A Valentine for Daisy
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Daisy, mild by nature, went pink. He had spoken to her as though she were one of the children and she gave him a cross look. If she had known how to toss her head she would have tossed it; as it was she said with a dignity which sat ill on her dishevelled appearance, ‘I’m not at all surprised to know that the twins are your nephew and niece, Doctor.’
She gave him a small nod, smiled at the children and walked away; fortunately she didn’t see his wide grin.
She was kept busy for quite some time; first getting a list of the children who would be staying for the night and then phoning Mrs Gower-Jones. That lady was in a cold rage; the nursery school would have to be closed down for the time being at least—her reputation would suffer—‘and you will be out of a job,’ she told Daisy nastily.
Daisy realised that her employer was battling with strong emotions. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said soothingly, ‘but if you would just tell me what you want me to do next. Shall I stay until the children are collected?’
‘Well of course,’ said Mrs Gower-Jones ungratefully, ‘I’ve enough to do here and Mandy and Joyce are still clearing up. I have never seen such a frightful mess; really, I should have thought you girls could have controlled the children.’
A remark which Daisy thought best not to answer.
She phoned her mother then went back to organise the children who would be fetched as soon as their parents had been told. Anxious mothers and nannies began arriving and in the ensuing chaos of handing over the children fit to go home Daisy lost count of time. They all, naturally enough, wanted to see Mrs Gower-Jones, and since she wasn’t there several of them gave vent to their strong feelings, bombarding Daisy with questions and complaints. No matter that they had already had reassuring talks with Sister; they could hardly blame her for their children’s discomfiture, but Daisy, unassuming and polite, was a splendid target for their indignation. She was battling patiently with the last of the mothers, a belligerent lady who appeared to think that Daisy was responsible for the entire unfortunate affair, when Dr Seymour loomed up beside her.
He had been there all the time, going to and fro with his houseman and registrar, making sure that the children were recovering, but Daisy had been too occupied to see him. Now he took the matter smoothly into his own hands.
‘A most unfortunate thing to happen; luckily, none of the children is seriously affected.’ He glanced down at the wan-faced small boy clutching his mother’s hand. ‘This little chap will be fine in a couple of days—Sister has told you what to do, I expect? This young lady is an assistant at the nursery school and is not to be blamed in any way. The matter will be investigated by the proper authorities but it is evident that the cause was either in the cooking or in the food. I suggest that you take the matter up with the principal of the school.’
Daisy, listening to this, reflected that he had a pleasant voice, deep and unhurried and just now with a hint of steel in it. Which might have accounted for the ungracious apology she received before the small boy was borne away.
‘The last one?’ asked the doctor.
‘Yes. Only I’m not sure if I’m supposed to stay—there are the children who are to remain here for the night; their mothers are here but they might want to ask questions—the children’s clothes and so on.’
‘What’s the telephone number of this nursery school?’
She told him, too tired to bother about why he wanted to know. She would have liked to go home but first she would have to go back and get her bike and very likely Mrs Gower-Jones would want a detailed account of what had transpired at the hospital. She yawned, and choked on it as Dr Seymour said from behind her, ‘Mrs Gower-Jones is coming here—she should have been here in the first place. You will go home.’ It was a statement, not a suggestion and he turned on his heel and then paused. ‘How?’
‘I have my bike at the school.’ She hesitated. ‘And my purse and things.’
‘They’ll be there in the morning; you can fetch them. The place will be closed as a nursery school at least for the time being. Did you come like that?’
She frowned. ‘Yes.’
‘I’ll drive you to your home. Come along.’
Daisy, a mild girl, said, ‘No, thank you,’ with something of a snap. But that was a waste of time.
‘Don’t be silly,’ advised Dr Seymour, and he caught her by the arm and marched her briskly out of the hospital and stuffed her into the Rolls while she was still thinking of the dignified reply she wished to make. No girl liked to be told she was silly.
‘Where to?’
‘Wilton.’
‘Where in Wilton?’
‘If you put me down by the market square…’
He sighed. ‘Where in Wilton?’
‘Box Cottage—on the way to Burcombe. But I can easily walk…’
He didn’t bother to answer as he drove through the city streets and along the main road to Wilton. Once there, within minutes, he turned left at the crossroads by the market. ‘Left or right?’ he asked.
