by Susan Barrie
Having said which, she left the room and closed the door firmly behind her, and Victoria looked down at Johnny, whose eyes were big and dark and serious. “Doesn’t that lady like us?” he asked thoughtfully. Victoria squeezed his shoulders.
“I’m afraid she doesn’t, Johnny,” she admitted truthfully. “At least,” she amended, in order that he shouldn’t feel too shocked and perhaps alarmed, “not very much. She would prefer it if we were not here, but that’s because she’s going to marry Sir Peter, who has been so very kind to us both, and not unnaturally she wants us out of the way before she takes over as mistress here. I think the wedding is fairly soon, and it would show consideration for her feelings if we made our plans well before then. In fact, I think I already have an idea...” She looked at him very earnestly, hoping to encourage him by the warm smile in her eyes. “You want us to be together, don’t you, Johnny?”
He answered with a mute nod of the head.
“You really mean that?” She was a trifle anxious, in case he didn’t. “After all, you don’t have to come with me—”
But he nodded his head with much more vigor.
“I won’t stay here without you.” He clutched at her hand in such a way that she was convinced his small mind was made up on that point, at least. Wycherley Park was a haven while she was there, but it might become a dubious haven if he was deprived of her support and companionship. In any case, he had adopted her weeks ago as the next best thing to a relative. “If you go away I’m going with you—”
“Honestly? That’s what you really want?”
“I like the gentleman, but I don’t like the lady—”
“But you might get on very well with the lady after a time! She might be quite kind to you—let you stay here for a long time.” But Victoria didn’t really see that happening. “After all, this is a lovely house, and you have lots of toys and this beautiful nursery. You won’t ever have such a nice place to live in again, not if you go away with me,” feeling that she must make everything clear to him.
But Johnny looked suddenly indignant.
“She was horrid to you!” he spat out, as if he had bitterly resented the horridness. “You didn’t do anything to make her angry, and yet she was horrid to you!” His incredulous dark eyes sought hers in complete bewilderment. “Why was she?”
Victoria shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter, Johnny,” she told him quietly. “I didn’t in the least mind anything she said, because after all we are imposing on Sir Peter.” At the questioning look in Johnny’s eyes she explained: “We’re taking advantage of his kindness. He owes us nothing, and we are taking a lot from him—very likely making things awkward between him and Miss Islesworth. I do honestly think we should go away very soon, and since you’re agreed about it we’ll go together!”
Then she took him over to the wide window seat and told him a little of what had happened that afternoon, making it quite clear to him that his father was now at rest and one day they could come back to the churchyard where he was resting and put flowers on his grave. Johnny, if he wished, could make it a place of pilgrimage in the future, and every time he did so he could put flowers on the grave.
Johnny was quite captivated by the thought of these future missions, and a great deal of the somberness—and the fear—in his dark eyes fled away after a time and left them reasonably confident and content. Johnny was too young yet to appreciate his loss, and he still had Victoria to cling to, so nothing was really bad. Not even the loss of his father, to whom he had been attached, but not passionately devoted.
But the very thought of Victoria leaving him filled him with an emotion that was an entirely different thing from the odd pang or two he had experienced as a result of the loss of his father. Victoria was Victoria!
He fell asleep after a time, and had to be wakened for his supper, but he didn’t seem to wish to eat very much, so Victoria put him to bed. He fell asleep again the instant his head touched the pillow, and she had no need to read to him, or even tell him stories. Instead she sat quietly thinking and planning and watching the extraordinary peacefulness of his expression as he drifted into slumber.
She felt that she had been entrusted with a mission.
CHAPTER SIX
Much later that night she sat making calculations in her own bedroom, and decided that she had enough money, in the bank and in the post office, to keep herself and Johnny for at least two months if only she could find a place in which to live, and after that she could be successful in finding a reasonably well-paid job.
She didn’t feel oppressed by the burden she had taken on when she went to bed at last, and as she lay listening to
the chiming of the various grandfather and other makes of clocks that was going on around her, as well as the plushy background silence of the big house set in its stately park and grounds, she was merely mildly excited, as if she was setting out on a grand but possibly formidable adventure.
The next day she planned to take Johnny away. She would rise early, get him dressed—although unfortunately it would be impossible to feed him at that early hour—and without disturbing anyone they would steal away, much as they had come, and throw themselves upon the mercy of the world. By degrees they would return to London, and once there a bed-sitting room would solve their immediate problems. The welfare center where she had worked before might help her to care for Johnny ... at least while she was working. She supposed she ought to keep in touch with the lawyer who was handling the microscopic estate—and the debts—that Johnny’s father had left to the world. There would be nothing very much for Johnny, but at least she must keep in touch.
That much she owed to Johnny.
She found it impossible to sleep as the hours crawled by. At two o’clock she got up and started putting together her few possessions ... things she had collected while she was at Wycherley Park. And these did not include garments that had been made over to her by Miss Islesworth. These she returned to the drawers and the wardrobe, where Miss Islesworth could find them later.
