The girl in the blue dress Read online

  Can a man fall in love with a painting? The girl in the blue dress was in a portrait that Franklin Lowell had owned and admired for years. And when, at last, he met the original model for the picture, it seemed to be too late. Not only was she in love with the artist who had painted her, but Franklin himself was engaged to another woman.

  OTHER Harlequin romances by MARY BURCHELL 1330 -A HOME FOR JOY 1354 WHEN LOVE'S BEGINNING 1382 TO JOURNEY TOGETHER 1405 THE CURTAIN RISES 1431 THE OTHER LINDING GIRL 1455_GIRL WITH A CHALLENGE .1 474 MY SISTER CELIA j508 CHILD OF MUSIC 1543 BUT NOT FOR ME 1567 DO NOT GO, MY LOVE 1587 MUSIC OF THE HEART 1632 ONE MAN'S HEART 1655_IT'S RUMOURED IN THE VILLAGE 1704 EXCEPT MY LOVE 1733 CALL AND I'LL COME 1767 UNBIDDEN MELODY 1792 PAY ME TOMORROW 181 I STRANGERS MAY MARRY 1871 THE BRAVE IN HEART 1890 TELL ME MY FORTUNE 19)9 JUST A NICE GIRL 1936 REMEMBERED SERENADE Many of these titles are available at your local bookseller, or through the Harlequin Reader Service. For a free catalogue listing all available Harlequin Romances, send your name and address to: HARLEQUIN READER SERVICE M.P.O. Box 707, Niago a Falls, N.Y. 14302 Canadian address: Stratford, Ontario, Canada N5A 6W4 or use coupon at back of books. THE GIRL IN THE BLUE DRESS WINN1PEQ

  CHAPTER ONE

  BEVERLEY spread out the "Northern Counties Advertiser" upon the dining-room table and turned the pages quickly until she came to the section headed "Miscellaneous." Then she ran a trembling finger down the distressingly long column until "It's in!" she cried. "There it is. They've put it in this week. Oh, dear rather near the end, I'm afraid. But perhaps some people start reading from the bottom of the column." "Why should they?" enquired Aunt Ellen, who was inclined to ask questions like that, owing to a pessimistic outlook on life. "Well one does sometimes, you know. At least, I know I often do. With the telephone directory, for instance." "This isn't the telephone directory," said Aunt Ellen. To which objection there was not, of course, any really good reply." 'High-class dressmaker and tailoress,' " Beverley read aloud, though she could, in actual fact, have recited the advertisement in her sleep, " 'welcomes work, either in own home or visiting by the day. Original designs. Reasonable terms. Highest references. Apply Box 641.' You know, I think it sounds really attractive." "Except that everyone has different ideas on the meaning of 'reasonable terms,'" replied Aunt Ellen gloomily."Oh, Aunt Ellen, you're hopeless!" Beverley laughed. "I shall go and show it to Mother. She is always optimistic and cheering." "That's probably why she is often disappointed." Aunt Ellen shook her head in a disillusioned manner. But Beverley was already in the next room, standing by her mother's bed, smiling down at her. "It's in. Mother! And it looks fine." "Let me see, dear." Mrs. Farman whose spirits had never been really subdued, either by years of crippling arthritis or recent widowhood took the paper eagerly. "Why, what a good position for the advertisement!" "Do you think so?" Beverley's dark eyes shone. "But why, exactly?" "Because it comes just where anyone would fold the paper. Look there it is, right at the top of the fold.""Oh, Mother, you're quite right! You really do have a talent for seeing advantages. Aunt Ellen said oh, well, never mind." "No, no, don't worry about Ellen's gloom, bless her heart," Mrs. Farman said cheerfully. "She is pure gold but in its rather lumpy state. She always expected the worst, even when we were children. I remember once " she put down the paper and looked reminiscent "that she even refused to fly her toy balloon in case a bird pecked it. And the odd thing was that when I at last persuaded her to do so, a wretched bird did peck it. Isn't life exasperating?" Beverley laughed, but she hung over the newspaper again eagerly."It was an inspiration of yours that I should offer to go out to people's houses. Hardly anyone will do that now a days. And yet it's much the best way really At any rate in a scattered country district like this." "Of course." Mrs. Farman nodded emphatically. "It was always done when I was a girl. We had a Miss Popplejohn, I remember. She wore high-necked blouses and what used to be called a false front fuzzy hair looming rather menacingly over the brow, you know and had very cold hands." "Oh, Mother " Beverley looked doubtful "do you think that's what people still expect? Because if so, I don't fill the bill at all." "But, darling, think what a lovely surprise you would be if anyone were expecting the Popplejohn pattern. You are a great improvement on her." "So long as I look sufficiently old and responsible." Beverley