The Time of the Hunter's Moon

  “Someone has to be the one to write,” said Aunt Patty. “Do you have their addresses?”

  “Yes, we all exchanged addresses.”

  “What were their names? I am trying to remember. There was a German girl, a French girl and an English one.”

  “That’s right. Lydia Markham was the English one. Then there was Monique Delorme and Frieda Schmidt. I wonder what they are doing now.”

  “Write to them. Perhaps you’ll find out.”

  “I will. I’ll write today.”

  And I did.

  The days passed with incredible speed. They were so full. We went for a picnic, taking the trap with us and rattling along the lanes. Violet packed a hamper and grumbled about the rattling of the trap, which would turn the milk, she said, and when she was proved right, that was a great joke.

  We sat in the middle of a field, boiled a kettle and drank milkless tea and were tormented by flies, alarmed by wasps and played guessing games.

  “That’s picnics for you,” said Violet when we found ants swarming over the sponge-cake.

  And it was such a happy day.

  Drowsy with sun we rattled home again and stretched ourselves in the garden and talked of picnics we had known. Aunt Patty had some hilarious stories to tell while Violet was characteristically lugubrious and I marveled to watch Teresa, intent one moment, listening avidly and rolling about in uncontrollable mirth.

  There were summer evenings when, if it was warm enough, we had supper in the garden. They were lovely days. When I think of them I see Aunt Patty in a hat trimmed with poppies sitting in the garden supporting a basin on her knees while she shelled peas very deftly and dropped them into it. I see Teresa, lying on the grass, her eyes half closed; I can hear the buzzing of Violet’s bees. I recall evenings redolent with the scent of night stock and perfect peace.

  I was delighted to receive a letter from Frieda. It was to be expected that she would be the first to reply. Frieda had always been meticulous. She wrote that she was very pleased to hear from me. She herself had one more term before she would be leaving Schaffenbrucken. They missed me, particularly as Lydia had left rather sooner than she had expected to. To read Frieda’s letter took me back, and the school had not changed apparently since I was there.

  I had not known that Lydia was leaving so soon. I thought she was to have another year. There must have been some reason. I daresay I should hear from her.

  “There you are,” said Aunt Patty. “Each of you waiting for the other to write. Somebody has to make a move. That’s life for you. I reckon you’ll be hearing from the others. Lydia is not so far away, is she?”

  “No, she is in Essex…and London of course.”

  “Quite near us. She might be popping over to see you. That would be nice. I think you were rather specially fond of her.”

  “Well, we had more in common. I expect it was because she is English.”

  “That would be it. You’ll hear, you’ll see.”

  A week later there was a letter from Monique.

  She was leaving at the end of next term also, at the same time as Frieda. “I’m glad at least she is staying on with me. It saves my being all alone. Fancy your teaching now. I was sorry about Grantley. It sounded so grand. I think I shall be marrying Henri soon after I leave Schaffenbrucken. After all, I’ll be quite old by then. It was lovely to hear from you. Please do write again, Cordelia.”

  “There,” said Aunt Patty. “What did I say?”

  Strangely enough there was no reply from Lydia, but I didn’t think about this until I was back at school, when I wrote to Aunt Patty asking her to send the letter on if Lydia should write. It seemed strange that she, who was nearer and with whom I had been on more friendly terms, should have been the one not to answer.

  It was not surprising that I forgot about Lydia during the rest of that holiday, for something happened which drove all thought of my old friends from my mind.

  I was reading in my room one afternoon when Violet came in in a flutter of excitement.

  “There’s a gentleman. He’s called to see you. He’s with Patty in the garden.”

  “A gentleman…? Who…?”

  “Sir Something Something,” said Violet. “I didn’t quite catch his name.”

  “Sir Jason Verringer?”

  “Yes, that sounds like it. Your Aunt Patty said to me, Violet, this is Sir Something Something. He’s come to see Cordelia. Do go to her room and tell her he’s here.”

