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A Happy Meeting
Betty Neels
Mills & Boon presents the complete Betty Neels collection. Timeless tales of heart-warming romance by one of the world’s best-loved romance authors.Would he ever notice her?All alone in the world, Cressida had little choice but to accept Aldrik van der Linus’s help. But while he seemed happy to fix her up with a job, and even to try to help with her other problems, she couldn’t help but wonder what he would do if she presented him with the most serious problem of all: unrequited love!




A Happy Meeting
Betty Neels


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE
THE day had been warm for early October but now the sun was low on the horizon and there was a chilly breeze. The quiet country road running between the trees was full of shadows; in an hour or so it would be dusk. The girl sitting on the grass verge shivered a little and put her arm around the lean, unkempt animal beside her: a half-grown dog in a deplorable condition, the rope which had held him fast to a tree still dangling from his scraggy neck. It was when she had found him not an hour earlier and struggled to free him that he had knocked her down. She had fallen awkwardly and twisted her ankle, and getting herself as far as the road had been a nightmare that she was relieved to have done with. Now she sat, more or less patiently, hoping for help. Two cars had gone past since she had dragged herself and the dog to the road but although she had waved and shouted neither of them had stopped. She studied her ankle in the dimming light; it had swollen alarmingly and she hadn’t been able to get her shoe off; there was nothing to do but wait for help, although, since the road was not much more than a country lane connecting two villages, there didn’t seem much chance of that before early morning when the farm tractors would begin their work.
‘We may have to spend the night,’ she told the animal beside her, for the sound of her voice was a comfort of sorts, ‘but I’ll look after you, although I’m not sure how.’ The animal cowered closer; she could feel its ribs against her side, and she gave it a soothing pat. ‘It’s nice to have company, anyway,’ she assured him.
Dusk had fallen when she heard a car coming and presently its headlights swept over them as it passed.
‘That’s that,’ said the girl. ‘You can’t blame anyone for not stopping…’
However, the car was coming back, reversing slowly until it was level with them and then stopping. The man who got out appeared to her nervous eyes to be a giant and she felt a distinct desire to get up and run, only she couldn’t. He came towards her slowly and somehow when he spoke his voice was reassuringly quiet and calm.
‘Can I help?’ he asked, and his voice was kind too. ‘You’re hurt?’
He stood for a moment looking down at her; a small girl with no looks, too thin, but even in the deepening dusk her eyes were beautiful.
‘Well, not really hurt, but I twisted my ankle and I can’t walk.’ She studied him carefully and liked what she saw. This was no young man out for an evening’s ride but a soberly clad man past his first youth, his pale hair silvered at the temples. He was good-looking too, though that did not matter. ‘I would be very grateful for a lift as far as Minton Cracknell; it’s only a couple of miles along the road. I live there.’
‘Of course, but may I look at your ankle first? I’m a doctor and it looks as though it needs attention.’
He squatted down beside her, and, when the dog growled, put out a large hand for the beast to sniff. ‘We must have that shoe off,’ he told her, and got out a pocket knife and cut the laces.
‘I’m going to hurt you,’ he said, and did despite his gentleness. ‘Good girl. Catch your breath while I get some bandage from the car.’
He was gone and back again before she had had the time to wipe away the tears on her cheeks; she hadn’t said a word while the shoe was coming off but she hadn’t been able to stop the tears. He handed her a handkerchief without a word and said cheerfully, ‘It will feel much better once I’ve strapped it up. You will have to get it X-rayed tomorrow and rest it for a day or two.’
He got to his feet. ‘The dog is yours?’ he asked.
‘Well, no—I—I heard him barking as I came along the road and he’d been tied to a tree and left to starve; he accidentally tripped me up as I was freeing him…’
‘Poor beast, but lucky for him that you heard him. Will you adopt him?’
He was talking idly, giving her time to pull herself together.
‘Well, I don’t think I can—my stepmother doesn’t like dogs—but I can give him a bed and a meal and see if there’s anyone in the village…’
‘Well, let’s get you home,’ he said kindly, and scooped her up with a word to the dog, who needed no encouragement but climbed into the back of the car after the girl had been settled in the front seat.
‘He’ll make an awful mess,’ she said apologetically, ‘and it’s a Bentley, isn’t it?’
The man looked amused. ‘I don’t suppose there will be any lasting damage,’ he observed. ‘Where do you live exactly?’
‘If you go through the village it’s the house on the right behind a high brick wall. It’s called the Old Rectory. My father inherited it from his father; it’s been in the family for years…’
She glanced at his profile. ‘You’ve been very kind.’
‘I’m glad that I happened to pass by, Miss…?’
‘Preece, Cressida Preece.’ She added shyly, ‘You’re not English, are you?’
‘Dutch. Van der Linus—Aldrik van der Linus.’
She said politely, ‘Your English is quite perfect. Oh, here’s the village.’
The narrow main street of the little place was empty; it was the hour of high tea and lights shone from windows as they passed the small houses lining it.
‘It’s just along here, past the church…’
The houses had petered out and the car’s lights touched on the brick wall and an open gate. The drive was short, ending in a small sweep before a nice old house, not over large but solidly built. The man got out but before he reached the door it was opened by a severe-looking woman with iron-grey hair drawn back into a bun. She had a long thin face and sharp, very dark eyes, and she was dressed in a shabby dress under a white apron.
She looked at the man with a belligerence which he ignored.
‘I have brought Miss Preece home,’ he told her. ‘She has damaged her ankle. If you will tell me where her room is, I will carry her indoors. I think there is no lasting damage but she should rest it for a few days.’
The woman didn’t answer him but brushed past him and out to the car.
‘Miss Cressida, what has happened? Are you hurt? You must get to your bed…’
The girl spoke matter-of-factly, ‘Moggy, dear, I’m quite all right, just sprained an ankle. Mother’s not back?’ There was a hint of anxiety in her voice, and the man, who had come to stand by the car, frowned.
‘No, thank the lord. We’ll get you indoors.’ Moggy heard a faint growl from the back seat and exclaimed ‘What’s that—an animal…?’
‘A dog, Moggy. I found him tied to a tree. We’ll have to hide him tonight and tomorrow I’ll go to the village and try and find a home for him.’ Cressida undid her seatbelt. ‘He must have a meal, he’s starved.’
‘She’ll not allow it. We’ll get you to your room and I’ll feed him and take him down to old Mr Fellows and ask if he will keep the beast in his shed…’
‘It might be advisable to get Miss Preece up to her bed,’ said the man gently, ‘and since I gather the dog is not welcome here I’ll take him with me. I’m going in to Yeovil; there’s a good vet there.’
‘A vet?’ said Cressida sharply. ‘He’s not to be put to sleep…’
‘Certainly not. And now, if I may, I’ll carry you indoors and perhaps when we have you settled this animal might be given a small meal.’ And at her look of doubt, ‘I give you my word that he’ll be properly looked after.’ He had spoken quietly but Moggy stood back without a word and allowed him to lift Cressida from the car and carry her into the house.
‘Up the stairs,’ she told him gruffly, ‘and down that passage beyond the landing.’
He went up the wide oak staircase unhurriedly, carrying Cressida with no effort, and waited while Moggy went ahead of them and opened a door at the end of the passage.
The room was small and plainly furnished and Dr Van der Linus frowned again, for it seemed to him that it was a room suitable to a servant, not the daughter of the house. He laid her gently on the bed and stooped to take a look at the ankle.
‘I suggest that you take a couple of paracetamol before you settle for the night,’ he observed, ‘and be sure and get your doctor to come and look at it in the morning. He may wish to re-strap it and give you instructions as to treatment. You will need to keep off your feet for a few days but he will do what is necessary.’ He stood looking down at her. ‘Have you paracetamol? Take two as soon as possible with a drink.’
