The Vicar's Daughter Read online

  She got slowly to her feet and Aunt Florence kissed her.

  ‘I’ve come to stay, my dear, if you’ll have me.’

  Margo nodded. ‘Thank you; that would be nice.’ She looked past her to where the professor was standing.

  ‘Gijs,’ said Margo. She sounded like a frightened child. ‘Oh, Gijs...’

  He crossed the room and took her in his arms, holding her gently as though she were indeed a frightened child. He began to talk to her softly and suddenly she was in tears, sobbing into his shoulder, spilling out her sorrow.

  He stood solid and reassuring and comforting, and after a moment Aunt Florence went to put the kettle on and gather up cups and saucers and the teapot.

  Eventually Margo lifted a sodden face. ‘I’m so sorry, I’ve soaked your jacket. I’m better now.’

  He kissed her wet cheek and smiled down at her. ‘That’s my girl. We’re going to have a cup of tea and then I’ll see what I can find out for you. Then you will go to bed and sleep. In the morning it will be another day and we shall know more about everything.’

  They drank their tea, not saying much, and Aunt Florence was glad to see a little colour creep back into Margo’s cheeks. She studied the sad face opposite her and thanked heaven that the professor was here with them.

  Presently he went away to Margo’s father’s study to phone, and she told Margo how it had come about that he was here with them. She talked on at random, and was relieved when he came back.

  ‘Your mother and father are at Yeovil Hospital; it seems it was the nearest to the scene of the accident. They died instantly, Margo. There are certain formalities to be dealt with before they can be brought back here. I’ll drive you there in the morning.’

  ‘You’ll stay? What about your patients? The hospital?’

  ‘I’ve arranged to have a day off. I’ll stay, if you’ll have me.’

  ‘Will you? Will you really?’ She turned a sad face to him. ‘I can’t thank you enough...’

  He glanced at Aunt Florence, who nodded briskly. ‘An excellent idea. I’ll go and make up a bed while you two get some supper. Soup, if there is any, and how about a stiff drink for all of us?’

  Aunt Florence, quite restored to her usual brisk tartness, went away. She wept a little as she made up the bed and then laid out towels and soap, but she didn’t give way to her grief; there would be time for that later.

  Margo, comforted by Gijs’s company, the sharp edge of her grief dulled for the moment, set about warming some soup while he found the plates and spoons and knives, keeping up a steady flow of talk as he did so, but making no attempt to avoid talking about her parents. Indeed, he talked about them quite cheerfully, taking no notice when she wept a little, and when she suddenly wailed, ‘Oh, why did it have to happen? I don’t think I can bear it...’ he took her in his arms again.

  ‘Oh, yes, you can. How would your father and mother expect you to behave? Try and think of that and take heart. My poor dear, if I could take your grief onto my shoulders I would. All I can tell you is that as each day passes the load lightens.’

  Presently she swallowed her soup, took the pill he offered her and was seen into her bed by Aunt Flo. She had expected to stay awake all night, but she slept at once and only woke as a watery sun shone into her room.

  She couldn’t lie in bed. She got into her dressing gown and shuffled downstairs to make tea and found the professor there, standing at the open kitchen door, with Plato at his feet and Caesar tucked under one arm. He was dressed, immaculate as ever, his face calm. His good morning was friendly.

  ‘The kettle’s boiling. I was wondering if Mrs Pearson would object to me taking her a cup of tea. Now you can do it for me. Sit down; I’ll make the tea. We need to leave here soon after breakfast.’ He glanced at her. ‘You slept?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I hope you were comfortable. We don’t often have people staying and the bedrooms are a bit unlived-in.’

  ‘It’s a nice old house, isn’t it? Built for a vicar with a large family who had to keep up appearances.’

  ‘It’s too big just for the three of us...’ She faltered. ‘It was too big, I mean.’ She drank some tea. ‘Of course I shall have to go, won’t I?’

  ‘Yes. Although I should imagine they will give you a little time. You will go to your aunt?’

