An Innocent Bride

by Betty Neels

  `They?' asked Katrina, in what she hoped was a casual manner.

  `Well, you know how it is, Miss Katrina. A word here and a word there.' Mrs Dyer laughed cosily. `Never smoke without fire.' She handed over the change. `You met that professor, didn't you? Handsome man, so I'm told.'

  `Yes, yes, he is. He was very kind to my aunt. I believe he's very clever.'

  Mrs Dyer, with no other customer there, was disposed to chat. `Settled down nicely, have you, love? I dare say you'll be off to see a bit of the world once things have settled down.'

  `Well, perhaps, but I plan to stay at Rose Cottage for thc rest of the summer. I couldn't possibly leave the garden.'

  `Not lonely there, are you?' Mrs Dyer beamed at her. `Let' hope some nice young man will come along and marry you.'

  Katrina laughed with her, bought a tin of Betsy's favourite cat food and went back home. She had had to waste a good deal of the morning. It would be best if she did some gardening now and hung out the washing, then had an early lunch and went to Thorn's Farm afterwards.

  The farm was four miles away, and when Aunt Thirza had been alive Katrina had often cycled over to fetch a chicken or a turkey. It was a prosperous place, with a vast apple orchard and several acres of soft fruit as well as surroundim, fields with crops of potatoes, beans and cabbages.

  Mr Thorn was in his greenhouse, inspecting the tomato plants. He was a taciturn man, and he listened to her without comment, then said, `Can't say I blame you, young lady, for wanting to stay on at Rose Cottage. Nice little property, and Miss Thirza took good care of it. Didn't leave much, I suppose?' He didn't wait for her answer. `It just so happens that I could do with a bit of extra help. Broad beans-must get 'em picked while the weather holds.'

  He glanced at Katrina's hands-nicely shaped and well cared for. `It's rough on your hands...'

  `When can I start?' asked Katrina.

  `Soon as you like. As to pay; the more you pick the more you earn. Up to you. Mostly they start at eight o'clock and work mornings, but you can work on until five or six o'clock if you've a mind. Reckon it'll be a good week's work. And if the weather holds, there'll be the peas next.'

  `I'll be here at eight o'clock,' said Katrina, and cycled home, where she sat down once more to do her sums. If she worked for four days a week she could add considerably to the diminishing bank account, and, since she could pick and choose when she worked, she could still carry on with normal living on the other days: the church flowers, the occasional tennis party, helping with the summer fete... It wasn't that she was too proud to tell anyone that she was going to work at the farm, but if they suspected that she was having difficulties making ends meet they would want to help...

  It worked out very well. Getting up early was no hardship; she would have breakfast, feed Betsy, make sandwiches for her lunch and get on her bike. It was hard work, she hadn't realised how hard, but at the end of the day she went back home with money in her pocket. Aching all over, she would eat supper, with Betsy for company, before soaking away the aches in a hot bath and dealing with her roughened hands to present herself, in a cotton dress, her hair neatly coiled, the hands passable, at one or other of the committee meetings which took up so much of village life. She was much in demand-to write up the minutes, arrange dates, put leaflets through letterboxes...

  Her friends, mostly older ladies who had been friends of her aunt, nodded their rigidly permed heads and told each other that Katrina had settled down nicely and it was to be hoped that she would meet a nice man and marry. Indeed, several of them with likely nephews engineered meetings in the hope that Katrina would fall in love with one of them, but although she was friendly, playedd tennis with them, and cheerfully accompanied them on walks or visits to Warminster, she remained heart-whole.

  They made a nice change from the farm, and she was grateful for youthful company, but that was all. She had no intention of marrying, she told herself. First she must get her life organised; the nest egg was growing nicely, and by the end of the summer she would be able to go to evening classes at Warminster and train-shorthand, typing and computers, and once she had mastered these, the world--or at least the country towns within bus or bike distance--would be her oyster. And always at the back of her mind was the professor who, despite her best efforts, refused to be consigned to the past.

  There hadn't been much rain, so the pea crop didn't last long, but by then the potatoes were ready. It was a back breaking job, and ruinous for the hands even though she wore gloves, and then on the days when the strawberry crop was ready they had to be picked at once, which was also a back breaking job in the hot summer days. But Katrina had got into her stride now. She worked all the hours she was allowed, and became tanned by the sun, but she was getting thin, and very tired at the end of the day. But the nest egg grew!

  One or two of her friends in the village had remarked about her new slimness, and wondered out loud why her hands were no longer well kept.

  `It's the garden,' she explained airily. `There's such a lot to do, and I do enjoy it. I spend hours out of doors, grubbing around. I must go to Warminster and treat myself to a manicure.'

  It was the day before the fete, and she intended to work an extra hour or so at the farm so that she could be free on the following day. Aunt Thirza had always been a leading light at the fete, and Katrina had always helped her and spent the following day helping with the clearing up. She must do the same this year too. It was a splendid morning, and once at the farm she worked with a will in the strawberry field, on her hands and knees amongst the luscious fruit. She was sitting under a hedge eating her sandwiches with several other workers when Mr Thorn came across to them.

