Storm In A Rain Barrel

by Anne Mather

  If James Mannering sensed her apprehension, he said nothing to reassure her, and not until they descended into a valley and the lights of habitation could be seen did he speak.

  ‘That is Hollingford, up ahead,’ he remarked, dispassionately. ‘The house is about a mile beyond the village. It’s quite a large estate, and my father owned most of the houses in the village, too.’

  Domine nodded, trying desperately to think of something to say. For most of the journey a silence had prevailed between them, and she had been glad of it, busy with her thoughts after his startling revelations. She had no idea what thoughts had occupied his mind, but as he was a writer she imagined he would not find it difficult to entertain himself mentally.

  Now he looked at her pale face, and said: ‘Are you hungry? My mother will have dinner ready when we arrive.’

  ‘Not particularly,’ she confessed nervously. Then: ‘Oh, you must know how nervous I am!’

  He half-smiled. ‘Don’t be. No one’s going to eat you, you know!’ His fingers tightened on the wheel. ‘At least, not while I’m around,’ he amended mockingly, and she wondered what he meant by that remark.

  They drove through the village, which was composed of a narrow street with some shops and houses, and a church with a school attached on the outskirts. Leaving the village behind they turned along a road lined with trees that dripped rain water heavily on to the roof of the car, and eventually reached double gates that stood wide with a small lodgekeeper’s house at the side. But no one came out to ascertain their identity, and from the dereliction Domine assumed that the house was no longer in use. Instead, they continued up the drive towards the main building, and as it came into view, illuminated by the car’s headlights, she felt a nervous sense of anticlimax. There was nothing beautiful about Grey Witches. Its stone façade was overgrown with creeper, and its windows were square-cut and unadorned. It was a double-fronted house reaching up some three floors and she thought it in no way resembled the gracious country home she had imagined.

  James Mannering brought the car to a halt at the foot of a flight of steps leading up to the entrance and switching on the interior light he surveyed her face for its reaction. Seeing the disappointment mirrored there, he said:

  ‘What did you expect? A National Trust property?’

  Domine compressed her lips and shook her head. ‘Of course not, Mr. Mannering. It—it’s just different—from what I expected, that’s all.’

  He searched her face with those piercing blue eyes, and then without replying he turned out the light and slid out of the car. It was still raining, but not so heavily now, and when Domine slid out without waiting for his assistance she didn’t bother to put up her hood to protect her head.

  The house looked bleak and uninviting, and she shivered when no lights appeared and no one came to greet them, but James Mannering seemed unperturbed, and collected her cases from the boot, and mounted the steps to the front door.

  Standing down his burden, he searched his pockets and brought out a handful of keys, one of which he inserted in the lock, and then pushing open the door he allowed her to precede him into the hall of the building. He leant across and switched on the lights, and immediately a huge chandelier overhead dispelled the gloom of the place. Instead, Domine saw that the hall was carpeted in red broadloom that spread up the staircase to one side of the entrance. Panelled walls were highly polished, and certainly there was no air of neglect here. The balustrade of the staircase curved to the upper regions of the house, and it was from this direction that there came the first sign that the place was habited. A girl came down the staircase swiftly to greet them, a girl older than Domine, probably in her middle twenties, Domine thought. She was fair and rather buxom, with fresh country cheeks, and a healthy outdoor appearance. Although it was early evening, she was still wearing jodhpurs, and Domine thought the masculine attire suited her athletic figure.

  ‘James!’ she exclaimed enthusiastically, rushing down the last few stairs to reach him, and grasping his lapels she kissed him soundly on his cheek. Domine had the feeling that the warmth of the girl’s welcome was somehow for her benefit, but she had no way of knowing whether her suspicions were correct. At any rate, the girl drew back and looking at Domine said: ‘Is this the girl?’ for all the world as though Domine was incapable of answering for herself.

  ‘Yes, Melanie,’ murmured James, turning away from her interested eyes. ‘This is Domine Grainger. Domine, this is Melanie Grant, my cousin.’

