by Norrey Ford
"You'll miss Laurie too?"
"Horribly. This morning at breakfast—" She swallowed a lump in her throat. "I'll pop upstairs and change out of these glad rags. I shan't be long." '
Indoors, she met Tom. "I've been looking for you," he told her. "You outshone the bride. Come and sit in the garden somewhere, and I'll get you an ice."
"No, Tom, thank you. I'm going home with Father, when I've changed out of these garments."
He was disappointed. "But you're coming back for the dance."
"No, Tom. I'm staying with Daddy. He needs me."
"The chief bridesmaid missing from the celebrations? That won't do. Besides, what about me? I need you."
"My father needs me much more. Don't try to persuade me, Tom. I hate missing the dance, but I'm quite determined."
"I didn't. think you were so fond of him."
"Then you're mistaken. Laurie and I grumble about him sometimes, because he can be tiresome or worse. But at heart he's solid gold. I suppose we love him because he loves us. He'd cut out his heart for either of us, Tom, but he'd grumble all the time he was doing it. He'd rather die than admit we were right, or that he was proud of us for anything, but, at heart we're his world and Laurie's going has cut him deeply. It isn't as if Laurie were staying on in the firm."
"I never thought to hear you so vocal in defence of the old man. Well, if you must go I suppose you must. But—do come back for the dance. It won't be the same without you."
There was an obstinate thrust to her rounded chin, a comical but accurate imitation of the Bramhill habit. "I'm not coming, Tom. Now let me go, I must make my excuses to Mrs. Dane."
The wedding champagne had given Aunt Fidget a headache, so Verity and Robert Bramhall dined alone, on a round table in the library window. The evening was so hot that even Robert was satisfied and did not ask for his usual fire.
Verity broached a subject which she and Laurie had discussed. "Daddy, have you decided about the winter cruise in the Bramhall Star? Do go, it would be so good for you."
"Plenty of time, girl. It doesn't start till the middle of December."
"It's August now. These things get booked up. Tell them at the office to keep the luxury suite for you."
"I'll consider it. You'd have to come with me. I need my girl. Your aunt wouldn't come, she's a wretched sailor. Upon my soul, it has possibilities. Just you and me, eh?"
"Just you and me."
He gave her a sly glance. "What would your young man say? You'd be away six weeks."
"My what?" Her voice was edged. _
"Tom Cooper. He's said something, hasn't he? I thought as much, at the races."
"He asked me to marry him. It hasn't reached the stage of speaking to you, darling, because I told him I didn't know. And it was true, I didn't."
She pushed back her hair wearily. She was still no nearer knowing whether she loved Tom. Would I have been so long in making up my mind if Adam had asked me? I'm sure I hate him, yet—why does it trouble me that he is going to marry that Rosemary?
"You and Tom suit each other down to the ground. The more I see of him the more I like him. He's the man I'd have picked for you." His hand, as it lay on his knee, looked thin, the veins blue under a papery skin. She covered it with hers, shocked to find how chilled it felt. He was .old, he was fallible; some day he would die, and life would never again be just the same for her.
It was the first time she had thought of Robert Bramhall as a human being, frail and liable to the natural ills of man. Always he had been a strong tower, infallible, not to be questioned; the source of all good; a sort of tribal god, terrible in anger, great in love. She felt an odd pang of understanding pity for him and, lifting his hand, pressed- it to her warm young cheek in a caress. Had it come to this and no more—all the passion, the rages, the driving ambition, the achievement? An old man with no companion but a daughter who wasn't even his own flesh?
"Tell me, Daddy, have I satisfied you? Am I the girl you wanted me to be?"
"Aye, you'll do."
It was his highest praise.
"I'm glad. I've always tried to be the girl you wanted me to be. I may not be your physical daughter, but you've created me all the same. You trained my mind, my tastes —everything. I don't ever think about my heredity. Environment is so important. To me it's been all-important."
She turned her face away and added shyly, "Do you understand, Daddy? I'm trying to say thank you."
