Devil At Archangel

Christina sat in silence, her thoughts whirling. The temptation to take Mrs Brandon’s words at their face value and accept her offer was almost overwhelming. Almost. Yet, at the same time, her pride baulked at the idea of being handed over from one elderly lady to another. Could this be what Aunt Grace had meant when she had told her that she would see she was taken care of in the future? It was galling, to say the least, as if she was being given no credit for having sufficient intelligence or energy to carve out a life of her own.

She could not deny, however, that if she had merely seen the job advertised somewhere, she would have applied for it. A vision rose in her mind of silver sand and palm trees and softly curling surf. It was like having some cherished wish granted by the wave of a wand. Yet Mrs Brandon with her smooth white hair and air of aloofness was far from being the conventional picture of a fairy godmother, she thought wistfully.

‘You trouble yourself quite unnecessarily, you know.’ Mrs Brandon’s ironic voice cut across her inner musings. ‘Would it make it more acceptable to you if I specified that the position would be on trial at first—let us say a month on either side. In fact it might be better if you regarded your visit as a holiday at first. You have been under some strain lately, and it may be unfair to press you until you are rested and more relaxed. Well, what do you say?’

Christina hesitated, then gave a deep, sigh. ‘What can I say, madame? You are too kind. You make it impossible for me to refuse. I don’t know how to thank you.’

‘Have no fear, my child. I will think of a way.’ Mrs Brandon grimaced slightly with pain as she reached for her stick. ‘So it is settled, then—a few weeks in the sunshine, and then we can decide on some more—permanent arrangement.’

She rose slowly and carefully to her feet, waving away Christina’s proffered assistance.

‘Your first lesson, ma chère. I do not care to be helped,’ she remarked with a bleak smile. ‘I shall return to London now. But before I go, I shall settle your account here with the good woman downstairs. You will have the goodness to pack your things this evening and be prepared to join me in the morning, not later than ten o’clock. Of all things, I detest unpunctuality,’ she added almost as an afterthought.

‘But I’m quite able to pay my own bill here. I do have a little money …’ Christina began. She felt apprehensive suddenly. Too much was happening and too fast. Even Aunt Grace had never taken charge with precisely this grande dame air, and it was curiously disturbing, as if she was now merely a puppet, content to dance while Mrs Brandon pulled the strings.

‘Keep it.’ The older woman’s tone was negligently dismissive. ‘Or better still, use it to buy some cooler clothes.’ She looked with disfavour at Christina’s admittedly rather baggy tweed skirt, and the pullover she wore with it. ‘What you have seems more suitable for the sub-arctic region rather than the tropics. Choose plenty of cotton—you will find it cooler than these synthetics—and bring a swimsuit.’

Christina’s bewilderment grew. ‘But I thought—you said there would be no beach parties.’

‘Nor will there. Nevertheless the beaches are there to be used, and I imagine you were taught to swim at school. I hope that you will look on Archangel as your home, not your prison.’ Mrs Brandon’s tone was faintly derisory, and Christina flushed, feeling that she had spoken foolishly.

As she saw her blush, the older woman’s expression softened a little, and a slight warmth entered her voice.

‘Keep your money,’ she repeated. ‘Allow me to do this for you as a mark of my affection for your godmother.’

When it was put like that, she could hardly refuse without sounding totally ungracious, Christina thought.

She accompanied Mrs Brandon downstairs and saw her into the waiting hired car. She hesitated as it drew away, her hand half uplifted as if her visitor might look back, but Mrs Brandon did not turn or make any kind of farewell gesture, and Christina let her own hand drop after a moment, feeling foolish again.

She went slowly back into the hotel, hardly able to believe the events that had just transpired. In the space of an hour, her whole life had been turned upside down, and she felt quite dazed. Mrs Thurston was hovering beside the reception desk, a series of questions bursting to find expression. She had been impressed by Mrs Brandon’s icy air, and she was clearly and rather unflatteringly amazed when Christina explained what had brought her to the village.

‘Well, there’s a thing,’ she muttered at intervals as Christina outlined her rather sketchy plans for the immediate future. ‘Well, I hope you’re doing right, Miss Bennett, and no mistake. After all, you’ve only got her word for it that she even knew Miss Grantham. Don’t you go taking too much on trust now, even though she does seem to have plenty of money about her. You be careful. You read such awful things in the papers nowadays.’

Christina was torn between her own doubts which Mrs Thurston was voicing up to a point, and the ludicrous picture of the remote Mrs Brandon as a white slaver which the landlady was obviously enjoying. The doubts won.

There was a good chance that Mr Frith might still be at the sale. He of all people should know whether or not Mrs Brandon was genuine.

The sale was clearly over, and cars were pulling away when Christina trotted breathlessly up. Mr Frith was still there, and she saw with a sinking heart that he was standing beside the Websters’ car saying goodbye to them. She hesitated, but in that moment he saw her and beckoned to her, so she had perforce to approach.

