Victoria and the Nightingale

by Susan Barrie

  But before the doctor called that morning Johnny himself arrived in her room, looking so normal that she experienced a tremendous surge of gratitude for his normality.

  He climbed on to her bed in a freshly washed and mended T-shirt, and the short shorts that he had been wearing at the time of the accident, and told her that he had been having a wonderful time in the charge of one of the under-house maids, and the big bedroom in which he was sleeping was full of toys and books and everything that could possibly delight his heart. Victoria later discovered that it was part of the at present unused nursery quarters of the house, and many of the boxes of soldiers and the toy forts and train sets had been played with by Sir Peter Wycherley when he was young.

  Victoria and Johnny breakfasted together on that second morning of their stay at Wycherley Park, and afterward the doctor came and looked at them both again, and Victoria was permitted to get up. She dressed herself in a selection of the garments Miss Islesworth had so generously made over to her, and afterward she consigned Johnny to the care of the under-housemaid once more and made her way downstairs to the library.

  Sir Peter had sent up a message to the effect that, if she felt up to it, he would see her in the library; and perhaps because she had suddenly become hypersensitive and, indeed, a trifle clairvoyant, she knew before she reached the library that he had unpleasant tidings to convey to her.

  From Mrs. Grainge she had learned nothing about Johnny’s father, or the fate of the other victims of the accident. Dr. Brown had refused to discuss the subject with her, and now it was left to Sir Peter to, put her in possession of some highly disturbing facts.

  She was so sure of this that she stopped outside the library door when she reached it, having been directed to it by no less a person than Forster, the butler, himself, and drew a deep breath—a very deep breath—before knocking hesitantly on the panels of the door and waiting for a voice to call out to her to enter.

  But Sir Peter didn’t call out to her to enter. He whipped open the door himself, and stood looking at her with a mixture of conflicting expressions on his face as he indicated the chair she had occupied when she first entered the library.

  “You are feeling better?” She was wearing a slim little dress in navy and white, and it was deceptively simple and smelled delicately of exclusive French perfume. He made the same observation that the housekeeper had made. “You are certainly looking better.” Victoria answered in a small, awkward voice, by no means certain how she looked the night she demanded sanctuary in his home, but more or less convinced that she must have looked frightful.

  “I—I’m feeling very much better, thank you.”

  “And rested?”

  She smiled somewhat twistedly.

  “I should be. I spent the whole of yesterday in bed, and I didn't get up for breakfast this morning. I’m developing lazy habits.”

  Having seen her comfortably installed in the chair Sir Peter went round the room touching books and papers in an obviously embarrassed and quite definitely constrained manner. He was not the aggressive country gentleman in his well-cut tweeds, but he did look the part he was called upon to play, and he did look as if it was natural to him to behave as a courteous and considerate host, and her suggestion that she was developing lazy habits appeared to surprise him.

  “Why, do you never breakfast in bed?” he asked.

  “Only when I’m ill, or threatening to be ill.”

  “Then you certainly had an excuse for remaining in bed yesterday.” His eyes narrowed as he gazed at her. “I didn’t come near you or disturb you because I thought you would prefer to be undisturbed.”

  “Thank you, Sir Peter,” she answered automatically.

  “I understand your name is Wood—Miss Victoria Wood—and that you are an employee of one of the— one of the victims of the accident.”

  “That’s right.” She swallowed, because there was a sudden tension in the atmosphere, and she more or less prepared herself for what was coming next. He was still fidgeting with various papers on his desk, but she saw him abandon them suddenly and—only pausing to light himself a cigarette, as if he felt he might need it—he came toward her. “That’s right,” she repeated, swallowing again. “I am employed by Johnny’s father to look after Johnny. Is he—is he—”

  She could go no further.

  “The child upstairs seems perfectly well.” He deliberately misunderstood her to give himself time.

