The New Moon with the Old (6 page)

Eventually Jane's entire outfit was decided on; then Merry went to bed. Jane intended to go downstairs again but as she opened her door she heard Richard talking in the hall.

‘She was terribly upset, Clare. Father didn't even say goodbye to her.'

‘Oh, poor Violet!'

‘I asked if the rent of her flat was paid …'

Jane stepped back into her room and quietly closed the door. So Richard had been to see some woman friend of his father's – though ‘friend', presumably, was hardly the right word … perhaps one ought to be shocked but one wasn't. And one felt sorry for the woman – how dreadful not to have been said goodbye to! Surely if Rupert cared seriously …?

Tempted to open the door again and listen, she firmly switched her thoughts to the coming interview with Miss Willy. The shoes she meant to wear could do with a polish.

He had asked her to help his children. Well, tomorrow she would do her best for Merry.

The next morning, Merry suggested she should accompany Jane. ‘I could sit outside in the car and you could call me in to thank Weary Willy if everything’s all right – as I’m sure it will be; she was really very kind to that girl who lost both parents. And then I could take you round the school and the grounds and show you the darling ponies.’

But Jane said it would make her nervous if Merry waited almost on the doorstep; also it would be unfair to Miss Willy.

‘You mean it would make it harder for her to refuse? Well, we want to, don’t we? Still, if you’d rather I didn’t come …’

Jane got ready and was carefully inspected.

‘You look marvellous – what she calls beautifully groomed. Just wrinkle your gloves a bit more.’

They went out into the sunny autumn morning and Jane started her car. Merry issued last instructions.

‘Park a bit to the right of the front door; then Weary Willy can see the car from her window. You can’t miss the school. It’s less than half a mile beyond the village – a big Queen Anne house with lots of additions. It used to be the Hall. If you get nervous, try not to let her see it. Be a bit grand.’

Jane already felt nervous and became even more so when she sighted the school across its large grounds. It was so impressive that she feared she would not be seen without an appointment. But after sending her name in by the smartly
uniformed maid she was kept waiting only a moment and Miss Willy, rising to shake hands, seemed pleased to see her.

The head mistress was willowy, long-necked and very fair, her flaxen hair slightly greyed. In Pre-Raphaelite days she might have passed for a beauty. In her strictly tailored suit she looked somehow wrong. Still, Jane eyed the suit’s cut with respect. She accepted the indicated chair, facing the light, thanked Miss Willy for seeing her and began to introduce herself.

Miss Willy interrupted, her languid voice curiously at variance with the shrewdness of her glance. ‘Oh, I know who you are. In this village, everyone knows everything, though facts frequently get garbled in transit. Which reminds me, is it true, the Carringtons’ maids have been snapped up by the Swan? If not, I should be delighted—’

‘You’re too late,’ said Jane, with satisfaction; she had taken an instant dislike to Miss Willy.

‘Ah, well … Now tell me about yourself. Could you start work at once?’

‘Work?’ said Jane, astonished.

‘You do know I’m in need of a secretary?’

‘I certainly didn’t,’ said Jane. ‘I’ve come about Merry.’

‘Oh, is that it? I suppose Clare funked seeing me. Well, you can tell them I’ve no intention of suing anyone for my unpaid fees. It wouldn’t be any use if Rupert Carrington’s got out of England, as I quite hope he has. Such a charming man, if a criminally unwise one – and I don’t mean as regards his present débâcle. The way he’s spoilt those children! But you’ve seen for yourself.’

Jane’s nervousness was now replaced by annoyance. ‘I’ve found them all charming and intelligent,’ she said truculently.

‘Drew certainly is. Surely no one could call Clare intelligent or Richard charming, though I’ll admit he’s handsome. As for Meriella …’ Miss Willy paused and appeared to be considering the matter dispassionately. ‘No,
I’d never describe her as charming and intelligent. The words are inadequate. She is undoubtedly the most brilliant child I’ve ever had in my school.’

Jane smiled with relief. Everything would be all right. But the languid voice was continuing.

‘Not that I shan’t be more than happy to lose her as a pupil. How does she propose to finish her education?’

Jane’s smile froze and her nervousness returned. ‘We hoped … I believe you do sometimes award scholarships?’

‘A scholarship? To Meriella?’ Miss Willy looked astounded. ‘Is this her own idea?’

‘I think her friend Betty suggested—’

‘That poor girl! She was doing well at both lessons and games until Meriella infected her with a desire to act – which, believe me, was not God’s plan for her; she has a marked resemblance to a suet pudding, in figure as well as face. Well, I may yet salvage her if I can get her away from Meriella. No, Miss Minton, I can award no scholarship.’

