The girl in the blue dress (2 page)

In those early days, perhaps he had confided more
than he had realized to the dark-eyed child who listened so raptly to him. At
any rate, she used to come and watch him at work, on summer evenings after her
homework was done. And to her dying day she would be proud of the fact that the
first picture he ever exhibited and sold was a portrait of herself, sitting
there on the grass, in her very ordinary blue
and
white cotton dress.

Unfortunately this early success was not followed
by very many others. At least, it had not been up to now. But Beverley knew
perfectly well that many of
the best artists
had a terrible struggle at first, and she
entirely agreed with Geoffrey
that the important thing was to go on believing in oneself, and that one day
one day, success would come.

She believed in him with all' her heart and soul. Even
during the two years in London, she had continued to write encouragement to
him. But she sometimes thought that if she had been Geoffrey, she would have
given up the struggle long ago, and gone into the drapery business and been
content to paint in
her spare time.

But she had a vaguely guilty feeling that this was
rather poor-spirited of her.

Meanwhile, Geoffrey lived in a small but
picturesque and reasonably comfortable cottage on the out-skirts of the village,
and was regarded with a mixture of awe and condescension by the village folk, according
to whether they regarded painting as an accomplishment or a harmless weakness.

"One of these days, I'll have to do another
picture
of you, " Geoffrey told her, as
she sat watching him
two or three evenings after the advertisement had
come out in the "Advertiser." "You are eminently paintable. I'm
not quite sure why, because there's nothing elusive or mysterious about you.
Perhaps it's the complete reality of you. And those wide cheek-bones, of
course. Anyway, I believe you're a sort of mascot for me. I have a feeling I
might strike lucky with you again."

"Oh, Geoffrey, how I wish
you could!" She thought
it was
wonderful how he just went on, obstinately determined to impress himself upon
an indifferent world one day. "It would be marvellous if you really
started to make a living at your work."

"Artistic recognition would be even more
marvellous, " he said, standing back from his easel to regard what he had
just completed.

"Yes, of course, " she agreed quickly.
"But the other would be useful too. At least, I know that's how I feel
about my work. Though of course, that's something very different, " she
added, in case he should think she imagined dressmaking was on the same level
as real art.

"Very different, " he agreed, but without
rancour. And then, perhaps because he was genuinely interested in her affairs, he
asked, "Any replies yet from
your
advertisement?"

"No. It's a bit, disappointing, isn't it? Or
do you think the newspaper people wait until there are several replies, just to
make it worth while sending?"

"My guess is that they're trying to find a
sack big enough to take all the replies, " Geoffrey said good-humouredly.
"I only wish I could afford to have you come and make shirts and pyjamas
for me." She thought how she would have loved to do just that. Or, indeed,
anything that would link her day-to-" day life with Geoffrey. And she
wondered, for the hundredth time, if he ever felt at all as she did.

She knew that he considered he was too poor to
marry anyone, because he had told her so, years ago, when she was only about
sixteen. But that did not prevent her wondering what his reactions would be, if
and when he found artistic recognition and a good living through his painting.

When she got home, Aunt Ellen greeted her with, "Nothing
by the evening post, " and somehow she managed to make that sound as
though there never would be anything by any post.

But the next morning, patience and optimism were
rewarded at last. For when Beverley came down-stairs, Jim, the postman, was
just coming up the garden path. She saw him through the open front doorway, and
rushed to collect from his hand the large envelope, with "Northern
Counties Advertiser" stamped on the flap at the back.

Quite a large envelope, but rather thin. Still,
She tore it open eagerly, and one letter fell out.

She shook the envelope and peered inside. But, no, there
was only one reply. Out of all the people she had imagined reading her
advertisement and being favourably impressed by it, only one had thought fit to
reply.

It was a sobering thought. But even one reply was
better than none. So, trembling with eagerness, Beverley tore open the smaller
envelope and drew out a single sheet of good, thick writing paper. The address
at the top was sufficiently impressive: "Huntingford Grange, Huntingford, Nr.
Castleton."

"Dear Madam, " the letter ran, in firm, legible
handwriting, "With reference to your advertisement in this week's
'Advertiser, ' I should like to discuss with you the possibility of your doing
some work for me and my daughters.

"I see you are willing to come out daily to
work at the houses of your clients, and this would possibly be the best
arrangement here, as we are a little isolated. There would be a pleasant room
for you to work in, however, and we have an electric sewing-machine.

"The No. 4 bus from Castleton to Ebury passes
within a mile of the house, and on certain days it would be possible to collect
you by car from the bus stop. Would you kindly let me know which afternoon in
the coming week would suit you for preliminary
discussion.

"As my eldest daughter will be getting married
in the autumn, there will be a good deal of work to be done, should we come to
a mutually satisfactory arrangement. Yours truly, Viola Wane."

It was businesslike and to the point. It held out
promise of a considerable amount of most congenial work. And the cool but
courteous terms of the letter suggested to Beverley's mind a likeable employer.

"Mother, " she dashed into her mother's
room, where Aunt Ellen was just arranging breakfast on a bedside table, "Mother,
there's a perfectly lovely reply to my advertisement! Just listen to
this!" And she read the letter aloud, while her mother, and even Aunt
Ellen too, listened with the greatest attention.

"Mrs. Wayne, of Huntingford Grange?" Mrs.
Farman considered the name. "I've heard of them, of course, but I can't
"recall much about them. And yet weren't they mentioned in some connection
re
cently?"

