That Would Be a Fairy Tale

by Amanda Grange

  ‘Such clothes!’ said Mrs Murgatroyd as she popped in just before lunch. ‘No, I won’t stay, thank you, I have too much to do, but I had to look in and let you know the news. Three Daimlers have arrived so far, carrying the most elegant people imaginable. Their hats! Feathers and ribbons and goodness knows what! Cicely, you have never seen anything like it. In fact, Little Oakleigh has never seen anything like it. I am beginning to think it is a good thing that Mr Evington moved into the village after all.’ Her face suddenly took on a stricken look. ‘Oh, Cicely, my dear, I’m so sorry. How thoughtless of me. Of course, I don’t mean it’s a good thing he moved into the Manor. Any other good size house would have done. But he has brought a breath of fresh air with him. And now that he has recognised he has duties to the village, I think we may make an Oakleighan of him yet.’

  She hurried away, ostensibly to visit the butcher’s, but in reality to tell Mrs Sealyham that three Daimlers had arrived.

  Her pulses stirred by talk of the visitors, Cicely found it even more difficult than usual to concentrate on her chores, particularly as a procession of cars drove past the Lodge on their way up the drive to the Manor. But the lunch had to be made, and after that the washing had to be done.

  She went into the kitchen, where a smiling Tom was wiping his hands on his trousers.

  ‘Is Gibson back from the shops yet?’ she asked him.

  ‘Not yet. But he won’t be long,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve had a look at the range for you,’ he said, standing aside so that Cicely could see the blaze he had lit there. ‘Not giving enough hot water, Mr Gibson said, so I’ve banked it up good and proper.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ said Cicely, hearing the fire roar. ‘It is such a blessing you know what to do with the range. I am tired of taking lukewarm baths.’

  ‘There’ll be plenty of hot water by tonight,’ said Tom confidently.

  ‘Thank you, Tom,’ said Cicely.

  ‘Right, well, I’ll be off then,’ said Tom, who had already stayed beyond his hours, and he went off, whistling.

  It was not long before Gibson returned from the shops and Cicely looked over the food items as he took them out of the basket. There were sausages and bacon, fruit and vegetables, eggs and cheese, as well as a loaf of bread - everything they needed to see them through the next few days.

  ‘That will do very well, Gibson,’ said Cicely.

  The door bell rang. Cicely was annoyed as she really did not want to see anyone else at the moment, she had too much to do.

  ‘See who it is, Gibson, and if at all possible get them to come back later. I shall never get anything done today at this rate.’

  ‘Very good, miss.’

  Gibson slipped on his frock coat and went to answer the door whilst Cicely washed her hands at the sink. A moment later, Gibson returned. ‘Mr Evington, miss,’ he said.

  Suspecting he had a last-minute problem with the arrangements for the party, she knew she could not refuse to see him and so she said, ‘Show him into —’

  But at that moment, he walked into the kitchen.

  ‘I showed myself in,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to take up too much of your time.’

  ‘Thank you, Gibson,’ said Cicely. ‘You may carry on.’

  Gibson went out into the garden to pick some herbs for dinner.

  Cicely looked at Mr Evington.

  ‘I just wanted — ‘ He broke off as the range began making an ominous banging noise.

  Cicely gave an exclamation of vexation, turning to look at it. ‘The range is such a nuisance,’ she began. ‘If it isn’t one thing, it’s — ‘ But got no further, for Mr Evington had seized hold of her arm.

  ‘Get out of here,’ he said. ‘Now.’

  ‘But -’

  There was time for no more. He opened the back door and pushed her out.

  ‘What -?’ asked Cicely, as the banging grew louder, but the rest of her sentence was drowned out by the noise.

  Mr Evington did not falter. He steered her down the path, and pushed her unceremoniously out of the gate. He had just done so when there came the most almighty explosion from within the house. Cicely turned round in shock. The kitchen window had been blown out and the air was full of the tinkling sound of breaking glass.

  She turned to Mr Evington, eyes wide and questioning.

  ‘The back boiler,’ he said tersely. ‘It’s exploded.’

  ‘The back boiler exploded?’ asked Cicely, still feeling stunned. It had all happened so quickly. The explosion had been terribly loud and the breaking glass had momentarily frightened her; and Mr Evington’s man-handling, necessary though it had been, had shaken her nerves.

  ‘The fire was built up way too high,’ he said. ‘By the look of it the range was an old one. It was inevitable this would happen.’

