Magic in Vienna. Бетти Нилс
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independent. She suggested quietly that her stepmother should advertise for an au pair or a home help to take her place and then went up to the attics to search for the suit case she had used years ago when she had gone to boarding school. It was shabby, but it would have to do. She carried it down to her room and cleaned it up and put it in the bottom of the old fashioned wardrobe; it gave her a nice feeling of security although there were three weeks before she could take up her new job.
Chloë and the twins took the news that she was leaving with little interest although they grumbled a good deal at the idea of having someone in her place. Not because they minded her going, Chloë was quick to point out, but because their mother had warned them that whoever came would be able to go again whenever she liked, unlike their ungrateful stepsister, she had added nastily. And since she had no intention of engaging a series of au pairs, they would have to behave themselves. ‘But of course,’ said Chloë rudely, ‘I’ll do exactly what I like; I’ve never listened to you, and I don’t intend to listen to whoever comes, whatever Mother says.’
Cordelia hadn’t answered; they were all making life as hard as possible for the last week or two, but she hardly noticed; she thought a great deal about the girl she was to look after and speculated a good deal about the uncle in Vienna. Lady Trescombe was in her sixties, she guessed, which meant that her son would probably be verging on forty or perhaps older than that; a balding misogynist probably, since he wasn’t married, quite likely he didn’t much like children, and she and Eileen would have to keep out of his way. Of course, mused Cordelia, he might take an interest, but he also might take an instant dislike to herself and send her packing, but at least he would have to pay her fare back and she would have a little money. She refused to think beyond that; she had waited a long while for something to happen and now that it had, she refused to believe that anything could go wrong.
The three weeks went very slowly but she went around the house doing the chores she had always done and whenever she could, went to her room and did what she could with her meagre wardrobe. She looked with dislike at each garment in turn, really there was nothing fit to wear except a handful of woollies and a sober mouse-coloured dress. She would have to spend all the money she was to have advanced; fortunately it was almost summer and she could get by with a skirt and blouses and perhaps a jacket; there was the question of something decent to wear in the evening too—a long skirt and a couple of blouses might do. If only she could lay her hands on a sewing machine and some material… She might have borrowed the former from someone in the village but she had no more than a pound or two in her purse and very little opportunity to go to St Albans. She would have to do the best she could once she got to Guildford and in the meantime she washed and ironed and pressed and thought happily of the new clothes she would buy.
Her stepmother hardly spoke to her and when, at last the day of her departure arrived, a splendidly warm sunny morning too, so that Cordelia felt all wrong in the grey dress, Mrs Gibson turned her back on her when her step-daughter went along to her room to say goodbye.
‘Don’t think you can come back here, Cordelia, I’m sure I don’t want to see you again—the ingratitude…’
Cordelia went out of the room without a word; Chloë was in the schoolroom reading; she glanced up for a moment as Cordelia went in, said goodbye carelessly and went back to her reading. The twins had already gone to school with never a backward glance. She went to the kitchen and took her leave of Cook, who began to cry. ‘There are those who’ll be sorry for this,’ she uttered fiercely, ‘letting you go without so much as a pound note and wearing clothes I wouldn’t give to the jumble! begging your pardon, Miss Cordelia.’ She pressed a small packet into Cordelia’s hand. ‘Don’t open it now, love—it’s just a little something so that you will remember me. And the village wishes you well, you know that. Write when you have time…’
‘Of course I shall, Cook, and thank you for your present.’ Cordelia bent and kissed the elderly cheek. ‘I’m sure I’m going to be happy.’ And since Cook was still weeping she added cheerfully: ‘I’ll meet a rich man who’ll fall head over heels in love with me and we’ll set up house and you shall come and cook for us.’
Cook blew her nose and wiped her eyes. ‘You mean that. Miss Cordelia? Then don’t leave it too long, will you? I’ve been thinking of leaving these last few months, but I’m getting on a bit and there aren’t many jobs going…’
Cordelia took her hands in hers. ‘That’s a promise, Cook. Now I must go.’
She carried her case down to the front door after breakfast, Lady Trescombe had said the car would be there at half-past nine and it was exactly that time. She picked up her case and went outside and the elderly man sitting behind the wheel of a Daimler motor car, got out and took it from her with a cheerful: ‘Good morning, Miss. I’m Bates, the chauffeur.’ He cast an eye over her neat, unspectacular person and smiled very kindly at her. ‘Welcome to Lady Trescombe’s household.’ He held the door of the car open but Cordelia hesitated: ‘May I sit in front with you, Bates? You see, I don’t know much about anything. I don’t mean to pry, but it would be a great help if you could tell me a little about Lady Trescombe and her granddaughter—it’s the first time I’ve had a job you see, and I’m not sure about things…’
Bates shut the car door and ushered her into the seat beside his. ‘Well, now, Miss, where shall I start?’ He started the car and drove smoothly away and Cordelia didn’t look back.
By the time they were nearing Guildford she knew quite a lot; Lady Trescombe was the finest lady anyone could work for; not strong but always kind and good tempered. As for the staff, there was himself, his wife who cooked for them all, Elsie the parlour maid who also looked after Lady Trescombe, and Mrs Trump and Miss Gage who came in daily. ‘And then there’s you Miss and our Miss Eileen. A very nice little girl—a bit lively as you might say, but she being the only one is used to having her own way. You like children, Miss?’
‘Yes, Bates, I do.’ She thought briefly of the twins whom she would so gladly have loved if only they had let her. ‘I hope we shall get on well together.’
They were on the outskirts of Guildford now, bypassing the town and going beyond it into the countryside once more. They were almost on the edge of a small village when Bates swinging the car between brick gate posts went, more slowly now, up a short drive to a pleasant red brick house, old and beautifully maintained, it’s latticed windows shining in the sunshine.
Cordelia had been sternly suppressing panic for the last few miles and all for nothing; nothing could have been kinder than her reception as she went through the door held open by Bates.
It was Mrs Bates, short, stout and cheerful, who trotted into the hall, closely followed by Lady Trescombe and in the little flurry of greetings and instructions about her luggage and the urging into the sitting room where coffee was waiting, she forgot her panic. Presently, when she had drunk her coffee while Lady Trescombe chatted about nothing in particular, she was taken up the oak staircase to a room at the back of the house so that she might unpack and settle in, as Mrs Bates cosily put it.
Alone, Cordelia sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around her. The room was square, neither too big nor too small, with a wide latticed window and a low beamed ceiling. It was furnished simply but with great comfort with well polished oak and flowery chintz. There was a thick quilt on the bed and a small easy chair upholstered in pink velvet by the fireplace as well as a writing desk under the window and flowers and books on the bedside table. She took it all in slowly; after the bare austerity of her own bedroom this was heaven indeed. She went over to the cupboard along one wall and peered into its roomy interior; her clothes would be swallowed up in it. There was a bathroom too, pale pink, with thick fluffy towels and a shelf filled with soaps and bath salts. Cordelia shut her eyes and then opened them again, just to make sure that she wasn’t dreaming.
It was real enough; she gave a long happy sigh and unpacked.
When she went downstairs again she found Lady Trescombe sitting in the drawing room where they had had coffee. She would have to ask just what her duties were and what better than to do it at once? Only she wasn’t given the chance. Lady Trescombe put down the book she was reading and smiled at