She was trying to think of a reply that would be conciliating without sounding too apologetic, when he said abruptly, ‘Well, don’t stand around. Get cracking! There’s plenty of work for you to do this morning. First of all, I think you’d better start and muck out the stables.’
She glanced at him in surprise. Usually the lads did this job as .a matter of course, and, without thinking, she blurted out, ‘But the boys usually do that!’
‘Well, you’re doing it this morning! What the boys usually do has nothing to do with the matter,’ he replied grimly. ‘When I engaged you it was on the understanding that you would be a capable stable-hand. Now, it seems, you’re too grand to sully your dainty fingers by mucking out.’
‘No, of course not,’ she said hastily. ‘I don’t mind doing it at all, if that’s what you want.’
‘That’s exactly what I want!’ he told her dryly. ‘But if at any time you feel incapable of carrying out the ordinary duties of a stable lad, just let me know, and I certainly shan’t hold you against your will!’
She had finished and was leaning a little wearily against the half door of the last loose-box when he approached again. Had he been watching her, and timed his visit almost to the exact minute when she would have completed her task?
When he had inspected the work he turned and stared at her remotely. ‘I suggest now that you clean the tack. I want it washed and thoroughly saddle-soaped. It seems to me that Johnny and Andy have been skimping on the job, but I have the feeling that you’ll prove more conscientious.’
His voice still held its dry ironic tone. But the idea that she should spend a boring session in the tack room instead of attending to her beloved Shetlands filled her with rebellious dismay.
‘But what about the ponies?’ she asked quickly.
‘It’s about time you realised that you’re not going to get all the cushy jobs here,’ he told her brusquely, as he left her.
Briony stared after him, her mouth set mulishly. She wasn’t sorry now, she decided, that she had behaved as she had done on the previous evening. Blane had had it coming to him! And as for her getting the cushy jobs—how typical of the man! She had done nothing but work her fingers to the bone since she had come to Birchfields.
But she’d show him, she told herself firmly, as she walked towards the tack room. Never again would she give him the slightest assistance over and above her ordinary duties. She’d leave his beastly tack room glittering like the sun, she told herself, but not one finger would she lift for him apart from that. In future she would treat him with cold aloofness, she thought with a certain amount of satisfaction. Let him organise the treasure hunt himself, if he wanted to, or, better still, let Senga organise it for him!
But even as she realised that this was most probably what he would do, she felt cold fingers clutch at her heart. She had enjoyed working on the treasure hunt with Blane. The idea of Senga taking her place as his assistant, with all the intimacy it implied, filled her with gloom.
She set to work right away on the monotonous business of examining each piece of tack; washing and polishing the leather until it gleamed, and the buckles until they glittered. She missed the company of the two boys. Usually when they were there they kept the rather battered transistor going at full pelt. Now she worked in silence, only her frustration giving speed to her fingers.
She was still at it when the boys came in for their morning break, and soon it was clear that Johnny too was not in the best of humours. He was particularly vitriolic concerning Blane’s Hanoverian. ‘That animal is a proper devil,’ he said, disgruntled. ‘You don’t know what trouble I had trying to handle him this morning, and I’d no sooner finished with him than I had to see to the Shetlands. The boss has given them to me—and mind you, that’s something I hadn’t bargained for.’
Briony could feel her cheeks grow pale. ‘You mean you’re to take care of them in future?’
‘Yes, the little darlings are all mine from now on,’ Johnny replied grumpily. It was plain it was a task that was not at all welcome. ‘What on earth has happened between you and the boss? I could see he was doing it just to spite you, because he knows how keen you are on the little fellows. You must have rubbed him up the wrong way on that trip to Aberdeen and, believe me, he’s taking it out on Andy and myself in no small measure.’ He glanced towards Andy for confirmation.
Andy, who was never very talkative, nodded dolefully. The two boys stared at her enquiringly and Briony put on a great show of applying metal polish to a buckle. Her head bent, she rubbed vigorously.
