Mistress of Elvan Hall (9 page)

“I ... I’m sorry it happened, Francis.”

“It can’t be helped,” he said briefly.
“I
... I shouldn’t have blamed you. I realise I expected too much of you.”

She felt a stab of hurt, aware of his disappointment in her, and the hurt made the distance between them greater than ever.

Francis was regarding her searchingly, and thoughtfully.

“You’re not happy,” he said abruptly.

“I .
.. I ...
”

“No, I can see that you aren’t happy. I ... I made a mistake. I thought all this...
”
he waved his hand around, “... all this would make up for love, but I was wrong, wasn’t I, Anne?”

No material thing ever made up for the absence of love, thought Anne forlornly, as she nodded.

Francis held his head in his hands, and again she longed to comfort him, but now it was impossible. He was recognising his own mistake in marrying her instead of Caroline, and Anne felt too wretched even to feel pain.

“I’m sorry, Anne,” he said quietly, “but I’m asking you to try to make a go of it with me. We can’t turn back, my dear. We’ve tied the knot too firmly to go back.”

Anne’s cheeks flamed, knowing he was referring to the start of their marriage. There could be no question of having the marriage annulled, and divorce was also out of the question.

“Can we try to do a good job together?” Francis appealed, and she nodded wearily. He was right, there was no turning back. She was still her father’s daughter, and she must stand by her vows.

He came round to stand behind her, then bent to kiss her cheek.

“Please,” she cried, “I don’t want ... kindness.”

“Then what do you want?”

Some sort of positive emotion, she thought, her eyes darkly unhappy.

“It doesn’t matter. Anything. I’m sorry, Francis, I didn’t mean to be difficult. I ... I suppose I just want common sense.”

He said nothing more, but picked up his briefcase and left.

Anne sat still for another few minutes, then went to find Mrs. Hansett. She still had a job to do. She was still mistress of Elvan Hall.

CHAPTER SEVEN

IT seemed a long strange day to Anne, a day in which she tried hard to face up to the realities of her life. Mrs. Wyatt came downstairs looking peevish and short-tempered, but Anne didn’t feel in the mood to cope with her tantrums.

The morning was well advanced before she had time to think about her mail, which normally consisted of bills, circulars and business letters pertaining to the house. This morning, however, had brought three more letters, one from her parents, one from Graham Lord and one from Judith.

She kept Judith’s to the last, reading the news from home with a small stab of nostalgia, then she picked up Graham’s letter, which was full of cheerful news. He was going into practice with his father at Arndale, and he would welcome an opportunity to speak with her next time she came home. In the meantime he sent his regards to the lucky man who was her husband.

Lucky man, thought Anne wryly, and wondered what Francis would say if he could read the letter.

Judith’s letter was strangely unlike herself. She had taken to writing to Anne, pouring out her small worries and troubles on paper, and Anne had encouraged the child, feeling that Judith needed a sympathetic ear. But now she found Judith’s letter stilted, full of awkward little sentences. She would be coming home soon for the long holidays.

Was that what was worrying the child? wondered Anne. Perhaps she was worried about coming home. Anne frowned and remembered the slightly frightened look which had come into the girl’s eyes now and again. She had hoped it was only a temporary thing, usual in a young girl growing up when all sorts of fear and imaginations could intrude into her well-ordered life.

Now Anne began to look forward to having Judith home. At least she was happy to have her here ... or could the stilted letter mean that Judith, too, was now fighting shy of her?

Anne sighed and laid her letters aside, then looked at her notebook to see if there was anything which required her attention. Francis had asked her to see Tom Hansett regarding the hiring of some odd-job men to help with repairs to the greenhouse, and some fencing round the estate. Last week a flock of sheep had strayed on to the lawn, and had eaten up some of their more colourful flowers before being driven back out into their field. The lawn had become pitted with their small hooves and Tom Hansett had not been at all pleased. He had tried to repair the fence, but had found it a bigger job than he anticipated.

Now Anne slipped on her cardigan and made her way to the greenhouse where she knew she would probably find Tom working among some of his more exotic plants. Ever since he had watched her, admiringly, as she arranged flowers for the house, using a variety of containers, and chicken-wire secured with plasticine, or pin-holders and Oasis, he had been fascinated by how beautiful his flowers could look after Anne had completed her arrangements. It had encouraged Tom to look after his more exotic plants, and to help Anne choose the choicest blooms for indoor decoration.

