Guy’s
particular brand of sullen silence didn’t help matters either, despite Daphne
laughing away, bubbly as ever, whatever anyone said. By the time the bill was
finally presented, Becky was only too relieved that the evening was coming to
an end. She even had discreetly to leave a tip, because Charlie didn’t seem to
realize it was expected of him.
She
left the restaurant at Guy’s side and the two of them lost contact with Daphne
and Charlie as they strolled back towards 97. She assumed that her companions
were only a few paces behind, but stopped thinking about where they might be
when Guy took her in his arms, kissed her gently and said, “Good night, my
darling. And don’t forget, we’re going down to Ashurst for the weekend.” How
could she forget? Becky watched Guy look back furtively in the direction that
Daphne and Charlie had been walking, but then without another word he hailed a
hansom and instructed the cabbie to take him to the Fusiliers’ barracks in
Hounslow.
Becky
unlocked the front door and sat down on the sofa to consider whether or not she
should return to 147 and tell Charlie exactly what she thought of him. A few
minutes later Daphne breezed into the room.
“Sorry
about this evening,” said Becky before her friend had had the chance to offer
an opinion. “Charlie’s usually a little more communicative than that. I can’t
think what came over him.”
“Not
easy for him to have dinner with an of fleer from his old regiment, I suspect,”
said Daphne.
“I’m
sure you’re right,” said Becky. “But they’ll end up friends. I feel sure of
that.”
Daphne
stared at Becky thoughtfully.
The
following Saturday morning, after he had completed guard duty, Guy arrived at
97 Chelsea Terrace to collect Becky and drive her down to Ashurst. The moment
he saw her in one of Daphne’s stylish red dresses he remarked on how beautiful
she looked, and he was so cheerful and chatty on the tourney down to Berkshire
that Becky even began to relax. They arrived in the village of Ashurst just
before three and Guy turnd to wink at her as he swung the car into the
mile-long drive that led up to the hall.
Becky
hadn’t expected the house to be quite that large.
A
butler, under butler and two footmen were waiting on the top step to greet
them. Guy brought the car to a halt on the raveled drive and the butler stepped
forward to remove Becky’s two small cases from the boot, before handing them
over to a footman who whisked them away. The butler then led Captain Guy and
Becky at a sedate pace up the stone steps, into the front hall and on up the
wide wooden staircase to a bedroom on the first floor landing.
“The
Wellington Room, madam,” he intoned as he opened the door for her.
“He’s
meant to have spent the night here once,” explained Guy, as he strolled up the
stairs beside her. “By the way, no need for you to feel lonely. I’m only next
door, and much more alive than the late general.”
Becky
walked into a large comfortable room where she found a young girl in a long
black dress with a white collar and cuffs unpacking her bags. The girl turned,
curtsied and announced, “I’m Nellie, your maid. Please let me know if you need
anything, ma’am.”
Becky
thanked her, walked over to the bay window and stared out at the green acres
that stretched as far as her eye could see. There was a knock on the door and
Becky turnd to find Guy entering the room even before she had been given the
chance to say “Come in.”
“Room
all right, darling?”
“Just
perfect,” said Becky as the maid curtsied once again. Becky thought she
detected a slight look of apprehension in the young girl’s eyes as Guy walked
across the room.
“Ready
to meet Pa?” he asked.
“As
ready as I’m ever likely to be,” Becky admitted as she accompanied Guy back
downstairs to the morning room where a man in his early fifties stood in front
of a blazing log fire waiting to greet them.
“Welcome
to Ashurst Hall,” said Major Trentham.
Becky
smiled at her host and said, “Thank you.”
The
major was slightly shorter than his son, but had the same slim build and fair
hair, though there were some strands of gray appearing at the sides. But that
was where the likeness ended. Whereas Guy’s complexion was fresh and pale,
Major Trentham’s skin had the ruddiness of a man who had spent most of his life
outdoors, and when Becky shook his hand she felt the roughness of someone who
obviously worked on the land.
