‘Oh!’ I drew in my breath with dismay. ‘Why didn’t you let me know who you were?’
He reached into the foliage at the foot of the bush and for the first time I saw the protruding crooks of two stout walking sticks. Slowly and painfully he pulled himself to his feet. There was something shockingly incongruous about the pale classical features and the shattered and distorted legs.
His lips twisted into an angry sneer. ‘It’s easy to see you know who I am now. I can just hear that inveterate old gossip, Mrs. McAlister.’ He gave a vicious parody of Mrs. McAlister’s flat Scottish accents, ‘Poor Mr. Ashmore—to think he would have been master of Ashmore if it hadn’t been for the shocking accident.’ Abruptly he dropped the mimicry. ‘A remarkably convenient accident,’ he went on bitterly. ‘It got rid of me and made Vance master of Ashmore, and all that goes with it.’
‘What do you mean?’
The handsome face was a mask of rage and frustration. ‘Just what I say. I was heir to Ashmore until my father decided that, as a cripple, I was not a suitable subject to step into his shoes. It was providential for my beloved half-brother, wasn’t it, though I suppose he regrets he didn’t do the job properly.’
‘How can you say such things to me about your brother, when you don’t even know who I am?’ I asked, appalled into speech.
‘Aha! That’s just where you’re wrong! First of all may I point out that Vance is not my brother, merely my half-brother, which is quite a different thing, and far from your being a stranger to me, I know quite a lot about you already. You’re Averil Etherton’s sister and you flung up your job to take care of that rather unpleasant young nephew of yours while Averil trots off to foreign parts in an effort to bring Vance up to scratch.’ He sounded bitter and I wished I had the courage to ask if his quarrel with Vance concerned Averil.
‘And just in case you’ve been listening to gossip, I should like to put it on record that, fascinating as your sister is, I have never been in love with her and my accident—as it is euphemistically called—was not due to a quarrel over the affections of the fair Averil. On the contrary, it was about which of us was to become master of Ashmore and its rolling acres. As you can see, Vance won.’
He relapsed into a brooding silence and I wondered uncomfortably how I could take my departure without appearing boorish.
‘If you’re bored and wish to be off, don’t let me stop you,’ he said abruptly.
‘I—I suppose I ought to be getting back. I’ve so much to do before lunch,’ I found myself stammering.
He made no reply, merely waited for me to take my departure, his face averted so that only his perfect profile was visible, his fine long-fingered hands playing with the handles of his sticks.
I hesitated for a moment, then turned away. He would wait until I was out of sight before attempting the laborious descent from his post of observation, I knew. His ability to read one’s thoughts was almost uncanny, I was thinking as I reached level ground once more and turned towards the cottage. Was it due, I wondered, to the many hours of introspection he must have spent as a result of the accident?
Mrs. McAlister served a simple though delicious lunch and after washing up and generally tidying she pulled on a worn tam-o’-shanter and departed.
Left on my own, I felt restless and decided that a walk as far as Rodney’s school would divert me. From Mrs. McAlister’s chatter I had gathered that it was situated a little along the main road and I had very little difficulty in finding it, for long before I reached it I could hear excited shouts from the playground.
As I drew nearer I could see that a group of children had gathered around two of the boys who were locked in a fierce struggle. Then, to my surprise, I saw that one of the children involved was Rodney and that his opponent was a much bigger and stronger-looking boy and that my nephew was getting very much the worst of the encounter. When I pushed open the gates the onlooking boys turned guiltily and began to drift away, leaving Rodney and his opponent rolling on the grass, the older boy pounding him fiercely.
As they realized I was watching them they broke away sheepishly, the older scuttling away, while Rodney glared at me defiantly, his face muddy and bruised. ‘I didn’t know you were coming,’ he said belligerently. ‘Mummy never does.’
‘Obviously!’ I replied dryly. ‘Now do try and tidy yourself up, Rodney, and then we’ll go home.’
‘I’m not a baby,’ he said sulkily.
‘I only came because I wanted the exercise,’ I replied. ‘Now do hurry up. I see a master coming and I’m sure he won’t be too pleased if he sees you’ve been fighting.’