During the following days the tension didn’t ease up. Each morning when she arrived, Blane managed to select for her the most disagreeable jobs he could think up, and what was more, managed to provide her with another task as soon as she had completed the first.
The boys were unnaturally subdued as they went about their work, keeping a wary eye out for trouble and avoiding encounters with their employer as much as possible. Briony became aware that their attitude towards her had changed subtly. There was very little chatting now at the tea-breaks and even the transistor was toned down, as though they were afraid its cheerful, sound might bring down Blane’s wrath on them. It was clear they were holding her entirely responsible for Blane’s irascibility.
A few days later as they lounged in the tack room moodily munching sandwiches washed down by steaming mugs of strong tea, she burst out irritably, ‘I wish you two wouldn’t put all the blame on me! After all, he may have quarrelled with Senga, and is simply letting off steam on us!’
Johnny refilled his mug and shook his head decisively. ‘No, it’s not Senga. I’ve kept an eye on him when she brings the kids down from the school. But they seem to be as thick as thieves. Great pals, like they always were!’
Briony felt her heart sink. Yes, it was true. Senga with her ready wit was the only person who could bring a smile to Blane’s grimly set features.
By her silly behaviour that evening after their jaunt to Aberdeen she had as good as thrown Senga into his arms. How naive she had been! But then she had always found it difficult to hide her feelings, and it would be too late to begin now, she suspected with a sigh.
Johnny had begun to speak to Andy, his voice a background to her thoughts. Suddenly she became aware that he was saying, ‘It doesn’t look as if there’ll be a present from the boss this time.’
‘Present?’ she queried. ‘Why should he give you a present?’
‘For his birthday, the day after tomorrow,’ Andy put in. ‘Ever since we began to work here the boss has remembered our birthdays. It looks like this time Johnny is going to be out of luck.’
It was on the tip of Briony’s tongue to ask what shape Blane’s remembrance took when, as though guessing her interest, Johnny said with a grin, ‘He doesn’t give a birthday party, you understand.’
The idea seemed to both boys to be so completely ludicrous that they burst into laughter.
‘But he usually gives a cheque, and very welcome it is too!’ Johnny ended.
‘No, there’s no use wishing for that this year,’ Andy told him with his usual solemnity.
Johnny’s face fell as he laid down his mug. ‘Well, that’s that! I suppose I’d better get back to work and not hope for anything.’
The two boys left the tack room in silence.
If only she were back in their good graces Blane’s ostracism might be a little more endurable, Briony thought, as she washed up the mugs and replaced them on their shelf. Then an idea struck her. Why shouldn’t she give a birthday party for Johnny? After all, she wasn’t the high-and-mighty Blane Lennox. And even if the boys thought it unusual, they would put it down to inexperience, and she had the feeling they would most probably thoroughly enjoy it.
She would make sausage rolls, she decided. That would be the sort of feast Johnny and Andy would enjoy. With chocolate mousse to follow. Johnny had often said it was his favourite sweet. Perhaps too, she thought, growing ambitious, one of those special iced cak
es which Annie kept in cardboard boxes, just in case one of her customers might have a birthday coming up!
Annie could still be glimpsed in her inner shop as Briony was going home that evening, and as she made her purchases she could see Annie’s eyes quicken with interest.
‘So you’re going to have a party! Now whose birthday could it be? Not Hettie’s, I know, because hers isn’t for a couple of months yet!’ Annie queried as she parcelled up the pink and white iced cake. ‘It’s lucky for you I’ve got a couple of pounds of frozen pastry left. Now which will you have, puff or short—although there’s nothing like the home-made stuff, if you ask me.’
Briony nodded placatingly. ‘I suppose so, but I’m afraid I’m not very good at making it. The puff never seems to rise and the short’s much too hard.’
Annie sniffed. ‘That’s what’s wrong with the younger generation. Everything’s done for them. In my young day now—’ And she went into one of her rigmaroles about the good old days.
After the evening meal, when Hettie had taken out her electric sewing machine and started sewing, Briony went into the kitchen and began to assemble the materials she had purchased from Annie Skinner.
