of you.’ Her mother smiled charmingly at him. ‘Do come in and have a cup of coffee.’
He saw the look on Daisy’s face and his thin mouth twitched. ‘I must get back to the hospital, I’m afraid; perhaps another time?’
‘Any time,’ said Mrs Pelham largely, ignoring Daisy’s frown. ‘Do you live in Wilton? I don’t remember seeing your car…?’
‘In Salisbury, but I have a sister living along the Wylye valley.’
‘Well, we don’t want to keep you. Thank you for bringing Daisy home.’ Mrs Pelham offered a hand but Daisy didn’t. She had seen his lifted eyebrows at her name; Daisy was a silly name and it probably amused him. She wished him goodbye in a cool voice, echoing her mother’s thanks. She didn’t like him; he was overbearing and had ridden roughshod over her objections to being given a lift. That she would still have been biking tiredly from Salisbury without his offer was something she chose to ignore.
‘What a nice man,’ observed her mother as they watched the car sliding away, back to the crossroads. ‘How very kind of him to bring you home. You must tell us all about it, darling—’ she wrinkled her nose ‘—but perhaps you’d like a bath first.’
When Daisy reached the nursery school in the morning she found Mrs Gower-Jones in a black mood. The cook had disappeared and the police were trying to trace her, she had had people inspecting her kitchen and asking questions and the school was to be closed until it had been thoroughly cleaned and inspected. A matter of some weeks, even months. ‘So you can take a week’s notice,’ said Mrs Gower-Jones. ‘I’ve seen the other girls too. Don’t expect to come back here either; if and when I open again parents won’t want to see any of you—they’ll always suspect you.’
‘I should have thought,’ observed Daisy in a reasonable voice, ‘that they would be more likely to suspect you, Mrs Gower-Jones. After all, you engaged the cook.’
Mrs Gower-Jones had always considered Daisy to be a quiet, easily put-upon girl; now she looked at her in amazement while her face slowly reddened. ‘Well, really, Miss Pelham—how dare you say such a thing?’
‘Well, it’s true.’ Dasiy added without rancour, ‘Anyway I wouldn’t want to come back here to work; I’d feel as suspicious as the parents.’
‘Leave at once,’ said her employer, ‘and don’t expect a reference. I’ll post on your cheque.’
‘I’ll wait while you write it, Mrs Gower-Jones,’ said Daisy mildly.
She was already making plans as she cycled back to Wilton. She would have to get another job as soon as possible; her mother’s pension wasn’t enough to keep all three of them and Pamela had at least two more years at school. They paid the estate a very modest rent but there were still taxes and lighting and heating and food. They relied on Daisy’s wages to pay for clothes and small extra comforts. There was never any money to save; her father had left a few hundred pounds in the bank but that was for a rainy day, never to be spent unless in dire emergency.
Back home, she explained everything to her mother, carefully keeping any note of anxiety out of her voice. They would be able to go on much as usual for a week or two and surely in that time she would find a job. It was a pity she wasn’t trained for anything; she had gone to a good school because her father had been alive then and the fees had been found, although at the cost of holidays and small luxuries, and since she had done well the plan had been to send her to one of the minor universities, leading to a teaching post eventually. His death had been unexpected and premature; Daisy left the university after only a year there and came home to shoulder the responsibilities of the household and take the job at the nursery school.
Her mother reassured, she went out and bought the local paper and searched the jobs column. There was nothing; at least, there was plenty of work for anyone who understood computers and the like and there were several pigpersons wanted, for pig breeding flourished in her part of the world. It was a great pity that the tourist season would be over soon, otherwise she might have enquired if there was work for her in the tearooms at Wilton House. Tomorrow, she decided, she would go into Salisbury, visit the agencies and the job centre.
It was a bad time of year to find work, she was told; now if she had asked when the season started, no doubt there would have been something for her—a remark kindly meant but of little comfort to her.
By the end of the week her optimism was wearing thin although she preserved a composed front towards her mother and Pamela. She was sitting at her mother’s writing desk answering an advertisement for a mother’s help when someone knocked on the door. Pamela was in her room, deep in schoolwork; her mother was out shopping. Daisy went to answer it.
CHAPTER TWO
DAISY recognised the person on the doorstep. ‘Lady Thorley—please come in. The twins are all right?’
‘Quite recovered,’ said their mother. ‘I wanted to talk to you…’
Daisy led the way into the small sitting-room, nicely furnished and with a bowl of roses on the Georgian circular table under the window, offered a chair and then sat down opposite her visitor, her hands folded quietly in her lap, composedly waiting to hear the reason for the visit. It would be something to do with the nursery school, she felt sure, some small garment missing…
‘Are you out of a job?’ Lady Thorley smiled. ‘Forgive me for being nosy, but Mrs Gower-Jones tells me that she has closed the place down for some time at least.’
‘Well, yes, she has, and we all had a week’s notice…’
‘Then if you are free, would you consider coming to us for a while? The twins—they’re a handful, more than I can cope with, and they like you. If you hear of something better you would be free to go, but you would be a godsend. There must be other nursery schools, although I don’t know of any. I thought that if you would come while I find a governess for them…only I don’t want to be hurried over that—she will have to be someone rather special. Would you give it a try?’
‘I could come each day?’
‘Oh, yes. We’re at Steeple Langford—about three miles from here. Is there a bus?’
‘I have a bike.’
‘You’ll give it a try? Is half-past eight too early for you? Until five o’clock—that’s a long day, I know, but you would have Saturday and Sunday.’ She hesitated. ‘And perhaps occasionally you would sleep in if we were about to go out for the evening? We have some good servants but I’d rather it was you.’ And when Daisy hesitated she added, ‘I don’t know what you were paid by Mrs Gower-Jones but we would pay the usual rate.’ She named a sum which sent Daisy’s mousy eyebrows up. Twice the amount Mrs Gower-Jones had paid her; heaven-sent, although she felt bound to tell her visitor that it was more than she had earned at the nursery school.
‘By the end of the week you will agree with me that you will have earned every penny. You have only had the twins for a few days, diluted with other children. Full-strength, as it were, they’re formidable.’ She smiled charmingly. ‘You see, I’m not pretending that they’re little angels. I love them dearly but because of that I’m not firm enough.’
‘When would you like me to start?’ asked Daisy. ‘Only you’ll want references.’
‘Oh, never mind those,’ said