  ‘I expect so, if she doesn’t mind. Just while I find some work somewhere.’ She finished her tea. ‘I’ll take her a cup. Will breakfast in about half an hour be all right?’

  * * *

  THE FORMALITIES, ONCE they reached Yeovil, seemed endless to her. The professor had suggested that he should identify her mother and father for her and she had nodded wordlessly, and afterwards he had said, ‘They both look peaceful and there is no sign of injury. Would you like me to arrange their return to Thinbottom?’

  He had done that, and attended to all the other arrangements which had to be made, and then driven her back home to find Aunt Florence waiting for them with a substantial tea.

  ‘I have telephoned the rest of the family,’ she told Margo, ‘and there have been a great many telephone calls for you. I’ve left a list on your father’s desk. You will be kept busy for a while, Margo. Will it be a good idea if I see to the cooking and the house, so that you are free to see people and write the letters and answer the phone?’

  The professor took Plato for a walk while they washed up the tea things, and when he returned observed that he would have to return to London that evening.

  ‘I’ll come to the funeral if I may,’ he said. ‘I dare say you’ll know more about the future in a few days’ time.’

  Margo summed up a smile. ‘Yes, of course. You’ve been so kind—I can never repay you.’

  She had made a great effort to behave normally in his company. He had been kind and dealt with everything without fuss. Now she wished him goodbye in a determinedly cheerful voice, offering a hand and wishing with all her heart that his large, comforting one would never let it go.

  It was Aunt Florence, bustling into the hall, who made it unnecessary for her to say anything more.

  ‘Margo, there’s someone—a Reverend Mac-something—on the phone. Would you speak to him?’

  When Margo had gone she said, ‘Margo will have thanked you; now it’s my turn. I don’t know how we could have managed without you. Bless you, Gijs.’ She put out her hand. ‘Do you think that is the new incumbent already? Surely not...’ Her severe features crumpled. ‘What is to happen to Margo?’

  The professor held her hand and bent and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Why, I shall marry her,’ he said, in a no-nonsense voice.

  He didn’t give her time to reply to that but got into his car. It was out of sight when Margo came back into the hall.

  Chapter FIVE

  FOR MARGO, THE NEXT few days were like a bad dream; she walked and talked, signed forms, answered letters and listened politely to endless sympathy and some good advice, but it seemed to her that it was another person doing these things, a calm, quiet girl, who washed and dressed herself and ate her meals like an automaton. Presently, she told herself repeatedly, she would wake up from the nightmare.

  All the while she was scarcely aware of the professor, dealing with the whole unhappy business, sparing her as much as he could with silent efficiency.

  It was Aunt Florence who asked him worriedly if he was getting enough rest, for he drove back and forth, fitting in his visits with his hospital work, his ward rounds, his clinics, theatre lists and private patients.

  She had to be content with his quiet assurance that he was perfectly all right, but the tired lines on his weary face disquieted her.

  ‘It is only for a few days more,’ he reminded her, smiling.

  It was after the funeral, when everyone had left the vicarage and the three of them were st
anding in the sitting room surrounded by the debris of cups and saucers and plates and left-over food, that he said briskly to Margo, ‘We’re going for a walk while Mrs Pearson puts her feet up for an hour. Go and get a coat, Margo.’

  It was a bright, cold day, the sun already low, but there was still an hour or more of daylight. They set off along the road out of the village, not talking, comfortable in each other’s company, with Plato plodding happily beside them. They had walked for half an hour when the professor said, ‘This is where we met, Margo,’ and stood still and wrapped his arms around her. Great comforting arms, whose warmth after all these days allowed her to give way to her sorrow.

  She sobbed and snivelled, mumbling into his shoulder until there were no more tears left. When at last she raised her head, he said cheerfully, ‘That’s better,’ and mopped her face with his handkerchief.

  ‘So sorry,’ said Margo on a last hiccup. ‘It was all bottled up inside me. I feel better now.’

  ‘You will go on feeling better and better each day. If you want to cry, then do so, Margo. You don’t have to be brave with me.’

  She couldn’t see his face clearly in the gathering dusk. ‘You have been very kind. I don’t know what I should have done without you...’

