Snare of Serpents (29 page)

So we left the Society’s offices and after another night in our hotel we went back to the vicarage.

W
E HAD,
of course, made no secret of our intentions. Lilias’ father and sister had been informed right from the first. Jane understood absolutely why Lilias wanted to get away. She knew she had felt frustrated. I believed that Jane thought it was rather a reckless step to leave one’s country, but she understood the need for it. So did the vicar. They were saddened at the thought of Lilias’ departure but made no efforts to persuade her to stay. It was not quite the case with Daisy. She laboured under the assumption that heathens lived in foreign parts and the idea of Lilias’ travelling to such places appalled her. She expressed her disapproval and, as she was something of a gossip, very soon the whole village was aware of our plans.

So there was great excitement in Lakemere that summer with two major events about to take place: the marriage of Myra Ellington to Roger Lestrange and the possible departure to foreign parts of the vicar’s daughter.

The annual fete always took place in June and, since the Manor House was lax in its duties, the gardens of Lakemere House were thrown open for the occasion. This was posing
some questions this year as the wedding was to take place about a week later.

Mrs. Ellington, however, was not one to shirk her duties and, awkward as it might be, she decided that the fete must go ahead.

We were all summoned to work for it. I was not sorry, because my thoughts were dominated—not so much as to whether we should go abroad as to where to. Lilias and I talked endlessly when we were alone; but it did seem to me that we covered the same ground again and again. Lilias’ doubts centred on the fact that we should have to find posts when we arrived at whatever place we decided on. She feared we might not do so immediately and she would already be in debt—a state of affairs which she deplored.

In vain did I point out that I had a little money of my own which I would share with her. It was no use. I was afraid that she might decide she had been rash to agree to come with me and would change her mind.

They were uneasy days and that was why it was a help to be caught up with the fete.

I was in charge of what was called bric-a-brac, which mainly consisted of articles which had been given as presents, put away in a drawer and never used, to be brought out and presumably passed on to others who would do the same with them as their previous owners. However, it was all in a good cause; Norman churches needed constant bolstering up.

It was a warm sunny day which was a blessing, for the stalls could be set up on the lawns. Lilias had said it could be a nightmare if the weather was uncertain. At least if it were definitely raining they could be set up in the hall which was quite spacious.

I was presiding over my stall, attending to
the occasional customer, when Roger Lestrange strolled up.

“Good afternoon, Miss Grey,” he said. “How is business?”

He was smiling at me with that intent expression which made me feel a little uncomfortable. But that was only because I harboured secrets. It was something I had to live with while I stayed here.

“Hardly brisk.”

“What do you suggest I should buy?”

“Here’s a delightful little pig.”

“Not my favourite animal.”

“Look. There’s a little slit in his back where you can save your pennies.”

“How useful!”

“Here’s a pillbox. Such a pretty picture on the lid.”

“Enchanting,” he said, looking at me.

“Here’s a figurine. The
Venus de Milo.
”

“Certainly more attractive than the pig and I have not much use for pillboxes. Let me have Venus.”

I handed it to him and our hands touched. He was smiling. “I have been hearing news of you. You’re leaving this country.”

“Oh yes.”

“What a decision for a young lady to make!” Again that quizzical look. I was afraid I was going to blush. I took a firm grip of myself. I must overcome this terrible suspicion that everyone knew who I really was. It would be different when I was away, I consoled myself.

“It’s rather an exciting project,” I said.

“Indeed it must be. Miss Milne is going with you, I gather. I don’t remember hearing where.”

“We haven’t decided yet.”

“Oh?” He looked surprised.

“We have been making enquiries. There are several possibilities. Australia … America … somewhere like that.”

“And what did you propose to do when you get there?”

“There is only one thing women in our position can do. Take a post.”

“The ubiquitous governess?” he said. “Well, if that’s the case, why not here?”

“We like the idea of travel.”

He nodded. “It has its appeal … to the adventurous. But you say you haven’t decided. Does that mean you have no posts in view?”

“It’s something we have to arrange when we get there.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I would say
you are adventurous. Why don’t you try South Africa? It’s a beautiful country. And I’m sure there is a shortage of the right sort of governesses—which you and Miss Milne would undoubtedly be. As a matter of fact there is a school in Kimberley. Not exactly the sort of thing you had in mind perhaps … but something on the lines.”

Someone had come up to the stall and had picked up a case containing needles and cottons.

“How much is this?”

I turned reluctantly from Roger Lestrange who lifted his eyebrows and smiled. I was afraid he would go away, and I wanted to ask him more about the school. That we might go into a school was a prospect which had not entered our minds.

While I took the money from my customer I was thinking: but wouldn’t they want qualified teachers for a school?

The woman had gone.

“Yes,” went on Roger Lestrange. “This school in Kimberley had to close down. There was no one to run it. I wonder … ?”

“It sounds interesting.”

Someone else had come up to the stall.

“Business is getting brisk now,” said Roger Lestrange.

He lingered. The newcomer fingered a few things, bought a glass ashtray and departed.

“We ought to have a talk,” said Roger Lestrange.

“With Miss Milne,” I replied. “Could you come to the vicarage? It’s impossible here.”

