The Chain of Destiny

He replied in a friendly way to her good morning and added, ‘Croft’s the name, miss. I’ll just put everything in the boot.’ He eyed Horace, peering at him through the little window of his basket. ‘You’ve got a cat there? He can go on the back seat.’

His wife was housekeeper for Lady Manbrook, he informed Suzannah as they drove; they had been there for twenty-five years and most of the staff had been there almost as long. ‘I hope you like a quiet life, miss,’ he observed, ‘for there’s nothing to do of an evening. Got a telly, have you?’

‘No, I haven’t, but I have got a little radio and I like reading. I’ll be quite happy; I’ve lived in the country for some time and I like it.’

‘Of course, there’s guests from time to time, but mostly it’s just the two ladies.’

She had been a little nervous of meeting Mr Snow, but she need not have been. True, he was very dignified and smiled seldom, but she felt that he approved of her. She was handed the key of her new home, her luggage and Horace were deposited in it and she was requested to present herself in half an hour in the front hall, when she would be taken to Lady Manbrook.

Half an hour wasn’t long in which to get settled in; Horace, set free and allowed to roam round the room, ate the snack she got for him and settled down on the window-sill beside the geranium, and she made herself a cup of coffee, tidied her already neat person and went across to the house.

The two old ladies didn’t look as though they had moved since she had last seen them, only they wore different dresses. The butler ushered her in and Lady Manbrook said, ‘Come and sit down, Miss Lightfoot. Snow, please bring coffee; we will lunch half an hour later than usual, that will give Miss Lightfoot time to unpack her things.’

Snow trod quietly away and Suzannah waited to see what was to happen next.

‘When we have had coffee Snow will show you to the room where you will work,’ said Lady Manbrook. ‘The papers and diaries are in one of the attics; he will accompany you there and you may decide which of them you wish to begin work upon.’

‘Some of them are most interesting, so I am told,’ remarked Mrs van Beuck.

‘Do you want to see any of them before I start?’ asked Suzannah. ‘There is nothing private…?’

‘I think not; if there is, I feel sure that you will inform me. All I require is that they should be put in some kind of order, and when that is done, I should like you to read them carefully and index them.’

‘Are there many papers?’

‘I have been told that there are two or three trunks. These things do tend to accumulate,’ added Lady Manbrook vaguely. ‘Ah, here is coffee. Be good enough to pour, Miss Lightfoot. We lunch at half-past one; you will, of course, join us.’

Suzannah thanked her nicely, drank her coffee and excused herself. If she looked sharp about it, she could unpack and get settled in, feed Horace properly and introduce him to his surroundings before then. And in the afternoon she would make a start on the contents of the attic. She found Snow waiting for her in the hall and they climbed the staircase at the back of the hall to the floor above, opened a door in a wall and climbed to the next floor and then once more mounted a very narrow, twisting staircase to the attics. Snow opened a door with a flourish and she went in. There were several attics, running the length of the house, connected by open archways, all well lit by dormer windows. The trunks were in the second, large and old-fashioned, made of leather and strapped tightly. They undid one of them between them and Suzannah got down on her knees to inspect the contents. There was no sort of order: bundles of letters, foolscap sheets tied with string, a number of what appeared to be diaries all jostled themselves together. It would be hard to know where to begin, she decided.

‘Lady Manbrook said that you would show me where I could work, Mr Snow, but I think I shall have to do the sorting here. There’s plenty of room and the light’s good. When I’ve got things in a bit of order I can carry them to wherever I’ve to work and start the indexing.’

‘Just as you say, miss. I will arrange for a small table and chair to be brought here, and anything else that you may require. I must say there appears to be a good deal of work involved.’

‘Yes, I think so, too,’ said Suzannah cheerfully, ‘but I’m sure it will be interesting.’ They went back down the little stairs and he showed her a room, very light and airy with a wide table and comfortable chair and an open hearth, in which, he pointed out, a fire would be lit while she was working there.

Her own little room seemed very small when she reached it, but decidedly cosy; it already looked like home, too, with the geranium on the window-sill and Horace curled up on one of the chairs. She unpacked her few things, fed him and took him outside for a short time and then tidied herself and went back to the house for lunch—a meal eaten in some state in a large, heavily furnished dining-room with a great deal of white damask and silver. After an initial shyness Suzannah began to enjoy herself; the two old ladies were charming, keeping up a gentle flow of conversation calculated to put her at her ease. She left them after they had had their coffee, took a quick look to see if Horace was comfortable, and then repaired to the attics.

