by Anne Weale
“Reckon it’s a good job I did leave my tin, Miss Rachel,” he concluded. “If I hadn’t a’done, the old chap would ’ave been properly stuck. Not that it’d do ’im no hurt to lose a bit of weight, but I never like to ’arm an animal if I can ’elp it.”
“It was his own fault for sneaking in there, Mr. Tubbitt,” Rachel said. “Perhaps it will teach him a lesson. I should certainly never have thought of looking for him there.”
At this point Miss Burney appeared, and Mr. Tubbitt repeated his explanation while Rachel fried some eggs and plied him with tea and thick toast.
“Hadn’t you better ring Mr. Elliot to tell him that Bolster is safe?” Miss Burney suggested presently, averting her eyes from the sight of their guest mopping up egg yolk with a crust.
“Oh yes, I must,” Rachel said quickly. “I should have done it at once.”
But when Mrs. Hodge answered the Hall telephone, Rachel learnt that Daniel was already on his way round to the doctor’s house. Running upstairs, she flung off her night clothes and had a hasty wash before dressing in a clean shirt and pants. She had just time to comb her hair and put on some lipstick before the door bell rang.
“I’ll answer it, Aunt Flo,” she called, dashing downstairs again.
“Hello there. Any luck?” Daniel said at once, when she opened the door to him.
“Yes, he’s back,” she said happily. “Won’t you come in?”
Daniel stepped into the hall, smiling at her. His hair was still wet from the shower and as he moved past her she caught a pleasant whiff of soap and after-shave lotion. He looked very tall and clean and masculine, and her delight in Bolster’s return gave place to a more complicated sensation. She remembered her foolishness in the kitchen the night before, and her cheeks began to burn.
“Come through, Won’t you?” she said hurriedly. “Mr. Tubbitt is having breakfast with us. He brought Bolster back a little while ago. He’ll tell you what happened.”
When Miss Burney saw who it was, she seemed greatly agitated and responded to Daniel’s greeting as if he had caught her robbing a safe. While Mr. Tubbitt was explaining what had happened for the third time, she made urgent signals for her niece to follow her into the pantry.
“What on earth is the matter, Aunt Flo?” Rachel asked softly, hoping the men had not noticed her aunt’s grimaces.
Miss Burney put a finger to her lips and closed the pantry door.
“You shouldn’t have asked him in, dear,” she hissed.
“Who? Old Ben? But it was the least I could—”
“No, no. Mr. Elliot. Most indiscreet of you,” Miss Burney whispered sharply. “Miss Vine is sure to have seen him at the door and it will confirm her suspicions. Oh dear, what an awkward situation!”
“Oh, bother Miss Vine. If she’s nothing better to do than watch our doorstep, she can suspect what she likes,” Rachel said crossly. “It’s too absurd!” And, without waiting for her aunt’s reply, she seized a jar of honey and opened the door again.
“Try some of this honey, Mr. Tubbitt,” she suggested brightly. “I’m sure you could manage another round of toast.”
“No, thank you, Miss Rachel. I’ve had my fill so I’ll be getting along,” said old Ben. “That were a right nice breakfast. Thank you kindly—and you too, ma’am,” he added, with a beam at Aunt Florence. “Nothing like a good breakfast to set a man up for the day. Isn’t that right, sir?”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” Daniel agreed, looking amused. “Miss Burney appears to be an excellent cook.”
“Can we offer you anything?” Rachel asked, when Mr. Tubbitt had clattered away.
Daniel glanced at Aunt Florence, his eyes glinting.
“I should like a cup of tea, if the pot can stand it,” he said gravely. “Well, Bolster, old boy—what have you got to say for yourself?”
Rachel topped up the teapot and fetched another cup and saucer. She wished her aunt would leave the room so that she could thank Daniel again for his assistance and wind up the whole episode. But it was evident that Miss Burney had no intention of departing and her presence somehow made it difficult to think clearly.
Daniel drank some tea and asked permission to smoke. “Now that the flap’s over, how about coming for a run? I don’t expect you slept too well. Some fresh air would do you good.”
