The little cottage occupied by the two sisters stood in a secluded clearing on the fringe of the grounds where the main kennel block was situated. Caryl had been with Sandy, trying in vain to pacify him and eventually coming away from his cage with tears in her eyes.
'He'll die of a broken heart,' she predicted on joining Emma, who was in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. 'Just think, he's never before been parted from the invalid lady who's owned him for over twelve years, and now he's to be kept in quarantine for six whole months.'
Emma sighed and nodded her dark head. 'He's in a terrible state, bewildered and wondering what's happening to him and where his beloved mistress is. Apparently he was used to sitting beside her wheelchair all day and sleeping at the foot of her bed at night.'
'And now he's not only parted from her but he has concrete under him and wire mesh all around his small cage. If only we were allowed to take these quarantined dogs for walks it wouldn't be so bad. They have no real exercise for six months—it's inhuman!'
'You do feel strongly about it, I know.' Emma gave another sigh. She was dicing carrots and dropping them into a pan of hot, salted water. 'I fully agree that the dogs should be allowed exercise, but unfortunately it's the rule that they are confined to their small cages for six months, and there isn't a thing we can do about it.'
'I'd go over to Sandy later this evening, but Mrs. Blakeman'll scream if she sees me.' Mrs. Blakeman was the proprietor's wife, and from the first Caryl had had difficulty in getting along with her. Caryl was too soft-hearted for the job, the woman had said. The dogs suffered a little, but there were few casualties. That was true, Caryl had to admit, seeing as there had been only two deaths in the kennels in eight years.
Caryl was quiet over dinner, her mind wholly occupied with the little dog who was pining for his mistress. He had been collected from Heathrow Airport three days ago and had been crying ever since. Caryl had charge of him, along with a number of other dogs, and it was only after sustained persuasion that she had managed to get him to take a drink of milk. As for food—he had not eaten anything since being put into the relatively small cage which was the regulation size as set down by the Ministry of Agriculture for dogs undergoing quarantine.
'I've a good mind to risk Mrs. Blakeman's temper and go over to see Sandy,' said Caryl thoughtfully as she began to wash the dishes. 'She can't eat me, and in any case, it won't be the first time she's had complaints to make.'
'If only you could be a little harder, love.' Emma sighed as she picked up a tea towel to dry the cutlery. 'I sometimes wonder if we made a mistake in taking on this kind of work.'
'We both love animals; that was reason enough.' There had been another reason, though, for when their father had remarried, his new wife and daughters had found it impossible to share the same house. The opening for kennel-maids was advertised, and as there was a cottage going along with the jobs, the girls applied. Two girls were required, preferably with experience. Mr. Blakeman had taken one look at them and decided experience was not necessary. He had known they would work conscientiously and would be kind to the animals in their care. They had instantly become friendly with Mr. Blakeman, and Emma managed to get along reasonably well with his wife, but for some reason Caryl and her employer's wife seemed invariably to rub one another the wrong way, and if it had not been for inconveniencing Emma, Caryl would have sought a post at another kennels.
It was a fortnight later that Caryl said with relief, 'Sandy seems to be settling down a bit better now.'
'Due entirely to you,' stated Emma emphatically. 'The time you spend with him! He couldn't help but respond to that kind of petting and pampering. His mistress ought to remember you in her will!'
'She'll probably never know just how much trouble her little dog has caused,' laughed Caryl. It was Sunday, and although she and Emma were off duty, Caryl had been over to see Sandy and give him his midday snack. 'He's actually managing to wag his tail now and then.'
'Success! I think you're marvellous, Caryl.' Emma's voice was edged with admiration, and her eyes, too, were admiring as they swept over Caryl's face, taking in the delicately fashioned features, the wide, compassionate mouth above an unexpectedly determined chin, the small, retroussé nose, the smoky blue eyes framed by long, curling lashes. The brows were exquisitely arched, the forehead high and clear; the hair, russet brown spangled with gold, was short and naturally curly, giving her face an elfin quality which in turn made her appear much younger than her twenty-four years.
