“Oh, but I’m afraid I’ve very little experience in arranging flowers,” Caroline told her.
Muriel Cranwell had never taken any interest in beautifying her home and the nearest approach to flower arrangement Caroline had ever seen her execute had been the thrusting of a couple of bunches of daffodils into a long glass vase. Flower arrangement was the sort of occupation that her aunt had considered a thorough waste of time.
“Well, have a shot at it anyway,” the housekeeper said encouragingly. “I’m sure you’ll do better than I.” And she hurried from the room before Caroline could demur further. It was almost as if she were determined that if Grace had any complaints it would be the results of Caroline’s efforts which would come under her censure.
Left alone, Caroline felt a growing pleasure in the idea, as she munched her hot buttered toast. It would be fun to be able to wander amongst the beautiful blooms she had glimpsed in the glasshouses and to be able to choose at will any blossom that pleased her.
When she had finished breakfast she dressed and carried the tray downstairs in an effort to placate Betty. There was no sign of the girl, however, and when she had laid it on one of the tables in the kitchen Caroline headed for the glasshouses.
But when she attempted to turn the handle of the largest house she found that the door was locked: so were the two smaller houses that were adjacent. She pressed her face against the glass, studying longingly the rich colourful blooms: there were great mop-headed creamy chrysanthemums and flat saucer-shaped ones in shades of maroon and gold, yellow, bronze and a snowy-white. They were so near, and yet so far. Who had the key? she wondered. Probably a gardener! But when she looked around she could see no sign of anyone working in the grounds.
It was just then that Fred approached carrying a basket, a baize apron tied about his portly waist. “And what are you doing here, miss?” He eyed her suspiciously.
“I was wondering who has the keys of the glasshouses,” she told him.
“Oh, you were, were you? And what might you want with the keys?”
“Mrs. Creed asked me to make some flower arrangements for the house,” she informed him.
Fred’s round face had assumed a mulish look. “Them flowers aren’t to be touched. That’s strict orders from the boss. He’s giving a party later on and they’re being kept especially for that occasion.”
“Oh, I see!” Caroline said a little lamely.
“Yes, it would be more than my job is worth to let you in there, I can tell you,” Fred nodded, “for he’s a hard, unfeeling man, with no consideration for anyone, as no doubt you’ll find out for yourself soon enough.”
And with these ominous words, Fred pursued his way to the kitchen gardens.
Feeling rather at a loss, Caroline turned away and wandered into the grounds. Here in a sheltered spot she found great clumps of mauve and purple Michaelmas daisies, giant heads of golden rod, masses of great honeycomb dahlias, shrubs covered with red berries and waxen snowberries. She wandered through the gardens, picking what she pleased, adding sprays of variegated leaves, until her arms were filled with blazing autumnal colour.
When she entered the kitchen Mrs. Creed was busy at the great cooking stoves. She turned as Caroline laid her hoard on one of the tables and gazed at it with misgivings. “Well, you didn’t get those from the glasshouses for sure,” she said emphatically. “Those aren’t what I call proper flowers at all.”
“The glasshouses are locked up and Fred says Mr. Craig’s orders are that the chrysanthemums are to be kept for a party he’s giving.”
“So the glasshouses are locked? Just like Fred not to tell me! Oh well, if the master doesn’t want them touched, that’s that. But I don’t know what you’ll do with this lot. They look more like wild flowers than anything else.”
The housekeeper regarded with less than enthusiasm the bundles of brilliant leaves and cones and berries that spilled on to the table.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Caroline said with growing enthusiasm as she surveyed her hoard. “I think it will be rather fun trying to make an arrangement with these.”
“Fun? Huh! ” Mrs. Creed snorted as she rummaged in a cupboard and produced a selection of bowls and vases. “Well, do the best you can, but don’t expect any compliments from Mrs. Brant when she arrives.”