  Domine shook hands politely, but she didn’t much care for the speculative expression in Melanie’s eyes, or the way she seemed to dismiss her as being beneath contempt. After the handshake, Melanie returned her attention to her cousin, helping him off with his coat and hanging it in the hall closet. Domine removed her gaberdine and with an amused glint in his eyes, James Mannering put it in the closet too. Then Melanie said:

  ‘Come along, James, your mother has been waiting dinner for you for simply ages. She’s in the conservatory now, watering the plants, and she can’t have heard the car or she’d have been here to greet you.’

  Domine followed James Mannering and his cousin through double doors into what appeared to be a large lounge. It was depressingly decorated in subdued colours, but a warm fire flickered cheerfully in the grate. Beyond this room was the dining-room, and through the open door Domine could see a maid putting the final adjustments to the table.

  James allowed Melanie to take him through this lounge and the dining-room to where a glass-roofed conservatory could be seen. Domine saw the greenery of the plants, considered following them, and then changed her mind and waited instead in the lounge feeling rather like the skeleton at the feast.

  Never in her wildest dreams had she thought of Grey Witches as being anything other than a charming house set in charming surroundings, but now, discovering this Victorian monstrosity set in country that was bare and saturated with rain and bore no resemblance to the green stretches of moorland she had envisaged, she felt unutterably depressed and miserable. She was whole-heartedly grateful that all this could only last for six months and wondered if Great-Uncle Henry had considered her feelings at all.

  Voices could be heard coming in her direction and a moment later James Mannering reentered the room with two women. One of them was, of course, Melanie Grant, but the other woman was older with dark hair that had reddish tints in its depths and was tall, slim and still rather attractive. Dressed in a chic dress of cream Crimplene with a slim-fitting skirt, she was the epitome of style and elegance, pearls encircling her veined throat, while there were rings on her long fingers. She was such an amazing anachronism in a house like Grey Witches that Domine couldn’t prevent the gasp of pure amazement that escaped her. Happily no one seemed to notice, and Mrs. Mannering came forward to greet her, smiling in a seemingly friendly manner.

  ‘So you’re Domine, are you?’ she murmured unnecessarily, studying her intently. ‘Yes—you’re as I expected you to be.’

  Domine flushed, somehow aware that that was no compliment. ‘Well, you’re not at all as I expected,’ she exclaimed candidly, but James Mannering’s mother merely smiled in rather a complacent way, and said:

  ‘Oh, did you hear that, James? The child’s charming.’ She looked again at Domine. ‘I trust you did mean those words as a compliment,’ she murmured rather chidingly.

  Domine’s colour deepened. ‘Of—of course, Mrs. Mannering. Somehow—I—well, I thought you’d look much—much older!’

  ‘Did you now? And who gave you that idea? James?’

  ‘Oh, no! Mr. Mannering didn’t discuss your appearance at all,’ Domine disclaimed hastily, and then realized what she had said.

  ‘But he discussed me in other ways, I gather,’ murmured Mrs. Mannering, glancing speculatively at her son. ‘I wonder what he said. Are you going to tell me, Domine?’

  ‘Leave her alone, Mother,’ exclaimed James Mannering, as though bored by the trend of the conversation. ‘You haven’t asked her
what kind of a journey she’s had, or whether she’s hungry or not. I expect she is. I didn’t stop for afternoon tea on the way.’

  ‘Typically you, darling,’ replied Geraldine Mannering smoothly. ‘But all right, I’ll stop teasing you, Domine. You look rather tired, and I mustn’t be naughty, must I? Now come along, dinner’s just waiting to be served, so don’t let’s delay any longer. We can have a nice long chat after the meal.’

  The meal was good. There was soup, hot, and thick with vegetables, the way Domine liked it, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and a raspberry pie and cream to follow. To her surprise, Domine found she was hungry, and she ate heartily, ignoring the rather cut-and-thrust conversation James Mannering held with his mother. It was apparent that their relationship had always been rather a stormy one, and Domine wondered whether that was because James was like his father or perhaps because he was more like his mother than either of them realized.