"Nay, I don't want thanks. What Elfrida and I did for you, we did for our own pleasure. Environment, eh? Elfrida was right, then. At first I didn't want to adopt a child. I thought we'd get a changeling, someone who didn't belong. But she said what you've said, only in different words. 'As the twig is bent, so the tree grows.' "
"Well, this twig is very happy, thank you. I wonder—?" "What do you wonder, copper-top?"
"Oh, nothing. I was wondering if Sally is enjoying Paris. They'll be there now."
I was wondering, she thought, what sort of a tree I'd have been if you and Elfrida Bramhall between you hadn't bent the twig?
Verity took the crumpled envelope out of her bag and looked at the address again. Jenny Small, The White Cottage, Herringham Road.
Herringham Road was a cul-de-sac. She had driven the full length of it without finding The White Cottage. Now she parked at the end of the wide, pleasant road with its old-fashioned air, and took stock.
Hobo was on the seat beside her, his nose pressed to the window. He hoped this expedition would lead to his mistress. He had 'lived a lifetime of ten days without her, and had almost given up hope. Those bulky parcels in the back seat looked promising.
The parcels contained the thousand and one oddments belonging to Laurie which Aunt Fidget had collected around the house during the honeymoon, and packed up for Verity to take to the farm. There wasn't much room left in the car for Jenny Small and her luggage.
Herringham Road ended in a big garden with a wide white gate opening upon a curved drive hiding the house which must lie behind the trees. A very small child hung upon the gate watching Verity. He obviously lived there and she decided to sound him about The White Cottage.
Small as he was, he looked intelligent and might be able to help.
"Hello, sonny. Can you tell me where The White Cottage is?"
He wore blue dungarees and a red hand-knitted cardigan. His smooth hair was almost lint-white, his round eyes blue as the sky.
"You're the lady who's come for Jenny. I was waiting for you. Is that your car?"
"Yes. Does Jenny live here?"
"Next door to me. I live in Honeysuckle Cottage. I'll show you if you like. It's all right to bring your car in. Lots of people do."
She interpreted his eager stare correctly. "Want to ride in the car?"
"Jenny said I could, if asked. She said I wasn't to be a nuisance."
"I don't think you will be. Climb down and let me open the gate wide. It is through the gate? You're sure?"
He gave her an amused, seraphic grin. "'Course I'm sure. I live here, don't I?"
Verity felt sure he would scorn help, so she waited as he climbed cautiously down from his high perch. She noticed that his plump dangling legs had been hiding a polished brass plate, quite small, on the top bar of the gate. She took a step closer to read it.
It said The Earlton Orphanage for Sailors' Children. She did not move till the small boy's slightly sticky hand
tugged hers. "Come on, Miss. Can't you open it? It's easy." He pushed the gate wide open. "There! Can we get in the
car now?"
"What's your name, small one?"
"Arfer."
"Well, Arfer, this is Hobo. Be careful or he'll lick your face."
Arfer took Hobo in his stride. "We gotta lot of dogs, and a ginger cat. He's a fighter. Jenny says she's going to live on a farm with a lot of animals. She says we might be able to go and see her later on."
"I'm sure you may. You could see pigs and chickens."
"We've got p
igs and chickens. I want to see a real tractor. I've got a toy one, that goes."
"Arfer, I personally promise you a ride on a tractor."
The child beamed. "Go on then, drive in. I'll hold Hobo 'cos our Ginger's a terror for fighting dogs. He beats them hollow."
In the sleek, expensive car that was her very own, Verity drove in at the gate through which she must have ridden eighteen years before, on Elfrida Bramhall's lap. She felt faintly sick. This, then, would have been her home if Robert and Elfrida had not decided they wanted a baby girl; if her determined yelling had not taken Robert's fancy.
She could remember nothing, of course. Her mental image of the place had been of a vast barracks. Instead, there were cottage homes, every one different, each with its garden. Some flew the homely domestic flag of a line of washing. Most of the front lawns sported a pram.
Which of them had been her home?
"That's White Cottage," Arfer pointed. "And next to it, that's where I live. See, that's our Ginger on the fence. And that's our baby in the pram. He's nice. We've only just got him, but he's silly sometimes, he won't talk to me."