He gave a startled glance at the approaching figure of the gowned master. ‘That’s Mr. Fletcher, the headmaster,’ he announced as he flew towards the shelter of the school building.
The tall, rather tired-looking man glanced curiously at me, then stopped and said, ‘My name is Fletcher. You’re not by any chance Miss Carson, Rodney Etherton’s aunt, are you, because if so you won’t have got a very good impression.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, I’m afraid he has been fighting, and somehow I had imagined Rodney was the type of boy who would avoid that sort of thing.’
He looked surprised. ‘Oh, but you’re wrong. He’s nearly always in trouble of some sort or other.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I’m sure you won’t mind if I speak freely, because I do feel that if the child were to receive a little more understanding he’d probably settle down quite nicely.’
I smiled wryly. ‘I’d be glad of any hints on improving Rodney’s behaviour, but I’m afraid he has always been rather a handful. I expect it’s because he’s an only child and has been rather spoiled.’
He shook his head. ‘On the contrary, in my opinion he hasn’t been spoiled enough.’ Again he hesitated and then said diffidently, ‘I realise of course that Mrs. Etherton leads a busy social life, but I do feel that if she took more interest in the boy it would give him confidence. He’s perpetually involved in brawls and quarrels, and I think, on the whole, it’s an effort to assert himself and to obtain notice. The other parents, for instance, who live in the district, attend our little plays and concerts, but Mrs. Etherton tells me she is too busy, or worse still promises to attend and then doesn’t turn up. Rodney did quite well in our last end-of-term play and was bitterly disappointed that his mother wasn’t amongst those in the audience.’
It was typical of Averil’s selfishness, I realized, but I said defensively, ‘I expect she doesn’t realize how he feels about it. Rodney can seem such a self-reliant little boy at times.’
‘None of us are completely self-sufficient, he said a little severely, then added apologetically, ‘After all, what can you do about it—except that when I saw you had called for him, I thought that perhaps—’ He stopped, then changed the conversation and began to speak in polite generalities.
Later, as I walked home with Rodney, I saw him eye rather enviously two boys who raced ahead thumping each other playfully with their satchels. ‘Browne has asked Fenwick home to tea,’ he announced.
‘And don’t you ask your friends back to the cottage?’ I inquired.
He shook his head. ‘I did once, but Mummy said they weren’t to come again as they weren’t really nice boys.’
‘Nice’ had always been Averil’s word for socially acceptable: obviously Rodney’s companions at what she had described as ‘a seedy little prep school’ did not belong to the rich and socially prominent families that she was bent on cultivating. Remembering Mr. Fletcher’s words, I decided to take action at the risk of Averil’s disapproval. ‘Why don’t you ask one or two of your friends back to the cottage some afternoon?’ I inquired quietly.
He looked at me in pleased surprise, then said cautiously, ‘You mean it doesn’t matter who I ask?’
‘Of course not,’ I replied.
‘Then I’ll ask Phillips,’ he said with satisfaction.
‘Wasn’t that the boy you were fighting with?’ I remembered that name being yelled by their
enthusiastic audience.
He nodded. ‘Yes, but I like him all the same.’
When I laughed he glanced at me a little shyly. ‘Perhaps Mrs. McAlister would make a nice cake and some jellies?’
‘I shouldn’t be at all surprised,’ I said cheerfully. ‘It’s just the sort of thing she’d like to do, I expect.’
We walked the next few yards in companionable silence, but I could see that Rodney was already reviewing the idea with pleasure. I pushed all thoughts of Averil’s disapproval firmly out of my mind.
We were approaching the cottage gate when a large gleaming chauffeur-driven car going in the opposite direction drew up in a cloud of dust and I felt Rodney' tug apprehensively at my hand. ‘It’s Mrs. Ashmore,’ he told me, then scuttled guiltily up the path and disappeared into the cottage.
I turned my head to find myself being surveyed attentively by an elegantly dressed woman with lavender-tinted hair: her features were brittle and she had the perfect grooming of a woman who devotes time and money to her appearance. ‘You must be Averil’s sister,’ she said in a high clear voice, ‘and I’m not surprised you refused my invitation. No doubt Vance was his usual boorish self. But now that I’m asking you in person, perhaps you’ll do your best to come? I’ve been looking forward so much to meeting you. Averil talked of you so often.’