“Those
fine London shoes won’t be much good for what I have in mind,” declared the
major. “You’ll have to borrow a pair of my wife’s riding boots, or perhaps
Nigel’s Wellingtons.”
“Niger?”
Becky inquired.
“Trentham
minor. Hasn’t Guy told you about him? He’s in his last year at Harrow, hoping
to go on to Sandhurst and outshine his brother, I’m told.”
“I
didn’t know you had a... “
“The
little brat isn’t worthy of a mention,” Guy interrupted with a half smile, as
his father guided them back through the hall to a cupboard below the stairs.
Becky stared at the row of leather riding boots that were even more highly
polished than her shoes.
“Take
your pick m’dear,” said Major Trentham.
After
a couple of attempts Becky found a pair that fitted perfectly, then followed
Guy and his father out into the garden. It took the best part of the afternoon
for Major Trentham to show his young guest round the seven-hundred-acre estate,
and by the time Becky resumed she was more than ready for the hot punch that
awaited them in a large silver tureen in the morning room.
The
butler informed them that Mrs.Trentham had phoned to say that she had been held
up at the vicarage and would be unable to join them for tea.
By
the time Becky resumed to her room in the early evening to take a bath and
change for dinner, Mrs. Trentham still hadn’t made an appearance.
Daphne
had loaned Becky two dresses for the occasion, and even an exquisite
semicircular diamond brooch about which Becky had felt a little apprehensive.
But when she looked at herself in the mirror all her fears were quickly
forgotten.
When
Becky heard eight o’clock chiming in chorus from the numerous clocks around the
house she returned to the drawing room. The dress and the brooch had a
perceptible and immediate effect on both men. There was still no sign of Guy’s
mother.
“What
a charming dress, Miss Salmon,” said the major.
“Thank
you, Major Trentham,” said Becky, as she warmed her hands by the fire before
glancing around the room.
“My
wife will be joining us in a moment,” the major assured Becky, as the butler
proffered a glass of sherry on a silver tray.
“I
did enjoy being shown round the estate.”
“Hardly
warrants that description, my dear,” the major replied with a warm smile. “But
I’m glad you enjoyed the walk,” he added as his attention was diverted over her
shoulder.
Becky
swung round to see a tall, elegant lady, dressed in black from the nape of her
neck to her ankles, enter the room. She walked slowly and sedately towards
them.
“Mother,”
said Guy, stepping forward to give her a kiss on the cheek, “I should like you
to meet Becky Salmon.”
“How
do you do?” said Becky.
“May
I be permitted to inquire who removed my best riding boots from the hall
cupboard?” asked Mrs. Trentham, ignoring Becky’s outstretched hand. “And then
saw fit to return them covered in mud?”
“I
did,” said the major. “Otherwise Miss Salmon would have had to walk round the
farm in a pair of high heels. Which might have proved unwise in the
circumstances. “
“It
might have proved wiser for Miss Salmon to have come ipropenrly equipped with
the right footwear in the first p e.
“I’m
so sorry...” began Becky.
“Where
have you been all day, Mother?” asked Guy, jumping in. “We had rather hoped to
see you earlier.”
“Trying
to sort out some of the problems that our new vicar seems quite unable to cope
with,” replied Mrs. Trentham. “He has absolutely no idea of how to go about
organizing a harvest festival. I can’t imagine what they are teaching them at
Oxford nowadays.”
“Theology,
perhaps,” suggested Major Trentham.
The
butler cleared his throat. “Dinner is served, madam.”
Mrs.
Trentham turnd without another word and led them through into the dining room
at a brisk pace. She placed Becky on the right of the major and opposite
herself. Three knives, four forks and two spoons shone up at Becky from the
large square table. She had no trouble in selecting which one she should start
with, as the first course was soup, but, from then on she knew she would simply
have to follow Mrs. Trentham’s lead.
Her
hostess didn’t address a word to Becky until the main course had been served.
