There were two faces floating in the black glass of the window.
The next instant they were gone. I strained my eyes to see them again.
The dancers kept passing the window, hiding it from me.
Suddenly the faces were back, but grown fainter.
They grew clear again- and just then the record finished. The dancers stopped, the faces vanished.
Aubrey Fox-Cotton shouted: "Did you see that, Simon? Two of the
villagers staring in again."
"That's the worst of a right-of-way so close to the house," Simon explained to Rose.
"Oh, hell, what does it matter?" said Neil.
"Let them watch if they want to."
"But it startled Mother badly the other night. I think I'll just ask them not to, if I can catch them."
Simon went to the door and opened it. I ran full tilt down the stairs, and across to him. There was a light above the door which made
everything seem pitch black beyond.
"Don't catch them," I whispered.
He smiled down at me in astonishment.
"Good heavens, I'm not going to hurt them." He went down the steps and shouted: "Anyone there ?"
There was a stifled laugh quite close.
"They're behind the cedar," said Simon and started to walk towards it.
I was praying they would bolt but no sound of it came.
I grabbed Simon's arm and whispered: "Please come back--please say you couldn't find them. It's Thomas and Stephen."
Simon let out a snort of laughter.
"They must have cycled over," I said.
"Please don't be annoyed.
It's just that they hankered to see the fun."
He called out: "Thomas, Stephen- where are you his Come in and talk to us."
They didn't answer. We walked towards the cedar.
Suddenly they made a dash for it--and Thomas promptly tripped over
something and fell full length. I called: "Come on, both of you-it's perfectly all right," Simon went to help Thomas up-I knew he wasn't hurt because he was laughing so much. My eyes were used to the
darkness by then and I could see Stephen some yards away; he had
stopped but he wasn't coming towards us. I went over and took him by
the hand.
"I'm so dreadfully sorry," he whispered.
"I
know it was a terrible thing to do."
"Nonsense," I said.
"Nobody minds a bit."
His hand was quite damp. I was sure he was feeling awful.
The others had heard the shouts and come to the door.
Neil came running out to us with a torch.
"What, my old friend Stephen?" he cried.
"Are there any bears abroad tonight?"
"I don't want to come in--please!" Stephen whispered to me. But Neil and I took an arm each and made him.
Thomas wasn't minding at all--he kept choking with laughter.
"We had a squint at you at dinner," he said, "and then you all disappeared.
We were just about to go home in despair when you came downstairs."
Once I saw Stephen clearly, in the hall, I was sorry I had made him
come in- he was scarlet to his forehead and too shy to speak a word.
And Rose made things worse by saying affectedly (i think it was due to embarrassment) : "I do apologize for them. They ought to be ashamed of themselves."
"Don't mind your Great-Aunt Rose, boys," said Neil, with a grin.
"Come on, we'll go and raid the icebox."
I once saw them do that on the pictures and it looked marvelous.
I thought I would go along, too, but Mrs.
Fox-Cotton called me back.
"Who's that boy, the tall fair one ?" she demanded.
I told her about Stephen.
She said, "I must photograph him."
"What, at this time of night ?"
She gave a whinnying little laugh.
"Of course not, you silly child.
He must come up to London- I'm a professional photographer.
Look here, ask him--No, don't bother." She ran upstairs.
Neil and the boys had disappeared by then. I was sorry, because I was quite a bit hungry, in spite of the enormous dinner; I suppose my
stomach had got into practice. I feared that if I hung about, Simon
might feel he ought to dance with me--he was dancing with Rose again
and I wanted him to go on. So I went upstairs.
It was pleasant being by myself in the house--one gets the feel of a
house much better alone. I went very slowly, looking at the old prints on the walls of the passages. Everywhere at Scoatney one feels so
conscious of the past; it is like a presence, a caress in the air. I
don't often get that feeling at the castle; perhaps it has been altered too much, and the oldest parts seem so utterly remote. Probably the
beautiful, undisturbed furniture helps at Scoatney.
I expected to hear voices to guide me back to the gallery but every
thing was quiet. At last I came to a window open on to the courtyard
and leaned out and got my bearings--I could see the gallery windows. I could see the kitchen windows, too, and Neil and Thomas and Stephen
eating at the table. It did look fun.