  “He’s in the garden, you say?”

  I looked at my reflection in the barbola mirror which I had admired when it was in Aunt Patty’s room and which had been transferred to mine.

  Color had deepened in my cheeks.

  “What on earth is he doing here?”

  I looked askance at Violet. How foolish of me. As if she would know.

  I said: “I’ll come down at once.”

  When I appeared, Aunt Patty, in the enormous sun hat she wore in the garden which made her look like a large mushroom, sprang up from the chair in which she had been sitting.

  “Ah,” she cried. “Here is my niece.”

  “Miss Grant…Cordelia,” he said and came toward me, his hands outstretched.

  “You…you came to see us,” I stammered in a bemused state.

  “Yes, I have come from London and as I was passing…”

  Passing? What did he mean? He did not pass Moldenbury on his way from London to Devon.

  Aunt Patty was watching us with her head on one side which indicated particular absorption.

  “Would you like tea?” she asked. “I’ll go and see to it. You can sit in my chair, Cordelia, you and er…”

  “Jason Verringer,” he said.

  “Can have a little chat,” finished Aunt Patty and disappeared.

  “I am surprised that you called here,” I began.

  “Shall we sit down as your aunt suggested. I called to say goodbye. I am going abroad and shall not be in Colby for some months. I felt I should explain this to you.”

  “Oh?”

  “You look surprised. I didn’t want to go off without telling you.”

  I stared straight ahead at the lavender, considerably depleted as Violet had gathered most of it to make little sachets which scented Aunt Patty’s clothes and cupboards.

  “I am surprised that you should have thought it necessary to come here.”

  “Well, we are rather special friends I thought and in view of everything that has happened, I wanted to let you know. I have so recently become a widower and the death of someone with whom one has lived closely for many years is shattering…even when death is expected. I feel the need to get right away. I have several good friends on the Continent whom I shall visit. I shall do a sort of Grand Tour…France, Italy, Spain…so I thought I should like to say au revoir to you.”

  “I can only say that I am surprised you should have come so far to do that. I should have heard the news in due course when I return to the school, I daresay.”

  “But of course I wanted you to know I was going, and particularly how much I shall look forward to seeing you when I come back.”

  “I am unexpectedly flattered. They will be bringing out the tea soon. You will stay for that?”

  “I shall be delighted to. It is such a great pleasure to talk to you.”

  “When do you leave?” I asked.

  “Next week.”

  “I hope you will have an interesting journey. The Grand Tour used to be the high spot of a young man’s life.”

  “I am not so young, nor am I looking for high spots.”

  “You just feel the need to travel after your bereavement. I understand.”

  “One has certain misgivings when people die.”

  “You mean…conscience?”

  “H’m. One has to come to terms with that, I suppose.”

  He laughed and I couldn’t help laughing with him. “It is so good to be with you,” he said. “You do mock me, don’t you?”

  “I
am sorry. I should not…on such a subject.”

  “I know of the rumors which are circulated about me. But I want you to remember that rumor is a lying jade…very often.”

  “Oh, I don’t take notice of rumors.”

  “Nonsense. Everybody takes notice of rumors.”

  “But you are the last person surely to be concerned about them.”

  “Only on the effect they may have on someone whom one is trying to impress.”

  “You mean you are trying to impress me?”

  “I am…most fervently. I want you to consider that I might not be as black as I am painted, though the last thing I should want you to do is consider me a saint.”

  “Rest assured I should find that very difficult to do.”

  We were laughing again.

  “It was a wonderful evening we had together,” he said wistfully.

  “It was kind of you to allow Teresa and me to stay at the Hall. Teresa is with us now.”

  “Yes. I heard that you brought her with you.”

  “They will all be coming out to tea very soon.”

  “I should like to go on talking to you. There is so much I want to say.”

  “Here is Teresa now.” I went on: “Teresa, we have a visitor. You know Sir Jason Verringer.”