  ‘I hope that there will be no need to be without me. Will you marry me, Margo?’

  She lifted a tear-stained face to his and peered at him. ‘Marry you? You mean us—marry? But we don’t—you don’t know me; I might not suit you at all. I can’t think of any reason...’

  ‘Two very good ones. I need a wife and you need a home. What is more, I believe that we shall get along very well together. In other circumstances I would have suggested that we had the usual engagement and got to know each other, but, as things are, it seems to me that we should marry first and get to know each other afterwards.’

  He had turned her round and was walking her back the way they had come.

  ‘You’re not hankering after George?’

  She answered with some of her usual spirit. ‘Good heavens, no. What about you, though?’

  ‘Am I hankering? No. I’m thirty-five, Margo. I’ve been in and out of love a dozen times. Now I want to settle down, and I should like to do that with you.’

  She stopped walking and tugged at his arm. ‘It wouldn’t work even if I said yes. I have no looks, and it’s no use pretending that I have, and I’ve no idea how the wife of a famous surgeon should behave.’ She paused. ‘Besides, you’re Dutch.’

  ‘So I am,’ he said mildly. ‘But I’m still Gijs.’ He took hold of the hand on his sleeve and held it fast. ‘I imagine surgeons’ wives behave exactly the same way as any other wife would. And one thing more—you have beautiful eyes, Margo; nothing else matters.’

  They walked on in silence until Margo said in a small voice, ‘Thank you for asking me, Gijs. I think I’d like to marry you. Not because I need a home, but because I do like you. Only there’s a condition. You must promise to tell me if ever you should fall in love...’

  ‘I promise—but you must promise too.’

  As a vicar’s daughter, she had been brought up not to tell lies. But surely this particular lie wouldn’t count as much? ‘I promise,’ said Margo.

  He tucked her hand back into his arm. ‘You will be staying here for a few more days, to pack up before the new vicar arrives? Aunt Florence will be with you? Good. I’ll come again as soon as I can. Shall we marry as soon as possible? I intend to go over to Holland three days before Christmas. We could marry in the morning and travel on the same day. A quiet wedding?’

  ‘Yes, please. Just us. Well, Aunt Florence will want to be there.’ She asked hesitantly, ‘Do you have any family, Gijs?’

  ‘My mother died ten years ago; my father died last year. I have three sisters and a brother. Since we shall be going to Holland directly after the wedding you can meet them all then. Would you like to be married here?’

  She said, ‘Yes, please,’ and swallowed sudden tears. ‘I expect Sir William would give me away.’

  ‘That’s settled, then.’ They had reached the vicarage and went in through the kitchen. Aunt Florence came marching through the door as they went in.

  ‘Splendid—just in time to help with the washing-up. Gijs, you’ll stay for supper? I’ll get it ready now; you’ll want to get back.’

  ‘Aunt Flo, Gijs has asked me to marry him and I said I would.’

  Her aunt’s severe features broke into a smile. ‘That is splendid news. When is the wedding to be?’

  She embraced Margo and looked at Gijs.

  ‘We intend to marry three days before Christmas and go over to Holland on the same day.’ He nodded, took off his overcoat and jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. ‘I’ll wash,’ he told Margo, ‘and you wipe.’

  * * *

  HE WENT AFTER supper, kissing Aunt Florence’s cheek and then Margo’s. His kiss was swift, and not in the least lover-like. Margo hadn’t expected that anyway.

  When he had driven away, Margo asked anxiously, ‘I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I, Aunt Flo? I’m not marrying him for a home, although I know I need one, and I do like him very much...’

  Aunt Flo said something which sounded like ‘pish’ and ‘tosh’. ‘My dear child, you’re marrying him because you love him, aren’t you? So of course you are doing the right thing.’

  Margo was horrified. ‘How did you know? I never said a word...’

  ‘Don’t worry, he hasn’t noticed—nor will he unless you want him to.’

  She gave Margo a brisk pat on the shoulder. ‘Now, we are going to occupy ourselves this evening with plans for your wedding—something your mother and father would have wanted you to do. Get some paper and a pen, child, and let us begin.’

