Roses Have Thorns Page 6

  Mrs. Fletcher said carelessly, "Oh, she had any number of friends while she lived here. Most of them have gone away and several are married. It is some years since she was here. You know her?"

  The Professor looked her in the eye. "No, not at all," he assured her. Which was the truth, he told himself silently; he might have met her, watched her play the piano half the night, wished her good day on his way to and from his clinic, but he still didn't know her…

  "Well, I haven't the least idea where she is," said her stepmother. "After all, she's twenty eight and leads her own life."

  The Professor sipped the tea she had offered him. "I was under the impression that she lived here," he said casually. "This is a charming house. I envy you the peace and quiet."

  She rolled her eyes at him and looked arch. "It can be boring. I come up to town quite often. Perhaps we could meet…"

  "A delightful idea, Mrs. Fletcher." She saw him smile at her quite charmingly. "Much though I regret it, I really must go. I have promised to be in Winchelsea by early evening."

  He got back into his car and drove away, back to his home, frowning at the idea of Sarah having to live with someone like Mrs. Fletcher.

  She hadn't lived with her, of course-she had gone to London, and become one of thousands of other girls earning their livings in the anonymity of a big city.

  During the next few days, he told himself several times that there was no point in continuing his search. As her stepmother had pointed out, Sarah was no young girl. By now she would have found herself another job, far better paid, probably, and settled herself into a new home. He winced at the word "home' bedsitters weren't home, however hard one tried to make them so. He had little enough leisure that week, but what time he had he spent in his search for Sarah. Roundabout enquiries brought no results.

  The Professor refused to admit that he was wasting his time. All the same, he took the daughter of an old friend out to dinner one evening and did his best to be interested in her, and when his godmother invited him to spend the weekend with her, he accepted. He had been working hard, and a couple of days out of London would be pleasant. Early on Saturday morning he got into his car and drove himself away, to the relief of his devoted staff who had had to put up with his ill temper for some time now.

  He arrived mid-morning, and Cork opened the door to him with a welcoming smile. "Lady Wesley is in the drawing-room, sir," he said in dignified tones, and the Professor went past him into the hall.

  The first person he saw was Sarah, very neat in her housemaid's uniform, trotting briskly towards the dining-room with a tray of silver ready for Parsons to lay the table.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE Professor had crossed the hall and was blocking Sarah's way before she could do more than gasp.

  "Damn it, girl, what the devil are you doing here?" He spoke quite softly but she took a step backwards, hugging her tray, for he looked ferocious.

  She said, in a voice which shook only a very little, "You should mind your language, Professor. And, as you very well see, I am the housemaid here."

  She saw Cork treading majestically towards them, but the Professor had seen him too and waved him away, so she went on, "If you don't go away, you will get me dismissed-and that will be twice." She added, "It's no good looking so ill-tempered. Parsons is waiting for this tray."

  Parsons had come to the dining-room door to see what was happening. The Professor beckoned her over, took the tray from Sarah, gave it to her with a smile and turned his attention to Sarah.

  "You are behaving very badly, Professor," said Sarah severely. "I must ask you to go away."

  "I've just arrived for the weekend." His voice was silky. "So I was the reason for getting you dismissed from St Cyprian's?"

  "You weren't there to explain, and you asked me not to tell anyone."

  He enquired coldly, "And did you not wonder why I requested you to be silent about your stay in Holland?"

  "Well, of course I wondered, but I didn't worry about it." She cast an anxious eye at Cork, who had stationed himself at the back of the hall.

  "Have you never heard of the hospital grapevine?"

  She smiled widely, humouring him. "Of course it's a red-hot pipeline of gossip and scandal. You have no idea-' She stopped, staring up at him. "Oh, dear…"

  "Exactly, Miss Fletcher. I'm glad to see that your wits haven't entirely deserted you. How old are you?"

  "That's none of your business." Her voice was tart. "I'm twenty-eight."

  "By now you should have absorbed at least some of the pitfalls of modern society, but it seems you are still walking around with your head in a paper bag."

