side—the house is pleasant and there is a delightful garden. You will have time for yourself each day and be independent. The salary is forty pounds a week…’
‘Forty pounds? A week? I’ve never had…’ She stopped just in time from telling him that she seldom had more than forty pence in her pocket. He wouldn’t believe her if she did. She finished rather lamely, ‘A job, I’m not trained for anything, Henry says…’
‘Perhaps you will allow me to be the judge of that?’ he suggested kindly. ‘Will it be difficult for you to leave home?’
She thought for a moment. ‘Yes, but I’m twenty-one. Would you mind very much if I told them now, while you are here?’
‘Certainly I will stay. Perhaps if there is any difficulty, I may be able to persuade your brother. When could you come with me to see Mr and Mrs Grainger?’
She resisted the wish to shout ‘Now!’ and said in her matter-of-fact way, ‘Whenever you wish, Dr Fitzroy.’
‘I’ll come for you tomorrow morning, and if you and they like each other, perhaps you could start on the following day?’
Katherine closed her eyes for a moment. There would be angry words and bad temper and endless arguments, but they couldn’t last for ever. ‘I’d like that.’
She got up, went to the door and found him there, pushing it open for her, something Henry had never done for her; good manners weren’t to be wasted on a sister that he didn’t particularly like. He was still standing before the fireplace and, from the way that he and Joyce looked at her as she went in, she knew that they had been talking about her. She crossed the room and stood in front of her brother.
‘Dr Fitzroy has offered me a job, which I have accepted,’ she told him in a voice which she was glad to hear sounded firm.
Henry gobbled, ‘A job? What kind of job, pray? And what about the children?’
She said calmly, ‘I should think you could get a mother’s help—after all, most people do—or Joyce could give up some of her committees.’ She sighed because Henry was working himself into a rage, and Joyce, once the doctor had gone, would be even worse.
Dr Fitzroy spoke now in a slow, placid manner which disregarded Henry’s red face. ‘Your sister is exactly right for an excellent post with two of my elderly patients. I have been searching for someone for some time, and her good sense when I asked for her help the other morning convinced me that she is exactly what Mr and Mrs Grainger need. I shall call for her in the morning so that she may have an interview, and I hope she will be able to go to them on the following day.’
Joyce said shrilly, ‘Who are these people? We know nothing about them! Katherine has never been away from home before; she’ll miss home life…’ She caught the doctor’s sardonic eye and paused. ‘She can go now, as far as I’m concerned,’ she said sulkily.
He ignored her. ‘I’ll be here at nine o’clock, if that suits you?’ He had spoken to Katherine, and then turned to Henry. ‘You may have my word that your sister will be happy as companion to the Graingers. There will be no housework, of course, and she will be paid a salary.’ He added a very civil goodnight, and Katherine, walking on air, took him to the door.
Before she shut it, he asked, ‘You’ll be all right?’
She nodded; there would be a good deal of unpleasantness before she could go to her room and start packing and looking out something suitable to wear in the morning, but she felt capable of outfacing the forthcoming recriminations with the promise of such a splendid future before her. And she would see Dr Fitzroy, too, sometimes. She hugged the thought to herself as she went back to the drawing-room.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS a good thing that Katherine felt so euphoric about her future, for the next hour tried her sorely. Henry, having recovered from his first surprise, had marshalled a number of forceful arguments, hampered rather than helped by Joyce’s ill-natured complaints.
Katherine listened patiently and, when he had quite done, said kindly, ‘Well, Henry, I would have thought that you would have been pleased. You don’t need to be responsible for me any more, do you?’
Henry was an alarming puce once more. ‘Your ingratitude cuts me to the quick,’ he told her. ‘After all this time, giving you a home and food and clothes…’
She smiled at him and said sensibly, ‘And look what you got for that—unpaid housework, someone to look after the children and, because I’m your sister, there was no need to give me an allowance.’ She added, ‘It will be nice to have some money.’ Emboldened by the prospect of a glowing future, she walked to the door, just as Henry got his breath for another speech. ‘I’m rather tired,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I think I’ll go to bed. I haven’t finished the washing up, but there are only the saucepans left to do. Goodnight, Joyce—Henry.’
In her room, she sat down on her bed and cried. She had tried hard to please Henry and Joyce, she had accepted the care of the children and she had done her best to love them, but it was a singularly unloving household. She had never been happy in it and she was glad to leave it. All the same, it would have been nice if Henry and Joyce had uttered just one word of encouragement or thanks.
She got up presently, and crossed the landing to the children’s room. They needed tucking up once more, and she did this with her usual care, before going to the boxroom and fetching her two cases. Packing wouldn’t take long: her wardrobe was small, and most of it wasn’t worth packing. She had a tweed suit, elderly but well cut and good material; she would have to wear that until she had enough money to buy some decent clothes. She hoped that Mr and Mrs Grainger weren’t the kind of people to dress for dinner; it seemed unlikely, but she had a plain wool dress, very out-of-date, like the suit, but it had at one time been good, and would pass muster at a pinch.
She felt better now she had started her packing. She got ready for bed, hopped between the chilly sheets, closed her eyes and, very much to her surprise, went to sleep at once.
It was a scramble in the morning. Katherine got up earlier than usual, got into the suit and the sensible, low-heeled shoes which were suitable for everyday wear and country walks with the children. Then she did her face carefully with the sketchy make-up she possessed, tied her hair back with a narrow ribbon and went along to the nursery. For once, good fortune was on her side; the children were quite willing to be washed and dressed and given their breakfast. She took them downstairs and made tea for herself, laid the table for the children and for Henry, who wouldn’t be down for half an hour or so, and gave them their breakfast. She was too excited to eat, and she hadn’t considered what meals they would have later on. She wasn’t even sure when she would be back; what was more, she didn’t much care!
She cleared the table, took the children to the playroom and made more tea for Henry, who, on his way downstairs, put his head round the door to wish the children good morning but ignored her. She heard him leave the house presently and Mrs Todd crashing plates and saucepans in the kitchen. She would have to get Joyce out of bed before she went. Dr Fitzroy had said nine o’clock, and it was ten minutes to the hour.
Joyce didn’t answer as she went into the bedroom. Katherine drew back the curtains. ‘I’m going now,’ she said. ‘The children have had their breakfast and are in the playroom. I don’t know when I’ll be back.’
Joyce lifted her head. ‘I feel ill,’ she said pettishly. ‘You simply can’t go—you’ll