  'Katrina? You're planning to work until five o'clock?' When she nodded he said, `Lady Truscott wants six pounds of strawberries for this evening. Can you take them down on your bike? Go a bit earlier-I'll pay you up to five o'clock.'

  He didn't wait for her reply but walked away. Although he was fair in his dealings with his workers she knew he would chalk up a bad mark against her if she refused. She would go along the back drive to the Manor House and hand the strawberries in at the kitchen door. She had no wish to meet Lady Truscott.

  She had to go about a mile out of her way, and it was a warm afternoon. The back drive was long and, since it was seldom used, full of ruts and pot holes. She wobbled along on her bike, the strawberries in their box tied on her carrier. She was thinking .about the fete on the morrow. She would wear her prettiest dress, a cream and amber crepe with elbow length sleeves and a prim collar. Aunt Thirza had given it to her several years ago and it was only worn on special occasions. It was quite out of date of course, but it was elegant, and so seldom on view that she hoped people would think it was new.

  She was to be in charge of the bottle stall, which meant being there early in the morning since the fete opened at eleven o'clock. People came from surrounding villages, trooping up and down the narrow main street where the stalls were erected, buying balloons for the children, choosing secondhand books and looking at the splendid collection of bric-abrac. And besides these delights there was a roundabout for the children, lotteries and, of course, the bottle stall.

  The back drive wound round the Manor's small park to join the main drive at the front of the house, which meant that Katrina would have to pedal across the front sweep and down the other side to the kitchen entrance. She reached the fork and looked each way. There was no one in sight. Lady Truscott would be having tea, either in the drawing room which overlooked the ornamental garden at the back or in the garden itself.

  She shot across the front of the house, and almost at its far corner the Bentley swept past her, with the professor at the

  wheel and a very pretty dark girl sitting beside him. She swerved round the side of the house and stopped at the kitchen

  entrance, furious with herself because she was shaking. He might not have seen her, and even if he had she looked quite unlike her usual self.

  She handed over
the strawberries and went cautiously back to the corner of the house. The Bentley was parked in front

  of the door but there was no sign of anyone. She got on her bike, thinking if she went fast she could be round the firsi bend of the main drive before anyone who happened to be looking out of any of the windows saw her. And that was unlikely for they would be having tea...

  The professor, standing with Maureen in the hall by the open door, saw her. And so did Maureen.

  `Who is that?' she asked, and looked round for someone to tell her since the professor wasn't likely to know. `What a scarecrow-from one of the farms, I suppose.' She smiled up at him. `Are you sure you can't stay just half an hour oi so?'

  He had nice manners. His refusal was polite but firm and he got into his car and drove away. He overtook Katrina as she turned out of the park into the lane. Rose Cottage was the best part of a mile ahead of her and when she reached it the Bentley was parked in front of the gate and he was leaning over it.

  As she got off her bike he said cheerfully, `Hello, am I in time for tea?'

  He opened the gate and she went past him. She said, in a polite voice which hid a mixture of pleasure at seeing him again and annoyance that they had met when she was lookin, at her worst, `Do come in. I'll put the kettle on.'

  She unlocked the door and led the way into the kitchen. ' I dare say you're anxious to get back to town.'

  `Now why should you say that? I have the whole evening before me.'

  `Oh, you're going back to the Manor?"

  'No. Why have you got thinner, Katrina? And why do you look tired and work-weary? And your hands...'

  She said flatly, `I haven't had time to wash and change.' She thumped the sugar bowl down upon the table and bent to offer Betsy a saucer of milk. `If I had known that you intended to visit me I would have been prepared!'

  He poured the tea and sat down when she did. `You had better tell me, Katrina.'

  `Tell you what? And I don't intend to anyway; it's none of your business.'

  `Just so. We will start again. What were you doing at the Manor, looking like a scarecrow? I seem to remember that your aunt was friendly with Lady Truscott. So why were you skulking round the kitchen quarters pretending that you weren't there?"

  'I was not skulking; I was delivering some fruit. Of course I know Lady Truscott; I just didn't want to meet her then.'

  He picked up the hand by her mug. `And your hands working on a farm, Katrina?"

  'And why shouldn't I, if I want to? It's-it's delightful out of doors...'

  `Grubbing up potatoes, picking peas and strawberries?'

  It was annoying, the way he was hitting the nail on the head. She decided not to answer.

  The professor said slowly, `You won't tell me, so I will tell you. You're on your beam ends, aren't you? Rose Cottage is yours, but you have no money, although everyone thinks that your aunt left you well provided for. You don't want them to know that, do you? You loved her, didn't you? And she would have been upset to have left you penniless. So you lead two lives: The village think of you as Miss Katrina Gibbs, left in comfortable circumstances by one of the most respected people living here, while you grub a living at some farm sufficiently far away for no one to know anything about it.'

  She sat silent, because she could think of nothing to say and there was no point in denying it.

