Nobody Asked Me Read online

  She peeped round the curtain. It wasn’t so far to the door and the way was fairly clear.

  Two seconds… three seconds… and she had slipped through the crowd and gained the comparative quiet of the hall. Her foot was actually on the bottom stair when she heard two girls come laughing along the upper landing. Panic seized her, and she fled across the hall. Wrenching open the nearest door, she slipped inside the room and closed the door behind her.

  The room was in darkness except for the firelight which flickered upon rows and rows of books. This must be the library. She would be safe here. None of those cruel, careless people would find anything to interest them in a library.

  She groped forward past the dark shapes of chairs and tables, the sobs rising thickly in her throat. Kneeling down on the rug, she spread out her cold hands to the warmth. The tears began to come, and little quivering sounds of grief broke the heavy stillness of the room.

  She wasn’t defiant or even hopeful any more. She was lonely and heartsick and humiliated.

  ‘What is the matter?’

  Alison started violently at the sound of the deep, quiet voice. She dashed her tears away with the back of her hand and stared round. A man was sitting quite near her, leaning back in a deep armchair and watching her-the man who had been talking to Aunt Lydia.

  He looked neither amused nor specially concerned. He was merely waiting for her reply.

  Alison stared down at the rug in silence. But some sort of answer had to be made, so at last she said rather sulkily, ‘It’s-it’s my dress.’

  ‘Your dress?’ He looked slightly surprised. ‘What’s wrong with your dress? It seems to me like any other dress.’

  ‘Well, no one else seems to think so. They think it’s like a-a nightdress.’ Alison’s voice quivered again.

  ‘Suppose you stand up and let me see it properly?’ he said, apparently giving the matter all his grave attention.

  Alison stood up, and he stood up too, towering above her in the firelight.

  ‘It’s longer than the current fashion, of course,’ he said, considering her. ‘But I don’t know that it is any the less attractive for that. After all, "the correct thing" is always merely a matter of period. In fact’-for the first time a slight smile touched his mouth-’you look rather like a little early Victorian heroine.’

  ‘Do I?’ A slow, pleased smiled lifted the corners of Alison’s mouth. Then she laughed suddenly. ‘Why, how funny! And I thought-’ She stopped abruptly and coloured.

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘Oh, nothing.’ Alison looked a little confused.

  ‘Please tell me.’

  ‘I thought just now-in the other room-that you were rather like a Victorian hero.’

  ‘I? Good God, do I suggest mutton-chop whiskers and valentines?’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Alison’s laugh was shocked. ‘Only you have- you have what they used to call "a flashing eye".’

  ‘Indeed!’ He looked extremely astonished and not specially pleased. ‘And pray when did you see me flashing my eyes?’

  ‘Please don’t be cross.’ Alison touched his arm rather pleadingly, which also seemed to astonish him greatly. ‘It was just that I thought my aunt said something which angered you.’

  ‘Your aunt?’

  ‘Yes. Mrs. Leadburn. I’m Alison Earlston, her niece.’

  ‘Then why haven’t I seen you before?’ he asked abruptly. Alison was surprised to find how pleased she was at the implication that he came to the house often.

  ‘I only arrived to-day,’ she explained.

  ‘I see. So you’re Rosalie’s cousin-and this is your first day here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And she did nothing whatever towards introducing you to the others or putting you at your ease?’ There was a faintly grim look about his mouth now.

  ‘N-no,’ Alison felt bound to admit.

  ‘Of course not.’ He stared thoughtfully at her for a moment as though he were considering something very carefully. ‘Very well, then,’ he said. ‘You must let me repair the omission.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Alison shrank a little at any hint of going back among the others.

  ‘I mean-will you please come and dance with me now?’ he said with a rather charming little bow to her. ‘And let me introduce you to the one or two less poisonous among the others.’

  ‘Oh, no-please-I think I’d rather not go back.’