‘On the left—the last cottage in this row.’
He slowed the car and stopped, and to her surprise got out to open her door. He opened the little garden gate too, which gave her mother time to get to the door.
‘Darling, whatever has happened? You said the children were ill—’ Mrs Pelham took in Daisy’s appearance. ‘Are you ill too? You look as though you’ve been sick…’
‘Not me, the children, Mother, and I’m quite all right.’ Since the doctor was towering over her she remembered her manners and introduced him.
‘Dr Seymour very kindly gave me a lift.’
‘How very kind of you.’ Her mother smiled charmingly at him. ‘Do come in and have a cup of coffee.’
He saw the look on Daisy’s face and his thin mouth twitched. ‘I must get back to the hospital, I’m afraid; perhaps another time?’
‘Any time,’ said Mrs Pelham largely, ignoring Daisy’s frown. ‘Do you live in Wilton? I don’t remember seeing your car…?’
‘In Salisbury, but I have a sister living along the Wylye valley.’
‘Well, we don’t want to keep you. Thank you for bringing Daisy home.’ Mrs Pelham offered a hand but Daisy didn’t. She had seen his lifted eyebrows at her name; Daisy was a silly name and it probably amused him. She wished him goodbye in a cool voice, echoing her mother’s thanks. She didn’t like him; he was overbearing and had ridden roughshod over her objections to being given a lift. That she would still have been biking tiredly from Salisbury without his offer was something she chose to ignore.
‘What a nice man,’ observed her mother as they watched the car sliding away, back to the crossroads. ‘How very kind of him to bring you home. You must tell us all about it, darling—’ she wrinkled her nose ‘—but perhaps you’d like a bath first.’
When Daisy reached the nursery school in the morning she found Mrs Gower-Jones in a black mood. The cook had disappeared and the police were trying to trace her, she had had people inspecting her kitchen and asking questions and the school was to be closed until it had been thoroughly cleaned and inspected. A matter of some weeks, even months. ‘So you can take a week’s notice,’ said Mrs Gower-Jones. ‘I’ve seen the other girls too. Don’t expect to come back here either; if and when I open again parents won’t want to see any of you—they’ll always suspect you.’
‘I should have thought,’ observed Daisy in a reasonable voice, ‘that they would be more likely to suspect you, Mrs Gower-Jones. After all, you engaged the cook.’
Mrs Gower-Jones had always considered Daisy to be a quiet, easily put-upon girl; now she looked at her in amazement while her face slowly reddened. ‘Well, really, Miss Pelham—how dare you say such a thing?’
‘Well, it’s true.’ Dasiy added without rancour, ‘Anyway I wouldn’t want to come back here to work; I’d feel as suspicious as the parents.’
‘Leave at once,’ said her employer, ‘and don’t expect a reference. I’ll post on your cheque.’
‘I’ll wait while you write it, Mrs Gower-Jones,’ said Daisy mildly.
She was already making plans as she cycled back to Wilton. She would have to get another job as soon as possible; her mother’s pension wasn’t enough to keep all three of them and Pamela had at least two more years at school. They paid the estate a very modest rent but there were still taxes and lighting and heating and food. They relied on Daisy’s wages to pay for clothes and small extra comforts. There was never any money to save; her father had left a few hundred pounds in the bank but that was for a rainy day, never to be spent unless in dire emergency.
Back home, she explained everything to her mother, carefully keeping any note of anxiety out of her voice. They would be able to go on much as usual for a week or two and surely in that time she would find a job. It was a pity she wasn’t trained for anything; she had gone to a good school because her father had been alive then and the fees had been found, although at the cost of holidays and small luxuries, and since she had done well the plan had been to send her to one of the minor universities, leading to a teaching post eventually. His death had been unexpected and premature; Daisy left the university after only a year there and came home to shoulder the responsibilities of the household and take the job at the nursery school.
Her mother reassured, she went out and bought the local paper and searched the jobs column. There was nothing; at least, there was plenty of work for anyone who understood computers and the like and there were several pigpersons wanted, for pig breeding flourished in her part of the world. It was a great pity that the tourist season would be over soon, otherwise she might have enquired if there was work for her in the tearooms at Wilton House. Tomorrow, she decided, she would go into Salisbury, visit the agencies and the job centre.
