Victoria Holt (10 page)

I said good night. I liked her. She amused me and it was comforting to know that I had pleasant companions like those I had met on this night.

I brushed my hair and undressed quickly. On the table there was a mirror and I guessed that was one of the modern concessions which Daisy liked to stress. I felt the bed. It was narrow as befitted my cell-like room, but it seemed comfortable.

I got into bed and pulled the sheets up round me. It was difficult to get to sleep. The day had been too exciting and my surroundings were so unusual. I lay with the sheets up to my chin thinking about it all and wondering about—and yes, looking forward to—the future.

I wanted most of all to make the acquaintance of the girls.

As the time passed I seemed to grow more and more wide awake. It is always difficult to sleep in new places and when one is in an ancient abbey, full of the impressions of another age, it is only natural that one should be wakeful. I turned to the wall and stared at it. There was enough light coming through the narrow window to show me the marks on the gray stone, and I wondered how many monks had lain staring at the walls during long nights of meditation and prayer.

Then suddenly I was alert. I had heard a faint sound and it was not far away—a quick intake of breath and then a suppressed sob.

I sat up in bed listening. Silence and then…yes. There it was again. Someone not very far away from me was crying and trying to stifle the sound.

I got out of bed, felt for my slippers and put on my dressing gown. The sound was coming from the room on my right…one of the rooms of which I was to be in charge.

I went into the corridor, my slippers making a faint sound on the flagged stone.

“Who’s there?” I said quietly.

I heard the quick intake of breath. There was no answer.

“Is anything wrong? Just answer me.”

“N…no,” said a frightened voice.

I had located the room and I pushed open the door. In the dim light I saw two beds and in one of them a girl was sitting up. As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom I saw that she had long fair hair and wide startled eyes, and must be about sixteen or seventeen years old.

“What’s wrong?” I said. “I’m the new mistress.”

She nodded and her teeth started to chatter.

“It’s nothing…nothing,” she began.

“It must be something,” I said. I went to her bed and sat down on it. “You’re unhappy about something, aren’t you?” She regarded me solemnly with those wide scared eyes. “You needn’t be afraid of me,” I went on. “I know what it is to be homesick. That’s it, isn’t it? I went away to school…in Switzerland actually…when I was your age.”

“D…did you?” she stammered.

“Yes, so you see, I know all about it.”

“I’m not homesick…because you can’t be sick about what isn’t, can you?”

I was remembering. “I think I know who you are. You’re Teresa Hurst, and you’ve been staying at the school during the holiday.”

She seemed relieved that I knew so much.

“Yes,” she said. “And you’re Miss Grant. I knew you were coming.”

“I’m to be in charge of this section.”

“It won’t be so bad when the others come. It’s rather frightening at night when it’s all so quiet.”

“There’s nothing to be frightened of really. Your parents are in Africa, are they?”

She nodded. “Rhodesia,” she added.

“I know what it feels like, because funnily enough my parents were in Africa too. They were missionaries and they couldn’t have me with them so I was sent home to my Aunt Patty.”

“I was sent to my mother’s cousins.”

“What a coincidence! So we were both in the same boat. I hated the thought of coming to England and leaving my parents. I was scared. Then I came to my Aunt Patty and that was lovely.”

“My cousins don’t really want me. They always make excuses at holiday times. The children have measles, or they are going away…and so I stay at school. I think I’d really rather. It’s just at night…”

“I shall be here now and the girls will be coming on Tuesday.”

“Yes, that makes it better. Did you mind going home to your Aunt Patty?”

“I loved it. She is the best aunt anybody ever had, and I’ve still got her.”

“That must be lovely.”

“Yes, it is. Anyway I’m here now. I’m sleeping close to you. If you are frightened, just come and tell me. Will that be all right?”

“Yes, that will be lovely.”

“I’ll say good night then. Are you all right now?”

“Yes. I’ll know you’re there. It’s only that sometimes the girls laugh at me. They think I’m a bit of a baby.”

“I’m sure you’re not that.”