Now she walked into the greenhouse with a pencil and pad in her hand, smiling at the tall genial man who was snipping suckers off a vine.

“No flowers today, Tom,” she assured him, “though I shall want plenty of blooms when the drawing room is finished.”

She remembered that it might take longer for the drawing room to be back in service than she had hoped.

“I .
.. I was sorry about the trouble, ma’am,” Tom said slowly, as though reading her mind.

“Yes, Tom, I was very careless,” she said, as evenly as she could. “Now, with regard to the repairs, could I have a complete list, and we’ll hire a firm to come and do them all at the same time.”

“Very good,” Tom told her, and began to go over everything with her, recommending a firm which could do the work.

Anne noted it all down competently, then turned to smile at Tom, saying she would put the work in hand straight away. On impulse she decided to walk back to the house via the stables, and as she neared the house she suddenly heard voices and looked round rather bewildered, until she realised she was near the back of the house where the young groom, David Mellor, was standing by an open window talking to Caroline Cook.

“I must see you, Caroline,” he was saying, in a low urgent voice.

“No.”

“But I must talk to you. Surely you can see...”

The voice faded and Anne took an uncertain step, wondering how to get back into the house without making her presence known. She liked young David Mellor and didn’t want to embarrass him unduly. Was he, perhaps, interested in Caroline?

“No!”

Anne could hear Caroline’s soft voice coming even more firmly. A moment later David had almost blundered into her, his face flushing scarlet at the sight of her.

“Oh, sorry ... I’m so sorry, Mrs. Wyatt,” he apologised.
“I
... I didn’t see you there.”

“How could you?” she smiled. “I’ve only just come.”

He looked relieved and apologised again, awkwardly: As she went on towards the kitchen door, she looked up at the morning room window and saw that it had been closed, firmly. Anne walked on into the kitchen thoughtfully. How well did David Mellor know Caroline? Probably very well. They were of an age, and both had lived near each other all their lives.

Then Anne shrugged off her speculations. She had enough to worry about without adding on David Mellor.

There was Helen, who still seemed to be infatuated by Roger Baxter, and was still determined to keep him apart from her family. Then there was Mrs. Wyatt whose natural taste had to be thwarted for the good of the old Hall. Anne’s mind switched to Judith, who seemed so nervous and uncertain of herself, and lastly there was Francis ... and Caroline Cook, whom she herself had brought into close contact with him, no doubt unwisely for the sake of all three of them.

She felt as though she were being propelled along a dangerous road by some sort of non-stop vehicle, and she had no idea how to get off, or how to stop before they were all injured by collision.

She was about to go upstairs when Caroline called to her, and Anne turned to see her standing in the open doorway of the morning room.

“Could you approve a colour I would like to use?” asked Caroline. “As you see, the original is unrecognisable, but I rather think it might have been a dark shade of green ... like this.”

She looked up at Anne, her lovely dark eyes questioning.

“Green looks beautiful,” she said slowly. “I trust your judgement, Caroline.”

The girl flushed and Anne thought she caught a sudden flash of tears in her eyes.

“I .
.. I don’t want to usurp your authority,” she said, in a low voice. “Sometimes ... sometimes I can’t help listening to my own feelings.”

“I’m sure your own feelings will be a good guide,” Anne assured her, and turned away.

It was only later, when the conversation returned to her in full clarity, that she realised Caroline might have been referring to something quite different.

That evening Francis came home late, and Anne ordered a light supper for him. Mrs. Wyatt had asked Helen to take her to see an old friend living nearby, and they hadn’t yet come home.

“It’s late for Mother,” Francis frowned, glancing at the clock. “She usually goes to bed early.”

“It will do her good to get out,” Anne told him. “She stays in far too much. It isn’t good for her to be here all the time.”

He darted a shrewd glance at her.

“What about you?” he asked. “Do you want to get out more? Shall I make time to give you a better social life?”

“No, of course not ... not at the moment,” she assured him. “I realise how busy you are, and there’s much to be done here in the house. In a month or two, though, perhaps...”

She thought of ways to take a break, and remembered her letters.

“Perhaps I could go home for a few days. I had a letter from Mother today, and one from Graham. He’s going into general practice with his father. It ... it would be nice
to
see them all again,” she finished, rather lamely.

Again it seemed as though a shutter had come over his face.