‘Not even for two terms – until Merry’s fifteen?’

‘I find that an outrageous suggestion. This is hardly a school for pupils who finish their education at fifteen. My scholarship girls stay till they’re eighteen and usually go on to college.’

‘I’d hoped, if you were willing to have her, that I could persuade Merry to stay until she was – well, say, seventeen.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t persuade her to do that, whatever school she goes to.’ Miss Willy now sounded less severe. ‘As a matter of fact, I advised her father to let her finish with school as soon as she legally can.’

‘Did you want to get rid of her so much?’ Jane asked coldly.

Miss Willy’s quick glance showed that the coldness had been noted. She was silent for a moment. Then she said: ‘I must defend myself a little. I’ve told you I think Meriella brilliant. The trouble is, she’s slanted her brilliance in
only one direction: acting. Ordinary lessons bore her and she refuses to play any game. What’s more, she can be embarrassingly precocious. Let me tell you what happened at our Midsummer theatricals – always rather a feature with us. This year we decided on scenes from Shakespeare, and Meriella and Betty wanted to do the balcony scene from
Romeo and Juliet
. They gave me quite a charming audition – Meriella was exquisite – but I said, frankly, that Betty wasn’t the right shape for Romeo. They assured me she would be tactfully draped in a cloak and the scene would be dimly lit, so I gave in. Well, I had to be away at a conference during the last days of rehearsals and when I retuned, on the day of the performance, I heard the balcony scene had proved impracticable on our little stage and Meriella and Betty were substituting the farewell scene. Unfortunately, I didn’t remember the implications of that scene. You recall it?’

‘I think so … “Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.” – isn’t that how it begins?’

‘It is indeed. Of course our drama mistress should never have allowed it but she was flurried by the last-minute change and let Meriella take charge. Imagine my horror when, before a packed audience, the curtain rose to reveal a large mattress where Meriella and Betty were reclining among dishevelled bedclothes. Meriella was wearing a red wig she’d hired; and by means of make-up and sheer acting ability was managing to look fully adult – helped by the fact that she’d padded the bust of her white silk nightgown to quite Hollywood proportions. Betty, whose bust needs restraining, not amplifying, was wearing a thin, open-necked shirt and very fully-filled black tights. The two of them proceeded to throw themselves about on the mattress, Betty a very female, amorous dumpling of fourteen, and Meriella a voluptuous woman of at least
twenty-five
– if anything, too mature for Juliet. You can imagine the impression they gave.’

‘Did people laugh?’

‘Not at first – I assure you, it was too shocking to laugh at. Then, mercifully, one side of Meriella’s false bust slipped round under one arm. She tried to hitch it back and, for a moment, her mask of maturity dropped and she looked just a painted child. The audience roared and I can only hope the previous impression was forgotten in laughter – in spite of which, and though the Capulets had only the haziest notion of their parts, Meriella ended by being deeply moving, even though her false bust was still under one arm. Oh, dear, I still laugh when I think of it.’

Jane, too, laughed. Then she said: ‘But, Miss Willy, you said Merry was embarrassingly precocious. Surely such an incident proves just the opposite? Only a very innocent girl …’

‘Quite true,’ said Miss Willy. ‘I ought to have said she can appear to be precocious. It only happens when she’s acting – through some miracle of intuition. At other times she often strikes me as unusually innocent for her age. And she’s not, by the way, sentimental. She has no sentimental attachment to Betty, nor has she ever shown one for any of her teachers, thank heaven. Me, she definitely dislikes. But I don’t dislike her and when I advised her father to let her leave my school it was because I believed it had no more to offer her. She has an absolutely first-class brain, but she’ll work at nothing not connected with her acting, so she should concentrate on it as soon as she’s legally free to.’

‘But that’s not for six months,’ said Jane, beginning to respect Miss Willy. ‘And you do so well understand her. Would you allow me to pay her fees here?’

‘Do you know what our fees are?’ Miss Willy’s tone was ominous.

‘Tell me, please.’

‘I warn you they’re high, particularly for day girls as we don’t care to have many. This is mainly a boarding school.’

Jane was staggered by the sum named – but she could afford it, for two terms. Without hesitation she said: ‘That would be quite satisfactory.’

‘You’re a very generous woman,’ said Miss Willy.

‘Then we’ll consider the matter settled.’

Slowly the head mistress shook her head. ‘This isn’t a question of money. And I’m not going to pretend I’m only doing what seems to be best for Meriella. No doubt it would be a convenience for her to stay here until she’s fifteen. But it wouldn’t be good for my school. I told you she wasn’t sentimental – but others are sentimental about her. There’s quite a Meriella cult and it would increase now. And think of all the publicity if Rupert Carrington gets hauled to trial. I’m sorry but I just don’t want her here.’

