Chapter nine:

The reason was made clear later when, coming down to fetch Lindy's Doll, which she always took to bed with her, Claire made to enter the sitting-room. But on hearing voices she stopped, raising her hand to knock before entering.

her hand dropped to her side again, for she heard her own name being mentioned by Ursula, and it seemed to Claire that there was a distinctly malicious undertone to her voice.

'How long has Miss Harris been driving a car?'

'I've no idea.Why?' her employer sounded tired, Claire thought, and remembered he had been in his study the whole of the morning and part of the afternoon, doing his paper work.

'Nothing,' came the careless reply. 'Isn't it convenient, her being able to drive?' No answer from Simon; Claire frowned. What was Ursula getting at? 

'She isn't used to our roads, though. She obviously doesn't know about the halt sign at Rose Lane corner.' 

'It's there for anyone to see. What an odd thing to say, Ursula.'

Claire heard the rustle of papers; sometimes he took some work to the sitting-room and did it in the evenings. But surely he wouldn't carry on working while Ursula was there!

'It's not there for anyone to see. Don't you remember, it was broken by a lorry and hasn't been repaired. We all know there's a halt sign at Rose Lane corner, but strangers could easily make a mistake.' 

There was a slight pause and then Ursula spoke with some concern. 

'i'll tell her, because I wouldn't like anything to happen. Rose Lane corner's notoriously dangerous, as you know.'

Why, thought Claire, with growing perplexity, did Ursula keep repeating Rose Lane----and stressing it? 

'I shouldn't let it worry you,' came the unconcerned comment from Simon. 

'She must know about the halt sign-----' He broke off, then added in a puzzled toned. 

'What makes you think she doesn't know?'

'Well, . . .' Ursula seemed reluctant to continue.

'Well, what?' he said impatiently.

Another pause. Claire half turned to go, feeling guilty, but Ursula's next words not only stopped her, but brought angry little spots of colour rising to he cheecks.

'She came out this afternoon without stopping, that's all. And you know how high the hedges are in Rose Lane---you just can't see what's coming.' 

Rose Lane again. And what deliberate lie! Claire had the utmost difficulty in remaining where she was. 

'That's certainly very careless of her. I must speak to her about it. She should have more sense than to come out on to the main road without stopping wether there's a halt sign or not.' What was she doing there, anyway? 

So that was it; those words explained everything. Ursula was telling him that Claire had been to see Meg. So  this was the way Ursula did it. This was the subtle method she used to do her tale-carrying. Simon wouldn't see through it simply because he'd never suspect Ursula of being so malicious. Claire couldn't have moved away now. She was too interested to hear what her employer had to say.

'She'd probably been to see her old landlady. She lives in Rose Lane.'

'You allow it!' Claire could sense the older girl's gasp of astonishment. 'This is the first time you've let one of your servants run all around the countryside, visiting her friends. 

'Surely that's an exaggeration, Ursula.' How patient he sounded! Knowing him, Claire would have expected him to be angered by Ursula's words. 

'No, it isn't. She probably does it regularly!' 

'What of it? I'm sure she visits her friends only when on her way to fetch Lindy, and therefore goes about a mile out of her way. What would you expect me to do---change her up for the petrol?'

'This girl might almost be one of the family! She's very lucky to have time off in the afternoons. I know servants are hard to get, and that it's necessary to pander to their whims, but this is ridiculous!'

The colour heightened in Claire's cheeks and her fists clenched. She supposed it served her right for listening. A servant! There was nothing wrong in being a servant, nothing to be ashamed of, but Ursula obviously considered servants to be less the the dust! Claire had never been so angry in her life. Surely her employer would put the girl in her place. But to her astonishment he spoke in a soft and tolerant voice, and she could almost sense the smile upon his lips.

'You don't like Miss Harris, do you, Ursula? I can't think why?'

Claire heard no more; she went back upstairs, her cheeks still burning. 

'Have you brought it?' Lindy was sitting up in bed. Wasn't it in the sitting-room? That's where i felt it---on the couch.' 

'You'll have to manage without it for tonight, dear. Uncle Simon is there, and he's talking privately-----' 

'But you can go in for it.'

'No,Lindy.' Claire moved over to the bed. 'Down you go, and i'll tuck you in.'

'I do want it, Claire. I w-won't sleep without it.' Lindy slid down obediently, but she looked pleadingly at Claire, almost in tears. "I always have my doll, you know I do. Why can't i have it?'

Claire hesitated, certain that Lindy would not go to sleep unless she had the doll. 'Very well,' she sighed, 'I'll fetch it.' She knocked and waited a few seconds before entering the room. Her employer and Ursula were standing by the fire; Claire was convinced they had drawn apart on hearing her knock. 

'May i have Lindy's doll?' She went over to the couch and picked it up. 'She always takes it to bed with her.' Claire moved to the door, her head lowered. Simon called her back.

