Читать книгу Auntie Robbo - Ann Scott-Moncrieff - Страница 6

Table of Contents

After lunch Merlissa Benck was looking so wearied and wan ("With a white face like that," said Auntie Robbo, "you can hardly tell when it gets any whiter") that Auntie Robbo suggested that she should lie down in her room for the afternoon. She agreed quite thankfully.

"Perhaps you shouldn't have taken her up to the Splash, Hector," said Auntie Robbo when she had left them. "Not used to the climate. And Egypt's as flat as a plate. So is England for that matter. I expect the hill was too much for her."

"She asked to see our domain."

"Yes, isn't she funny? You can see the whole of it from the bathroom window. I don't know why she wanted to go tramping off in those high-heeled shoes."

They both sighed. Merlissa Benck had hardly been a night and a day in the house, yet all their placid life seemed to be broken and upset. Instead of going on from one thing to another leisurely, never thinking of what was going to happen next, they found their day chopped into sections and hours. Over all reigned the comfort and convenience of Merlissa Benck. And it was very difficult to tell just what that comfort and convenience was. It seemed to be quite different from their idea of comfort and convenience.

"Never mind," said Auntie Robbo, brightening. "It's only for a few more days. She won't be able to stand us longer. Nobody ever does."

She had got into her gardening boots and gloves, and they went out together to the tool shed.

"I can't imagine what she came for," said Auntie Robbo. "Didn't we invite her? Now what was it that made us do that?"

"We thought she'd be an Egyptian and tell us stories."

"Oh, yes, of course. And then she's your stepmother."

Hector was bored with the subject of Merlissa Benck. "Ground's a bit heavy today," he said. "Will we be doing the seed boxes?"

"Yes, let's!" agreed Auntie Robbo, coming out of her dwalm. And in a few minutes they were blissfully at work with mould and sand and brightly coloured packets of seeds. And their guest might have been back in Egypt, for all they thought of her.

Merlissa Benck, on the other hand, spent the whole afternoon thinking about them. Lying on her back in bed with the blinds drawn against the horrid Scotch day, her mind fairly buzzed with indignation against Auntie Robbo and with plans for the future of Hector.

"After all, I am his stepmother," she mused. "And that's a nearer relationship really than a great-grand-aunt. Great-grand-aunt, indeed! It's hardly decent. The old woman ought to be in her grave." And her face lengthened as she thought that Auntie Robbo looked like living as long as she did herself. "But I must get Hector away from here—and from her. Hubert would have wished it. I remember him telling me quite well that he thought Miss Sketheway queer in the head. Very Scots, he called her—that was his way of putting it. Dear Hubert—always so loyal."

Merlissa Benck persisted in thinking of Hector's father as Hubert, although in fact his name was Robert. The truth was, just as Hector had guessed, she had forgotten his real name. But neither Auntie Robbo nor Hector had come near to guessing the reason why she had forgotten it. It was a very simple reason: MerIissa Benck had had two husbands since then. She had buried the last of them before leaving Egypt. No wonder she did not call herself Mrs. Murdoch, for in the ensuing ten years she had also been Mrs. Bishop and Mrs. Van der Post. Nowadays she preferred to be known by her maiden name of plain Miss Benck; it saved confusion and a lot of explanation.

For, strange to say, Merlissa Benck didn't enjoy the thought of having been married three times. It worried her. Somehow it wasn't right. It wasn't respectable. It made her sound like a sultan or a Mormon, and she never thought of herself like that. In fact, sometimes she would imagine she had never had any other name but Mrs. Bishop, at other times that of Mrs. Van der Post. She had rarely thought of herself as Mrs. Murdoch until lately, but now it was as if she had had no other husband than Hector's father; and that of course made Hector very near.