It seemed at first glance a formidable task, but not a dull one. She opened the first trunk…

She was completely absorbed when Snow tapped on the door and brought her a tea-tray. She sat back on her heels and said apologetically, ‘Oh, Mr Snow, I could have come down—I didn’t know.’ She smiled at him. ‘I got rather carried away.’

He surveyed the neat rows of piled-up papers, old dance programmes, newspaper cuttings and the like. ‘Indeed, miss, I can well understand that. It is no trouble to bring you a tea-tray. Dinner is at eight o’clock; the ladies go to dress just after seven o’clock.’

‘Oh, but surely I’m not to dine with them?’

‘Indeed you are, miss. They quite understand that you would not wish to join them for tea and interrupt your work, and breakfast is taken by the ladies in their beds. Your breakfast will be served in the morning-room at eight o’clock.’

‘Thank you, Mr Snow.’

‘And if you will not find it presumptuous, miss, you should address me as Snow.’

‘Oh, but the maid who showed me to my room called you Mr Snow.’

‘And quite rightly; I am in charge of the staff here and head of the domestics, but you, miss, are employed by Lady Manbrook.’

She said in her sensible way, ‘Oh, I see, thank you for telling me. I’ll try not to give any of you any extra work.’

‘If I may say so, miss, it is a pleasure to have some one young in the house.’

He made his stately way out of the room, leaving her to enjoy tiny sandwiches, hot buttered toast and fairy cakes as light as air.

By seven o’clock she had the trunk empty, its contents extending in piles half-way across the attic floor. Tomorrow she would go through each pile and arrange the contents according to the dates, dealing with the newspaper cuttings first, for it seemed to her that they would be the easiest. There were two more trunks; she would have to sort them in the same way and then add the piles together. Weeks of work, if she was to index them too.

She went downstairs and through the side door to her flat, fed Horace and took him for a brief stroll, then came back to switch on the lights and draw the curtains. A fire had been laid ready to light in the small grate and she put a match to it, put the fireguard in front of it and went to take a bath and dress. She had nothing really suitable for dinner, only a dark brown dress in fine wool, very plain and at least two years old, or a grey pinafore dress with a white silk blouse. She got into the brown, promising herself that with her first pay packet she would buy something suitable for dining in the splendour of Lady Manbrook’s dining-room. She took pains with her face, brushed her tawny head until it shone like copper, and went back to the house to be met by Snow.

‘The ladies expect you to join them in the drawing-room,’ he offered, and led the way.

Suzannah saw at a glance that her brown dress was woefully inadequate, but she didn’t allow it to worry her; she sat down to enjoy her sherry and take her sensible part in the conversation. And dinner, although somewhat more lengthy than lunch, was just as pleasant. She excused herself shortly afterwards, wished the two ladies goodnight and went back to her room. The fire was burning nicely and Horace was sitting before it, the picture of a contented cat. Suzannah too uttered a sigh of contentment, made a cup of tea from the selection of beverages she had found in the tiny cupboard in the kitchen corner, and went to bed. The room was warm and the firelight comforting, and she curled up and went to sleep within minutes, with Horace beside her.

Within a few days she had found her feet. She had little time to herself but that didn’t matter overmuch; no one had suggested the hours she should work, so she arranged her own; from nine o’clock in the morning until lunchtime, and then work again without a pause until the seven o’clock gong. Horace, that most amenable of cats, was quite happy to have a walk in the morning after breakfast, another few minutes after lunch and then a more leisurely stroll in the evening. Snow had offered scraps from the kitchen: tasty morsels of chicken, ends off the joints and fish; and she had arranged to have milk left at her door from the local farm. Life might be busy, but it was pleasant, and she had no idle moments in which to repine. When the opportunity occurred, she would have to ask about having a half-day a week so that she could shop in Marlborough for her bits and pieces.

She thought that probably she was going about her task in a very unprofessional way but, be that as it may, she had made headway. The piles of letters, cuttings and old photographs were beginning to take shape and make sense.

Some of them were very old indeed; letters written in spidery hands, crossed and recrossed, invoices and bills, dressmaker’s accounts and any number of receipts and recipes. She began to deal with these, getting them roughly into date order, separating them into heaps. It was slow work but she was methodical and very patient. She was able to tell Lady Manbrook that the last of the trunks had been emptied by the end of her first week; it had seemed a good opportunity to ask about her working hours, but before she could touch on the subject Mrs van Beuck observed, ‘You will accompany us to church, my dear? The rector preaches an excellent sermon. You will come in the car with us, of course; it will be at the front door at half-past ten precisely.’