He took her hand in his large one. ‘A most unfortunate accident, but you will be quite all right again very shortly. And don’t worry about the dog, I’ll see that it comes to no harm. Goodbye, Miss Preece.’
She didn’t want him to go; a sensible girl, inured to accepting what life had to offer her, she wished very much that he would stay. But that, of course, was impossible; he was a complete stranger who had happened to turn up just when he was most needed. Then she thanked him in a polite voice tight with pain and watched his vast back go through the door with regret. At least the dog would be safe and her stepmother had been away from home. She comforted herself with that.
Dr van der Linus trod slowly down the staircase with Moggy leading the way. In the hall he stood still. ‘You will look after Miss Preece? She is in a good deal of pain, but get her into bed with a warm drink and the paracetamol and she should sleep. Her own doctor will prescribe what he thinks fit.’ He smiled down at the severe face. ‘Could I bother you for some water for the dog, and perhaps a slice of bread?’ And at her nod, ‘May I know your name?’
‘Mogford—Miss, but Miss Cressy always calls me Moggy, since she was knee-high.’ She went ahead of him. ‘I’ve some soup on the stove; perhaps a drop of that would do the beast some good, then I’ll go and see to Miss Cressy.’
She led the way into the kitchen and poured soup into a bowl and broke some bread into it. ‘You won’t be long?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Mrs Preece doesn’t hold with animals. It’s a mercy that she’s out… there’ll be a fuss enough over Miss Cressy.’
‘Yes. I’m sure your mistress will be upset,’ observed Dr van der Linus smoothly.
‘Upset? Oh, she’ll be upset, all right.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘She’ll be back in twenty minutes or so, you’d best hurry.’
Dr van der Linus’s eyebrows rose but all he said was, ‘I’ll be very quick. Shall I leave the bowl behind a bush for you to collect later?’
His companion nodded. ‘Thank you for your trouble. You’ve been most kind.’
She shut the front door upon him and he went to the car, let the dog out while it ate and drank hungrily and then ushered it back in. He had driven a couple of miles and was almost at Templecombe when a car flashed past him. There was a woman driving. Probably Mrs Preece, he reflected as he turned off the road to take the short cut to Yeovil and the vet.
That gentleman, roused from his comfortable chair by the fire, peered at the dog standing dejectedly on the end of its rope. ‘My dear Aldrik, what on earth have you here?’
‘A dog, John. I have acquired him from his rescuer who is unable to offer food and shelter. Found tied to a tree on the other side of Minton Cracknell.’
‘Want me to have a look? He’s in pretty poor shape.’ He patted the dog’s matted head. ‘I didn’t know you were over here. Staying with Lady Merrill? You must come and dine one evening before you go back.’
He led the way through the house and out again into a yard at the back to his surgery. ‘How is the old lady?’
‘In splendid form. Her years sit lightly on her.’ He heaved the reluctant dog on to the examination table, gentling him with a steady hand.
‘Over here on holiday or doing some work?’
‘Oh, a little of both. I’ve had a week in Edinburgh; I’m going on to Bristol to give a series of lectures and then back to London before I go home.’
‘Well, dine with us before you leave. Molly will be disappointed if you don’t. How about one evening next week? Any evening, take pot luck.’
‘I should like that. May I give you a ring?’
The vet was bending over the dog. ‘He hasn’t anything broken as far as I can see. Half starved—more than half—and ill-treated—look at these sores. Do you want me to get him fit, or…?’
‘Get him fit, will you? I promised his rescuer; a dab of a girl with huge brown eyes.’
John looked up. ‘You say he was found near Minton Cracknell? That would be Cressida Preece. She brought me a cat a month or two ago—in a bad way, paid to have her cured of burns, quite nasty ones as a result of some lout tying a squib to her tail. She’s still paying me, a bit at a time.’
‘And yet she lives in a pleasant house…?’
‘Yes but I fancy her life isn’t as pleasant. Her father died some months ago; she lives with her stepmother. Unfortunately he left everything to her under the impression, one presumes, that she would provide for his daughter.’
Dr van der Linus stroked the trembling dog’s head. ‘Surely in this day and age the girl can leave home and get a job?’
‘One would think so, though I don’t imagine she’s trained for anything. What shall I do? Get this beast fit and let her know?’
‘No. I’ve taken rather a fancy to him. I’ll take him with me when I go back to Holland. May I leave him with you? My grandmother will be wondering where I have got to.’
‘Give me a ring in the morning, and we’ll see how he is after some food and a night’s sleep.’
The doctor got back into his car and drove away from the town, going north and presently turning into a maze of side-roads which brought him eventually to a small village lying between hilly country. It was indeed a small place, with a church, a handful of cottages, and a handsome vicarage, a shop and a duck pond. He drove through it before turning in between red-brick pillars surmounted by weatherbeaten lions and following a drive between thick undergrowth. It ended in a wide gravel sweep before a red-brick house of the Queen Anne period, light streaming from its windows and ringed around by trees. Dr van der Linus, getting out of his car, thought how welcoming it was. The door was opened as he reached it and a dignified old man, rather shaky on his legs, wished him a good evening and offered the information that Lady Merrill was in the small drawing-room.
‘I’m late, Baxter—I got held up. Give me ten minutes before you serve dinner, will you?’ He clapped the old man gently on the shoulders and crossed the hall to one of the open doors.
The room was a pleasant one, a little old-fashioned but light and airy with some rather massive furniture and thickly carpeted. The doctor crossed to a chair by the fire and the old lady sitting in it turned a smiling face to him as two Pekinese dogs hurried to meet him. He bent to pat them before stooping to kiss his grandmother.
‘My apologies for being late, my dear. I was unexpectedly delayed.’
‘Did the lecture not go well?’
‘Oh, very well. I was forced to stop on my way…’
‘Pour yourself a drink and tell me about it.’
Which he did. ‘Was she pretty, this girl?’
‘Pretty? To tell you the truth, I can’t remember how she looked. She had nice eyes and a very pleasant voice.’ He sounded indifferent and presently they talked of other things. He didn’t think of the girl again.
Cressida, with Miss Mogford’s help, had got herself into bed. Her ankle hurt abominably but the paracetamol was beginning to take effect. Moggy had arranged a small footstool in the bed so that her foot was free of the bedclothes and perhaps by the morning it would be better. Staying in bed was a luxury her stepmother disapproved of. Hopefully she wouldn’t come home until late and need know nothing about it until the morning. She drank the tea Miss Mogford brought her and was urged to go to sleep, and she did as she was bid. She was awakened half an hour later by the entrance of Mrs Preece, a woman who in her youth had been enchantingly pretty and now in middle age, by dint of dieting ruthlessly, going to the best hairdressers so that her once golden hair should show no hint of grey, using every aid to beauty which caught her eye in the glossy magazines she favoured and wearing the floating draperies which gave her the look of helpless femininity which hid a nature as cold and hard as steel, preserved the illusion of sweetness of character.
‘What is all this nonsense I hear from Miss Mogford?’ she wanted to know. ‘And why are you in bed? It’s barely nine o’clock? Really, Cressida, I hardly expect a healthy girl of four and twenty to loll around like this.’
Cressida, used to her stepmother’s manner towards her, sat up in bed. ‘I’m in bed because I can’t stand on my foot and it’s very painful. I dare say it will be all right by the morning.’
‘It had better be—I’ve the Worthingtons coming to dinner and I want the flowers done and the silver epergne properly polished.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I’ve a splitting headache; I was forced to come away early from the party. I shall go to bed and can only hope that Miss Mogford will spare the time to bring me a hot drink and run my bath.’
She went away without saying goodnight and Cressida wriggled down into her bed again, wide awake now and aware that her ankle was hurting. It was too soon to take any more paracetamol. She tugged her pillows into comfort and allowed her thoughts to roam.