“No, I won’t,” Caroline said cheerfully. Somehow Grace’s opinion no longer worried her. She took a pair of scissors from the dresser and clipped busily at the stalks, then arranged a great mass of yellow pom-pom chrysanthemums and crimson and gold leaves in a Crown Derby bowl which she intended placing in the hall. For the small, cosy sitting-room she selected a vase of blood-red, crimson dahlias and some spikes of golden rod.
When she had finished and had placed the different arrangements in their chosen places she still had a few small sprays of bright red berries and golden leaves and some curving branches that she had gathered simply because their intricate and interesting shapes had delighted her eye.
As she passed Randall’s study, after placing a vase in one of the smaller sitting-rooms, she noticed that the door was ajar and peeping in she saw that the room was empty. Immediately it occurred to her what she would do with those interesting bits and pieces that had been left. Happily she hurried back to the kitchen and in a small bowl of ruby glass arranged bright berries and fastened cones on to the branches. To her relief Mrs. Creed had returned to her duties and seemed oblivious now of her activities. Carrying the bowl carefully she hurried back to the study, her heart beating a little faster as she placed it on a shelf opposite his desk.
Would he notice it? she wondered. Perhaps he would look up from his work and it would catch his engrossed eye for a moment and bring to his hard, implacable features a softer expression. Not that it was easy to imagine gentleness in that harsh, forbidding gaze. Not even for Grace had he seemed to unbend. It was true that his expression had changed when he looked at her, but his attitude had been enigmatic and impossible to interpret. When they were alone together, Caroline wondered, did he show to Grace a side of his character that he revealed to no one else?
She was standing, contemplating her efforts, her mind running along these lines, when she became aware with a start that he was standing in the doorway regarding her derisively.
“Admiring your efforts?”
She swung around, feeling guilty and a little panic-stricken as she saw the hard, steely expression in his face. Did he think she had been prying? she wondered a little fearfully.
“No—no, not really,” she stuttered.
“Then what are you doing? You seemed to be sunk in a pleasant reverie of some sort or another: I distinctly detected a smile touching the corners of your lips.”
“I hadn’t realized I was smiling,” she confessed simply.
He advanced into the room still fixing her implacably. “Now what on earth made you think I would appreciate a floral offering? Did it not occur to you that the softer things of life might not appeal to me?”
Caroline felt a little spark of rebellion bubble up at the harshness of his voice. So her efforts were being treated with contempt by this imperious man! Before she realized the significance of her words she burst out, “Yes, it was foolish of me!” Her cheeks flushed with mortification and anger, she stretched out to whisk the bowl from its position, but as she did so, she found her wrist clasped in a vice-like grip.
“You’ll leave it just where it is, Caroline.”
“But why? You’ve told me you don’t want it.”
“I said no such thing. I’m simply interested in knowing what inspired you to exercise your artistic talents on my behalf. You see, it’s been my experience in life that when a woman takes special trouble to please a man she’s usually looking for something in return.”
“Oh, you—you—” Caroline spluttered, unable to find appropriate words to voice her indignation.
“Do continue,” he said blandly. “Don’t let rage prevent you from expressing yourself freely. I’d be
really interested to know how I strike you.”
Caroline stared at him helplessly. He was deliberately trying to place her at a disadvantage, she realized.
“Well, why don’t you answer? You surely don’t find yourself at a loss for words, do you, Caroline?” he inquired mockingly.
It was at this point, as she was searching her mind wildly for a suitable rejoinder, that there came the sound of a car driving up outside and the slam of a door. Unconsciously Caroline gave a short little gasp of relief, which was not unobserved by her tormentor.
“Now fortunate for you that Grace has turned up in time to let you off the hook! Next time you may not be so fortunate.” The strange steely-grey eyes glittered with wicked amusement.
“That will be Robin,” Caroline said unnecessarily.
“Yes, indeed this will be Robin. How perspicacious of you. Don’t let me delay you, for I see you’re all agog to take on your new duties.”