'Miss Harris, are you aware of the halt sign at the corner of Rose Lane?' 

Claire looked at Ursula, who was absorbed in lighting a ciggarette and did not glance up. 'The stop sign in the road is plain enough for anyone to see, Mr, Condliffe. Why do you ask?' Claire's eyes were still on Ursula, but she continued to avoid her glance. Simon opened his mouth to say something, and Claire expected him to tell her that in future she must regard it. In fact, she felt sure of this intention, but to her surprise, he changed his mind, and his eyes regarded Ursula with the most odd expression in their depths. 

'I just wondered, Miss Harris, because the sign was smashed recently and hasn't yet been repaired.' He seemed angry now, obviously feeling his position to be uncomfortable. 'But as you say, the sign in the road isprominent enough.'

Claire could not help lifting her chin;nshe looked straight at him.

'I wouldn't be so uncautious as to come on to a main road without stopping, even if there were no halt sign.' That would give the lie to Ursula's assertion! She continued to look up him for a moment and then, her head still held high, she turned and left the room. But once outside her shoulders sagged; she felt guilty and depressed. It had never occurred to her that, in visiting Meg, she took a liberty. It seemed such a short distance to go out of her way. Ursula's interference was becoming intolerable; she might be Simon's wife already, the way she concerned herself with his affairs. Claire closed her eyes tightly as if to shut out her unhappy thoughts, but this was quite impossible. The time had come to face the fact that her employer's image intruded far too often into her mind. It had done so, she now admitted, since that very first morning when, after being subjected to a demonstration of his arrogance and anger, she had declared him to be the most detestable man she had ever met.

And now. . . now what were her feelings towards him? Mounting the stairs, absently  smoothing the hair of Lindy's doll, Claire tired to reject the truth, to concentrate her mind on something else. But the truth fought for acceptance and she had to admit that she was irrevocably in love with Simon Condliffe, a man as unattainable as the stars. Too late to tell herself that he was the type of man with every woman could fall in love---and useless to consider the only sensible course open to her, for she would never leave Lindy until forced to do so by Ursula. Yes, Ursula's first act on becoming mistress here would be to dismiss her; Claire had no doubts at all about that.

Simon interviewed Ken at three o'clock, and Claire met him at Meg's cottage the same evening, after she had put Lindy to bed.

'How did it go?' she asked eagerly, tossing her cardigan over the back of a chair. She was flushed and warm from hurrying, and her fair hair was awry and enchantingly windswept. Ken's eyes remained on her as she came closer, her own eyes raised enquiringly. 

'Did he like you?' 

'I don't know,' replied Ken vaguely. 'It was impossible to tell.' 

'But did he seem to like you?'

He lifted a hand in a gesture of uncertainty. 'I don't know,' he repeated. 'He said he had others to interview, and he also said that he preffered, if possible to accept a man recommended by the bishop.'

'Oh. . . .' Claire sat down, disappointed. 'Don't you think you have a chance, then?' 

'Ken has said, dear,' interposed Meg gently, 'That he doesn't know.' 

'You were the only one to say Mr. Condliffe had only to see Ken,' Claire reminded her, disappoinment still darkening her eyes. 'You thought he had an excellent chance.'

'We still think Ken's chances are as good as any,' Jim put in. 'Mr. Condliffe won't make a decision until every applicant has been interviewed.' And after a pause, 'i'm going over to do Mother's grave. would you two like to come along? Ken doesn't go back till the last train, so you've plenty of time.' 

The evening was cool and fresh after a shower of summer rain and Claire and Ken eagerly agreed. St. Oswald's, built by the parishioners under the leadership of the Lord of the Manor, Richard Condliffe, was one of the most beautiful churches in the country, dating from the thirteenth century and built only from materials at hand: oak, mud and reeds.

'Look at it, Jim said, waving a proud hand. 'Seven hundred years old.' 'It's very lovely.' Ken's eyes strayed, for a moment, to a tall, stately house just visible through the trees and then he glanced, sideways, at Claire. But she was not looking at him, for with a gasp of dismay, she had seen her employer approaching, accompanied by ursula. What an unfortunate coincidence that he should come here tonight! Remembering his synical remark, Claire felt sure he would again think that Ken was 'counting his chickens.'

'Good evening, Sir,' Jim said imperturbably. 'You've come along to see how the repairs are going' 

'It was the right sort of evening for a walk .' Simon nodded to Ken and smiled faintly at Claire. 'Alright, Simon, we have met,' Ursula informed him as he introduce her to Ken. 

'Of course; I'd forgotten for a moment.' They  all moved slowly towards the church. Jim, not in the least put out by Simon's presence, began to reminisce. What times they'd had as boys  . . . old Gripps, who used to clonk the choirboys on the head with a prayer book . . . the time when young Tom Marsden had been dared to ring the bell in the middle of the sermon.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> tc :-)