‘Now then, my dear, where did you vanish to?’ He looked her over smilingly.

Christina paused. She had no real wish to discuss this latest change in her fortunes in the hearing of the Websters, so she smiled and murmured something inaudible, hoping they would drive away.

Vivien Webster, however, put her head out of the window and surveyed Christina superciliously.

‘Did you want something?’ she inquired.

‘Just a word with Mr Frith.’ Christina, to her own annoyance, felt herself flush.

‘I see.’ Vivien was silent for a moment, then she said quite gently, ‘You will remember that his time costs money, won’t you? You can’t expect a professional man to continue indefinitely giving you free consultations.’

Her face flaming now, Christina turned to Mr Frith. ‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘It never occurred to me …’

‘Or to me.’ He squeezed her arm reassuringly. ‘What can I do to help, Christina?’

She shook her head, trying to back away. ‘It doesn’t matter. I only wondered … I mean do you know …?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Vivien Webster interrupted irritably. ‘If you have something to say, say it and get it over with!’

Christina tried to ignore her. ‘Did Aunt Grace ever mention a Mrs Brandon to you?’ she asked, but before he could reply, Vivien had butted in again.

‘The Brandons of Archangel?’ she demanded in a surprised tone. ‘But of course she’s mentioned them. She was at school with the wives—I forget their names, but they were sisters and they married two brothers—quite a romantic story. Why do you ask?’

Christina supposed she could refuse to answer, but it did not seem worth the trouble.

‘Because Mrs Brandon is in England and she has offered me a job,’ she said with a certain dignity.

Vivien and her husband exchanged glances. ‘Why on earth should she do that?’ the other woman asked coldly, after a pause. ‘You’re even less to her than you were to my aunt. Have you been writing begging letters to Aunt Grace’s wealthy friends? I do hope not, Christina. It’s so degrading …’

‘I’ve done nothing of the sort,’ Christina said hotly. Tears were not far away, but she blinked them back furiously, refusing to give way to that sort of weakness in front of her present audience. ‘I never even knew of her existence until today. Apparently Aunt Grace wrote to her when she first realised she was ill.’

‘Well, it seems most extraordinary that she should just arrive like that,’ Vivien declared. ‘Was she at the sale? I’m surprised she didn’t introduce herself.’

‘She did,’ Christina said quietly. ‘To me.’

Vivien gave her a hostile look. ‘Well, I still don’t see what interest she has in you. I suppose you spun her some sob story about being destitute. I hope no one sees fit to remind her that there’s such a thing as Social Security.’

Mr Frith touched Christina’s arm and she turned to him gratefully. ‘What kind of a job is it that she’s offered to you?’ he inquired kindly. ‘The name is well-known to me, of course. I believe Miss Grantham has known both the Mrs Brandons since her girlhood, but I had no idea she intended to contact them on your behalf. I must say it seems a godsend under the circumstances.’

‘I don’t see why,’ Vivien interrupted again. ‘I can see no need to turn to strangers. Angela Morton is looking for a reliable mother’s help again—the au pair stormed back to Sweden yesterday—and I’ve almost promised her that she could have Christina.’

Christina felt almost sick with anger. She had heard of Vivien’s friend Angela before. She had four young children and did not believe in discipline of any kind. If Mrs Brandon had indeed been a white slave trader, she thought furiously, she would still have opted for her rather than the Morton ménage.

She made herself smile, aping Vivien’s own superciliousness. ‘What a pity you didn’t think to mention it to me,’ she said with a fair degree of carelessness. ‘Then, of course, I wouldn’t have agreed to go to the West Indies.’

Vivien gave her a fulminating stare, then sat back in her seat and wound the window up in bad-tempered jerks.

Beside her, Christina heard Mr Frith give a little sigh as their car drew away.

She gave him a wan smile. ‘I do seem to have committed myself, don’t I?’

‘Perhaps that isn’t such a bad thing,’ he commented drily. ‘It isn’t easy to find work these days, and this offer seems to have come at just the right time for you.’

‘Yes,’ Christina acknowledged doubtfully. ‘It just seems so odd that she should want to do this for me. I mean, she could just have thrown Aunt Grace’s letter away and forgotten about it. Mrs Webster was right, really. I am a complete stranger to the Brandons and they have no obligation to do anything for me. As it is, I don’t even have to make up my mind yet about working for her, but can just have a holiday at Archangel.’ She repeated the name wonderingly. ‘How strange that sounds.’

Mr Frith frowned a little. ‘If you’re really unsure, Christina, I can always make some inquiries for you,’ he said. ‘Have you any reason to doubt this lady’s probity?’

‘Oh, no,’ Christina said quickly. ‘It seems she’s just what she said—a friend of Aunt Grace’s. That’s really all I wanted to know.’ She paused, then held out her hand. ‘I shall be joining her in London tomorrow, so I don’t suppose I shall have the chance to see you again. Will—will you thank your wife for me for all her kindness.’