  “I know. I’ve seen him. But his—father ... ?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Wood, but your employer is dead.” Victoria sat staring at the handsome specimen of a wide baronial fireplace that was one of the important features of the library, and for several seconds she could say nothing. She had steeled herself to hear this, but now that she had heard it she was frankly appalled. Johnny...? What would happen to Johnny? His father would have left behind him nothing but debts—he had been coping with difficult times, she knew—and there were no near relatives to come forward and claim the child. So far as she knew there were not any relatives at all, and hardly any friends. The little house in a London suburb where they had lived had been visited infrequently by outsiders, and apart from his school friends Johnny had appeared to know literally no one.

  It was not really surprising that, when she first knew him, he had seemed a strange, withdrawn, slightly morbid child who concentrated on morbid subjects ... and when he brought in a dead robin from the garden he wanted to keep it in a box because he had fed it when it was alive, and he looked upon it as his particular property. He had so little of his own that he did not wish to lose the robin,

  “I-----” She drew a deep breath. “Johnny doesn’t

  know yet, of course?”

  “No.”

  “You think I should be the one to tell him?”

  “I think he’ll probably take it better from you.” That rather alarming feeling of faintness began to creep over her again, and Sir Peter realized it and went to a corner cupboard and produced a bottle of brandy. He poured her a small glassful and held it out to her.

  “Drink this,” he said. “I think you need it.”

  Her teeth rattled against the glass.

  “The other night was the first time I tasted brandy,” she admitted, feeling her breath catch in her throat as she gulped at it somewhat too hurriedly.

  “That doesn’t mean you’re going to become an addict from now on.” There was a faint but very human smile on his lips as he helped to steady the glass. “Quite the contrary! You’ll probably hate the sight and smell of it because it will remind you of this rather difficult phase of your life.”

  She lifted her strained dark blue eyes to his, and she saw that his gray ones were watching her gravely.

  “I’d better hear the rest of it, Sir Peter,” she whispered. “What happened to the others? The little girl and her parents?”

  “The little girl is still slightly shocked, but she’s recovering in hospital,” he answered. “As a matter of fact, I went to see her yesterday.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes.” He moved away, and flicked ash into the grate. “Such a poor, pathetic mite of a thing!” His gray eyes darkened. “But she’s better off than Johnny, because both her parents survived, and one of them’s making quite good progress. An aunt has come forward to take the child, and she’ll make herself responsible for her until one or both parents are discharged from hospital and in a fit condition to have the little girl again.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad.” Victoria drew a long, shuddering breath of relief. Looking back on the whole dark episode she realized that fate must have been intervening on Johnny’s behalf when he insisted on accompanying her through the wood instead of remaining with the policeman, because now, at least, he was still with her, and he had been provided with a purely temporary home.

  But just how temporary was that home likely to be? Almost certainly very temporary!

  She decided it was her duty to broach the subject. “With regard to—Johnn
y,” she said, “something will have to be decided about his future, and very soon. He can’t stay here.”

  Sir Peter looked thoughtful.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” he admitted, starting to pace up and down the room. “It is a bit of a problem, I admit.”

  “But not your problem, Sir Peter,” understanding perfectly what he meant.

  He looked surprised.

  “I don’t quite follow you. The child has survived a very bad accident, and the effects are likely to develop later even if there is little sign of them at present. And he doesn’t, of course, know about his father. He will have to remain here, of course, until something is settled about

  him.”

  A tremendous feeling of relief assailed Victoria. “You’re very kind,” she said. “Johnny would thank you if he understood how badly you are upsetting your household in order to provide him with a temporary refuge. ”

  Sir Peter continued his pacing up and down, but

  one of his eyebrows seemed more or less permanently

  raised.

  “Don’t be silly, Miss Wood,” he said a little shortly. “My household is not being upset by Johnny, and the house itself is big enough to provide him with what you call refuge without anyone who didn’t want to becoming involved in the child’s concerns. I myself have seen little of him since he has been here, and my staff take their orders from me. Quite apart from which they seem to have taken a fancy to Johnny himself, and are, of course, extremely sorry for him and his orphaned condition.”

