Chapter Three:

Claire rode Meg's bycicle along the lakeside, and up the hill, turned in at the high wrought-iron gateway, procceeded along a wide avenue of limes, past ornamental statuary and spacious lawns and around to the back entrance of Melhurst Tower.

The Women's Working Party.' which she had joined a week after coming to Melhurst, was holding a 'White Elephant' sale in order to raise funds for repairs to the church; each member was given an area in which to collect these white elephants and Melhurst Tower came into Claire's.

Not being in the least anxious to call there, she had gone to some length to point out to the secretary that as Mr. Condliffe patron of the living had already given a generous cheque, it didn't seem right to expect him to give white elephants, too. money gifts, it appeared, went direct to the main fund, which was in no  way connected with the working party and therefore Claire had no choice but to do as requested.

She had been out collecting all the afternoon and Meg's little front parlour was literally bulging with what Meg, in her customary forthnight manner, described as junk.

'Who in this earth is going to buy cracked vases?' she had asked, then picked up a dusty painting. 'I may be old-fashioned , but I'd jib at having that on my wall. it strikes me the folk around here use these sales to get rid of all their rubbish. when's Mrs. Boyd ccoming to take this stuff away?'

'Tomorrow morning. she would have come this evening, but her husband wants the car.' Claire paused. ''I'm going up to the Tower now. are you quite sure i won't see Mr. Condliffe?'

'It's unlikely, dear. things of this nature will be left to the housekeeper. go aorund to the back entrance and ask for Miss Dawson.'

Despite Meg's assurance Claire's pulses quickened as she rang the bell and waited on the step. the door was opened by an elderly lady who, although fitting Meg's description of the housekeeper, was si well dressed and beautifully spoken that Claire could not at first believe her to be a servant.

'I'm collecting on behalf of the Women's Working Party.' said Claire, smiling.

'Do come in! Mrs. Boyd phoned this morning and told me someone would be calling.

 Everything's ready on the table here.' Miss Dawson indicated a small table on which were piled towels and table linen, some of which were beautifully embroidered. 'and there are a couple of chickens and two dazen eggs. will you be able to carry them all?' she looked doubtful ang Claire informed her that she had a basket on the front of her bicycle. and a box on the back.

'I'll just go and fetch it. i left in the yard.' Claire thanked her profusely for the goods which could hardly be termed white elephants and went to fetch her bicycle. 

'I'll have to come again,' Claire said, eyeing the ball eggs, ang Miss Dawson reluctantly agreed.

'What a shame! could you manage if i lent you a bag?'

'It would go on my handlebars, but i would still have to come back to return the bag.'

'I can collect that on saturday. you will be at the sale?'

'Yes; on the grocery stall.' 

'the bag was brought and the eggs packed carefully   into it.'

'Are you sure you can manage! be careful....be very careful!'

The unnecessary stressing of words amused Claire, but she managed to hide her amusement, for Miss Dawson was plainly comcerned about her. she managed to get on to her bicycle, but the machine wobbled slightly as she endeavoured to keep her knee away from the. Miss Dawson ran to her.

'Shall i send the chauffeur with them?' she asked, eyeing the overloaded bicycle anxiously.

'No, thanks. i shall be perfectly all right.'

Claire had reached the drive before disaster over took her in the form of large alsatian dog which came bounding out of the thicket and made straight for her, jumping up and barking loudly.

'Rex!

Claire was already on the gravel, the bicycle on top of her, a sticky yellow mass oozing from the bag at her side.

'I'm terribly sorry.' strong hands lifted her to her feet, her head was unceremoniously tipped back and a handkerchief pressed to her bleeding temple. 

'You've caught your head on the handlebars. it isn't serious, but it's nasty gash and will probably give you some pain for an hour or two. are you hurt anywhere else?' 

'I don't think so.' Claire gasped, much shaken by her fall.

'You've been very lucky. we'd better go up to the house and get this attended to.'

 'Thank you. oh, the dog-------!

Having torn the wrapping from one of the chikens, Rex was now settling down to a good meal. at a shrp rap on the nose from his master he instantly made off with the chicken.

'Seems to be the end of that,' Simon  Condliffe remarked, 'But without humour. 'Rex is only a puppy, and a rather wild one, i'm afraid. i should have begun to train him before this, but there seems so very little time for anything these days.' 

He took her arm to assist her back to the house. it was an unexpected action...but not nearly so unexpected as the sudden quickening of her false which shook her almost as much as her fall.

Entering the large, oak-panelled hall sha caught sight of antlers and tapestry, a granite staircase and ornate ironwork, a coniston slate fireplace over which a coat of arms stood out and raised plaster-worked, massive furniture and exquisitely carved doors and flowers everywhere.