It was a bad time of year to find work, she was told; now if she had asked when the season started, no doubt there would have been something for her—a remark kindly meant but of little comfort to her.
By the end of the week her optimism was wearing thin although she preserved a composed front towards her mother and Pamela. She was sitting at her mother’s writing desk answering an advertisement for a mother’s help when someone knocked on the door. Pamela was in her room, deep in schoolwork; her mother was out shopping. Daisy went to answer it.
CHAPTER TWO
DAISY recognised the person on the doorstep. ‘Lady Thorley—please come in. The twins are all right?’
‘Quite recovered,’ said their mother. ‘I wanted to talk to you…’
Daisy led the way into the small sitting-room, nicely furnished and with a bowl of roses on the Georgian circular table under the window, offered a chair and then sat down opposite her visitor, her hands folded quietly in her lap, composedly waiting to hear the reason for the visit. It would be something to do with the nursery school, she felt sure, some small garment missing…
‘Are you out of a job?’ Lady Thorley smiled. ‘Forgive me for being nosy, but Mrs Gower-Jones tells me that she has closed the place down for some time at least.’
‘Well, yes, she has, and we all had a week’s notice…’
‘Then if you are free, would you consider coming to us for a while? The twins—they’re a handful, more than I can cope with, and they like you. If you hear of something better you would be free to go, but you would be a godsend. There must be other nursery schools, although I don’t know of any. I thought that if you would come while I find a governess for them…only I don’t want to be hurried over that—she will have to be someone rather special. Would you give it a try?’
‘I could come each day?’
‘Oh, yes. We’re at Steeple Langford—about three miles from here. Is there a bus?’
‘I have a bike.’
‘You’ll give it a try? Is half-past eight too early for you? Until five o’clock—that’s a long day, I know, but you would have Saturday and Sunday.’ She hesitated. ‘And perhaps occasionally you would sleep in if we were about to go out for the evening? We have some good servants but I’d rather it was you.’ And when Daisy hesitated she added, ‘I don’t know what you were paid by Mrs Gower-Jones but we would pay the usual rate.’ She named a sum which sent Daisy’s mousy eyebrows up. Twice the amount Mrs Gower-Jones had paid her; heaven-sent, although she felt bound to tell her visitor that it was more than she had earned at the nursery school.
‘By the end of the week you will agree with me that you will have earned every penny. You have only had the twins for a few days, diluted with other children. Full-strength, as it were, they’re formidable.’ She smiled charmingly. ‘You see, I’m not pretending that they’re little angels. I love them dearly but because of that I’m not firm enough.’
‘When would you like me to start?’ asked Daisy. ‘Only you’ll want references.’
‘Oh, never mind those,’ said Lady Thorley breezily, ‘Valentine told me that you were a sensible girl with an honest face and he’s always right.’
Daisy blushed and Lady Thorley thought how pleasant it was to find a girl who still could, happily unaware that it wasn’t a blush at all, just Daisy’s temper, seldom roused, coming to the surface. Even if that was all he could think of to say about her, it would have been far better if he had kept quiet—honest and sensible indeed; what girl wanted to be called that?
For a moment she was tempted to change her mind and refuse the job, but then she remembered the marvellous wages… ‘How kind,’ she murmured, and agreed to cycle over to Steeple Langford the next morning.
Lady Thorley went presently and Daisy tore up her reply to the advertisement for a home help and then did cautious sums on the back of the writing paper. The job wouldn’t last forever—a month, six weeks perhaps—but the money would take care of the phone bill and the gas and electricity as well. There would be enough left over for her mother to have a pair of good shoes ready for the winter, and Pamela to have another of the baggy sweaters she craved, and she herself—Daisy sucked the end of her pen—torn between high-heeled elegant shoes she would probably never have the chance to wear and a pair of sensible boots; last winter’s pair had had their day and were beyond repair. She was still brooding over this when her mother and Pamela came back, and, much heartened by the news, Mrs Pelham fetched the bottle of sherry they hoarded for special occasions and they all had a glass. ‘I mustn’t forget Razor,’ said Daisy. ‘I’ll get some of that luxury catfood he enjoys and perhaps a tin of sardines.’
