The Tale of Holly How (17 page)

“I think we will look at the letters afterward,” the captain said, in a resigned tone.

The interview took a little under thirty minutes, and was followed by a tour of the schoolhouse and yard. Then Dr. Gainwell thanked them, bowed a polite farewell, climbed back into Lady Longford’s waiting phaeton, and was driven in the direction of Tidmarsh Manor. The four trustees adjourned to the upstairs sitting room, where Captain Woodcock opened a bottle of sherry and poured a glass for each. The vicar produced Dr. Gainwell’s credentials and letters and passed them around for the others to read. The captain put forward the letter that the former head teacher, Miss Crabbe, had written on Miss Nash’s behalf. There were several moments of silence as the trustees digested these.

The captain laid aside Dr. Gainwell’s papers and looked up. “Well,” he said, glancing around, “what do you say?”

“He’s certainly an impressive fellow,” the vicar said unhappily. “Presents himself very well—although I must confess that I’m not entirely happy with his views on discipline. Rather more of a spare-the-rod-spoil-the-child man than I think absolutely necessary, for our Sawrey children, at least.”

“Perhaps it’s because of his missionary work,” the doctor said with a dry cough. “Must have been a difficult challenge, teaching natives in those far-flung places. One might find oneself more eager to use the rod in such a situation. And the letters certainly provide an extraordinary endorsement.” He turned to Will. “What do you say, Heelis?”

“Odd that he didn’t talk more about his travels and experiences,” Will replied thoughtfully. The vicar was right: Lady Longford’s candidate had made a positive presentation, although Will was puzzled by some of his omissions. He seemed to have little to say about his years at Oxford, for instance, even when given the opportunity to do so. However, as far as Will was concerned, the matter still stood exactly as it had before the interview began, so there wasn’t any use in debating the finer points of Gainwell’s performance.

“I heard nothing to change my mind,” he said flatly. “Margaret Nash has taught in this school for nearly a decade, and is praised by everyone as a superior teacher. I move that we ask her to accept the position of head teacher forthwith.”

“I shall second that,” said the vicar promptly, in a tone of great relief. “Miss Nash always has the interests of her students at heart, and disciplines with love, as well as firmness.”

“And I agree,” the doctor said. “Gainwell might do very well, but Miss Nash will do better.”

“Well, then, I’ll make it unanimous,” the captain said, and lifted his sherry glass. “Gentlemen, to Miss Nash.”

“Miss Nash, indeed,” said the vicar happily, and they drank. When they set their glasses down again, however, he said in a more apprehensive voice, “Now that it is decided, I suppose we must settle on who is to tell her ladyship—and Miss Nash, of course—of our decision. The sooner, the better, too.” He coughed delicately. “If I may, I will remind us that I approached Lady Longford this morning on the matter, and was soundly set down. I should very much prefer it if someone else would undertake the task of telling her.”

The doctor lifted both hands. “Not I, gentlemen. Her ladyship is my patient. I must deal with her on a professional basis.”

The captain reached into his pocket. “Well, then,” he said with a grin at Will, “it appears to be between you and me, Heelis.” He took out a coin.

“But she’s my client,” Will protested. “I have to work with her professionally, too.”

The captain ignored him. “Heads or tails, Will?”

“Heads,” Will said with a sigh. The captain tossed and held out the coin for Vicar Sackett’s examination.

“Tails,” the vicar announced, with a sympathetic look at Will. “I’m afraid you’ve lost, Mr. Heelis.”

Will scowled. “The devil,” he said. “Begging your pardon, Vicar,” he added.

The vicar sighed. “I don’t quarrel with your description, my boy.” He paused. “It will give you an opportunity to see the girl, though. She was doing lessons this morning, and I missed her. Ask to see her, and tell me how she is.”

Will nodded. He was also curious about the welfare of Lady Longford’s granddaughter, Caroline, not only because his firm had handled the situation, but because he had been a friend of Caroline’s father, Bruce. Will had gone to meet Caroline when she got off the ship at Liverpool and brought her to Tidmarsh Manor. She had been a quiet, serious youngster, not frightened, as some would have been, but watchful and observant. It would be good to see how she’d fared in the three months since she’d arrived.

The vicar took his hat off the rack. “Well, then, if we’ve finished our business, I must be on my way.”

