Rose Cottage by Mary Stewart Read Free Book Online Page B

with the packing.
    ‘They’re working at the Hall now, aren’t they? Lady Brandon told me the family were keeping some rooms for themselves.’
    ‘That’s so. It’ll be a nice place for them when it’s done, and it’ll be good to see them back here again. Todhall isn’t the same without the family. The word goes that Sir James isn’t likely to come back much, but my lady always loved this place, and I dare say Miss Margery’ll be here with the children.’
    ‘Have you heard anything about the plans for Rose Cottage?’
    But she had not. A firm of contractors from Darlington were being called in to do the main work of the hotel conversion, but the Brandons had made it a condition that local tradesmen should be employed there, too, whenever possible.
    ‘Stands to reason,’ said Mrs Pascoe, ‘that there’s nobody knows more about that old house and its fixings than my Jim, and when it comes to the plumbingyou can’t get better than Peter Brigstock.’ She set down her cup. ‘Now, how about you? I should have said sooner, I was sorry about your trouble, we all were. An airman, wasn’t he, your husband?’
    ‘Yes. Bombers. He’d nearly finished his tour, only another four missions to go. Ah, well, that’s the way it went. It seems a long time ago now. We didn’t have very long, but we were happy while it lasted.’
    ‘It was a terrible thing. We were that sorry when we heard. But your Gran said he left you all right – comfortable, I mean? Well, that’s a bit to the good. And you’re living in London now, with a good job?’
    ‘Well, it’s a job. A friend offered it to me, and it’s pleasant work, in a big plant nursery. Not very well paid, but I enjoy it, and luckily that’s all that matters.’
    ‘You didn’t go back to teaching, then?’
    ‘No. I didn’t want to, but I had to do something.’ I didn’t elaborate. I had never wanted to admit, even to myself, what a vacuum Jon’s death had left in my life. With marriage had come a feeling of belonging, plans for the future, a sense of identity, of being. The satisfying, perhaps, of something primitive in every woman; the need for a warm cave-place of her own, and the family round the fire. Quite apart from the grief of it, his death had pushed me, so to speak, back on the world again, with my own solitary way to make, and not much idea of which way to go.
    I put the thought aside, and asked about the people in Todhall that I remembered.
    ‘Will I find the place much changed?’
    ‘Not really. The village was lucky in the war. Your Gran would tell you about it, I don’t doubt.’
    ‘She told me Arthur Barton lost an arm, and about Sid Telfer being killed. How’s Airs Telfer making out? There were three children, weren’t there?’
    ‘There were. And there are five now, so the less said about her the better.’ She must have remembered then that she was talking to another child of shame, because she pushed the empty cup back rather hastily and got to her feet.
    ‘I’d best be getting along. I had a word with Ted Blaney yesterday – you remember the Blaneys at Swords Farm? – and he’ll stop by with milk tomorrow. If you have a word with him he’ll bring what you need from the village.’
    ‘Or give me a lift in? He always used to.’
    ‘I dare say he might still,’ she said, and suddenly smiled. ‘If you change to something a bit less London. His cart’s usually half full of straw, or even a hen or two in a crate. Not but what you look very nice, at that. So, I’ll be getting back to the Hall. I go up there most days while the men’s working. It’s just Jim and Davey there now, and you’d be welcome if you want to come by and see what’s going on.’
    ‘I’d like to, very much. Thank you.’
    I went to the front gate with her, and stood while she made her way back across the bridge. There was a sort of secondary driveway there, which led up through the woods that edged the park and then past the walled garden and into the