"They don't exactly belong to the district, "
said Aunt Ellen, meaning that their ancestors were not mentioned in the local
equivalent of the Doomsday Book. "The eldest daughter got engaged at the
beginning of the year to that man who bought up so much
land round Huntingford. You remember, he was
quite a stranger, with
an odd sort of name. Franklin Something. Lyall, Lovell, no. Lowell. That was
it. Franklin Lowell. They say he's almost a millionaire, " she added
austerely.

"All the better, " declared Beverley
briskly. "I'd be delighted to work for a millionaire's future bride.
Anyway, this family ought to have a pretty generous interpretation of the
expression 'reasonable terms!' "

"It's the bride's mother you'll be working for,
" Aunt Ellen reminded her. "And they say the Waynes haven't much
money. There are three daughters, I've heard. All as pretty as pictures. But as
poor as church mice." She brought out the cliché with a sort of gloomy
relish. "You had better make sure of your money before you do too much
work. They may not be good payers."

"Have you heard that too?" enquired
Beverley, rather tartly.

"No. But it's always best to be cautious when
people are having to make a great show on little, " Aunt Ellen, declared.

"And do they have to make a great show on
little? enquired Mrs. Farman interestedly. "Well, I suppose so. If the
eldest girl is going to marry a millionaire, or near enough, they will be
wanting to make as good an appearance as they can. They wouldn't want her to
have a wedding to be ashamed of." Aunt Ellen shook her head at the
folly of it all.

"And that's why they want me, " cried
Beverley,
looking pink and gratified.
"What a lovely assignment
to have! I'll see they have a marvellous
wedding,
at least, so far as the dresses are
concerned. Oh, what
fun! It's just the sort of thing I'd adore to do.
I'll make them look like a Paris dress show, at a fifth of the cost."

"But get your money first, " Aunt Ellen
warned her. "Nonsense, Ellen, " said Mrs. Farman. "No
dress-maker can ask for her money in advance. Whoever heard of such a
thing?"

"I meant in advance of the wedding, "
retorted Aunt Ellen unmoved. "Before they've spent all they have on the
champagne and suchlike."

"I shall be perfectly businesslike, "
Beverley assured her a little loftily. "But I certainly am not going to
start by being suspicious or grasping. I shall telephone_" a glance at the
notepaper assured her that he had finished her rather hasty breakfast Beverley
went out to the callbox across the road, and as she stood there in

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to this delightful development of her
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with encouragement, "I'm putting
you through now."

An alarming series of clickings and whirrings then
took place. After which a clear, pleasant voice
said,
"Huntingford two-three. Mrs. Wayne speaking."

Trying to sound very
businesslike and experienced,
Beverley
explained her identity and her willingness to come and see Mrs. Wayne as soon
as possible.

"Then what about this afternoon?" asked
the pleasant voice. "I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to walk up from
the bus stop, which is the Crown Hotel in Donham. But it is slightly under a
mile, and a very pretty walk."

"I don't mind a bit, " Beverley assured her.
"I'll catch the two o'clock bus from here and should be at the Grange soon
after three."

"Very good. We will expect you then, "
said Mrs. Wayne.

And she rang off, leaving Beverley with the
impression that the "we" must include all the daughters. Whereupon
she immediately saw herself as the centre. of an eager circle of beautiful
girls, all waiting to be exquisitely dressed for that most picturesque and
touching of all occasions, a wedding.

It was a dressmakers' dream of bliss, Beverley
thought, and she ran back home full of happy enthusiasm.

Her mother received the news of the early meeting
with gratifying interest, and even Aunt Ellen could find nothing wrong with the
plan. So that Beverley set off to do the morning's shopping in a state of
happiness which made it difficult for her not to tell her news to everyone she
met.

She allowed herself ten minutes from her shopping
to
call in and tell Geoffrey the news. But, disappointingly,
there was no answer to her knock. She knocked again and waited a few
minutes. But then she decided that he must have gone away for the day, possibly
to Castleton, and she retraced her way home, sorry not to have seen him but
reflecting philosophically that she would have even more to tell him when they
did meet.

Not since she had set out for London on her first
job had she felt such a pleasant thrill of half-nervous excitement and
anticipation as assailed her when she
boarded
the No. 4 bus that afternoon.

To most people, of course, she would merely have
been that nice young .dressmaker, Beverley Farman, going off to do some work at
one of the big houses in the neighbourhood. But to herself she was setting out
on a new and untried venture which might yield who knew what interesting
experiences?

The drive was an attractive one, most of it over
high ground from which one had fine views across woodland and farmland, right
away to where the cold North Sea sketched a grey-blue line along
the horizon.

It was ten minutes to three when the bus set her
down at the Crown. And, just as Beverley was looking round, to see whom she
could ask for directions to Huntingford Grange, a young man got out of a car
parked on the other side of the street and came
across to her.

"Are you Miss Farman?" he enquired, in a
pleasant voice which immediately reminded her of the voice on the telephone
that morning.

"Yes, I am." Beverley smiled expectantly
at him.

"I thought you must be, since you were the
only person who got off. But you look a bit like your own niece, somehow.
Mother told me you would be elderly and precise. Will you come across the road?
I have the car here and will drive you up home."

"Thank you." Beverley accompanied him
across the street. "But, do tell me, what made you
think I would be elderly and precise?"