  “Of course,” said Teresa. “He’s Fiona’s and Eugenie’s uncle.”

  Jason laughed. “I have achieved fame in Teresa’s eyes,” he said. “The uncle of Fiona and Eugenie! It is only reflected glory of course.”

  “It is gratifying to be recognized no matter what the reason,” I said.

  Aunt Patty and Violet appeared and tea was served.

  There was talk about the village life and Aunt Patty’s descriptions were apt and amusing. Teresa handed round the food like a daughter of the house and I was amazed afresh at the change in her. It was a conventionally pleasant scene. Tea on the lawn and a visitor who happened to be passing and who had called in.

  But I could not get over the strangeness of his being here and wondering what was the real motive for his call. To see me, of course. But why? I was a little annoyed with myself that I should find the question so stimulating. Aunt Violet asked if he had come in on the three forty-five and he said that he had.

  “Then you’ll be catching the six o’clock.”

  “Unless,” put in Aunt Patty, “you are spending some time here. When we were at Grantley we could have put you up. Here, alas, we are short of rooms. There is, of course, the King’s Arms in Moldenbury itself.”

  “The food’s poor so I’ve heard,” said Violet.

  “But they do excellent roast beef,” added Aunt Patty. “They’re noted for it.”

  “I did ask the fly to call for me at a quarter to six,” he said.

  “Well then you haven’t much time left, have you,” said Aunt Patty. “Cordelia, why don’t you show Sir Jason the garden.”

  “What an excellent idea,” he said.

  “It’s not at its best now,” put in Violet. “Early spring’s the best time. The flowers are beginning to get that tired look. The sun’s been particularly fierce this year.”

  “I am sure Cordelia will find something pleasant to show our guest,” said Aunt Patty. “Come, Teresa, help me with the tray. Violet will see to the rest.”

  “You must allow me to carry the tray,” said Jason.

  “Get away with you,” said Aunt Patty. “If you knew the number of trays I’ve carried in my life…”

  “Astronomical, I expect,” said Jason, picking up the tray. “Now show me the way without more argument.”

  Aunt Patty waddled in front of him. I watched them disappear into the house, smiling to myself.

  In a few moments he was at my side.

  “What a charming lady your aunt is! So merry…and so tactful.”

  “Come then. I’ll show you the garden.”

  He walked in silence for a few seconds. I said: “Teresa is developing this patch. There is a great change in her. Poor child, she felt unwanted.”

  “I shall miss you,” he said.

  “Miss me? You talk as though you see me every day. We have only met a few times…and how long is it since the last time I saw you?”

  “I felt that you were displeased with me in some way.”

  “Displeased? I have thanked you several times for your hospitality to Teresa and me.”

  “Our happy evening was rather suddenly interrupted.”

  “Oh yes…when your friend arrived. I quite understood that.”

  “I don’t think you did.”

  “Well, it wasn’t important. The meal was over and I was thinking that it was time I returned to Teresa.”

  He sighed. “There are many things I would like to explain to you.”

  “There is no reason why you should.”

  “There are reasons. When I return we must meet. I am desperately anxious for us to be good friends. There is much I want to tell you.”

  “Well, I hope you will have a pleasant trip. The trap will be here very soon. You mustn’t miss your train.”

  He laid a hand on my arm. “When I return, I want to talk to you…seriously. You see it is so soon…after…and there are certain difficulties which have to be settled. Cordelia, I shall return and then…”

  I avoided his eyes. “Oh, there’s Violet,” I said. “She must be looking for you. That means the station fly is here.” I called: “We’re coming, Violet. The trap’s here, is it?”

  I walked with him across the lawn. He held my hand firmly in his and was trying to tell me something. He was asking me to wait until his return when he would be in a position to continue our relationship. It was the way in which he would behave to any young woman. But it seemed strange that he had come out of his way to tell me he was going away.

  We stood waving until the fly disappeared.

  Aunt Patty was thoughtful.

