The Chain of Destiny. Betty Neels
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day.
It was hard at first and time hung heavy on her hands, for she had been doing more and more for her aunt during the past few months. She turned out cupboards and drawers, gardened for hours at a stretch, and in the evenings sat at the table, pondering ways and means. Her aunt had left only a very little money, for she had been supplementing her pension from her small capital. Suzannah had a few pounds saved, but she would have to find work as soon as possible. There had been a rumour in the village that Miss Smythe had asked for an assistant to help her in the school; Suzannah had had a good education, a clutch of A-levels and could have had a place in a university. Much cheered with the idea, she went to bed a week or so after her aunt’s death, determined to go and see Miss Smythe in the morning.
She was up early to find that the postman had already been—several letters which she skimmed through and laid on one side to answer later; the last one was from the manor house and rather surprised her—a formal note asking her to call there that morning.
She read it a second time; perhaps there was a job for her there? She got dressed and had breakfast, tidied the little house and walked up the drive and round the side of the house to the door which the staff used. She met Mr Toms as she was going through the flagstoned passage which would lead her to the stairs and the private wing. She had always got on well with him, but now he showed no wish to stop and pass the time of day; indeed, he muttered that he was already late and barely paused to wish her good morning, which surprised her very much.
Grimm the butler answered the door when she pressed the discreetly hidden bell by the door at the top of the staircase. He bade her good morning, ushering her into a small ante-room, and then he went away, to return in a few minutes and ask her to go with him.
She had expected to see old Sir William, but there was no sign of him in the study into which she was ushered. Only his niece, a girl a little older than Suzannah, sat behind the desk. Suzannah had met her on several occasions and hadn’t liked her; she liked her even less now as she went on writing, leaving Suzannah to stand in the middle of the room. She looked up finally and Suzannah thought what a pretty girl she was, tall and dark with regular features and blue eyes and always beautifully dressed. She said now, ‘Oh, hello. Uncle isn’t well enough to see anyone, so I’ve taken over for a time. I won’t keep you long. I expect you’ve heard that there is an assistant teacher coming to live here to give Miss Smythe a hand. She’ll start after half-term, in a couple of weeks’ time, so we shall want the lodge for her to live in.’
It was the very last thing Suzannah had expected to hear. She was sensible enough to know that sooner or later she would have to leave the lodge unless she could get a job connected with the manor house, and somehow she had believed that old Sir William would have agreed to her applying for the post of teacher or at least allowed her to have stayed on and continued to work as a guide.
She said in a carefully controlled voice. ‘I had hoped to apply for that post…’
‘Well, it’s been filled, and don’t expect to find a job here. Sir William has been far too easygoing; I’m cutting down on the staff. But you’re able to shift for yourself, I suppose?’ She gave Suzannah a cold smile. ‘I consider that we’ve more than paid our debt to your aunt; there’s no reason why we should have to go on paying it to you.’ She pulled some papers towards her. ‘Well, that’s settled, isn’t it? I don’t know what you intend doing with your aunt’s furniture—sell it to the schoolteacher if you like, only the lodge must be empty of your possessions in two weeks. Goodbye, Suzannah.’
Suzannah didn’t answer, she walked out of the room and closed the door very gently behind her. It was like a bad dream, only it wasn’t a dream, it was reality, and presently when she could think straight she would come to terms with it. Without thinking, she took the long way round to the front door, through the picture gallery, and half-way along it found herself face to face with Professor Bowers-Bentinck. She would have walked past him, but he put out a hand and stopped her, staring down at her pale, pinched face.
‘Well, well, Miss Lightfoot, so we meet once more—there must be a magnet which draws us…’ He had spoken lightly, but when she looked up at him with her lovely grey eyes full of hurt and puzzlement, he asked, ‘What’s wrong? You’re not ill?’
She didn’t answer, only pulled her arm away and ran from him, out of the gallery and down the staircase, through the front door and down the drive. She would have to be alone for a while to pull herself together and then think what was best to do. Fleetingly she wondered why the professor was at the manor house, and then she remembered that old Sir William wasn’t well. And anyway, what did it matter?
Back at the lodge, she sat down at the kitchen table with Horace on her lap and tried to think clearly. Two weeks wasn’t long, but if she was sensible it would be time enough. She fetched pencil and paper and began to write down all the things which would have to be done.
The professor stood for a moment, watching Suzannah’s flying figure, then he shrugged his huge shoulders and went back to the private wing, opened the door of the study and strolled in.
The girl at the desk looked up and smiled charmingly at him.
‘Phoebe, I have just met that small red-haired girl who works as a guide here, with a face like skimmed milk and tragic eyes…’
The girl shrugged. ‘Oh, she’s that woman’s niece—the one who died and lived at the lodge. The new assistant teacher will have to live there, so I’ve arranged for the girl to move out.’
He leaned against the wall, looking at her without expression. ‘Oh? Has she somewhere to go?’
‘How should I know, Guy? She’s young and quite clever, so I’ve heard; she’ll find something to do.’
‘No family, no money?’
‘How on earth should I know? Uncle William has been far too soft with these people.’
‘So you have turned her loose into the world?’
The girl frowned. ‘Well, why not? I want that lodge and there’s no work for her as a guide—I’ve got rid of that woman from the post office, too. Miss Smythe can manage on her own, and if we get more visitors in the summer I’ll get casual help.’
‘Does your uncle know about this?’ he spoke casually.
‘Good heavens, no! He’s too old to be bothered. I’ll write to Father and let him know when I’ve got time.’
‘And he will approve?’
She shrugged and laughed. ‘It wouldn’t matter if he didn’t—he’s on the other side of the world.’ She pushed back her chair and smiled charmingly. ‘Let’s talk about something else, Guy—how about driving me over to Hungerford and giving me lunch?’
‘Impossible, I’m afraid, Phoebe. I have to be back in town this afternoon.’ He strolled back to the door. ‘I came to see your uncle before I left.’
‘You’re not going? I counted on you staying for a few days…’ She got up and crossed the room to him. ‘You don’t mean that?’
He had opened the door. ‘My dear girl, you tend to forget that I work for a living.’
‘You don’t need to,’ she retorted.
‘Agreed, but it’s my life.’ He made no move to respond when she kissed his cheek.
‘We’ll see each other?’ she asked.
‘Undoubtedly, my dear.’ He had gone, shutting the door behind him.
He went back to Dr Warren’s house, made his farewells, threw his bag into the boot of the Bentley and drove away. But not very far. At the main gates of the manor house he stopped, got out and knocked on the lodge door. There was no answer, so he lifted the latch and walked in.
Suzannah was sitting at the table, neatly writing down what needed to be done if she were to leave in two weeks—the list was long and when she had finished it she began on another list of possible jobs she might