The road along the Wylye was quiet, used mainly by local people, winding from one small village to the next one with glimpses of the river from time to time and plenty of trees. It was a splendid morning and Daisy cycled along it trying to guess what the job would turn out to be. Hard work, no doubt, but the money was good…
The Thorleys’ house was on the further side of Steeple Langford, a roomy place typical of the area, with plenty of large windows, a veranda and a wide porch. It was surrounded by nicely laid-out grounds with plenty of trees and as she went up the short drive she could see ponies and a donkey in the small adjoining field.
The front door was opened as she reached it and the two children and a black Labrador dog spilled out noisily. Daisy got off her bike. ‘Hello,’ she said cheerfully, ‘what’s your dog’s name?’
‘Boots. Have you got a dog?’ They had crowded round her, all three of them.
‘No, though we had one when I was a little girl. We have a cat; he’s called Razor.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s very sharp…’
The twins hooted with mirth. ‘May we see him?’
‘Perhaps one day your mother will let you come and see him. We’ll see.’
‘Why do all grown-ups say “we’ll see”?’
Daisy was saved from answering this by the appearance of Lady Thorley, wearing the kind of thin jersey dress that Daisy coveted.
‘Good morning. May we call you Daisy? Come on inside and have a look round. We’ve just finished breakfast but there’s coffee if you’d like it.’
Daisy declined the coffee, propped her bike against the porch and, with a twin on either side of her, went into the house.
It was as nice inside as it was out; comfortably furnished with some good pieces, a great many comfortable chairs, flowers everywhere and a slight untidiness which one would expect in a house where there were children and dogs. The nursery was on the first floor overlooking the back lawn, a large room with a low shelf around its walls to accommodate the various toys the twins possessed. There was a low table too and small chairs and also a comfortable chair or two for grown-ups.
‘They prefer to be out of doors,’ said their mother. ‘They’re very energetic, I’m afraid. I’ll show you the garden and then leave you, shall I?’ She led the way downstairs again. ‘The children have their milk about half-past ten and Jenny will bring your coffee at the same time. They have their lunch just after twelve, with me—and you, of course—and they have their tea at five o’clock before bed at six o’clock.’ Lady Thorley hesitated. ‘I’m sometimes out to lunch…’ She looked doubtfully at Daisy.
‘I’m sure Josh and Katie will keep me company when you are,’ said Daisy matter-of-factly and watched their mother’s face light up with relief.
‘The children had a nanny until quite recently,’ confided Lady Thorley. ‘She—she was very strict.’
‘I don’t know if I’m strict or not,’ said Daisy cheerfully. She beamed down at the children. ‘We’ll have to find out, won’t we?’
She spent the rest of the morning in the garden with the twins and Boots, pausing only long enough to drink her coffee while they reluctantly drank their milk. At lunch they were difficult, picking at their food, casting sly glances at their mother as they spilt their drinks, kicked the rungs of their chairs and upset the salt cellar. Lady Thorley said helplessly, ‘Darlings, do behave yourselves.’ She spoke in a loving voice which held no authority at all and they took no notice of her.
‘I wonder,’ observed Daisy pleasantly, ‘if it would be a good idea, Lady Thorley, if Josh and Katie were to have their lunch in the nursery for a few days—by themselves, of course…? I’ll sit in the room with them, naturally.’
Lady Thorley caught Daisy’s look. ‘What a good idea,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Why didn’t I think of it before? We’ll start tomorrow.’
The twins exchanged glances. ‘Don’t want to,’ said Josh, and was echoed by Katie. They had stuck their small lower lips out, ready to be mutinous.
‘Well,’ said Daisy, ‘if you really don’t want to, will you eat your lunch like grown-up people with your mother and me?’
‘You’re strict…’
‘Not a bit of it. While you’re having your rest I’ll read whatever story you want.’
It had seemed a long day, thought Daisy as she cycled back home, but she had enjoyed it. The twins were nice children, spoilt by their mother and probably too strictly brought up by the nanny. She began to plan a daily regime which might, at least in part, correct some of that. They were very bright for their age; she would have to win their confidence as well as their liking.
