Victoria Holt (20 page)

We talked about the child and Marcia tried to make her say something but she refused, and after a while I looked at my watch and said I should have to be back at school in half an hour. I was sorry to hurry away but she would understand.

She was the gracious hostess. “You must come again,” she said, and I promised I would.

Riding back to the Abbey I thought how unreal everything had seemed. Marcia Martindale appeared to be acting a part all the time.

Perhaps that was to be expected since she was an actress. I wondered why Jason Verringer had become enamored of her and what part he could play in such a household. I felt there was something very unpleasant about the whole matter and I wanted to put them both out of my mind.

***

The term passed with greater speed than the previous one, which might have been because I was becoming so familiar with the school. Lessons, rehearsals, gossip in the calefactory, little chats with Daisy…I found it all absorbing.

There was no doubt that I was a favorite with Daisy, who, I knew, congratulated herself on having imported a Schaffenbrucken product into the establishment; and I really believed she attributed the growing prosperity to my presence.

She would ask me to her sitting room and over cups of tea talk about the school and the pupils. She was delighted in the change in Teresa Hurst and was relieved that I could be relied upon to take her off her hands when the cousins defaulted.

As the term progressed the main item of conversation was the coming pantomime.

“The parents come to see it so it is very important that we have the right kind of entertainment,” Daisy said. “Parents are not very perceptive where their own daughters are concerned and are apt to think that they are budding Bernhardts—but they can be highly critical of others. I want them to notice how well
all
the girls enunciate, how they move with a particular grace, how they enter a room and are free from any gaucherie. You know what I mean. I should think a good many parents will come to see the pantomime. They will have to make their own arrangements, of course. The hotel in Colby will be full, but some of them can stay a few miles off at Bantable. There are some big hotels there. They can then travel back with their daughters. We have never had as many as we did for the Abbey Festival. That was last year. We’ll do it again next. It should be in June. Midsummer Night is the best. It’s light then and of course it is so effective among the ruins. Such a wonderful setting. It was most impressive…quite uncanny, in fact. The seniors were in their white robes. You really would have thought the monks had come to life again. We had some lovely singing and chanting. It was a great occasion. I daresay we have some of the costumes put away somewhere. I must ask Miss Barston.”

“An Abbey Festival with the girls dressed as monks. That must have been really exciting.”

“Oh it was. The Cistercian robes…and I remember we had torches. I was terrified of those torches—though I must say they did add something to the scene. Girls can be so careless. We came near to having an accident. It would be better if we could do it in the light of a full moon. But that’s for the future. Now let us concentrate on
Cinderella
. I hope Charlotte will not show off. Other parents won’t like it.”

“I am sure she will do very well. And Fiona Verringer is going to make a charming Cinderella.”

And so we went on.

The term progressed and I did not see Marcia Martindale during it, but I did on two occasions meet Mrs. Gittings wheeling the child through the lanes. I stopped and talked to her. She seemed devoted to the child and I liked her. She was a rosy-cheeked homely woman with an air of honesty, quite a contrast to the flamboyant actress and her truculent cockney dresser.

I talked to her and I confess to a curiosity to know how she fitted into such a household. She was not the sort of woman to talk much of her employers but one or two revealing observations slipped out.

“Mrs. Martindale be an actress twenty-four hours of the day. So you can never be sure whether ’tis what she means or whether she be playing a part, if you get my meaning. She’m fond of the child but forgets her sometimes…and that’s not the way for children.” And of Maisie. “She be such another. Got her two feet on the ground though, that one. I don’t know. It be like working in some sort of theatre…not, mind you, Miss Grant, as I’ve ever worked in one. But I say to myself, Jane Gittings, this b’ain’t no theatre. This be a real live home and this be a real live child. And if they forget it, see you don’t.”

On the other occasion when I saw her—that was nearer the break-up for the Christmas holiday, she told me she was going to stay with her sister on the moor just over the holiday. “Mistress, her be going to London and her’ll take Maisie with her. That gives me a chance to take the little ’un with me. My sister’s one for babies. I reckon it was a real pity she never had one of her own.”