  ‘If you would do it-to please me.’ He smiled full at her suddenly, and Alison was astounded to see how it changed his face. There was no doubt about that smile warming his eyes, and for a moment it gave an air almost of sweetness to his firm, uncompromising mouth.

  ‘I’m afraid mine is only rather schoolroom dancing,’ she said shyly.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. There’s no need to do anything complicated.’

  ‘All right, I’ll come,’ Alison said. Then she looked up. ‘Do I-do I look as though I’d been crying?’ He examined her face judicially in the firelight.

  ‘I think you’d better dry your eyelashes a bit,’ he advised.

  ‘Oh.’ Alison searched unsuccessfully for her handkerchief.

  He produced his without a word and handed it to her.

  Alison laughed a little and dried her eyes. ‘Thank you very much. I don’t know what I’ve done with mine. I always lose it when I haven’t a pocket. There doesn’t seem anywhere to put it.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed politely, ‘it must be a problem.’ Alison wondered a little if he were laughing at her. But, even if he were, it didn’t hurt.

  She went back with him into the other room. He put his arm carelessly but firmly round her, and she found herself drawn into the throng, dancing easily, lightly, happily. It was all so much simpler than she had expected.

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’ He bent his head for a moment to look at her.

  ‘Oh, yes!’

  ‘Well, then, you must smile a little and look happy,’ he told her. ‘That’s part of the-the campaign.’

  ‘Is it?’ Alison laughed, and looked up to see that he was smiling too. It was an extraordinarily attractive smile, she thought.

  His whole air of interested attention was indescribably soothing after the earlier humiliations, and Alison suddenly felt passionately grateful to him.

  ‘I’ll always remember this, and like him,’ she told herself. ‘I wonder who he is?’

  Somebody rather important, she thought, for, as they passed Aunt Lydia, Alison saw her look their way with slight astonishment not unmixed with displeasure.

  ‘You dance very well,’ her partner said just then. ‘With a little practice you will be a beautiful dancer.’ He spoke without a hint of the patronage which had been meted out to her ever since she had arrived. He was merely stating a fact.

  Alison coloured, and looked her pleasure.

  ‘You’re being most terribly kind to me,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, no.’ He smiled down at her-that smile for which Alison was already beginning to watch. ‘You are very easy to be kind to, you know.’ And Alison felt that her happiness was complete, because it was at that very moment that they passed Rosalie.

  The momentary surprise on Rosalie’s face was at least equal to that of her mother; the displeasure was very much deeper. Alison would have been more than human if she hadn’t enjoyed that moment intensely.

  And all the rest of the evening she was made pleasantly aware of her new friend’s half careless but very efficient championship. No one had any chance of being rude or unkind to her again. He introduced her to several people- he appeared to know everyone-but she had the impression that behind his choice of partners for her was very real care and thought.

  It was right at the end of the evening that he said to her, ‘I shall probably look in to-morrow, so I shall see you then.’

  Alison was staggered at the implication that he intended to continue his role of protector and friend.

  ‘But really,’ she said earnestly, ‘it’s too kind of you. You nee
dn’t bother, you know.’

  He looked rather coldly surprised at that, she thought; and said, ‘Naturally I shall expect to see a good deal of you now.’

  Alison didn’t know quite what to make of this.

  She watched him go over and say a slightly formal good night to her aunt and Rosalie, and then he came back to her.

  ‘ Good night.’ He took her hand. ‘And sleep well-after your rather complex first day.’

  ‘Good night. And thank you-thank you, more than I can possibly say,’ Alison replied eagerly.

  ‘No, no. Not at all.’ He dismissed that at once.

  Then, just as he turned away, she put her hand on his arm and said shyly, ‘You haven’t told me your name, you know. Won’t you tell me before you go?’

  He turned back and looked at her in blankest astonishment.

  ‘But I thought you knew. At least, I assumed you did-I don’t know why. I’m Julian Tyndrum-Rosalie’s fiancé:’

  CHAPTER II

  ‘ROSALIE’’S fiancé!’ Alison could keep neither the astonishment nor the dismay from her face.