Then she was surprisingly small sitting-room, with a red-brick fireplace and logs on the earth; a room with tumbled cushions and scattered books, snapshots pushed carelessly behind ornaments on the mantelpiece. Simon Condliffe put her gently into a chair by the fire, and then went out, calling, 

'Tilda, are you there?' 

He returned a few minutes later with a glass in his hand.

'Drink this, it will steady you.' His tone was quiet, yet compelling, and she sipped the burning liquid distastefully. 'Feeling better?'

'Yes, thank you.' 

It was the polite thing to say, but if anything, she felt worse than when she had first fallen off the bicycle. the lady whom she had already meet came in with a bowl of warm water and a pad of cotton wool.

'My dear child!' she exclaimed. 'What a shame! what a shame! i knew you couldn't manage----oh, why i didn't send thomas? are you much hurt?' you look ghastly, positively ghastly! do let me bath your head. Simon, get some plaster, it's in a little white box on the kitchen shelf.'

Claire blinked. she must be the housekeeper of whom Meg had spoken, and yet she spoke to Mr. Condliffe like that, and sent him off to the kitchen for plaster!

She bathed Claire's head, then Simon wiped it dry and fixed the plaster, his hands gentle yet firm, and so cool against her burning forehead. the old lady turned to him.'

'You know, it was my fault. i know she couldn't manage. i feel so dreadfully guilty. shall i phoned the doctor?'

'That won't be necessary,' he smiled. but i'm sure Miss Harris would like a cup of tea.'

Miss dawson looked questioningly from one to the other.

'The Miss Harris?' she asked.

'Yes, Tilda the same. now, if you'll make the tea, please.'

Claire flushed hotly as she wondered what he had been saying about her. he seemed in no hurry to explain, however, as he threw a log on the fire, then stood by her chair, one hand driven into his pocket, one brow raised slightly, with censure rather than arrogance. Claire felt like a child about to be severely scolded!

'I intended coming to see you in the morning,' he said brusquely, at length.

'I obtained your address from Mr. Green.'

'Oh. . . !' murmured Claire blankly.

'It may or may not surprise you to know that my niece has spent a most unhappy forthnight, crying herself to sleep and even going off her food. i knew from the first that she had taken an extraordinary liking to you, but thought she would soon forget it. this afternoon, however, it struck me that she has something on her conscience and.' he went on, sternly and deliberately, 'I can draw only one conclusion. kindly tell me exactly what happened the day she fell off her pony.'

Claire glanced appreciatively at him from under her lashes. she had known, somehow, that he would eventually arrive at the truth, but having guessed so much why hadn't he questioned lindy? when she ventured a tintative enquiry about this Simon's mouth curved in a bitter line.

'Do you think she would confess to the blame being hers? there's no need to put on that expression in order to spare my feelings. you're fully aware that she goes in mortal fear of me.'

'I----she--------' Claire fumbled for words. 'Lindy might be a little afraid of you, but to say she goes in mortal fear. . . .'

'it's very polite of you to refrain from agreeing with me,' he snnapped. 

'But i detest lies, however subtle, and that's why i haven't questioned my niece. i don't want her to lie to me. now, may i have the truth, please?

Useless to prevaricate, but what of Lindy? Simon's frown appeared to have faded somewhat and claire ventured to say, 

'I wouldn't lie to you, Mr. Condliffe, but-------'

'I'm glad to hear it.' 

'But Lindy------- will you be very annoyed with her?'

There was a quizzical lift of Simon's brow.

'not nearly so annoyed as i shall be with you, Miss Harris.'

'Me?' she regarded him stupidly for a moment, vaguely aware of strange fluttering at her heart.

'Tell me exactly what happened,' he commanded curtly, and without further hesitation she obeyed.he stood close and she had to trip her head right back to look at him. by the time she reached the end of her explanation his eyes were even more darkly censorious and Claire quickly lowered her head again. 

'Are you really under the impression that there was something commendable in your silence?' he enquired scathingly. 

'Allow me ti inform you that you're quite wrong! there's nothing praiseworthy in a silence that encourages a young girl to deceit! i can find no excuse at all for your behaviour. it caused me to make a mistake and i hate making mistakes of any kind. it was presumptuous and,' he added darkly, 'quite unnecessary. for despite your own private opinion of me i do not beat my niece!'

A gasp of astonishment escaped Claire at hearing the aloof and degnefied Mr. Condliffe speak in this manner. well, he had brought the matter up, and having nothing to lose, she decided a few home truths might do him good!'

