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  It was very quiet and pleasant in the dimly lighted room; the fire glowed, and the air was still full of the music. I was just going to speak when the inner door opened and an old woman came in. I saw her before he did, and I caught the suspicion in her face and saw it turn to angry certainty as her glance fell on me.

  I guessed she was the housekeeper, which was not very brilliant of me, as she had done her best to make herself look like one. She was tall and very spare, with a sharp red face, which made me think of a defeathered bird, and her clothes were exactly like Mrs. Noah's in the wooden ark I had as a baby. Her black dress hung straight from her chin to her toes, and a black velvet ribbon held in the loose skin at her neck. Her only ornament was a small gold watch, fastened to her flat bosom with a sensible gold pin. Her hair was scraped up to a bun, and her long red hands were folded at her waist. None of these details impressed me particularly at the time; I was aware only of her indignation.

  The invalid turned his head. "Hello, Mary," he said affectionately. "Not time for bed yet, surely?"

  "Not quite, sir." She had a gruff voice, which she softened for his benefit, and it was very apparent how fond she was of him.

  "What is it?" he enquired.

  She came right in then and stood between us. "I heard voices, sir. I thought it was you playing, and of course I wouldn't disturb you, but then I heard the young lady talking."

  "And that's not allowed, is it?" He was teasing her, but very gently. "Mrs. Munsen has decided to be my nurse," he said to me, "and not for the first time, is it, Mary?"

  She did not smile. Her narrow eyes flickered at him meaningly, and she said a most surprising thing. "I didn't know if you knew who the young lady was, sir."

  With an effort he sat up and looked at her. I saw the glances that passed between them, her assurance and his surprise changing to bitterness and resignation.

  "No," he said at last in a new flat voice, "no, I had no idea."

  That was all, but all the friendliness, all the warmth, all the heartbreaking charm went out of him. The glance he gave me was cool and definitely contemptuous. "Good night," he said. "Mary will take you to your room."

  I had no idea what had happened. I was dismayed, embarrassed, as well as bewildered. I thought perhaps he was not allowed to receive visitors.

  "I'm so sorry," I said to the woman. "I caught sight of the piano through the window, and I-"

  Her smile stopped me. Had she told me in so many words that I was wasting her time and mine, she could not have put it more plainly. "This way, miss, if you please," she said.

  I glanced at the man, but he was not looking at me. His eyes were bent on the fire, and his wide mouth was thin and hard. I was taken from the room as if I were a naughty child. From the threshold I glanced back, but he was crouched over the fire.

  In the corridor I tried to talk to Mrs. Munsen, but she ignored me. "This way, miss." She might have known no other words, and she led me firmly to my bedroom.

  By the time I got there, however, I had recovered a little and I was angry. I swept her inside with me and managed to insert myself between her and the door. "Mrs. Munsen," I said, with all the firmness I could conjure, "as you know, I only arrived here this evening, and I do not know my way about yet. Who's that I've been talking to downstairs?"

  Her eyes wavered, and she shut her mouth tightly until she saw that I was in earnest. "Let me pass, if you please, miss."

  "Oh, nonsense," I said, laughing. "Surely you can tell me that."

  To my amazement she turned on me; a flush spread over her bony face, making it Terra cotta, and her narrow eyes snapped at me furiously. "As if you didn't know the master of the house. As if his-wife hadn't told you where to find him."

  I cannot hope to reproduce the venom she put into that word "wife," but at the time it was news that staggered me. He must have been at least five years younger than Rita.

  "Rita's husband?" I said stupidly.

  She brushed past me to the door and turned only when she had gained the handle. "You're very clever, miss," she said, "and I'm sure you know it, but let me tell you you're doing what no decent girl would think about. You can get me my notice if you like, and I dare say you can as things are, but I made up my mind I'd tell you that straight to your face when I saw you, and I have. Ashamed, that's what you ought to be. Good night."