“You see they go to their homes and they never want to come back to school. They love the holidays. I dread them. It makes a difference.”

“Yes, I know. But you’ll be all right. You and I will be friends, and you’ll know I’m here to help you.”

“I think it’s
funny
that your parents were in Africa too.”

“Yes, quite extraordinary, isn’t it? Clearly we were meant to be friends.”

“I’m glad,” she said.

“I’ll tuck you in. Do you think you could go to sleep now?”

“Yes, I think so, and I won’t mind if I think I see…shadows. I’ll know I can come to you. You did mean that, didn’t you?”

“I did. But I don’t think you’ll be coming because everything is going to be all right. Good night, Teresa.”

“Good night, Miss Grant.”

I went back to my room. Poor lonely child! I was glad I had heard her and had been able to give her a little comfort. I would look out for her in the days ahead and make sure she was not bullied.

It took some time to get warm enough for sleep but I think that little encounter had soothed me as well as Teresa Hurst and finally I did sleep. I had wild dreams though. I dreamed that I was riding through the nave in a carriage and I was aware of the mighty buttresses on either side of the carriage and the blue sky overhead. Suddenly another carriage was blocking the way and I saw a man emerge from it. He looked in at my window at me and shouted: “Go back. You are in my way.” It was a wild dark face; then it changed suddenly and it was that of Edward Compton.

I awoke uneasily and for a moment wondered where I was.

Only a dream, I told myself. I did dream more than I used to. It was ever since I had met the stranger in the forest.

***

I awoke, sat up in bed and looked at the bare stone walls and sparse furnishings, and a feeling of excitement swept over me.

I washed and dressed. I took a look into Teresa Hurst’s room. Her bed was neatly made and she was not there. I wondered if I was late.

I found my way down to the room in which we had dined on the previous evening. Daisy was seated at the table and Mademoiselle Dupont and Fräulein Kutcher were with her.

“Good morning,” said Daisy. “I trust you slept well.”

I thanked her and told her that I had.

I acknowledged the greetings of the others and Daisy signed for me to be seated.

“In mid-term we breakfast between seven thirty and eight thirty,” she said. “In term it is seven thirty and two of the mistresses supervise in the main dining room where the girls eat. After that it is prayers in the hall and we usually have a little talk—not more than five minutes—given by one of us. Something uplifting…a sort of text for the day. We take it in turns. Lessons start at nine. Do help yourself from the sideboard. We are rather unceremonious at breakfast.”

While I was helping myself to cold York ham and coffee, Eileen Eccles came in.

I sat at the table and we talked of the school—or mainly Daisy did; the rest of us listened. Many of her remarks were addressed to me as the newcomer.

“The mistresses should all be here by Monday morning. Then we shall be ready for the girls. There will be a meeting of us all in my study on Monday afternoon and then we’ll run through the term’s work. I daresay you will want to have something prepared which we can discuss…and to explore the place of course.” She smiled round the company. “I am sure you will find many who will want to tell you anything you want to know.”

Eileen Eccles said: “I shall go into the town this morning. There are one or two things I want to get. I’m short of paper and brushes. Would you care to come with me? It’ll give you a chance to look at the town.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I should like that.”

“You do ride, don’t you? It’s the only way we can go in.”

I replied: “Yes, and thank you.”

Daisy smiled her approval.

It was a beautiful morning. Eileen took me to the stables and pointed out a little bay mare. “You’ll like her,” she said. “She’s got spirit and yet she’s easy to handle.” She herself took a gray horse. “We’re old friends,” she said, patting his flank, and he stamped his foot as though expressing agreement with her.

Soon we were on our way to the town.

“It’s not far,” she said, “which is a mercy. The horses are a godsend. They give us a chance to get well away from the school now and then. Thank goodness that the management of a horse is one of the necessary accomplishments of well-brought-up young ladies.”

We rode past the fish ponds glinting in the early morning sunshine. I looked round at the ruins and thought once more how magnificent they were—far less eerie in the early morning light.