  "Of all the rude men!" she burst out. "You're making me out to be a freak."

  He said smoothly, "No freak, Miss Fletcher-you are that rarity: a very nice, well brought-up girl."

  He gave her a smile as cold as his eyes, and crossed the hall to where Cork was standing. "Lady Wesley is expecting me?" he asked pleasantly, and went into the drawing-room.

  Cork trod majestically to where Sarah was standing. That he disapproved of servants, especially a housemaid, passing the time of day with guests went without saying. On the other hand, Sarah wasn't the usual type of servant-that they had all agreed upon in the kitchen. Not in the least toffee-nosed, but definitely from the other side of the baize-door… He said now, eyeing her woebegone face, "Now, now, Sarah, don't take on so. No harm done. Gentlemen have their little flashes of temper, you know, and he was took by surprise. Known 'im long, "ave you?"

  She shook her head. "No, Mr. Cork, I was just a clerk at the hospital where he is a consultant. I'm sorry if you are annoyed. I wouldn't have spoken to him if he hadn't recognised me."

  "We'll forget about it. Now get on with your work, there's a good girl."

  The Professor greeted his godmother, enquired after her health, gave her news of his family in Holland, remarked on the weather, and over a cup of coffee observed, "Your new housemaid, Aunt Beatrice."

  "Such a nice girl," declared Lady Wesley. "Not at all what one would expect, and such a splendid worker. Even Cork is satisfied with her, and that is praise indeed. So willing, too, running here and there and everywhere for Cook, who as you know has trouble with her feet now. I'm thankful that she is so well-liked in the kitchen. She has a cat, called Charles. Cork tells me that he is no trouble to anyone." She frowned. "I feel that perhaps I should try to discover why she is in domestic service. It is so obvious that she comes from a good background, although she has never given a hint of it. Mrs. Legge tells me that she can turn out a room twice as quickly and thoroughly as any housemaid she has ever had working for her."

  "A paragon," observed the Professor drily.

  "And an honest one. She told me that she had been dismissed from her job in a hospital because she was late back from her holidays. She made no excuses, just sat there waiting to hear what I would have to say about that. Couldn't find any clerical work, so sensibly looked for work where it was to be had." She eyed her godson shrewdly. "Why are you so interested in her, Radolf?"

  "The hospital where she worked is St Cyprian's, and I, most regrettably, am the cause of her getting dismissed."

  "Get her reinstated."

  "Easily done, but I suspect that she wouldn't thank me for that. The head of her department has taken a dislike to her-life would be made miserable for her."

  "Did she have a flat or somewhere to live?"

  "A bedsitter, with a balcony-for Charles the cat."

  Lady Wesley was careful to keep her voice disinterested. She had long ago given up all hope of Radolf's marrying-surely he wasn't seriously interested in the rather plain girl who was her housemaid?

  As though he had read her thoughts, he said shortly, "I feel responsible."

  "Yes, dear, but is it fair of you to try and arrange her life for her? I am aware that she should be sitting here with us instead of making beds and polishing the furniture; I am also aware that she is at least in her own environment. Do
you suppose that she was happy in this bedsitter of hers? And did she like living in London?"

  The Professor frowned. "I have not had the occasion to ask her."

  His godmother took him up briskly. "Well, of course not-stupid of me-anyway, you can see for yourself that she has a job and somewhere to live, and I imagine that she is a good deal happier here than she was in London."

  "But she isn't a servant-"

  "She is my housemaid, Radolf, and if she is satisfied with her work here, I hardly think that you need to concern yourself with her. Was she pleased to see you?"

  He examined the nails of his well-kept hands. "No."

  "In that case, dear boy, leave well alone. I'm sure you are relieved now that you know where she is and that she isn't in want. Now do come out into the garden and look at my very early roses they are going to give a splendid display this year."