  Even so, she did not bang the door, but shut it with a gentle finality that was far more insulting. I was very angry but even more puzzled. I could think of several possible explanations, but none in any way likely. I was hurt, too; that bowed back and those thin shoulders were very clear in my mind. It was so late that there was nothing for me to do that night except go to bed, and I did that, and lay on such a mattress as Mrs. Austin never knew, staring into the darkness and wondering, among other things, how Rita could go to any party on earth leaving such a man, sick and lonely, to the care of servants.

  Before I went to sleep, I had half decided to turn the whole job in and go back to Clothilde. There was something altogether too painful about this house.

  In the morning, while I was still trying sleepily to reconcile white organdie curtains sprigged with currant blossoms with all I knew of Mrs. Austin, a maid I had not seen before arrived with my breakfast tray. As she set it on the bedside table, she said that Mrs. Fayre sent me her love and hoped I would be down in time to see the doctor.

  I sat looking at her in mild astonishment, waiting for her to explain. As were all the other servants, save Rita's Austrian maid, Mitzi, she was on the oldish side. She was a stout, pleasant-faced woman who wore an old-fashioned uniform, her high white cap enchancing the plumpness and pinkness of her cheeks. She said nothing more, though, and was going out when I stopped her.

  "You did say 'the doctor'?"

  "Yes, miss."

  "I'm not ill."

  "No miss." There was not the vestige of a smile on her lips, and her china-blue eyes were hostile.

  I was back in the atmosphere of the night before immediately. I tried a direct attack and asked her her name.

  "Lily, miss."

  "Tell me, Lily, who is the doctor and when is he due?"

  "It's Dr. Crupiner, miss, and he'll be here at a quarter to ten."

  "Do you know why I'm to see him?"

  "No, miss."

  She went after that, and I was left to coffee and reflection. I thought I could understand the resentment old servants might feel toward a new member of the household who was neither one thing nor the other, but they seemed to me to be carrying it a little far. At any rate. Mrs. Munsen had no intention of starving me. My breakfast was the kind that should be eaten off solid mahogany after a suitable grace. I had about a quarter of it and then got up and bathed and dressed. It was all very luxurious.

  By daylight the house was lovelier than ever. It had a cosy, mellow grace I had not met before, and the sun came in gaily at the tall windows and coaxed the polished wood to glow as if age had made it almost translucent. I saw no one in the hall, and thinking I should be less in anyone's way if I waited in the garden, I walked to the water's edge and remained there for some time.

  I could see the short drive and the front door from where I stood, and when the doctor's car appeared, I was ready.

  Dr. Crupiner's saloon car should have warned me of the man. It was one of those vehicles Sally said belonged to the period when people built cars like cathedrals-with prayer. It was vast and high off the ground and had, I swear, as much brass on it as a band. I arrived in the hall grinning at my thought, and the smile was still on my face when a door opened and Henri Phoebus came out. He was carrying gloves and a wide-brimmed hat and appeared to be on his way to the street. I was surprised to see him in the house so early, and may have shown it, for he put his head on one side and shook a plump white finger at me.

  "I always call early on people who have been to my parties, just to prove that I, at any rate, have suffered no ill effects," he said. "How are you, Miss Brayton? Perhaps next time you
will come too, eh?"

  "That would be lovely," I murmured without enthusiasm, and then moved sharply so that it was the air he kissed an inch or two below my ear.

  He stiffened, and I supposed he was annoyed, but to my surprise I saw his expression was startled, almost scared. "Ungracious infant," he said lightly and pattered off.

  But I had seen that look, and for the first time I felt desperately uneasy. After all, what on earth could there be about me that should have frightened him?

  Rudkin appeared at that moment. I saw him when I was half across the hall, and I was not at all sure where he had sprung from or if he had seen the incident. His face betrayed nothing, but his manner was perhaps a degree less chilly than before. "I was coming to find you, miss," he said. "Will you wait for the doctor in here, if you please?"

  He took me to the small drawing room I had seen the night before. By daylight the soft plum colours were very lovely, and I remarked on them involuntarily.