“You’ll get used to them,” said Eileen. “I scarcely notice them now. At first I used to glance over my shoulder expecting some black-robed figure to leap out on me. That was before I discovered that their habits were white—which somehow would make them even more ghostly—by moonlight at least, don’t you think?”

“I think one would be scared to encounter them whatever color they wore!”

“Don’t worry. They’re all dead and gone, and in any case if their spirits lingered on I am sure they would approve of Daisy. It is people like the Verringers who would have to be on their guard.”

“Well, I suppose if the Verringers hadn’t taken the place some other family would.”

“Not the point, my dear Miss Grant. The Verringers
did.
”

We came out into a lane and I was struck by the lush beauty all around me. Green grass, red earth, horse-chestnuts and wild cherry in bloom, and the sudden burst of a song from a sedge warbler near the fish ponds.

I said: “I met Teresa Hurst last night. Poor child. She seems lonely. I understood how she felt. I might have been in a similar position.” Then I was telling her about Aunt Patty.

“Mind you,” said Eileen, “Teresa does lack spirit. She rather allows herself to be weighed down by her misfortunes instead of putting up a fight.”

“I shall see more of her. I had a little talk with her last night. I think we got on quite well.”

Eileen nodded. “She draws quite well and unlike some of them she does know the difference between olive green and Prussian blue.”

She turned into a field, tapped her horse’s flank and we cantered forward. “Shortcut,” she said, over her shoulder.

Then I was looking down on the town.

“Pretty, isn’t it, in sunlight,” said Eileen. “Typical Devon small town. But some of the shops are quite adequate and it’s better than nothing. They have a very good inn. Drake’s Drum. I thought we’d meet there. I shall be at least an hour making my purchases. A bit boring for you to trail round with me and I like to be alone when I buy. You could explore a bit outside the town. The country’s pretty. Or leave your horse in Drake’s yard. In any case let’s meet there in an hour, shall we? Then we’ll have a glass of cider. They’re famous for it.”

I said that would suit me very well.

I thought I would ride through the town, turn into the country for a look round and then explore the town afterwards. It was very small and I did not think I should need more than half an hour just to look round at first.

She showed me the inn with its colored sign showing Sir Francis with his drum; and she rode into the yard, and I went on.

As the town was little more than a main street I was soon into the country lane. They were beautiful, narrow and twisting so that they presented an element of excitement leading one to wonder what the next turn would reveal.

I must have ridden for some twenty minutes when I thought it was time I turned back to the town. I had come through so many narrow winding lanes and I had not thought very much about the direction in which I was going, for it did not occur to me that it might be difficult to find my way back. I turned my little mare and we ambled along for five minutes or so before we came to a crossroads. I didn’t remember seeing it before and there was no signpost. I tried to work out which of the four roads I should take.

While I hesitated I saw a rider coming along one of the roads—a man on a gray horse—and I decided I must ask him the way when he came up.

He had seen me and was riding toward me. As he pulled up I noticed something familiar about his face and I knew at once who he was, for although I had only caught a brief glimpse of him, when he had put his head out of the carriage window, it was one of those faces when once seen would not easily be forgotten.

I thought with mingled annoyance and excitement: the great Sir Jason himself.

He swept off his hat as he approached.

“You are lost,” he said almost triumphantly.

“I was going to ask you the way back to Colby.”

“The town, the Hall or the Abbey?”

“The town. Can you direct me?”

“More than that. I happen to be on my way there myself. I shall escort you.”

“That is very good of you.”

“Nonsense. It is good of you to allow me to.”

He was surveying me rather boldly in a manner which made me feel uncomfortable. This is a little different, I thought, from the choleric passenger in the carriage.

“Thank you. It is not far, I am sure. I can’t think how I lost my way.”

“It is easy enough to lose one’s way. These roads twist so much that you are turned and turned around until you don’t know which direction you are facing. It’s a very pleasant morning, don’t you think?”

“Very.”

“Doubly so now.”

I did not answer.

“I will introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Jason Verringer of the Hall.”

“I know,” I replied.