Yours to Command

by Mary Burchell

  “How did he look at me?” She was hungry for some sort of reassurance in all her doubt and hope and despair.

  “Like a man who sees champagne after a diet of flat Vichy water,” retorted Lucas Manning promptly.

  “Do you have to joke about it?” she said reproachfully.

  “No. But,” he gave her that faintly humorous glance, “in all the most horrible moments of my life I’ve found that the best straw to clutch at when you go down for the third time is not logic or high courage or even pride, but a humorous acceptance of things as they are.”

  She glanced at him with irresistibly re-kindled interest.

  “Have there been—many horrible moments?” she asked.

  “Enough,” he said lightly. “But we were talking about you.”

  “And Hugh,” she amended quickly, and, taking off her hat, she ran her fingers through her bright hair. “I wonder if there is anything I could, or should, do for him.”

  “For him!” Lucas Manning jerked up his strongly marked eyebrows. “You must look at the situation whatever way you please, of course. But I warn you I’m looking at this thing strictly from your point of interest.”

  She laughed slightly and, for a moment, she put her hand over his as it lay idly on the wheel.

  “You’re so very kind to me. Really, I don’t know why you should be.”

  “Don’t you?” He smiled at her rather mischievously. “Well, you think about it hard enough and you’ll know why. Where shall I drive you now?”

  “Oh—back to school, I think.”

  “Very well.”

  He started the car again and for a few minutes they drove rather slowly and in silence. Then he said, “We haven’t really settled anything, have we?”

  “No.” She accepted the “we” without question. “But then I don’t know that one ever does settle anything by discussion, do you? One clarifies the situation perhaps.”

  “And then one acts entirely on instinct when the time comes,” he countered with a smile. “I guess you’re right. Will you let me know what happens?”

  “Of course,” Sydney said, and she meant it.

  “And will you do something for me?”

  “Most certainly!”

  “It will be half-term in about three weeks’ time, won’t it?” Sydney did some mental calculations.

  “Yes. It’s exactly three weeks this week-end.”

  “Then will you bring Edward and Alistair up to London and let me take you all out somewhere on the Sunday?”

  “Why—” She blushed with pleasure and astonishment. “I—I don’t know. It’s not customary for the matrons to go out with the boys and their parents.”

  “I’m not a parent,” he said, and they both laughed.

  “Well then, I should like to very much.”

  “Have you somewhere you can stay in London?” he enquired practically.

  “I can make arrangements quite easily,” she assured him.

  “Good.” He drew the car up outside the main gate of the school. “Shall I mention this arrangement to Lulworth when I see him tomorrow?”

  “To Hugh?” She was startled. “Oh—of course—I forgot. You’re seeing him in London tomorrow, aren’t you? N-no, I don’t think you need mention this. It needn’t be settled at Headmaster level. I’ll make it just a routine arrangement with Mrs. Dingley later on.” Somehow, she was not specially anxious to emphasize to Hugh the closeness of any connection she might have with Lucas Manning and his two wards.

  “Very well.” He got out of the car and came round to the other side to open the door for her. “Then half-term week-end is reserved for me—for us?”

  “Yes.” She smiled up at him. “And, meanwhile, I’ll do everything I can to see that the boys are not involved in any—any crisis or unfortunate meeting.”

  “Thank you. And, equally, if there is anything I can do for you in your affairs”—he held her hand for a moment, and his air was again that one of mocking kindliness—“I am, in the words of my own play, ‘Yours to Command’.”

  She laughed at that, bade him goodnight, and went on towards Park House, feeling that, after all, the world was not such a bad place.

  During the next few days she thought a good deal of what Lucas Manning had said about Hugh. Inevitably, in the same connection, she thought of what Marcia had said to her. Those carefully wrapped up and then angrily insistent sentences which, stripped of their trimmings, simply meant would she please get out, and stop creating mischief by her sheer presence at Fernhurst?

  If she went away at the end of the term, for she could hardly go earlier, then Hugh would presumably make the best of his marriage with Marcia and gradually any regrets he might have would surely subside.

  That was one answer to the problem. Not an inspiring, heart-warming answer, but an answer, nevertheless.

  But, if she stayed, then the possibilities were more numerous, more problematical, and perhaps more gloriously happy for Hugh as well as herself. From a short-term point of view, she might precipitate an undesirable crisis in the affairs of the Headmaster. But, when that had subsided, how infinitely great the compensation would be.

  Always supposing, of course, that Lucas Manning, and she herself, had not over-estimated Hugh’s re-awakened interest in her. If, in spite of all her heart told her, she inspired no more in him now than nostalgic regrets, then she could only harrow herself by remaining and be a disturbing influence in his affairs.

  “If I believed for one moment that he wholeheartedly loved Marcia, I would go—and go willingly,” Sydney told herself. But while there was any doubt on that score, it was desperately hard to come to any decision.

  This was not her only cause of worry. Young Carstairs worried her a little too. He met her late one afternoon in the grounds and tackled her with an air of reluctant determination.

  “It’s about my sister, Matron. Anne, you know. I didn’t really mean to say anything. But she had the idea that you don’t like her at all, that you think badly of her.”