The man who had brought her home had been nice; not just nice, he had treated her…she sought for words—as though she mattered; and since she knew only too well that her looks were negligible she had appreciated that. He had been surprised when he’d seen her room, she had noticed that at once, but since she wasn’t going to see him again she didn’t think that mattered. She knew that the few friends she had in the village were at a loss to understand why she stayed at home when it was so obvious that she wasn’t welcome there now that her father was dead. She had never told anyone that she stayed there because of Moggy. Moggy had no home of her own; she had worked all her life for Cressida’s parents, never able to save because she had a married sister whose husband had become paralysed soon after they had married and had lived for many years, a helpless wreck, his life made bearable by the extras Moggy’s earnings had helped to buy. Now at fifty-eight years, she had two more years before she could draw her pension and receive the annuity Mr Preece had left her. Until then there was nothing else she could do but stay with Mrs Preece, since that lady had led her to understand that unless she remained in her employ until her sixtieth birthday her annuity would be cancelled. Since Miss Mogford, for all her severe appearance, was afraid that no one else would employ her in any case, and, over and above that, had set her heart on going to live with her now widowed sister where she would enjoy a snug retirement, she stayed on, managing the house with the help of girls from the village and Cressida. It was only because Cressida understood Moggy’s situation that she stayed. Two years, she told herself repeatedly, would soon pass, and once Moggy was safely esconced with her sister she herself would feel free to go away. She had no idea what she would do, she hadn’t been trained for anything but she was handy about the house and even in this day and age there were old ladies who needed companions. A roof over her head and some money to spend was all she expected until she had found her feet.
It was a great pity that her father, that most trusting of men, had left everything to her stepmother, under the impression that she would give Cressida an allowance. Instead of that, Mrs Preece had lost no time in making it quite clear that that was out of the question. Cressida would have to help Miss Mogford and in return she would be clothed and fed and be given pocket money.
Cressida, after a number of indignant protests, had had every intention of leaving, only to be stymied by being told of Moggy’s situation. She had plenty of common sense, added to which she was a girl of spirit, but Moggy had been a faithful and loving employee and a pleasant retirement was almost within her grasp. Cressida stayed and those who knew her thought silently that she should have shown more spirit.
She confided in no one, even her closest friends, and since Mrs Preece was always charmingly maternal towards her when there was anyone around they began to think that Cressida liked the way she lived. She was always cheerful and showed no envy when friends became engaged or got themselves good jobs away from the village, and they weren’t to know of the long hours she spent planning her future. She didn’t brood, for she despised self-pity, but now and then she wished that she had even a modicum of good looks; a pretty face, she was sure, would be a great help in getting a job.
She dozed off, to wake in the night from the throbbing of her ankle.
Moggy came to see how she was in the morning, took one look at her white face and told her to stay where she was.
‘I can’t,’ said Cressida, ‘there are the flowers to arrange and some silver to polish.’ So saying she got out of bed, set her injured foot floor and did something she had never done before in her life. She fainted.
Moggy picked her up and put her on the bed and marched down to Mrs Preece’s bedroom. Regardless of the fact that it was still two hours short of her usual entry with a tray of tea, she roused her mistress briskly.
‘Miss Cressida’s fainted, on account of her trying to get up because you told her to,’ said Miss Mogford with a snap. ‘You’d best get the doctor to her.’
Mrs Preece sat up in bed. ‘For a sprained ankle? Probably she’s only wrenched it badly. Certainly not, but I suppose she’d better stay in bed for the time being. What a nuisance this is and now I shall have a headache being wakened so abruptly. Really, you might consider my nerves.’
She sank back on her pillows. ‘Go away and bring my tea at the usual time.’
Miss Mogford went away, muttering darkly to herself once the door was shut. Things couldn’t go on like this; something would have to be done, although she had no idea what it was. She went to the kitchen and made a pot of tea and bore it upstairs to Cressida’s room and shared it with her. It was hot and strong, and, lulled by the paracetamol, Cressida felt better.
‘I could get up,’ she suggested, ‘if I had a stick…’
‘Nonsense, you’ll do no such thing. That nice doctor who brought you home would be very annoyed if he knew.’
‘He doesn’t know,’ said Cressida, and felt a pang of regret because of that. She was a sensible girl, concealing a romantic nature beneath her ordinary appearance; no good would come of wanting something she couldn’t have. She contrived to wash with Moggy’s aid, brushed her hair, which was long and mousy, and plaited it and set about persuading Moggy to bring the silver epergne upstairs. ‘With an old newspaper,’ she urged, ‘and the polish and cloths. I can do it easily and it will keep me occupied.’
‘All right,’ Moggy was grudging, ‘but only when you’ve had your breakfast.’
‘I’m not hungry…’
‘You’ll eat what I bring you,’ said Moggy.
Dr van der Linus was up early, to walk in the garden with the dogs and enjoy the crisp sunshine of the morning. He had slept soundly but he was aware of uneasiness; although he could barely remember what the girl he had helped on the previous evening looked like, he was unable to shake off the feeling that he ought to do something about her. He hadn’t liked the vague air of disquiet which she and the woman who admitted them had had and he had been puzzled at the bare little room which was surely unsuitable for a daughter of the house. The housekeeper had been anxious for him to leave, too.
He went indoors to his breakfast. It might be a good idea to get the name of the local doctor and give him a ring; on the other hand, that smacked of officiousness. He sighed and poured himself some more coffee. It would be better if he were to call and enquire. He was to lunch with friends at Castle Cary and need not go much out of his way.
He went upstairs to his grandmother’s room presently. She was sitting up in bed, her breakfast on a tray before her.
‘Come in and finish this toast,’ she begged him. ‘Mrs Wiffin has this passion for feeding me up! Aren’t you going over to Castle Cary to the Colliers’? Is Jenny at home?’
He smiled slowly. ‘Matchmaking, Grandmother? I don’t know if she’s at home. In any case…’ He paused. ‘It is time I married, but not Jenny.’
‘You’ve found the girl?’ asked Lady Merrill eagerly.
‘I’m not sure. She’s very suitable. Her name is Nicola van Germert—you’ve met her. The daughter of one of the professors at Leiden University. We know all the same people and share a similar lifestyle.’
Lady Merrill bit into her toast. ‘Not good reasons for marriage, my dear, but you’re old enough and wise enough to know what you want. Most men want love as well,’ she added drily.
He got up. ‘Well, I suppose we aren’t all lucky enough to find it. Will you be at home at teatime? We can sit in the garden, if it’s warm enough, and gossip.’ He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Staying here with you is something I always look forward to.’
‘So do I, my dear. But you would be lost without your work. Don’t you miss the hospitals and clinics and patients?’
‘Oh, yes, very much. They are the most important things in my life, Grandmother.’
‘Part of your life, Aldrik. Now run along and enjoy yourself.’
At the door he turned. ‘I thought I’d call in on my way and see how that girl is getting on. I must find out about the dog too and let her know.’
‘That would be kind.’ Lady Merrill watched his vast back disappear through her door. She looked thoughtful. Considering the girl was so uninteresting that he couldn’t remember what she looked like Aldrik was being very kind. But, of course, he was a kind man.
He drove away in the Bentley presently. Minton Cracknell wasn’t all that distance away but there was no direct road to it. He needed to go considerably out of his way to reach it but since it was less than ten miles to Castle Cary from there and for most of the way a main road he would have time to make his call.
The house looked pleasant enough as he got out of the car but the housekeeper’s face bore a look of gloomy indignation. The doctor was used to dealing with every kind of person; his ‘good morning’ was briskly friendly with strong overtones of authority.
‘I’ve called to enquire after Miss Preece. I’m on my way to friends and had to pass the door.’
‘She’s in bed but that ankle’s that swollen, I don’t like the look of it…’
‘The doctor is calling?’
She shook her head, speaking softly. ‘Mrs Preece says it’s not necessary.’
‘Perhaps I might have a word with her? I know it isn’t my business but perhaps I might persuade her.’
