“Well, if I thought it would be better for the work, I would put up with Lady Constance’s disapproval. But I don’t think it would be, and it’s true that I think this is better for work.”
Her work, I thought, seems more important to her than Roderick’s presence, and that thought gave me a certain pleasure and relief.
The mystery as to how the fire in the cottage had started was the main topic of conversation in the neighbourhood for several days. Theories were put forward, and the favourite one was that a tramp had got in and set it alight. Some asked why should he want to destroy a place which was his shelter. The answer was that he lighted a pipe and started it that way; then it got out of control, so he ran off and left.
Gertie told me what was being said. She had thought—and this was the general view—that Miss Vance would have had a room at the Manor. Mr. Roderick had been heard to say that this was what she should do—at least while the place was being repaired.
“Poor Miss Fiona,” said Gertie. “Such a nice lady … a real lady. Never gave herself airs. A regular life they say she has with that old grandmother.”
“She never says …”
“Oh no. She wouldn’t … not about her own grandmother. But she’s a strange one, that Mrs. Carling.”
“I believe she has something of a reputation.”
“Oh yes. Well, she’s good with girls in trouble. Those things she grows in her garden work wonders, and she tells the future, some say. They can go to her and she can see what’s going to happen. She tells you what you should do and what will happen to you if you don’t.”
“And you believe this? Have you any proof?”
“Well, there’s some as say they have. But she’s an odd one. She does queer things. She walks about the place at night.”
“How do you know?”
Gertie was silent for a few seconds, and then said: “Well, I’ll tell you, miss. It’s that little Kitty.”
“The maid of hers?”
“Yes, miss. I’m sorry for her. Half scared out of her wits, she is. I’ve made a sort of friendship with her. She was carrying a load from the shops some little time back, and the handle of the bag broke and there was everything, all over the place. She just stood there, looking as if she was going to cry. I said to her, ‘Look here.
That’s not the end of the world, you know.’ I picked up the things for her and put them into the bag. Then I tied up the handle somehow, so she could carry it. You wouldn’t believe it, miss. You’d have thought I’d saved her life. She looked on me as though I was some sort of god. You can’t help liking that sort of thing. As for her … she’s like a little waif … never had a chance. That family of hers didn’t want her. Treated her shocking … and all because she was tuppence short. Then she went to old Mrs. Carling, and she’s like a slave to her. I took quite a fancy to poor little Kitty. I suppose it was because she thought I was so wonderful.”
I laughed. “I think you’re wise in a lot of ways, Gertie.”
“Well, thank you, miss. I had a word with Kitty. I told her she could always come to me and I’d give her a hand if there was any trouble. You should have seen her. Her face … it made me feel I was something.”
“Oh, Gertie, you are. You are indeed.”
“Oh, I’ve got my head screwed on all right, miss. I see her now and then. She always runs up to me. She tells me things. You know, they sort of come out. She thinks Miss Fiona is a saint with what she has to put up with. As for the old lady, she can act very strange sometimes, and Miss Fiona tries to keep it all looking as normal. It seems to me that Mrs. Carling does certain things to make her prophecies come true.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think it seems as though she gives things a little push, to make them go the way she wants.”
“I suppose, when you make prophecies, you should see that there is a good chance of their coming true.”
“Well, you might say that. It’s a pity Miss Fiona don’t come here to do her work. It would be better than that old cottage. Mrs. Carling was really put out about Miss Fiona not taking a room at the Manor when it was offered. She goes on and on about it till Miss Fiona nearly loses her patience. Still she goes on. ‘After all I’ve done for you,’ and that sort of thing. It really upsets Miss Fiona. Mrs. Carling says it’s asking for trouble when you don’t take the chance when it’s given you. No good will come of it. Of course, you can’t get much out of Kitty. I just piece it all together. Anyway, I don’t reckon Miss Fiona has much of a life with all that going on.”
Descent into Danger
There was a great deal of heavy rain during the next few days, and Roderick told us that the water was having an effect on some parts of the land. The fact that over the centuries it had been gradually reclaimed from the sea meant that it was soft and in places inclined to be soggy; and there were one or two places where there was a danger of subsidence.
“We’ve had this trouble before,” he said. “It follows this sort of weather. We have to keep a watchful eye on things.”
“What can you do?” I asked.
“The most important part is to keep people off it until we can bank it up or do something about it. All the digging which has been going on since the discoveries hasn’t helped, of course. When my father comes home we’ll have to talk about it. In the meantime we are putting up a few warning notices in what we feel may be vulnerable spots.”
We discussed it over dinner that evening.
“It can’t be long before your father is home,” said Lady Constance.
“No. He’ll soon be back now. There’s more damage been done to the cottage than we thought at first. I do think Miss Vance ought to come here for a while anyway. She would be so much more comfortable than with the workmen there.”
“It’s her choice,” said Lady Constance sharply. “You offered her a room, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And she wouldn’t take it. I should have thought that was an end to the matter.”
Roderick looked at his mother steadily. “I believe she won’t come because of you.”
“I? What have I to do with it?”
“You are the mistress of the house. If you show clearly that you don’t want her here, she can’t very well come, can she?”
Lady Constance caught my eye guiltily, and I felt sorry for her.
I said: “I understand Miss Vance prefers to work near the site.”
Roderick replied: “That is what she says, but I am sure, Mother, that if you invited her, she would come … if only temporarily—while the work is done.”
“Is that what you expect me to do?”
“I don’t expect it, but I should be pleased if you did.”
“I can’t see why. My wishes don’t enter into the matter.”
“But they do. Look. It is going to be very uncomfortable for Miss Vance while they are cleaning things up at the cottage. If you invited her to come here temporarily, I am sure she would agree to come.”
“But she has already refused.”
“Because she thought you did not want her. Moreover, she didn’t realize what an upheaval it was going to be. It will certainly disrupt her work.”
“Very well. I’ll have a word with her.”
“You will?” cried Roderick with obvious pleasure.
“As you feel I should and are blaming me for the woman’s being in such dire straits, I’ll have a word with her. I’ll go over to see her this afternoon.”
I was amazed, and so was Roderick. In fact, he was delighted. I was interested to see how Lady Constance basked in his approval. There was no doubt of her affection for her son. He and her husband were the two she cared about. I thought of the scrapbook and how she had kept cuttings about my mother, knowing of Charlie’s love for her, and I could guess how deeply she had suffered. Her resentment of me was completely understandable, and it was insensitive of Charlie to have brought me here. That was another reason why I should go as soon as possible. I understood Lady Constance’s coolness to Fiona. In fact, there was a good deal I was beginning to understand about Lady Constance. I was changing my attitude towards her. I could pity her: I could excuse her resentments because I knew the reason for them. She who had been so proud had been bitterly humbled: she who had determined to be strong, to rule her household and plan the best for her husband and son, was vulnerable.