The Dream Within E-Book

Barbara Cartland

• Herausgeber: Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Eternal Collection
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 462

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Three sisters - Anne, Marigold and Sally - daughters of the lately-deceased Vicar of St. Chytas, leave their Cornish village and move to London to try and find work. Their hope of making enough money to support themselves is harder than they thought, but soon, through their resourcefulness and good luck, each sister finds a position, each beset with difficult challenges. As the drudgery of work continues the sisters also have their own dreams. Anne, the eldest, dreams of marrying a Duke. Marigold, whose red-gold curls danced about her pretty face, longed for a life of wealth and glamour and practical Sally, with her misty loveliness, dreamed of returning to home to the Cornish coast she so dearly loved. Will the sisters succeed in obtaining their heart's desire or will misunderstandings and the twists of fate keep them from love. All is revealed in this beautifully told story of heartbreak and happiness, love and dreams...

Leseprobe

1

“What are we going to do?”

The question was a cry of despair. It was Sally who answered, turning round from her perch on the wide window-seat where she had been looking out over the mist-covered sea.

“We shall have to find work.”

She spoke seriously and calmly while her two sisters stared at her wide-eyed.

Marigold spoke first.

“Work? But what sort of work?”

There was a moment’s silence and then Anne added in her sweet voice,

“Sally’s right of course! She always is! We shall have to work, but goodness knows at what!”

Sally got up from the window-seat and walked across to stand on the shabby hearth-rug in front of the fire.

“I have been thinking about it for some time,” she said, and it seems to me that the best thing we can do is to leave here altogether.”

“We have got to leave the house, we know that,” Anne said. “As soon as the new man is appointed, he will want to live here.”

“I wasn’t referring to the house,” Sally answered.

Her two sisters stared at her again.

“You mean leave St. Chytas?”

Sally nodded.

“But where would we go?” Marigold asked.

“Somewhere where we could find work,” Sally replied.

“You mean just anywhere?”

Again Sally nodded her head. Anne and Marigold turned from the contemplation of their younger sister to look at each other. There was a long pause broken only by the crackling of the fire and the scream of the seagulls outside the window.

“She is right,” Anne said soberly at length.

“Then we’ll go to London!” Marigold said. “London! Why didn’t we think of it before? But of course, it’s the obvious solution!”

Sally, watching them from the fireplace, gave a little sigh. She had known before she made her suggestion that the idea of London would thrill both Anne and Marigold and she knew how she hated the idea of going away, of leaving.

It was not only the house that had been her home ever since she was born, but also the countryside, the soft, glowing beauty of the Cornish coast with its dark cliffs and golden sands and the great vistas of sea and sky, which she had loved ever since she could remember.

She hated to leave, but she knew that there was nothing else for them to do. Sometimes it seemed to Sally as if for years she had anticipated this wrench, this bitter parting. Always she had felt as if she could not look long enough at the views she loved, could not enjoy too fully the windswept land or the temperamental sea.

Always it seemed to her that her instinct was prompting her to live fully every hour of her life because all too soon such happiness might be taken from her, and now the moment had come – her father had died.

Vicar of St. Chytas for twenty-five years, Arthur Granville had been content to pastor a very small flock. He had had no ambitions, no desires for larger or more important livings. A Cornish man, he had been born and brought up only twenty miles away from where he had finally settled.

Sometimes his daughters used to tease him and suggest that not only the fisherfolk and the few country people who lived round St. Chytas were his parishioners, but also the birds and animals, the heather-covered hills, the rugged cliffs and the giants and fairies, pixies and mermaids which still live and have their being in the imagination of Cornish men and women.

It was true indeed that Arthur Granville knew and loved them all and it was Sally, his youngest daughter, who shared his pride in his heritage and his passion for the history and legends of his forebears.

Anne had been born first, only three years after Arthur Granville had come to St. Chytas. She had been a beautiful baby, golden-haired and blue-eyed, and she had increased in loveliness year by year until her father would often wonder how he, any ordinary man where looks were concerned, could have produced anything quite so exquisite. But Anne soon had a rival in her sister Marigold.