Rachel opened her mouth to say that it was very kind of him but that she had several important tasks on hand. But before she could speak her aunt leaned forward and said, with awful clarity: “I think I should remind you, Mr. Elliot, that Rachel is an engaged girl.”
In the momentary silence that followed this announcement, Rachel wished that, like a demon in a pantomime, she could disappear in a puff of smoke. She had never been so embarrassed in her life and, in' that instant, she could gladly have choked her aunt.
Daniel set down his tea cup, and although she dared not look at him, Rachel could guess at the derision in his eyes.
“Yes, I know that, Miss Burney. Does it have some particular significance at the moment?” he said coolly.
Aunt Florence coughed and put her handkerchief to her lips. “It’s hardly the thing...” she began, in a stifled voice.
“For her to be seen with someone other than her fiancé?” Daniel hazarded gently.
Aunt Florence made a peculiar gurgling sound. Then, with what could almost be described as a wail, she pushed back her chair and shot out of the room.
“Never a dull moment,” Daniel said dryly. “Perhaps I’d better leave.”
Rachel shot an agonised glance at him. “Oh, please—you don’t understand!” she exclaimed desperately.
“Well, you explain it to me, then,” he suggested mildly.
She began to clear the table, stacking the crockery and snatching up the unused cutlery with almost feverish haste, as if something vital depended on getting it done quickly.
“Aunt Florence didn’t mean to sound ... rude,” she said, stammering a little. “It’s just that Miss Vine is such a gossip and ... what happened last night may ... may have looked rather odd.”
“Yes, I gathered from the sideways glances she was giving me as we crossed the road that she might have misinterpreted the situation,” he said calmly. “Are you very worried about it? Would you like me to take some action?”
“Oh no!” Rachel gave him a startled glance. “How can you? That is, nobody with any sense would believe that you ... that we...” She broke off in confusion.
“That I might be trying to cut out Edward?” he suggested.
She nodded, conscious that even the back of her neck had turned pink.
“Anyway, if ... if there is any gossip, there’s nothing we can do about it,” she said wretchedly.
“I could post a notice on the green, I suppose,” Daniel said, with laughter in his voice. “Something to the effect that, in spite of our being caught in the most compromising circumstances, there is ‘nothing in it’, as they say.”
Rachel thrust a pile of plates on to the draining board. “Oh, how can you laugh about it?” she exclaimed, in a chagrined tone.
“Because I find it funny,” he said negligently. “But you shouldn’t under estimate yourself, honey. You’re a very attractive girl. I can think of a lot of people who wouldn’t accept that engagement ring as the last word in the matter.”
Rachel’s breath seemed to catch in her throat and her hands shook.
“Well, it is,” she said flatly. “And I don’t think it’s at all funny. Oh, why can’t people mind their own business?”
“I daresay our friend Miss Vine hasn’t any of her own to mind,” he pointed out. “There’s not much excitement in being old and solitary, you blow. I doubt if she means any harm with her little snippets of tittle-tattle. I expect your aunt likes a gossip when it doesn’t concern her own family.”
Rachel managed a wan smile at that. “Yes, she certainly does,” she admitted. “Oh, perhaps it’s all a storm in a tea cup. It's not as if—” Again she stopped short, a fresh and even
deeper blush staining her cheeks.
A slow grin curved his mouth. “If she suspected me of having kissed you, she must have thought I’d made a poor job of it,” he said dryly. “Your expression wasn’t exactly radiant when they burst in on us.”
Rachel’s heart lurched wildly against her ribs. How calmly he could say it, she thought with a pang. Then, ashamed of the turmoil which his words had roused in her, she said stiffly, “I really must get on now. My father will be home for lunch. Thank you again for your help. I’m most grateful.”
When he had gone, she went upstairs. Her aunt was tidying her bedroom with quick fluttery movements, betraying that she was still upset by what had occurred.
“It’s all right, Aunt Flo. You can come out of hiding now,” Rachel said, with a glimmer of humor.