  When we were alone together she said: “What an interesting man! It was nice of him to call and tell you he was going away.” She looked at me intently. “He must have felt that you were a very special friend…to come all that way.”

  “Oh, he was in the neighborhood, I expect. I have only met him a few times. He is a sort of lord of the manor and probably feels he ought to take an interest in all the vassals.”

  “Do you know, I quite liked him.”

  I laughed. “I gather from that remark that you are rather surprised that you do.”

  She was looking into the distance.

  “It was courteous of him to call,” she said. “I have no doubt he had his reasons.”

  Rooks’ Rest

  When I went back to school, I quickly slipped into the old routine and it felt like coming home. In a few days even the girls settled down. Teresa had changed considerably; she had almost lost that scared look she had had before and was able to mingle more easily with the other girls.

  Daisy Hetherington wanted to know how she had behaved during the holiday and I was delighted to be able to tell her that everything had worked out very well indeed.

  “Teresa’s trouble was that she was lonely and felt unwanted,” I explained. “As soon as she saw that we were glad to have her, she changed and became just a normal happy girl.”

  “How fortunate if all our troubles could be so easily solved,” said Daisy, but she smiled, well pleased, and I said that if there was no objection she was invited for Christmas.

  “I daresay those cousins will be as ready to forsake their duties at Christmas as in the summer,” was Daisy’s comment.

  Then she went on to discuss the term’s work.

  “We put on a little entertainment at Christmas,” she said. “I know it seems far away but you’d be surprised how much preparation is needed and it gives the girls something to think about instead of mooning nostalgically over the summer holidays. I thought you with Miss Eccles and Miss Parker could put your heads together, and of course Miss Barston for the costumes. We do it in the refectory one night and then we have been invit
ed to repeat it at the Hall when some of the people from the village come to see it. This year I understand Sir Jason will be away and as he has said nothing about lending us the Hall, I suppose we shan’t have it there this time. He did tell me that he planned to stay some time.”

  I said I would consult with Miss Eccles and Miss Parker and we would submit the results of our conference for her approval.

  She bowed her head graciously and said that it would not be quite the same with no performance at the Hall. “It makes a difference to the neighborhood when the squire is not in residence.”

  I was to agree with her as the weeks passed. I would ride now and then past the Hall and remember the day of Teresa’s accident and that twilit tête-à-tête in the courtyard. I found it hard to stop thinking about him and wondering why he had taken the trouble to come to Moldenbury to say goodbye to me.

  I guessed that when he came back Marcia Martindale would expect him to marry her and it occurred to me that he might have wanted to get away to make up his mind what he must do. He had said something about coming to terms with his conscience. Was he referring to the death of his wife or his obligations to Marcia Martindale? It could be either…or both. My presence bothered him—just as his bothered me.

  But I could forget him now that he was no longer there. I felt free. I very much enjoyed my work; I got on well with Daisy and my fellow teachers and I believed I was getting somewhere with the girls.

  Daisy told me that she had a waiting list this term.

  “More applicants than I have room for,” she said complacently. “I think they are beginning to realize that they get the Schaffenbrucken treatment here. And of course there are so many parents who are against sending their daughters abroad…especially when they can get the desired result in England.”

  Daisy was implying that my presence was an asset to the school and I couldn’t suppress a rather smug feeling of satisfaction.

  The term went on. English lessons, deportment, social graces, dancing waltzes and cotillions, taking the girls for their rides. Each day had its little drama such as who should be chosen for Prince Charming and Cinderella; whose drawing would be selected as the best of the month; who should be chosen by Mr. Bathurst to partner him in the waltz he was teaching. Mr. Bathurst was a young man of dark Italianate good looks and a great favorite with the girls, and there was always excitement on the days when he came to the school to take the dancing class, which resulted in much romantic speculation. His visits were awaited with great anticipation and he was jealously watched and the elder girls vied for the favor of being chosen by him to demonstrate the steps.