Jane’s tone became frigid. ‘Then there’s no more to be said.’

‘Oh, yes, there is. I’ll post you a list of – well, fairly good schools in nearby towns, all of which would cost you far less than you’re prepared to pay me. You could, of course, just let matters drift for six months but some village busybody might inform the authorities. As soon as she’s fifteen, let her try for a scholarship at some London drama school. Some scholarships include maintenance allowances.’

‘But she couldn’t live in London, alone,’ said Jane. ‘She’s just a child, Miss Willy, and to me she seems a normal child.’

‘Which Meriella have you been treated to? The pert, voluble one?’

‘Voluble, certainly—’

‘Well, that’s somewhere near the real Meriella, except that she dramatizes the normality. You should see her when she’s working on Shakespearean tragedy and speaks mainly in blank verse – yes, really; it’s very bad blank verse but it scans. My least favourite times are when she’s studying what she calls character parts and uses phrases like “Pardon” and “Thanks ever so”. Oh, don’t worry about her, just drag her
through the next six months as best you can – not that 1 see why you should be involved with the Carrington problems. Now let’s talk about you. I do need a secretary. Would you like to work for me?’

Jane doubted it. But it would mean she could remain part of the Carrington household, unless she would be expected to live at the school; she inquired about this.

‘No, indeed,’ said Miss Willy. ‘We’re full to overflowing. How much was Rupert Carrington paying you – or should one say, owing you?’

Jane named the figure hoping it would impress Miss Willy as much as she herself had been impressed by the school fees.

‘Well, it’s enough,’ said Miss Willy. ‘But you’re probably worth it. Having your own car’s an advantage and I like the way you dress.’

‘Merry said you would,’ said Jane; then regretted it.

But Miss Willy took it in good part. ‘Shrewd of her. And a compliment to both of us, if you think it out. I’ve an idea we should get on tolerably well. Of course I expect hard work, just as I expect it of myself.’

And thrive on it, thought Jane. Weary Willy, in spite of her nickname and languid voice, was certainly not weary. Aloud, she said: ‘Oh, I fancy I could stand up to the job – if I’m able to accept it.’

‘You can’t decide now? My temporary help is hopeless and the new term starts on Monday. Well, when
can
you let me know?’

‘Not for two or three days,’ said Jane firmly. Standing up to the job would really mean standing up to Miss Willy and one would get off to a bad start if one accepted too eagerly; anyway, the matter needed thought, and the Carringtons would have to be consulted.

‘You probably have other irons in the fire. Well, join me if you can. Now I must let you go as I’m expecting a parent.’ She rose and escorted Jane to the front door. ‘I’m sorry I
haven’t time to show you over the school. We’re rather proud of our new swimming pool. By the way, it will be best if you just tell Meriella I never award scholarships to girls who aren’t prepared to stay on until they’re eighteen.’

‘But suppose she agrees to that?’

‘She won’t,’ said Miss Willy.

They exchanged civil goodbyes and Jane drove away, wondering why Merry so disliked the head mistress, who had obviously treated her with forbearance. Perhaps the star quality in Merry warred with the star quality in Miss Willy – of which Jane had been fully conscious. One could be amused by such a quality in a brilliant child but one was wary of it in a mature woman; and though Jane’s own dislike had decreased, she guessed it would never be replaced by any feeling of warmth.

What worried her now was that all cheaper schools would be a come-down after this one. How much was Merry going to mind?

She came running from the house while Jane was garaging her car.

‘Was it all right? How did you get on?’

Jane was thankful to have the explanation Miss Willy had suggested. Merry accepted it at once.

‘I ought to have guessed that. Scholarship holders are always expected to work for the glory of the school. I’d never do that. Funny, I’ve always wanted to leave and get started on the stage but now … well, I wish I’d known last term that it
was
my last term and sort of said goodbye.’

As they walked to the house Jane spoke of the list of schools Miss Willy was sending.

‘But they’ll be private schools, Jane. We’d have to pay.’

Jane said tentatively, ‘I wondered if you’d allow me to help, Merry. I could easily afford it.’

‘Darling Jane! I wouldn’t dream of letting you spend money on me. And, anyway, if one can’t go to a first-rate
private school, which Weary Willy’s really is, why not go tootling off to school with the village children?’ Merry’s tone was gay but distinctly histrionic. ‘I can pick up a real teenage vocabulary – that’s so frowned on at Miss Willy’s, inhibited little squares that we are; I mean “were” as regards me – it’s like having to change the tense when someone dies. But I do thank you for such a superb offer – and you’ve only known me four days. Seems longer, doesn’t it?’