Caroline looked at Robin’s eager questioning face and suddenly her mind was made up. She had not troubled herself about the question of salary because she had been so thankful to have secured a job and shelter that she felt inclined to leave this to fate, but now she knew that for Robin’s sake she would tackle
the problem.
“Yes, I’ll ask him as soon as I can,” she told Mrs. Creed. Then she said reassuringly to Robin, “Don’t worry, you shall have a nice new anorak and we’ll go out on the moors, even if the day isn’t really fine.”
Delighted, Robin ran out of the room, and Mrs. Creed turned to Caroline admonishingly. “Really, Caroline, don’t be foolish. Mrs. Brant has more than enough money to give the child everything he needs—indeed, that’s what’s wrong—he gets far too many clothes—far more than any sensible boy could wear. Remember, this will be quite an inroad on your salary. But the child’s so thoughtless—fancy asking you for a jacket. Just spoiled, that’s what he is!”
Mrs. Creed went on in the same strain for some time and Caroline was glad when at last she said it was time to get back to work and hurried off in the direction of the kitchens.
During the rest of the day Caroline found Robin much easier to handle. His airing on the moors seemed to have run off his surplus energies and he permitted her to read aloud to him and actually settled down for a nap in the afternoon without too much fuss.
In spite of this the day was exhausting as far as Caroline was concerned and she was glad when at last she was able to tuck him up in his bed.
This wasn’t the end of the day, however, she was to discover, for she had no sooner gone to her own room that night when Robin appeared in the doorway, in his blue and white striped pyjamas, looking very wide awake.
“Robin! Why are you not asleep?” Caroline demanded. “And how did you find out where my room is?”
“Oh, I watched you going upstairs and I followed you to see what door you would go in, but you didn’t see me,” he told her, triumphantly.
“But why?”
“Well, I had to know, so that I could come and ask you for a drink of water if I felt thirsty during the night,” he explained.
“Oh, Robin,” Caroline cried in exasperation. “Come along.” She held out her hand. “Off to bed with you.”
But he avoided her hand and began to wander about her room. “This is a nice room,” he decided, examining it critically. “It has a fluffy bedspread, and besides, it’s small. I like small bedrooms because they make you feel safe.”
So the real reason for Robin’s wakefulness was that he was frightened in his strange bedroom and was doing everything he could to postpone the moment when he would be left alone for the night in the great, high-ceilinged room.
Caroline eventually persuaded him to come down again with her to his bedroom and once more tucked him in, making sure to leave the bedside lamp switched on.
As she was about to leave, she said impulsively, “How would you like a sweet, Robin? I’ve a bar of chocolate in my room. I’ll bring it down to you and you may eat it before you go to sleep— just for this once.”
To her surprise, although Robin’s eyes brightened at the suggestion, he shook his head. “Mummy says I mayn’t eat sweets—especially at bedtime, ’cos they’re bad for my teeth.” Caroline gazed at the child thoughtfully. Robin, so spoiled and pampered in many ways, was also denied so many of the things that go to make up the normal life of a child. Grace, over-indulgent at times, could also be severe in her thoughtless, almost careless way.
“Of course if you say I ought to,” Robin said wheedingly, “Mummy said I was to obey you and do as you tell me.”
Caroline laughed. “No, Robin, you’d better do as your mummy wishes.”
“Well, will you read me a bedtime story?”
So Caroline read to him the story of the Ugly Duckling that became a swan. As the enchanting fairy-tale progressed, she was relieved to see Robin’s golden-brown lashes fall against his cheeks in baby-like curves. He appeared to have drowsed off and she was tiptoeing towards the door when he suddenly sat up again. “You won’t forget—about buying me the anorak?” he asked, in his ringing, childish voice. Caroline spun around on her heel. “Oh, Robin!”
“I’m going to sleep now—really I am,” he assured her. “I just wanted to be sure.”
As Caroline met that limpid gaze she knew she couldn’t possibly disappoint the child. “Very well, I promise. I’ll go tomorrow—that is, if Mr. Craig returns tonight.”
“Tomorrow? Oh, good! May I come with you?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see,” she temporised.