Miss Mogford’s stern visage crumpled. ‘Oh, sir, if you would. I don’t know what to do…’
She stood aside to allow him to enter and left him in the hall while she went to find Mrs Preece.
She came back presently. ‘If you’d come this way, sir…’
Mrs Preece was sitting by a briskly burning fire, a tray of coffee beside her, and she didn’t get out of her chair.
‘You must forgive me for not getting up,’ she said in a small plaintive voice. ‘I’m not very strong. I understand that you were so kind as to bring Cressida home yesterday. Do sit down—it is most kind of you to call too.’ She said sharply to Miss Mogford hovering at the door, ‘Bring some more coffee, will you? This is cold…’
The doctor sat, accepted the coffee when it came, listened with apparent sympathy to his hostess’s light voice describing various aspects of her ill health, put down his cup and said in a gentle voice, ‘I should like to see your stepdaughter’s ankle; just to check on the strapping. She will be going for an X-ray some time today, I expect?’
Mrs Preece gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Good heavens, no, Doctor, it’s only a sprain. She should be up and about in no time. So vexing that she should have to stay in bed but she has never fainted before, the silly girl. And I have guests for dinner this evening too.’
‘But you have no objection to my seeing her?’ asked the doctor, and something in his voice made her shrug her shoulders and give a reluctant consent.
‘Do encourage her to get up—she will be much better on her feet, will she not?’ Mrs Preece gave him a charming smile, her head a little on one side. Really, she thought, he was so good-looking and charming that one would agree to anything that he might say.
‘No, she would be much worse,’ said Dr van der Linus. He spoke with such calm charm that she didn’t realise that he had contradicted her flatly.
‘Well, Miss Mogford shall take you to her room,’ said Mrs Preece, ‘I find the stairs trying—I have to be careful.’
She sounded wistful and long-suffering and if she expected the doctor to enquire sympathetically as to the reason she was to be disappointed.
Miss Mogford, summoned, led him up the stairs in silence. Only at Cressida’s door she paused to look at him. She still said nothing, though she tapped on the door and opened it for him to go into the room.
Cressida was sitting up in bed, her small person surrounded by sheets of newspaper upon which rested the silver epergne which she was polishing. There was nothing beautiful about her; her hair hung in its long plait over one shoulder, her face, un-made-up, shone with her exertions, and she had a smear on one cheek and both hands were grimed with silver polish. The doctor, a kind man, eyed her with much the same feelings which he would have displayed if he had encountered a kitten or a puppy in need of help.
His, ‘Good morning, Miss Preece,’ was uttered with impersonal courtesy, and, since she was staring at him, open-mouthed, he said, ‘I happened to be passing and felt that the least I could do was to enquire about your ankle.’
Cressida shut her mouth with a snap. She said politely, ‘How kind of you. I’m fine, thank you.’ She gave him a small smile. ‘Isn’t it a lovely morning?’
‘Splendid. May I look at your ankle? It is of course, none of my business, but I feel that it should be X-rayed.’
‘Well, I’m not sure,’ began Cressida, to be told by Moggy to hush.
‘The doctor knows best,’ said that lady sternly. ‘Just you lie still, Miss Cressida, and let him take a look.’
The doctor bent his great height and examined the ankle. When he had looked his fill he straightened up again. ‘I’m not your doctor so I can do very little to help you, but I will do my best to advise your stepmother to allow the doctor to see you. It is a nasty sprain. It will get better quickly enough, though, provided it receives the right treatment.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’ asked Cressida in a matter-of-fact voice.
‘You will hobble around for a long time—a painful time too.’
‘Well, thank you. It was very kind of you to come. I suppose you don’t know what happened to that poor dog?’
‘He needs only good food and rest and good care.’ He smiled down at her. ‘I shall take him back with me when I go to Holland.’
Her ordinary face was transformed by delight. ‘Oh, how absolutely super! I’m sure he’ll be a very handsome beast when he’s fully grown.’
The doctor concealed his doubts admirably. ‘I have no doubt of that.’
He put out a hand and engulfed hers in its firm grasp.
‘You’ll have to wash your hand,’ said Cressida in her sensible way, ‘it’s covered in polish.’ And then she added, ‘I hope you have a good journey home.’
After he had gone she sat in her bed, the epergne forgotten, feeling lonely and somehow bereft.
Beyond registering his opinion that Cressida should have her ankle X-rayed, the doctor didn’t waste time with Mrs Preece. He pleaded an urgent engagement and drove away.
In the village he stopped, enquired as to where the doctor lived and presented himself at the surgery door. Dr Braddock was on the point of leaving on his rounds.
‘Van der Linus…’ he said. ‘I know that name. You wrote an article in the Lancet last month about neutropenia—a most interesting theory. Come in, come in, I’m delighted to meet you.’
‘I’ve been poaching on your preserves,’ said Dr van der Linus. ‘If I might explain…’
Dr Braddock heard him out. ‘I’ll go this morning. I know—we all know—that things aren’t right at the Old Rectory. Little Cressida is a dear child but one cannot interfere—though I will do my best to get her into hospital for a few days for she will never be able to get the proper rest she needs if she is at home…’
‘It puts me in mind of Cinderella and her stepmother,’ observed Dr van der Linus.
Dr Braddock nodded. ‘Ridiculous, isn’t it, in this day and age? There is obviously some reason which is keeping Cressida at home but she isn’t going to tell anyone what it is.’
Dr van der Linus went on his way presently; he was going to be late for lunch at the Colliers’. As indeed he was, but he was an old friend and readily forgiven and moreover Jenny was an amusing companion. He told himself that he had done all that he could for Cressida Preece; she was a grown woman and should be capable of arranging her own life.
On his way back to his grandmother’s house he reflected that she had seemed quite content with her lot. Probably things would improve. He frowned, aware that he was finding it difficult to forget her. ‘Which is absurd,’ he muttered. ‘I can’t even remember what she looks like.’

CHAPTER TWO
CRESSIDA, putting a final polish on the table silver, was astonished when Moggy opened the door to admit Dr Braddock.
He wished them a good morning, patted her on the shoulder and signified his intention of examining her ankle.
‘However did you know about it?’ asked Cressida and tried not to wince as he prodded it gently.
‘Dr van der Linus very correctly informed me. How fortunate that he should have found you, my dear. I couldn’t better the strapping myself but you must have it X-rayed. I’ve got my car outside. I’ll run you in to Yeovil now and get it done…’
‘Must you? I mean, Stepmother’s got a dinner party this evening…’
‘There is no need for her to come with you,’ said Dr Braddock testily. He turned to Miss Mogford. ‘Do you suppose we could give her a chair downstairs? Just get her into a dressing-gown.’
‘How shall I get back here?’ asked Cressida sensibly.
‘Well, I have to come home, don’t I?’ He went to the door. ‘I’ll go and see your stepmother while Miss Mogford gets you ready, and don’t waste time.’
‘The silver,’ said Cressida urgently, watching Moggy bundling it up, ‘I haven’t quite finished it.’
‘Pooh,’ said Miss Mogford, ‘that’s of no importance. Here’s your dressing-gown.’
Doctor Braddock came back presently and between them he and Miss Mogford carried Cressida down to the hall and out of the door, into his car. Mrs Preece came after them, on the verge of tears. ‘What am I to do?’ she asked pathetically. ‘There’s the table to arrange and the drinks and the flowers to do. Really, Cressida, I do think you’re being very selfish…’
No one answered her. The doctor and Moggy were too occupied in conveying Cressida as painlessly as possible and Cressida was gritting her teeth against the pain.
Dr Braddock drove off and as soon as she had control of her voice again she asked, ‘They won’t keep me long? I really should get back to help as quickly as I can. If I could be back by lunchtime? You’re awfully kind having given me a lift, Dr Braddock, but I expect you have to come back home for lunch.’
