Moon Witch. Anne Mather
meaningful words in the hall of Malthorpe, Sara thought that was entirely likely.
The evening passed so quickly that Sara could hardly believe it when J.K. told her it was time she was going home. She felt a sense of regret that it should be over so swiftly, but was surprised when J.K. said:
‘Will you come again on Thursday? I can’t invite you tomorow. Jarrod is entertaining some chaps from the Ministry, and it would all be incredibly boring, anyway.’
Sara slid her arms into her coat. ‘Well, yes—I can, if you want me to,’ she said a little breathlessly.
J.K. nodded. ‘Good, good! I’ll look forward to that. Goodnight, Sara.’
‘Goodnight, J.K.,’ she answered him, and followed Morris out to the chauffeur-driven Rolls that waited at the foot of the steps.
Mrs. Mason was very curious about what had happened when Sara returned to their house in Mead Road. ‘What’s going to happen to you?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to live with this Mr. Kyle and his wife?’
Sara sought about awkwardly for words to say. She knew Mrs. Mason of old, and everything she said to her would be spread around the small town of Bridchester within a few days. ‘Nothing has been decided yet, Mrs. Mason,’ she replied honestly. ‘I—I had dinner with the older Mr. Kyle, the one Grandfather used to know. The man who came here—was his son.’
‘I see.’ Mrs. Mason frowned. ‘Did you tell him you couldn’t go on staying here?’
‘I don’t think we discussed that at all, Mrs. Mason.’
‘You didn’t? Well, what did you discuss then?’
‘Oh, mostly about—Grandfather,’ replied Sara, wishing this catechism was over. She ought to have thought about this coming home in the car, and prepared her answers accordingly. ‘Do you mind if I go to bed now?’
Mrs. Mason shrugged. ‘I suppose so. When will you know what’s going on?’
‘I’m having dinner with Mr. Kyle again on Thursday evening,’ said Sara. ‘I—I might have made some plans by then.’
‘What sort of plans?’
Sara gave her a desperate look. ‘I don’t really know. Honestly, Mrs. Mason, I haven’t seemed able to make any plans yet. It’s been so—so sudden. But I will. I thought of going to see the Matron at the hospital to see if she would take me on as a probationer.’
Mrs. Mason frowned. ‘Did you now? Well, our Lily tried that, but she didn’t like it.’
Sara could have said that ‘their Lily’, who was eighteen, didn’t like anything that remotely resembled work, but she held her tongue and merely went upstairs to get washed, thus ending the conversation.
On Thursday afternoon, Potter arrived in the Rolls to take her out to Malthorpe Hall, and Mrs. Mason, who had remained silent during the last couple of days, now said, rather spitefully:
‘I suppose you’ll be thinking you’re too good for the likes of us soon, Miss Robins,’ as Sara left the house.
Sara stared at her in astonishment. ‘Why should I think that, Mrs. Mason?’ she asked in surprise.
Mrs. Mason seemed to regret her impulsive tongue. ‘Oh, nothing, nothing. Go along with you. And don’t be late.’
In the back of the Rolls, Sara felt rather lost and alone. Even the prospect of dinner at Malthorpe Hall did little to assuage her depression. She seemed now to be a representative of neither walks of life. Ostracised and sneered at by Mrs. Mason and her cronies, and tolerated by a man who had once known her grandfather rather well, but who had now passed out of their sphere.
The drive gates were opened at their arrival, and the car sped up the drive to halt at the main entrance. Potter had not spoken on the journey. He had kept the glass partition between the two compartments firmly closed and Sara had not had the heart to attempt any kind of conversation. Besides, he was probably not accustomed to talking with his passengers. They most likely had plenty of other things with which to occupy them. Unlike Sara, who would have been glad of anything to lighten her mood.
She climbed the steps as Morris opened the door, allowing the warm comfortable glow of the lights to illuminate the forecourt. She was ushered inside, and Morris said: ‘Good evening, miss. Is it cold out?’
Sara relaxed a little, taking off her coat. ‘Yes, it is,’ she said quickly. ‘I think it’s going to snow. The roads are very icy.’
Morris smiled in a friendly way, and then J.K. came out of a door to the left of the hall. ‘Ah, Sara,’ he exclaimed, ‘you’ve arrived! Good! Come in here and get warm. Morris, we’ll have some tea.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Morris nodded, and Sara followed J.K. into a room which was lined with books. Another man was sitting by a roaring fire, but he rose to his feet at her entrance, and Sara recognised him as the solicitor who had advised her of the circumstances of her grandfather’s will, Mr. Grant.
‘Hello, Sara,’ he said, smiling encouragingly. ‘You look very nice. How are you?’
‘Oh, I’m fine, thank you.’ Sara looked questioningly at J.K. ‘Am I intruding?’
J.K. closed the door. ‘Not at all. It’s because of you that Joe’s here; Mr. Grant, that is. We’ve been considering ways and means for you, Sara. I knew when we were talking together the other evening that we had a lot in common, or at least, a common sense of humour!’ He chuckled. ‘At any rate, I liked you, Sara, and I needed time to think, to work things out. Well, I’ve come to a decision, and if you’re agreeable, there’s no possible reason why it shouldn’t work out.’
Sara was trembling a little, even in the heat of the roaring fire, and she sank down weakly on to a low chair. ‘What are you talking about, J.K.?’ she asked.
‘You—and your future,’ replied J.K. ‘Look, have you made any plans yet?’
Sara ran her tongue over her lips. ‘Well, I rang the Matron at Bridchester General Hospital yesterday, and I’ve made an appointment to see her later this week. I hoped she’d be able to take me on, as a probationer.’
‘I see,’ J.K. frowned. ‘Is that what you want to do?’
Sara flushed. ‘Well, I’ve always been interested in nursing,’ she replied defensively.
‘And if your grandfather had been alive? What would you have done then?’
‘I expect I should have stayed on at school for another year and taken my “A” levels,’ she answered, sighing.
‘Hmn. But now, honestly, Sara, if you had a choice, to do anything you wanted to do, what would it be?’
Sara studied her fingers. ‘Oh, so many things,’ she said, a little unsteadily. ‘I mean—I love English and reading, and I enjoy art immensely. I’d like to travel—and to paint!’ She lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘So many things!’
J.K. looked pleased, and glanced rather triumphantly at Joe Grant. ‘As I thought,’ he said, nodding. ‘You’re a sensible young woman. Well, Sara,’ he paused with pleasurable anticipation, ‘if you’re agreeable, you can come and live with me—here at Malthorpe, for a year. I say, for a year, because nowadays teenagers know their own minds at eighteen, and I don’t want you to feel—how shall I put it?—obliged to me, in any way. I’m doing this because I want to, just as much as for your sake!’
‘Oh, but——’ she began hastily.
‘No buts.’ J.K. compressed his lips firmly for a moment. ‘Just listen, Sara. Whatever you decide to do with your life can wait for a year. During that year you could do whatever you wanted to, be yourself, not some confined schoolgirl with a limited range of interests. You could travel. I go to the States quite frequently, Jarrod was practically educated there, and sometimes I think he’s more American than English;