Виктория Холт - The Landower Legacy

She came to the schoolroom and embraced us both warmly. We were overawed by her beauty, her fragrance, and her elegance in the light grey skirt and the pink blouse with its tucks and frills.

“My dear girls,” she cried. “How wonderful to see you! I wanted to be alone for a while with my girls.”

Olivia blushed with pleasure. I was delighted, too, but perhaps a little sceptical, wondering why she should suddenly be so anxious to be with us when there had been so many opportunities which she had allowed to slip by without any apparent concern.

It was then that the thought occurred to me that she was perhaps less easy to understand than Papa. Papa was omnipotent, omniscient, the most powerful being we knew—under God, and then only just under. Mama was a lady with secrets. At that time I had not been given my locket, so I had no great secret of my own—but I did sense something in Mama’s eyes.

She laughed with us and looked at our drawings and essays.

“Olivia has quite a talent,” said Miss Bell.

“So you have, darling! Oh, I do believe you are going to be a great artist.”

“Hardly that,” said Miss Bell, who was always afraid that too much praise might be harmful.

Olivia was blissful. There was a lovely innocence about her. She always believed in good. I came to think that was a great talent in life.

“Caroline writes quite well.”

My mother was looking blankly at the untidy page presented to her and murmured: “It’s lovely.”

“I did not mean her handwriting,” said Miss Bell. “I mean her construction of sentences and her use of words. She shows imagination and a certain facility in expressing herself.”

“How wonderful!”

The expression in the lovely eyes was vague as she regarded the sheet of paper; but they were alert for something else.

The next day the reason for Mama’s visit to the country arrived. It was one of those important occurrences which I did not recognise as such at the time.

Captain Carmichael called.

We were in the rose garden with Mama at the time. She made a pretty picture with the two girls seated at her feet while she held a book in her hand. She was not reading to us, but it looked as though she might be.

Captain Carmichael was brought out to us.

“Captain Carmichael!” cried my mother. “What a surprise.”

“I was on my way to Salisbury and I thought: Now that’s the Tressidors’ place. Robert would never forgive me if I were in the neighborhood and did not call. So … I thought I would just look in.”

“Alas, Robert is not with us. But it’s a lovely surprise.” My mother rose and clapped her hands together looking like the child who has just been awarded the fairy from the top of the Christmas tree.

“You can stay and have a cup of tea with us,” she went on. “Olivia, go and tell them to bring tea. Caroline, you go with Olivia.”

So we went, leaving them together.

What a pleasant tea-time that was! It was early May, a lovely time of the year. Red and white blossom on the trees and the scent of the newly cut grass in the air, the birds singing and the sun—a nice benign one, not too hot—shining on us. It was wonderful.

Captain Carmichael talked to us. He wanted to hear how we were getting on with our riding. Olivia said little, but I talked a great deal and he seemed to want me to. He kept looking at my mother and their glances seemed to include me, which made me very happy. One thing Olivia and I lacked was affection. Our bodily needs were well catered for, but when one is growing up and getting used to the world, affection, really caring, is what one needs most. That afternoon we seemed to have it.

I wished it were always like that. It occurred to me how different life would have been if we had had someone like Captain Carmichael for a father.

He was a most exciting man. He had travelled the world. He had been in the Sudan with General Gordon and was actually in Khartoum during the siege. He told us stories about it. He talked vividly; he made us see the hardships, the fear, the determination—though I suppose he skirted the real truth as too horrible for our youthful ears.

When tea was over he rose and my mother said: “You mustn’t run away now, Captain. Why don’t you stay the night? You could go first thing in the morning.”

He hesitated for a while, his eyes bubbling over with what could have been mischief.

“Well … perhaps I might play truant.”

“Oh, good. That’s wonderful. Darlings, go and tell them to prepare a room for Captain Carmichael … or perhaps I’ll go. Come along, Captain. I am so glad you came.”

We sat on—Olivia and I—bemused by the fascinating gentleman.

The next morning we all went riding together. My mother was with us and we were all very merry. The Captain rode beside me. He told me I sat a horse like a rider.

“Well, anyone is a rider who rides a horse,” I replied, argumentative even in my bliss.

“Some are sacks of potatoes—others are riders.”

That seemed to me incredibly funny and I laughed immoderately.

“You seem to be making a success with Caroline, Captain,” said my mother.

“She laughs at my jokes. The nearest way to a man’s heart, they say.”

“I thought the quickest way was to feed him.”

“Appreciation of one’s wit comes first. Come, Caroline, I’ll race you to the woods.”

It was wonderful to ride beside him with the wind in my face. He kept glancing at me and smiling, as though he liked me very much.

We went into the paddock because he said he would like to see how we jumped. So we showed him what our riding master had taught us recently. I knew I did a great deal better than Olivia, who was always nervous and nearly came off at one of the jumps.

Captain Carmichael and my mother applauded and they were both looking at me.

“I hope you are going to stay for a long while,” I said to the Captain.

“Alas! Alas!” he said, and, looking at my mother, raised his shoulders.

“Another night perhaps?” she suggested.

He stayed two nights and just before he left my mother sent for me. She was in her little sitting room and with her was Captain Carmichael.

He said: “I have to go soon, Caroline. I have to say goodbye.”

He put his hands on my shoulders and looked at me for a few seconds. Then he held me against him and kissed the top of my head.

He released me and went on: “I want to give you something, Caroline, to remember me by.”

“Oh, I shan’t forget you.”

“I know. But a little token, eh?”

Then he brought out the locket. It was on a gold chain. He said: “Open it.”

I fumbled with it and he took it from me. The locket sprang open and there was a beautiful miniature of him. It was tiny but so exquisitely done that his features were clear and there was no doubt that it was Captain Carmichael.

“But it’s lovely!” I cried, looking from him to my mother.

They both looked at me somewhat emotionally and then at each other.

My mother said practically: “I shouldn’t show it to anyone if I were you … not even Olivia.”

Oh, I thought. So Olivia is not getting a present. They thought she might be jealous.

“I should put it away until you’re older,” said my mother.

I nodded.

“Thank you,” I murmured. “Thank you very much.”

He put his arms about me and kissed me.

That afternoon we said goodbye to him.

“I shall be back for the Jubilee,” he told my mother.

So that was how I received the locket. I loved it. I looked at it often. I could not bear to hide it away though, and it gave me added excitement because I had to keep it secret. I wore it every day under my bodice, and kept it under my pillow at night. I enjoyed it not only for its beauty, but because it was a secret thing, known only to myself, my mother and Captain Carmichael.