“Tomorrow morning, yes. Ten o’clock?”

“That would be kind of you. Oh dear, someone else is coming. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

I hardly noticed what I was selling. I could not wait to see Lilias and tell her the news.

And when she heard it she shared my excitement.

He arrived at the vicarage precisely on the stroke of ten next morning. We were both eagerly waiting for him and took him into the sitting room which the vicar used for listening to the trials of his parishioners, and we settled down to talk.

“The more I think of it the more suitable it seems,” he said.

“We need a school, but we had to close this one down. The lady who had run it for some years was getting old. She gave up, and up to the time I left they had not found anyone to replace her. One or two did come but did not stay … and then there was no one, so they had to close it. I’ve written to a man I know who is in charge of these things in the town and I posted the letter last night. I hope you don’t think I was precipitous, but I thought there was no harm in finding out what the position was. My opinion is that they’ll be delighted at the prospect of finding someone who’ll open up the school and run it successfully, as I am sure you two will.”

“We’d be working together,” said Lilias, her eyes shining.

“That’s the idea. The head—I presume that would be you, Miss Milne, your being the senior and the experienced one …”

He looked at me apologetically and I said quickly: “But naturally.”

“Of course, if you don’t like the idea you can always try something else, I suppose, but after I had heard … and then our little conversation at the stall yesterday … well, it did occur to me that it was a better proposition than going out there and not knowing what you were going to find.”

“It is so very good of you, Mr. Lestrange,” said Lilias earnestly; and I echoed her words, for it was wonderful to see the anxieties dropping from her and to experience the pleasant feeling that the way was being made easy for us.

“There’ll only be a small salary, I believe … at the moment, that is. There are not all that many young people seeking education. Some of the inhabitants don’t see the need for it alas. So much would depend on how many pupils you could muster. There might be only a few at first, but if you could build it up. There are living quarters, I know, in the schoolhouse, and they would go with the job.”

“It sounds like an … opportunity,” said Lilias.

“Someone will probably be writing to you. I’ve told them to get in touch.”

“We don’t know how to thank you,” we said in unison.

His eyes held mine for a moment and he smiled.

“I only hope it works out well and I deserve your thanks,” he said.

L
ILIAS
was growing enthusiastic. She had naturally been fearful that we might arrive in some foreign place without any hope of employment—and now that fear was gone. And the prospect of a school where we could work together was wonderful.

“It’s ideal!” said Lilias, and I began to believe her.

All the same, to leave one’s country meant a great upheaval in one’s life and now that the time for our departure was growing near I could not contemplate it without some misgivings. I found that I wanted to be alone now and then; I had to practise stopping myself going over that dreadful ordeal; I was trying to instil a peace into my mind, trying to look forward instead of back.

I found a certain peace in sitting in the graveyard which I could see from my bedroom window. It seemed so quiet there.

I was sitting there one day when Roger Lestrange came along.

“Why hello, Miss Grey,” he said. “I was just coming to the vicarage to see you and Miss Milne, and I find you sitting here contemplating the scenery. I thought you should have the address of the schoolhouse. I expect to hear before long how delighted they will be to receive you.”

“It is kind of you to take so much trouble.”

I took the paper he gave me, glanced at the address and put it into my pocket.

“It’s peaceful here,” he said. “Here, among the dead. Do you often come and sit here?”

“Quite often. I can see it from my bedroom window in the vicarage. I thought it might be morbid, but it is far from that. The quietness and peace is … appealing.”

“I hope you will like South Africa.”

“We have to get used to the idea. We had almost settled on Australia and had been reading quite a bit about it.”

“And now you have switched to South Africa. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. How soon do you plan to leave … when you hear from the school, I mean?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Myra and I will be sailing in the not-too-distant future. After the wedding and the honeymoon and I’ve settled a little business. It may be that we shall sail together.”

“I suppose that is a possibility.”

“Then I can keep an eye on you.”

“That sounds comforting.”

“When you sit here, do you wonder about the dead?”

“Yes. I suppose one would, wouldn’t one?”

“You read the names on the stones … when you can. Many of them are half-obliterated. Just think, some of these people have been lying there for a hundred years!”

“More than that, some of them.”

“Do you wonder what their lives were like … all their troubles … all their joys … how they lived and how they died?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And think of the people you have known and who are gone …”

I was silent. In spite of the fact that he had taken such pains to help us, I was wary of him. I had the feeling that there was an ulterior motive in what he said and did. He knew I came from Edinburgh; he had been present when Kitty had called out my name.

“We have all known people who have died,” he went on. “Died … before their time.”

My heart was beating fast, and I drew away from him, for I had suddenly realised that he was sitting very close to me.

“I suppose it is natural that we should think such thoughts in a place like this,” I said briskly.

“I lost someone … my wife. She was very young to die.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was tragic … unexpected. That makes it harder to bear.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Was it long ago?”

“Two years.”

I suppressed my astonishment that it was so recent and said: “It must have been very sad for you.”

He nodded. “I thought I should never marry again.”

“Well, I hope you will be happy now. I am sure Miss Ellington will make you so.”