The door between the two rooms was open and Hettie switched off her machine to ask, ‘And now what are you about?’
‘I’m going to try to make sausage rolls,’ Briony told her. ‘It’s for Johnny Howie’s birthday. I’m going to have a little party for him during the morning break. It’s the day after tomorrow, so I thought I’d better get started now.’
Hettie nodded approvingly. ‘That’s something I’m glad to hear. He’s a nice bright boy, and he doesn’t get much pleasure in his life, what with his mother being an invalid. Well, it’s good to hear someone’s taking an interest in him, for I can’t see Blane Lennox being particularly worried about whether he has a birthday celebration or not.’
Briony began to roll out the pastry. Then, without stopping to think, she said, ‘Yes, I’m afraid you’re right. Blane Lennox is in a black mood these days. But it’s not only with Johnny—he’s out with all of us.’
‘Aha, so you’re beginning to see through him, are you?’ exclaimed Hettie. ‘You’re getting a taste of the real Blane Lennox at last!’
For a few minutes Briony worked in silence. ‘Tell me, Hettie,’ she said at last, ‘why is it you dislike him? It seems to me that fixing up the flat for you was an extraordinarily generous thing to do.’
For a moment Hettie seemed taken aback and even faintly embarrassed. ‘I see, so he’s told you about the flat, has he?’
‘Yes, and he showed it to me. I must say it looked like a perfect little jewel. If I’d been in your place I’d have been thrilled to bits.’
‘Oh, you would, would you!’ Hettie rejoined, switching on her machine again and stitching furiously. But at the end of the seam she switched off again to say, ‘It just so happens that I left because I had to. Oh, I know it sounds very generous, very bighearted, his equipping the flat for me, but that’s how he wanted it to sound, so that his neighbours would have a good opinion of him. But he had no intention of letting me stay there—not even from the first!’
‘You mean, he actually told you to leave?’ Briony asked slowly.
Hettie sniffed. ‘Oh, not in so many words. He’s too smart for that, is Mr. Blane Lennox! But he got that housekeeper of his, that Jean McPhee, to do his dirty work for him. Why, the way that woman spoke to me—I shan’t forget it till my dying day.’
‘Are you sure?’ Briony asked frowningly. Somehow this did not sound at all characteristic of Blane. To get his housekeeper to act for him did not seem the sort of thing he would do.
‘Well, perhaps he didn’t exactly put her up to it,’ Hettie said grudgingly, ‘but he should have kept her in her place, instead of letting her say anything she likes.’
Briony sighed and returned to her cooking once more. But Hettie’s words lingered uncomfortably in her mind. If Blane intended to marry Senga he would realise that she would hardly tolerate the interfering Hettie sharing Birchfields. Could her godmother have hit on the truth, and had Blane, in his usual autocratic way, decided to get rid of her?
‘Now look what I’ve done!’ Hettie switched off the machine in exasperation. ‘I’m so upset I’ve done this seam all squinty. You know, Briony, I could cook up those sausage rolls in a twinkle, if you’d unpick this seam for me.’
Although she did not relish the thought of unpicking the seam, Briony saw that Hettie was too upset to continue sewing and that she’d much rather have a go at the sausage rolls. She laid down the rolling-pin, washed her hands, and goodnaturedly took up the scissors and began to unpick the seam.
‘The oven’s not hot enough,’ Hettie told her reprimandingly, as she turned the switch higher. ‘And why on earth did you get puff pastry?’
Briony sighed. ‘I thought perhaps the boys might like it better.’
There was a short pause while Hettie expertly greased a baking tray. Then she said, with an air of casualness that didn’t deceive Briony, ‘You know, I’ve been thinking about you and I’ve been wondering if there’s any chance you might take up with that fellow in Aberdeen.’
‘What?’ Briony glanced up in amazement.
‘You’re very young. And after all, couples have their differences—especially when they’re engaged. That’s the time for quarrels and arguments, but after a while they resolve their problems and often things turn out right for them in the end. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to get in touch with him? After all, he’s not so far away now, and the main thing is that he’s nearer your own age, and that can be very important, you know.’