Merlissa Benck's mind worked in a funny way. The idea of Hector had been bobbing about in it ever since she had left Egypt. It had occurred to her how nice it would be to have a son—even if it were only a stepson—of that age. She was middle-aged, she was rich, she was lonely. And she had been married three times. A stepson like Hector was just what she wanted. To do Merlissa Benck justice, she hadn't set out with the deliberate intention of grabbing what she wanted. She hadn't come to stay at Nethermuir in order to lay hands on Hector. That had barely occurred to her. But now that she had seen Auntie Robbo and had seen Hector and had seen the kind of life they led, she realized that it was her duty to rescue him at all costs. It was her duty to adopt him, to send him to a good school, and to bring him up in the way he should go; and he would look after her when she was old, and inherit her money. It was a delightful thought.

Merlissa Benck lay back on her pillows, exulting, planning a rosy future. And if Hector had seen her then he might have thought that after all she resembled a stoat. Her little eyes gleamed, her long thin nose twitched, every now and then she ran the tip of her tongue greedily along her lips. "It will be quite simple," she thought, reverting to her first consideration of detaching Hector from Auntie Robbo, "One has only to do one's duty."

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and the parlour-maid entered with tea on a tray.

"Tea already, Amy?" said Merlissa Benck.

"Yes, ma'am, it's half-past four. I hope you're feeling better."

"Yes, thank you, but I'll be glad of some tea. Is Miss Sketheway downstairs? Oh, I forgot, she doesn't have tea."

"Miss Sketheway is in the garden, ma'am. She doesn't like to be disturbed, so I just took this up to you. I thought you'd like it here."

Merlissa Benck felt slightly aggrieved, but she smiled brightly and said: "It was very nice of you to remember me, Amy. I shall enjoy having it here."

The parlour-maid was about to leave the room when Merlissa Benck called her back.

"You know, you're a very good parlour-maid, Amy. Ever since I came here, I've been struck by you."

Amy simpered.

"I don't want to appear curious," went on Merlissa Benck, "but I've often wondered how you came to be working here. I mean it's such a bleak, out-of-the-way place. If I've said to myself once, I've said it a dozen times: 'That's an uncommonly smart girl, not a country girl; or at least she's been trained in a much better—I mean bigger—household than this.'"

"It is, ma'am," replied Amy. "I used to be with Mrs. Agnew in Edinburgh, that's Miss Sketheway's niece. She's a very great lady, quite a different sort of house, I can tell you. Mrs. Agnew asked me to come here as a personal favour, when Miss Sketheway was wanting a new parlour-maid. She said the house needed somebody smart, and somebody who could keep an eye on Miss Sketheway for the family."

"Really!" said Merlissa Benck, and her eyes protruded with interest.

But Amy, afraid that she had gone too far, hastened to say: "I dare say they think she's getting too old. Of course I shan't stay here always—it's so lonely, like you say, ma'am, and then the cook here is no companion for a girl like me." Amy pursed her lips, and then bent forward confidentially: "The bottle."

"Indeed."

"If it wasn't for Mrs. Agnew, I wouldn't stay another day. But then she's a great lady, and when Miss Sketheway dies—in the course of nature as we all must—I will be able to go back to her."

"I quite understand, Amy," said Merlissa Benck. "I'm sure your reasons for staying here do you credit. Now what do you think of Master Hector? How do you think he's growing up? Remember he's my stepson and naturally I'm interested."

Amy shook her head in a way that at once left Hector without a shred of character. She let out a slight despairing groan.

"Come now, I want to know the truth," probed Merlissa Benck.

"He's never had a chance, as you might say," began Amy, with a great show of reluctance. "No schooling, no boys of his own age to knock the stuffing out of him. He's growing to be a regular little fiend, I can tell you, ma'am. Running about the countryside like a wild thing, and his great-grand-aunt that ought to be setting him an example running along with him, egging him on. And the lies, ma'am, you wouldn't believe the lies—the lies they tell each other. It's cruel to hear them on the lips of an innocent child...."

And so Amy flowed on, while Merlissa Benck sipped her tea, pursed her lips, and sighed at intervals: "Just as I feared."

At last she set down the cup. "I don't know when I've enjoyed a cup of tea so much. Thank you, dear Amy."

Amy, leaving the room with the tray, turned to give the guest a gratified smile.

From then on, she and Merlissa Benck were as thick as thieves.