She wasn’t back for lunch, however; instead she found herself in one of the side-wards, comfortably in bed with a cradle over the injured ankle and the prospect of several days’ rest.
‘I really can’t,’ she explained to the cheerful house doctor who came to see her after she was warded. ‘I haven’t anything with me and there is a great deal I must do at home…’
‘Well, if you don’t rest that foot for a few days you won’t be doing anything at all at home or anywhere else. Dr Braddock is going to call and see your stepmother on his way home. I dare say she will come and see you and bring you anything you need.’
The very last thing that lady would do, but there was no point in saying so. Cressida murmured suitably and since the bed was comfortable and she had had an irksome morning she closed her eyes and took a nap.
Miss Mogford came that evening, carrying a small holdall with what she considered necessary for Cressida’s comfort while she was in hospital.
Cressida was delighted to see her, but worried too. ‘Moggy, however did you get away? It’s the dinner party too… is Stepmother very cross?’
‘Livid,’ said Miss Mogford, succinctly, ‘but Dr Braddock was quite sharp with her, told her she was responsible for you and I don’t know what else—I just happened to be passing through the hall and the door wasn’t quite closed—so when he’d gone she phoned a catering firm and they’re there now, seeing to everything. She told me to bring you what you needed here and I got the baker’s van to bring me.’
‘How will you get back?’
‘The van’s going back in an hour—the driver’s got the day off tomorrow.’
‘I don’t know how long I’m here for…’
‘I heard Dr Braddock say a couple of days, so you have a nice rest, Miss Cressida, and you’ll have to take things easy when you come home.’
‘Is my stepmother very annoyed?’
‘Well, she’s put out,’ said Miss Mogford, uttering the understatement of a lifetime.
It was surprising what two days at the hospital did for Cressida. Of course there were the painful physiotherapy sessions, but for a good deal of each day she sat, the injured ankle resting on a stool, reading the discarded magazines and newspapers of the other patients, racing through the romantic fiction the lady from the hospital library was kind enough to bring her. She didn’t turn up her unassuming nose at the food either; by the end of the second day she had colour in her cheeks and had put on a much-needed pound or two.
It was after breakfast on the following morning that the orthopaedic registrar came to tell her that she was fit enough to go home. ‘You must wear an elastic stocking for a couple of weeks and keep off your feet as much as possible, and mind you rest the ankle properly. Sister phoned your stepmother and she assures us that you will be well looked after. We’ll arrange for the hospital car service to pick you up after midday dinner today.’
Cressida thanked him and reflected that with a stocking and a stick she would be able to manage well enough. Indeed, she would have to…
She was sitting dressed and ready to leave, her ankle resting on the stool before her, when the door opened and Dr van der Linus walked in.
His greeting was genial. ‘I had to have a word with someone here and thought I would call and see how you are getting on. I hear you’re going home?’
‘Yes. I’m waiting for transport. I’m quite better again.’ She gave him a steady smile. ‘I’m most grateful for everything you did for me.’
‘Think nothing of it. I’m going past your home; I’ll take you if you’re ready to go. Just let me have a word with Sister…’ He had gone before she could answer.
On the way back he told her that he was going to London on the following day and then back to Holland. ‘I don’t expect to be back here for some time,’ he told her, and then casually, ‘Have you any plans for your future?’
‘No, none,’ said Cressida bleakly. Her look was sad. ‘At least not for some time.’
‘Ah, well,’ said the doctor easily, ‘I dare say you have your reasons for staying at home.’
‘Yes, I have. What will happen to the dog while you’re in London?’
He accepted the change of subject without demur. ‘He’s to stay at the vet’s. I will collect him when I leave England. He looks quite handsome, you know, although I’m not quite sure what he is. He’s young still, about six months, and still going to grow.’
‘You’ll have room for him at your home?’
‘Oh, yes.’ He stopped in front of her house and got out to help her.
‘Thank you very much,’ she said. ‘Would you like to come in and see my stepmother?’
The doctor smiled a little; it was obvious that she hoped that he would refuse. ‘Why not?’ he said cheerfully, and took her arm. ‘Use your stick,’ he counselled her, and, ‘Put your weight on your good foot and for heaven’s sake don’t stand about; sit when you can and keep your foot up.’
Miss Mogford had been on the watch for Cressida’s return. She opened the door wide, and her severe features softened into a smile. ‘There, that’s better. My goodness, a couple of days in hospital have done you a power of good, Miss Cressy—I swear you’ve put on a pound or two.’
‘Is my stepmother in?’ asked Cressida. ‘I’m sure Dr van der Linus—’
The rest of her words were lost in Mrs Preece’s voice, ‘Is that you, Cressida? And about time too. All this rubbish I’ve been hearing about this ankle of yours…’ A half-open door was thrust open and she came into the hall, caught sight of the doctor’s vast person and went on smoothly, ‘You poor child, have you had a lot of pain? I didn’t come to visit you for you know how sensitive I am about illness.’ She smiled at Dr van der Linus. ‘My nerves, you know—I’m a martyr to them.’ She turned to Cressida. ‘Run along upstairs, dear, I dare say you would like a rest. Miss Mogford shall bring you your tea presently.’
She turned her back on Cressida, ‘Tea is just made,’ she said to the doctor. ‘Do have a cup with me. I see so few people and you must tell me about Cressida’s ankle.’
He refused with a charm as smooth as her own. ‘I have an evening appointment and have still some distance to drive. Miss Preece should be all right now—a week or two keeping off the ankle and plenty of rest. But, of course, you will know what to do.’
He shook hands again and then turned to Cressida standing so quietly close by. ‘I am sure that Dr Braddock will be over to see you shortly. I’m glad that the damage wasn’t worse. I’ll take care of the dog.’
She smiled. ‘I’m sure you will and it’s very kind of you to have him. I hope you have a good journey home.’
He stared down at her—such a plain little face but such beautiful eyes, and despite her smile she was unhappy. Not surprisingly, he considered; he had a poor view of Mrs Preece.
Sitting opposite his grandmother that evening, he voiced his vague disquiet about Cressida. ‘The girl seems sensible enough,’ he observed, ‘and really one hardly expects the modern young woman to behave like Cinderella. Mrs Preece is someone that anyone with an ounce of good sense would get away from as quickly as possible.’
‘Then there must be a good reason for the girl to remain there. Have you any idea what it might be?’
‘None.’ He added, ‘I suppose there is no way of finding out?’
‘Well, of course there is; ask her.’
‘Perhaps I will. I must go up to town tomorrow but I’ll come down to say goodbye before I go over to Holland, my dear, and I’ll make time to see her then.’ He frowned. ‘Do you think I’m making a mountain out of a molehill? Probably I shall get short shrift…’
‘In that case you need do no more about it. On the other hand she may be longing to confide in someone.’
It was a week later when he came back to Lady Merrill’s and on a sudden impulse turned off the main road to go to Minton Cracknell. He was within half a mile of the village when he saw Cressida, walking awkwardly with a stick, going in the same direction as he was. He drew up beside her, and opened the door. His ‘Hello, can I give you a lift?’ was casually uttered and when she turned to look at him he was careful to stay casual. She had been crying, although she smiled now and thanked him politely.
‘That’s kind of you, but I walk a little way each day, you know—it’s good for me.’
The doctor said, ‘Get in, Cressida,’ in a gentle voice which none the less she felt compelled to obey. She got in.
‘Is your stepmother at home?’
She shook her head. ‘No. She goes to Bath to have her hair done. Did you want to see her?’
‘No. Why have you been crying, Cressida?’ He leaned across her and closed the door. ‘Supposing you tell me what is wrong? And I must beg you not to tell me that there is nothing wrong, because that is merely wasting time. Possibly you do not wish to confide in a friend but since we are unlikely to meet again you can safely unburden yourself to me.’
‘I don’t think,’ began Cressida doubtfully, ‘actually, that it would be of any interest to you.’
