The Time of the Hunter's Moon

  “Jack was lost. I went on working. Nothing could stop that. And then…it must have been two years later I became friendly with Jason. He has a pleasant house in London. In St. James’s…and he was always interested in the theatre. He used to come often to watch me. He’s a very exciting man…when you get to know him. He was crazy about me. Well, you can guess how it happened. Of course I shall never forget Jack but Jason is here and that place of his is very attractive. He seemed a little tragic too. That family of his, always living in that mansion for hundreds of years and then there were no heirs and that disastrous marriage of his. Then there are only two girls. You know what I mean. Of course it was a sacrifice for me. A child is so restricting. There is all the time while you’re waiting for it to be born to say nothing of the discomforts. And then when it comes…But I did it…for Jason…and I think I can be happy when everything is settled.”

  “You mean when you marry Sir Jason?”

  She smiled at me. “It can’t be just yet, of course. There had to be this interval. People in a place like this…you know, so narrow. They say all sorts of cruel things. I said to Jason, ‘What do we care?’ But he said we had to step warily. There was a lot of talk, you know, and most unpleasant talk.”

  “Gossip can be dangerous,” I said, with a touch of conscience, having so recently indulged in it with Mrs. Baddicombe.

  “Devastating,” she said. “I was in a play once about a man whose wife died…rather as Lady Verringer did. There was Another Woman.”

  “I suppose it is a not unusual situation.”

  “Men being men.”

  “And women women,” I said, perhaps a trifle coolly.

  “I agree. I agree.” She rose from the trolley and paced to the window. She stood there for a few moments, and when she turned she was in a different role. She was no longer mourning a husband. She had become a bride of a new one.

  “Well,” she said, turning to me and smiling. “The wheel turns. Now I have to make Jason happy. He dotes on little Miranda.”

  “Oh, does he?”

  “When he is here. Of course, he has been away such a long time. But when he returns we shall have wedding bells. The waiting is irksome. But he had to go. It is not easy with me being here…so close…and all the talk.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “I might even join him before he comes back. He can be very persistent and he is trying to persuade me to go to him.”

  “All I can do is wish you well.”

  “There will be horrid gossip, but one lives that sort of thing down, doesn’t one?”

  “I suppose one does.”

  There was a tap on the door and Mrs. Gittings appeared with Miranda.

  “Come here, my darling,” said Marcia, now the doting mother.

  The child approached but, I noticed, clinging very tightly to Mrs. Gittings’s hand.

  “My little one, come and say how do you do to Miss Grant.”

  “Hello, Miranda,” I said.

  The blue eyes were turned to me. She said: “I’ve got a corn dolly.”

  “A what, darling?”

  Mrs. Gittings said: “It’s hanging on the wall in my sister’s cottage. Miranda always says it is hers.”

  “How old is she?” I asked.

  “Nearly two,” said Mrs. Gittings. “Quite a big girl, aren’t you, pet?”

  Miranda laughed and snuggled up to Mrs. Gittings’s skirts.

  It was quite clear who had Miranda’s affection in that house.

  I felt a great desire to get away. I was tired of hearing of Jason Verringer and his affairs. It was all rather distasteful and there was an air of such unreality in that house that I never wanted to see any of them again—except perhaps Mrs. Gittings and the child.

  After a while Miranda was taken away and I left. I had the excuse that I must get back to the school. As I rode home I thought what a pity it was that the school was so close to the Hall and a part of it really. It made escape difficult. But I certainly would not again visit Rooks’ Rest in a hurry.

  It must have been only two weeks later when I ran into Mrs. Gittings with Miranda in the town. Her rosy face lit up with pleasure when she saw me.

  “Why, it’s Miss Grant,” she said. “Lovely day, isn’t it? Spring’s on the way. I came in with Miranda in the dog cart. She loves that, don’t you, Miranda. We’ve got one or two bits of shopping to do before we go away.”

  “Oh, are you going away?”

  “I’m taking Miranda with me down to my sister.”

  “You’ll love that. Miranda too.”

  “Yes. She’ll see her corn dolly, won’t you, pet? And Aunt Grace, that’s my sister. Very fond of Miranda, she is, and Miranda’s fond of her. It’ll be lovely on the moors. I was brought up there. They say you always want to go back to your native spot.”

  “How will they get on without you at Rooks’ Rest?”

  “They won’t be there. The house is to be shut up till I’m told when to go back.”

  “So Mrs. Martindale is going to London, is she?”

  “Farther than that, she says. She keeps rather quiet about it, but sometimes it comes out. She is going to him.”

  “To him?”

  “To Sir Jason. Somewhere on the Continent. Maisie will go with her.”

  “Do you think they will get married out there…wherever it is?”

  “Well, that’s what she seems to have in mind.”

  “I see.”

  “I can’t wait to get to the moors. It was nice seeing you, Miss Grant. I think Miranda quite took to you.”

  I said goodbye and felt faintly depressed.

  What a sordid affair, I thought, as I rode back to the Abbey.

  ***

  Teresa came to me in a state of great distress.

