by Betty Neels
‘All in good time.’ He smiled at her, a smile to turn her heart over and take her breath. ‘My darling girl,’ he said as she went past him.
They lunched in the little sitting room at the back of the house with the animals for company and Jos to wait on them. He urged Araminta in a low, fatherly voice to try the excellent soup Frone had made especially for her, and when she had obediently supped it up, he begged her to try the turbot, backed up by Crispin’s: ‘You had better do so, my girl, or you will offend Frone. Jos, I suppose you and she put your heads together over the sweet?’
‘Indeed, yes—Miss Shaw’s favourite—vacherin.’
‘Splendid—will you tell Frone that lunch is delicious?’
After that, Araminta had no option but to accept whatever was put on her plate and eat it, and indeed she had to admit that she felt the better for it, and the wine Crispin had poured for her made her feel better still. All the same, she refused a second glass with a look at him which made him chuckle.
‘Keeping a clear head, Araminta?’ he wanted to know.
Her head hadn’t been clear for some time, not since he had called her his darling girl and told her that Nelissa was dead, but she was given no chance to brood over this, for Crispin kept up a gentle flow of talk which required little or no answer but required her attention at the same, so that although she still felt very muddled and bewildered by the time they went into the drawing room she was much more in command of herself. The coffee tray had already been carried in and Crispin turned back to say something to Jos, who went upstairs.
‘Tante Maybella is to join us for coffee,’ said Crispin, ‘she has already lunched in her room.’
Araminta had sat down, but she got up again as the old lady came into the room. She looked very small and fragile and frightened, even when Crispin had kissed her with his usual kindness and settled her in her usual chair by the fire and invited her to pour the coffee.
‘You see that I have brought Araminta back home again,’ he remarked cheerfully as he dispensed the coffee cups, and Mevrouw van Sibbelt darted a glance at him, looking more alarmed than ever and most dreadfully unhappy. ‘We shall be married quite soon,’ he went on, taking no notice at all of Araminta’s astounded gasp. ‘She will find it wonderful to have you here, teaching her how to run the house and care for its treasures, and I hope to love them, just as you do, my dear.’
‘Oh, Crispin, I never meant to… I’ve been a wicked old woman…you want me to stay? to live here after you are married?’ The old, anxious face puckered. ‘I thought that if you married, you wouldn’t want me…’
Crispin was standing with his back to the fire. ‘Is that why you told Araminta about Nelissa, Tante Maybella? Allowing her to think…well, never mind that now, but there was no need. How could you have thought such a thing of me? Home wouldn’t be home without you. Isn’t that true, Araminta?’
Thus addressed, Araminta made shift to close her mouth which had been hanging open in surprise and then murmur something or other. The nerve, the colossal nerve, taking it for granted that she would accept the situation like a lamb! So she was to marry him now, was she, without a word of explanation? Her bosom heaved with her strong emotions and the doctor’s eye lingered lovingly on her. Her own eyes kindled with temper as she prepared to tell him just what she thought of him. Love him with all her heart she might, but he could annoy her more than anyone she knew. Only, on the point of embarking on impassioned speech, her gaze fell upon Mevrouw van Sibbelt and at the sight of that small, unhappy face, her own unhappy ill feelings disappeared entirely. She flew across the room and cast herself down on her knees beside the old lady’s chair.
‘Of course it’s true,’ she declared strongly, ‘and how could I possibly manage to run a great house like this without you to guide me? I’d be lost, I would indeed.’ She put her arms round the thin shoulders and kissed the delicately made-up cheek. ‘Oh, you must forget that you ever thought such a thing of us…’
‘You’re not angry? I am very fond of you, Araminta dear—I don’t know what came over me. It was very wrong of me, I have known that, but I’m old, you see, and I was afraid. The old aren’t always wanted, you know. And I didn’t mean to tell you a lie, exactly, but you made it very easy. I have been very unhappy, for I never thought that you would go away. You’re quite sure…’
‘Quite, quite sure. Now will you not drink your coffee?’
Tante Maybella accepted the fragile cup and sipped daintily. ‘There is a great deal I can teach you, my dear, and so much to tell you about this house, although I suppose Crispin has already told you a great deal.’ Her voice faltered a little. ‘You are not angry, Crispin?’
‘No, my dear.’ His voice was very kind, so was his smile. ‘How could I be angry with someone to whom I am devoted?’
His aunt put down her cup. ‘There, now I am happy again; it is such a relief, and now I think I should like to go to my room and sit quietly. I have a great deal to think about, and the wedding to consider.’
She kissed Araminta and took Crispin’s arm. ‘You will be very happy, just like your dear father and mother.’ She trotted to the door, her arm in his. ‘It will be delightful to have children in the house,’ she observed happily as he ushered her out of the room.
There was silence after she had gone. Crispin closed the door and leaned against it, his hands in his pockets, and Araminta, aware that he was watching her intently, fidgeted with her coffee cup, then put it down and fell to examining her nails. At last he said: ‘I expected a torrent of abuse.’
‘Well, I can’t think of anything to say.’ Whereupon she burst into speech. ‘I don’t know why you couldn’t have told me—you had only to say…at Valkenburg or that funny little inn, and all you could say was that we must wait for your aunt.’ Her voice rose a little. ‘I can’t understand at all. Besides that, you made it very awkward for me, having to tell Mevrouw van Sibbelt…’ She added with elaborate casualness: ‘Who was Nelissa?’
Crispin was across the room and she found herself wrapped tenderly in his arms. ‘That’s better,’ he spoke on a laugh. ‘What would have been the use of telling you anything, my darling love? Would you have believed a word of it? In any case, when I found you you were in no fit state to listen, were you? I should have told you before; I was going to tell you, but the telephone rang and I had to go—remember? And I had no idea why you had run away. I only knew that I had to get you back.’ He kissed her swiftly. ‘I haven’t thought of Nelissa for a long time now. Sixteen years is a long time, my darling, and I haven’t thought of anything or anyone but you since I first saw you standing defiantly below those Cornish cliffs.’
‘You were very rude,’ said Araminta.
‘I was thunderstruck—to come across my dream girl in such an unlikely place. I wanted to kiss you…which reminds me…’
This time his kiss wasn’t gentle or brief; it was entirely satisfying. Araminta sighed happily. ‘I thought—all this time—that you weren’t sure about loving me.’
‘I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, my dearest, but I had to give you time to be sure.’
‘I didn’t need any time.’ She stretched up to kiss him.
‘Good—so you won’t need any time to think about marrying me. Never mind about clothes and so on, we’ll get those later. I arranged about the licence when I was in Dunster.’
She looked at him with loving admiration. ‘Since you’ve gone to so much trouble,’ she told him, ‘the least I can do is to fall in with your plans.’
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3956-2
THE EDGE OF WINTER
Copyright © 1976 by Betty Neels.
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