A Happy Meeting. Бетти Нилс

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      She stopped because Cressida was smiling. ‘I’m going too, Stepmother.’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous. What will you do? And you’ve no money.’

      ‘I’m very experienced in housework and Mr Tims said that there was a little money.’

      ‘Rubbish. No one will employ you.’ Mrs Preece changed her tactics. ‘If you will stay, Cressida, I’ll make you an allowance. I’ll get another housekeeper and you can train her. I simply cannot manage without someone to run this house. My nerves…’ She gave Cressida a wan smile. ‘What would your father have said?’

      ‘He would have told me to pack my bags and go,’ said Cressida promptly.

      Cressida lay awake for a long time that night. She intended to leave at the same time as Moggy although just for the moment she had no idea as to what she would do. London, she supposed vaguely; surely there would be work of some sort there. If she had a roof over her head she could save most of her wages and then train for something, she wasn’t sure what. But to be free and live her own life—she uttered a sigh of pure content and fell asleep.

      In the light of early morning she lost some of the euphoria. She wasn’t sure if she had enough money to get to London, for a start—she would have to see Mr Tims—and when she got there, then where would she go? This was something which would have to be settled before she left home; she was a practical girl; to arrive in London with no notion of where she was to lay her head that night was bird-witted. Something would have to be done about that.

      Something was. Mrs Preece, sitting languidly in her drawing-room, refusing to do anything about rearranging her household, declaring that she felt ill enough to take to her bed, was forced to pull herself together when Miss Mogford came to tell her that she had a caller: Mrs Sefton, who lived some miles from Minton Cracknell but whom she had met on various occasions at other people’s houses. She didn’t like the lady overmuch; overbearing, she considered, with an amused contempt for weak nerves and women who couldn’t do the washing-up for themselves. That she lived in a large house, well-staffed and well-run, had nothing to say to the matter; Mrs Sefton was perfectly capable of running the place single-handed if it were necessary and that without a single grumble.

      She breezed into the room now and bade her reluctant hostess good morning. Her voice wasn’t loud but had a penetrating ring to it, so that Mrs Preece closed her eyes for a moment.

      ‘A lovely morning,’ declared Mrs Sefton. ‘You should be out. There’s the autumn fête at Watly House this afternoon—aren’t you going?’

      Mrs Preece said faintly that no, she didn’t think she felt well enough.

      ‘Well, you look all right,’ said Mrs. Sefton.

      ‘My nerves, you know.’

      Mrs Sefton, who had never quite discovered what nerves, when mentioned by their possessor, meant, ignored this.

      ‘I’m here to ask a favour. That gel of yours, Cressida, I’ve a job for her…’

      ‘She doesn’t need a job,’ said Mrs Preece, sitting up smartly.

      ‘I know someone who needs her—an old friend of mine, Lady Merrill, desperately needs a companion for a few weeks while her permanent companion has a holiday.’ Mrs Sefton, pleased with her fabrication, added in ringing tones, ‘Not much to do you know—just a few chores. She’s just the one for it. I’m sure you can manage without her—I don’t suppose you see much of her anyway, she goes out a good deal I dare say.’

      ‘Cressida likes to stay at home with me,’ said Mrs. Preece sourly.

      ‘Does she? In that case she’ll know just what to do for Lady Merrill. She lives north of Sherborne, quite easy to get at—just the other side of Charlton Horethorne.’

      Miss Mogford came in with the coffee and Mrs Preece poured it with a shaking hand. ‘I’m quite sure that Cressida won’t wish to leave me,’ she said in a die-away voice.

      ‘Well, let’s have her in to speak for herself,’ said Mrs Sefton. She stopped Moggy on her way to the door. ‘Ask Miss Preece to come here, will you?’

      Mrs Preece opened her mouth to say something tart about guests giving orders in someone else’s house and then thought better of it. Mrs Sefton was well known and liked in the county and she was known to give her unvarnished opinion of anyone or anything she didn’t approve of. Moggy hurried back to the kitchen where Cressida was making the junket Mrs Preece ate each day—it was supposed to keep the skin youthful, she had been told.

      ‘Drop that, Miss Cressida,’ said Moggy urgently, ‘you’re to go to the drawing-room, there’s a Mrs Sefton there, wants to see you.’

      ‘Why?’ asked Cressida. ‘The junket will curdle…’

      ‘Drat the junket. Your stepmother is in a rage so be careful.’

      Cressida might be a plain girl but she was graceful and self-possessed. She greeted Mrs Sefton, grudgingly introduced by Mrs Preece, in a quiet voice, and sat down.

      ‘I’ve a job for you, my dear,’ said Mrs Sefton, not beating about the bush. ‘An old lady—a great friend of mine—is in need of a companion for a few weeks and I thought of you. Would you care to take it on?’

      ‘You can’t leave me, Cressida,’ said Mrs. Preece in a fading voice, ‘I shall be ill; besides, it is your place to stay here with me.’

      Cressida gave her a thoughtful look and turned sparkling blue eyes upon their visitor. ‘I should like to come very much,’ she said composedly. ‘I have been planning to find a job now that our housekeeper is leaving. When would this lady want me to start?’

      Mrs Sefton, primed as to when Miss Mogford was leaving, was ready with an answer. ‘Would Thursday be too soon?’

      ‘That is quite impossible,’ observed Mrs Preece. ‘I have had no replies to my advertisement for a housekeeper and Miss Mogford leaves on the same day. Cressida must stay until I find someone to run the house for me.’

      ‘Oh, surely you can manage to do that yourself?’ asked Mrs Sefton. ‘I dare say you have outside help from the village?’

      Mrs Preece had to admit that she had.

      ‘Well, then, get them to come more often,’ said Mrs Sefton cheerfully. ‘I dare say you might feel much better if you had something to do.’ She smiled in a condescending manner at her hostess. ‘And do come to the fête; there’s nothing like having an outside interest, you know.’

      She got to her feet. ‘So be ready on Thursday, Cressida—you don’t mind if I call you that? Someone will fetch you directly after lunch.’

      She looked at Mrs Preece who wished her a feeble goodbye. ‘You must excuse me from getting up,’ she whispered dramatically. ‘The shock, you know…’

      ‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Mrs Sefton, ‘for I didn’t realise that you’d had one. I dare say we shall meet. Do you go out at all socially? I have seen you on several occasions at dinner parties and were you not in Bath last week? At the Royal Crescent, dining with the Croftons? Cressida was СКАЧАТЬ