glanced rather anxiously in the mirror opposite, and felt that her wide dark eyes and her fair hair and rather round face did not suggest either age or responsibility. "Do you think I look twenty-two?" she enquired. "No. You look about nineteen," replied her mother exactly. "But you also look very nice and capable. I should engage you on the spot, myself." "But then you're not altogether unprejudiced," laughed Beverley. But she felt immensely cheered. That was the amazing thing about Mother. Although she had been an invalid for so long, and although things had been very difficult indeed since Father died, less than a year ago, the fact was that she was the recipient of more confidences than anyone else in the village, and an acknowledged tonic for anyone who was feeling depressed. It was odd that her sister was so very much the reverse. Unless, of course, Aunt Ellen was right in saying that someone had to have her feet on the ground, whatever that tiresomely often - repeated phrase might mean. Unquestionably, the smooth running of the household owed much to Aunt Ellen, and both Beverley and her mother were gratefully. aware of this. Her practical skill, her genuine kindness somewhat too well concealed beneath a critical exterior her true devotion to her sister and her sister's child these were all qualities which might have endeared Aunt Ellen to one. If only a little light-hearted gaiety and hopefulness had gone with all this. As it was, when the two widowed sisters had joined forces, after the sudden death of Beverley's father the previous year, there was no doubt that the practical advantages were considerable. And so one overlooked some of the more trying aspects of an otherwise convenient arrangement. Above all, the presence of Aunt Ellen did release Beverley for work which would augment the very modest family resources. For two years she had worked in London, during her father's lifetime, in one of the top fashion houses, thereby gaining invaluable experience in the profession she was determined to make her own. In her more extravagant moments of phantasy, she saw herself as a great dress designer one day. But, even in her humblest view of the future, she knew, quite objectively, that she was exceptionally gifted, both as a designer and as an actual worker. She was, as even the head of the London workroom had admitted, by nature a "cutter." Which may sound like a sort of boast to some, but which is, in this connection, an accolade accorded only to those who may be trusted with the styling of a dress or coat, as well as the detailed sewing. Had her father lived, Beverley would probably have pursued her career through the various stages of the fashion world in town. But recently knowing how greatly her mother depended on her, both personally and financially she had decided to try the experiment of living at home and being more or less an independent worker. She knew she could not hope to make a good living in her own village alone. But her advertisement had been worded with the intention of finding some compromise between coming to a dead end in the village and leaving home altogether even for Castleton, which was the nearest big town. During the next few days, Beverley waited eagerly for the first replies which she imagined being sent on in batches of .two or three (possibly even six or eight), every few days. To her mother she made all sorts of hopeful confidences. But there was one other person with whom she also shared her hopes. And that was Geoffrey Revian. Not that Geoffrey was overwhelmingly interested. You could hardly expect a real artist to find the ups and downs of a dressmaking venture entirely absorbing. But at least he tended to show an amused and friendly interest in most things which concerned Beverley. She had known Geoffrey since she was twelve, and loved him since she was twelve and a half. Al
though he was six or seven years older than she, it had always seemed quite natural for him to confide his hopes and his difficulties to her, and there was little she did not know about the crises of his early twenties, when he had had such a hard struggle to set his feet on the path he was determined to travel. Beverley knew all about how his father had wanted him to go into his nourishing drapery business in Castleton, and how Geoffrey who had never wanted to be anything but an artist had steadfastly refused. Thanks to a very small income left him by his grandmother, he had been able to stick to his resolve. But it had been a bitter struggle, both financially and personally. In those early days, perhaps he had confided more than he had realized to the dark-eyed child who listened so raptly to him. At any rate, she used to come and watch him at work, on summer evenings