Very different in temperament from her elder sister, Marigold was aptly named, for her hair was red-gold, dancing in tiny curls over her head, and she was vivacious, quick-tempered, and hungry for laughter and gaiety. She seemed to dance through life as if she were a sunbeam.

If Arthur Granville was disappointed when his third child turned out to be another girl, he never said so, but perhaps his devotion to Sally was originally begun because he was afraid that she might feel unwanted. Her mother, it was true, had prayed for a son, but Arthur Granville had seemed quite content with yet another daughter and Sally resembled him far more both in features and in character than the other two.

“I am not only the Cinderella but also the Ugly Duckling of the family!” Sally used to complain laughingly.

She certainly had not been blessed with the glowing, sensational beauty of either of her sisters. She was small with a little pointed face, which seldom had much colour in it, and her hair had neither the fairness of Anne’s nor the gold of Marigold’s but was a soft dusky brown as if she had tried to imitate the gentle mist that so often hung over her beloved land.

The fairies who had come to the christenings of the three girls had certainly doled out their gifts fairly. Anne had beauty, Marigold charm, and Sally wisdom. It was always Sally who was consulted in the family when there was a decision to be made. It was always Sally who came to the rescue if life got difficult or out of hand. It was always Sally who could be relied on in any emergency, however tremendous.

It was difficult for the others to remember that she was not yet eighteen – Anne at twenty-two and Marigold at twenty-one seemed far younger – but then years do not always make one wise. It was typical of the relationship between all three of the girls that Sally should decide their future. They accepted it without argument.

“How I have always longed to live in London!” Anne exclaimed. “Do you know, I haven’t been there for four years – and then I was only passing through to stay with Aunt Mary.”

“It is a pity she is dead,” Marigold said reflectively. “We might have asked her to find us somewhere to live.”

“I thought of that too,” Sally interjected. “We shall have very little money of course. We shall have to find somewhere to live that is very cheap, but whatever happens, I think we shall all want to stick together.”

“But of course!” the other two cried in unison.

“What do you think we could do?” Marigold asked.

“Well, Anne can type,” Sally suggested.

“Not terribly well,” Anne replied.

“Well, you had enough lessons!”

“Yes, I know,” Anne said, “but they were so boring. I suppose now I could practice every day and get a bit quicker.”

“What about me?” Marigold asked. “You know there is nothing I can do.”

“We will think of something,” Sally promised.

Marigold got up and started to dance round the room.

“I might get a job on the stage or in a shop, or I could be a mannequin. Why not? My figure is good enough even though it is I who says it!”

Sally said nothing, but Anne got up and standing on tiptoe stared in the mirror that hung over the mantelpiece.

“Perhaps we shall take London by storm!” she said. “I was reading about the two Miss Gunnings only last night. Do you think people will stand on chairs in the park to see us walk by?”

“The best thing we can do,” Marigold laughed, “is to be a tremendous success and get married.”

“As a matter of fact,” Anne answered, “it is about the only thing we are any of us capable of doing – running a house, making it comfortable and being charming!”

“Men don’t propose because one is a good housekeeper,” Marigold said.

“That’s true,” Anne agreed. “Oh dear, how exciting it all is! I feel as though we were just starting a chapter of a particularly exciting book and of course it must end in wedding bells!”

“Of course!” Marigold said. “Let us wish what sort of man we want to marry.”

Anne looked again at her reflection in the mirror.

“I should like to marry a Duke!”

“A Duke!” Marigold exclaimed. “Good gracious, why?”

“Because he would possess all the things that I like most,” Anne said slowly. “Wonderful houses with great traditions behind them – beautiful furniture, pictures, and silver – a family whose ancestors have done great deeds in history. That is what I should like – to marry a Duke with a magnificent family place.”

“Which will be crippled by taxes and without good sanitation!” Marigold teased. “Not for me, thank you! Dukes are out of date, Anne. I want to marry a millionaire. I want to go to the Riviera and Palm Beach, to have wonderful clothes and even more wonderful jewellery. That is my idea of a good future. I should never get that from a stuffy old Duke!”