She looked across at her sister, who smiled and nodded. ‘We have discussed the matter,’ she said, ‘and we would prefer to call you by your Christian name if you have no objection?’

‘Oh, I’d like you to. No one calls me Miss Lightfoot—well, almost no one.’ She had a brief memory of Professor Bowers-Bentinck’s cold voice uttering her name with what seemed to her to be mocking deliberation. And after that it hardly seemed the moment to bring up the matter of her free time. It was, after all, only a week since she had started work, and she was happy in her little flat and everyone was kind to her; even Snow, who could look so austere, had unbent sufficiently to save the best morsels for Horace. There was, of course, the little matter of when she would be paid. She had a little money, but it wouldn’t last for ever. Perhaps Lady Manbrook intended to pay her when she had finished her work, but that would be a month or six weeks away, or even longer. There was no use worrying about it; she went back to the attic with the careful notes she had made to show Lady Manbrook and then made her way back to the flat to get ready for dinner.

She would have enjoyed the walk to church in the morning but, since she had been expected to accompany the ladies, she got into the old-fashioned car with them and was borne in some state to the village church. The family pew was at the front and the church was comfortably full; she was conscious of curious glances as she followed the two ladies down the aisle. After the service, as they made their stately progress to the church porch, she was introduced to the rector and a number of elderly people who made vague, kind enquiries about her without really wanting to know, so that she was able to murmur politely without telling them anything.

At lunch she made another effort to talk about her free time; indeed, she got as far as, ‘I was wondering about my hours of work…’ only to be interrupted by Lady Manbrook with a kindly,

‘We have no intention of interfering, Suzannah. It is, I’m sure, most interesting and you enjoy it, do you not? And I must say that what you have told us about it, has whetted our appetites to know more about your finds. Perhaps you would take tea with us this afternoon and bring down those old dance programmes you were telling us about? We have tea at four o’clock, and it would be most amusing to go through them.’

‘I haven’t got them in order yet, Lady Manbrook…’

‘You are so quick and efficient that I’m sure you can get them sorted out before tea.’ The old lady smiled at her very kindly, so that Suzannah stifled a sigh and agreed.

So when she had fed Horace and taken him for his short trot, she went back to the attic once more. It was a lovely day, and a walk would have been very satisfying; she made up her mind to talk to Lady Manbrook when she went downstairs for tea.

She was on her knees, carefully sorting the old-fashioned dance programmes with their little pencils attached into tidy piles; most of them were late nineteenth century and charming, and she lingered over some of them, trying to imagine the owners, picturing the quadrilles and polkas and waltzes they must have danced and their elaborate dresses. She was so absorbed that she didn’t hear the door open, but a slight sound made her turn her head.

Professor Bowers-Bentinck was standing there, leaning against the wall watching her.

‘Well, well, this is a pleasant surprise.’ His voice had a silkiness she didn’t much like.

‘A surprise,’ she amended in her sensible way, ‘but I don’t know about it being pleasant.’

‘An outspoken young lady,’ he commented, ‘but I should feel flattered that you remember me.’

She was still kneeling, a handful of programmes in her hand, looking at him. She said matter-of-factly, ‘Well, I’d be silly if I didn’t—you’re much larger than most men, for a start, and you must know you’re good-looking; besides that, you came to see Aunt Mabel.’

‘Such an abundance of compliments,’ he murmured.

‘They’re not meant to be,’ said Suzannah prosaically, ‘just facts.’ She had a sudden alarming thought. ‘Lady Manbrook—she’s not ill? Or Mrs van Beuck? They were all right at lunch.’ She sprang to her feet. ‘Is that why you are here?’

‘Both ladies are in splendid health’, he assured her. He eyed her coldly. ‘You are very untidy and dusty.’

‘Of course I am, it’s dusty work, and I have to get down on to the floor—there’s more room, and anyway, I can’t see that it matters to you.’

‘It doesn’t. Tell me, why do I find you here? How did you find this job?’

‘It was advertised. I’ve been here a week, and I’m very happy.’ She looked at him uncertainly. ‘Do you mind telling me why you’re here?’

‘I’ve come to tea.’

Her lovely eyes grew round. ‘Have you really? How extraordinary that we should meet again…’

‘Yes, isn’t it? You don’t object?’

‘Object? Why should I? I mean, one is always bumping into people in unexpected places.’

‘How true.’ He eyed her frowningly. ‘Had you not better finish and wash your hands and tidy your hair? It’s almost four o’clock.’

She dusted her skirt and gave him a tolerant glance. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make myself presentable. I usually have my tea up here on a tray.’ She added kindly, ‘You don’t need to fuss.’