after her homework was done. And to her dying day she would be proud of the fact that the first picture he ever exhibited and sold was a portrait of herself, sitting there on the grass, in her very ordinary blue and white cotton dress. Unfortunately this early success was not followed by very many others. At least, it had not been up to now. But Beverley knew perfectly well that many of the best artists had a terrible struggle at first, and she entirely agreed with Geoffrey that the important thing was to go. on believing in oneself, and that one day one day success would come. She believed in him with all' her heart and soul. Even during the two years in London, she had continued to write encouragement to him. But she sometimes thought that if she had been Geoffrey, she would have given up the struggle long ago, and gone into the drapery business and been content to paint in her spare time. But she had a vaguely guilty feeling that this was rather poor-spirited of her. Meanwhile, Geoffrey lived in a small but picturesque and reasonably comfortable cottage on the outskirts of the village, and was regarded with a mixture of awe and condescension by the village folk, according to whether they regarded painting as an accomplishment or a harmless weakness."One of these days, I'll have to do another picture of you," Geoffrey told her, as she sat watching him two or three evenings after the advertisement had come out in the "Advertiser." "You are eminently paintable. I'm not quite sure why, because there's nothing elusive or mysterious about you. Perhaps it's the complete reality of you. And those wide cheekbones, of course. Anyway I believe you're a sort of mascot for me. I have a feeling I might strike lucky with you again." "Oh, Geoffrey, how I wish you could!" She thought it was wonderful how he just went on, obstinately determined to impress himself upon an indifferent world one day. "It would be marvellous if you really started to make a living at your work." "Artistic recognition would be even more marvellous," he said, standing back from his easel to regard what he had just completed. "Yes, -of course," she agreed quickly. "But the other would be useful too. At least, I know that's how I feel about my work. Though of course, that's something very different," she added, in case he should think she imagined dressmaking was on the same level as real art. "Very different," he agreed, but without rancour. And then perhaps because he was genuinely interested in her affairs, he asked, "Any replies yet from your advertisement?" "No. It's a bit disappointing, isn't it? Or do you think the newspaper people wait until there are several replies, just to make it worthwhile sending?" "My guess is that they're trying to find a sack big enough to take all the replies," Geoffrey said good humouredly. "I only wish I could afford to have you come and make shirts and pyjamas for me." 10 '.- She thought how she would have loved to do just that. Or, indeed, anything that would link her day-to " day life with Geoffrey. And she wondered, for the hundredth time, if he ever felt at all as she did. She knew that he considered he was too poor to marry anyone, because he had told her so, years ago, I when she was only about sixteen. But that did not prevent her wondering what his reactions would be, , if and when he found artistic recognition and a good living through his painting. i When she got home, Aunt Ellen greeted her with, "Nothing by the evening post," and somehow she managed to make that sound as though there never would be anything by any post. But the next morning, patience and optimism were rewarded at last. For when Beverley came downstairs, Jim, the postman, was just coming up the garden path. She saw him through the open front doorway, and rushed to collect from his hand the large envelope, with "Northern Counties Advertiser" stamped on the flap at the back. Quite a large envelope but rather thin. Still She tore it open eagerly, and one letter fell out. She shook the envelope and peered inside. But no, there was only one reply. Out of all the people she had imagined reading her advertisement and being favourably impressed by it only one had thought fit to reply. It was a sobering thought. But even one reply was better than none. So, trembling with eagerness, Beverley tore open the smaller envelope and drew out a single sheet of good, thick writing paper. The address at the top was sufficiently impressive: "Huntingford Grange, Huntingford, Nr. Castleton." "Dear Madam," the letter ran, in firm, legible handwriting, "With reference to your advertisement in this week's 'Advertiser,' I should like to discuss with you the possibility of your doing some work for me and my daughters. "I see you are willing to