‘You are politely telling me that it is none of my business. Quite right, and all the more reason to talk to me. Since it is none of my business I shall give you no advice, nor shall I read you a lecture or tell you that none of it matters.’ He laid a great arm along the seat behind her shoulders. ‘Now let’s have it…’
It was hard to start, it had been all bottled up for so long, but once started Cressida was unable to stop. It all came pouring out. ‘It’s Moggy, you see,’ she explained. ‘If she leaves before she’s sixty she can’t have Father’s legacy and she depends on that for her old age…’
‘Have you seen the will…?’
‘No. Mr Tims, the solicitor, read it out to us but it was full of heretofores and those long words they use.’
‘Just supposing that there had been a misunderstanding about the terms of the legacy, Miss Mogford would be able to leave, would she not? And you would be free to leave home, knowing that her future was secure.’
Cressida gave a great sniff and he glanced at her. She hardly looked her best, her hair was all over the place, as far as he could judge she had no make-up on and her clothes were deplorable. He said very kindly, ‘It is likely that Miss Mogford hasn’t understood the conditions of the legacy. If that could be looked into she might find herself free to leave before she is sixty. Who exactly told her of this condition?’
‘My stepmother.’
The doctor frowned. Tiresome woman, and how on earth had he come to get involved in the business? All the same it seemed to him that he was the only one with a pair of scissors to cut the tangle. A pity that he would be leaving the country so soon…
‘Feel better?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you.’ She put a hand on the door-handle. ‘You’ve been very kind. I won’t keep you.’
His hand came down on hers, firm and warm. ‘The rest of the day is my own. I’ll drive you home.’
At the gates she asked him, ‘Would you like to come in? Moggy will make a pot of tea…’
He had got out of the car too and stood looking down at her. ‘I should have liked that but I’m going into Yeovil to collect the dog. Have you any ideas about a name?’
‘Well, no. Oughtn’t he to have a Dutch name since he’s to live in Holland?’
‘He is English; he should have a name which is common to both countries.’
‘Caesar?’
‘That would do very nicely. It will suit him, too; he bids fair to be a large beast when he is grown.’
Cressida put out a hand. ‘I’m so glad he’s going to be looked after. That’s wonderful; thank you again for all you’ve done. Goodbye.’
The hand holding hers felt reassuringly large and secure. She wished very much that the doctor wasn’t going away. He would forget her, of course, but knowing him even for such a short time had been pleasant.
He waited by the car until she reached the door and went inside, turning to give a final wave as she did so.
She didn’t tell Moggy about the will. First she would write to Mr Tims; it would never do to raise the dear soul’s hopes until she had heard from him. Over their tea they talked about the dog and the splendid home he would have when he travelled to Holland.
‘Lucky beast,’ said Miss Mogford with a good deal of feeling.
Dr van der Linus found his grandmother sitting in her high-backed armchair by a brisk fire. The weather was still fine and sunny, but, as she pointed out cheerfully, arthritis and old age needed warmth.
He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘My dear, you are one of those lucky people who never grow old; you’re really a very pretty lady, you know.’
‘Go on with you! Buttering me up… What have you been doing with yourself?’
‘Working.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘Grandmother, do you know of a Mr Tims of Sherborne?’
‘Of course I do. He is my solicitor, has been for years—must be all of seventy.’
‘Do you suppose he would allow me the sight of Mr Preece’s will?’
‘Been to see that girl again, have you?’ Lady Merrill’s old eyes twinkled with amusement.
‘I met her on the road as I was coming here. She looked like a small wet hen. I gave her a lift home and got her to talk. I fancy Mrs Preece has—shall we say?—misunderstood the terms of the will…’ He explained briefly and his grandmother nodded in quick understanding.
‘So if she has been misleading the girl and the housekeeper things can be put right, the housekeeper can leave and the girl will be free to find herself a job.’ Her old face puckered in thought. ‘What kind of a job would a wet hen be able to get?’
The doctor laughed. ‘I think that if she were free and independent she might begin to look like any other girl. Have you any ideas?’
‘I’ll think about it. Go and phone George Tims and then come and play cribbage?’
Mr Tims was co-operative. The doctor might pop in any time he chose during the next day. Dr van der Linus went back to the drawing-room and bent his powerful mind to the problem of allowing his grandmother to win without her suspecting it.
Undoubtedly there had been a misunderstanding, Mr Tims assured the doctor the following morning; Miss Mogford was free to leave when she wished and would receive her legacy without delay. ‘Mrs Preece will miss her; she has been with the family for many years and will be hard to replace. Mrs Preece is a delicate lady, unable to do a great deal, but of course she will have Cressida—such a sensible girl.’
The doctor agreed blandly and drove back to the house. The little wet hen deserved a chance. She was, he supposed, possessed of the normal skills of a well-educated girl; she should have no difficulty in getting herself a job, but what as? She knew nothing about computers; he felt sure of that. Probably she couldn’t type or do shorthand, and she would be no good as a nurse; far too small for a start and with far too soft a heart. Not that he approved of nurses who didn’t have soft hearts, that was a vital part of being a decent nurse—but he suspected that she would allow personal sympathy with the patient to supplant nursing expertise. It would have to be something around the house, he thought vaguely. Were there companions nowadays? He wasn’t sure, but there were au pairs from whom all that was required was common sense, an ability to do chores around the house, like children and animals and be willing to babysit. He knew that; various of his married friends had them. She would have a roof over her head too…
He was turning in at Lady Merrill’s gate when he found the answer.
Over dinner he told his grandmother what he had in mind. ‘I shall want your help, my dear,’ he added.
Lady Merrill listened carefully. ‘This is really rather fun. You do realise that I shall have to do this through a third person? I cannot appear on Mrs Preece’s doorstep out of the blue. Let me see, Audrey Sefton knows her. Leave it to me, Aldrik. Is the girl presentable?’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘She has a pretty voice and nice manners. Beautiful eyes and no looks. I suppose dressed in the right clothes she would do very well in the most exacting of households.’
‘Yes, dear—but how does she get these clothes if she has no money?’
‘I’ll see Mr Tims. A small sum held in some sort of reserve for her use or something similar.’
His grandmother gave him a sharp look. ‘You’re going to a great deal of trouble, my dear. She would probably get herself some sort of work if she were left to do so.’
‘Oh, I’m sure she would. I shall be going up to Friesland in any case and I’ll see Charity and Tyco. Charity might like company for a few months, at least until the baby is born, and that will give Cressida time to look around and decide what she wants to do.’
‘Yes, dear? Will you stay up there?’
‘I’ve no appointments there until the middle of the month. I’m tied up in Leiden almost as soon as I get back. That will give me a chance to see something of Nicola…’
‘I’m sure she will be pleased to see you again. There’s nothing definite, I suppose, dear?’
‘No, Grandmother. We are both sensible people; a deep regard and a full knowledge of each other’s character seems to me to be essential before marrying.’ It sounded pompous but he disarmed her with a grin.
His grandmother gave him a loving look. He was her very favourite grandchild and she wanted him to be happy. He loved his work as a consultant physician and he was very successful. He had money, friends, and those who worked for him liked him. All very well, she thought, but he has no idea what it is like to be in love. Nicola was a cold fish, elegant and witty and wanting, Lady Merrill suspected, only a secure place in her comfortable world, never mind the romance.
He left the next day, promising to come and see her as soon as he could spare a few days. ‘I’ll be driving Mama over before Christmas,’ he promised her.
Two days later Mrs Preece came down to breakfast looking annoyed. ‘So vexing—I had planned to go into Yeovil and do some shopping; now that wretched Mr Tims wants to call this morning. Hurry up and eat your breakfast, Cressida, and get a tray ready. If he doesn’t stay I’ll still have time to go. Bring the coffee as soon as he gets here.’
Cressida went to the kitchen, laid a tray for coffee and told Miss Mogford, ‘Half-past ten, he said in his letter. She didn’t tell me why, papers to sign, I expect.’
