Penny said, “Oh!” and Eliza scolded.

“Now look what you’ve done-put him right out of temper!”

The sound of Miss Adrian’s voice came in at the open window, floating down from its high trill. Penny jerked round, stamped her foot hard on the stone floor, and ran out of the room.

In the study the telephone bell was ringing. Marian Brand, who had been going through the writing-table drawers, pushed a pile of papers out of the way and pulled the standing instrument towards her. A man said “Hullo!” and all in a minute time and distance had slipped aside and a hand was holding hers in the dark under the rubble of a wrecked train.

She said, “Marian Brand speaking,” and was pleased because her voice was full and steady. Something in her shook. She had thought that he was still in America. Perhaps he was… That was nonsense. He might have been in the room. These thoughts were all there together at the same time.

And he was speaking again.

“How are you? Did you know my voice? I should have known yours anywhere.”

Ina opened the door. When she saw that Marian was at the telephone she went away again. She had the air of an intruding ghost, unwanted and forlorn. Marian had not even seen her. She was saying, “I thought you were in America.”

“I was-I’m not any longer. One flies. Did you get my letters?”

“Yes. They were very interesting.”

“How did you know we were here?”

“Your Mrs. Deane. I missed you by a couple of days. May I come over and see you?”

“Where are you?”

“Practically next door, in the hotel at Farne. When may I come and see you?”

“Would you like to come to lunch?”

“Do you mean today?…I’d love to.”

“We’re about a mile along the coast road. You can’t really miss us. The house is white, and there are twin front doors painted blue.”

She hung up and went to interview Eliza.

“I do hope you can manage. It’s rather short notice.”

Eliza looked gloomy.

“It’ll have to be something out of a tin, which is what I never thought I’d come to, but there’s not many can say they’ve not had their spirits broke by the war-when I think how I wouldn’t have margarine inside my kitchen, let alone having to manage with drips and drabs of fat, and go on your knees to the butcher for the bones to boil it off!”

“But you’re such a lovely cook. That’s where real cleverness comes in-everything tastes as if you had pounds of whatever you wanted.”

If there had been one shade of insincerity in her tone, or even in her thought, Eliza would have been on to it like Mactavish with a mouse. There being nothing but sheer conviction, she allowed herself to accept the tribute.

When they had considered that a coffee-cream could not be ready in time, and that there was not lard enough to make a tart, Eliza came down firmly upon Queen pudding, there being two eggs left over and the grocery order due again tomorrow.

Then as Marian turned to go, Eliza stayed her.

“There is something I think I’d better say, Miss Marian-”

Marian’s heart sank. After only two days she could feel that it was going to be a wrench to part with Eliza, and it sounded dreadfully as if Eliza was going to give notice. And then remorse smote her. If she felt like this all in a flash, no wonder Aunt Florence and Aunt Cassy were sitting on the other side of the wall being jealous and angry because of having Eliza reft from them. There had been a couple of dreadful communal meals at which this had been made quite clear. She braced herself for the blow.

Eliza stood up tall and stiff, with the bone of her nose showing yellow under the skin and her eyes the colour of the sharp steel knife which she had just taken out of the table drawer. She said,

“It’s always best to get things settled, and I’d like to be sure where I stand, so perhaps you’ll let me know if you would be thinking of making a change.”

This didn’t sound like giving notice, but you couldn’t take anything for granted.

“I don’t want to change anything at all, Eliza.”

“Then I’m sure I shall be very pleased to stay. I always did say this was the better range of the two, and Mactavish has settled down.”

“I’m very glad, Eliza. The only thing is, I feel bad about Mrs. Brand and Miss Remington-”

Eliza did not exactly sniff. The muscles of her nose twitched. She said firmly,

“Mrs. Bell is doing for them, and her sister Mrs. Woolley will come up mornings and cook for them. I’ve put her in the way of the range, and they can hot up what she leaves for the evening. It’s all fixed, and nothing for you to worry about. And if you and Mrs. Felton’ll do your own rooms-”

“And the study,” said Marian quickly-“I’d like to do the study.”

“We’ll get along fine. And if I may say so, I’ll be glad for Penny to have a little more company, and Felix too.”

Chapter 11

On the other side of the wall Miss Remington lifted her head with a jerk.

“I’m sure it’s a blessing this room doesn’t face the same way as the drawing-room.”

The ladies were in their own sitting-room. It looked towards the road and had a view of wind-driven shrubs on this side and rising ground beyond. There was a good deal of furniture and a great many knick-knacks. Every inch of the wall space was taken up. A number of small tables cluttered the floor. The blue plush curtains were heavy. The Brussels carpet had worn remarkably well, its harsh blues and browns being practically intact.

Mrs. Brand said, “We don’t get the sun, or the view of the sea.”

Cassy tossed her head.

“You don’t care for too much sun, and I’m sure the sea makes quite enough noise on this side. So does Helen Adrian. I shall speak to Felix. They really ought to keep the window shut when they’re practising. I don’t see why we should have to close ours.” She went quickly to the casement as she spoke and jerked it to with a bang.

Florence Brand was darning a stocking. She looked up. She allowed her eyes to rest upon her sister for a moment, and then went on darning, taking a thread and leaving a thread in a slow, deliberate manner.

“People pay to hear her,” she said.

Miss Cassy turned round.

“I don’t know why you have her here.”

“I don’t have her here. And Felix won’t much longer.”

Cassy stared.

“How do you know? She’d marry him for two-pence.”

Florence Brand shook her head.

“Oh, no-not now-not without Martin’s money.”

“Well, she’d be a good riddance,” said Cassy Remington.

As she spoke, the door, which had been slightly ajar, was pushed a little wider. Mrs. Bell’s lugubrious face with the fair streaky hair coming down in loops looked round it.

“Emma’s doing fish for you, Mrs. Brand. She’s brought it with her, but there wasn’t any haddock, so it’s cod, and a few herrings for breakfast.”

She went back through and told her sister Mrs. Woolley that Miss Remington had turned up her nose, but what was the good, someone had got to eat cod, and they were carrying on like nobody’s business about that Miss Adrian.

In the drawing-room Felix lifted his hands from the keyboard and said,

“Not much wrong with the voice. Let’s run through that again. And try letting it out a little.”

The sun streamed in through the three windows. The two double casements stood wide, but the window in the middle, which was really a door, was closed. All the curtains were of pale brocade with the colour bleached out of it. The room corresponded to Martin Brand’s study on the other side of the wall, and it looked and felt as if it had never been lived in. An ivory wall-paper with a satin stripe was here and there interrupted by watercolours with wide white mounts and narrow gold frames. The furniture was, as Penny had described it, gilt and spindly. Most of it was shrouded in dust-sheets, but the covers had been carelessly pulled off two of the larger chairs and tossed in a heap upon an Empire couch.