So Hettie was back to the consideration that Blane was older than she was! But that was part of the attraction he had for her. He made men like Jeremy seem immature and, in fact—Briony had to admit to herself—boring.
‘And it’s not only that Blane Lennox is older than you are—he’s devious too. It’s just that you’re too young to realise that. You haven’t had enough experience of men.’
‘I can’t see what difference it makes,’ Briony said wearily, ‘considering he has every intention of marrying Senga MacNeil. And no doubt she’ll be mature enough to deal with him,’ she added ironically.
But she was thinking that Hettie showed herself a very poor judge of character. On the contrary, an overpowering directness and almost brutal tactlessness was Blane’s most outstanding characteristic. ‘Don’t let’s talk about him any more,’ she said at last. ‘I’m simply employed by him. His character has nothing whatever to do with me.’
But as Hettie turned and stared at her directly, she busied herself with picking energetically at the seam and it was with a shake of her head that Hettie slipped her tray of sausage rolls into the oven.
On the following morning the children from Laureston School arrived for their lesson. As usual, Senga accompanied them and she and Blane strolled off together while Briony took over the children.
For the first time since her adventures with the bicycle Sandra appeared, and immediately Briony was struck by the improvement in her. The episode seemed to have made Sandra a person of importance among her young friends. And, to Briony’s amazement, girls who previously had treated Sandra with contempt now spoke to her quite deferentially.
There was also the fact that, thanks to the private lessons Briony had given her, Sandra’s riding had improved so much that she was able to take her place among the others with a measure of self-confidence. It was doubtful if she would ever develop a good style; she simply wasn’t a born rider, but at least, she was no longer a misfit.
When the lesson was over Sandra eagerly approached Briony. ‘I’ve written to Daddy and asked him to buy Teddy, so that he can be a companion to Snowy—that’s my white pony at home, you know. I think he must be lonely when I’m away at school and Teddy would be company for him. I’m sure Mr. Lennox will agree. He can always get another donkey, can’t he?’
Briony could hardly restrain a lau
gh at Sandra’s new attitude.
Briony caught sight of Blane and Senga standing outside the loosebox in which Golden Sovereign was kept. Senga was feeding him lumps of sugar and when, a little later, Briony went into the next loosebox she could hear Senga say, ‘Golden Sovereign seems very restless.’
‘Yes,’ Blane replied, ‘he hasn’t been getting the exercise he should have. I’ll see he gets a good run each day after this. Although, come to think of it, I have to go into Aberdeen in the morning. That will be another half day lost.’
‘But what’s been happening?’ Senga asked.
‘Things fell behind a little while Briony was off. The boys—and myself for that matter—were loaded with work.’
‘Oh yes, invaluable Briony!’ Senga laughed lightly. ‘I hope she doesn’t get to know that the Lennox Riding School quite falls apart at the seams when she’s not here.’
What would Blane have to say to this? Briony wondered, as she tied up a hay net in the adjoining stable. But he chose to ignore the remark. ‘We’ll just have to make it up to Golden Sovereign,’ he told her.
‘I was only joking,’ Senga said quickly. ‘I know how things were with you while she was away. But now that she’s back what about our having that celebration dinner we were so much looking forward to? At least I was, and I hope you were too! Now that she’s here again you’ll be able to take an evening off. You owe it to me, you know. After all, I did win for you.’
And as Briony left the loosebox she could hear Blane saying, ‘Let me see, what would be the best evening—’
CHAPTER TWELVE
On the following morning Briony packed a haversack with her purchases. Hettie’s baking had proved to be a resounding success. But she had considered Briony’s offerings just a bit too sparse for what she termed ‘two growing boys’, and had included a napkin packed with ham and tomato sandwiches. She had also added some bottles of her own special home-made ginger beer. She insisted too there was nothing boys liked better than trifles with genuine cream, and on the previous evening she had set about and made these up in small plastic cartons, and placed them in the fridge to set for the morning.
New Boss at Birchfields Page 15