  “I really don’t know why your sister should think that, Carstairs,” Sydney said kindly. “Nor, really, why she should bother about my opinion one way or the other.”

  “Oh, but she does, Matron! She’s very sensitive to atmosphere and to what people think of her. And you see, she thinks you may have been told things, rather unfair things, about her by Mr. Manning. I know he’s a friend of yours,” Carstairs added hastily, as though forestalling any objection on Sydney’s part. “But I don’t expect you know that Anne was married for a while to his brother. He treated her very badly,” Carstairs’ eyes flashed with brotherly indignation, “and she was very unhappy. But of course families stick together and naturally his brother took his side.”

  Sydney felt very sorry for him, all mixed up among the brothers, and she felt sure Anne had made the most of the situation. So she said, soothingly, that these family upsets were only the business of the people concerned, and that she would never think of judging people on hearsay evidence.

  This seemed to push the matter to a final declaration.

  “Then I can tell Anne that she was quite mistaken?” he said earnestly. “And that you don’t dislike her at all.”

  “I really can’t imagine that it’s any matter of concern to her, Carstairs,” Sydney replied patiently. “But if the subject comes up you can certainly say that, as I’ve only met her twice, I have no clearly defined feelings about her at all. I do think she is very pretty and very charming. But I really couldn’t, and shouldn’t, go further than that.”

  “Thank you so much, Matron,” said Carstairs, with what she thought excessive feeling. And he went on his way, greatly relieved, while Sydney walked slowly onwards digesting the fact that Carstairs now knew of the link between Anne and Lucas Manning, and that it was only the shortest of steps before he would realise the link between his sister and the little Manning boys.

  Worried as she was about this new development, Sydney was almost relieved to hear Hugh’s voice
suddenly say behind her, “Hello, Sydney. Have you a few minutes to spare? I’d like to have a word with you about the Manning children.”

  Half thrilled, half reluctant, she turned aside with him and went into the Headmaster’s house and into his charming, comfortable study. He gave her a chair, stirred up the fire, and then sat down behind his desk, very much the attractive and capable headmaster, so that she was able to forget, for a moment, that this was Hugh whom she loved.

  “I had a long talk with Lucas Manning on Monday,” he explained. “And I understand that you also know about his rather tricky situation.”

  “Yes,” Sydney said, wondering irresistibly how much, and in what way, she had figured in the conversation between the two men.

  “The legal position is a bit obscure,” Hugh went on, “which makes our position all the more delicate.”

  “Is it so obscure?”

  “Well, yes, I think it is, however much Manning insists on his rights and responsibilities. As I understand it, the father was certainly given custody of the children. But whether, on his sudden death, the mother’s or the uncle’s claims come first, I shouldn’t like to say. I imagine the whole question would have to be referred to the courts once more to get a ruling.”

  “I think Mr. Manning wants to avoid that.”

  “Yes. And I quite understand his view. But, if their mother insisted on seeing them, I don’t know what right we have to refuse access.”

  “You know that Edward at least thinks she is dead?” Sydney said anxiously.

  “Yes. A great mistake on Manning’s part to let him think that,” Hugh replied.

  “But he did it with the best intention.” Sydney felt rather indignant on Lucas Manning’s behalf.

  “Of course. Most parental blunders are made that way,” said the experienced Hugh. “Anyway, what we have to deal with is the situation as it is, not as we wish it had been. I have given instructions to the Dingleys and to Prep. Matron that the Manning boys are not to have any visitors without personal reference to me. In a rather doubtful case like this it’s better to forestall trouble than think of ingenious ways to deal with it once it happens.”

  “I expect you’re right. But the real danger will probably be young Carstairs,” Sydney said with a sigh.

  “Carstairs?”

  “He’s the younger brother of the boys’ mother, as you know, and absolutely overflowing with chivalrous goodwill towards his sister,” Sydney explained. “He tackled me just now on the question of my probable blindness with regard to his sister’s beauty of disposition. He knows the connection between his sister and Lucas Manning. He referred to it.”

  “I see.” Hugh bit his lip. “Does he know the connection between the two Manning boys and himself?”

  “Not yet. But a chance word could disclose it. I suppose if he ever started to wonder why Lucas Manning came down here he might well arrive at the real position.”

  “Why does he think he was here last Sunday?”

  “I—I believe—” to her fury, Sydney found herself blushing, “I suppose he thought Lucas Manning came to visit me.”

  “And didn’t he?” Hugh’s eyes rested on her for a moment with a hint of amusement.

  “No. At least—only because of the boys.”

  “I see,” he said again, and Sydney felt that perhaps he saw too much. “Well, we’ll have to keep the Carstairs complication in mind as well. What I want you to do is to hold a sort of watching brief for the two boys. And if anything unforeseen happens report to me immediately.”

  “Yes, I will, of course,” Sydney said, relieved to have some of her anxious responsibilities shifted to Hugh’s capable shoulders. And then, thinking that this was probably the most obvious and unremarkable way of broaching the subject of her proposed trip to London, she added, as casually as possible, “Mr. Manning had already asked me if I could bring the boys up to London at half-term.”