As she thankfully scuttled from the room she was aware of his long, dark regard following her.
As Caroline opened the main door Grace was advancing leading a little boy by the hand. She appeared to be in excellent humour and was smiling charmingly as she instructed the child, “Say how do you do, Robin. This is Caroline, who’s going to take care of you until Mummy comes home again.”
Very reluctantly the boy complied, and Caroline, regarding him, decided that he was the loveliest child she had ever seen; almost too perfect in features, with golden hair cut in a thick pageboy bob against his snowy neck: his cheeks and lips were of apple-blossom delicacy of tint, and the whole lighted by beautiful dark blue eyes fringed with golden-brown lashes, which curled almost girlishly against his cheeks. It was quite easy to understand how this lovely child had been spoiled by his adoring mother. Together they made a beautiful and arresting picture, for the child was dressed in a tunic of soft green velvet which gave him the appearance of a diminutive medieval pageboy.
It was plain, however, that Robin’s disposition did not match his appearance. The blue eyes were sullen and unfriendly as he gazed at Caroline. “I don’t want her to take care of me,” he said resentfully. “Why don’t you take me with you to London, Mummy? I shouldn’t be any trouble, not really.”
But Grace, who was handing a small suitcase to Caroline, replied absently, “Of course you can’t come, darling. It’s utterly impossible, so don’t ask me again. I think you’ll find everything in his case,” she told Caroline. “I didn’t bother to put much in. After all, I’ll be away only a few days. By the way, he takes milk and biscuits at eleven. Now you will be good, won’t you, Robin, and not give Caroline any trouble? You’ll read your picture
books and Mummy will bring you a nice present from Town.”
With these few words and a kiss blown to Robin she hurried back to the car and Caroline found herself standing with Robin’s small suitcase in her hand, looking at her new charge, who ignored her and stared resentfully after the departing car.
Caroline felt awkward in her new role. Dismayed by Robin’s obvious antagonism, she said hesitantly, “We’d better go indoors and you can look at your picture-books, Robin.”
“I’ve seen them already,” he replied crossly.
She reached for his hand, but he tucked it firmly behind his back and trailed sullenly after her into the house.
Caroline decided that perhaps the best thing to do would be to ignore him for a while until he became acclimatised, for it was obvious her efforts to conciliate the child were being ignored.
He followed her into the kitchen and stood watching while she tidied up the leaves and cones which were strewn around the table, knowing better than to leave the slightest untidiness for Mrs. Creed.
But as she finished she looked around, only to discover that he had disappeared. He would have to be found as soon as possible, before he got up to mischief, she knew.
As she hurried through the kitchen door into the corridor that connected with the main part of the house, she heard a faint tinkling sound of music. Guided by it, she located the source and found herself in one of the great drawing-rooms. Here Robin stood at a round marble table listening engrossed to the tinkling music of an antique musical-box. As she entered the tune was coming to a close and Robin picked up the box and began to wind it up again.
“Careful! ” Caroline admonished fearfully.
Mulishly he wound on, the touch of his childish fingers rough. Apparently he wound it too tightly, because when he had finished no sound issued. He shook it, then gaining no results, his eyes darkened ominously. Before Caroline could prevent him, he knocked it sharply against the edge of a shining walnut table on which stood several pieces of delicate glass.
“Oh, do stop!” Caroline ordered, panic-stricken.
Ignoring her, he gave it another sharp rap on the table. The frail mechanism gave a final croaking sound and seemed to disintegrate in his hands, spilling cogs and pieces of mechanism about the carpet.
“What have you done?” Caroline cried, appalled.
Her wail was echoed by Mrs. Creed, who entered at that
unpropitious moment.
“The silly thing’s broken,” Robin told her. “ It won’t play any more.”
“What on earth is the child doing here?” the housekeeper demanded of Caroline with asperity.
