Too Precious to Lose Page 3

  Then she realised that the whole story would sound to him far-fetched, over-dramatic and theatrical and her father, who was a very logical man, would not believe her.

  He might, however, challenge his wife with the story.

  ‘Then there would be an unpleasant row and I am sure that eventually she would kill me,’ Norina thought, ‘perhaps in an even more painful way than she planned last night.’

  The poison must have been very strong, as the ginger cat had died quickly and without making a sound.

  Norina wondered where her stepmother had obtained the poison from and then deliberately, she forced herself to think of something else.

  She talked to her father, who said he was going out for the rest of the day and would be in at dinnertime.

  “I hope it will not be a late one,” he said. “I find it very tiring when people stay until the early hours of the morning.”

  “It would be nice if we could have dinner together, Papa,” Norina said.

  He did not reply and she was sure that it was because he did not wish to appear unappreciative of his wife.

  Lord Sedgewyn ate his breakfast quickly and then looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.

  “I must be going!” he said. “I have a meeting in half-an-hour with the Prime Minister.”

  “How exciting, Papa! I am sure you will enjoy it.”

  “I doubt it,” her father replied. “Politicians invariably talk too much and for too long!”

  They both laughed.

  As he rose from the table, Norina rose too and kissed him.

  “I love you, Papa!” she said. “Always remember that I love you very much!”

  “You are a good girl, Norina,” he said, “and very like your mother.”

  He left the room hastily and Norina sat down at the table to finish her coffee.

  She usually drank tea, but because her father had this morning poured himself a cup of coffee, she had done the same.

  When she knew he had left the house, she went upstairs.

  She looked into his bedroom, but Dawes was not there, as she expected. She guessed that as soon as his master had gone, he had hurried to Hunt’s Agency in Mount Street.

  She went to her own room, which had already been tidied, if somewhat perfunctorily, by the housemaids.

  Sitting at the small desk that stood in a corner, she wrote herself a reference. She thought it would be exactly what was wanted if Dawes found her a position as a companion.

  It was, however, difficult to say what she could do until she knew what situations were vacant.

  All they had really decided last night was the name she would use.

  “It be no use you ’avin’ a reference as being good with old people,” Dawes had said, “if I finds you somethin’ in a nursery with children.”

  “No, of course not,” Norina agreed.

  “I thinks for the moment,” Dawes went on, “you’ll have to take what’s available. But you can’t stay here and that’s a fact!”

  “I agree with you,” Norina said, “but, please, wherever I go to, make sure they take me at once.”

  “I’ll do me best,” Dawes had said. “Now then, what are you goin’ to call yourself?”

  Norina hesitated and he continued,

  “It oughta be somethin’ you can’t forget. I’ve always thought if you’re asked your name sudden like, you tells the truth.”

  “Yes, I understand that.”

  She hesitated and then she said,

  “I know! Do you remember that Governess I had for a very short time, who married the Under Manager of Papa’s stables?”

  “Aye, of course I does,” Dawes replied. “A pretty thing, ’er was, I never imagined she’d settle down in the country!”

  “Well, her name was Wyndham,” Norina said, “and I used to laugh and say we must be half-related to each other and that is easy for me to remember.”

  “All right,” Dawes agreed.

  He stayed talking to her until he was sure that all the staff would be having supper.

  Then he wrapped the body of the ginger cat in some old dusters and carried it downstairs to put it in the dustbin.

  He also emptied away what was left of the fish on the plate, as the footman had forgotten to collect the tray from outside Norina’s bedroom door.

  “Careless ain’t the word for these young men,” Dawes said, “but ’er Ladyship likes ’em to be tall an ’andsome and you can’t expect ’em to ’ave brains as well!”

  Sitting at her desk, Norina tried to remember the references she had read in the past so far as her Governesses were concerned.

  She knew, however, that both her father and her mother believed that it was better to use their intuition than to rely on what her father scornfully called ‘bits of paper’.

  When Violet had first married her father and they had gone to London, she had heard that they were continually changing the staff.