  ‘Certainly. Why not?’ The slight touch of evident displeasure brought her to her senses.

  ‘Oh, nothing-no reason at all,’ Alison said quickly, and turned away.

  Rosalie’s fiancé! No wonder her cousin had looked so much annoyed. No wonder she had assumed that little possessive air towards him. And Aunt Lydia, too-her surprise and resentment were explained now.

  The only thing that was not explained was the attitude of Julian Tyndrum himself. Why on earth should he deliberately have gone out of his way to irritate his fiancée? Or had he some sort of rigid social code which made him consider it essential that he should repair Rosalie’s omissions?

  ‘If so, he’s going to have his hands full,’ thought Alison bitterly. But, in any case, the whole problem had suddenly become too much for her tired mind to tackle just then.

  A little apprehensively she went to say good night to her aunt and cousin.

  ‘Good night, Alison,’ Aunt Lydia said. Then, as she was turning away, ‘Oh, and, Alison dear, I know you’re only a schoolgirl yet’-Alison gritted her teeth-’but you will have to learn that it’s not quite good form to make yourself so conspicuous.’

  ‘I shouldn’t blame her too much, Mother,’ Rosalie said tolerantly. ‘If Julian sets out to turn a girl’s head he usually succeeds. You couldn’t expect Alison to be proof against it.’

  Without a word Alison went out of the room. She couldn’t trust herself to speak in this rush of anger and dislike which came over her almost every time her cousin addressed her.

  Very wearily she climbed the stairs. When she had been dancing and talking so happily with Julian Tyndrum, she had forgotten even to think about being tired. But now the reaction had set in. All the hours of strain and tension seemed to gather together in one heavy burden that pressed upon her.

  ‘Alison, is that you?’

  For a moment she was tempted to ignore the cautious whisper from Audrey’s room. Then she went to the door.’

  ‘Yes. What is it?’

  ‘Come in a minute. I want to hear about the party.’

  ‘You ought to be asleep,’ Alison protested feebly, but she came in.

  Audrey was sitting up in bed, and even the dim light did little to disguise the determined interest of her face.

  ‘I’ve been asleep,’ she said. ‘But I woke up with the noise of everybody going.’ Then almost immediately she added, ‘You look awfully pretty in that dress, though it’s not a bit like an evening dress. Did you enjoy yourself?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  It was true. She had enjoyed herself in the end, thanks to the kindness of one person. Strange to think that that one person was engaged to anyone so spiteful as Rosalie.

  ‘You must go to sleep again now,’ she said.

  ‘I’m very thirsty. Do you think I could have a drink?’ The resourceful Audrey knew all there was to know about prolonging conversations.

  Alison remembered the old dodge, too, but she went over and poured out a glass of water for the little girl.

  ‘Here you are.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Audrey drank with convincing eagerness. ‘Was Julian there?’ she asked suddenly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I like Julian.’ There was no mistaking Audrey’s approval. ‘Did you?’

  ‘He seemed very nice,’ Alison agreed carefully.

  ‘He is. Much too nice for Rosalie,’ said Rosalie’s young stepsister. But Alison refused to take up this challenge, and so she asked, between gradually lengthening sips, ‘Did you dance with him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How many times?’

  ‘Oh, several times,’ Alison said carelessly.

  ‘Several times?’ The pretence of thirst was abruptly abandoned. ‘I bet Rosalie was wild, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Audrey.’ Alison spoke severely. ‘I imagine Mr. Tyndrum was kind enough to feel some social responsibility as-a-as a sort of relation.’

  ‘I don’t imagine anything of the kind,’ retorted Audrey, reluctantly yielding up the empty glass to Alison’s firm hand. ‘They had an awful row this afternoon, and for once he got his own back on her, instead of the other way round.’

  Alison was half-way across the room, the glass in her hand. She stopped suddenly and said in a funny, stifled little voice, ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘It’s always happening,’ Audrey said, lying down and pulling the clothes over her. ‘Rosalie loves making rows because it makes her feel important. Then she flirts with someone else, and Julian’s silly enough to be miserable and jealous, so that in the end it’s he who does all the apologising. I’m jolly glad he turned the tables this time and made a fuss of another girl.’