  ‘If you hadn’t come in when you did . . . ’ said Cicely, turning to him, her face white.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he said.

  No, Cicely thought. Better not.

  ‘You’re shivering,’ he said.

  He was right. The shock had taken its toll. She felt suddenly cold.

  He took off his coat and wrapped it round her shoulders.

  ‘I’m perfectly all right,’ she said. She felt foolish for having given way to shock and did not want him to think her a coward.

  ‘Of course you are,’ he said, leading her over to the grass verge. ‘But keep this on anyway.’

  Cicely realized it would be useless to protest. And besides, the extra warmth was comforting. It wrapped her round, and so did the scent of Alex Evington. Faint but unmistakeable it clung to his jacket, a mixture of cedar after-shave and expensive cologne.

  At that minute Gibson, looking considerably shaken, emerged from behind the house.

  ‘Ah. Gibson,’ said Mr Evington, taking charge of the situation. ‘I need you to go and get help. There’s going to be a lot of cleaning up to do. Not to mention the risk from the fire.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Gibson.

  Cicely, about to object to Mr Evington giving Gibson orders, suddenly realized that he had done it in order to settle Gibson’s nerves. By giving him something useful to do, Mr Evington had taken his thoughts from the explosion and directed them into more useful channels.

  ‘Right away, sir,’ said Gibson, disappearing down the lane.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Alex asked, taking her hands and chafing them.

  ‘Yes. Just a little shaken, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s not surprising.’

  What was surprising was that, this time, his touch was not electric. It was comforting. She had a sudden longing to rest her head on his shoulder until she should have recovered from the shock. She fought against it, and in order to try and divert her thoughts, she asked, ‘You knew at once what was about to happen. Have you had a similar problem with your range?’

  ‘No.’ He settled himself more comfortably on the grass beside her, raising one leg in front of him, bent at the knee. ‘But I’ve seen boilers explode on steam ships.’

  Cicely’s interest was caught. She had heard from Alice, courtesy of local neighbourhood gossip, that Mr Evington had worked as a stoker. Here was a chance for her to learn more about him. ‘You used to work on them?’

  ‘Yes.’ He fell silent, and Cicely thought he was not going to say anything else, but then he said, ‘I worked on or around ships for much of my early life. I grew up in Liverpool, and when I was a boy it was a good way to make money.’

  ‘Is that why you resent the landed classes so?’ she asked. ‘Because your early life was hard?’ It was a bold question, but she was interested to know.

  ‘No. Not really.’

  ‘Then why.’

  He hesitated. ‘I . . . have my reasons.’

  He was not more forthcoming, and Cicely did not feel equal to questioning him further. But after a few minutes he said, ‘Even so, I was wrong to show how I felt. I haven’t hidden my dislike very well, I fear.’

  ‘Why should you?’
she asked simply.

  ‘Good manners?’ he suggested humorously.

  ‘There is that,’ said Cicely with a smile. Adding wryly, ‘But I am not entitled to complain. My own manners have hardly been a model of decorum.’

  He took her hands and she felt a sudden change inside her. His touch was no longer comforting. Instead it was stimulating.

  Before he could do anything more the villagers, roused by the explosion, started to arrive at the scene. Alice was the first.

  ‘Cicely! Goodness! What happened?’ she asked.

  ‘The back boiler,’ said Cicely. ‘It exploded.’

  ‘No! How awful.’ Alice took in the shattered window and the ragged hole that had been torn in the kitchen wall. ‘Goodness. What a mess.’

  ‘It is. A terrible mess,’ said Mr Evington. He turned back to Cicely. ‘You can’t stay here,’ he said, suddenly practical. ‘There is a gaping hole in the wall, and it will take at least a week to fix it. You will have to come and stay at the Manor.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Cicely protested. ‘I couldn’t possibly — ‘

  ‘I won’t take no for an answer,’ he said firmly. ‘There is plenty of room and the house is geared up for guests. No one would be surprised at you making one of their number and it would give you somewhere to stay until the Lodge has been repaired.’

  ‘No, I don’t think it would be proper — ‘ Cicely began again, suddenly anxious at the thought of staying beneath the same roof as Mr Evington.

  ‘Miss Babbage would be invited, too,’ he said. He turned to Alice. ‘If you and your mother would do me the honour of accepting an invitation you could keep Miss Haringay company and provide her with a chaperon, as well as, I hope, having an enjoyable time.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Alice her eyes shining, and saying as plainly as words could do, A week at the Manor, with Alex Evington? Wonderful!