  He sat back watching her, and presently she said in a polite voice, `It's the summer fete tomorrow; I'm in charge of the bottle stall.' And then, `I didn't know that you were acquainted with Lady Truscott.'

  `I'm not. Maureen Soames, who is on my team, begged a lift. Her car broke down and she had promised to be here for

  this fete. She is Lady Truscott's niece.'

  `She's a doctor, isn't she? You're staying at the Manor?'

  He hid a smile. `No.' He ate the last biscuit in the tin. ' I must go-I need to be home this evening.' He got to his feet and she stood up.

  `Yes, of course. Thank you for calling in.' She offered a hand and he felt how very rough it was in his.

  They walked to the gate together; it was still warm, a lovely evening, with a blue sky turning rose and golden at its edges. It was very quiet, and there was a honeysuckle rambling alon;, the hedge, smelling sweetly.

  The professor's handsome nose twitched. `I can smell verbena...'

  `Yes, Aunt Thirza loved it. I can remember it being here when I came here to live.'

  He nodded. `It should be a splendid day for your fete.'

  He got into the car, lifted a hand and drove away. She stood at the gate for quite a while, and then went indoors and began on the task of restoring her hands to some kind of smoothness. The little house seemed very empty without him.

  The village was a hive of activity when Katrina reached the main street. Stalls were being erected, crates of lemonade. boxes of food, books and china were being unpacked and arranged. It was already eight o'clock and there was a lot to do...

  The ladies of the village greeted her warmly.

  `Pretty as a picture,' said Mrs Dyer to the butcher's wife, `and ever so smart in that dress. Keeps herself to herself, mind, but then so did Miss Gibbs. Pity there's no young man, but it's early days and she can pick and choose. Rose Cottage is a snug little place, and I dare say Miss Gibbs left her comfortable.'

  They both turned to look at Katrina across the street, arranging bottles on her stall. `She's got a bit thin, but there, she's had a sad time of it.'

  Katrina labelled bottles, arranged them in tidy rows and exchanged gossip with everyone there. It was Mrs Tripp, taking a few hours off from her nursing duties, who called across to her.

  `I'll have to go before lunch; Dr Peters wants me to run out to the Stokeses-Mrs Stokes is a bit poorly. Hope I get a chance to see that niece of Lady Truscott. I hear she's quite something, pretty and ever so smart. Come down specially to be at the fete with her aunt. Came by car-a Bentley, too. The man with her was a bit of a sensation, so Cook from the manor told me. Giant of a fellow, very good-looking. Made a splendid pair, she said.'

  Katrina bent over her bottles. `Let's hope you'll get a chance to see her before you have to go.'

  She was glad that she had something to do; the bottles needed to be cunningly placed: the bottle of whisky and the three bottles of wine well to the fore, flanked by the brown sauce and the tomato ketchup. Someone had donated a great many bottles of cola, which made a good show, but there were also bottles of vinegar, mouthwash and half a dozen bottles of shower gel-obviously unwanted presents left over from Christmas, which needed to be tucked away behind the more exciting prizes.

  People were beginning to trickle down the street. They were unable to buy anything until the fete was opened, but they went from stall to stall, earmarking what they hoped to buy once the speeches had been made.

  This year a TV personality was to start the proceedings. Katrina, who almost never went to the cinema and no longer had the TV her aunt had rented, was a bit vague as to who he was, but as the party from the Manor arrived, and he with them, she craned her neck to look like everyone else.

  He looked like anyone else, she thought disappointedly, and his speech was much too long and flowery, but it gave her

  the chance to take a good look at the niece. She was, indeed, pretty as a picture. Her cream silk shift was so short that there didn't seem much point in wearing it, as Mrs Tripp whispered to Katrina, but her hat was a breathtaking affair: a dipping brim of straw with a wealth of roses around its crown. Katrina, edging a little nearer, saw that she was beautifully made up and that the dark hair under the hat was short and curling. She stood, looking round her, smiling a little-as if, thought Katrina, she was secretly amused at this rural ritual.

  I don't like her, reflected Katrina, ignoring several more reasons why she didn't.

  The speeches over at last, the business of the day began. Everyone was out to enjoy themselves. The children were aIl there, and the outlying farmers' wives, who only went to the village or the nearest town on
market days, were there. And so were the elderly retired folk who lived in the larger houses on the fringe of the village.

  Katrina, replenishing her stock from her prudent cache behind the stall, was doing a roaring trade. It was when the small crowd around the stall parted that she came face to face with Lady Truscott and her niece.

  Lady Truscott had a rather loud voice. She said, with the tactlessness for which she was renowned, `My dear Katrina, I see you're carrying on your aunt's good work. Such a pity that she should die-and so unexpectedly.'

  She became aware of the sudden silence around her and hurried on, `May I have some tickets, if you can spare them?`

  She turned to Maureen. `You remember Katrina Gibbs, dear-you met at the bazaar.

  'Maureen was given a lift here by Professor Glenville, Katrina. Of course you met him when he attended your dear aunt.'