  Butlers had succeeded one another so frequently that in the end her father had said,

  “You had better leave the senior servants to me, Violet.”

  “Of course, if you want it,” Violet had agreed sweetly, “you are so clever and so very perceptive. I am sure you will never make a mistake.”

  Her father had therefore chosen the butler who was with them now and he had proved to be considerably better than his predecessors.

  Norina had the idea that it was Dawes her father had sent to Hunt’s to make the preliminary enquiries.

  She put down her pen and looked out of the window.

  ‘Please, Mama, let him find me somewhere I can go,’ she prayed. ‘How can I stay here not daring to eat anything in case it’s poisoned and wondering all the time what other means she will use to try to dispose of me?’

  It was a prayer that came from her heart.

  Then, because she was frightened, she walked across the room. She picked up the miniature of her mother that she always had with her.

  She prayed that wherever she was, her mother would be thinking of her and loving her.

  Then like a child she repeated over and over,

  ‘Help – me, Mama – help me.’

  *

  Norina had been right in thinking that Dawes had left the house.

  He had gone out of the back door at the same time as his Master was leaving by the front.

  It was only a short walk to Mount Street and he walked there so quickly that he was breathless when he arrived.

  Hunt’s Agency was on the first floor and he climbed up the stairs followed by a frightened-looking girl. She had obviously just come to London from the country to try to ‘better herself’.

  The Domestic Agency consisted of a long room and prospective servants sat on hard benches just inside the door.

  At the far end there was a high desk, which was occupied by Mrs. Hunt and beyond that was a small room where a would-be employer could interview a servant without being overheard.

  Beside Mrs. Hunt’s desk, which was large and awe-inspiring, was a smaller one. This was occupied by her friend, who acted as her secretary.

  Mrs. Hunt did not look up as Dawes walked directly across the room to the desk.

  Only as he stopped in front of her did she close the ledger she was writing in.

  “Why, it’s you, Mr. Dawes!” she exclaimed in surprise.

  Dawes politely removed his bowler hat as he said,

  “Nice to see you, Mrs. Hunt, and lookin’ as bloomin’ as ever!”

  Mrs. Hunt, who was approaching sixty, simpered girlishly at him.

  “Now, what can I do for you?” she asked. “Don’t tell me that last butler’s got the sack, because I won’t believe it!”

  “No, he be all right,” Dawes replied.

  “Well, that’s a relief, at any rate!” Mrs. Hunt said. “I managed to place the last man her Ladyship said was no good and the Duke of Hastings hasn’t found nothing’ wrong with him!”

  She spoke aggressively.

  She disliked the s
enior servants she placed in good positions having to return, especially if they were told that they were ‘not up in their duties’.

  “Now, what I’ve come to see you about,” Dawes said, coming to the point, “is a young lady who be a distant relative of ’is Lordship and ’as asked me to help ’er find a position as a companion.”

  “What would she want with that kind of job if she’s a Lady in the real sense of the word?” Mrs. Hunt asked.

  “She’s certainly that!” Dawes replied. “I gives you me word on it!”

  “The only difficulty is,” Mrs. Hunt said, considering it slowly, “that we’ve no one on our books at the moment looking for a companion, but there’s sure to be one in a week or so’s time.”

  Dawes was disappointed.

  “It’s like this, Mrs. Hunt,” he said confidentially, “the young lady and, ever so nice she be, is in straitened circumstances and can’t wait.”

  Mrs. Hunt put up her hands.

  “What can I do?”

  “What else you got?” Dawes asked.

  At that moment Miss Ackroyd, Mrs. Hunt’s assistant, rose to her feet and whispered in her friend’s ear.

  “I think I might be able to help,” Mrs. Hunt said to Dawes.

  She looked at him for a moment before she went on,

  “Edith has just reminded me that we’ve got one applicant on our books who wants a secretary as speaks fluent French, but he’s asked for a man.”

