Betty Neels - Heaven is Gentle

‘Well, that’s all right,’ Eliza declared in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘He was a shock to me and I don’t like him either, though of course I’ll work for him just as though I did.’

‘Honest girl.’ He got to his feet. ‘Now, let us eat our dinner and you shall tell me all the latest news about St Anne’s.’

Dinner was a gay affair because she sat beside Professor Wyllie and Professor van Duyl was at the other end, at the foot of the table. Although she tried not to, every now and then she glanced at him and caught his eyes upon her in an unfriendly stare, his dark face unsmiling. It spurred her on to make special efforts to amuse her companions at table, and by the time they were drinking their coffee, the laughter around her was evident of her success. But she didn’t allow this pleasant state of affairs to swamp her common sense; at exactly the right moment she bade everyone a quiet good night and beat an unassuming retreat. But not a solitary one; Professor van Duyl got to the door—despite the fact that he had been at the other end of the room—a fraction of a second ahead of her, and not only opened it but accompanied her through it. She paused just long enough to catch up her cloak and torch from a chair.

‘Thank you, sir,’ her voice was pleasantly friendly, if cool, ‘I have a torch with me. Good night.’

He took it from her, gently, and opened the house door. It was pitch dark outside and cold, and she felt thankful that it wasn’t raining, for her cap, a muslin trifle, lavishly frilled, would have been ruined. As they turned the corner of the house she slowed her pace. ‘I’m going over to the hut to say good night,’ she informed him. ‘I said that I would.’

He made no answer, merely changed his direction, and when they reached the hut, opened the door for her and followed her inside.

The men were glad to see her; they were, to her surprise, glad to see her companion too. He seemed a different man all at once—almost, one might say, the life and soul of the party, and his manner towards herself changed too; he was careful to let them all see that she was now a member of the team, to be relied upon, trusted and treated with respect; she was grateful to him for that. It struck her then that whether she liked him or not, she was going to enjoy working for him.

They stayed for half an hour while Eliza made sure that they were all comfortable for the night; that they understood what they were to do if any one of them started to wheeze. ‘I’ll be over before I go to breakfast in the morning,’ she assured them. ‘Good night, everyone.’

They left the hut followed by a chorus of good nights and walked in silence to the cottage, and Professor van Duyl unlocked the door for her.

‘Someone came in while I was away and made up the fire,’ she told him. ‘It was kind of them.’

‘Hub—I asked him to. I have a key which I keep in my possession, and I hope that you will do the same.’

‘Of course. Good night, Professor.’ The little lamp on the coffee table cast a rosy glow over her, so that she looked prettier than ever.

He said austerely, ‘And you will be good enough to lock your door when you are in the cottage, Miss Proudfoot.’

‘Well, of course I shall—at night time, at any rate.’

‘During the day also.’

‘But that’s a bit silly!’ She watched his mouth thin with annoyance.

‘Miss Proudfoot, I am seldom silly. You will do as you are told.’

‘Oh, pooh!’ she exclaimed crossly, and without saying good night, went into the cottage and shut the door. She had been in the room perhaps fifteen seconds when she heard the faint tapping on the back window of the sitting room. A branch, she told herself firmly, then remembered that when she had looked out of the window during the afternoon, there had been no tree within tapping distance. It came again, urgent and persistent. She ran to the door and flung it open, and in a voice a little shrill with fright, called: ‘Oh, please come back! There’s something—someone…’

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