Touch and Go (19 page)

There came a sudden sighing wind across the heath. It was the first outside thing that Sarah had noticed since they had driven off the road. They had been shut in together, just the two of them, out of the world, talking with as close an intimacy as if they had been familiar friends. Only a few hours ago, and her thoughts of him had been dark with suspicion, yet, outside all reason, she had trusted him frankly and told him what she had told to no one else. She had told him what she had not told Ran—what she would not tell Ran. She felt a little cold reaction. If she was going to talk to anyone about Lucilla, it was to Geoffrey Hildred that she should have talked. Something shut down close in her mind. She couldn't possibly talk about Lucilla to Geoffrey Hildred. The gulf which separates the generations was wide and dark between them.

The wind came again. It ruffled her hair and left a little damp upon her cheek. The window on her side was open, and there was a smell of rain in the air. She said quickly,

“I must go back.”

“All in a hurry like that?” said John Brown.

Sarah made an impatient movement.

“What's the good of talking? We don't get anywhere. I oughtn't to have come.”

“Are you sorry you came?”

“I shall be if I get the sack.”

“I'll take you back in a minute. I don't think you'll get the sack.”

“It wouldn't matter to you if I did, but it would matter damnably to me. This sort of job isn't so easy to get. I'm not trained, and I've no certificates or qualifications. I'd like to go back now if you don't mind.”

John Brown took no notice. He said,

“I wanted to talk about what we're going to do next.”

“I don't see there's anything we can do.”

“I don't—know—”

She had put away the idea of Geoffrey Hildred, but it came back insistently. Gulf or no gulf, he was the person ultimately responsible. He was Lucilla's guardian. She found herself saying,

“I suppose we could tell Mr. Hildred.”

“And what makes you suppose he doesn't know already? You haven't told me about that. Lucilla had two very narrow shaves. Hasn't anyone told Geoffrey—Ricky—you—Lucilla?”

“
I
didn't,” said Sarah. “And I'm sure Lucilla didn't. I don't know what Ricky did, but no one would say anything in front of Miss Marina. We spent one of the gloomier family evenings. Nobody uttered except Aunt Marina, and she never stopped. She talked about the boys, as she calls them. She talked a lot about Maurice. She loves him awfully. I suppose that's why she doesn't believe he's dead.”

“I suppose so.” His voice was even and noncommittal.

He began to start the car, and as they got back on to the road and went past the pillars of the east drive, Sarah found herself most unreasonably angry. She had demanded to be taken back. She was being taken back. But when she had made her demand he had taken no notice. It was only when she began to talk about Maurice Hildred that John Brown had remembered that she wanted to go home.

They stopped a couple of hundred yards from the gate, and he walked with her up the dark drive and through the shrubbery to where the path came out below the steps which led to the terrace. Neither of them said a single word until then. They stood a moment there, and Sarah's anger died. A deeply troubled feeling took its place. They were in darkness, and she could not see his face. She was afraid of what had been spoken between them. She was afraid to go in. There was a burden of fear upon the night, and upon the day that would follow it.

His hand came on her shoulder with a quiet pressure.

“Don't worry, Sarah.”

And with that he was gone.

She went up the steps and along the terrace, and in through the window which she had left ajar. The house was heavy and drowsy with sleep. Her feet were like lead as she climbed the stairs.

She got into bed and fell very deeply asleep.

CHAPTER XXII

Next day was Sunday. Breakfast was at half-past nine instead of nine o'clock, and there were sausages at one end of the table and boiled eggs at the other. Miss Marina, in a formidable black brocade and a brooch which contained the admiral's hair and her mother's neatly interlaced within a border of pale chased gold and small rose diamonds, narrated with extraordinary zest the story of the curate's egg—“And he said, ‘Excellent in parts, my lord—excellent in parts.' I suppose he was shy, poor young man. Curates used to be shy, and I suppose the egg was really not what you would call new-laid. These, I hope, are quite trustworthy. We get them from Olivia Bennett, our late Vicar's daughter, who has started a small chicken-farm on the Ledlington road. Lucilla, my dear, if you do not eat your breakfast, I cannot possibly allow you to go to church.
Either
an egg,
or
a sausage.”

