reproachful gaze I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. ‘What would Verity think if she could see us now?’ I said with an attempt at a laugh as I smoothed my hair.

  ‘And just what do you mean by that?’ he demanded.

  He was justifiably annoyed, I realized, but there was nothing I could do now except go ahead. ‘Oh, just that I’ve been hearing stories about you and Verity since I came here—that once upon a time you and she were very good friends and that everyone in the district expected you to get married.’

  ‘If I ever cared for Verity—and I do think that’s no one’s business but my own,’ he returned, a touch of sullenness in his voice, ‘it’s all over now. Whatever regard I may have had for her she herself has killed. She has shown me over and over again that she cares nothing for me and that I bore and annoy her. I’m not the sort of man to go around year after year with a broken heart thrusting myself upon a woman who dislikes me. I don’t intend to put up with being rejected for ever. If Verity doesn’t care for me I hope I’ll be able to interest someone else. I certainly don’t intend to become a hermit and nurse a broken heart. It’s just not in character.’

  ‘But has it struck you that deep down Verity cares for you?’ I ventured. I must be careful not to betray Verity’s confidence, I thought, as I hesitated to say more.

  ‘Well, if you’ve seen any signs of Verity’s caring for me now it must be your deep feminine psychology,’ he returned dryly.

  ‘Because I admit it completely evades me. Anyway, what are we talking about Verity for? Tonight belongs to you and me.’

  I could see that he was about to kiss me again and slipped out of the car. ‘Thanks, Paul, it’s been a wonderful evening,’ I said hurriedly.

  ‘Why must you rush off? What about another outing some time soon and we might do something rather different,’ he urged.

  ‘Oh, don’t let’s talk of it tonight,’ I evaded. ‘After all, we’re bound to meet again in the next few days.’

  But as I crossed the short distance to the door I was telling myself that I wouldn’t go out with Paul again. I knew clearly that I could never care for him and it wasn’t fair to him to begin something that I had no intention of pursuing. His few remarks about Verity had been unconsciously revealing. ‘If she doesn’t care for me I’m not the sort of man to keep thrusting myself upon her.’

  Perhaps that was the secret of Paul’s pursuit of all the pretty girls who came to the district. Perhaps he was in search of a girl who would care for him—instead of the caustic-tongued Verity—to whom I suspected his heart was really given.

  As I crossed the hall towards the staircase I saw, to my surprise, that the ornate door of the library was lying open and inside I could glimpse Garth’s shadow thrown big against the wall by the light of one of the floor lamps. Of Armanell there was no sign, but she was probably sunk in one of the deep armchairs, I surmised. Aware that the flat-heeled shoes I had put on in keeping with my ‘simple’

  gingham dress were sounding quite loudly on the slated floor of the hall, I began to tiptoe as I approached the foot of the staircase.

  Somehow I dreaded Armanell’s voice calling out some light mocking remark to which I could not make any retort—not unless I wanted to be sent away from Tregillis, and I knew that now it was the last thing I wanted.

  But it was Garth’s voice that called out, ‘Why are you tiptoeing past, Miss Westall? Is it by any chance that you wish to avoid an encounter?’

  I turned my head to find that I was looking straight at Garth who was standing in the doorway. I knew that he had deliberately taken that position so that he could intercept me on my way upstairs.

  ‘No, no of course not,’ I stammered. ‘I was—was just going up to bed and—’

  ‘And are you too tired to spare me a few minutes?’ he asked.

  ‘No, of course not.’

  Reluctantly I turned and slowly entered the library, and as I did so I was acutely conscious of his gaze on the poodle in my arms and the stick of candy-floss. I had intended to dispose of it in the shrubbery when I left Paul, but I had forgotten.

  I glanced quickly around the big room, but Armanell was not there. Apparently she had already gone off to her suite and immediately I felt relieved. Bad as it was having an interview with Garth, it would have been a thousand times worse to have had it take place in her presence where she would have been able to interject any remarks that chanced to strike her.

  He indicated an armchair.

  ‘Won’t you take a chair; you appear a bit overburdened. It’s fairly plain that yourself and Paul made quite a killing at the carnival.’

  I put the poodle beside me on the chair and wondered what to do with the candy-floss, then desperately threw it into the fire.

  ‘Isn’t that a rather cavalier way to treat your swain’s offering?’

  he asked sardonically.

  ‘Yes, Paul and I were at the carnival,’ I stammered, disconcerted by the anger in his voice.

  ‘So I see. And how exactly did you acquire the poodle? Did you win it at the hoop-la stall, or was it a prize Paul and yourself won for being the most amorous couple in the tunnel of love?’

  I was silent, but my anger was mounting. How dared he talk to me in this fashion—as if Paul and I were two nonentities. As if we, as his employees, were objects of contempt to him. Was it so that he could heap ridicule on Paul and myself that he had called me into the library?

  ‘It happens there was no tunnel of love.’

  ‘No?’ The reflection held mockery. ‘But surely there were other opportunities. The excitement of the dodgems, for instance, should have given him a good many opportunities.’

  ‘You have something to say to me?’ I asked stiffly, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

  ‘Yes, and your attitude is making it very difficult for me,’ was the unexpected answer.

  As I stared at him in amazement, he hesitated for a moment, then said abruptly, ‘You like Paul?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I replied.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he repeated, ‘otherwise you wouldn’t have gone out with him—or have kissed him goodnight before you parted for the evening. You have made an appointment to have another evening out together soon, no doubt?’

  I was on the point of denying it, but his tone made me defensive.

  How dared he treat me like this?’Yes, of course,’ I said as coolly as I could. ‘And what business—’

  �
��What business is it of mine? A very good question, Miss Westall, but I don’t know if you should go to the top of the class for asking it. It shows perhaps that you’re not as good a judge of men as you ought to be.’

  ‘And just what do you mean by that remark?’ I began angrily.

  ‘I mean that Paul is a fine person. I don’t believe that he’s at all cynical—at least not consciously. But it does happen that he falls head-over-heels in love with every girl who comes to the district who is in the least presentable—or who is prepared to be kind.’

  ‘And into which category do I fall,’ I asked, ‘the presentable or the kind?’

  A faint rueful smile touched his features. ‘Touche! Into both, I should say. I’m not expressing myself in a very conciliatory manner, but what I’m trying to say is something simple. I’m merely trying—for your own sake to warn you not to take Paul Newsom too seriously.’

  ‘I don’t take Paul Newsom too seriously,’ I told him coldly.

  ‘Indeed, your kisses are lightly bestowed, is that it?’ he said.

  ‘What business is it of yours how I conduct my friendships with other men? I’m not a child, you know.’

  ‘Oh yes, you are. To me you are a child,’ he returned. ‘A child who is liable to get herself into all sorts of silly predicaments if she doesn’t take care. Were you to leave here tomorrow, Paul would instantly be looking around for another girl to bestow his favours on.’

  It was curious how dismayed I felt at the words.

  So he was already thinking of my departure! I knew that I should miss Tregillis terribly when I went away—as eventually I must. I knew that the idea of Emile’s lessons was that his English should become good enough for him to be able to go to a boarding school without being the target of the other children because of his quaint mode of speech and his Frenchified inflection.