"Perhaps he can't talk yet."
"Why not?"
"Well—perhaps he hasn't got any teeth."
Arfer thought about that, then shook his head violently. "My grandma hasn't got any teeth, and she can talk. He's just rude, that's what. But he's nice. We're the only home that's got a black baby."
"You're lucky, then."
Arfer nodded his lint-white head vigorously. "Yes. Everybody wanted him, but we got him, 'cos we hadn't got a baby. That's Jenny, by the gate."
Jenny Small was dark and pretty, neatly dressed in a smart grey suit and white blouse. She asked Verity in and apologized that her mother had taken the youngest boy to the dentist. "She wanted to stay and meet you, but Timmy had his appointment. She met Miss Dane, of course. Mrs. Bramhall as she is now I saw the wedding photos in the paper.''
She invited Verity into the front room, which was homely and tidy, crammed with photographs. "Will you have a cup of coffee, Miss Bramhall?"
Verity wanted to refuse, but she saw Jenny was anxious to offer grown-up hospitality. "Thank you, Jenny."
Jenny returned so quickly with the coffee that it was obvious she had had it ready and waiting. She chattered excitedly.
"I'm glad it's a farm. I love animals. I'm a real baby about leaving home, and that's the truth. That's why Mother thought I'd be better in a private home at first. Hotel work is my ambition really. I'm good at languages and I want to train as a receptionist eventually."
"I'm sorry, Jenny. I took you for an orphan."
The girl laughed. "It's because we say Mother always. It's house-mother and house-father really. We're all orphans when we come, but we don't stay that way. This is our home and our family. Look—" she took some framed photographs from the top of the upright piano, which looked well used and supported a pile of dog-eared music. "Jimmy took these, he's photography mad. This is Mother with Baby, and that's me, spuinting because my hair was in my eyes. I say, you do look pale. Do you feel funny?"
Verity put her hand to her swimming head. "Awfully funny. I've never fainted before, but I think I'm going to."
Jenny seized the back of her neck and pushed her head down. `:It's all right, I've done first-aid. Keep your head down. I'll fetch you some water."
Jenny disappeared, and Verity pressed her hands over her eyes, to shut out those photographs. So many of them; children who had lived in this cottage over the years. Laughing babies, serious schoolgirls; a wedding group or two, a boy in academic gown and hood.
One of them might be me, she thought. I daren't look, I daren't. Do they reproach me, all these eyes. Are they asking what became of the girl who was here? I don't even know her name—I've lost her. I'm so completely Verity Bramhall now. These made something of themselves, and I made nothing. I merely turned myself into somebody else. But which is the real me?
She couldn't wait to get away. Her feet tingled with the urge to run, and keep on running. She felt homesick for the big cool rooms of Nutmeg House.
She drank the water at a gulp. "I'm all right now We must -go."
The round young face was anxious. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Quite sure. Put your coat on, Jenny."
She hurried the girl to the car at top speed, reversed, and drove carefully out of the gate. Her foot ached with the physical effort of keeping it off the accelerator, so much did she want to hurry, hurry, hurry away.
As they left the grounds, she pretended not to notice that Jenny's eyes were full of tears, her red lips trembling. The girl waved to Arfer, who was playing peep-bo with the laughing black baby. Hobo barked at the ginger cat; he hadn't had the heart to bark at anything for ten long days.
Hurry, hurry, hurry!
CHAPTER FOUR
MRS. APPLE, the wife of one of Laurie's farm workers, had volunteered to get the house ready for the new farmer and his wife. She had already opened the windows, lit the new, shining white kitchen stove, and unpacked a basket of groceries.
"I dunno," she said doubtfully to Verity. "I misses the look of a proper fire, somehow, though these are more economical and the ovens cook lovely. Coal's that dear, if it goes up any more we'll have to polish a piece and stick it in the grate with a candle behind it, to make believe we've got a fire."
"This is Jenny Small, Mrs. Apple. She's going to live here. She has never been on a farm before, but she loves animals."