Mr Tims arrived punctually and Mrs Preece, eager to get to Yeovil, didn’t keep him waiting. Cressida carried in the coffee, wished him a cheerful good morning and made for the door.
‘What I have to say concerns both Cressida and Miss Mogford, Mrs Preece. I should like them both to be here if you would be so kind.’
Mrs Preece flashed him a look quite lacking in kindness. ‘Really, Mr Tims, is this necessary? They are both busy around the house.’
Mr Tims looked at her over his spectacles. ‘It is necessary, Mrs Preece.’
So Cressida fetched Miss Mogford and they sat awkwardly side by side on one of the big sofas, wondering what on earth was going to happen next.
Mr Tims cleared his throat and opened his briefcase. ‘I was looking through Mr Preece’s papers very recently and it occurs to me that there may have been a misunderstanding concerning Miss Mogford’s legacy. According to the will she is entitled to claim it whenever she wishes; she may in fact leave as soon as she wants and the money will be paid to her. There is no question of her having to remain in service until she is sixty. I believe that was the impression given her at the time of the reading of the will; mistakenly of course.’
Miss Mogford said gruffly. ‘You really mean that? I can pack my bags and go and still have the legacy?’ She looked at Mrs Preece. ‘Madam told me that I would have to stay or I wouldn’t get the money.’
Mrs Preece hastily adjusted her features into a look of apologetic regret. ‘Oh, dear, I’m sure that was never intended. Silly me, I never have been any good at this kind of thing.’
She smiled charmingly at Mr Tims, who said politely, ‘Well, no harm done, I imagine.’ He turned to Cressida. ‘If at any future time you should decide to leave home, I am entrusted with a small sum of money, sufficient, I trust, to start you off in whatever venture you may consider.’
‘Oh, Cressida would never dream of leaving me,’ said Mrs Preece quickly. ‘My nerves, you know. It is essential that I have someone to take care of me and she is very used to that.’
Cressida said nothing, merely thanked Mr Tims and offered him more coffee. He refused, and said that he had another client to see in the neighbourhood, and Miss Mogford got up to show him out. Mrs Preece bade him goodbye in a cold voice—he hadn’t shown her the sympathy she had expected—and Cressida shook hands, saying nothing but looking at him with eyes alight with damped-down excitement. By jove, thought Mr Tims, those lovely eyes of hers made a man forget her ordinary looks.
When he had gone Mrs Preece said sharply, ‘Of course there is no question of your going, Miss Mogford. I’m quite prepared to give you a bigger wage, and after all this has been your home for years.’
Moggy’s severe features became even more severe. ‘You pay me weekly, Mrs Preece. I’m giving you a week’s notice as from today.’
She turned on her heel and marched briskly back to the kitchen, leaving Mrs Preece speechless. But not for long!
‘The wretch, after all I’ve done for her. Go after her, Cressida, and tell her she must stay. What am I to do without a housekeeper?’ Tears of self-pity rolled down her carefully made-up cheeks.
Cressida, a-fire with the prospect of freedom, sat down on the arm of a chair. ‘No, I won’t tell Moggy anything of the sort,’ she said calmly. ‘You’ve never done anything for her and you can get another housekeeper.’
Mrs Preece’s eyes bulged. ‘Cressida, have you taken leave of your senses? How dare you talk to me like that, after all I’ve…?’
She stopped because Cressida was smiling. ‘I’m going too, Stepmother.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. What will you do? And you’ve no money.’
‘I’m very experienced in housework and Mr Tims said that there was a little money.’
‘Rubbish. No one will employ you.’ Mrs Preece changed her tactics. ‘If you will stay, Cressida, I’ll make you an allowance. I’ll get another housekeeper and you can train her. I simply cannot manage without someone to run this house. My nerves…’ She gave Cressida a wan smile. ‘What would your father have said?’
‘He would have told me to pack my bags and go,’ said Cressida promptly.
Cressida lay awake for a long time that night. She intended to leave at the same time as Moggy although just for the moment she had no idea as to what she would do. London, she supposed vaguely; surely there would be work of some sort there. If she had a roof over her head she could save most of her wages and then train for something, she wasn’t sure what. But to be free and live her own life—she uttered a sigh of pure content and fell asleep.
In the light of early morning she lost some of the euphoria. She wasn’t sure if she had enough money to get to London, for a start—she would have to see Mr Tims—and when she got there, then where would she go? This was something which would have to be settled before she left home; she was a practical girl; to arrive in London with no notion of where she was to lay her head that night was bird-witted. Something would have to be done about that.
Something was. Mrs Preece, sitting languidly in her drawing-room, refusing to do anything about rearranging her household, declaring that she felt ill enough to take to her bed, was forced to pull herself together when Miss Mogford came to tell her that she had a caller: Mrs Sefton, who lived some miles from Minton Cracknell but whom she had met on various occasions at other people’s houses. She didn’t like the lady overmuch; overbearing, she considered, with an amused contempt for weak nerves and women who couldn’t do the washing-up for themselves. That she lived in a large house, well-staffed and well-run, had nothing to say to the matter; Mrs Sefton was perfectly capable of running the place single-handed if it were necessary and that without a single grumble.
She breezed into the room now and bade her reluctant hostess good morning. Her voice wasn’t loud but had a penetrating ring to it, so that Mrs Preece closed her eyes for a moment.
‘A lovely morning,’ declared Mrs Sefton. ‘You should be out. There’s the autumn fête at Watly House this afternoon—aren’t you going?’
Mrs Preece said faintly that no, she didn’t think she felt well enough.
‘Well, you look all right,’ said Mrs. Sefton.
‘My nerves, you know.’
Mrs Sefton, who had never quite discovered what nerves, when mentioned by their possessor, meant, ignored this.
‘I’m here to ask a favour. That gel of yours, Cressida, I’ve a job for her…’
‘She doesn’t need a job,’ said Mrs Preece, sitting up smartly.
‘I know someone who needs her—an old friend of mine, Lady Merrill, desperately needs a companion for a few weeks while her permanent companion has a holiday.’ Mrs Sefton, pleased with her fabrication, added in ringing tones, ‘Not much to do you know—just a few chores. She’s just the one for it. I’m sure you can manage without her—I don’t suppose you see much of her anyway, she goes out a good deal I dare say.’
‘Cressida likes to stay at home with me,’ said Mrs. Preece sourly.
‘Does she? In that case she’ll know just what to do for Lady Merrill. She lives north of Sherborne, quite easy to get at—just the other side of Charlton Horethorne.’
Miss Mogford came in with the coffee and Mrs Preece poured it with a shaking hand. ‘I’m quite sure that Cressida won’t wish to leave me,’ she said in a die-away voice.
‘Well, let’s have her in to speak for herself,’ said Mrs Sefton. She stopped Moggy on her way to the door. ‘Ask Miss Preece to come here, will you?’
Mrs Preece opened her mouth to say something tart about guests giving orders in someone else’s house and then thought better of it. Mrs Sefton was well known and liked in the county and she was known to give her unvarnished opinion of anyone or anything she didn’t approve of. Moggy hurried back to the kitchen where Cressida was making the junket Mrs Preece ate each day—it was supposed to keep the skin youthful, she had been told.
‘Drop that, Miss Cressida,’ said Moggy urgently, ‘you’re to go to the drawing-room, there’s a Mrs Sefton there, wants to see you.’
‘Why?’ asked Cressida. ‘The junket will curdle…’
‘Drat the junket. Your stepmother is in a rage so be careful.’
Cressida might be a plain girl but she was graceful and self-possessed. She greeted Mrs Sefton, grudgingly introduced by Mrs Preece, in a quiet voice, and sat down.
‘I’ve a job for you, my dear,’ said Mrs Sefton, not beating about the bush. ‘An old lady—a great friend of mine—is in need of a companion for a few weeks and I thought of you. Would you care to take it on?’