At three o’clock she crept into Johnny’s room and performed the-same service for him. She took the utmost care to avoid waking him, then returned to her own room and sat watching by the window until the first very faint light of dawn appeared in the sky. Then she went back to Johnny’s room and wakened him.
It was difficult making the child understand that a good deal was expected of him. He wanted to go on slumbering contentedly in his bed, and Victoria couldn’t allow that, so she had to give him a gentle shake occasionally.
At last she succeeded in getting him dressed, and then she had to make him understand that neither of them must make any sound. She had left a note propped up on the writing desk in her room for Sir Peter Wycherley, and in it she had thanked him for all his goodness and kindness, but made no mention of where she was going, or where she was taking Johnny. After all, or so she argued with herself, it was really no concern of his. And the relief of his fiancee when she discovered that they had gone would be incalculable.
So why did she have to let Sir Peter know where she was going?
Once they had gone—she and Johnny—he could forget them. He need never again devote a moment’s thought to them, and that would completely satisfy Georgina Islesworth—Georgie as Sir Peter called her.
But Victoria always thought of her as Miss Islesworth, and under no circumstances could she ever think of her as Georgie.
Half way down the main staircase Johnny stumbled, and Victoria had to grab him quickly to prevent him from falling. The main hall was like a pool of silence, thick with shadows and glowing with the odd splashes of color created by massed flowers in copper and bronze containers. The smell of flowers and opulence lay heavily on the hushed morning atmosphere, and outside the great hall window the eastern sky flamed with cerise and banners of flamingo pink. Victoria had decided beforehand that it would be no use trying to open the great front door, for only the butler knew how to deal with the ponderous bolts and l
ocks. Miss Islesworth was a nervous sleeper, and she liked to think that when she went to bed at night there was no danger of her repose being interrupted by housebreakers. Therefore one of the side doors— and there were quite a number of them opening on to the outside world—would have to provide them with their means of exit.
Victoria had such a strange, panic-stricken feeling that someone, or something, would prevent them getting away, and this feeling made her fingers fumble when she fought with the locks of one of the side doors—the first that they came to. This defeated her, and they went on to the next. Then, to her wholehearted relief, they really were outside, and the exquisite, wine-like freshness of the morning, laden with the perfume of summer flowers, dew-drenched grasses and moist shrubberies, came at them, together with a wild chorus of bird song that was enough to lighten anyone’s heart. Victoria felt as if a load had been lifted from her shoulders, and only the future had to be coped with.
But the future was still a part of the present. Johnny moved like a sleepwalker, and the freshness of the early morning caused him to shiver noticeably. He was wearing only the T-shirt and short pants in which he’d survived the accident—Victoria preferring to leave the new clothes that had been provided for him behind—and she wished that she had had the foresight to buy him a warm sweater before they left. This was an omission, however, that could be rectified as soon as they reached the world of shops.
But before they reached the world of shops there was a long drive to be traversed, and then three good miles of country road before they reached the village and the bus stop. Johnny walked with bowed shoulders and his head down, and not even the swelling chorus of birds excited him. He loved identifying bird calls, but this morning he was either acutely depressed, or very, very tired indeed, for he seemed unable to lift his eyes, and his feet dragged.
Victoria sought to encourage him. She told him that it would not be long before they reached the village inn, and then he could be provided with breakfast. And after that there would be the ride in the bus, and then a long journey by train as far as London, where he always seemed to like living. She was sure he would like to be back again among familiar scenes. But Johnny merely made a supreme effort and lifted his weary eyes to her face, and she felt quite shocked as a result of what she saw in them.
“Won’t we ever live in the country again?”
Victoria sought to convince him that they might one day.
“It all depends on—on a lot of things,” she said. She added vaguely: “Things like whether or not I can get a job in the country. If you really want to live in the country I could try.”
“But it won’t be the same, will it?” Johnny persisted, peering up into her face.
“You mean there won’t be a Sir Peter Wycherley to buy you things, and take you for rides in his big car?”
“I was thinking of—of the country itself,” Johnny replied, waving a hand to indicate the ordered lawns on either side of them. “It won’t be like this, will it? With horses and dogs, and lots and lots of flowers like there are here?”
Victoria understood perfectly.
“No, it won’t,” she answered truthfully. “But I did point all that out to you yesterday, didn’t I?” she reminded him with just a trace of gentle rebuke in her tone.
Johnny, who had been clutching limply at her fingers, gave them a sudden squeeze.
“It’s all right,” he said manfully. “I don’t mind.”
They reached the lodge keeper’s cottage, and although it was so early a plume of smoke was rising from one of the chimneys into the pale blue of the sky, and a smell of bacon and eggs floated out to them by way of an open kitchen window.