come out daily to work at the houses of your clients, and this would possibly be 11 the best arrangement here, as we are a little isolated. There would be a pleasant room for you to work in, however, and we have an electric sewing-machine. "The No. 4 bus from Castleton to Ebury passes within a mile of the house, and on certain days it would be possible to collect you by car from the bus stop. Would you kindly let me know which after noonin the coming week would suit you for preliminary discussion. "As my eldest daughter will be getting married in the autumn, there will be a good deal of work to be done, should we come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement. Yours truly, Viola Wane." It was business like and to the point. It held out promise of a considerable amount of most congenial work. And the cool but courteous terms of the letter suggested to Beverley's mind a likeable employer. "Mother " she dashed into her mother's room, where Aunt Ellen was just arranging breakfast on a bedside table "Mother, there's a perfectly lovely reply to my advertisement! Just listen to this!" And she read the letter aloud, while her mother and even Aunt Ellen too listened with the greatest attention. "Mrs. Wayne of Huntingford Grange?" Mrs. Farman considered the name. "I've heard of them, of -course, but I can't "recall much about them. And yet weren't they mentioned in some connection recently?" "They don't exactly belong to the district," said Aunt Ellen meaning that their ancestors were not mentioned in the local equivalent of the Doomsday Book. "The eldest daughter got engaged at the beginning of the year to that man who bought up so much land round Huntingford. You remember he was quite a stranger, with an odd sort of name. Franklin Something. Lyall Lovell no. Lowell. That was it. Franklin Lowell. They say he's almost a millionaire," she added austerely. "All the better," declared Beverley briskly. "I'd be delighted to work for a millionaire's future bride. 12 ' Anyway, this family ought to have a pretty generous interpretation of the expression 'reasonable terms!' " "It's the bride's mother you'll be working for," Aunt Ellen reminded her. "And they say the Waynes haven't much money. There are three daughters, I've : heard. All as pretty as pictures. But as poor as church mice." She brought out the clich�ith a sort of gloomy relish. "You had better make sure : of your money before you do too much work. They may not be good payers." "Have you heard that too?" enquired Beverley, rather tartly. "No. But it's always best to be cautious when people are having to make a great show on little," Aunt Ellen, declared."And do they have to make a great show on little? enquired Mrs. Farman interestedly. "Well, I suppose so. If the eldest girl is going to marry a millionaire or near enough they will be wanting to make as good an appearance as they can. They wouldn't want her to have a wedding to be ashamed of." Aunt Ellen shook her head at the folly of it all."And that's why they want me," cried Beverley, looking pink and gratified. "What a lovely assignment to have! I'll see they have a marvellous wedding at least, so far as the dresses are concerned. Oh, what fun! It's just the sort of thing I'd adore to do. I'll make them look like a Paris dress show at a fifth of the cost." "But get your money fir
st," Aunt Ellen warned her. "Nonsense, Ellen," said Mrs. Farman. "No dressmaker can ask for her money in advance. Whoever heard of such a thing?""I meant in advance of the wedding," retorted Aunt Ellen .unmoved. "Before they've spent all they have on the champagne and suchlike." "I shall be perfectly business like," Beverley assured her a little loftily. "But I certainly am not going to start by being suspicious or grasping. I shall telephone_" a glance at the notepaper assured her that 13 The impoverished waynes did at least run to a telephone" and arrange to go over and discuss things as soon as possible�� you might arrange it for this afternoon�� mrs.Farman exchanged a sparkling smile with her eager daughter. How very fortunate that the No.4 bus actually goes right through the villiage. As soon as she had finished her rather hasty breakfast Beverley went out to the callbox across the road, to telephone to mrs.Wayne. the local exchange took some time to get the number. , "I'm putting you through now." An alarming series of clickings and whirrings then took place. After which a clear, pleasant voice said, "Huntingford two-three. Mrs. Wayne speaking." Trying to sound very business-like and experienced, Beverley explained her identity and her willingness to come and see Mrs. Wayne as soon as possible. "Then what about this afternoon?" asked the pleasant voice. "I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to