Miss Burney bit her lip. “Was he annoyed, Rachel?” she asked anxiously. “I’m afraid I was very outspoken, but you see, dear—”
Rachel cut short her explanation. "No, I think he was amused,” she said briskly. “Don’t worry about it. He’s not the sensitive type.”
“No, he isn’t, is he?” Miss Burney agreed. “But all the same it was wrong of me to be so blunt. I should have expressed it more tactfully. Oh dear, what a difficult situation. I do wish your father had been here.”
“Never mind—it’s all over now,” Rachel said, patting her hand. “Let’s turn out Daddy’s bedroom, shall we?”
But, as she was soon to find out, the matter was not all over. It had barely begun.
Rachel had expected that it would be a day or two before Edward recovered from his annoyance with her, so she was surprised and a good deal embarrassed to see him coming up the garden while she was washing up the supper things. Fortunately, Carola was in the kitchen with her, so they were spared the awkwardness of a private meeting.
“Did you enjoy the play?” she asked, feeling it would be advisable to raise the subject in her sister’s presence.
“It wasn’t bad, but not one of their best productions,” Edward said guardedly. Then: “Where did you find Bolster?”
Rachel explained, and added, “So I needn’t have got into such a flap about him. I—I’m sorry our evening was spoilt.”
He glanced at Carola, who was carefully polishing some new shoes. “It couldn’t be helped,” he said mildly. “Are you busy, or can we go for a stroll?”
Rachel hesitated. It was possible that he was dismissing the matter so casually for Carola’s benefit and that, once outside, his attitude would change. She was in no mood for another heated altercation with him, but neither could she seize on any valid excuse for refusing the suggestion.
“Yes, if you like,” she said warily.
Neither of them spoke until they were in the lane, and then Edward cleared his throat and said gruffly, “I’m afraid I was rather short with you last night. I hope you didn’t take it too much to heart.”
“I think we were both to blame. We—we lost our tempers,” Rachel said uncomfortably. Then, after a pause, “Edward, do you think we’re making a mistake? In getting engaged, I mean.”
He stopped, breaking a twig off a bush so that she could not see his face. “Are you thinking of breaking it off?” he asked, in an odd tone.
“Oh no, of course not,” Rachel said hastily. “That is, not unless you want to. It’s just that lately ... that sometimes ...” She broke off, at a loss to explain how she felt without offending him.
“I imagine most couples have these tiffs from time to time. It’s nothing to worry about,” he said, turning back to face her. “Don’t look so despondent, my dear. We’re bound to have our differences occasionally. I think it’s a good sign.”
“Is it?” Rachel said dully. “Why?”
Edward took her hand and gave it a rallying squeeze. “We see each other in true perspective,” he said confidently. “After all, no relationship is perfect. The sooner we accept each other’s shortcomings, the better, I would say. These head-in-the-clouds romances invariably come to grief, you know.”
“They must be nice while they last,” Rachel said, without thinking.
Edward shrugged. “Perhaps, if one is that type.” By the time they returned to the house, the rift between them was repaired—at least to Edward’s satisfaction. But although she told herself that it was a very small-minded attitude, Rachel knew she had not wholly forgiven him for his part in the episode.
Two mornings later, she realized that her aunt had been right in fearing that Miss Vine might pass on what she had seen in the Burneys’ kitchen. Walking into the post office, she was just in time to hear Miss Crockett say, “Well, I never! I wonder if Mrs. Harvey has heard yet?” Then a heavy silence descended on the premises, and the two women to whom the postmistress had been talking began to fumble nervously in their shopping baskets. For a long moment Rachel stood in the doorway, staring at them. Then, a painful color creeping up from her throat, she muttered a good morning to Miss Crockett and began to search through the rack of birthday cards, her fingers trembling with vexation.
Behind her, the two women hastily concluded their purchases, chattering with high-pitched brightness about the continued fine weather and their holidays. But, as they left the shop, she was conscious of their furtive glances at her and could guess how, safely in the street, they would turn to each other with mingled concern and excitement.