When I went into the gallery, Father and Mrs.
Cotton were at the far end and the Vicar was lying on the sofa by the middle fire place reading Mrs. Fox-Cotton's book. I told him about
Thomas and Stephen.
"Let's go and talk to them," he said, "unless you want me to dance with you. I dance like an india-rubber ball."
I said I should like to see the kitchens. He got up, closing the
book.
"Mrs. Fox-Cotton said that was no book for little girls," I told him.
"It's no book for little vicars," he said, chuckling.
He took me down by the back stairs- he knows the house well, as he was very friendly with old Mr. Cotton. It was interesting to notice the
difference once we got into the servants' quarters; the carpets were
thin and worn, the lighting was harsh, it felt much colder. The smell was different, too--just as old but with no mellowness in it; a stale, damp, dispiriting smell.
But the kitchens were beautiful when we got to them- all painted white, with a white enamelled stove and the hugest refrigerator.
(aunt Millicent only had an old one which dribbled.) Neil and the boys were still eating. And sitting on the table, talking hard to Stephen, was Mrs. Fox-Cotton.
As I came in, she was handing him a card. I heard her say:
"All you have to do is to give that address to the taxi-driver. I'll pay your fare when you get there--or perhaps I'd better give you some money now." She opened her evening bag.
"Are you really going to be photographed?" I asked him. He shook his head and showed me the card. It had LA.
AR-ATSR
VHO-A'OGV-NZR on it, under a beautifully drawn little swan, and an
address in St. John's Wood.
"Be a nice child and help me to persuade him," she said.
"He can come on a Sunday. I'll pay his fare and give him two guineas.
He's exactly what I've been looking for for months."
"No, thank you, ma'am," said Stephen, very politely.
"I'd be embarrassed."
"Heavens, what's there to be embarrassed about his I only want to photograph your head. Would you do it for three guineas ?"
"What, for just one day ?"
She gave him a shrewd little look; then said quickly:
"Five guineas if you come next Sunday."
"Don't do it if you don't want to, Stephen," I said.
He swallowed and thought. At last he said: "I'll have to think it over, ma'am. Would it be five guineas if I came a little later ?"
"Any Sunday you like- I can always use you. Only write in advance to make sure I shall be free. You write for him," she added, to me.
"He'll write himself if he wants to," I said coldly--she sounded as if she thought he was illiterate.
"Well, don't you go putting him off. Five guineas, Stephen. And I probably won't need you for more than two or three hours."
She grabbed a wing of chicken and sat there gnawing it.
Neil offered me some, but my appetite had gone off.
Stephen said it was time he and Thomas rode home.
Neil asked them to stay on and dance, but didn't press it when he saw Stephen didn't want to. We all went to see them off-the bicycles were somewhere at the back of the house. On the way, we passed through a
storeroom where enormous hams were hanging.
"Old Mr. Cotton sent us one of those every Christmas," said Thomas.
"Only he was dead last Christmas."
Neil reached up and took the largest ham off its hook.
"There you are, Tommy," he said.
"Oh, Thomas, you can't!" I began--but I didn't want Neil to call me Great-Aunt Cassandra so I finished up: "Well, I suppose you have." And I certainly would have fainted with despair if Thomas had refused the ham. In the end, I undertook to bring it home because he couldn't
manage it on his bicycle.
"But swear you won't go all ladylike and leave it behind," he whispered. I swore.
After the boys had gone we went back to the hall and found the others still dancing.
"Come on, Cassandra," said Neil, and whirled me off.
Dear me, dancing is peculiar when you really think about it. If a man held your hand and put his arm round your waist without its being
dancing, it would be most important; in dancing, you don't even notice it--well, only a little bit. I managed to follow the steps better than I expected, but not easily enough to enjoy myself; I was quite glad
when the record ended.
Neil asked Rose to dance then, and I had a glorious waltz with the
Vicar; we got so dizzy that we had to flop on a sofa. I don't fancy
Rose followed Neil as well as I had done, because as they passed I