“You’ll have to take me with you so that you’ll know what size to get,” he told her. “Otherwise you might buy one that was far too small—or miles too big. I’ll go to sleep immediately so that I’ll be able to get up in plenty of time,” he finished with a radiant smile as he snuggled under the clothes.
As Caroline returned to her room she was thinking wryly that once again her impulsive nature had landed her in an awkward situation.
She opened her window wide and sat on the edge of her bed reading, in an endeavour to keep awake until she should hear the sound of Randall’s return. So absorbed had she become that it was only when she heard his voice calling to the dogs and the sound of their baying as they ran to meet him that she realized that he was home again. Slowly she closed the book and with a hand that trembled, replaced it in the short row of her favourite volumes along the narrow mantelshelf.
She waited a moment, then silently opened her door and listened, her breath held. There came the sound of footsteps across the hall and the slam of his study door.
She walked across to the little mirror on top of the chest of drawers and peered in. How pale she looked, her eyes great frightened pools in her small, brittle boned face. And suddenly she felt angry with herself. Why, Caroline Downes, you’re no better than a frightened baby, she told herself contemptuously. She picked up her hairbrush and drew it through her thick dark brown hair with a few swift strokes, dashed some lipstick on her small, well-shaped mouth and then as a last thought, rummaged in her drawer and drew out the small bottle of perfume she had purchased with the money Uncle Trevor had given her on her last birthday. Muguet des Bois: the scent seemed to fill the small room as she tipped the tiny bottle with a trembling hand, spilling far too much of the precious liquid over her handkerchief. Then, stuffing it in her pocket, she turned and almost ran from the room. If she delayed any longer her courage would ooze quite away and she would never be able to face him.
Outside the study door she paused for a moment, then knocked firmly. She could hear the sound of coals being shovelled on to the fire with a generous hand. He had not heard her and she was forced to knock again, feeling her courage rapidly evaporating. There came the sound of quick footsteps, the door was thrown wide and Randall’s tall, thin figure stood framed in the doorway.
“Caroline! What are you doing here at this hour of the night?”
“I—I wonder if I could speak to you for a few moments,” she faltered.
He considered her thoughtfully. “But why tonight?” he
demanded. “Surely tomorrow will do just as well?”
“Oh, no, it won’t,” Caroline replied with what she immediately realized was unnecessary emphasis. “I want to catch the bus in the morning and perhaps I won’t see you then.”
For a moment he looked down at her from his great height, and then said, “I see. Very well, come in.”
He turned and moved across the room to an armchair and indicated that she should seat herself in the chair opposite.
She sat down, feeling herself growing increasingly more flustered, especially as he didn’t pursue the subject but busied himself with poking the fire.
Then at last he turned to her. “So it took you only a very short time to tire of us. I had hoped we’d be able to keep you a little longer—but then that’s the curse that hangs over Longmere, isn’t it? No one stays
very long.”
“Oh, but I’m not leaving,” she interposed quickly. “It’s simply that I want to go into Keswick.”
“To Keswick? And why on earth shouldn’t you go into Keswick without consulting me about it?”
She was coming to the awkward part of her interview and she tried to tread as warily as possible.
“Well, I was thinking of doing a little shopping,” she said carefully.
“I see.” He laid the poker down and regarded her thoughtfully. “I think I begin to understand. You’re going on a shopping spree and would like to know what arrangements axe to be made concerning your salary, isn’t that it?”
Caroline nodded eagerly. It hadn’t been as difficult as she had feared. “I shan’t be long,” she added placatingly.
She saw a smile quirk his lips. “You’re going on a shopping spree, yet you won’t be long. And how exactly do you expect to achieve that? It’s my experience that when women go shopping for themselves, time means nothing to them. On the other hand, perhaps you’re one of those extremely rare females who knows exactly what she wants and will head straight for it without being diverted by the way.”
He was mocking her, Caroline knew, but she determined to be silent. Better to put up with his jibes than to let him know the true reason for her expedition to Keswick.
She did not know that as she made her resolve her mouth had formed a firm, stubborn line, which had not escaped his observant eye.