Instead she spoke to her husband of Nigel’s efforts at Harrow not very
impressive; the new vicar almost as bad; and Lady Lavinia Malim a judge’s widow
who had recently taken residence in the village and had been causing even more
trouble than usual.
Becky’s
mouth was full of pheasant when Mrs. Trentham suddenly asked, “And which of the
professions is your father associated with, Miss Salmon?”
“He’s
dead,” Becky spluttered.
“Oh,
I am sorry to hear that,” she said indifferently. “Am I to presume he died
serving with his regiment at the front?”
“No,
he didn’t.”
“Oh,
so what did he do during the war?”
“He
ran a baker’s shop. In Whitechapel,” added Becky, mindful of her father’s
warning: “If you ever try to disguise your background, it will only end in
tears.”
“Whitechapel?”
Mrs. Trentham queried. “If I’m not mistaken, isn’t that a sweet little village,
just outside Worcester?”
“No,
Mrs. Trentham, it’s in the heart of the East End of London,” said Becky, hoping
that Guy would come to her rescue, but he seemed more preoccupied with sipping
his glass of claret.
“Oh,”
said Mrs. Trentham, her lips remaining in a straight line. “I remember once
visiting the Bishop of Worcester’s wife in a place called Whitechapel, but I
confess I have never found it necessary to travel as far as the East End. I don’t
suppose they have a bishop there.” She put down her knife and fork. “However,”
she continued, “my father, Sir Raymond Hardcastle you may have heard of him,
Miss Salmon... “
“No,
I haven’t actually,” said Becky honestly.
Another
disdainful look appeared on the face of Mrs. Trentham, although it failed to
stop her flow “ Who was created a baronet for his services to King George V... “
“And
what were those services?” asked Becky innocently, which caused Mrs. Trentham
to pause for a moment before explaining, “He played a small part in His Majesty’s
efforts to see that we were not overrun by the Germans.”
“He’s
an arms dealer,” said Major Trentham under his breath.
If
Mrs. Trentham heard the comment she chose to ignore it.
“Did
you come out this year, Miss Salmon?” she asked Italy.
“No,
I didn’t,” said Becky. “I went up to university instead.”
“I
don’t approve of such goings-on myself. Ladies shouldn’t be educated beyond the
three ‘Rs’ plus an adequate understanding of how to manage servants and survive
having to watch a cricket match.”
“But
if you don’t have servants... “ began Becky, and would have continued if Mrs.
Trentham hadn’t rung a silver bell that was by her right hand.
When
the butler reappeared she said curtly, “We’ll take coffee in the drawing room,
Gibson.” The butler’s face registered a hint of surprise as Mrs.Trentham rose
and led everyone out of the dining room, down a long corridor and back into the
drawing room where the fire no longer burned so vigorously.
“Care
for some port or brandy, Miss Salmon?” asked Major Trentham, as Gibson poured
out the coffee.
“No,
thank you,” said Becky quietly.
“Please
excuse me,” said Mrs. Trentham, rising from the chair in which she had just sat
down. “I seem to have developed a slight headache and will therefore retire to
my room, if you’ll forgive me.”
“Yes,
of course, my dear,” said the major flatly.
As
soon as his mother had left the room Guy walked quickly over to Becky, sat down
and took her hand. “She’ll be better in the morning, when her migraine has
cleared up, you’ll see.”
“I
doubt it,” replied Becky in a whisper, and turning to Major Trentham said, “Perhaps
you’ll excuse me as well. It’s been a long day, and in any case I’m sure the
two of you have a lot to catch up on.”
Both
men rose as Becky left the room and climbed the long staircase to her bedroom.
She undressed quickly and after washing in a basin of near freezing water crept
across the unheated room to slide between the sheets of her cold bed.
Becky
was already half asleep when she heard the door handle turning. She blinked a few
times and tried to focus on the far side of the room. The door opened slowly,
but all she could make out was the figure of a man entering, then the door
closing silently behind him.