'I didn't think for one moment that you would do so,' she retorted. but some things hurt much more than physical pain. i know what you'd have done with her what you'll probably do with her now.' 

'Please go on,' he encouraged softly.

'Your idea of punishment is to send the child up to her room for hours and hours with no one to speak to. she told me about her mother, i mean, she------' 

Claire's confidence was ebbing swiftly under his smouldering gaze.

'When a child is alone for hours and hours--------

'Before you proceed any further i would like to know where you gained the impression that Lindy spends hours and hours alone?'

Suddenly flustered, Claire realized that she had just taken it for granted, and was now allowing her indignation, and her dislike of his man, to get the better of her.

'I'm sorry,' she said in a low tone. 

'I don't know what made me say that. i had no right to. i'm sorry.' she repeated in still quieterntones.

'Sorry!' he echoed wrathfully. 'my niece evidently talks too much. i gathered that when you began to adopt a distinctly hostile attitude to me.'

'Oh, i didn't.' protested Claire with rather more than necessary vehemence. the severity left Simon's face and he actually smiled, though somewhat bleakly.

'Yes, Miss Harris. you symphathy is all with the poor, persecuted child ill-treated by her wicked uncle.' he shrugged helplessly. i must ill-treat her, mustn't i? otherwise she wouldn't  be so terrified of me.'

Claire shook her head in blank bewilderment.

'Why are you speaking to me like this? i don't know what to say to you.'

Simon stared at her broodingly for a moment, and then,

'Miss Harris,' he said, a curious shade of anxiety on his brow, 'Are you working at present?'

'No. . . . .,' Claire's heart fluttered. 'I was going back to town on monday.'

was. . . . .

Simon noticed it too; his flickering smile deepened and once more Claire was struck by the softhening of those harsh lines around his mouth.

'You appear to know what i'm about to say, Miss Harris. i will tell you now that the real reason for my bringing Lindy to the riding school was because a friend had told me about you, saying how reliable you were.'

'About me? but who was it?'

'A Mrs. Mitchell. she takes her young son to the riding school.'

'Oh yes, i remember her.'

'Knowing that i was looking out for someone to take care of Lindy, she mentioned you, saying you had a certain ''way'' with children.'

Claire flushed and looked down, but a moment later she raised her head again, amusement in her glance.

'It's a wonder you ever came back after that first morning, i'm sorry about that. my landlady convinced me that it was i who had made the mistake.'

'It was,' he assured her smoothly. 'However, it's of no importance. as regards my not coming back, i never judge on first impressions, and even if you hadn't apologized i would most probably have forgotten the whole episode and brought my niece the following morning. you see, it's very important that i get Lindy fixed up as soon as possible----' he broke off, frowning.

'It was a tremendous blow when, having decided that you were just the person i'd been looking for, i found you apparently careless and incompetent. that was the reason for my annoyance but i never meant you to lose your post at the riding school. i merely Mr. Green that if i did bring my niece again she must be put in charge of someone who would regard my instructions. it's no use your looking like that!' Simon added sharply.

'If i did think you incompetent it was entirely your own fault. i'm sorry you lost your job, and i'm apologizing, but it doesn't alter the fact that the blame was all with you.'

Not exactly a gracious way to apologize, Claire thought with a grimace, and submitted an apology of her surprise and relief his smile reappeared and he said in good-humoured tones.'

'well forget it, Miss Harris. will you consider coming here to take care of my niece?'

For some inexplicable reason, Claire knew that she ought to refuse, felt herself about to plunge headlong into dangerous rapids from which there would be no escape. yet she did accept.

'Thank you,' he said simply, and with gratitude. 'I hpoe you will be very comfortable here.'

she glanced round.  thick rugs on the floor. a large desk in the window littered with papers, a display cabinet extending right along one wall and filled with exquisite chelsea porcelain.

On another wall hung an oil painting of a man in court dress; he had the fine faetures of the man standing before her, the cold blue eyes and dark brown hair, the same inflexible jaw and air of polished superiority. his father, presumably, for old Mr. Condliffe had at one time been high sheriff of the country. Artistic, sensitive fingers resting lightly on the sword-hilt brought her interested gaze back to those of her new employer, and she felt again that firm grip on her arm, remembered the strange sensation she had experienced. a new emotion filled her. . . . .a mingling of excitement and fear, and a curious of Simon's half smothered and impatient sigh.

'I'm sure i shall like it very much, Mr. Condliffe,' she said in a voice which held a hint of shyness.

'When would you like me to start?'

'As soon as possible.'

 Leave a Comment :-)