  “Fluent French?” Dawes exclaimed. “Well, the lady as I’m speaking of speaks several of them foreign languages, though I could never get the ’ang of ’em meself.”

  “I have had only one man apply for the post,” Mrs. Hunt said, “and he came back within the hour, saying as how his French weren’t good enough.”

  She hesitated before she went on,

  “The gentleman as requires a secretary is, as I understand it, elderly and blind and therefore the young woman would not care for a place like that, even if he would consider her.”

  Dawes was thinking quickly and he said,

  “P’raps I’ve misled you. I said as ’ow the Lady in question were young, which was somewhat of a figure of speech.”

  “You mean she’s much older?” Mrs. Hunt enquired sharply.

  “She be young in heart, Mrs. Hunt,” Dawes said, “just like yourself. No one would call you old!”

  “Oh, go on with you, Mr. Dawes! You’re a flatterer – that’s what you are!”

  “As it ’appens,” Dawes said, “I think the Lady what I’m concerned with be just the right person for an old gentleman as can’t see, but is acute of ’earing when it comes to French.”

  “His servant as come here and is French was very insistent that he required a man.”

  “Well, give him a chance to say ‘no’,” Dawes pleaded.

  “He’ll say it sharp enough,” Mrs. Hunt retorted. “The man I sent him yesterday come back like a dog with his tail between his legs!”

  “Well, I promise you,” Dawes said, “and I swears as I’m speakin’ the truth, that the Lady speaks French like a ‘Froggy’!”

  Mrs. Hunt laughed.

  “All right, Mr. Dawes, you win, but if she comes back in tears, don’t blame me!”

  “I won’t,” Dawes promised.

  “Just give me her name,” Mrs. Hunt said, “and I’ll make out a card for her to present at the door and, if the gentleman won’t see her, you can only blame yourself!”

  “I’ve taken some ’ard knocks in my life,” Dawes said jovially.

  “I’ll bet you have!” Mrs. Hunt retorted meaningfully. “And softer ones too!”

  They both laughed.

  Mrs. Hunt picked up her white quill pen.

  “Now, what’s this lady’s name?”

  “I thinks I forgot to tell you,” Dawes said, “but she be a widow.”

  “A widow!” Mrs. Hunt exclaimed. “I thought you was talking about a young girl.”

  “Her were a widow unexpected like,” Dawes explained. “Her ’usband had a nasty accident. Broke ’is neck out ridin’ and left ’er without a penny to ’er name!”

  “Poor woman, it must have been a shock!” Mrs. Hunt remarked.

  “That it were,” Dawes agreed, “and when ’er turns to me for ’elp, what could I do but try and ’elp her?”

  “You’re too kind-hearted, Mr. Dawes – that’s what you are – always taking other people’s troubles on your shoulders!”

  “I does what I can,” Dawes said with a sigh.

  “Well, what’s her name?” Mrs. Hunt enquired.

  “It’s Mrs. Wyndham,” Dawes answered, “spelt with a ‘y’.”

  Mrs. Hunt wrote it down in a somewhat uneducated hand on a card. On it was already printed the name and address of the Agency.

  “My fee,” she said, “is fifteen per cent of the first three months’ wages, which she might remind that Frenchie chap as came here in case he forgets.”

  “I’ll ask Mrs. Wyndham to do that,” Dawes said.

  He put the card into his pocket and stretched out his hand across the desk.

  “Thank you for all your help,” he said. “I knew I could rely on you.”

  “Don’t you go counting your chickens before they’re hatched!” Mrs. Hunt admonished him. “And if Mrs. Wyndham doesn’t get the job, I’ll try and find her something else, but it’s not easy at this time of the year.”

  Dawes shook her warmly by the hand and also shook hands with Miss Ackroyd.

  Then he walked jauntily back down the room.

  While they had been talking, a number of servants, young and old, had occupied the benches.

  *

  Outside in the street Dawes hurried as quickly as he could back to Sedgewyn House.

  He wanted to see Norina before Lady Sedgewyn was up and about. She would be doubtless expecting to hear that her stepdaughter had died during the night.