Somehow I could not imagine Marcia Martindale as mistress of the Hall. But it was no concern of mine and there was plenty at this time with which to occupy myself.

Cinderella
was a continual source of panic and joy. Fiona had a pretty singing voice and we had found an exuberant wicked stepmother and two ugly sisters whose spirits were difficult to restrain, and who were determined to add touches of their own, to the despair of Eileen Eccles. Then Charlotte’s costume didn’t fit in a manner to please Miss Barston and there was pandemonium about that.

“For heaven’s sake!” cried Eileen. “It can’t be worse at Drury Lane!”

There was the task of decorating the school and setting up a post box so that the girls could send Christmas cards to each other. On the morning before
Cinderella
was performed we had our postal delivery and two of the younger girls had postman’s caps and very solemnly opened the box which had been set up in the refectory, and the cards were delivered to the various classes. There were gasps of oohs and ahs and much embracing and many expressions of heartfelt thanks.

A record number of parents came to watch
Cinderella
; they applauded wildly, declared it was charming and much better than last year’s
Dick
Whittington
, and it didn’t matter in the least that one of the ugly sisters fell sprawling on the stage and her shoe went hurtling into the audience and that the second ugly sister forgot her lines and the prompter’s voice was so loud that it could be heard all over the hall.

Everyone said it was delightful. Daisy was congratulated.

“Your girls have such beautiful manners,” said one parent.

“I’m so glad you notice,” replied Daisy smiling. “We are so insistent on deportment. More so I believe than in so many of these fashionable finishing schools.”

It was triumph indeed.

The girls had gone and Teresa and I would be departing on the next day for Moldenbury. Another term was over. It had been a very interesting and pleasant one and it was partly due to the fact that Jason Verringer was absent. The fact gave a certain peace to the surroundings.

***

Christmas was a real success. Teresa had so looked forward to it that I feared she might have set her hopes too high and suffer disappointment.

But no, everything went perfectly.

We arrived a week before the Day and I was glad of that because it gave Teresa time to enjoy the anticipation of Christmas and all the preparations which I had often felt were more enjoyable than the feast itself.

She was able to help Violet with the pudding and the Christmas cake. All of which Violet said should have been done by this time. But there was Teresa sitting on a chair stoning raisins and shelling nuts, watching Violet like a dedicated priestess stirring the pudding and calling everyone in to have a stir, even the man who helped in the garden three times a week.

“Everyone must have a stir,” said Violet mysteriously. “Otherwise…”

She did not finish the sentence but the silence was more ominous than words could have been.

Then there was the smell which seemed to pervade the house while the puddings bubbled away in the copper in the little laundry room and Teresa was there when Violet, with the long stick which was used for pulling out clothes, expertly stuck the end through the loops in the pudding cloths and triumphantly lifted them out while we all looked on in wonder. There was the all-important little taster—a small basin with just enough for four in it. We would taste that after dinner and give our unbiased verdict.

It was wonderful to see Teresa’s delight in these small happenings, and her face was very serious when her portion of the taster was placed before her. We tasted—all eyes on Violet, the connoisseur of Christmas puddings.

“A little too much cinnamon,” she said. “I guessed it.”

“Nonsense,” said Aunt Patty. “It’s perfect.”

“Could have been better.”

“It’s the best pudding I ever tasted,” declared Teresa.

“You didn’t taste last year’s,” said Violet.

“Well, I can’t see anything wrong with it,” insisted Aunt Patty. “I only hope next year’s is half as good.”

“So do I,” said Teresa.

And there was a little silence which Aunt Patty quickly filled. Teresa had found a way into this house and she was welcome. I think both my aunt and Violet were gratified and delighted that she enjoyed being with us so much. But we had to admit that at any time she could be sent for by relations or even her parents.

I hoped Teresa did not notice the pause and we went on with the inquest on the taster.