“I’d like to suggest that Will first convey our offer to Miss Nash this afternoon,” the captain said, as the four of them started down the stairs. “I don’t for a minute think there’s any truth to the rumor about her leaving. But it would be just as well to have her ‘yes’ firmly in hand before we say ‘no’ to Dr. Gainwell.”

“An excellent suggestion,” exclaimed the vicar. He bade them goodbye, the doctor went to fetch his gig, and after a few moments, Will and the captain went out to the stable together. As they left the hotel, a seedy-looking old man in a dark shirt, brown corduroy trousers, and dirty canvas jerkin shuffled out of the bar. He caught up to them as they stood beside the captain’s motorcar, talking.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n Woodcock,” he said in a low, gritty voice. “I got something I think you’d be interested in hearin’.”

“Hullo, Charlie,” said the captain with a grin. “Haven’t seen you around for a while.”

“Been out of pocket,” said Charlie evasively, tipping back his cap with his thumb.

“In jail, eh? Somebody caught you borrowing a chicken, maybe?”

“Mappen.” Charlie glanced over his shoulder as if he did not want to be overheard. Seeing nothing but a boy carrying a bucket of water, he turned to frown suspiciously at Will. “Who’s this?”

“A friend,” the captain said. “He’s all right. What do you have that might interest me?”

Charlie leaned close, and Will could smell the fruity rankness of onions, ale, and tobacco on his breath. “I ’member how you feel ’bout badger-baiting, Cap’n. Thought you might like to know there’s a session planned for tomorrow night, since it’s known to be a night you reg’lar go to Kendal.” He winked. “Thought there might be a lit’le something in it for me, if I was to tell you where and when.”

At the mention of badger-baiting, Will saw the captain’s jaw tighten, and was not surprised. On the surface, the twin Sawreys looked to be cozy hamlets where disagreeable things rarely happened and there was nothing more ominous in the offing than an evening of darts and drinking at the local pub. Near and Far Sawrey had their dark side, however, as both the solicitor and the Justice of the Peace well knew. After darkness fell, men often gathered in sheds and barns, where unsavory activities took place. Cock-fighting, for instance, and setting dogs on rats, and badger-baiting—all accompanied by a goodly amount of ale-drinking, and frequent fisticuffs, and more cash wagered on the outcome than the participants could afford to lose.

Captain Woodcock, as Justice of the Peace, had done what he could to stop these practices. It wasn’t just a matter of cruelty to animals, of course, although there was certainly that. Animal baiting of any kind had been against the law for seventy years, but stamping it out completely was difficult, for there was not much in the way of entertainment in the villages, and some of the men considered the baitings their just reward for a hard week’s work. The major problem, as the captain saw it, was the betting that went on at these events. Every farthing wagered and lost was a farthing that would not go to buy milk or shoes for a child, or bread for a family’s supper. Will shared the captain’s concern. Wives and children had it hard enough without seeing the family’s meager livelihood gambled away, whilst the frustrations of loss in the cock-pit often led to brutal violence at home.

The captain regarded the man. “I daresay there could be something in it for you, old fellow,” he said quietly. “Where’s it to be?”

Charlie shifted his plug of tobacco from one cheek to the other and a crafty look came over his face. “How much?”

“Tomorrow night, is it?” the captain inquired casually, pulling on his motoring gloves. “Well, then, I suggest that we meet at my house and you take me to this place. That’s when you’ll get your reward.”

Charlie put on a crestfallen look. “Don’t trust me, then?”

The captain shrugged and reached for his goggles, lying on the motorcar’s seat. “You know me for a careful man, Charlie. A half-hour after dark, shall we say? Come round to my side entrance. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I’ll think on’t,” Charlie said. He turned, stuck his hands in his pockets, and sauntered off, whistling carelessly.

When he was gone, Will turned to his friend. “Sounds like it might be an exciting evening,” he said. “You can count me in on the action.”

The captain grinned. “I thought you’d be interested. Shall we invite the constable, as well? A little more muscle probably won’t go amiss—although we won’t mention the plan to Charlie. Might frighten him off.” He bent over and inserted the crank into the front of the engine. “Stand well back,” he cautioned, and gave the crank a hard turn. The engine whirred, grumbled, and stopped. He turned the crank hard again, and this time the motorcar, noisily, sprang to life. Beside it, Will’s horse gave a shrill neigh and shied away, and Will went to grab the bridle.