His voice was as cold as his eyes. ‘I’m not in the habit of fussing—what a tiresome girl you are.’ He went through the door, closing it behind him, leaving her to gather up the programmes and then leave the attic after him. Undoubtedly a bad-tempered man, she reflected, and because of that to be pitied.

She told Horace all about him while she brushed her bright hair into smoothness, ready for tea.

CHAPTER THREE

THE DRAWING ROOM looked charming as she went in; the lamps were lit and the firelight flickered on the walls and twinkled on the silver muffin dish on the tea-table. The two ladies were sitting in their usual chairs, and lounging in an outsize armchair was the professor, looking very much at home.

An old friend, she wondered, or the family doctor? Quite obviously someone who knew the old ladies well.

He got to his feet as she crossed the room and drew forward a small armchair for her, and Lady Manbrook said, ‘Our nephew tells us that he has met you previously, Suzannah, so there is no need to introduce you. I see that you have the dance programmes we were discussing with you; when we have had tea you must show them to us.’

Suzannah murmured a reply. Of course, now that she saw the three of them together there was no mistaking the relationship—those high-bridged, self assured noses, the cool blue stare from heavy-lidded eyes. She sat composedly, drinking tea from paper-thin china and nibbling at minuscule cucumber sandwiches, and allowed her imagination to have full rein. The professor would live in London, because undoubtedly that was where a man of his ability would work, but he was friends—close friends, probably—with Phoebe Davinish. He would be spending the weekend with her, and had dropped in to say hello to his aunts.

She was brought up short by his voice, rather too smooth for her liking, wanting to know if she was enjoying her work.

‘Very much, thank you,’ she told him.

‘And how long do you suppose it will take you to finish it?’ he continued.

‘I’m not sure. Everything is sorted into dated piles, but I think that is the easiest part; you see, the letters and cuttings are about a great many people—they’ll have to be sorted out.’

‘There is no hurry,’ declared Mrs van Beuck. ‘You seem to have accomplished a great deal in a week…’

‘Even on a Sunday,’ murmured the professor. ‘Do you prefer to have a free day in the week?’

‘Me?’ Suzannah spoke sharply, with a fine disregard for grammar. ‘I’m very happy—’

He cut her short. ‘I’m sure you are; nevertheless, you should have time to yourself. I cannot imagine that my aunts will mind if you take a week or so longer with your sorting and indexing; I am equally sure that they would wish you to enjoy a certain amount of time to yourself.’

Lady Manbrook was looking quite upset. ‘My dear child, how thoughtless of us—of course you must have some hours to yourself. What do you suggest, Guy?’

He didn’t even look at Suzannah to see what she thought about it, which annoyed her. ‘Oh, a day off each week—most office workers and shop assistants have two days—and set hours of work each day; nine until lunchtime, and then four hours’ work between two o’clock and dinnertime, to suit herself.’

Just as though I’m not here, thought Suzannah crossly. She shot him a speaking glance and met his cold eyes. ‘You are agreeable to that?’ he wanted to know.

It was tempting to tell him that she wasn’t agreeable at all, but Lady Manbrook was still looking upset so she said in a colourless voice. ‘Thank you, Professor, yes, that will do very well,’ and then, because she felt peevish, ‘So kind of you to bother,’ she added waspishly.

‘I’m not a particularly kind man,’ he observed, ‘but I hope that I am a just one.’

Maybe he was; he was also rude. She picked up the dance programmes and asked if the ladies would like to see them.

The next hour passed quickly, with the ladies exclaiming over the charming little cards with their coloured pencils attached by still bright cords, most of them filled by scrawled initials, one or two woefully half-empty. ‘That would be Emily Wolferton,’ declared Lady Manbrook. ‘Such a haughty piece.’ She tossed the card down and added with satisfaction, ‘I always had partners,’ and her sister echoed,

‘And so did I. Here’s one—Phoebe’s grandmother—a nasty, ill-tempered girl she was too, always wanting something she hadn’t.’ She looked across at the professor, sitting impassively doing nothing. ‘I hope Phoebe isn’t ill-tempered, Guy?’

‘Oh, never, just as long as she gets what she wants,’ he replied idly.

‘And of course, she gets it,’ observed Mrs van Beuck. ‘William Davinish is too old to want any more than peace and quiet at all costs.’

He made no reply to this, but said presently, ‘Perhaps Suzannah would like an hour or two to herself before dinner.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I must go presently…’

‘So soon, dear?’ asked Lady Manbrook.

He looked at Suzannah. ‘I’m dining with Phoebe.’

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