  He saw little more of Sarah that weekend: a glimpse of piled-up hair under a neat cap, a distant view of a starched cotton dress disappearing round a corner, the murmur of her voice as she trotted to and fro fetching and carrying for Parsons or Cork. And she for her part avoided him, and explained in her nice, quiet voice to the assembled staff at the dinner table how she and Professor Nauta happened to have met. She told them the truth, too, only cutting out the bits which she thought might annoy him if she was to tell them. Cork had given it as his opinion that the incident in the hall, regrettable though it was, was hardly her fault and pronounced forgiveness, seconded by Mrs. Legge with a background chorus of agreement by everyone else. Sarah wasn't quite one of them, they had decided among themselves, but she was a very nice girl, gentle and quiet and always willing. She wasn't stuck-up either, and she knew her place.

  It was a week later that Cork informed the staff that the household would be transferring to London for a month. "This is Lady Wesley's habit each year," he explained pompously to Sarah. "She has a townhouse just off Grosvenor Square, and with the exception of Mrs. Legge and Molly, who remain here to caretake, and the gardener, who remains also, we staff her London establishment. We travel up the day before so that everything is in readiness when she arrives. There is a housekeeper in residence and a kitchen maid, so that there is not a great deal to be done when we arrive there. Mrs. Butler the housekeeper will see you all and arrange your free times. You will come to me if you have any problems."

  Sarah waited until Cork was at his most benign, after supper as he sat in his special chair with his evening glass of beer.

  "I'm rather worried about Charles, Mr. Cork," she began. "I suppose it wouldn't be possible for Molly to go to London in my place, and allow me to stay here and do her work?"

  For all his pomposity he was a kind man, and he liked her. "Well, now, Sarah, I think that very unlikely. Molly is a good girl, but not versed in the ways of the gentry-a bit rough and ready, as you might say. I cannot allow you to alter your position, Sarah, but the staff-rooms at the London house are adequate, and two or three of them are on the basement level with windows opening on to quite a nice garden. I will see that you have one of these rooms so that Charles may have access to the garden."

  Sarah thanked him, wished him goodnight and went to her little cottage to explain to Charles. "And I'm so afraid that I shall see Professor Nauta again," she finished, "but it is only for a month and St Cyprian's is miles away from Grosvenor Square."

  Charles, gobbling up his supper, had no interest in the matter.

  The next few days were busy-the house had to be left in apple-pie order, and at the same time there was a good deal of packing-up to do. They left early in the morning, with Knott driving the big station-wagon; he would deposit them at the London house and return to fetch Lady Wesley and Mudd, her personal maid, this time driving the Jaguar.

  There was little time for Sarah to do more than admire the pristine face of the house, one of many in a terrace in a quiet street. Once inside, via the tradesman's entrance, she was kept busy finding her way around, conscious that Mrs. Butler's deceptively mild eyes were here, there and everywhere. By the time Lady Wesley arrived, the house bore the appearance of a smoothly run household with flowers in the rooms, beds freshly made and a tantalising whiff of something cooking in the basement kitchen every time the baize door at the back of the hall was opened.

  Something which Lady Wesley took for granted, although she praised Mrs. Butler in a vague way when she arrived. "It all looks very nice, Mrs. Butler. How beautifully you run the house," she had observed; it never entered her head that her staff had been toiling for hours to achieve the perfection she expected. She went to the elegant drawing-room and asked for tea to be brought, just as her domestic staff were gathering for half an hour's peace round their own teapot, and it was Sarah who took it to her. It should have been Mr. Cork, but he had gone to his room to have a nap and Parsons had taken off her shoes and couldn't get them on again.

  "Where is Cork?" Lady Wesley wanted to know.

  "In the cellar, my lady," said Sarah, improvising rapidly, "checking the wines." And, before Lady Wesley could say anything, "Parsons has gone to check the linen cupboard with Mrs. Butler."

  Lady Wesley smiled, pleased to hear of everyone's industry. "You may put the tray here on this table, Fletcher. And tell Cook that I should like dinner put forward half an hour."

  Cook grumbled and heaved herself to her feet. "So I'd best get on with that sauce."