“All right then,” Anne said, “I’ll have my Duke and you can have your millionaire. We certainly shan’t interfere with each other!”

They both laughed and turned to Sally.

“Sally, you’re very quiet. You haven’t told us whom you wish to marry. What sort of man do you wish for?”

Sally smiled and it seemed as if there was a secret in the depth of her dark grey eyes.

“I want to marry a man I love.”

Her words were spoken lightly, but somehow her sisters became serious.

“But we want that too!” they both cried.

“You didn’t say so,” Sally answered.

At that moment there was a distinct clanging of the bell.

“That’s the front door!” Anne exclaimed. “I wonder who it can be.”

“I’ll go and answer it,” Sally said.

She sped away leaving the door of the sitting room open and a moment later they heard a voice in the hall.

“It is David,” Anne said, looking at Marigold.

Marigold made a gesture of impatience.

“What a nuisance he is! I suppose he will stay to tea. I wanted to make a list of all the things we shall want for London.”

“We can make that anyway,” Anne said. “David doesn’t matter.”

Sally heralded him into the room.

“Here is David,” she said.

The man who followed her was young and attractive, broad-shouldered, and tall – he seemed to fill the small, shabby sitting room with his presence.

“Hello, Anne,” he said, then looked at Marigold almost apologetically. “Hello, Marigold.”

“Hello.”

“I wondered if you were doing anything or if you would care to come for a drive.”

“I am much too busy.”

“Top busy? You don’t look it.”

“Well, I am,” Marigold answered. “If you want to know, we are making plans to go to London almost at once.”

“To London?”

“Yes,” said Marigold. “To London! We are going to seek our fortunes.”

David Carey stood in the centre of the room staring at Marigold and then at last he looked to Sally for an explanation.

“You are going to London?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sally replied. “You see, we cannot go on living here, and there is no possibility of earning our living in this part of the world, so it is London for the three of us.”

“But this is too wonderful to be true!” David exclaimed.

They all glanced up in surprise.

“The reason I came to see you today,” David explained, “was because I have had the offer of a post as House Surgeon at one of the big London hospitals. It is a splendid opportunity of course, but somehow I had hated the idea of leaving here – of going away from…” He hesitated for a moment, “…from you all.”

He looked at Marigold as he spoke and it was quite obvious whom he really minded leaving. David Carey was the son of a doctor in St. Ives, the nearest town to St. Chytas. The three girls had known him all their lives. They had played together as children, they had teased each other and David had come to be looked on as a kind of elder brother.

It had been a surprise to them when he had fallen in love with Marigold, but it was tragic for David, for Marigold’s affection for him was entirely a sisterly one. It was Sally who exclaimed with joy at his news.

“But, David, that’s wonderful! You will be in London! We shall be in London! At least we shall have one old friend to look after us.”

“Perhaps David will be too busy to worry about his country cousins,” Marigold suggested.

“You know I won’t,” David said. “But what are you going to do, where are you going to live? Tell me all about it!”

He moved forward and sat down in an armchair by the fireplace.

“We do not know yet,” Marigold said. “Don’t be so tiresome, David! We are making our plans and when they are complete, we will tell you all about them.”

“I only wanted to help,” David said humbly.

Marigold turned away from him with an air of petulance. His devotion bored her.

She liked David. She had at times found him useful both as a friend and as a sort of adopted brother – but she did not find him attractive and she grew impatient when he wanted to identify too closely with her interests.

Sally, watching them, wished David would assert himself more. Marigold was rather inclined to be unkind to people who bored her.

‘If David would pay attention to someone else,’ Sally thought, ‘Marigold would be more interested in him.’

David was clever. Sally believed, as his father did, that he would go very far and would one day become a great man in his own chosen career – but, as an only child, he was not experienced where women were concerned. They frightened him and he was too humble with them – and especially with Marigold. Sally thought sadly that David was far more fun before he fell in love.