  Inevitably, when dinner was over, and they retired to the lounge to have coffee, the conversation was directed towards Domine, and she was uncomfortably aware that she was the cynosure of three pairs of eyes. During the meal she had wondered what position Melanie Grant held in this household, and she had also pondered the ease with which Mrs. Mannering seemed to have adopted her role as mistress of the house. Considering her employer had only been dead for three weeks she seemed to have taken over quite completely. The maid who had served their meal, and who had later supplied them with coffee, had treated her mistress with deference, and that surprised Domine, who had imagined a quite different reaction.

  Now Mrs. Mannering’s eyes were upon her, and there was curiosity in their depths. Domine thought she must present a rather depressing picture to someone who obviously adhered very closely to the current trends of fashion. ‘Tell me,’ said Geraldine Mannering thoughtfully, ‘did Henry ever speak of Grey Witches?’

  Domine nodded. ‘Sometimes, but I’m afraid he didn’t mention any personalities.’

  Mrs. Mannering frowned. ‘And weren’t you curious? I mean—surely in the—how many years was it? Nine? Ten?’ She nodded. ‘In all that time he was responsible for you he never brought you here. Didn’t you wonder why?’

  James Mannering intervened. ‘Obviously she was curious!’ he remarked dryly. ‘But as you get to know the child you’ll realize she’s not the kind of kid to ask too many questions!’

  Domine resented the disparaging way he dismissed her as a child, but before she could say anything, Mrs. Mannering said: ‘Thank you, James, but I don’t believe you are required to answer for Domine. She has a tongue in her head. She can answer for herself.’

  James Mannering rose to his feet and going over to a side table where an array of drinks was laid out he helped himself to a whisky, and turning said: ‘You’re asking all the wrong questions!’

  Mrs. Mannering looked up. ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘Yes. Can’t you see the kid’s tired? Leave this catechism until the morning if you must discuss Henry at all. I’ve told you, she knows absolutely nothing about his affairs. She was his ward, he paid her school fees and at holiday time he took her away to Bognor, but apart from that—nothing!’

  Mrs. Mannering lay back in her chair. ‘Did he buy you those clothes?’ she asked critically.

  Domine flushed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘We must do something about your wardrobe while you’re here, then,’ said Mrs. Mannering, studying her appraisingly. ‘After all, you’re only young once, so they say.’ She sat up straight again. ‘Has James told you his plans for you?’

  ‘Not now, Mother,’ exclaimed James Mannering sharply, and a strange look passed between them before she shrugged gracefully, and said: ‘Very well. I suppose it is a little late to start discussing your future tonight.’ She turned to her niece. ‘Melanie, my dear, do you have a pair of pants the child could wear in the morning? Some jeans or something. I don’t suppose you have any trousers, do you?’ This last to Domine.

  Domine shook her head, and Melanie lifted her shoulders indifferently. ‘I suppose I can find her something,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘Why?’

  Mrs. Mannering smiled slowly. ‘Well, obviously, James will want to visit the horses while he’s here, and as riding is the best way to see the estate, I imagine he will want to take his—ward—out with him in the morning.’

  Domine’s cheeks burned, and James looked slightly sardonic. ‘Now what are you trying to achieve, Mother?’ he asked exasperatedly, looking at Melanie, who Domine noticed didn’t seem to care for the course of the conversation herself now.

  ‘Why, nothing, darling,’ Mrs. Mannering disclaimed charmingly. ‘But you can hardly neglect your duties, can you?’

  Domine opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again. She sensed that any protest on her part would be overridden by Mrs. Mannering, who seemed to be engrossed in some particular game of her own. Maybe she had a motive for offering invitations on behalf of her son, but right now Domine couldn’t see what they were, unless, as Melanie looked so distressed, it was something to do with her. She couldn’t conceivably imagine that by throwing her son and his ward together she would make Melanie jealous, did she? But no, that was ridiculous; she, Domine, was dismissed as being merely a child and therefore the only alternative, if Melanie was to join their ride, which seemed likely, was that Mrs. Mannering wanted to separate her niece and her son. It was all most disturbing, and Domine felt too tired to try and understand her jumbled impressions tonight.