  “It’s the cousins,” she said. “They want me to go to them for Easter. Miss Hetherington sent for me in her study. She said she’s just heard. I said I don’t want to go but Miss Hetherington says I’ll have to.”

  “Oh, Teresa,” I said. “Aunt Patty and Violet will be so disappointed.”

  “I know.” There were tears in her eyes. “Violet was going to show me how to make hot cross buns.”

  I said: “Perhaps we can arrange something. I’ll go and see Miss Hetherington.”

  Daisy shook her head grimly.

  “I have often wondered about the wisdom of your taking Teresa home with you. I know Patience and Violet and the effect they’d have on a girl like Teresa. Poor child, she was almost demented when I told her.”

  I said: “Surely it can be explained to them.”

  “I don’t think they’ll change their minds. It’s not that they want her. I can read between the lines. They feel they look remiss in the eyes of the parents as they are supposed to be looking after her, and two vacations away from them is a bit too much. She’ll have to go for Easter and then perhaps it can be arranged that you take her in the summer holidays which are the longer ones.”

  “We shall be so sad. You see, she quickly became part of the household.”

  “That’s the trouble. One has to be careful with girls like Teresa. They become so intense. She became too involved too quickly.”

  “It was just holidays she had with us in an ordinary little home.”

  “My dear Cordelia, no house is ordinary with Patience in it.”

  “I know. She is quite the most wonderful person. I was so happy for Teresa to have a share in all that.”

  “You’re too sentimental. Let Teresa go for Easter and I am sure it will be all right for the summer.”

  “Couldn’t we explain to them?”

  “Explanations would make it worse. They’d feel more guilty. They are just making this gesture to preserve their kindly image with the parents. We’ll have to let them this time. And perhaps Teresa will make it so that they don’t want her again for a very long time.” Daisy smiled grimly. “Oh come, Cordelia, it’s not so tragic as all that. Just this once. Teresa has to learn that life i
s not a bed of roses. It’ll be good for her and make her all the more appreciative of Moldenbury next time.”

  “She’s appreciative enough already.”

  Daisy shrugged her shoulders. “She’ll have to go,” she said firmly.

  Poor Teresa was heart-broken and her grief cast an air of tragedy over the rest of term.

  When I waved her off with the rest of the girls the day before my departure we were both of us on the verge of tears.

  ***

  It was a sad household at Moldenbury. Teresa would have been very gratified to see how we missed her.

  Aunt Patty said: “Never mind. She’ll be here for summer and those are the long holidays.”

  “We shan’t see her again,” said Violet prophetically.

  Everyone in the village asked where she was. I had not realized what a part of the household she had become. We decorated the church with daffodils and I was regretful thinking of how she would have enjoyed that. The hot cross buns did not seem nearly such a treat as they would have done had she been there.

  “She loved it so much here,” I said, “and she made us all realize how fortunate we are to have each other.”

  “I always knew that, dear,” said Aunt Patty, solemn for once.

  I went for long walks and thought about Marcia Martindale on the Continent with Jason Verringer. I imagined them on the canals of Venice, strolling beside the Arno in Florence, riding down the Champs Élysées, visiting the Colosseum in Rome…all places I longed to visit.

  I thought rather maliciously: They are worthy of each other, and I am sure they will get all the happiness they deserve.

  It was the day after Easter Monday, in the midafternoon, and I was in the sitting room reading when I heard the gate click. I got up and looked out of the window. Teresa was coming up the drive carrying a suitcase.

  I dashed out. “Teresa!” I cried.

  She flew at me and we hugged each other.

  “Whatever are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I just came,” she replied. “I got on a train and came. I couldn’t stand it any longer.”

  “But what of the cousins?”

  “I left a note for them. They’ll be glad. I was such a nuisance to them.”

  “Oh, Teresa,” I cried, trying to sound stern but only conveying my pleasure.

  I called up the stairs. “Aunt Patty. Violet. Come down at once.”

  They came running. For a few seconds they stared at Teresa. Then she flung herself at them and the three of them were in a sort of huddle while I stood looking on and laughing.

  I said: “It’s really rather awful. She’s just walked out on the cousins, leaving a note.”

  Aunt Patty was trying not to laugh and even Violet was smiling.

  “Well, I never!” said Aunt Patty.

  “She just packed a suitcase and came.”

  “All that way by herself,” said Violet, looking shocked.

  “She’s nearly seventeen,” I reminded them.

  “I knew the way,” said Teresa. “I had to go to London first. That was the tricky part. But the guard was helpful. He showed me.”

  “What about those cousins?” asked Violet. “They’ll be out of their minds with worry.”

  “With relief,” said Teresa.

  “And you just left a note,” I said.

  Teresa nodded.

  “I’ll write to them immediately explaining that you arrived safely and I’ll ask their permission to let you stay for the rest of the holiday,” I said.

  “I shan’t go back if they say No,” said Teresa firmly. “I couldn’t bear to think of you all eating hot cross buns without me.” She turned to Violet. “How did they come out this year?”

  “Not as good as last,” said Violet predictably. “Some of them lost their crosses in the baking.”

  Teresa looked mournful and Violet went on: “We could make another batch. There’s no law I know of that says you can only eat them on Good Friday.”