Then there was the decorating. Aunt Patty had left this for us to do so that Teresa could share in it. We picked holly and ivy which was hung in the rooms and we made a wreath to hang on the door. We went carol singing with the church party and to Midnight Service on Christmas Eve after which we came back to hot soup at the kitchen table and when we had finished it Aunt Patty bustled us off to bed.

“You’ll want to sleep late if you don’t get off to bed,” she said, “and that will shorten the great day.”

In spite of our late night we were all up early on Christmas morning. The presents were lying under the tree and would be distributed after dinner, which would be eaten at one o’clock. Aunt Patty, Teresa and I went to church; Violet stayed behind to cook the goose. After service many of us congregated in the porch to wish each other a happy Christmas and then Aunt Patty, Teresa and I walked home across the fields humming “Come All Ye Faithful.”

We all declared the goose was done to a turn except Violet, who insisted that it had been in the oven five minutes too long; the pudding lived up to the expectations established by the taster and the opening of presents began. Aunt Patty had woolen gloves for Teresa and Violet’s offering was a scarf to match. I had bought her brushes and paints because rather to our surprise she had begun to improve with her art. She was not as good as Eugenie Verringer, Eileen had said, but her progress was remarkable. We were touched because she had painted pictures for us all and had had them framed in Colby. There was a bowl of violets for Violet—very appropriate, we all declared; for Aunt Patty there was a garden scene with a girl seated on a chair, wearing an enormous hat which covered her face, which was a mercy, for I was sure that Teresa would never have managed anything so demanding; and for me a landscape with a house in the distance which looked a little like Colby Hall.

In the afternoon Aunt Patty and Violet dozed while Teresa and I went for a walk skirting the woods where the pale wintry sunshine glinted through the bare branches of the trees and taking the path across the stubbly fields reveling in the smell of the damp earth and watching the jackdaws and rooks looking for food on the broken soil.

We did not speak much but there was a contentment about us both.

In the evening there were visitors. Aunt Patty had made many friends in the village and we played childish games like In the Manner of the Word and Animal, Vegetable and Mineral, refreshing ourselves with sandwiches and Violet’s parsnip and ginger wines.

Then there was Boxing Day when the postman and dustman came for their Christmas boxes, solemnly presented in sealed envelopes with Merry Christmas written on them; and visiting the vicarage in the afternoon for muffins and tea and Christmas cake with icing on top.

Violet, being a little gratified because the icing was a trifle hard, wondered whether she ought to tell the vicarage cook to put a drop—not much, mind you—of glycerin in it next year to soften it.

This problem occupied her all the way home. Should she or shouldn’t she? And we all took sides over this matter although I suppose none of us—except Violet—cared either way.

But that was how it was. There was so much delight and pleasure in the simple things. I watched Teresa’s animated face and felt ashamed of myself. I had known so many Christmases like this but I had never really appreciated them before.

The holidays were over and there was Aunt Patty waving goodbye on the platform, cherries bobbing on her hat, and Violet telling us that she was sure the sandwiches she had packed for the journey would be dry before we ate them.

“See you at Easter time,” called Aunt Patty.

“Hot cross bun time,” added Violet.

I looked at Teresa. She was smiling, clearly looking forward to Easter and hot cross buns.

***

That term seemed dull compared with the others. The first had been exciting because I was settling in and I had had my encounters with Jason Verringer. During the term leading up to Christmas I had been busy with rehearsals and so on. Now that was over and this term seemed like an anticlimax. For one thing Jason Verringer was still away. Fiona and Eugenie had naturally been at the Hall for Christmas and an elderly cousin and her husband had come to take charge of them. I gathered from Teresa that they had done very much as they liked and that the elderly cousins had quickly given up trying to exercise control.

When I asked them how they had enjoyed Christmas, Eugenie had laughed and said with a rather malicious twinkle in her eyes: “It was quite interesting, Miss Grant!” and Fiona replied demurely: “We enjoyed it very much thank you.”