“Thanks again, Will,” the captain shouted over the noise. “Give my regards to Miss Nash. And good luck with Lady Longford.” He pulled down his goggles, seated his cap firmly on his head, and drove out of the stable. A moment later, Will got onto his horse and rode off.

Neither of the two men noticed the slight figure of the boy, who had put down his bucket and was standing in the corner of the stable, listening intently.

22

Mr. Heelis Delivers the News

Margaret Nash was upstairs, taking blouses and skirts out of the closet and folding them carefully into her leather valise. There had been a rain shower earlier in the afternoon, and the air was hot and sultry. Margaret’s hair was plastered to her forehead, her skirt had dust on it, and she felt sticky all over. But it would soon be teatime, and she wanted to get the largest part of the packing done this afternoon, so she and Annie could leave early the next morning.

Her sister appeared at the bedroom door, a look of consternation on her thin face. “Maggie,” she said uneasily. “Mr. Heelis is here. I’ve put him in the parlor.”

“Oh, dear,” Margaret said, her stomach turning suddenly queasy. She looked down at herself. “I shall have to change and—” She ran to the mirror and picked up a comb. “And my hair, oh dear! And tea. Oh, yes, of course, Annie, go put the kettle on for—”

“He said he hadn’t time to stop for tea, Maggie. I think he’s in a bit of a hurry. P’rhaps you’d better just go down.” Annie gave her a long look, and Margaret read in her sister’s eyes the sick misgiving she herself felt. “Would you like me to come with you?” Annie asked, and laughed a little. “Whatever happens, I can at least hold your hand.”

Margaret straightened and pulled in her breath. There was no point in flying into hysterics. The world wouldn’t end just because a highly qualified man who had the support of the wealthiest woman in the district had been appointed over her. She was an experienced teacher, and if need be, she would look for another position. She wouldn’t find a school she loved as much as Sawrey School, and she and Annie would never in all their lives have another cottage that suited them as perfectly as this one. But life would go on—it always did.

“No, thank you, dear,” she said, and managed a bleak smile. “I would rather face this on my own. But I shouldn’t be sorry to have a cup of tea after he’s gone. You can hold my hand then. I’m sure I’ll need it.”

Annie, usually so self-composed, burst into tears and fled in the direction of the kitchen. Margaret went toward the parlor, rolling down her sleeves and brushing cobwebs from her skirt. Mr. Heelis—a good-looking man, well built, with thick brown hair and a mild expression—was seated on the sofa, his long legs uncomfortably crossed, his hat on his knees. He scrambled to his feet when he saw her.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Heelis,” Margaret said, with as much calm as she could muster. She smoothed her hair with her hand. “I’ve been packing, and I’m afraid that I’m not entirely presentable.”

“Packing?” Mr. Heelis asked nervously. “You’re not going away, I hope.”

The annual holiday had been the subject of much discussion between the sisters. Because of the expenses of Annie’s illness, they had planned to spend the summer in Sawrey. But after Bertha Stubbs had brought the news about Dr. Gainwell, they had decided to take a few days at the seaside. If nothing else, it would give them both some variety in their routine and a respite from the unending village gossip.

“Yes, we are,” Margaret said. She hesitated, not wanting to share all this with Mr. Heelis, who would certainly not be interested in these private details. “My sister reports that you’ve already said no to tea, but—”

“That’s right,” Mr. Heelis said, hat in hand. Margaret’s heart sank when she saw his anxious expression. She knew him to be a kind man, and it would pain him to give her bad news. He swallowed. “I’m sorry to be abrupt, but I have another errand this afternoon. I’ve come on behalf of the trustees to—”

“Please,” Margaret said, taking the chair beside the sofa. “Won’t you sit down?” Her knees felt shaky, and this was not a conversation she wanted to have standing up.

“Thank you.” Mr. Heelis sat back down, replacing his hat on his knees. “I’ve come, Miss Nash, to tell you that the trustees—”

There was a sudden crash, and a loud shriek.

“Annie?” Margaret cried, starting to her feet in a panic. “Annie? Are you all right?” The only answer was a low moan, and Margaret ran out of the parlor and straight to the kitchen, Mr. Heelis following close behind her.