She smiled whimsically, with a little appealing motion of her hand.
I doubted very much if Averil had more than mentioned me in passing, for, since her marriage, we had gone in very different directions, Averil mixing almost exclusively with her husband’s friends. Yet, wary as I was of Mrs. Ashmore, she had a charm that I found hard to resist, even though a part of me realized that she was no doubt fully conscious of it and gave it full play when she was determined to get her own way.
I hesitated. It seemed churlish to leave a friend of Averil’s at the gate. ‘I’ve just come back from meeting Rodney, but perhaps you’d care to come in and join us for coffee,’ I suggested.
‘My dear, I’d be simply delighted,’ she said affably. ‘How charming the cottage looks at this time of the year,’ she enthused as we walked together up the path. ‘A perfect bower of blossom! I often wish I was cosily ensconced here instead of in that big old barracks we live in.’
I was taken by surprise. Her clothes and grooming hardly fitted into a rustic background and from what I had heard of her snobbery and pride of position the remark seemed obviously insincere.
She gazed at me with a blandly ingenuous air. ‘Oh, I know what you’re thinking,’ she laughed ruefully. ‘That I’m only saying polite nothings, but I assure you it’s true. You’ve no idea what dreadful responsibilities possessions impose on one—and then there’s always the servant problem. I’ve no sooner got a girl trained into my little ways than off she goes, though goodness knows I try to make things as pleasant and agreeable for them as possible! But then I suppose one must accept the fact that the world is full of ingratitude.’ She sighed and shrugged resignedly.
Her expression, however, changed as we entered the cottage and she saw Rodney seated by the fire, ostensibly absorbed in a story-book. She regarded him sourly. ‘I’m afraid Rodney’s inclined to make rather a nuisance of himself,’ she said, her lips tightening, ‘and I do hope you’ll be firm with the child, for darling Averil, in my opinion, is much too easy-going. But then, she’s not the domestic type, is she?’
Rodney, under Mrs. Ashmore’s acid gaze, laid down his book and sidled into the garden.
Mrs. Ashmore seated herself on the worn sofa and gazed about her with interest. ‘I’m so glad the child has gone out: we can have a cosy chat over our coffee cups,’ she remarked brightly.
Later, as she sipped from one of Averil’s dainty bone-china cups, she eyed me speculatively and said sweetly, ‘Let’s be perfectly frank with each other, shall we? I’m going to admit that I want Averil to marry Vance: she’s the type of daughter-in-law I’ve always wanted for my son, so gentle and sweet-mannered! I know we’ll get on wonderfully well together: she’s so completely unlike some of those brazen hussies who have set their caps at Vance ever since they knew he was to inherit.’
So Mrs. Ashmore found Averil gentle and sweet! I laid down my cup and glanced away, trying to disguise the surprise I felt at her description of my sister. So Averil had played her cards well enough to deceive even the astute and worldly Mrs. Ashmore!
For the rest of the visit she chatted animatedly of local affairs with a brittle and sophisticated gaiety that made me feel more and more like a fish out of water. As she rose to go she patted my hand and said, ‘You will promise to come to us tomorrow afternoon, won’t you, my dear? There’ll only be the family: Eric and Vance and myself, and you mustn’t mind Eric too much. He can be disconcerting at times, but then he’s rather bitter, I’m afraid, and it’s inclined to make him unjust.’
‘No, I shan’t mind,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ve already met Eric and I realize how he resents his disability.’
‘Oh, so you’ve met Eric!’ For a moment she looked nonplussed and I could see that my cool rejoinder had taken her by surprise and made her wary as though, for the first time, she suspected that I might not prove as accommodating as Averil. But immediately she regained her poise. ‘Then I can expect you,’ she said pleasantly as she made her departure.
I watched as her fashionably thin figure in the perfectly fitting tweeds walked down the path to where her chauffeur was patiently waiting. She waved as she drove off and I wondered why I had been weak enough to accept her invitation. When Averil returned from her cruise, Mrs. Ashmore and her world would be quickly put behind me. I closed the door and called Rodney from the garden.
