The Chain of Destiny. Betty Neels

      ‘No, I haven’t, but I have got a little radio and I like reading. I’ll be quite happy; I’ve lived in the country for some time and I like it.’

      ‘Of course, there’s guests from time to time, but mostly it’s just the two ladies.’

      She had been a little nervous of meeting Mr Snow, but she need not have been. True, he was very dignified and smiled seldom, but she felt that he approved of her. She was handed the key of her new home, her luggage and Horace were deposited in it and she was requested to present herself in half an hour in the front hall, when she would be taken to Lady Manbrook.

      Half an hour wasn’t long in which to get settled in; Horace, set free and allowed to roam round the room, ate the snack she got for him and settled down on the window-sill beside the geranium, and she made herself a cup of coffee, tidied her already neat person and went across to the house.

      The two old ladies didn’t look as though they had moved since she had last seen them, only they wore different dresses. The butler ushered her in and Lady Manbrook said, ‘Come and sit down, Miss Lightfoot. Snow, please bring coffee; we will lunch half an hour later than usual, that will give Miss Lightfoot time to unpack her things.’

      Snow trod quietly away and Suzannah waited to see what was to happen next.

      ‘When we have had coffee Snow will show you to the room where you will work,’ said Lady Manbrook. ‘The papers and diaries are in one of the attics; he will accompany you there and you may decide which of them you wish to begin work upon.’

      ‘Some of them are most interesting, so I am told,’ remarked Mrs van Beuck.

      ‘Do you want to see any of them before I start?’ asked Suzannah. ‘There is nothing private…?’

      ‘I think not; if there is, I feel sure that you will inform me. All I require is that they should be put in some kind of order, and when that is done, I should like you to read them carefully and index them.’

      ‘Are there many papers?’

      ‘I have been told that there are two or three trunks. These things do tend to accumulate,’ added Lady Manbrook vaguely. ‘Ah, here is coffee. Be good enough to pour, Miss Lightfoot. We lunch at half-past one; you will, of course, join us.’

      Suzannah thanked her nicely, drank her coffee and excused herself. If she looked sharp about it, she could unpack and get settled in, feed Horace properly and introduce him to his surroundings before then. And in the afternoon she would make a start on the contents of the attic. She found Snow waiting for her in the hall and they climbed the staircase at the back of the hall to the floor above, opened a door in a wall and climbed to the next floor and then once more mounted a very narrow, twisting staircase to the attics. Snow opened a door with a flourish and she went in. There were several attics, running the length of the house, connected by open archways, all well lit by dormer windows. The trunks were in the second, large and old-fashioned, made of leather and strapped tightly. They undid one of them between them and Suzannah got down on her knees to inspect the contents. There was no sort of order: bundles of letters, foolscap sheets tied with string, a number of what appeared to be diaries all jostled themselves together. It would be hard to know where to begin, she decided.

      ‘Lady Manbrook said that you would show me where I could work, Mr Snow, but I think I shall have to do the sorting here. There’s plenty of room and the light’s good. When I’ve got things in a bit of order I can carry them to wherever I’ve to work and start the indexing.’

      ‘Just as you say, miss. I will arrange for a small table and chair to be brought here, and anything else that you may require. I must say there appears to be a good deal of work involved.’

      ‘Yes, I think so, too,’ said Suzannah cheerfully, ‘but I’m sure it will be interesting.’ They went back down the little stairs and he showed her a room, very light and airy with a wide table and comfortable chair and an open hearth, in which, he pointed out, a fire would be lit while she was working there.

      Her own little room seemed very small when she reached it, but decidedly cosy; it already looked like home, too, with the geranium on the window-sill and Horace curled up on one of the chairs. She unpacked her few things, fed him and took him outside for a short time and then tidied herself and went back to the house for lunch—a meal eaten in some state in a large, heavily furnished dining-room with a great deal of white damask and silver. After an initial shyness Suzannah began to enjoy herself; the two old ladies were charming, keeping up a gentle flow of conversation calculated to put her at her ease. She left them after they had had their coffee, took a quick look to see if Horace was comfortable, and then repaired to the attics.

      It seemed at first glance a formidable task, but not a dull one. She opened the first trunk…

      She was completely absorbed when Snow tapped on the door and brought her a tea-tray. She sat back on her heels and said apologetically, ‘Oh, Mr Snow, I could have come down—I didn’t know.’ She smiled at him. ‘I got rather carried away.’

      He surveyed the neat rows of piled-up papers, old dance programmes, newspaper cuttings and the like. ‘Indeed, miss, I can well understand that. It is no trouble to bring you a tea-tray. Dinner is at eight o’clock; the ladies go to dress just after seven o’clock.’

      ‘Oh, but surely I’m not to dine with them?’

      ‘Indeed you are, miss. They quite understand that you would not wish to join them for tea and interrupt your work, and breakfast is taken by the ladies in their beds. Your breakfast will be served in the morning-room at eight o’clock.’

      ‘Thank you, Mr Snow.’

      ‘And if you will not find it presumptuous, miss, you should address me as Snow.’

      ‘Oh, but the maid who showed me to my room called you Mr Snow.’

      ‘And quite rightly; I am in charge of the staff here and head of the domestics, but you, miss, are employed by Lady Manbrook.’

      She said in her sensible way, ‘Oh, I see, thank you for telling me. I’ll try not to give any of you any extra work.’

      ‘If I may say so, miss, it is a pleasure to have some one young in the house.’

      He made his stately way out of the room, leaving her to enjoy tiny sandwiches, hot buttered toast and fairy cakes as light as air.

      By seven o’clock she had the trunk empty, its contents extending in piles half-way across the attic floor. Tomorrow she would go through each pile and arrange the contents according to the dates, dealing with the newspaper cuttings first, for it seemed to her that they would be the easiest. There were two more trunks; she would have to sort them in the same way and then add the piles together. Weeks of work, if she was to index them too.

      She went downstairs and through the side door to her flat, fed Horace and took him for a brief stroll, then came back to switch on the lights and draw the curtains. A fire had been laid ready to light in the small grate and she put a match to it, put the fireguard in front of it and went to take a bath and dress. She had nothing really suitable for dinner, only a dark brown dress in fine wool, very plain and at least two years old, or a grey pinafore dress with a white silk blouse. She got into the brown, promising herself that with her first pay packet she would buy something suitable for dining in the splendour of Lady Manbrook’s dining-room. She took pains with her face, brushed her tawny head until it shone like copper, and went back to the house to be met by Snow.

      ‘The ladies expect you to join them in the drawing-room,’ he offered, and led the way.

      Suzannah saw at a glance that her brown dress was woefully inadequate, but she didn’t allow it to worry her; she sat down to enjoy her sherry and take her sensible part in the conversation. And dinner, although somewhat more lengthy than lunch, was just as pleasant. She excused herself shortly afterwards, wished the two ladies goodnight and went back to her room. The fire was burning nicely and Horace was sitting before it, the picture of a contented cat. Suzannah too uttered a sigh of contentment, made a cup of tea