Chapter 8

After all, Penny hadn’t time to change. She took one look at the clock, snatched her bicycle, and coasted down the hill into Farne, which used to be a fishing village, but managed during the years between the wars to collect a good many rows of small houses, a distressing eruption of bungalows, and a hideous but comfortable hotel. The houses were always cram full. They had been built to let, and let they did at fantastic prices, since the demand was constantly greater than the supply. There was an aerodrome three miles inland, and a consequent run on all possible accommodation within a five-mile radius.

Penny got to the station just half a minute before the train, flung her bicycle against a wall, ducked under a porter’s arm, and saw Marian Brand and Ina Felton get out of the third carriage from the engine. She hadn’t the slightest doubt as to who they were, because she had seen them both before.

There was a portrait of Ina hanging in the drawing-room at this minute with a Leghorn hat tied on over her dark curls and a white muslin dress, only the name under it was Isabella, not Ina, Brand. And a miniature of Marian had always stood on the top of Uncle Martin’s chest of drawers-his mother, painted at the time of her marriage when she was just eighteen. So that was why he had left her the money. Penny thought it was very romantic.

She ran up to them all flushed and friendly and said,

“I’m Penny. You are Marian and Ina, aren’t you?”

They collected luggage and got everything on to a taxi, including Penny’s bicycle, because she wasn’t going to pound up that hill and let them arrive alone. They packed in somehow. The friendly glow persisted. Penny chattered.

“I’m not a cousin. I’m something on the Remington side. I hadn’t any other relations, so the aunts took me. It was very good of them.”

Her tone betrayed that this was dictated by conscience. After that it brightened again.

“Uncle Martin was sweet to me. And Eliza-oh, Marian, what are you going to do about Eliza Cotton? Because you’d better have it all ready and say it straight away. She’s a simply angel cook.”

Marian said, “Who is Eliza?”

Penny couldn’t believe her ears. The life of the house revolved round Eliza-it always had. Her eyes went quite round with surprise, but she could only get hold of the most inadequate words.

“She was Uncle Martin’s housekeeper.”

Marian looked troubled.

“But your aunts will want her, won’t they? I couldn’t-”

Penny clutched her with a little brown hand.

“She isn’t theirs-she’s yours. Mr. Ashton said so. He said she was in your service, and she would have to give you notice if she didn’t want to stay. You won’t let her, will you?”

“Perhaps she won’t want to stay with us.”

“She hasn’t made up her mind. But she will when she sees you. She adored Uncle Martin, and she wants to stay because of Mactavish, and Felix, and me. Mactavish is the cat-he was Uncle Martin’s cat. A Scotch friend of his sent him all the way from Edinburgh in a basket with his name tied around his neck on a label. Eliza adores him. If Mactavish likes you, she will stay. You will have her, won’t you?” She dropped her voice to a confidential note. “I think she has really practically made up her mind, because she has had the sweep, and the kitchen on your side done out twice, and she says there’s nothing wrong with the range except not being used.”

“Oh-” Marian looked anxious. “Mr. Ashton said he was arranging about an electric stove.”

Penny nodded.

“Yes, that’s all right-it’s in. But Eliza doesn’t hold with electrics. Look here, you’ll have to be firm. If Eliza says she’ll stay, the aunts will suggest sharing meals, and her cooking for everyone. Well, she’ll do it for a day or two, but she won’t go on. Just as soon as Eliza has made up her mind, she won’t so much as cook a potato for our side of the house.”

Marian began to feel appalled.

“But, Penny-I can’t-”

“You won’t have to. And you needn’t feel bad about it either. Eliza wouldn’t stay with the aunts if they paid her millions. But she’d like to stay with Mactavish and Felix and me. You see, if she’s next door, and you didn’t mind frightfully, I could come in and see her and Mactavish. He doesn’t really like our side of the house, and I couldn’t bear not seeing him. Anyhow, he wouldn’t leave Eliza, and he does like the kitchen on your side. Eliza says it’s because of mice, but I think he just likes it. She’s got rather a mouse complex, you know. Honestly, she’ll do you awfully well if she makes up her mind to stay. And you don’t need to have a conscience about it, because Mrs. Bell will go on coming to us, and she’s got a sister who can cook and who will come in every day except Sunday, so we’ll be perfectly all right. Look! Just round this next corner you’ll see the house.”

They turned the corner, and Marian saw Cove House standing waiting for them. There was a wall of heaped stones between it and the road, and two rough pillars to mark the entrance. A few hard-bitten trees and shrubs were huddled low against the wind. Behind them the straggling white house, two stories high and a slanting attic floor above. There were two front doors painted bright blue, with identical knockers and old-fashioned iron bellpulls. Late narcissus were dying off amongst the wallflower in a narrow bed on either side.

As the taxi stopped, the right-hand door opened and Eliza Cotton loomed up. Marian got out and came forward. That feeling of being in a dream which she had had off and on for more than a month now was strong upon her. Her house- her own house. It didn’t seem as if it could be real. Now- now-now it must break round her. But whilst the dream lasts you bear your part in it. She shook hands with Eliza, encountered a strong searching look, said something about the fine day, and turned back to pay the taxi. There was a bustle of luggage coming in. The driver was very obliging.

Penny had a despairing feeling that Felix ought to be there, and that if he were, nothing that she could do or say would be in the least likely to make him behave tolerably. And the aunts would be sharpening every tooth and claw they had.

She followed up the stairs and heard Eliza ahead of her.

“This was Mr. Brand’s bedroom. I considered you would wish to have it. And the one next door for Mrs. Felton. They have both got the view of the sea.”

The room was not large, but very pleasant. Between the windows and on either side old-fashioned shutters were folded back into the walls. They were painted the same bright blue as the front door.

Ina and Marian stood side by side and looked out at an enchanting view. First came the small walled garden. There were fruit trees trained against the walls. A bright pink froth of apple blossom showed here and there on nectarine and peach. Then steps going down to a wide terraced ledge. More steps, another ledge, and another, dropping to the little cove from which the house took its name. It faced south and the cliffs sheltered it on either side. The terraced gardens were full of spring flowers-wallflower and tulip, fruit blossom and early clematis, aubrietia, polyanthus, and arabis. The colours were as bright as jewels under the spring sun. Beyond and below, a long narrow stretch of shingle, and beyond that the sea, as clear and blue as the sky above it. When they turned back into the room it seemed dark. All that colour and brilliance outside, but the plain white walls, the plain old furniture, the short blue and white curtains which matched the bedspread, had a charm of their own. They were simple and restful.

The bathroom was next door, and then Ina’s room. It had the same blue shutters and curtains, but there was an old-fashioned wall-paper with pink roses on it, and the ewer and basin on the bow-front marble-topped washstand had a rose pattern instead of the blue and white in Marian’s room.