  Mrs. Butler, refilling Sarah's cooling tea, said, "Sarah, give Parsons a hand with the table and then come back here and lay our supper." She nodded towards the other girl there, the kitchen maid. "Kitty, start on the pans and get our tea things washed up."

  Sarah trotted to and fro, thinking longingly of her bed and Charles' cosy company. True to his promise, Cork had given her a room at the back of the house and, although she hadn't dared to let Charles out, there was a wide window-sill where he could sit and watch the garden. He had been fed and his bed, a cardboard box lined with a piece of blanket Parsons had found her, was beside the divan, but he would be glad to see her.

  The evening wore on and finally, after the generous supper Mrs. Butler supplied, she was free to go to her room. She undressed rapidly, went along the passage to the bathroom she shared with Parsons and Cook, and then climbed thankfully into bed. The room wasn't as pleasant as the one at Lady Wesley's country house, but the view was quite nice from the window. Besides, she assured herself as she dropped off, Charles heavy in the crook of her arm, it was only for a month. She spared a thought for the Professor as she closed her eyes, a habit she had got into without quite knowing why.

  She was awake by six o'clock and, mindful of Charles' needs, wormed her person through the old-fashioned sash-window, and with him walking cautiously beside her, wandered through the high-walled garden-too high for him to climb, she saw thankfully. He went back willingly enough into her room presently, accepted his breakfast and curled up for another nap, leaving her free to finish dressing and go upstairs to the front hall to draw curtains in the big rooms and open the windows, before departing to the kitchen for the cup of tea which awaited her.

  No one else was up yet, only herself and the kitchen maid. She laid tea-trays, set the table in the servants' hall for breakfast and collected everything Parsons would need for setting lunch in the dining-room. Lady Wesley had guests for that meal, and Parsons would have plenty to do before they arrived. Kitty was getting everything ready for Cook, and after a while took tea to Mrs. Butler and Cook. Cork made his own tea in his room and appeared shortly, ready to cast his eye over things. By now Sarah had hoovered and dusted the dining-room and was busy in the drawing-room. She paused long enough to wish him a cheerful good morning, and then began the delicate task of dusting. Breakfast was a cheerful meal, but by suppertime they all admitted that the London house presented far more hard work than the country home. On the other hand, as Parsons said, there were the delights of the London shops and entertainments to compensate for that.

  Within the week they agreed among t
hemselves that shops and cinemas were all very well, but they hardly compensated for the long hours and extra work. Lady Wesley was living it up in a majestic sort of way and it was Miss Mudd who suffered most, for her ladyship dined out a good deal, visited the theatre followed by supper parties, and in her turn gave large dinner parties in her own house. Which meant that the silver had to be cleaned, glasses polished until they sparkled and there was an almost endless round of preparing meals and clearing them away. Mrs. Butler brooked no skimping.

  The weather had turned warm, and it seemed as though summer was about to burst upon them with unexpected sun and blue skies. The nicest time of the day from Sarah's point of view was very early in the morning, when she and Charles wandered round the garden beyond her room with the sleeping house, the curtains drawn over its windows, at their backs.

  It was during the second week that Sarah came, so to speak, face to face with the Professor once more. Lady Wesley was going to the theatre and, making her stately way down the stairs, had in some inexplicable way dropped one of her rings. Mudd, ordered to find it immediately and at a great disadvantage since she had left her glasses in the kitchen, floundered around in a despairing way until Lady Wesley ordered her to fetch someone to help her. Sarah happened to be the first person Miss Mudd saw as she scuttled down to the kitchen, and she obediently followed her to the hall and stairs.

  At first glance there was no sign of any ring. Sarah went to the top of the staircase and began painstakingly to crawl backwards, searching every tread. She was halfway down when the front doorbell rang and Cork trod silently to open it, giving the Professor an enticing view of Sarah's small person back to front. He paused to take a second look, and at the same time she cried triumphantly, "Here it is, Lady Wesley," and looked over her shoulder.