“All right, so you’ll keep your own counsel! You’re as good as telling me, aren’t you, that it’s none of my business. All right, let’s change the subject.”
There was an awkward pause and Caroline felt herself being regarded with an air of puzzled exasperation.
“I don’t want to buy anything for myself. It’s for Robin,” she vouchsafed at last.
“For Robin?”
“Yes, he wants an anorak like mine. I think he hates the sort of fancy-dress clothes that Grace makes his wear, and I shouldn’t be at all surprised if that’s partly to blame for his bad behaviour.”
“You mean,” he said deliberately, “that you’re going to buy Robin an anorak out of your salary, which by the way—may I remind you—will be paid in advance.”
“Yes, I know, and it’s very good of you,” she put in hurriedly. “And I wouldn’t have asked, only I’d hate to disappoint Robin. He wants it so much.”
He leaned back in his chair and suddenly he was laughing, and as she watched him, Caroline realized how greatly laughter changed him. He was no longer the stern, withdrawn, overpowering employer but an immensely human and approachable person. A little wistfully there flashed through her mind Mrs. Creed’s remark concerning Randall’s friendship with Grace. “He’s quite a different person when she’s here,” she had said. “She’s so outspoken and not a bit afraid of him and is the only person who can really make him laugh. ” Well, she had made him laugh, but it certainly had not been because she was outspoken or unafraid of him. It was, rather, that unconsciously she had tickled his sense of humour. With Grace it would be different. He would be sharing a joke or witticism and his laughter would contain a tribute to her brilliance and sophistication. But his amusement as far as she was concerned, was because of her gaucherie and unconscious naivete. Because she was afraid of him she got herself entangled in all sorts of difficulties when she tried to explain lucidly what she wanted.
“Caroline, you’re the most amazing little person,” he said at last. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you. Little did I know what I was bringing upon myself when I brought you home that evening from the station.”
But he was smiling and there was no sting in his remarks, and suddenly she felt happy and at ease in his company.
“Here, pour yourself some coffee,” he invited, pointing to a small occasional table on which stood a coffee pot, cup and saucer. “Meanwhile, I’ll make out a cheque.”
“What about you?” she asked a little shyly, as she did as he requested. “Shall I fetch another cup?”
“No, don’t bother. I’d rather have a pipe, if you don’t mind.” As he spoke he scribbled in his chequebook. “Here, do you think this will meet your expenses?”
She glanced swiftly at the cheque, then laid it down, the colour rising to her cheeks. “Oh, but this is too much. I didn’t really expect anything like this. ”
“Well, it seems to me that if you intend indulging your generous impulses, you’re going to need every penny of it,” he said a little dryly, and then abruptly dismissed the subject.
Seated opposite him, a cup of fragrant coffee in her hand, she told him the whole story while he puffed thoughtfully at his pipe.
“So this is the reason why you’ve been flitting around the house like a pale ghost at this unearthly hour of the night! ” he said at last when she had finished. “How typical of Grace to forget the essentials! ”
“I don’t think Grace realizes how much Robin hates being treated as a sort of pretty toy. He’d be so much happier and easier to manage if he were allowed the rough and tumble life that little boys enjoy.”
“Very well, my little amateur psychologist, you may spend your wages in this quixotic act, if you’ve got your heart set on it. But it seems rather incongruous to me that you should be buying clothes for a wealthy little boy, whose mother throws away in the course of a few minutes more than you would be able to earn in a month. Don’t you realize how foolish you’re being, Caroline?”
“But it’s what I want to do,” she told him stubbornly.
He took his pipe from his mouth and surveyed her thoughtfully for a moment. “Very well then, if that’s what you really want! But I must say you’re the most pigheaded, stubborn, unconventional and mulish girl I’ve ever met in my life, and to say you have a mind of your own is putting it pretty mildly. ”
But Caroline, sipping her coffee, smiled secretly to herself, for his voice was unmistakably indulgent. “That sounds horrid,” she said demurely.
“You should have discovered by now that I’m rather a horrid person,” he returned. “However, this evening you’re looking very pretty and somehow or other have inveigled me into doing that you want. And by the way, what is that scent I detect?” He sniffed
thoughtfully. “Something old-fashioned, isn’t it; a flower scent?”