He raced up eagerly, relieved that the coast was clear. ‘You’re not really going to visit that horrid Mrs. Ashmore tomorrow?’ he asked incredulously.
‘How do you know?’ I said, surprised.
‘I was listening outside the window.’ He smiled smugly.
I said severely, ‘You know perfectly well you shouldn’t, don’t you?’
He nodded agreement. ‘But why are you going to Ashmore House? You haven’t told me,’ he persisted.
I gazed at him helplessly. It was impossible to tell him my reasons when I couldn’t explain them to myself, though I had the unpleasant feeling that somehow or other they involved Vance Ashmore.
CHAPTER FIVE
I TOOK especial care as I dressed the following afternoon for my visit to Ashmore House. When I was ready I critically surveyed myself in the long mirror. I was looking my best, I decided. The sage green linen frock suited my colouring and as the day was hot and sunny I wore a wide-brimmed hat of burnt orange that flopped against my shoulders. Downstairs I could hear Mrs. McAlister rattling busily at the kitchen stove. She had promised to stay on until I returned. I felt faintly annoyed with myself for caring how I looked, but then I assured myself firmly that it was simply a gesture of defiance.
It was Mrs. McAlister who punctured my self-confidence.
When I went downstairs she tamed from the stove, her face scarlet where she had been frying kippers for what she called her ‘high tea.’ ‘Well, dearie, you certainly look a fair picture,’ she exclaimed with an air of unflattering astonishment. She chuckled insinuatingly. ‘It’s plain that Mr. Vance must have taken your fancy, but then it’s not surprising, for all the lassies hereabouts are daft after him. Though goodness knows he’s not what you’d call handsome. It’s not surprising he has a fine notion of himself.
‘I certainly haven’t taken a fancy, as you call it, to Vance Ashmore,’ I said crossly.
Mrs. McAlister, however, was not squashed. She chattered on good-naturedly as she transferred the kippers to a hot plate. ‘Now you run along, dearie ’ she said affably, ‘and don’t bother your head about the wean, for we’ll get on like a house afire.’
Rodney, who was regarding the kippers without enthusiasm, said loudly, ‘I’m not “a wean”, and I hate kippers.’
Mrs. McAlister looked
dismayed. ‘Hate kippers! Did you ever hear the likes!’ she exclaimed disbelievingly. ‘Now you just sit down there like a good wee boy, and I’ll give you a lovely big kipper all to yourself.’
As I went out I could hear Rodney reply, whiningly, ‘I won’t take your horrid old kipper, so there you are!’ Mrs. McAlister’s voice was raised incredulously.
I crossed the orchard and went through the gap that led into the woods. It was a beautiful afternoon, the sunlight splintering through the soft green foliage of the tall trees. Pretty as Cherry Cottage was, I was glad to be free of Rodney and his continual demands on my time and attention. I felt a sense of excitement as I cleared the woods and came to the broad, sweeping gravel avenue.
As I drew near to Ashmore House I could make out three figures casually lounging on the terrace and I was aware that I was under close scrutiny. The hat that I had thought so becoming now seemed over-elaborate and unsuitable and I began to feel awkward and self-conscious. As I reached the foot of the terrace I was heartily wishing myself back at Cherry Cottage.
Vance got to his feet, glass in hand, ‘Welcome to Ashmore,’ he said with a familiar tinge of mockery.
‘You sound quite feudal, Vance,’ Eric said, irritably, from his wheelchair, ‘but then why shouldn’t you when you’re master of all you survey!’ His face looked pale and bad-tempered and in spite of the warmth of the afternoon he had a plaid rug wrapped firmly around his legs.
‘But how charming you look, my dear,’ Mrs. Ashmore said brightly. ‘I do adore those floppy hats.’ She was reclining on an elaborate wickerwork lounging chair, her slim bony figure impeccably dressed in a trouser suit of lemon-yellow wild silk. Around one skinny wrist she wore a broad band of gold inset with plaques of pale carved jade. Even relaxed, she gave the impression of having given a lot of time and trouble to her appearance. ‘Vance, tell Alice we’ll have tea on the terrace, it’s such a heavenly afternoon.’
Sister of the Bride Page 6