Mrs. Apple took one shrewd look at Jenny's face. "Look in yon basket, Jenny. You'll see summat you'll like."
As Jenny obeyed, the woman winked at Verity. "Homesick! This the first time she's left her mother?"
"The first time she remembers."
"I've got a lass the same age. Happen they'll make friends."
Jenny returned holding four kittens, which were squeak-ink like slate pencils and practising mountaineering up her arms and across her shoulders. The mother cat followed her to keep an eye on the children, though she was getting tired of them now and anxious to get them started out in life.
"I brought them so's the mistress can choose one. Give them back to Pussy now, luv, and I'll show you your bedroom."
Hobo had retreated behind Verity when the cat came out of her basket. He found himself rather too near the ground where cats were concerned, handicapped by his short legs. Had he been a Great Dane or a Borzoi, he might have been braver or at any rate safer up there out of reach of a
scooping paw. He followed the party eagerly upstairs. This place had a promising smell and he had hopes of finding his lost mistress here.
Sally had furnished Jenny's bedroom in a small-patterned pink and white chintz, with a suite of old-fashioned bamboo furniture which had looked so hideous that she got it for a five shilling bid at a country auction sale. Scrubbed and lacquered white, it was enchanting.
Jenny went so pink with pleasure that she looked like a milkmaid in a Victorian print, and only needed a gingham dress and a shoulder-yoke to complete the picture. "Am I to sleep here?"
"Do you like it?"
"I love it, Miss. But where's the other bed?"
Verity laughed. "How many beds do you want, Jenny? This is yours."
The girl seemed startled. "Do you mean sleep by myself, in here? I couldn't do that, Miss. I'd be frightened."
Verity glanced helplessly at Mrs. Apple. That kind woman put an arm round Jenny's shoulder.
"You've got a big family, have you? And always had a sister or two sharing a room? That's like my Milly, that is. She'd feel a bit funny, too. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever slept in a bedroom all by myself, and I'm near on sixty. It's a thing you have to get used to." She put on her considering cap. "A ·eddy-bear's a comforting thing. Our Milly doesn't use hers anymore, and she'd lend you it if you like."
Verity was shocked. Surely Jenny would put on her smart little hat and march out, with her shiny handbag and high heels and her touch of lipstick. She'd
feel dreadfully insulted.
Instead, Jenny blushed again and said in a strangled sort of voice, "I'd love it. Thank you very much."
Verity left Jenny to unpack her small suitcase and went downstairs thoughtfully. Which of them was the lucky one? Herself, with her big comfortable bedroom all to herself, the luxury of privacy; or Jenny who'd never been alone in her life, but always known the companionship of sisters, the cosiness of having someone to share one's thoughts and
'views on the day's events? You could talk about practically anything, pottering around the bedroom, dressing, doing hair, putting on stockings.
She let Hobo out into the enclosed yard. He trotted off eagerly and met a hen for the first time in his short life. He hurried towards it, eager to be friends, but the hen spread her feathers and fled shrieking to the top of the yard wall.
The flurry and noise was too much for the dachshund. Yelping, he ran for cover, and Verity rushed outside to his rescue.
"Hello, there!"
Adam was leaning over the gate, quietly amused.
Verity gathered the dog into her arms. "It wasn't funny! He's shaking all over. And what are you doing here? Laurie won't be home till after tea."
She felt weak and wobbly, not knowing what to say to him. If she'd had time to prepare some sort of opening sentence, dignified yet friendly, but firm enough to make him understand she knew all about Rosemary and couldn't care less!
"So cold a welcome, oh shining top-knot? We were friends, then you turned me down in favour of a long laddie at the races . ."
"You went to the races, too. You cut me dead."
"To spare you awkward questions. You weren't supposed to know me, and I heard Uncle Robert was in the offing." His lips twitched. "Rosemary explained to me exactly who you were."
"You didn't explain Rosemary to me."
He seemed surprised. "Why should I?"
She shrugged. "Why, indeed? Her existence couldn't concern me. Why aren't you importing spices to-day?"
