Caroline's Waterloo. Бетти Нилс

as you wish,’ he said with a politeness she found more daunting than coldness. He took the stick from her, then took her arm and helped her out of the room and across the hall. At the bottom of the staircase he picked her up and carried her to the wide gallery above and across it to her room. At the door, he set her down and opened it for her. His ‘Goodnight, Miss Tripp’ was quite without expression. Caroline had no way of knowing if he was relieved that she had refused his invitation or if he was angry about it. She gave him a quiet goodnight and went through the door, to undress slowly and get ready for bed; she would have a bath and have her supper in her dressing gown by the fire.

      Marta came presently to help her into the bath, turn down the bed and fuss nicely round the room, and after her came one of the maids with her supper; soup and a cheese souffle with a salad on the side and a Bavarian creme to follow. Caroline didn’t think the Professor would be eating that, nor would he be drinking the home-made lemonade she was offered.

      The house was very quiet when she woke the next morning and when Marta brought her her breakfast tray, she told her that Noakes had gone with the Professor to the airfield just south of the city and would bring the car back later.

      ‘Has the Professor gone away?’ asked Caroline, feeling unaccountably upset.

      ‘To England and then to Paris—he has, how do you say? the lecture.’

      ‘How long for?’ asked Caro.

      Marta shrugged her shoulders. ‘I do not know—five, six days, perhaps longer.’

      Which meant that when he came home again she would go almost at once—perhaps he wanted that. She ate her breakfast listlessly and then got herself up and dressed. Her leg was better, it hardly ached at all and neither did her head. She trundled downstairs slowly and went into the library again where she spent a busy morning conning more Dutch words. There didn’t seem much point in it, but it was something to do.

      After lunch she went into the garden. It was a chilly day with the first bite of autumn in the air and Juffrouw Kropp had fastened her into a thick woollen cape which dropped around her ankles and felt rather heavy. But she was glad of it presently when she had walked a little way through the formal gardens at the side of the house and found a seat under an arch of beech. It afforded a good view of her surroundings and she looked slowly around her. The gardens stretched away on either side of her and she supposed the meadows beyond belonged to the house too, for there was a high hedge beyond them. The house stood, of red brick, mellowed with age, its many windows gleaming in the thin sunshine; it was large with an important entrance at the top of a double flight of steps, but it was very pleasant too. She could imagine it echoing to the shouts of small children and in the winter evenings its windows would glow with light and guests would stream in to spend the evening…not, of course, in reality, she thought sadly; the Professor had turned himself into a kind of hermit, excluding everyone and everything from his life except work and books. ‘I must try and make him smile,’ she said out loud, and fell to wondering how she might do that.

      It was the following morning, while she was talking to Noakes as he arranged the coffee tray beside her in the library, that they fell to discussing Christmas.

      ‘Doesn’t the Professor have family or friends to stay?’ asked Caro.

      ‘No, miss. Leastways, ’e ’olds an evening party—very grand affair it is too—but ‘e ain’t got no family, not in this country. Very quiet time it is.’

      ‘No carols?’

      Noakes shook his head. ‘More’s the pity—I like a nice carol, meself.’

      Caro poured out her coffee. ‘Noakes, why shouldn’t you have them this year? There are—how many? six of you altogether, aren’t there? Couldn’t you teach everyone the words? I mean, they don’t have to know what they mean—aren’t there any Dutch carols?’

      ‘Plenty, miss, only it ain’t easy with no one ter play the piano. We’d sound a bit silly like.’

      ‘I can play. Noakes, would it be a nice idea to learn one or two carols and sing them for the Professor at Christmas—I mean, take him by surprise?’

      Noakes looked dubious. Caroline put her cup down. ‘Look, Noakes, everyone loves Christmas—if you could just take him by surprise, it might make it seem more fun. Then perhaps he’d have friends to stay—or something.’

      It suddenly seemed very important to her that the Professor should enjoy his Christmas, and Noakes, looking at her earnest face, found himself agreeing. ‘We could ’ave a bash, miss. There’s a piano in the drawing room and there’s one in the servants’ sitting-room.’

      ‘Would you mind if I played it? I wouldn’t want to intrude…’

      ‘Lor’ luv yer, miss, we’d be honoured.’

      She went with him later that day, through the baize door at the back of the hall, down a flagstoned passage and through another door into a vast kitchen, lined with old-fashioned dressers and deep cupboards. Marta was at the kitchen table and Juffrouw Kropp was sitting in a chair by the Aga, and they looked up and smiled as she went in. Noakes guided her to a door at the end and opened it on to a very comfortably furnished room with a large table at one end, easy chairs, a TV in a corner and a piano against one wall. There was a stove halfway along the further wall and warm curtains at the windows. The Professor certainly saw to it that those who worked for him were comfortable. Caroline went over to the piano and opened it, sat down and began to play. She was by no means an accomplished pianist, but she played with feeling and real pleasure. She forgot Noakes for the moment, tinkling her way through a medley of Schubert, Mozart and Brahms until she was startled to hear him clapping and turned to see them all standing by the door watching her.

      ‘Cor, yer play a treat, miss,’ said Noakes. ‘I suppose yer don’t ’appen to know Annie Get Yer Gun?’

      She knew some of it; before she had got to the end they were clapping their hands in time to the music and Noakes was singing. When she came to a stop finally, he said: ‘Never mind the carols, miss, if yer’d just play now and then—something we could all sing?’

      He sounded wistful, and looking round at their faces she saw how eager they were to go on with the impromptu singsong. ‘Of course I’ll play,’ she said at once. ‘You can tell me what you want and I’ll do my best.’ She smiled round at them all; Noakes and Marta and Juffrouw Kropp, the three young maids and someone she hadn’t seen before, a quite old man—the gardener, she supposed. ‘Shall I play something else?’ she asked.

      She sat there for an hour and when she went she had promised that she would go back the following evening. And on the way upstairs she asked Noakes if she might look at the piano in the drawing-room.

      She stood in the doorway, staring around her. The piano occupied a low platform built under the window at one end, it was a grand and she longed to play upon it; she longed to explore the room too, its panelled walls hung with portraits, its windows draped with heavy brocade curtains. The hearth had a vast hood above it with what she supposed was a coat of arms carved upon it. All very grand, but it would be like trespassing to go into the room without the Professor inviting her to do so, and she didn’t think he would be likely to do that. She thanked a rather mystified Noakes and went on up to her room.

      Lying in bed later, she thought how nice it would be to explore the house. She had had glimpses of it, but there were any number of closed doors she could never hope to have opened for her. Still, she reminded herself bracingly, she was being given the opportunity of staying in a lovely old house and being waited on hand and foot. Much later she heard Noakes locking up and Rex barking. She hadn’t met him yet; Noakes had told her that he was to be kept out of her way until she was quite secure on her feet. ‘Mild as milk,’ he had said, ‘but a bit on the big side.’ Caroline had forgotten to ask what kind of dog he was. Tomorrow she would contrive to meet him; her leg was rapidly improving, indeed it hardly hurt at all, only when she was tired.

      Her thoughts wandered on the verge of sleep. Would the Professor expect to be reimbursed for his trouble and