  The evening, which Margo had been dreading, went quickly. There wasn’t much money but, as Aunt Flo pointed out, there was only need to buy suitable clothes for her wedding and the time she would spend in Holland.

  ‘I imagine Gijs will want to see you suitably dressed. You will be able to fit yourself out when you return after Christmas, but you must have some new clothes before then.’

  Margo’s list was short, but she insisted that it was adequate. ‘If I could find a dress and jacket for the wedding, then I could wear the dress later. My winter coat’s still good enough. I’ll get a jersey two-piece. And a tweed skirt perhaps? I’ve several blouses and woollies. Something for the evening?’

  ‘Most certainly.’

  ‘A skirt? Velvet, I think.’ Margo wrote busily. ‘One of those cream crêpe blouses with a waterfall collar, and another blouse or top...’

  ‘Shoes?’ Aunt Florence reminded her. ‘And gloves and a decent handbag—very important.’

  She glanced at the clock and saw with satisfaction that the evening which they had both secretly dreaded had reached a time when she could reasonably suggest a hot drink and bed.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Aunt Flo, ‘we will go through your clothes and make them ready. I’ve no doubt there will be buttons to sew on and so forth.’

  So presently they went to their beds, each assuring the other that they were very tired and would sleep at once.

  Neither of them did, but that was neither here nor there.

  A bright, cold morning cheered their spirits. They met for breakfast with determined cheerfulness, discussing the weather at some length, reading the letters of condolence which were still coming and debating what they would have for their lunch. They were weighing the advantages of poached eggs on spinach against toasted cheese when the phone rang.

  ‘Margo?’ The professor’s voice was reassuringly placid. ‘I expect you want to do some shopping? If I come for you both tomorrow morning at about nine o’clock, could you be ready? I’ll drive you back around six o’clock. I’ll have to work until then.’

  ‘
Oh, yes, please. But that makes an awfully long day for you, Gijs. Whatever time will you have to leave London to get to us by nine o’clock? Would you like breakfast?’

  ‘No, no. It’s no great distance, you know, and I enjoy driving. Only be ready for me, won’t you? I’ll see you then.’

  He rang off before she could say anything else, and her goodbye fell on silence. She told herself that he was probably busy.

  Which he was—going to scrub for a morning’s surgery in Theatre, with Margo, for the moment, dismissed from his mind.

  With the shopping to look forward to the day went quickly. Margo went down to the village and arranged with Mrs Twigg, who had come to the vicarage for years to do the rough work once a week, to spend the day there and look after Caesar and Plato and at the same time do some cleaning.

  ‘Going out for the day?’ she wanted to know. ‘Do you good, Miss Margo, what with one thing and another.’

  ‘Yes, my aunt and I are going to London. Professor van Kessel is coming for us...’

  ‘Ah, yes, ’im as is sweet on you, Miss Margo.’

  Margo blushed. ‘Well, no, not exactly, Mrs Twigg. That is, we’re going to be married. Very quietly and soon.’

  ‘Lor’ bless you, miss, that’s the best bit of news I’ve heard for quite a while. You deserve to be happy, and he looks a nice kind of gentleman.’

  ‘Yes, he is!’ said Margo. ‘We haven’t told anyone yet...’

  When the paper arrived later, Aunt Florence was quick to point out the announcement of their engagement. Since most of the vicar’s friends and the parishioners took that same paper, the phone didn’t stop ringing all the morning.

  * * *

  THE PROFESSOR, LEAVING London very early the next morning, had a good deal to think about. He had dealt with the special licence, arranged his work at the hospital, conferred with his secretary concerning his private patients and discussed his theatre lists with Theatre Sister. There was also the question of finding a house in London, buying it and furnishing it—in the meantime they would have to rent a flat. His secretary, a highly efficient middle-aged lady, had already procured any number of leaflets on suitable houses, and as soon as he could spare the time he would go and look at the best of them. Then there was Holland. He hoped Margo would like his home, since it was going to be her home too.