The following morning a letter arrived for Emma, and so engrossed did she become in it that Caryl, watching her intently, wondered whom it could be from.
At last Emma glanced up, her face a study as she said, 'You'll never guess who's writing to me.'
'I haven't the faintest idea.'
'Brad Craven.'
'Brad!' Caryl's eyes widened to their fullest extent, then became shuttered. 'What does he want?' So calm the tone, but the forward leap of her emotions set Caryl's nerve ends tingling, her heartbeat racing.
'You'll remember he's the heir of a wealthy landowner in the south of England?'
Caryl nodded. Although time had erased the pain she had once experienced, there was still little about Brad Craven that she did not remember. 'In lovely Dorset, it was.'
'That's right. Sir Geoffrey Goudham is Brad's uncle. I met him each time Brad took me down there, and although he's an overbearing, choleric old man, there was something likable in his makeup. Brad had no parents, and his uncle had adopted the role of guardian.' Emma stopped and grimaced. 'Brad wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea, but he admired the old man, and in effect they seemed to be very good friends.' Another pause, during which a sort of sadness crept into Emma's face. 'Sir Geoffrey's almost blind, and in addition he feels instinctively that he hasn't much time left to live. Brad says he has a young man in attendance on him, a sort of male nurse-companion, who is with him almost constantly.'
'Does Brad still manage the home farm and estate?' Caryl was puzzled as to why Brad was writing to her sister, but she refrained from asking because she knew Emma would tell her in her own good time.
'Yes—well, he doesn't mention it but I expect the position is the same now as when I was engaged to Brad.' Emma's eyes dropped to the letter again. 'If you remember, the old man sent for me after I broke off the engagement. He thought the sun shone out of me and was bitterly disappointed at my action in deciding not to marry his nephew.'
Caryl nodded her head reflectively. 'I remember your telling me about his disappointment and his repeated efforts in trying to make you change your mind.' Memories and impressions came crowding into Caryl's mind, and even now, after six years, she could blush at Brad's treatment of her when, at eighteen, she had thrown herself at him. Losing patience, he had taught her a lesson, in his own arrogant and masterful way, laughing in her face after the humiliating chastisement had been administered.
'The reason for this letter is that Sir Geoffrey told Brad to ask me to go down and see him. Brad wrote to Father to see if I was still there. Dad gave him this address.'
'Shall you go?' Caryl watched her sister intently; she had often wondered if Emma had ever regretted her action in breaking off her engagement to Brad.
'I suppose I ought to, but I can't say I really want to. It's a long way, and, to tell the truth, I'd feel embarrassed, in a way, with Sir Geoffrey being blind. Besides, the fact that I'm not married might set him off again.'
'About Brad, do you mean? So Brad isn't married, either?' It was strange how, after that initial leap of emotion, she could now discuss Brad with total impartiality and lack of any deep feeling. Time, the inevitable healer, had certainly cured her of whatever it was she had felt for Brad. At the time it had seemed like real love that would last forever, but now Caryl believed it was no more than a schoolgirl crush on the inordinately attractive young man to whom her sister had soon become engaged. Whatever it was, it no longer mattered; Caryl felt nothing stronger than interest in this latest and unexpected situation in which Emma had become involved.
'Brad doesn't actually say he isn't married, but I can tell by the gist of the letter that he's still single.'
'You ought to go,' said Caryl. 'The old man won't badger you to marry Brad, simply because he must know that after all this time there could be nothing between you. He probably believed you'd be married to someone else, in any case.'
'Could have done. Father will have told Brad that I'm still single, but whether or not he mentioned Patrick is another matter—and not important.'
'It seems to me that Sir Geoffrey's reason for wanting you to go is that he feels he must see you before—before he dies.' Caryl frowned as she spoke. She was feeling sad at such a request and, strangely, was wishing she had known Sir Geoffrey. He seemed nice in spite of the irascible ways he used to have—and which he probably still had. Caryl fell to wondering about this young man who looked after him. It must be a dull life, and she assumed the man must be a dedicated kind of person to take on a post like that.