  “I was thinking of Miss Islesworth,” Victoria admitted, a trifle huskily.

  Sir Peter stood still and looked at her. Then he nodded.

  “Yes, there is that. But Miss Islesworth is perfectly human, you know, and so far as I am aware she has no objections to Johnny being the recipient of my hospitality.”

  “Miss Islesworth has been very kind,” Victoria said, in the same husky voice. “She lent me this dress,” touching it, “as well as a lot of other things. I would like you please to convey to her my appreciation.” The man in front of her appeared surprised.

  “You can do that yourself, can’t you, when you see her?” he suggested.

  Victoria rose up out of her chair. All at once she felt extremely agitated because something had to be settled, and the sooner it was settled the better.

  “But, Sir Peter,” she objected, “you know I can’t stay on here until someone comes forward to take charge of Johnny.” Her small, peaked face looked desperately anxious and desperately worried. “It’s my job to look after him—or rather, it was.” She swallowed. “But now that Johnny’s father is dead the position is entirely changed. I haven’t any right to stay here with him.”

  “You mean,” with unexpected coldness, “that with Johnny’s father dead you are unlikely to receive anything in the nature of a salary?”

  Victoria was appalled because he could even make such a suggestion.

  “S-salary?” she stammered. And then she smiled wanly. “Poor Mr. Musgrove, Johnny’s father, was always so hard up that I don’t think I’ve received any salary for several weeks. I’m afraid he didn’t earn very much, and he was an inveterate gambler, so, apart from the housekeeping money he gave me—when he could manage it—there was never anything over. I didn’t mind,” hurriedly, in case once again he should get the wrong impression, “because I’ve grown so attached to Johnny, and I’ve a small sum in the bank that enabled me to buy my personal things.”

  This time Sir Peter was astounded, and he also looked perplexed.

  “You mean,” he said, “that you’ve been working for nothing for Johnny’s father?”

  “For a few months, yes.”

  “What sort of a position did you occupy in his household?”

  Victoria smiled at the grandiose term.

  “I was his housekeeper. And I looked after Johnny.”

  Sir Peter helped himself to another cigarette somewhat hurriedly, lit it, cast it away and lit another before he commented.

  “Forgive me,” he said at last, “but aren’t you a little young to act the part of housekeeper to a man of Johnny’s father’s age? A widower, I understood!”

  She understood the implication, and flushed. It was the first time since he had met her that he saw real color in her face.

  “1 expect it does seem a little odd to you,” she remarked, “and I know I’m not very old. I’m twenty-two, as a matter of fact. But Johnny’s father was in desperate need of someone to help out with Johnny, and the welfare center where I worked did their best to help him out. But he couldn’t pay much, and—and—” She spread her hands awkwardly. “I wasn’t in desperate need of being paid, and I’ve always loved Johnny. I had to go to their assistance, and the welfare people thought it was all right. But—you don’t?” she added helplessly.

  He shrugged.

  “I didn’t say so.”

  “No, but I’m sure you think the whole arrangement was ... well, unconventional,” flushing more brilliantly than

  ever.

  He was surveying her curiously, and very directly. “I gather that Johnny’s father was quite a young man?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Was he thinking of marrying again?”

  She gazed at him with widened eyes.

  “You mean, was he thinking of marrying me?”

  “Well, was he?”