  The ghost of a sigh escaped him. "It's a very beautiful room, miss," he agreed softly. "The dear old mistress loved every inch of it. Sometimes when I come in here, I can almost fancy I see her sitting over there with her needlework. She embroidered all these chair backs-gros point, they call it. It's very beautiful work."

  It was as though he suddenly had come alive, and I turned to him. "Was that Mr. Fayre's mother?"

  "The Colonel's mother, yes, miss. A very wonderful lady. Very different from-" He checked himself hastily. "The doctor is upstairs with Madam now, miss. He'll be with you at any moment."

  "The doctor is here, Rudkin. Good morning, Miss Brayton. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Crupiner." The booming from the doorway brought us both round, and a truly impressive figure stood before me, two fingers graciously outstretched. Dr. Crupiner was certainly eighty, and my first thought about him was that he ought to go on the stage. As he shook hands with me, he led me to the window, presumably to see me the better, and I looked up into a handsome, conceited old face whose faded eyes peered into mine. He was a little tottery, but still very sure of himself, with flowing silver hair and sleek, old-fashioned clothes. He wore a great deal of jewellery, by modern standards, and his four-in-hand cravat was fastened by a fine opal pin. "Ah," he said, producing a pair of pince-nez on a broad black ribbon. "Let me have a look at you."

  My impression was that his first concern was to see how I was reacting to this elderly magnificence, and it seemed he was satisfied, for he indicated a chair midway across the room and, when I was safely installed on it, took up a position on the hearthrug, hands behind him, handsome head thrown back.

  "Now," he began, "to be brief. Mrs. Fayre wishes me to interview you myself, and I must say I applaud her decision. One can hardly be too circumspect."

  I had no idea what was coming and sat looking at him in fascinated silence.

  "You know why you are being employed?"

  "No, I'm afraid I don't. Rita told me I was to help her, to-er-to be a little sister to her, but-"

  "A little sister. My very words." He seemed delighted. "I understood she had been more specific. However, perhaps she was leaving it to my judgement. After all, I might not have thought you suitable."

  "For what?"

  "For a very delicate task that calls for the utmost discretion. You look a sensible sort of girl."

  "I try," I said, hoping that I sounded less stilted than I felt.

  "Yes," he said. "Yes. Mrs. Fayre tells me she has known you from a child."

  "She knew me when I was a child."

  "Exactly. That is what I said," he snapped, the point escaping him. "My late brother, Dr. Albert Crupiner, with whom I was in partnership, had the honor to prescribe for the Fayre family for a great many years-forty-five, to be exact. He brought Colonel Julian Fayre into the world and a few years ago attended poor old Mrs. Fayre in her last illness. I understand you have no nursing experience."

  "None at all."

  "Never mind. What we need now is intelligence and integrity-above all, integrity."

  "Yes," I said dubiously.

  "We want you to be a companion to a convalescent."

  "A companion?"

  He nodded. "Now, Miss Brayton, you may not know that it sometimes happens that when a man has had a serious illness following the hardships and-er-hazards of war, a nervous condition is apt to arise."

  "Nervous?"

  "Exactly. In this condition, the patient is apt to show a certain marked, if temporary, antipathy toward those very people he best loves. Toward his wife, in fact."

  I began to understand, or at least I thought I did. "You're talking about Rita's husband?"

  "About Colonel Julian Fayre. He is a delightful fellow. He was my brother's patient, of course, but I have known him since he was a boy, and I'm very sorry to see him now in such poor shape. Physically he's improving, but he still has this unreasonable distrust of his young wife and, indeed, of women in general. Your task is to dispel that."

  "How?" I demanded.

  "Wait on him, talk to him, listen to him. But-" He paused, and his old eyes searched mine. "You will see," he said distinctly, "that it is of paramount importance that you should be entirely loyal to the wife."

  "Yes," I said. "Yes, I see."

  He appeared relieved. "An intelligent girl," he commented. "Mrs. Fayre is to be congratulated. We've discussed this very thoroughly, of course, and I told her to find a little sister. It seems that she has done so. There is only one other point. Mrs. Fayre has just told me that you were considered a little vague at school; indeed, that was the only doubt that crossed her mind concerning your complete suitability."