'When Sir Geoffrey does die, then Brad'll be a near millionaire—lord of the manor. However, I don't expect his life-style will change much. Brad's dedicated to the outdoor life, to managing the farm and the rest of the estate.' Emma paused in thought, and Caryl did not interrupt her. 'I don't want to go,' she repeated at length, and she looked at Caryl long and hard, a strange expression on her face.
Caryl had fallen into a reflective mood, recalling her first meeting with the man who had later asked Emma to marry him. It was at a dance to which she and Emma had been invited by their father's employer, who was giving it for his staff. Caryl had been drawn to Brad Craven the moment she was introduced to him, and for the whole of the evening she had followed his tall, impressive figure with her eyes, hoping he would dance with her… willing him to do so. She had been bitterly disappointed when, although giving Emma a great deal of attention, she realised he hadn't even noticed she had a sister. Afterwards he had remained in her thoughts for a long while, and even now she could recapture his image completely—the finely chiselled features and bronzed skin, tight and clear and stretched so tautly over the prominent cheekbones that hollows were created beneath them to give his features an angular aspect that to Caryl was both attractive and repelling. A formidable face of strength and character, inordinately distinctive owing to the arrogant lines, the steely depths of eyes the colour of deepest grey. The wide, sensuous mouth was yet set and firm, complementing the dominant chin and outthrust jaw. Caryl remembered the tall, lithe frame, and the way Brad walked, with that superior, confident gait that set him apart from all other men in her eyes. She saw him as a typical English gentleman, a man of the patrician class, of the aristocracy… and knew instinctively from the start that he was far out of her reach. But yet he had become attracted to Emma, had wanted to marry her.
Caryl had watched with aching heart the affair develop, had known that Brad had a domineering personality and that the woman he married would have to accept that he was her master. She had wondered about Emma and how she would react, for Emma was no weakling, no suppliant who would be happy to be domineered over. He had become a regular visitor to the Chapman home, and although it was Emma who drew him, Caryl would be quite unable to refrain from seizing every opportunity of making sure he noticed her, and one day when she was alone with him she had deliberately flirted, flaunting her attractions in a gauche and inexperienced way which was bound to exasperate him, although of course Caryl did not know that at the time. For a while he managed to ignore her, but then, losing patience, he had spanked her hard and told her to grow up. Caryl felt she hated him, but on the day her sister became engaged to him she wept as if her heart would break.
At the time Emma had admitted it was Brad's expectations which attracted her more than the man himself. He would be much too bossy for her, she had told Caryl. 'I fancy myself as the lady of the manor,' Emma had confessed quite openly, 'and that's why I've accepted him, and yet…' A brooding, doubtful silence had followed before Emma added, 'He'll domineer over me, Caryl, and I don't know how I shall react.'
After an engagement lasting two months Emma decided to break it, not at the time realising how that was to affect the old man who had looked forward eagerly to the time when he would have her in his home, bringing it warmth, and producing an heir to follow Brad when the time came.
'I want you to know I'm heartbroken over this,' he had told Emma when, after he had sent for her, she had obeyed his summons and travelled down to Dorset to see him. 'There's no girl I'd rather have for a niece-in-law than you, dear. Won't you reconsider?'
'We're not really suited,' Emma had explained as gently as she could. 'Brad's so arrogantly superior where women are concerned. It's plain that he considers us the weaker sex, and his wife would never be allowed to forget it.' Emma had paused, but the old man just sat there, lost in a sad silence, tears glistening in his eyes. 'I just know I'd rebel, Sir Geoffrey. I could never tolerate being mastered.'
Caryl had heard of the break with mixed feelings, for by then she had almost convinced herself that, once Brad and Emma were married, she would be able to forget how she was feeling for him, simply because she would have to accept that he was lost to her forever.
'I think you should consider going, Emma. It will give Sir Geoffrey pleasure.'