“D’you think she overheard, Daisy?” “Well, what if she did? There’s no smoke without afire, you know, and from what Miss Vine told Mrs. Green ...” Selecting a card (which, when she looked at it later, proved totally unsuitable for anyone she knew) Rachel turned to the counter and tried to appear at ease. If she had not spent nearly all her life in a small community, she might have been able to dismiss the incident as annoying but unimportant. But, intimately acquainted with village life, she was both chagrined and alarmed. It was not, she thought unhappily, that villagers were any less kind or charitable than townspeople; it was simply that they took so much more interest in each other’s lives. The trouble was that, like the whispered message in the old nursery game, the snippets of news which they bandied among each other became so grossly distorted that, by the time they had been fully circulated, they bore no relation to the original information. By now, whatever Miss Vine had let fall would have been embroidered to such an extent that it might be quite slanderous.
Rachel felt certain that if any scandalous rumors had reached Mrs. Harvey’s ears, she would lose no time in retailing them to Edward. But when her fiancé came round that evening it was soon apparent that he had not been told anything to her disadvantage. Her relief was not prompted by any lurking sense of guilt, for the truth of the matter would have been easily explained. But, knowing his regard for public opinion, she was glad this would not be necessary.
On Saturday morning, she decided to go into Branford to choose a new rug for the hall and, having done this, she took the lift up to Whiteways’ restaurant to watch Carola modelling. When her sister had first begun her new job, she had issued strict instructions that none of her family was to come and watch her. But Rachel thought that by this time she would no longer mind and, finding a corner seat, she ordered coffee and sat to await Carola’s entrance.
It was several minutes before the younger girl appeared. She was wearing a blue silk cocktail dress, and Rachel had to admire the leisurely grace with which she promenaded between the tables, pausing here and there when a customer wanted to examine the material. Evidently she had spotted her sister as soon as she came in, as she sailed past the table with a rustle of taffeta petticoats and then turned and gave a wicked wink before continuing her circuit.
The next time, she was wearing a spectacular evening gown of green and gold brocade, but it was not the dress which made Rachel’s eyes widen and her fingers tighten on the sugar tongs. Stepping out of the lift was Daniel Elliot. Instinctively, Rachel shrank into her seat and bent her head. If he saw her, he might think it necessary to speak to her.
“Are you waiting for
a friend, or may I join you?”
With a pang of dismay, she looked up and found him standing at the table, his hand on the back of the other chair.
“Oh ... good morning. Yes, do,” she said lamely. “But I shall have to go in a moment.”
His glance rested on her untouched coffee which was still too hot to drink, b it he made no comment.
“Have you come to watch Carola?” she asked, flushing.
“No, I was buying some socks when I saw you going into the lift. I followed you up,” he said blandly.
Carola swept past them and he gave her an appreciative grin. “I had a visit from Harvey last night,” he remarked casually, still watching her sister.
Rachel stiffened. “Oh, really,” she said cautiously.
“He didn’t mention it to you? No, perhaps not—although I’m sure you’d have been fascinated,” Daniel said negligently. “It took him some time to get to the point, but having got there, he drove it home most thoroughly. It seems I have the choice of avoiding your house or getting my head punched in.”
Rachel stared at him in horror. “Oh no!” she said, appalled. “Oh, please—you’re joking!”
“Far from it. In fact, merely by sitting at this table, I’m risking a couple of black eyes, if not worse. I don’t think you appreciate your fiancé’s fighting spirit, my dear Rachel.”
Her hands clenched. The force of her anger was so intense that, ten minutes later, the imprints of her nails still showed at the base of her palms.
“How could he? How could he?” she said, in a choking voice.
“Come, come. I should have thought it would please you to have your honor defended so gallantly,” Daniel remarked.
Rachel glared at him. “May I ask what you told him?” she enquired glacially. “You did explain the truth, I suppose?”
“Well, no, I didn’t, as a matter of fact. I would have liked to, naturally,” Daniel said blandly. “But Harvey was in such a belligerent mood that I felt it best to hold my tongue.” His eyes were brilliant with mockery.