walk up from the bus-stop which is the Crown Hotel in Donham. But it is slightly under a mile, and a very pretty walk." "I don't mind a bit," Beverley assured her. "I'll catch the two o'clock bus from here and should be at the Grange soon after three." "Very good. We will expect you then," said Mrs. Wayne. And she rang off, leaving Beverley with the impression that the "we" must include all the daughters. Whereupon she immediately saw herself as the centre. of an eager circle of beautiful girls, all waiting to be exquisitely dressed for that most picturesque and touching of all occasions a wedding. It was a dressmakers' dream of bliss, Beverley thought, and she ran back home full of happy enthusiasm. Her mother received the news of the early meeting with gratifying interest, and even Aunt Ellen could find nothing wrong with the plan. So that Beverley set off to do the morning's shopping in a state of happiness which made it difficult for her not to tell her news to everyone she met. She allowed herself ten minutes from her shopping to call in and tell Geoffrey the news. But, disappointingly, there was no answer to her knock. She knocked again and waited a few minutes. But then she decided that he must have gone away for the day possibly to Castleton and she retraced her way home, sorry not to have seen him but reflecting philosophically that she would have even more to tell him when they did meet. Not since she had set out for London on her first job had she felt such a pleasant thrill of half-nervous excitement and anticipation as assailed her when she boarded the No. 4 bus that afternoon. To most people, of course, she would merely have been that nice young .dressmaker, Beverley Farman, going off to do some work at one of the big houses in the neighbourhood. But to herself she was setting out on a new and untried venture which might yield who knew what interesting experiences The drive was an attractive one most of it over high ground from which one had fine views across woodland and farmland, right away to where the cold North Sea sketched a grey-blue line along the horizon. It was ten minutes to three when the bus set her down at the Crown. And, just as Beverley was looking round, to see whom she could ask for directions to Huntingford Grange, a young man got out of a car parked on the other side of the street and came across to her. "Are you Miss Farman?" he enquired, in a pleasant voice which immediately reminded her of the voice on the telephone that morning."Yes, I am." Beverley smiled expectantly at him. "I thought you must be, since you were the only person who got off. But you look a bit like your own niece, somehow. Mother told me you would be elderly and precise. Will you come across the road? I have the car here and will drive you up home.""Thank yo u." Beverley accompanied him across the street. "But do tell me what made you think I would be elderly and precise?" "Well, my mother said you would be. They used to have someone come and do sewing in their family when she was a girl. Her name was Miss Popplejohn and " "Not really?" Beverley was enchanted. "She used to -do sewing for my mother too. There simply couldn't be two of them with a name like that, could there?" The young man said quite impossible, and did Beverley's Miss Popplej ohn wear high necks and have fuzzy hair? "Yes, she did. It wasn't her own, though. The bit at the front, I mean. And Mother said she had very cold hands. "By now, with the intimate link of Miss Popple John, they felt quite old friends, and as they got into the car, he said, "I didn't introduce myself. I'm Andrew Wayne." "I gathered that you must be. At least, that you must be a young Mr. Wayne. Are you the only one?" "I'm the only son, if that's what you mean. I have three sisters, though." "Yes, I've heard of them. They are all very beautiful, aren't they?" "We-ell, I don't know aboat that." Andrew Wayne considered the statement with the critical air of one who found other people's sisters more beautiful. "I suppose they are a pretty good-looking bunch. Sara certainly is. She's the eldest and is getting married in the autumn. She's twenty-two. Three years younger than I am," he added gratuitously. "And the others?" enquired Beverley, with that inoffensive but genuine interest which is always flatteringly pleasant. "Madeleine is a couple of years younger than Sara " "She'll be a bridesmaid, of course?" interrupted Beverley, whose mind was already on the wedding procession. "I suppose so. Yes of course she will. And Toni her real name's Antoinette will be train-bearer or something. Though how anyone's going to guarantee that she won't step on the train I don't know. She has a talent, amounting almost to genius, for doing and