'I'm not sure. You see, if he should ask me anything about myself—what I've been doing with my life—I'd have to mention Patrick, telling Sir Geoffrey I'm engaged. That might make him sad rather than give him pleasure.' She looked inquiringly at Caryl, inviting some comment, and again Caryl noticed that odd expression in her eyes.
'I don't think there's any need to mention Patrick. You could just tell Sir Geoffrey about your job here, and that you and I share a cottage. No, I can't see any necessity for mentioning Patrick.' Caryl allowed her thoughts to dwell for a space on Emma's fiancé. He was in Nigeria for two years, working for an oil company in Lagos, and although he would dearly have loved Emma to have married him before he went so that she could go with him, he at the same time admitted that Nigeria was not the sort of place to start their married life. And in any case, Emma, always wise before the event, had already decided to wait until his stint was done. He would be sent to Holland next, and Emma knew she could be happy there.
'In any case,' she had said, with both Caryl and Patrick present, 'I couldn't leave Caryl on her own. I'm hoping she'll find herself a husband in the next two years.'
Caryl often hoped she would be fortunate enough to meet a man who was her ideal and get married. But no one had come her way, and although she was only twenty-four, six years younger than Emma, she was beginning to resign herself to spinsterhood. When she mentioned this to Emma, her sister would laugh and say she was far too attractive ever to be left on the shelf.
'One day, my love,' she predicted, 'you'll be swept right off your feet!' She had paused and then, quietly: 'You once liked Brad, didn't you?'
Caryl had coloured up. It was the first time her feelings for Brad had been referred to, and in spite of the blush she was able to look at Emma without embarrassment and say, 'At that time it was far more than liking, Emma. It seemed like the real thing.'
'But now you know it wasn't.' More a statement than a question, and Caryl nodded in agreement.
'Yes, it was nothing deep, because there's no pain now.'
'I've been thinking—' Emma's words brought Caryl from her reverie and she looked across at her, feeling rather tense for what appeared to be no reason at all. 'Why don't you go down and pretend to be me? It would be a nice little trip for you, because Brad says the first-class fare will be paid. If Sir Geoffrey's almost blind, he'll not know the difference. We're the same height and colouring—'
'Emma, you're not serious!' Caryl could only gape at her for the next few seconds. 'Why on earth have you suggested a thing like that? And in any case, what about Brad? What would he have to say about it?'
'He'd probably be as casual as I am about it. Old Sir Geoffrey would be happy, so what has it to do with Brad?'
'You're crazy!'
'Well, I can't see what makes you say a thing like that.' Emma frowned almost plaintively. 'It so happens that I don't feel like making the long journey. It also happens that you are concerned about the old man—'
'Not particularly concerned,' Caryl broke in to deny, 'but I do feel you have the chance of giving him a little pleasure, so you ought to put yourself out to do so.'
'You make me feel so selfish,' complained her sister. 'To tell the truth, I don't think I want to meet Brad again after all this time.'
'You feel you might find yourself regretting the broken engagement?'
Emma shook her head vigorously. 'In no way would I ever come to regret it. I'm in love with Patrick, and that's that. However, I have a feeling I'd be awkward, embarrassed, meeting Brad again. But if you went—'
'I have no intention of going,' interrupted Caryl in a firm, decisive voice. 'If you don't want to go, then you'll have to phone Brad and tell him so.'
***
It was only a few hours after Emma had phoned that, coming as a shock to everyone concerned, Mr. Blakeman announced that he was closing the kennels down.
'He and his wife are parting,' one of the other kennel-maids said. 'They've had one unholy row, and she's leaving today.'
'When are the kennels to be closed?'
'Very soon. Mr. Blakeman wants to go out to his married daughter in Sydney, Australia.'
'But what about the dogs?' Caryl's thoughts were already with Sandy, who, were he to be moved away from her at this time, would undoubtedly die of a broken heart. His age was against him; the vet had said this right at the start, when it seemed the little dog would never stop fretting.