“I lost sight of him for a moment,” Caroline admitted. “I was tidying up after doing the flowers and when I turned—”
“You know you’re not supposed to come into this room,” the housekeeper told Robin sternly. “ You’re a very naughty boy. Last time you broke a lamp, and the time before that, you—”
“I only wanted to listen to the music,” Robin told her sullenly. “Well, now look what you’ve done! You’ve broken it. Really it’s not safe to have you in the house! You’ll be in hot water if the master hears about this, I can tell you.”
But when Randall heard it would probably be she herself who would be in hot water, Caroline was thinking bleakly.
“You’d better take him for a walk,” Mrs. Creed turned to Caroline. “Not that I altogether blame you for what’s happened, for goodness knows the child’s unmanageable. But at least, out of doors, he’ll be able to do less damage. Anyway, it’s a lovely day and you may as well take advantage of the good weather while it lasts. But you’d better put on something warm, because the days can turn nasty very quickly in this part of the country. You can be caught in a mist before you know where you are.”
Caroline agreed to this suggestion with alacrity. Out of doors Robin would probably be less of a handful, and it was certainly a lovely day. She was looking forward to exploring the countryside that she had glimpsed from the windows.
It was when she was searching through Robin’s case for a coat that she discovered that his mother had neglected to pack one. True there were pyjamas, toothbrush, soap and towel and changes of socks and shirt, but no sign of a coat of any sort.
She glanced about his room hoping that Robin might have hung his coat up somewhere. Then she remembered noting his green velvet tunic when he had come out of the car. “Did you leave your coat in the car?” she asked him.
“Mummy didn’t tell me to bring a coat,” he told her indifferently.
Caroline sighed. Evidently Grace intended her offspring to spend all his time indoors during her absence.
“Anyway, I shan’t need a coat today,” he went on. “The sun’s shining and it’s quite warm.”
Caroline looked at him doubtfully. It was true that it was a fine day, but there was an edge to the wind that proclaimed that in spite of appearances to the contrary it could easily turn into a cold, damp autumnal afternoon.
She went to her room and put on a warm, scarlet anorak and jeans. As a last thought she snatched up a short, warm woollen jacket. If a shower came on while they were at any distance from the house, perhaps she could persuade Robin to put it over his head and shoulders.
But Robin soon put a summary end to any hopes she might have in t
his direction. “I’m not going to wear any old silly girl’s coat,” he protested decisively. Then he eyed Caroline’s anorak wistfully. “I wish Mummy would buy me one of those jackets. I hate the sort of clothes she makes me wear.”
Caroline felt a growing sympathy for the child. Certainly his clothes were more like fancy dress than the normal wear of boys of his age.
“Never mind, perhaps she’ll get you one later,” Caroline said, without much conviction.
Robin shook his head. “No, she won’t. She likes me in this sort of outfit.” He plucked disconsolately at his velvet tunic.
But, childlike, Robin forgot his woes as they left the house and took a path that led high above a shimmering lake that lay between the folds of two hills, like a blob of still mercury. Looking down Caroline could see a small gaily-painted boat bobbing, moored to a tiny jetty. It would be pleasant, she thought dreamily, to row across that glassy lake under the bright blue sky.
Robin ran ahead, as though revelling in a newfound freedom, and it struck Caroline that he wouldn’t be nearly so troublesome if he didn’t spend so much of his time cooped up in the hothouse atmosphere of his mother’s home. The lake seemed to fascinate him: he stood looking down on it, chewing a blade of grass. “There’s a monster lives right at the very bottom,” he told her wide-eyed.
“Is that so?” Caroline replied. “What sort of monster?”
“Oh, very prehistoric,” Robin told her solemnly. “You see, the lake’s very deep: it goes down and down, and the monster lives right at the very bottom and he’s very fierce and savage. If you came here in the middle of the night, perhaps he’d come out of the water and catch you in his teeth and drag you down under the water to his gigantic cave and eat you in one great mouthful. ”
He gave a little shudder and returned to gazing fascinated at the lake beneath.
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