  “Oh, let’s do it,” said Teresa.

  She was back. It was wonderful and we were all delighted.

  In due course I received a letter from the cousins thanking me for my interest in Teresa. They knew how she had enjoyed the holidays spent at my house, but their great concern was not to impose, and if I found I had had enough of Teresa I was to send her back to them at once. I had asked their permission for her to spend the summer holidays with us and it was graciously—and I felt eagerly—given.

  When I showed the letter to Teresa she was overcome with joy.

  We went into the village where she was warmly greeted by almost everyone and reproached by some for missing the Easter services.

  She was pink with pleasure.

  So it was a happy holiday after all. But soon it was time for us to return to school—and that was the end of the peaceful days.

  Part Two

  The Ruby Earring

  The moment I stepped off the train I was aware of him. Emmet was there to take us back to the school but as we came into the station yard, I saw the Verringer carriage with him beside it.

  He came forward, hat in hand.

  “Miss Grant, what a pleasure to see you. It has been so long.”

  I was taken aback, not expecting to see him so soon, but I confess I had been wondering whether he would have returned by the time we got back to school.

  “So…you have come back,” I said, and thought how foolish such a statement of the obvious must seem to him, and it would of course expose my embarrassment.

  “I have my carriage here,” he said. “Give me the pleasure of taking you back to the Academy.”

  “That is kind of you,” I replied. “But Emmet has the school carriage here to take us.”

  “It is something of an old rattler, isn’t it? You’ll be more comfortable in mine.”

  “We’ll be quite all right with Emmet, thank you.”

  “I shall not allow it. Emmet, you can take the baggage and perhaps Miss er…”

  He was looking at Teresa who returned his gaze defiantly.

  “I was going to say perhaps you would do me the honor of riding in my carriage,” he went on with a faint hint of mockery.

  “I shall ride with Miss Grant,” said Teresa.

  “That’s an excellent idea. Emmet, I’m taking both the ladies.”

  “Very good, Sir Jason,” said Emmet.

  I felt angry but it would have looked ridiculous to make a fuss, like making an issue about something which was not really very important. But I had a feeling that everything which brought me into touch with him was important. I felt furious with myself for not refusing in a way which would have been polite and coolly conventional and at the same time conveying to him that I had no wish to be under an obligation to him.

  “This is pleasant,” he said. “You can both sit beside me. There’s plenty of room, and it’s the best way to enjoy the scenery. I shall enjoy showing you how my bays perform. I am really rather proud of them.”

  And there we were seated beside him, turning out of the station yard into the lanes.

  I said: “I trust you had a pleasant tour.”

  “Well, one gets a little tired of being away from home. Homesick, I suppose. One broods on what one has left behind. Did you and Miss er…”

  “Hurst,” I said.

  “Miss Teresa, yes, I remember. Did you enjoy your holiday?”

  “Very much, didn’t we, Teresa?”

  “The last bit,” answered Teresa.

  “Oh…not until the end?”

  Teresa said: “The last bit was with Miss Grant, the first with my cousins. That was the bit I didn’t like at all.”

  “I can understand how enjoyable it must have been to be with Miss Grant. I envy you.”

  I looked straight ahead. “It is to be hoped we don’t meet another carriage in this lane,” I said.

  “Ah, memories return. If we do…”

  “You will insist on their going back.”

  “But of course
. I hope I shall see something of you this term. I heard from Miss Hetherington that there is going to be a midsummer pageant. They might involve us at the Hall as well as the school as it is concerned with the Abbey.”

  Us? I thought. Who is Us? Does he mean himself and Marcia Martindale? Is she Lady Verringer by now?

  “I remember the last one but one. That was some years ago. It was commemorating something. We have some costumes tucked away somewhere. We had actors down last time and they left the things behind. Monks’ robes. I must tell Miss Hetherington about them.”

  “That will be interesting,” I said coolly.

  We had come through the narrow lane.

  “Safe,” he said, looking at me sideways. “You are relieved that I shall not embarrass you with a show of arrogance and selfishness.”

  He pulled up suddenly.

  “Just so that you can admire it for a few moments,” he said. “Looks grand, doesn’t it? It must have looked very much like that six hundred years ago. You’d never guess from here, would you, that it is a ruin?”

  “I can see the school,” said Teresa.

  “No ruin, thank heaven. I don’t know what we should do without our good Miss Hetherington, her pupils and her wonderful mistresses.”

  “I should not have thought they made a great deal of difference to you at the Hall.”

  “Oh they do. They add a spice to life. And think how useful to my wards. Where else would they get such an excellent education? Where else would they get that whiff of culture? It would mean sending them to an establishment abroad. How much more convenient for them to be a short ride away from home.”

  “Miss Hetherington would be gratified by your comments.”

  “I have made them to her time and time again.” He glanced at me. “But I have never felt this so strongly until lately.”

  “I daresay those sentimental thoughts came while you were away. It is said that absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  “Absence did make mine, I’ll admit.”

  “Shall we go? Miss Hetherington will wonder what has happened when she sees Emmet returning without us.”

  “Do you think he is already there?”