  Later, she said good night to her hostess and her son, and the scowling Melanie, and followed the maid upstairs. The house, for all its ugly outward appearance, was comfortably furnished, and if the appointments were dowdy and without much imagination, then at least they were not spartan, and the whole place was centrally heated. Her bedroom, which was on the first floor, was huge, with a high ceiling and an enormous four-poster bed which did not look out of place beside a mahogany tallboy and a dressing table with so many mirrors that Domine could see herself from every conceivable angle. The adjoining bathroom was old-fashioned, too, but the plumbing was adequate, and if the steaming water that poured from the polished brass taps was tinged with rust then at least it was hot.

  She undressed, washed and cleaned her teeth, then climbed into the capacious bed. She turned out the light with the lazy-cord that hung over the bed and the room was plunged into pitch darkness. It was a trifle unnerving, being alone in such darkness, for at the convent she had shared a room with Susan and two other girls and although it had been dark there had at least been other human forms within a hand’s reach. The rain beat incessantly against the windows and she heaved a sigh, wondering with a sense of despair whether it would ever stop raining, and then, because she had lain awake so long the previous night, she found her eyelids drooping, and presently she slept.

  She was awakened by a bedside lamp being switched on, and she struggled up on her pillows confusedly to find the maid who had shown her her room the night before presenting her with a tray of tea and biscuits. She was a very young maid, and she smiled mischievously at Domine, and said: ‘Sorry if I startled you, miss, but Mrs. Mannering said to wake you at seven because you’re going riding with Mr. James, is that right?’

  Domine succeeded in maintaining a sitting position and stared at her watch. Rubbing her eyes, she smiled, and said: ‘I can hardly believe it’s that time. I seem to have just closed my eyes.’

  The maid nodded understandingly. ‘It’s because it’s still dark, miss, but it’s beginning to brighten up already, and the rain has stopped.’

  ‘Has it? Has it really?’ Domine heaved a sigh. ‘Thank goodness!’ Then she noticed some clothes strewn on the bottom of her bed. ‘What are those clothes?’

  The maid smiled. ‘It’s some trousers, miss. Miss Melanie sent them. Mrs. Mannering asked her to give you something to wear to go riding.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Domine gulped her tea and thrusting the tray aside she jumped out of bed in her pyjamas and lifted the pants that
were lying there. She held them against herself and grimaced at the maid, who was frankly giggling.

  ‘Miss Melanie’s more—more solidly built than you are, miss,’ she exclaimed, biting her lips to quell her giggles. ‘But if you pull the belt tight …’

  Domine shook her head. ‘Honestly, I think I’d rather just wear a skirt, except that that wouldn’t look very ladylike, would it?’

  ‘No, miss.’ The maid lifted the tray and turned to go, but Domine stopped her.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked, noticing for the first time how short the maid wore her clothes.

  The maid halted. ‘It’s Lily, miss,’ she said frankly.

  ‘And how old are you, Lily?’

  ‘Eighteen, miss.’

  ‘Eighteen,’ repeated Domine slowly. Lily was about her own height and build, and with a nervous linking of her fingers, she said: ‘You—you don’t happen to have an old pair of trousers I could wear, do you, Lily?’

  ‘Me?’ exclaimed Lily, then she smiled. ‘Well, yes, I suppose I do. But I’m not sure whether Mrs. Mannering would approve of your borrowing trousers from me.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense,’ cried Domine, shaking her head. ‘Heavens, you’re the first young person I’ve met since I left the convent.’

  ‘Mr. James and Miss Melanie aren’t exactly old, miss,’ murmured Lily doubtfully.

  ‘I know, but—well, they’re different, somehow,’ replied Domine. ‘Oh, please, Lily, hurry and get me something. I can’t possibly go out in these!’ She held the offending trousers against her again, and Lily nodded, dissolving into more laughter as she went.

  Later, when Domine descended the stairs she realized how well trousers suited her tall slim figure. The pants Lily had lent her were made of whipcord, and were a kind of dust-colour, while the white shirt blouse she had worn for school looked far more suitable than the sweater Melanie had lent her. She carried a thick cardigan of her own, and thought she could wear that if she felt cold. Although it was October there had been no frost as yet, and she was looking forward to seeing something of her surroundings. She had learned to ride when she was a child, before the death of her parents, and although that was many years ago she didn’t think she would have forgotten all she had learned. Besides she liked animals, and they invariably liked her.