A Happy Meeting. Betty NeelsЧитать онлайн книгу.
Preece flashed him a look quite lacking in kindness. ‘Really, Mr Tims, is this necessary? They are both busy around the house.’
Mr Tims looked at her over his spectacles. ‘It is necessary, Mrs Preece.’
So Cressida fetched Miss Mogford and they sat awkwardly side by side on one of the big sofas, wondering what on earth was going to happen next.
Mr Tims cleared his throat and opened his briefcase. ‘I was looking through Mr Preece’s papers very recently and it occurs to me that there may have been a misunderstanding concerning Miss Mogford’s legacy. According to the will she is entitled to claim it whenever she wishes; she may in fact leave as soon as she wants and the money will be paid to her. There is no question of her having to remain in service until she is sixty. I believe that was the impression given her at the time of the reading of the will; mistakenly of course.’
Miss Mogford said gruffly. ‘You really mean that? I can pack my bags and go and still have the legacy?’ She looked at Mrs Preece. ‘Madam told me that I would have to stay or I wouldn’t get the money.’
Mrs Preece hastily adjusted her features into a look of apologetic regret. ‘Oh, dear, I’m sure that was never intended. Silly me, I never have been any good at this kind of thing.’
She smiled charmingly at Mr Tims, who said politely, ‘Well, no harm done, I imagine.’ He turned to Cressida. ‘If at any future time you should decide to leave home, I am entrusted with a small sum of money, sufficient, I trust, to start you off in whatever venture you may consider.’
‘Oh, Cressida would never dream of leaving me,’ said Mrs Preece quickly. ‘My nerves, you know. It is essential that I have someone to take care of me and she is very used to that.’
Cressida said nothing, merely thanked Mr Tims and offered him more coffee. He refused, and said that he had another client to see in the neighbourhood, and Miss Mogford got up to show him out. Mrs Preece bade him goodbye in a cold voice—he hadn’t shown her the sympathy she had expected—and Cressida shook hands, saying nothing but looking at him with eyes alight with damped-down excitement. By jove, thought Mr Tims, those lovely eyes of hers made a man forget her ordinary looks.
When he had gone Mrs Preece said sharply, ‘Of course there is no question of your going, Miss Mogford. I’m quite prepared to give you a bigger wage, and after all this has been your home for years.’
Moggy’s severe features became even more severe. ‘You pay me weekly, Mrs Preece. I’m giving you a week’s notice as from today.’
She turned on her heel and marched briskly back to the kitchen, leaving Mrs Preece speechless. But not for long!
‘The wretch, after all I’ve done for her. Go after her, Cressida, and tell her she must stay. What am I to do without a housekeeper?’ Tears of self-pity rolled down her carefully made-up cheeks.
Cressida, a-fire with the prospect of freedom, sat down on the arm of a chair. ‘No, I won’t tell Moggy anything of the sort,’ she said calmly. ‘You’ve never done anything for her and you can get another housekeeper.’
Mrs Preece’s eyes bulged. ‘Cressida, have you taken leave of your senses? How dare you talk to me like that, after all I’ve…?’
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.’