“Oh, Annie,” Margaret cried, standing aghast at the door. It was apparent in an instant that her sister had dropped the hot kettle, spilling boiling water across the table and splashing it onto the floor. “Are you hurt?”

“N . . . no,” Annie managed. “Not much, anyway. Only my . . . my arm.” She held out her left arm. There was a large patch of red skin and the scalded flesh was already beginning to blister.

“Cold water,” said Mr. Heelis authoritatively, “and bicarbonate of soda, in a paste.” He jammed his hat onto his head. “I saw Dr. Butters’s horse in front of the Arms as I came along. I’m sure he’s still there—I’ll go and fetch him.”

“Oh, would you, please?” Margaret asked gratefully, and Mr. Heelis disappeared through the kitchen door. “Put your arm in the sink, Annie, dear. I’ll pour some cold water over it. Where’s the bicarbonate?”

“What did he say, Maggie?” Annie looked up at her, her eyes blurry with tears. “About the job, I mean.”

“He didn’t,” Margaret said. “He was just starting to give me the bad news when—”

The door was flung open.

“Miss Nash,” Mr. Heelis said urgently, “what I came to tell you was that the trustees very much want you to be our next head teacher. I hope you and your sister are not packing to leave Sawrey, and that you’re not planning to give up your cottage. Now, I’m off to fetch the doctor. You can give me your answer when I return.”

And the door slammed shut again.

Margaret stared after him, dazed. “Did you . . . did you hear what I just heard, Annie?”

“I think so,” Annie said, her eyes large and glowing. “Oh, Maggie, this is wonderful! Too wonderful for words!”

And burn or no, she flung her arms around her sister with a glad cry.

At Tidmarsh Manor, Lady Longford was taking tea in the library, with the windows closed and the red brocade draperies pulled against the afternoon heat. She sat stiffly in the gloom, feeling very unwell and even crosser than usual. Dudley, her ancient spaniel, lay on the floor beside a potted palm, no doubt feeling as out of sorts as she did. The dog, who was named for her late husband, always seemed to wear an accusing look, exactly as Lord Longford had done in his later years. Miss Martine, silent and dour-visaged, presided over the tea table. Dr. Gainwell had not come down yet. Neither had Caroline, and Lady Longford wondered where she was.

Emily opened the door and announced, in her girlish voice, “Mr. Heelis to see you, your ladyship.”

“Ah, Mr. Heelis,” Lady Longford said, replacing her teacup in its saucer. The firm of Heelis and Heelis had been the Longfords’ solicitors for three decades, and whilst she still preferred the formality of the old Mr. Heelis, the young Mr. Heelis (his nephew) was an acceptable substitute. “You have come to convey the trustees’ approval of Dr. Gainwell’s new position, I suppose,” she added.

“Lemon or sugar?” inquired Miss Martine in a whisper, her hand poised over a filled cup.

“I don’t believe I’ll have tea, thank you,” Mr. Heelis replied. “Hello, Dudley,” he said, bending over to pet the old spaniel. He sat down next to Lady Longford. “I hope that your ladyship is well.”

“Not very,” she said, with a peevish cough, “as you can no doubt see.” She picked up her cup, felt her hand tremble, and put it down again. “But you did not come to inquire about my health, I daresay.”

Mr. Heelis cast an inquiring glance around the room. “The vicar particularly wanted me to ask after Miss Caroline. Will she be down shortly?”

“I assume so,” Lady Longford replied, with a slight smile. She was not surprised that Mr. Heelis should ask to see her granddaughter, for he and the vicar were responsible for the girl’s coming to Tidmarsh Manor—and, to tell the truth, Lady Longford now found herself grateful for their persistence. Miss Martine was busily searching for a suitable school for Caroline, but the longer Lady Longford observed the girl, the more she began to think that perhaps she should keep her at the Manor, at least for a year or two. Caroline was a great deal like her father, after all, and something had begun to stir in her heart toward—

“The girl is not here.” Miss Martine cleared her throat. “I am sorry to report that she is not to be found.”

“Not to be—” Lady Longford stopped, not sure that she had heard correctly.

“Not to be found?” Mr. Heelis echoed, looking from one of them to the other. “I don’t understand.”