  “Yes. That’s quite a good idea.” The headmaster in Hugh accepted that without question. But, as she rose to go, the more personal side of him came uppermost, and he said, “You and Manning are very good friends, aren’t you?”

  She was perfectly still for a moment, already half turned away from him.

  “Yes, we—we are quite good friends,” she said, without looking at him.

  “Do you like him very much, Sydney?”

  “No, of course not!” She flashed a quick glance at him then.

  “I don’t know about ‘of course’.” Hugh gave a very faintly strained smile. “He’s a very attractive fellow, besides being a famous figure.”

  “Oh, but—the way you put it—” she was confused by the violence of her own feelings and the inner conviction that in some way . she ought to make her position clear. “I shouldn’t feel that way about him—about anyone.”

  “Wouldn’t you, Sydney?” He passed his hand over his forehead and eyes, as though he would wipe away some impression or recollection. “I wonder what you mean by that.”

  “I—I’m not quite sure myself,” she stammered. And then she fled from the room, and he did not seek to detain her.

  He couldn’t. She saw that, in her rapid and feverish review of the scene during her walk back to Park House. He was engaged to Marcia. He could not call another girl back to him and say, “Darling, what did you mean? Did you mean that no man would ever mean much to you, after me?”

  But if only he had done so—how gladly she would have told him the truth.

  Although the elements of drama lay so little below the surface, life at Fernhurst in the remaining week or two before half-term followed a perfectly normal and unsensational course.

  Only about two days before the half-term week-end a breeze of glorious unrest began to circulate among the boys, and in the evenings there was a great deal of competitive conversation about what they intended to do with the Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday which would be at their disposal.

  Edward was flatteringly pleased to hear that Sydney was to take personal charge of him and his brother. Alistair took it as a matter of course. At any rate no one seemed to think there was anything particularly unusual about it.

  Early on the Saturday morning buses collected those masters and boys who were going by train, and conveyed them to the station. Here there was a certain amount of splitting up, and the London contingent, numbering nearly sixty, were all hustled or marshalled (as you cared to look at it) into special compartments, where there was a great deal of whooping and cheering and friendly and congratulatory thumping of each other when it was discovered that they were in the long Pullman type of coach.

  Sydney had most of the little boys from the Prep, grouped in her vicinity, but Edward was also within easy reach just across the gangway, along with Curtis and one or two more from the Junior School.

  Presently Alistair slipped a warm, plump hand into Sydney’s and said, “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Sydney, realizing that he was referring to the immediate future rather than the exact present. “It was arranged that I should take you and Edward to your uncle’s flat, you remember.”

  “And are you going to stay with us?” enquired Alistair.

  “Not exactly stay,” Sydney explained. “But I shall be seeing you all, both I mean, during the week-end.”

  “Will you ask my uncle if I can stay up late every night?” asked Alistair, who fell asleep regularly each night the moment his head touched the pillow.

  “I think you’d get rather tired, don’t you?”

  “No,” said Alistair, “I could stay up all night if I didn’t have to go to bed.”

  “I think you have cause and effect a bit mixed,” Sydney said, resisting a strong desire to hug him. “But perhaps there might be an extension one evening.”

  “All night?” asked Alistair, half thrilled and half dismayed lest he be taken at his word.

  “Not quite all night,” said Sydney, and Alistair breathed something like a sigh of relief.

 
Edward came into the carriage just then. Sydney smiled at him, and then suddenly her smile faded. For behind Edward came the head boy, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face. And, as he caught up with Edward, he said, “I just heard one of the boys call you Manning. Is that your name?”

  “Yessir,” said Edward promptly. And then, seeing it was not a master but a mere boy (though an exalted one) who addressed him, he changed that firmly to, “Yes.”

  “Have you any connection with the actor, Lucas Manning?” Sydney made a quick movement, as though to silence Carstairs, but he took no notice.

  “Yes, I’m his nephew,” Edward stated, not without pride.

  “I’m his nephew too,” put in Alistair, sensing some distinction in this.

  “Well, then—”

  “Carstairs, let it go just now,” Sydney put in. “We can discuss it later.”

  “No, Matron.” The head boy was adamant about this. “There’s nothing to discuss. These are just facts. You mean—your father was Lucas Manning’s brother?”

  “Y-yes,” agreed Edward, with that slight air of worry which always descended on him when his parents were mentioned.

  “But then,” Carstairs did some rapid and amazed calculation, “my sister must be your mother!”

  Everyone was open-mouthed at this statement, until Curtis, ever the ready reckoner, hit Edward a smart and friendly blow between the shoulders and cried, “Cripes! He’s your uncle.” At which all the other little boys went into fits of uncontrolled laughter at the exquisite idea that the head boy could be anybody’s uncle. Only Edward remained quite serious. Serious and rather white. He stared at Carstairs for a moment as though he were a bitter enemy. Then he said, “She can’t be. My mother’s dead.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FOR a moment even the laughter of the juniors was hushed. Partly by the word “dead,” as applied to anyone so indestructible as a parent, and partly because an indefinable sense of drama seemed to pervade the scene as Edward and the head boy faced each other.