  Cicely looked from one to the other of them, and then back at the ruined side of the Lodge.

  She considered her options. On the one hand, she knew that Alice would invite her to stay if she refused Mr Evington’s offer. On the other hand it would put a strain on the Babbage’s small household - which consisted of Alice, her mother, a maid of all work and a manservant - to cater for an unexpected guest. Whereas Mr Evington, as he himself had said, was already prepared for guests. And with such a large gathering there could be nothing improper about her accepting his invitation, especially as Alice and her mother were to go as well.

  The question was, could she spend a week with Mr Evington and not give way to her unruly feelings, which tempted her to travel down unexplored pathways into a whole new world whenever he was near?

  Seeing her hesitate, Alex organised some privacy for them by saying to Alice, ‘If you could retrieve Miss Haringay’s shoe?’

  Cicely looked down at her right foot. In all the confusion she had barely noticed that she had lost it when being manhandled out of the gate.

  ‘Of course,’ said Alice, glad to be of use.

  She ran off.

  ‘You need not be afraid of me,’ he said, looking down into Cicely’s eyes and seeking to reassure her. ‘If you come to the Manor you will have nothing to fear.’

  ‘I am not afraid of you,’ she said. But her voice caught in her throat.

  ‘No?’

  There was a sudden tension in the air.

  She swallowed. ‘No.’ She almost said, I am afraid of myself, but managed to stop herself just in time. But it was true, she was afraid of herself. When she was with Mr Evington she discovered parts of herself that she had not known existed. He had touched something inside her that had been laying dormant, and though it was wonderful to experience the new and scintillating feelings he awakened inside her, it was alarming as well.

  ‘Then you have no reason to refuse my invitation to stay at the Manor,’ he said.

  ‘You are very kind.’

  His mouth twitched humorously, as though kindness was not the motivation for his offer.

  Is it wise? she asked herself, before committing herself to an answer. But wise or not she had no real alternative. ‘Thank you. I accept.’

  ‘There is one thing.’ He hesitated.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If you are to be my guest, you can’t go on calling me Mr Evington.’

  She felt a shiver of apprehension. She knew what he was going to say next.

  ‘You must call me Alex.’

  There was something intimate about the notion, and she knew that it would make it harder for him to treat him with the distant manner necessary. And yet it was unavoidable.

  ‘And at the party you must call me Cicely,’ she said.

  ‘Cicely.’ His voice was soft and sultry.

  Fortunately for Cicely’s composure, at that moment Alice returned, bearing her shoe.

  ‘I’ve checked to make sure there’s no glass in it,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Cicely tried, with little success, to dismiss the memory of Alex’s voice as it had caressed her name, and slipped the shoe back on her foot.

  ‘Miss Haringay has accepted my invitation,’ said Mr Evington, standing up. ‘I hope you and your mother will do the same.’

  ‘I’m sure we will,’ said Alice, her voice filled with excitement.

  ‘Then I will expect you as soon as I see you. I will return to the Manor and tell the housekeeper to make up rooms for three more guests. Oh, and you must bring Gibson,’ he said to Cicely. ‘He, too, will need somewhere to stay. In fact I am sure he would be very useful in the coming week, as well as very welcome - that is, if you have no objection to his helping out?’

  ‘No. None.’

  He looked down the lane, to where a group of people were converging on the Lodge. ‘The local officials can take over now,’ he said.

  Cicely slipped his jacket from her shoulders as he stood up. She handed it back to him, knowing she must not detain him. He took it, swinging it over his shoulder. As he did so, Cicely’s eyes were drawn to the sight of his muscles working beneath his shirt, and she was filled with a sudden desire to feel his arms around her once again. But such a thought was madness. No good would come of such ideas, and she must banish them from her mind,

  ‘Miss Haringay,’ he said politely. ‘Miss Babbage.’ Then making the ladies a slight bow he walked away.

  Cicely’s eyes followed him down the drive - until she realized what they were doing, whereupon she forced her attention back to the pressing matter in hand. And it was pressing. She gave a deep sigh. She must now deal with the aftermath of the explosion.

  An hour later, explanations had been made and workers organized to assess the damage with a view to carrying out the repairs. She had made no mention of the fact that Tom had stoked the fire too high when asked about the cause of the explosion, she had simply blamed it on the back boiler being old. Tom had been doing his best to help, and a quiet word in private would make sure he knew the risks involved in making the fire too hot so that he would not do it again.