By the end of the week she felt reasonably sure that she had done that; the twins were about the naughtiest children she had had to deal with while she had worked for Mrs Gower-Jones, and so charming with their large blue eyes and innocent little faces that it was sometimes difficult to be firm, but they seemed to like her and since she ignored their small tantrums she felt that she was making progress. She liked the job too, and enjoyed the cycle ride each day and the long hours spent out of doors with the children. The weather was delightful too, dry and warm with no hint of autumn. Of course, the ride wouldn’t be so nice in rain and wind, but she would be gone by then, although Lady Thorley hadn’t mentioned the likelihood of a governess yet.
Lady Thorley was going out to lunch, Daisy remembered as she pedalled along the quiet road, and since it was such a fine day perhaps she and the twins could have a picnic in the garden; she was good friends with the cook and the elderly housemaid and surely between them they could concoct a picnic instead of the usual meal indoors.
The twins were waiting for her with faithful Boots and she went up to the nursery with them for an hour’s playschool—Plasticine and wooden blocks, crayons and large sheets of scribbling paper—and they were tidying up when their mother came to say that she was going out to her lunch party and would be back by teatime. She looked elegant and pretty and Daisy had no doubt in her mind that her husband must adore her. The twins were kissed and told to be good, and Daisy was to be sure and ask for anything she might want. The three of them escorted her to the door and waved as she drove away in her smart little Mini, and Katie began to sniff sorrowfully.
‘Who’s coming to help get our picnic ready?’ asked Daisy, and whisked the moppet out into the garden with Josh and Boots. ‘Look, Cook’s put a table ready; let’s put the plates and knives and things on it and then we’ll go to the kitchen and fetch the food.’
She was leading the way back to the garden, laden with a tray of dishes—hard-boiled eggs, bacon sandwiches, little sausages on sticks and a mushroom quiche—when she saw Dr Seymour sitting on the grass leaning against the table. The children had seen him too; the dish of apples Josh had been carrying went tumbling to the ground and Katie, close behind him, dropped the plastic mugs she held as they galloped towards him with shrieks of delight. He uncoiled his vast person in one neat movement and received their onslaught with lazy good humour. ‘May I stay to lunch?’ he asked Daisy and, since he quite obviously intended to anyway, she said politely,
‘Of course, Dr Seymour. Lady Thorley is out but she’ll be back at teatime.’ She put down her tray. ‘I’ll fetch the rest of the food…’
She started back to the house and found him beside her, trailed by the twins and Boots. ‘Quite happy here?’ he wanted to know.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Pleased to see me again?’
What an outrageous man, thought Daisy, and what a colossal conceit. She said pleasantly, ‘Should I be, Dr Seymour?’
‘Upon reflection, perhaps not.’ They had reached the kitchen and found Cook, who had seen his car, cutting a mound of beef sandwiches. ‘You’ll be peckish, sir,’ she said comfortably. ‘Hard-boiled eggs and sausages on sticks aren’t hardly fitting for a gentleman of your size, if you don’t mind me saying it.’
He took a sandwich and bit into it. ‘When have I ever disputed an opinion of yours, Mrs Betts? And if I can’t finish them I’m sure Daisy will help me out.’
So she was Daisy, was she? And she had no intention of eating his beef sandwiches. She didn’t say so although she gave him a chilly look.
It was impossible to remain chilly for long; the twins, on their best behaviour because their favourite uncle was going to share their picnic, saw to that. The meal was an unqualified success; Josh ate everything he was offered and, since Katie always did as he did, the usual patient battle to get them to eat didn’t take place; instead, the doctor kept them entertained with a mixture of mild teasing and ridiculous stories in the face of which it was impossible to remain stand-offish; indeed Daisy enjoyed herself and found herself forgetting how much she disapproved of him. That was until he remarked, as the last of the lemonade was being drunk, ‘I hope Meg has got you on a long lease.’
She gave him a puzzled look. ‘A long lease…?’
‘It would seem to me that you have all the makings of a family nanny, handed down from one generation to another.’
Daisy, a mild-tempered girl, choked back rage. ‘I have no intention of being anything of the sort.’ Her pleasant voice held a decidedly acid note.
‘No? Planning to get married?’
‘No, and if I may say so, Dr Seymour, I must remind you that it’s none of your business.’