“You aren’t imprisoned here, Anne,” he told her coldly. “By all means go and visit your parents whenever you wish. And Graham,” he finished curtly. “Only I’d have supposed...
”

“Supposed what?”

“Supposed that now you are married to me, you wouldn’t be so ready to run back to see Graham Lord.”

“He’s my friend!” she cried, stung. “When we parted, we said we would always be friends. Graham ... well, he understands.”

“And I don’t!”

“Not much,” she told him honestly. “I can’t talk to you like I can to Graham.”

“Am I such an ogre?”

She eyed him thoughtfully.

“Sometimes I can’t approach you. It’s as if ... as if...
”

“There’s a barrier between us?”

She nodded.

“It keeps coming up. I ... we ...
can’t
seem to break it down.”

He said nothing, and she had never felt the barrier more real than it was now. She had no idea why she had told him all this, except that it had been some sort of appeal to change things between them. But now she saw that she had just made things worse.

That night she went once again to the dressing room, but he came up and stood looking down at her as she brushed her hair.

“I asked you to try to make a go of our marriage,” he told her flatly. “I asked you to meet me half-way, but instead you ... you’re locking yourself into your own small, world and shutting me out. You said you’d try, Anne.”

Her honey-gold hair lay soft against her pink cheeks, but she was unaware of its gleaming brightness.

“There are some things which need love ... love on both sides,” she said, in a low voice.

She had made a small floral arrangement for the bedside table, and he selected a golden yellow carnation, almost as bright as her hair. She watched while he twirled it round, then crushed the petals between his fingers.

“Very well, Anne, if that’s how you feel.”

The door closed with a quiet click which was more final than a loud bang.

Next morning Anne found that Francis had left for Carlisle before she got downstairs, and
Mrs.
Hansett eyed her searchingly and a trifle disapprovingly.

“I think the ‘trip to America has tired Mr. Francis, or something,” she remarked, clearing away his breakfast plates which he had obviously barely touched. Anne said nothing, knowing how much the housekeeper loved Francis. He had been left in her care many times as a boy, and she was fiercely protective towards him.

“Er ... will Caroline Cook be here for very long, ma’am?” Mrs. Hansett enquired, in a rather strained voice which told Anne that she had practically forced herself to ask the question. Jessie Hansett wasn’t one to give way to curiosity, or to interfere in things which didn’t concern her.

“A few weeks, then she’ll be going to London,” she said quietly.

“Hm. Perhaps the tapestries would have been best left as they were,” remarked Mrs. Hansett gruffly, and again Anne was surprised. The housekeeper had been greatly relieved to see all the restoration work at the old hall.

Anne looked at the older woman’s closed face, and knew full well that she, too, did not approve of having Caroline in the house.

“Why do you say that?” she asked bluntly, but already Mrs. Hansett was obviously deciding she had said too much.

“I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “It’s none of my business, only Mr. Francis ... she upsets him.”

Anne sat down and poured herself a cup of coffee and Mrs. Hansett hovered nearby.

“He was happy ... when he brought you home, I mean, ma’am,” she said in a small rush. “He hasn’t always been happy.”

Anne wanted to ask questions, but felt as though her tongue was tied. Had he actually been engaged to Caroline Cook, and if he had, what had happened between them?

“I’m sure he’s only a little tired at the moment, M
r
s. Hansett,” she said soothingly. “As you noticed, he needs a rest after his trip to America.”

The woman said nothing more, though Anne could feel her disapproval again, as she refused anything but toast and coffee.

“It’s to be hoped Miss Helen isn’t off
her
food,” she remarked, and picked up the coffee pot, saying she would make more fresh coffee.

Anne was glad there had been no further searching look, as she was becoming convinced about something which had only been a suspicion for several days. The thought of breakfast was repugnant to her, though she drank the coffee gratefully.

In view of the fact that all was not well with her marriage, Anne thought deeply about the possibility of a coming baby. Her throat tightened a little, thinking how wonderful such news might have been if theirs had been a normal marriage. As it was, she had no doubt Francis would be delighted at the prospect of a family, and would want to protect her and shower her with whatever love he was capable of giving her. She could become important to him for their baby’s sake.

But did she want that sort of relationship? It was almost like buying his love, love which might still belong to Caroline Cook.

Anne looked up as Helen came to join her.

“You look on top of the world,” her sister-in-law greeted her, and Anne flushed, knowing very well that her pale face and shadowed eyes told their own tale.