Lucilla flushed, took the sausage, finished it, and then had toast and marmalade.

When they came out of the dining-room, Geoffrey Hildred put a hand on Sarah's arm.

“If I could speak to you just for a moment in my study—”

But when they were there, he walked to the window and stood looking out, whilst Sarah's guilty heart sank lower and lower. She was going to be taxed with getting out of the window and having a midnight assignation. She was going to be told that her services could be dispensed with. What an ass she had been—what an absolute and complete chump!

Geoffrey Hildred stood for a moment looking out at the mildly misty sky and the damp green of the grass and the trees. When he turned round, he was frowning and his ruddy face had an expression of concern. She thought he looked more like a farmer than ever—perhaps a farmer whose hay crop had just been spoilt by rain.

“I wanted to speak to you about Lucilla,” he said, and immediately Sarah's heart bounded up.

“Never, never,
never
again,” she said to herself. Aloud she murmured, “Yes, Mr. Hildred?”

Geoffrey Hildred's frown deepened.

“Ricky tells me that Lucilla had a very narrow escape of a bad accident yesterday.”

“Yes, she did.” Sarah was wondering which particular escape was being referred to. Her tone was perhaps a little dry.

Geoffrey Hildred said quickly,

“In fact two escapes.”

“Yes, Mr. Hildred.”

He came a little nearer.

“My dear, won't you help me out a little? I'm—very much distressed. I suppose Ricky wasn't—exaggerating?”

“I don't know what he said. Lucilla's bicycle ran away with her down Burdon Hill, and afterwards, when we were playing Devil-in-the-dark up at Holme Fallow, she nearly fell over the balustrade at the top of the stairs. She would have fallen if Mr. Brown hadn't caught her.”

“Good heavens! So Ricky said. But I can't understand it. The bicycle was new.”

“The screws that hold the brake-rods were gone.”

“Yes, yes—he said so. But I can't understand it at all—a perfectly new bicycle. What could possibly have happened to the screws?”

It was at this moment that Sarah should most undoubtedly have told Lucilla's guardian what she had already told Mr. John Brown. Lucilla's guardian was enquiring what had happened to the screws. They were in the left-hand drawer of the dressing-table in the pink bedroom. She had watched Lucilla put them there after they had fallen out of the pocket of her black cardigan and Sarah had picked them up Doubtless Uncle Geoffrey's question was a rhetorical one. He did not really expect Sarah to have any answer to it. Or did he? She rushed into a pause which had lasted a little longer than was comfortable.

“I don't know what happened. She gave us all a most horrible fright.”

“Yes—yes—” said Geoffrey Hildred. He walked to the window and back again. “Miss Trent, I am very much concerned about these two accidents. As to the second one, Ricky says she tripped on the top step. Is that correct?”

“That is Lucilla's own account, Mr. Hildred.”

“I see, I see. But when you put your torch on—would you mind telling me exactly what you saw when you put your torch on?” He was anxious enough for her answer. There were beads of sweat at his temples. His eyes looked hard into hers.

Sarah answered steadily.

“Lucilla was hanging head downwards over the balustrade. Mr. Brown had hold of her. That's what I saw when the light went on. She was hanging downwards from the knees, and he was bending right over. He managed to lift her back. She said she had tripped on the top step.”

“And where did she go over—at what level?”

“The second or third step,” said Sarah without any expression in her voice.

Geoffrey Hildred made a sudden startled movement.

“But that's not possible, Miss Trent. If she had tripped on the top step, she would have pitched down. She couldn't possibly have slid across to the balustrade as high up as the second step—it's quite impossible.”

Sarah said nothing. She knew that it was impossible, but she said nothing.

“Where was Brown?” said Geoffrey Hildred in a louder voice. There was a tinge of anger in the loudness and his florid colour had deepened.

“On the second step, by the pillar—near enough to catch her.”