  He slipped in by the door in the basement and hurried up the back stairs.

  Knocking on Norina’s door, he entered and she jumped up from the chair where she was sitting.

  “Oh, Dawes, you are back!” she cried. “Have you found a position for me?”

  “I have, Miss Norina, but it’s not quite what you expected.”

  “I will go anywhere – do anything,” Norina said, “even if it means scrubbing floors – rather than stay here.”

  “I understands ’ow you feels, Miss Norina,” Dawes said in a low voice.

  He walked across to the window as he spoke. Norina, after one glance of surprise, realised why. He was moving as far away from the door as he could in case they were overheard.

  As she joined him, he drew the card from his pocket and handed it to her.

  “You have found me a place, Dawes!” she exclaimed.

  Then she looked at the card and, before he could speak, said,

  “Mrs. Wyndham?”

  “You’re a widow, Miss Norina, for the simple reason you’re goin’ to be interviewed by an old gentleman who wants a secretary as can speak good French.”

  “I can do that!” Norina exclaimed.

  “He asked for a man!”

  “A man!” Norina repeated in a different tone of voice. “Then – why should he take me?”

  “There’s no other person for the position at the moment and the old gentleman refused to employ the man they sent ’im yesterday because ’is French weren’t no good.”

  “Well, at least I can speak fluent French!” Norina said. “Mademoiselle, if you remember, always said I spoke perfect Parisian French.”

  “I remembers that,” Dawes agreed. “But, Miss Norina, you shouldn’t stay alone with a gentleman!”

  “What harm can it do if he is old and blind?” Norina laughed.

  “It’s something I can’t allow,” Dawes said firmly, “so that’s why you ’as to be a widow.”

  “But – what has happened to – my ‘husband’?”

  “I tells Mrs. Hunt ’e ’ad an accident out ridin’ and br
oke ’is neck.”

  Norina gave a little laugh.

  “Oh, Dawes,” she said admiringly, “how can you have thought of that on the spur of the moment?”

  “Well, Miss Norina, it’s like this,” Dawes replied. “I knows it’s goin’ to be difficult to find you anywhere to go because you’re too young and too pretty and even a blind old man’ll ’ave friends as will talk.”

  Norina looked at him with wide eyes.

  “Do you mean they would think it improper of him to have a young unmarried girl as his secretary?”

  “It’s not exactly – improper for ’im, Miss!” Dawes said. “But they might treat you in a way you’d find embarrassin’.”

  Dawes was thinking slowly and he was obviously finding it difficult to answer Norina’s question.

  After a moment she said,

  “I never thought a companion would need a chaperone.”

  “There be companions and companions!” Dawes said enigmatically. “As I tells you from the beginnin’, Miss Norina, the only chance you’ve got of bein’ employed is if you be an older woman.”

  “Then let’s hope that the old gentleman will not object to a young widow,” Norina said.

  Then, as she looked up and saw the expression in Dawes’s eyes, she said,

  “You are thinking I must pretend to be old.”

  “Not old, Miss Norina,” Dawes corrected her, “but not so young or so beautiful.”

  Norina made a helpless little gesture with her hands.

  “Then – what can I do?”

  “Well, I were a-thinkin’ as I were comin’ back to the house,” Dawes said, “that you used to act them plays with Miss Graham and very good you were in ’em!”

  Norina stared at him.

  “Dawes, you are right!” she exclaimed. “If I have to be a companion who is unhappy because she has lost her husband, then of course I can act the part. I can – of course I can!”

  “That’s what I ’oped you’d say.”

  Norina’s eyes were shining as she looked at him.

  She remembered how Miss Graham, who was a very good teacher, had made her read all the Shakespearean plays so that they could act out the parts.

  At Christmas, to amuse her father and mother, they had staged a short play and it was sometimes written by Miss Graham herself.

  Norina would be the lead and some of the children in the neighbourhood would play the minor roles. They would enact little comedies, sing and dance, while the servants in the house and on the estate would be the audience.