  “Certainly not!” she answered with emphasis. And then all at once her strained blue eyes darkened and sparkled ominously. “I see you can’t accept that,” she exclaimed in a rush of indignation. “To you it seems obvious that I was interested in Johnny’s father as well as Johnny. Just because I was prepared to work without wages—we call them that in my world,” as if she wanted to emphasize the difference in their positions—“to you it’s quite obvious that there were other considerations that made the job worth having. But you’re quite, quite wrong”—her slim breasts heaving—“you couldn’t be more wrong! Poor Mr. Musgrove is dead, and I couldn’t be more sorry because I liked him and I think he liked and approved of me, but beyond that our relationship had absolutely no highlights. I knew when I took the job that some people might think it strange, but that didn’t matter, not to me! Mr. Musgrove adored his wife, and I know that he would never, never have considered marrying again. . . .And as for me—”

  “Well?” Sir Peter waited. “As for you?”

  “I don’t even—like—men very much.”

  She saw him smile, and she knew that she had convinced him. But her long speech had exhausted her, and all at once she looked so shaken and exhausted that he conducted her personally back to her chair and put her into it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He told her that he had decided to keep Johnny at Wycherley Park until some satisfactory arrangement for his future could be arrived at. The authorities were perfectly happy about this, and if she was prepared to stay and felt up to it he would like her to continue to have charge of him. She was used to Johnny, and the child needed her and quite plainly seemed to cling to her, and unless she wished to leave immediately and rejoin her own parents—whom he felt should have been notified about the accident before this!—he hoped she would remain, at any rate until the ordeal of the funeral was over, and Johnny had had a chance to settle down.

  “If you’ll let me have the address of your parents I’ll communicate with them,” he said.

  “I haven’t any parents,” she answered.

  He didn’t look particularly surprised.

  “Then some close relative... ?”

  “I haven’t any close relatives.”

  This time he looked faintly surprised.

  “My father was a farmer, and he, too, was a widower for years,” she explained, “and I never had any brothers or sisters. We lived in Hampshire, and our farm was razed to the ground by fire, and my father died in the fire. That was two years ago.” She spoke jerkily, as if the memory still upset her. “My father died trying to save his horses.”


  Sir Peter looked really shocked.

  “And did he?” he asked.

  She simply shook her head.

  All at once he decided that this inquisition had gone far enough. He spoke decidedly, as if he had made up his mind for her.

  “I take it that you still want to be with Johnny,” he said, “and that you’re not prepared to desert him when he needs you most. So for the next fortnight or so, at least, shall we agree that you’ll stay on here? Your clothes and things can be sent for, and we’ll get you comfortably settled in. Anything you need you have but to ask for, and I think Forster and Mrs. Grainge have decided to move you into another wing of the house where you and Johnny can be together. It’s the old nursery wing, and there, at least, you’ll be entirely free to do as you please.” He paused for a moment, and then said more thoughtfully, “You’re free, of course, to move about in any other part of the house if you wish to. And you can go wherever you like in the grounds.”

  “Thank you,” she said ... a trifle inadequately, she realized.

  “Someone will have to tell Johnny ... about his father!” he went on.

  She looked absolutely aghast.

  “Yes,” she agreed, in a whisper.

  “Do you feel up to it?”

  “Not really.” Her hands went cold at the very thought.

  “Then you can leave it to me. Afterward he can come to you for comfort.”

  She looked at him with sudden tears of gratitude in her eyes.

  “You’re very good, very kind,” she told him, barely audibly. “I ... Johnny and I are both terribly grateful!”

  “You don’t have to feel grateful, and I’m neither good nor kind.” For the first time his smile at her had a touch of sweetness and gentleness that shook her slightly. She had never met a man in the least like him before, and she had certainly never met one who was a baronet and human at the same time—apparently distinctly human.

  But she still found herself wondering about Miss Islesworth.

  She wondered, too, whether she was still staying in the house.

  For the next few days she and Johnny were left very much to themselves—apart, that is, from the interest Mrs. Grainge and the butler took in them; but there was the one occasion when Sir Peter sent for Johnny and kept him closeted with him in the library for quite a long time, and afterward Johnny burst in on Victoria and showed her a pair of red-rimmed eyes, then rushed at her and dissolved into further tears while she kept him on her lap and rocked him in her arms like a baby.