“Or to push—No, no, I oughtn't to say that—there's no proof. Forget it. I'm too upset to think what I'm saying. It must have been an accident. She must have tripped—not on the top step—that's impossible—but it was dark—she didn't know where she was—and she tripped. That's the explanation. She couldn't have meant to—No, no, what am I saying? My dear, you must forgive me for having so little command of myself, but Lucilla, she means a great deal to
us
. I daresay I'm over anxious. I don't think she's been leading a very normal life. Losing her parents like that. And then Marina and myself—too old for her altogether. That's where we count on you. She wants brightening up, taking out of herself. I'd like to get her out of those black clothes. It doesn't seem right to see a young girl in black. Not colours of course, but surely she could wear grey, and in the evening white. What do you think?”

“I think it would be a very good idea.”

He looked pleased.

“Well then, my dear, I'll tell you my little plan. I want to carry you and Lucilla off to town. There's a quiet family hotel we've always stayed at—Millington's. I don't think there could be any objection to your staying there. They've known us all, well, I should say for the last fifty years. I remember Marina stayed there for the old Queen's first jubilee.”

“Golly—what a riot!” said Sarah to herself.

“What do you think?” asked Geoffrey Hildred anxiously.

What did she think? She didn't know. It would be pleasant to go shopping with Lucilla. The hotel sounded like
the
ultimate Arctic frost. There was a pringle of fear down in the depths of her. She had to say something.

She said, “I think it would be a very good thing,” and at once he was beaming with delighted kindness.

“Well, there we are—we have our little jaunt! I'll let you into a secret. I got theatre tickets yesterday—two lots—a musical show for the afternoon, and a play for the evening. And I've booked the rooms at the hotel for next Tuesday. I thought just our four selves for the evening—you, and I, and Ricky, and Lucilla—but I got six tickets for the afternoon. I thought it would please Lucilla if we invited young Darnac, and then it seemed a little discourteous to leave Mr. Brown out. I had, in fact, mentioned the project to him, but now I'm inclined to wish—but no, no, there's nothing to go upon—nothing—nothing at all. There, I won't keep you any longer—I don't want to deprive Lucilla.”

Sarah turned to go with relief, but at the door he called to her.

“Miss Trent, you won't mention those accidents—No, no, thank heaven they were not accidents really—but you won't mention them to Miss Hildred?”

“Of course not.”

She had her hand on the door knob, when his voice came again, a little hesitant.

“Miss Trent—with whom was Lucilla bicycling when the screws were missed? I don't think Ricky mentioned. Who was with her?”

“Mr. Brown,” said Sarah, and got out of the room.

CHAPTER XXIII

They all went to church, and sat in the squire's pew, a great square box furnished with red cushions and very fat hassocks. The pew faced sideways to the rest of the congregation, so that when the parson came in and they stood up they could see exactly who had come to church and who had stayed at home. Mr. John Brown sat half way down on the left of the aisle, Mr. Bertrand Darnac a little higher up. He caught Lucilla's eye, but retained an admirable gravity. Presently an old man preached about the law of kindness. And then they all came out into the October sunshine.

Lucilla hung back and talked to Bertrand. When she caught Sarah up she had a bright colour and a sparkle in her eye.

John Brown joined them in the road.

“Bertrand and I are going for a walk,” said Lucilla. “After lunch, you know—to walk it off. Roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, potatoes, Brussels sprouts, and horse-radish sauce, also apple pie—and Aunt Marina thinks you're going to die, if you don't eat it all. What are you and Sarah going to do?”

“I am going to sketch by the lower pool,” said John Brown.

“That's what I call hogging it. Anyhow Sarah doesn't sketch.”

“She can watch me if she likes,” said John Brown kindly. He looked at Sarah and his eyes crinkled at the corners. The smile in them said, “Come.”

Sarah bit her lip and said she was going to write letters.

“Which means going to sleep,” said Lucilla. “My angel darling, if you go to sleep after Yorkshire pudding and apple pie and all the rest of it, you'll be the same size as Aunt Marina before you know what's happening to you. She has written letters on Sunday afternoon for years and years and years. You'd much better go and watch Mr. Brown sketch. It's half a mile to the lower pool and uphill all the way back, which is so slimming. Ran and I, being young and active, will probably go at least a quarter of a mile farther.”