'The owners will be asked to find alternative accommodation for their pets, but, meanwhile, I believe Mr. Blakeman's already arranging with the owners of Frogholme Kennels to take them.'
'Frogholme!' cried Caryl, going pale. 'No, he can't do that! At least, he can't do it to Sandy. They're the worst quarantine kennels in the country, and in addition they're so far away I'd not even be able to visit Sandy. They're ten miles beyond Hindlington, which is about sixty miles from here.'
'Well, as far as I know, that's what's going to happen. Why don't you ask Mr. Blakeman yourself, if you're so concerned about Sandy?'
Mr. Blakeman verified what the kennel-maid had said. 'You and Emma will be able to stay at the cottage until you find somewhere else,' he added. 'I shall make that quite clear to whoever buys the land.'
'Can't the kennels be sold as a going concern?'
'It would take time. I want to leave almost immediately. I've had over twenty years at keeping kennels, Caryl, and I'm now eager to retire.' He walked away before Caryl could say anything about Sandy, and she was almost in tears when she entered the cottage after having spent over an hour by Sandy's cage.
'What's wrong?' Emma looked at her with both perception and concern. 'It's the dog, isn't it?'
'He'll die, Emma.'
'I agree, but what can we do?' Emma paused a moment. 'We're all out of work, Caryl. We'd be better thinking of ourselves rather than one little dog, unfortunate as the poor little mite is.'
Caryl suddenly became thoughtful. 'If I remember rightly, Sir Geoffrey owns a quarantine kennels.'
Emma's eyes widened. 'Yes; he established one a few years ago in the grounds of the dower house, which lies a short distance from the main mansion.' A small, perceptive silence followed before Emma said, a trace of humour in her voice, 'You've changed your mind about going on that visit to Dorset?'
'If I could get a job there, and take Sandy with me…'
'Why don't you telephone Brad? I have the number on the letter.'
'What about you—if I did succeed in getting myself taken on at the Goudham Kennels?'
'Don't worry about me, Caryl. I shall stay on here, in the cottage for a while—and in any case, I can't see these kennels closing down immediately. The transfer of the dogs will take time; I'm not so sure that Mr. Blakeman can move them without consulting the owners, who will surely want to find alternative kennels for themselves. I firmly believe it'll be a few weeks before all the dogs are rehoused, and in the meantime my job's safe simply because we kennel-maids will be needed. Mr. Blakeman's upset, remember, and he believes he can get out within days. When he calms down a bit, he'll see it's stupid even to think of ridding himself of his encumbrances in such a short space of time.'
'But eventually,' persisted Caryl. 'Where will you go when the kennels do close down?'
'Get another job—or at a pinch I could go out to Patrick.' Something in her voice made Caryl look sharply at her.
'You want to go?'
'The prospect isn't as daunting as it appeared at first. From Patrick's letters Nigeria doesn't seem all that bad. Patrick's gone shares with another man in buying a boat, and they go sailing every weekend. He says the sailing there's just fabulous.' Emma paused in thought. 'You know how keen I've always been to have a boat but didn't think I'd ever be so lucky. Well, here's my chance!'
'You'd not go just for the sailing, surely?'
'Of course not. I want to get married.'
'So if I do land this job with Sir Geoffrey, it'll help you as well?'
'Now don't go getting ideas that I've been making a sacrifice—thinking entirely of you, being on your own here. It's suited me to stay in England because I really believed it wasn't going to be pleasant in Nigeria. From Patrick's last two letters it seems that both he and I were wrong and that one can enjoy oneself there. So just you do your own thing, and I shall be perfectly all right, I promise you.'
Caryl was satisfied. She felt optimistic about getting a job with Sir Geoffrey—or with Brad, because of course it was he who ran the estate, and she supposed the kennels were under his control, too. She might just feel slightly embarrassed at seeing Brad again, especially if he should remind her of that punishment he had inflicted. However, that was a minor concern in comparison with the plight of Sandy. And it was Sandy she was thinking of when she made her final decision to go down to Dorset.