Victoria hurried Johnny past the lodge, and then they were outside the grounds of Wycherley Park, standing on the edge of a broad, tree-shaded and extremely beautiful country road. The road, Victoria knew, was broad at this point, where the elegant gates of Wycherley Park opened out on to it, but it narrowed considerably and ran between high hedges smothered with honeysuckle and wild roses at this season of the year, and whichever way they turned they would be caught up in a wilderness of green after a few yards or so. The village of Wycherley lay to the left, so to the left they were about to turn, only the sound of a car coming from the opposite direction caused Victoria to glance round hurriedly over her shoulder, and considerably to her dismay she recognized Sir Peter Wycherley’s car approaching at a reduced rate of speed.
Johnny, too, recognized the car ... and he was even quicker than Victoria to recognize Sir Peter himself at the wheel. Despite the early hour he was apparently out and about, about to turn in at the gates of the Park. But the two forlorn figures standing at the side of the road deflected his purpose.
To Johnny’s infinite relief—and his eyes grew several degrees brighter as he realized that a miracle had occurred (from his point of view, at any rate)— the car, with its long, sleek bonnet and effortless motion, arrived alongside of them, and Sir Peter threw open the door that was near to them and invited them to get inside.
“I don’t know what you’re doing up so early,” he remarked, “but it’s quite obvious you need a lift back to the house. Do you often do this sort of thing?” a slight smile quivering at the corners of his mouth as he addressed Victoria: “Go for long country walks at this hour of the day, I mean?”
She could have retorted by asking him whether he often did the sort of thing he was doing on that particular morning, and left his bed before the sun was properly up and warming the world; but she did not do so, instead she answered with truth:
“Not often. This morning is an exception.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He glanced at Johnny. “The child looks as if he’s only half awake. Wouldn’t it have been more sensible to let him enjoy the comfort of his bed a little longer?”
Johnny told him mechanically:
“We’re running away.”
“You’re what?”
“Running away.” Johnny’s eyes glistened a little as he fixed them on the half open, inviting door of the car. “Victoria said we had to.”
“Why?”
“Because Miss Islesworth does not want us to stay.” He wriggled his fingers free of Victoria’s restraining hand and slipped on to the seat beside the well-shaven man in the quiet suit of country tweed. “But it’s an awfully long way to the bus, and I’m awfully hungry as well.” He looked earnestly at Sir Peter. “Do you think you could take us to the bus, sir? It would be much better than walking!”
“Of course I’ll take you to the bus.” He signalled to Victoria, and intimated that she was to take her place in the back of the car. “After all, what is a large car like this for, if it isn’t to be placed at the disposal of other people?” But there was a certain wry twist to his lips as he started it up.
Victoria endeavored to explain from the back seat. “I thought it best that we should go away. I—I—”
“Didn’t even think it necessary to say goodbye?”
“Yes; of course I thought it necessary, but...” She bit her lip hard. The tweed-covered shoulders confronting her were displeased—she could tell that—and Sir Peter’s shapely light brown head seemed to be set somewhat rigidly on those same shoulders, and from where she sat she could just see the angle of his very square jaw, and the slight compression at the corner of his mouth. “But I thought you might—might try to stop us . . . or at any rate, that you might try and prevent me taking Johnny away.”
“And you’re quite certain Johnny is unhappy at Wycherley Park?”
“Oh no, no! But Miss Islesworth—”
“Miss Islesworth doesn’t in the least object to my keeping Johnny at the Park.”
“No, but I know she does object to my staying there, too, and looking after him. And you know very well that it’s only a very temporary thing ... Johnny staying with you. In a few weeks he’ll have to go away.”
“When?”
His tone was so dry and interested that she found it difficult to answe
r.
“When—when you’re married, Sir Peter.”
“Oh, is that all?” They were cruising along at a very moderate rate of speed for such a powerful car, and he turned and looked at her over his shoulder. “If you were Miss Islesworth would you object to Johnny staying on after you were married?”
“No, but I’m—I’m not Miss Islesworth.”
“True.” The narrow lane was a series of unexpected twists and bends, and he negotiated them carefully, frowning as he did so. “You are not Miss Islesworth. . . You are Miss Victoria Wood! And I can’t think why you had to get up so early in order to disappear out of my life! Wouldn’t a more reasonable hour have satisfied you just as well?”
“I—I—You might have tried to prevent me!”
“That’s true,” he agreed again.
“And it seemed the best thing to do....”
“Even though Johnny is very small, and it’s quite a long way to the village ... and the bus I presume you intend to take?”
“Yes, but—”
“However, we’ll have you at the bus much more quickly in this car, won’t we?” This time he glanced at Johnny, and Johnny was so happy sitting beside him in such a splendid means of transport that he grinned expansively.
“Yes,” he said, plainly without any thought of the bus.
“But first we’ll have breakfast at the George and Dragon.” They drew up beside the white-fronted hostelry, and as the sun was climbing high in the sky by this time it all looked very serene and mellow with the golden rays bathing it in a kind of golden balm, and the giant oak tree in the center of the village providing a delicious form of shade for a contingent of ducks that were parading as a matter of routine, and in order to discover their own breakfast. “I know the man who runs this place, and he always gets up early, so he won’t mind cooking us bacon and eggs. And I expect you’d like a