saying the very thing you hoped she wouldn't." Beverley laughed and asked how old Toni was. "She's twelve which of course means a verybig gap between her and the rest of us. I guess we 17 spoil her in some ways, and then we often forget she is really a child. Which means that she's a mixture of disconcerting knowledge and almost equally disconcerting innocence." But Toni's brother grinned as he said this, with an air of reminiscent indulgence, and Beverley rather thought that he had a special liking for his youngest sister.Before she could ask any more, or he could impart further information, they arrived at Huntingford Grange, which turned out to be a somewhat imposing eighteenth-century 'house, with nothing specially to commend it, beyond its size, its solidity and its very beautiful position on top of a hill. From the drive in front of the house and Beverley turned to look around her it was possible to see over miles of countryside, again to the dark rim of the cold North Sea. And although it was a warm day in May. a fresh breeze blew up here, bending the flowering bushes which grew in the shrubbery on either side of the house. "Come on in, and I'll find someone for you." Andrew ran up the half-dozen steps to the front door, and Beverley followed him. As she did so, she thought, quite impersonally, what a well-set-up young man he was, and that with his dark hair and very blue eyes he was not at all unworthy to be the brother of three beautiful sisters. At his cheerful, but informal shout of "Mother! a tall, good-looking woman in her late forties or early fifties came out of a room at the end of the hall. She was so like him that there would have been no doubting the relationship, even without this informal identification. "Here is Miss Farman, Mother," Andrew Wayne explained. "She's about thirty-five years younger than you expected. But she knows all about Miss PoppleJohn, because Miss P. used to work for her mother too.""Really?" Mrs. Wayne smiled and shook hands with Beverley. But although there was a glint of 18 genuine amusement in her very blue eyes, there was also a slight air of reserve about her which did not invite the same gay camaraderie as her son seemed to enjoy. Beverley, however, did not like her any the less for that. . "Your mother must have lived on the other side of the county when she was a girl, then," she said. "Yes, she did. Her name was Trenton then. Angela Trenton," Beverley explained. "My grandfather was the Vicar of St. Stephen-in-the-Woods." "Is that so?" Mrs. Wayne looked courteously interested, but not as though she wished to pursue the subject of Beverley's antecedents. "Would you like to come this way, and I will show you the sewingroom, and we can have a talk." She led the way upstairs, Up two flights of stairs, in fact To a larg
e, light room which she explained had once been the children's schoolroom. Here there was, Beverley noted in a quick, comprehensive glance round, almost everything that a good dressmaker could require. A large table for cutting, an adjustable model, and an electric sewing-machine standing in an excellent light from two windows. A small fire burned in the grate, and as the room stood high and had several windows in it, this was by no means unwelcome, in. spite of the brightness' of the day. If she were going to spend much of the next few weeks possibly even months working here, she would not have much to complain of, Beverley thought. At Mrs. Wayne's invitation, she sat down in a chair near the fire, opposite her proposed employer, and waited to hear what the older woman had to say. "Did you make the dress and coat you are wearing?" was Mrs. Wayne's first enquiry. "Yes." Beverley glanced down at her light-weight grey coat and matching dress, with the unusual wide white collar. "It's charming. So very simple and yet stylish. Was it your own design and cut?" 19 "Oh, yes. At least, this particular dress was an adaptation from something I liked but which was a trifle too old for me," Beverley explained. "I see. And that kind of adaptation holds no difficulties for you?" "No. I don't think so. I like making my own designs entirely too. But good ideas can always be adapted to individual needs and tastes." Mrs. Wayne nodded and seemed satisfied. Then she went into the question of business arrangements, and Beverley noted with a mixture of amusement and anxiety that her ideas of "reasonable terms" tended more towards Aunt Ellen's pessimistic prophecies than her own high hopes. "Your terms are rather high, Miss Farman," Mrs. Wayne said frankly. "My work is very good, Mrs. Wayne," Beverley replied, equally frankly. "If you went to any good London fashion house you would pay very much more." "And your work is equal to that?" Mrs. Wayne did