‘You can’t leave me, Cressida,’ said Mrs. Preece in a fading voice, ‘I shall be ill; besides, it is your place to stay here with me.’
Cressida gave her a thoughtful look and turned sparkling blue eyes upon their visitor. ‘I should like to come very much,’ she said composedly. ‘I have been planning to find a job now that our housekeeper is leaving. When would this lady want me to start?’
Mrs Sefton, primed as to when Miss Mogford was leaving, was ready with an answer. ‘Would Thursday be too soon?’
‘That is quite impossible,’ observed Mrs Preece. ‘I have had no replies to my advertisement for a housekeeper and Miss Mogford leaves on the same day. Cressida must stay until I find someone to run the house for me.’
‘Oh, surely you can manage to do that yourself?’ asked Mrs Sefton. ‘I dare say you have outside help from the village?’
Mrs Preece had to admit that she had.
‘Well, then, get them to come more often,’ said Mrs Sefton cheerfully. ‘I dare say you might feel much better if you had something to do.’ She smiled in a condescending manner at her hostess. ‘And do come to the fête; there’s nothing like having an outside interest, you know.’
She got to her feet. ‘So be ready on Thursday, Cressida—you don’t mind if I call you that? Someone will fetch you directly after lunch.’
She looked at Mrs Preece who wished her a feeble goodbye. ‘You must excuse me from getting up,’ she whispered dramatically. ‘The shock, you know…’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Mrs Sefton, ‘for I didn’t realise that you’d had one. I dare say we shall meet. Do you go out at all socially? I have seen you on several occasions at dinner parties and were you not in Bath last week? At the Royal Crescent, dining with the Croftons? Cressida was not with you?’
‘Oh, yes—a long-standing engagement. Cressida hates going out, she is very much a home girl.’
Mrs Sefton raised her eyebrows. ‘Then in that case, this little job will give her a taste of the outside world, will it not?’
With which parting shot Mrs Sefton took herself off.
Mrs Preece wept and cajoled and threatened for the rest of that day but to no good purpose. Moggy was adamant about leaving, she packed her things and then went to help Cressida with hers. ‘I can’t think why you stayed, Miss Cressida, you could have gone months ago…’
‘I wasn’t going to leave you here, Moggy,’ was all Cressida would say.
Miss Mogford stared at her, her arms full of clothes. ‘So that’s why you’ve put up with your stepmother’s tantrums. I’ll not forget that, love. If ever you need help or a home or just someone to talk to, I’ll be there waiting and don’t you forget it.’
Cressida put down the shoes she was polishing and cast her arms around Miss Mogford. ‘Moggy, you are a darling, and I’ll remember that and I promise that I’ll come to you if I need help or advice or a bed. I shall miss you.’
Moggy’s stern countenance softened. ‘I shall miss you too after all this time. It hasn’t been easy, has it? But everything’ll come right now. You really want to go to this old lady?’
‘Yes, oh, yes, I do. It’s a start, I can get a reference from her and I suppose I’ll get paid—I forgot to ask—I’ll save all I can and besides Mr Tims said there was a little money for me. I’d better go and see him tomorrow… No, I’ll phone, he can send the money here.’
She wrapped her shoes carefully and put them into the shabby suitcase. ‘We’d better go and start dinner. Stepmother’s alone this evening.’
‘Well, don’t let her put upon you,’ advised Miss Mogford firmly.
Cressida turned eyes shining like stars upon her companion. ‘I won’t, Moggy, never again.’

CHAPTER THREE
BY LUNCHTIME on Thursday Cressida could feel nothing but relief at leaving her home. Mrs Preece had tried every gambit known to her in her efforts to make Cressida and Miss Mogford change their minds. She had had no success and had resorted to bad temper and reproaches, despite which Cressida had been to the village and arranged for one of the women who came to help in the house to move in temporarily until a new housekeeper could be engaged. She had met the postman on the way and he had given her a letter from Mr Tims—a registered letter containing a hundred pounds and a note—couched in dry-as-dust terms, wishing her well and advising her to use the money prudently until such time as she had a permanent job. Cressida, who hadn’t laid hands on anything like that sum for some time, skipped all the way home—rather clumsily because her ankle still pained her at times.
No sooner had she entered the house than her stepmother called to her from the drawing-room. ‘Since you’re not going until after lunch you might as well get it ready. I’m far too upset to eat much; I’ll have an omelette and some thin toast and my usual junket. You had better open a bottle of white wine too.’ She picked up the novel she was reading. ‘And don’t bother to say goodbye, you ungrateful girl. I’ll have a tray here.’
Cressida went to the kitchen and found Miss Mogford in the process of getting ready to leave. The baker’s van would be calling shortly and the driver was giving her a lift to Templecombe where her sister had a small cottage. Her old-fashioned trunk and cardboard suitcase were already in the hall and as she sat at the kitchen table, wearing her best coat and a rather terrifying hat, she looked as stern as usual but when Cressida joined her her face crumpled.
‘That it should come to this—you being turned out of your own home…’
‘Well, I’ve turned myself out, haven’t I, Moggy? I hate leaving and so do you but we shall both be a lot happier. After all, it hasn’t been much fun since Father died. Has stepmother paid you your wages?’
Miss Mogford nodded. ‘I had to ask her for them. And what about you, Miss Cressy? Will you be all right? Supposing this old lady is too much of a handful?’
‘Old ladies, on the whole, are rather nice, Moggy, and in any case it’s only for a few weeks then I can pick and choose.’ Cressida spoke bracingly because Moggy sounded worried, but she felt uncertain of the future, although she had every intention of making a success of whatever she ended up doing. Leaving her home was a sadness she hadn’t quite realised, but to stay forever, pandering to her stepmother’s whims, was something no longer to be borne. She had been longing for something to happen and now it had and she would make the very best of it.
‘There’s the baker,’ she said, and bustled her old friend out into the hall. ‘Now you’ve got my address and I’ve got yours, we’ll write regularly and as soon as we can we’ll have a few hours together.’ She put her arms round Moggy’s spare frame and hugged her. ‘I’m going to miss you dreadfully but you’re going to be happy and so am I.’ She planted a kiss on the housekeeper’s cheek. ‘Now off you go. I’ll be leaving in an hour or two…’
Miss Mogford spoke gruffly. ‘If your poor pa could see you now, he’d turn in his grave. This isn’t what he intended.’
‘Well, never mind that, Moggy, we’re both getting a chance, aren’t we? It’s rather exciting…’
She walked Miss Mogford out to the van and found that the driver had stowed the luggage in the back, and was waiting to settle his passenger into the front seat. The last Cressida saw of Moggy was her elderly face rigid with suppressed feelings staring out from under that hat.
In the kitchen, warming the milk for the junket, Cressida shed a few tears. She hadn’t meant to, they had oozed out from under her lids and she had wiped them away at once. She was going to miss Moggy, she was going to miss her home too and those of her friends whom she saw from time to time, but, she told herself firmly, this was something she had wished for and now it had happened and she must make the most of it. She made the junket, then beat the eggs for the omelette and cut herself a sandwich, for there wouldn’t be time for anything more.
Her stepmother was making things as difficult as possible—she wanted fruit and more coffee and a novel she had put down somewhere and simply had to have. Cressida attending to these wants, gobbled her sandwich as she tidied the kitchen just in time to get her elderly tweed coat as a car drew up before the house. Her stepmother’s tray hadn’t been cleared and nothing had been done about dinner that evening; Cressida, feeling guilty, didn’t mind. She went quietly from the old house with her two shabby suitcases and was met on the doorstep by an elderly man with a weatherbeaten face who wished her good day in a friendly voice and stowed her luggage in the boot of the elderly Daimler.
She had gone to the drawing-room on her way out, and, despite Mrs Preece’s wish, had been determined to bid her goodbye.

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