Authors: Sara Seale
“
Leave it till tomorrow. You
’
re all eyes, child.
”
“
I
’
ve already left it for a fortnight, and tomorrow I must go to Knockferry and pay some bills and see Uncle B. about a fresh advertisement.
”
“
Very well.
”
Aunt Em knew it was useless to argue, but she touched her niece
’
s thin cheek with apologetic fingers as she kissed her good night. Sometimes she thought, vaguely, the child had too much on her shoulders.
When they had gone, Sarah took one of the candles and went into the kitchen. The stove was still alight and she kicked off her shoes and held first one foot and then the other to the warmth, noting absently the holes in her stockings. A cracked mirror over the mantel showed her her reflection and she stared for a moment at the thin little face which confronted her, the high, worried forehead with the fringe pushed back impatiently, the sharp cheekbones, devoid of color, and the green, unchildlike eyes.
“
I
’
m very plain,
”
she remarked aloud, but without surprise.
“
Perhaps if my hair curled like Kathy
’
s
...”
She viewed with distaste the fine straight hair which fell in a gentle curve against her neck, stuck her tongue out at her
reflection and turned to rummage in a dresser drawer fo
r
the ancient exercise book which held the family accounts.
She was soon lost in columns of figures which seemed to add up to an alarming sum. Sarah looked hopelessly in the tea-caddy where Aunt Em usually kept the housekeeping money but it was empty and it was only the beginning of the week. She began to add up figures, counting on her fingers and sucking her pencil. Fifteen and ninepence-half
-
penny to W. Doyle. What on earth was that for? Twelve into five won
’
t go so carry one. That made it look queer, and then there were all the halfpennies; they muddled everything up so much. Easiest to leave the halfpennies out or call them pennies, only that made it come to more.
A
drian, appearing unexpectedly in the doorway, watched her counting on her fingers, and said mildly:
“
Would there be any candles? My lamp
’
s gone out
.”
She looked up distractedly.
“
What did you say?
”
she asked vaguely.
“
I came down to look for a candle. My lamp
’
s gone out,
”
he repeated, observing the smudges of weariness under her eyes.
“
What are you looking so harassed over?
”
“
It
’
s the accounts. I
’
ve got myself in such a muddle. I
’
m sorry about the oil, but Casey forgot to send it and no one told me. I
’
ll find you a candle,
”
she said, but she did not get up at once, but sat there staring at him, her chin propped on her hands, as if she were too tired to move.
“
Isn
’
t it rather late for accounts?
”
he observed.
“
You look as if you could do with a good night
’
s sleep.
”
“
I keep putting it off,
”
she replied,
“
and then I forget things. How many shillings are a hundred and seven halfpennies?
”
“
Four and fivepence-halfpenny.
”
“
Goodness! Imagine knowing at once like that! Joe has to do it on paper.
”
“
How in the world do you get so many halfpennies?
”
“
They
’
re the accumulation of weeks,
”
she said.
“
I leave them out, you see, but some time or other there has to be an awful day of reckoning. This is it.
”
“
But why do you leave them out?
”
“
It looks better, but of course the answer always comes wrong. I
’
ve got three different answers here already and I don
’
t think any of them are right.
”
“
You
’
d better let me have a look,
”
Adrian said, a suspicion of laughter in his voice, and he pulled up a wooden kitche
n
chair and sat down at the table beside her.
“
What a curious system of bookkeeping. What does
‘
boiler urgent
’
mean?
”
“
Oh, that
’
s only to remind me to stoke the boiler after Nolan
’
s gone. He never does it properly, as you may have noticed.
”
“
I see.
”
His lips twitched.
“
Heavens, child! You
’
ve added the things up twice over
...
these halfpennies
...
! You
’
ve got oil
down three times.
”
“
I know. Aunt Em forgot I
’
d ordered it, and ordered some more, and
C
asey sent a third lot for luck.
”
“
And bread—how can you eat all that amount of bread in a week?
”
“
I don
’
t know.
”
Sarah sounded tearful.
“
There are so many things I can
’
t account for.
”
“
Your spelling as well as your arithmetic seems to be somewhat at fault. Here, give the thing to me.
”
She watched him in silence while he added up the figures in three neat columns and wrote the answer at the bottom.
“
It looks an awful lot, doesn
’
t it?
”
she said dubiously.
“
Some items are quite inexplicable,
”
he replied, sounding severe.