not sound exactly sceptical, but as though she needed to be convinced. "I think so. But the only way to make sure would be for you to try me out on one or two things. If you genuinely felt the work was not-worth what I am asking, I would not refuse to discuss our arrangement again." "Hm, that is fair enough," Mrs. Wayne conceded. "Then I think the best thing would be for you to start on let us say a couple of .informal dresses for my eldest daughter, who is getting married in the autumn, as I told you, and needs a good many things for her trousseau, of course." "I should like to do that," Beverley began. But before they could take the discussion further the door opened, and a small, dark-haired girl who was undoubtedly Toni came in. "Oh, Mother, is this Miss Farman who's going to make dresses for us all?" she demanded with interest. "And can she make a party dress for me, the very 20 first thing? Because it's Wendy Tulley's birthday party next month, and I simply haven't got anything. Not anything at all." "No, Toni " "Oh, Mother!" The stricken wail betokened agony of mind, but the interested glance in Beverley's direction suggested that the misery was only skin deep. "Don't make that ridiculous noise," said her mother without passion. "And go down and ask Sara to come up here, there's a good child." "May I come up too? I love to hear clothes discussed." "Very well. But be quick."Toni whisked off immediately and Mrs. Wayne smiled at Beverley."She isn't as pretty as the other two," she said objectively. "But she is just beginning to get clothes conscious." "She is very attractive looking and would be fun to dress," Beverley replied sincerely. "I hope you are going to let her have her party frock. Clothes for children of that age are rather fun," "Well we'll see. There is no lack of material, anyway." And, to Beverley's astonishment, Mrs. Wayne west over to a huge, old-fashioned press, which stood in the comer of the room, and, opening it, displayed twenty or more parcels which obviously contained material. Some of them were completely shrouded in wrapping paper, but some of the parcels were open at the end, so that one caught glimpses of quite lovely silks and cottons of a most exquisite colouring and variety. "Why " Beverley drew near, in curiosity and admiration "what a treasure-house!" "Yes, (hey are lovely, aren't they? I have an uncle who�s an importer of oriental silks and materials, "Mrs. Wayne explained. "He has often given us odd lengths over the years. That's why it seemed so much more sensible to find someone to make these up, rather than spend money on other things." 21 "I should think so, indeed!" said Beverley, fascinated by the prospect of working in these beautiful materials. Then Toni came back and with her came quite the loveliest girl Beverley had ever set eyes upon. Sara Wayne was tall, like her mother and her brother, and she was almost perfectly proportioned the set and length of her neck being so particularly beautiful that when she turned her lovely head from side to side one could hardly keep one's eyes from her. Unlike her brother she had brilliantly fair, almost corn-coloured hair, but her eyes were the same intense blue. And the features which in him and to a certain extent in her mother were strong and well-defined, were in her exquisitely delicate, and moulded as though by the hand of an artistic genius. She smiled slightly at Reverley as they were introduced a sweet, coolly friendly smile. But then her long, unexpectedly dark lashes came down and shadowed her eyes, so that her lovely face took on a secret, faintly mysterious look which must, Beverley thought, be absolutely irresistible to some types of men. She listened with attention to what her mother and Beverley had to say about the suggested dresses, and she had some good ideas of her own. She smiled occasionally, and when she expressed an opinion, in that cool, pretty voice of hers, it was obvious that she had good taste and knew what suited her. And yet Beverley had the most extraordinary impression that she was not really interested. She might have been discussing someone else's trousseau, or else arranging for dresses which she herself would wear in a pleasant but unreal masquerade. "Perhaps it's just her manner," Beverley thought. "She may be very reserved or shy. And yet doesn't any girl get excited about her trousseau? I know if I were only discussing cotton frocks for a honeymoon with Geoffrey " But she quickly jerked her thoughts back from 22 that path. For, really, whatever hopes she might have about some vague future with Geoffrey had nothing to do with the matter in hand. Towards the end of the discussion, the third sister, Madeleine, came in, and in some ways Beverley thought her the most