  I felt myself growing red. It seemed an extraordinary thing for Rita to have told him. After all, she never had known me properly at school. "I think a lot of that was affectation," I said bluntly.

  "Oh, that was it, was it?" He smiled. "Then I don't think we need to consider it. If I may say so, you strike me as a remarkably acute young woman. Now, as to details-"

  He went rambling on, repeating himself and emphasising the importance of my loyalty to Rita, a point self-evident to me, but also revealing that someone, and I wondered if it was Rita herself, had given the matter very careful thought. There was a plan of campaign. To break the ice I was to be allowed to make the invalid's evening coffee for him, and I was to be trusted to put his sedative into it. The doctor gave me the tablets with minute instructions. I was told how to approach him and what to say if he should criticise Rita. I did not like it altogether, but I could see their difficulty, and I was desperately sorry for Julian Fayre. I began to like the old doctor, too. He was atrociously conceited, and he was, I suspected, something of a fool, but he had a great admiration for Rita and was anxious to help Julian. I suggested diffidently that maybe the old servants were suffering from a spot of the same trouble.

  The old man glanced at me sharply. "You're very shrewd," he said. "Yes, between ourselves, I have-ah heard certain rumours that would confirm that. Of course the old folk were devoted to their first mistress; she was a very gracious lady. Well, Miss Brayton, I will leave you to do what you can. I shall call later in the week, but never hesitate to appeal to me for advice if you need it."

  We parted fellow conspirators. I was full of a new importance. My task was not going to be easy, but I'd made up my mind to attempt it.

  On the stairs I passed Mitzi. She had one of her mistress's evening gowns, which she was taking down to be pressed. It was a lovely thing, a shaft of silver slashed with flame, and yet, as I looked at it, I felt very sorry for Rita.

  All the same, despite the instructions, I was not permitted to see my patient; Mrs. Munsen attended to that. Whenever I enquired, the answer was always an excuse. Colonel Fayre was reading, Colonel Fayre was sleeping, Colonel Fayre did not wish to be disturbed. In the end, I took my difficulties to Rita.

  She listened to me with half an ear and told me not to worry. I took it that she did not want to discuss her husband with me, and I sympathise
d with her. If she wanted to leave all that to the doctor, I was willing.

  It occurred to me that I ought to speak to Madame Clothilde and make what apologies I could. To my relief, her voice softened when she heard mine.

  "Gillian!" Her use of my Christian name was an innovation. "How sweet of you to ring me, dear. What? Angry? Don't be absurd, child. Mrs. Fayre rang me first thing this morning and explained. Of course I was only too pleased to release you to her, and she's sending me a check for the hat. What an awkward accident; it caught on fire, I hear? Do bring her in if ever you get a chance, and I say, dear, if ever you need a little model for yourself, just come right in and I'll fix you up."

  There was no stopping her. When at last she let me go, I was convinced of two things. One was that Rita was far more prompt and efficient than she had led me to suppose, and the other, that if ever I left her, Clothilde, for one, never would forgive me. Whatever happened to me, I never could go back there.

  I was in the studio, putting the finishing touches to some flowers that had been delivered, when the man Rita had introduced as Ferdie wandered in. He mixed himself a pink gin from the trolley Rudkin always wheeled in at six o'clock whether anyone was about or not, sat down, and watched me, his eyes idle and introspective. Apart from wishing him good evening, I did not speak.

  "That's a damned shame, you know," he said finally, and waved his glass toward the two oval bookcases whose glazed doors were set into the panelling on either side of the fireplace. To complete the modern decor, they were filled with bottles and glasses instead of the books or china for which they had been intended. The effect was not altogether happy, rather like the Wine department in a store. "That sort of thing's all right in a smaller place," he said. "In a room like this, it's cheap. Don't you think so?"

  It was, of course, but I did not feel like discussing Rita's taste with a stranger, and I said something safe about the moulding's being interesting.