“As I said,” Miss Martine returned, in her meek, docile voice, “Caroline is not to be found. She was told to go to her room after lunch, and she obviously disobeyed.” She pursed her lips and looked penitently at Lady Longford. “Please forgive me for not telling your ladyship immediately. But you were . . . indisposed, and every effort is being made to find her. The house has already been thoroughly searched, and Beever and Dr. Gainwell have gone to look for her in the woods beyond the garden.”

Lady Longford pulled in her breath. “I should have been told,” she said sharply. “It was wrong of you to keep this from me.”

“I could only do what I felt was right,” Miss Martine said sadly. “I know how deeply you are troubled by Caroline’s willful disobedience, and—”

“Disobedience?” Mr. Heelis asked sharply. “That is not a word I would use to describe the girl, Miss Martine. I was with her for several days when she first arrived at Liverpool, you know. I would call her inquisitive, yes. And intelligent and resourceful. But hardly disobedient.”

“I trust that your ladyship will not trouble yourself,” Miss Martine went on calmly, as if Mr. Heelis had not spoken. “The girl has no doubt just wandered off, and will shortly be found.”

Not worry! Lady Longford thought with alarm of the bleak, windy fell, and the wild wood that rose up behind Tidmarsh Manor and spilt over the top of Claife Heights and all the way down to Lake Windermere. She herself had been lost in that wood once, when she had first come to live at Tidmarsh Manor. She had counted herself lucky when she found her way back.

“But the fells are dangerous!” Mr. Heelis protested. “And it’s easy to lose one’s way in the woods. What’s more, it’s been raining this afternoon. Is Caroline in the habit of going outside the garden?”

“She is in the habit,” Miss Martine said thinly, “of disobeying. I beg you, Mr. Heelis, please do not concern yourself.”

Lady Longford, now feeling much worse than before, shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I’m sure that the girl will be found and brought in before you leave,” she said, trying to make the best of things. “Now, tell me what you and the other trustees thought of Dr. Gainwell.”

As an experienced solicitor, Will Heelis was quite capable of tact and diplomacy, and under usual circumstances, would no doubt have given his reply the most careful consideration. At the moment, however, he was preoccupied, as if he were thinking of the girl. He scarcely seemed to be paying attention when he said, in an offhand tone, “Oh, that business. The trustees have settled the matter. They have offered the position to Miss Nash, and she has accepted.”

“To . . . Miss Nash?” Lady Longford asked incredulously.

“You must be joking!” Miss Martine cried, jumping to her feet and knocking over the pitcher of milk. Dudley hoisted himself up and hurried over to lick the puddle on the carpet.

Mr. Heelis looked up, startled. “Forgive me,” he said. “I was thinking of Caroline, or I should not have answered so carelessly.” He took a deep breath. “The trustees were of course impressed by Dr. Gainwell’s outstanding educational preparation and experience. He is quite a . . . quite a remarkable man. After extensive debate, however, we concluded that Miss Nash is much more suited to this rural school. She has learnt to work within the school’s limited resources, she knows the children’s abilities, and—”

“But
I
am the one who proposed him!” Lady Longford cried, clenching her fists in angry frustration. How
dare
those stupid, stubborn trustees go against her wishes! She gathered together all her strength and spoke in a low, steely voice. “After all Lord Longford and I have done for this village, it is inconceivable that the trustees should—”

“I quite understand your ladyship’s feelings,” Mr. Heelis interrupted firmly, getting to his feet. “However, the decision has been made, and in the end, I rather think Dr. Gainwell will be glad. He surely has other, more challenging opportunities than our little village school. When I see him, I shall offer the trustees’ best wishes and their heartfelt gratitude for his—”

“Oh, rubbish,” Lady Longford said wearily. She waved her hand. “I don’t want to hear any more of this, Heelis. You can tell the trustees that I am angry and disappointed. They needn’t look to me for any more support.” On his way back to the potted palm, Dudley glanced accusingly at her, as if to remind her that she had not been as supportive as she might.

“I will convey your feelings,” Mr. Heelis said gravely. “I know the trustees will be distressed to hear that they have disappointed you.”

“But, Lady Longford!” Miss Martine protested, half in tears. “Surely you aren’t going to give in so easily. Surely you—”