attractive of the three. She was not so strictly beautiful as Sara, but much gayer and more animated, and she had the most charming, infectious laugh, which seemed to release a sort of sunny vitality into the room. Her hair was two or three shades darker than the corn-gold of Sara's, but it curled delightfully round her prettily shaped head, and like all the rest of the family, she had intensely blue, beautifully set eyes. "I can't imagine anything more exciting than making clothes for such beautiful girls," Beverley said frankly. "I do hope I shall be able to please you all with my work." "Why, how sweet of you," Madeleine exclaimed, while her elder sister smiled and said nothing. "I'm sure you'll please me," Toni told her. "Especially if you'll make me a party dress to wear at Wendy Tulley's party. It's next month and I've absolutely nothing " "All right, Toni. We'll discuss that later," interrupted her mother. "When could you start work. Miss Farman?" "As soon as you like." "Tomorrow?" "Yes. Tomorrow would be excellent. There is -a bus from Binwick soon after half-past eight. I could be here before ten, if that would suit you." "Would you be available, Sara?" Her mother turned to her. "Yes, of course," Sara said. And again Beverley had the queer impression that she was not really interested, and also that she had all the time in the world hanging on her beautiful hands. "Well, that's fine." Mrs. Wayne stood up, with an air of decision. "Toni, will you take Miss Farman downstairs to the little drawing-room, and I'll have 23 some tea sent in. If you'll excuse me, Miss Farman, I have to put through a couple of telephone calls." Toni seemed very pleased to have social care of the visitor for a short while, and waited rather impatiently while the other two girls said a pleasant goodbye. Then she conducted Beverley downstairs again to a charming room which looked over a fine, but rather neglected garden. Beverley was secretly somewhat surprised to be treated so much more as a visitor than an employee. But she guessed that this might be a rather special occasion due possibly to the connection with Miss Popplejohn and the fact that her grandfather, had been Vicar of St. Stephen-in-the-Woods. No doubt when she was actually work
ing at the house, her meals would be brought to her on a tray in the schoolroom. "Do you like going out and sewing for people?" Toni enquired, hopping up and down on one foot and regarding Beverley with interest. "I think I shall like coming out and sewing for you," Beverley told her, not choosing to say that this was the first time she had done such a thing. "It's always fun doing clothes for a wedding." "Is it? Why?" "Oh, well there is something so romantic and picturesque about a wedding, I suppose. And one. tries to have everything just as beautiful as it can be, for such an occasion. Your sister will make a lovely bride." "Ye-es. She's going to marry Franklin Lowell, you know. Have you heard of him?" Toni enquired. "Just his name." "He's very rich." "Is he?" said Beverley, a little uncomfortably. "Yes. That's him over there." Toni pointed to a photograph which stood on top of a bureau near the window, and Beverley thinking to keep this conversation from becoming any more personal went over to examine it. The photograph was of a man in shirt and riding 24 breeches, and Beverley immediately had the most overwhelming impression of someone tall and strong and with immense vitality. He was looking, straight out of the photograph and smiling slightly, in a not entirely reassuring manner. "He looks quite a personality," Beverley said as non-committally as possible. But she immediately had Toni at her elbow, ready to continue the subject. "Do you think so? Would you like to marry him?" "Well " Beverley was rather startled by the unexpected question, posed in a perfectly serious manner "I can't say he's my type, exactly. But " "If you promise not to tell anyone, I'll tell you a deadly secret," Toni interrupted, in a mysterious but entirely friendly manner. "But I don't want to hear any deadly secrets," Beverley began firmly. Toni, however, didn't seem to pay much attention to that. The secret had just suddenly got too big for her and she was going to tell it or burst. "It's about Sara," she said. "Franklin isn't her type either. She doesn't want to marry him a bit." "You mustn't tell me such things! It isn't my business and it isn't your business either," Beverley exclaimed sharply. "But I have to tell someone because I'm -worried." And suddenly big tears stood in Toni's bright eyes. "I can't tell anyone in the family, because they all want her to marry Franklin who's so rich. But she really wants to many quite a poor man. He's an artist, and his name's Geoffrey Revian," 25