‘That’s right. Care to see under the bonnet?’ With a smile,he began to show the boy around the car, giving Selina a nod. ‘I’ll call in a few days, shall I?’
‘Thank you.’
Smiling, she went inside the house, stripping off her driving gloves, and found her two nieces in the hall, hearing their angry squeals and cries before she saw them. Four-year-old Faith was in a tug-of-war with Jemima, her eleven-year-old sister.
Horrified, she stepped between the two fair-haired girls. ‘Jemima? Why aren’t you with your tutor? And it’s not very nice to be fighting with Faith. She’s only small, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Sorry, Aunt Selly.’ With a muffled sob, Jemima let go of the rag doll they’d been squabbling over and stepped back, flushed and guilty. ‘Mr Harrington went home early with a bad head cold. And I didn’t mean to fight with Faith,’ she added unhappily. ‘But Tabitha is mine and she won’t give her back.’
‘Mine, mine!’ Faith insisted with a shake of her head, clutching her trophy to her chest.
‘Tabitha? Is that the name of the doll?’ Selina asked.
Jemima nodded solemnly.
With a sigh, Selina crouched. ‘May I see her, Faith?’ Reluctantly, the little girl relinquished the rag doll. It was worn and tatty, and had clearly seen better days. She glanced around at Jemima, and was surprised to see a tear rolling down the older girl’s cheek. ‘This was your doll once?’
Jemima gave a jerky nod. ‘Mummy gave it to me when Faith was born. She helped me choose the name. Only Faith found the doll under my bed today and stole it. It’s not fair.’
‘You’re a bit old now for rag dolls, Jemima.’ Selina studied her averted profile sympathetically. The older girl had rallied surprisingly well after her mother’s death. But now that Peter was due to leave for boarding school, she was showing signs of nervous strain. ‘Shall we let Faith have Tabitha for now, and see about getting you something more fitting for a girl your age?’ She hesitated. ‘Didn’t you say you’d like a pony one day?’
Jemima turned astonished eyes on her. ‘A pony? Oh, Aunt Selly, you’re simply the best. Do you really mean it?’
‘Of course I do.’ Selina smiled. ‘When I was your age, I was horse-mad. There are riding stables in Bodmin. I’ll write and ask if they have any suitable animals for sale. Anyway, a pony would be good company for your mother’s horse. I don’t ride her as often as I should, and I expect she gets lonely on her own, poor thing.’
Jemima threw her arms about Selina’s neck, hugging her tight. ‘Thank you, thank you. I’m sorry I was such a prig over the doll. Of course Faith can have it.’
‘Excellent. Now, go and put Tabitha back in the nursery, and wash your hands and face before lunch.’
Selina straightened, watching with relief as both girls hurried back up to the nursery together, holding hands now.
She was just hanging up her hat and coat in the cloakroom when she heard Mrs Hawley come hurrying down the hall towards her, her heels clacking on the polished floor.
‘Ah, Miss Tiptree. I heard the car come back. The girls have got some bee in their bonnet over a rag doll,’ the housekeeper told her, exasperation in her voice. She wore her silvery hair in an austere bun, her lips garishly scarlet, often pursed in disapproving lines, but Selina knew MrsHawley to be a kindly woman at heart, who had supported her every step of the way since her sister’s death.
‘It’s all sorted out.’ Selina gave her a weary smile. ‘Though I had to offer Jemima a pony to do it.’
The older woman looked aghast. ‘A pony, Miss? I don’t know how you’ll manage to feed it as well as Mrs March’s old horse. Everything’s in such short supply at the moment, and the weather’s getting colder every day. We’d have to order in some extra feed and bales of hay, and I don’t know if the housekeeping would stretch to that.’
Selina looked at her, stricken. She hadn’t fully considered the ramifications of her impulsive offer. Mr MacGregor handled the estate finances and was always very generous. But she knew that funds were not limitless. And an extra animal to feed over the winter might indeed prove a strain on the household budget. ‘I could put Jemima off until the spring, I suppose,’ she admitted. ‘Ask her to wait until her twelfth birthday. Though she won’t be very happy. Not now I’ve promised.’
‘We all have to make sacrifices in times of need,’ Mrs Hawley said shortly, and handed over an envelope. ‘This came in the post for you, Miss. Shall I bring the tea tray now you’re back or will you wait until after lunch?’
‘Mrs Hawley, you are a treasure. I wouldlovea cup of tea now, if you don’t mind. Learning to drive is terrifying … I don’t suppose you’d care to give me lessons, would you?’
Mrs Hawley drove a battered old vehicle that was always covered in mud, and while Selina wasn’t keen on learning to drive in such a wreck, it would certainly be less worrying than the thought of denting Mr MacGregor’s elegant Wolseley.
‘Sorry, Miss, but I’m run off my feet at the moment. Talking of which, have you advertised for a new nanny yet?’
‘You know I promised my sister I’d look after the children myself. Besides, their last nanny wasawful.’ Selina pulled a face, remembering the ordeal of having to sack her. ‘She made the children cry. Or have you forgotten?’
‘I haven’t forgotten Martha,’ Mrs Hawley assured her. ‘We were all glad when you dismissed that good-for-nothing girl, and no mistake. But I’ve only one pair of hands, and no time to be giving driving lessons. Now, I’ll see about that tea tray.’
With a sigh, Selina changed into her slippers and housecoat and headed for the drawing room. There, she sat down in a comfortable armchair to read her letter. Mrs Hawley soon came in with the tea tray before hurrying away.
She’d recognised the handwriting on the envelope at once. It was from her dear friend Caroline Ponsby, who was still working as a Land Girl in Porthcurno, just as she herself had been before her sister had written earlier that year, asking for help.
Her own life as a Land Girl seemed such a long time ago. So much had happened since leaving Postbridge Farm for the intimidating moorland grandeur of Thornton Hall, and much of her time here had been spent in mourning, grief-stricken. But she enjoyed hearing from Caroline, who wrote to her every week, so that her memories of those days never faded.