“It’s Muguet des Bois, actually,” she told him.
“Lily of the valley? Somehow that’s suitable. You’re a lily-of-the-valley sort of person, Caroline. Don’t you know that?”
A little shyly she glanced down, her long lashes fanning her cheeks.
“Here, take this and be gone.” His bony fingers thrust the cheque towards her. “It’s long past your bedtime—and mine too, for that matter, so off you go.” She stood up, her eyes bright. “I’ll set off first thing in the morning,” she said. “And Robin may come too, so that I can get the right size?”
“Yes, of course, but be sure to let Mrs. Creed know your plans. Otherwise I imagine she’ll take a dim view of your disappearing to Keswick for the day.”
“Oh yes, I’ll tell her,” Caroline assured him.
She felt herself caught by the shoulders and marched firmly outside the door. “Now off you go, before I regret my generous impulses.”
As soon as he had shut the door behind her, Caroline turned and began to run jubilantly up the stairs only to be stopped short as she saw the dressing-gowned figure of Mrs. Creed.
“Where have you been, Caroline?” the housekeeper inquired sharply. “Do you realize how late it is?”
“I went down to see him about my wages,” Caroline faltered, puzzled and dismayed at the sharpness of Mrs. Creed’s tone.
“You mean to say that you went down to speak to Mr. Randall at this time of night?” the housekeeper demanded in tones of outrage.
“Well, you see he didn’t come in till late,” Caroline faltered, “and then we began talking about Robin and that sort of thing—”
Mrs. Creed looked stern. “If I’d known yo
u planned to do such a thing I’d certainly have given you a word of warning. Really, this is most irregular. I don’t know what the master will think of me, allowing a member of the staff to wander about the house at this time of night.”
“But I’ve told you he didn’t come in until late,” Caroline put in, “and if I’d waited until tomorrow I might have missed him, and I did want and advance on my salary to buy the anorak for Robin.”
“Advance on your salary?” Mrs. Creed gasped. This piece of information obviously struck her with new horror.
“Well, I never did hear of such a thing. To think you asked the master for money in advance! I’ve no doubt he gave you short shrift, and it serves you right. The idea!” She sniffed suspiciously. “Do I smell perfume?”
Caroline nodded, feeling unconscionably guilty.
“I’m afraid I spilled it. That’s why it smells so strong.”
Mrs. Creed pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. “So you put on perfume before interviewing Mr. Randall!”
Evidently this struck her as extremely significant: her eyes bored into Caroline’s.
“It seems to me,” she said ominously, “that you’re getting ideas, and that I can’t allow. Even though you are Mrs. Brant’s cousin, you’re nevertheless one of the staff here at Longmere and must behave as such. I’ve no doubt,” she added aggrievedly, “that Mr. Craig will be furious tomorrow, and it’s me he’ll blame for allowing you to take such a liberty. I’d no idea what you had in mind, for I must say I thought you a nice quiet, well-behaved girl; not the kind to try and fling herself at the head of the master of the house. Just keep in mind, Caroline, that Mr. Randall Craig is as good as engaged to Mrs. Brant, and even if he weren’t—” The housekeeper hesitated, but it was only too obvious what she meant.
Even if he weren’t engaged to Grace, Caroline was thinking wryly as she continued towards her room, it was unlikely that his thoughts would stray to someone like her.
The housekeeper had made her suspicions only too plain, but it would be useless, Caroline knew, to try to convince her that she hadn’t the slightest notion of trying to steal Randall from Grace. How foolish and futile such an ambition would be—even were she to entertain it for a moment. And yet, as she closed her bedroom door behind her, she knew that somehow during that talk in the study they had come closer together than they had done since her arrival. Grace was a lucky woman, Caroline thought vaguely. It was true she didn’t appear to get along smoothly with Randall Craig, yet undoubtedly he had a fascination that any woman would find hard to resist. Their relationship was so full of tension that it would forge stronger bonds between them than would an ordinary conventional romance.
Bird of Prey Page 8