  For a second Alison felt unable to move. Then she slowly put down the glass as though it were very heavy.

  ‘Good night, Audrey. Go to sleep now.’ She went towards the door, hardly hearing the little girl’s sleepy ‘Good night’ in reply. Very quietly she closed the door behind her.

  It was quite a short distance to her own room really, but somehow it seemed a long way to carry anything so heavy as her heart.

  She didn’t put on the light at first, for the curtains were still drawn back, and the moon shone right into the room. She went slowly over to the window, and stood staring out at the cold black and silver of the moonlit square.

  He had just used her to make Rosalie jealous.

  Alison leant her forehead against the window, pressed it there until she could feel the stinging, icy glass through her thick fringe.

  How easy it was to make a fool of yourself when you were lonely! You snatched at the faintest bit of kindness and read all sorts of things into it.

  A dozen little memories came back to hurt her. He’d said it was easy to be kind to her. It had seemed such a sweet compliment at the time, and had made her so happy. Now she saw he had probably been thinking that anyone so silly as herself simplified his plan of campaign.

  She winced sharply. He had actually used that word himself, and had smiled as he said it-while she had been silly enough to suppose it had been something on her own behalf.

  And then she had assured him clumsily that he must not bother to come to the house because of her. No wonder he had looked astonished and chilly!

  ‘Oh, whatever sort of a fool must he think me?’ muttered Alison wretchedly as she turned away from the window, chilled and a little stiff: ‘Anyway’-she pressed her unsteady lips together angrily-’I don’t think much of him either. It was a beastly thing to do.’

  And she kept up her anger against him all the while she was undressing.

  She expected to lie awake, anxious and tormented with worry. But the moment her head was on the pillow she fell asleep-to dream of Julian Tyndrum.

  There was a tremendous reception being held somewhere, and Aunt Lydia kept on saying, ‘You can’t possibly go. You’ve nothing decent to wear, and
everybody would be ashamed of you.’

  And then Julian was there, and he said in his careless, arrogant fashion, ‘Oh, yes, she can. I’ll put the cloak of my protection round her and then she can go.’ And, to Alison’s astonishment, the cloak was a real one-long and magnificent and lined with fur, like the cloak of a Victorian hero.

  She snuggled into its wonderful folds, and the fur was so soft and enveloping that it warmed her right through to her very heart. And that was the end of the dream, because she forgot all about going to the reception in the happiness of wearing Julian’s cloak.

  The next day, any doubts left on the subject of Alison’s exact position in the household began to be cleared up. She breakfasted with the twins, went out with the twins in the morning, lunched with the twins. Theoretically the after(d)noon was to be her own-to be spent, apparently, either in her own room or else somewhere vaguely described as ‘out’.

  On this occasion, however, her aunt came into the schoolroom directly after lunch and said, ‘Alison, my dear, I wonder if you’d come and give me a hand with my correspondence. It’s piled up so much lately. And there arc one or two’ small items of shopping you can do for me. I expect you will be glad of something to do.’

  Alison came quite willingly. Her aunt had not done a single thing to make her feel happy or at home since she came into the house. But, on the other hand, Uncle Theodore had maintained her for nearly three years, and he was Aunt Lydia ’s husband. She had an uncomfortable suspicion that duty rather than humanity had moved him to do so, but that didn’t lessen her anxiety to show her gratitude.

  In addition-though this, of course, was not at all important-was the feeling at the back of her mind that she would rather be out of the way if Julian called. She didn’t want to see him. She felt passionately that she never wanted to see him again. It wasn’t only that she was so embarrassed as she remembered last evening. She felt angry, too, and quite unbearably hurt.

  So she sat in her aunt’s little study and conscientiously wrote answers to invitations, notes about accounts, and a few-a very few-letters to accompany cheques for charity.