“
But that
’
s the fault of your peculiar system. Don
’
t you pay your bills weekly and keep a check?
”
“
I try to, but some weeks there isn
’
t enough money and things have to run on. That
’
s why I decided on the lodge—paying guests.
”
“
But doesn
’
t your aunt—I mean do you always take such decisions and run the financial side of the house unaided?
”
“
Well, someone has to, and the others are so unpractical.
”
“
But, my dear child, you
’
re much too young!
”
She looked at him without resentment.
“
It
’
s only an optical illusion,
”
she said.
“
I
’
m older than any of them. I
’
ve run Dun Rury since my father died.
”
“
And how old were you then?
”
“
Sixteen.
”
He sat back and looked at her, divided between the absurdity of the situation and a sense of compassion he had not expected to feel for this quick-tempered child. How did she ever expect to run a successful business, this tired little girl, shouldering grown-up responsibilities and leaving all the halfpennies out?
“
I suppose,
”
she said, sounding very weary,
“
you will be leaving us, won
’
t you, Mr. Flint?
”
The candlelight flickered on his impassive face, reducing it to a negative fairness.
“
Suppose we leave that discussion till the morning,
”
he said.
“I
f
’
—the glance she gave him under her lashes was bright and troubled—
”
if I reduced the rent, would you consider—I mean, I do realize you haven
’
t had very much for your money.
”
His face betrayed no expression.
“
You know, I think it
’
s high time you went to bed. You
’
ve had a long day from all accounts.
”
“
I
’
ve walked mile
s
and miles,
”
she said and sounded exhausted.
“
Do you often do this?
”
“
When I want to think.
”
He frowned.
“
Doesn
’
t your aunt worry when you don
’
t come in till all hours? It
’
s very lonely round here.
”
“
Aunt Em
’
s used to me. No one ever worries. Why should they?
”
“
I could think of several reasons, however—Have you had anything to eat?
”
She looked surprised. She was unaccustomed to this kind of solicitude.
“
Now I come to think of it, I
’
m hungry,
”
she said.
“
I didn
’
t finish my supper.
”
“
And what about your lunch?
”
“
Oh, I took a couple of apples in my pocket.
”
“
No wonder you
’
re tired,
”
he remarked shortly and got to his feet.
“
Bring the candle, and show me where the larder is.
”
She led the way obediently, and stood watching while he selected quickly from the slabs, only pausing to ask briefly:
“
Can this be spared—and this?
”
He came back to the kitchen with a bowl of brown eggs and a plate of ham and told her to find him a frying pan.
“
But are you going to
coo
k
it?
”
she asked with awe, to which he replied calmly:
“
Certainly, unless you prefer your eggs raw. Some butter, please, and salt and pepper, and where do you keep the kitchen knives?
”
“You
seem very practised,
”
she said, peering over his shoulder and sniffling at the ham.
“
Aren
’
t you doing any for yourself?
”
“
I
’
ve had my supper.
”
“
Oh, but you couldn
’
t resist that luscious smell—nobody could.
”
He gave her one of his rare smiles.
“
Well, perhaps not. Cut some bread and fetch the plates. It
’
s nearly ready.
”
“
Now,
”
he said, setting a heaped plate before her,
“
a glass of milk to go with that and you should last till mo
rn
ing.
”
T
hey sat opposite each other, the candle between them, and Sarah looked across at him with a puzzled frown.
“
You know,
”
she said,
“
if anyone had told me this could happen I wouldn
’
t have
believed them.
”
He raised his eyebrows.
“
No? Did you think I was quite helpless because I required waiting on?
”
“
No, not helpless—just not human.
”
He gave her a quick oblique glance.
“
I often haven
’
t felt human in the past, but I didn
’
t think it showed now,
”
he said enigmatically.
“
The past months have been bad, haven
’
t they?
”
she said gently.
“
Pretty bad. How did you know?
”
“
I don
’
t think I did till tonight—or perhaps I had an inkling the evening you came down and Kathy played.
”
“
I
’
m still not good at social contacts, I
’
m afraid.
”
“
You know, when my father died, Nonie said to me:
‘
You
’
re alone now; you
’
ll always be alone because that
’
s the way you
’
re made.
’
Perhaps you
’
re like that, too.
”
He looked at her with gentleness.
“
You were very fond of your father, weren
’
t you?
”
he said.