“I’m so excited about your new appointment, David,” she said to bridge an embarrassing moment. “Isn’t your father thrilled?”

“He is as happy as a sand-boy,” David answered. “It is all through him of course that I have had the offer. He has been pulling strings through one of his old friends for a long time – I knew it, but I didn’t think anything would materialise. Now that something has really come off, you would think someone had given the old man a V.C. or left him a million, he is so delighted.”

“We are delighted, too,” Sally said, and he smiled at her a swift, spontaneous smile, which made him suddenly very attractive.

“Thank you, Sally. I came along here to tell you all about it, but I was going to break it gently to Marigold first if she would come out for a drive with me.”

“Expecting me to cry on your shoulder?” Marigold said unkindly.

“Well, I did think you might be a little sorry at losing me.”

“I don’t suppose it would have been for long. I expect they have holidays, even in hospitals.”

Sally knew that Marigold was hurting David. Quickly she intervened.

“Well, we needn’t worry about that now. You may be going to London, David, but you are taking three little maids from Cornwall with you!”

“You know I am glad about that,” David said.

Sally looked at the clock.

“It is teatime, I’ll go and get some tea.”

“I will come and help you,” Anne said, following her from the room.

Marigold and David were alone. Marigold curled herself up on the sofa and stared into the fire. David got up from his chair and moved across.

“Marigold!” he said, and there was an urgency in his voice.

She turned to look at him.

“What is the matter?” she asked.

“Do you know why I came here today?” he said.

“I thought you had just told us why,” Marigold replied.

“I really came to ask you something,” David said. “When I knew I was going away there was only one thing I wanted. I wanted you to marry me.”

“But you knew I wouldn’t do that!”

“But why?” David asked. “Why, Marigold? I have got a little money of my own that my grandmother left me and now I shall be getting quite a good salary at the hospital. I can afford to keep a wife, and, Marigold ... I want you so!”

Marigold put out her hand and patted his arm.

“Poor David! I am sorry! But I should hate to be a doctor’s wife and I am not in love with you.”

“I could teach you to love me!” David said forcefully. “If you would only give me the chance.”

“I do not think you can make someone love you,” Marigold replied. “I do not think things work like that. I think you either fall in love or you don’t – and quite frankly, David, I am not in love with anybody – I never have been!”

“But a lot of people will fall in love with you when you get to London,” David said bitterly. “Then I shall not get a chance.”

“Poor David,” Marigold said again.

He got up abruptly from the sofa and stood with his back to the room, his arms on the mantelpiece.

“It is all very well to say, ‘poor David’,” he said roughly. “But I love you, Marigold, and it hurts.”

“I am sorry,” Marigold said.

He turned to look at her. Her face was raised to his.

She was almost breathtakingly lovely as she looked up at him, her eyes wide with compassion, a smile of sympathy on her lips. There was no mistaking her beauty, David was not a fool – he knew that she did not love him, that emotionally Marigold was unawakened. With a sigh that was almost a cry he turned towards her and, taking both her hands in his, stared down at her.

“I want you to promise me one thing, Marigold.”

“What is that?”

“That if, when you get to London, you are ever in any trouble, whatever it is you will come to me for help.”

Marigold gave a little laugh. She was in reality slightly embarrassed by the seriousness of his tone.

“I hope I shall not get into trouble, David.”

“But if you do...”

“Then of course I’ll ask you for help, but I warn you, it will very likely be an S.O.S to save me from bankruptcy.”

“Then I shall do my best to save you,” David said.

He held both her hands very tightly in his, then relinquished them just as Anne and Sally came into the room carrying trays. It was a light-hearted, enjoyable meal and when it was over David got to his feet.

“I must go,” he said. “I have got to pick up the old man at Hayle Hospital.”

He moved reluctantly to the door and Sally knew he was hoping that Marigold would go and see him off, but Marigold made it clear she had no intention of moving. In the end Sally saw him to the door and into his car. The mist was rising now and a pale shaft of evening sunlight was coming through the clouds. There was a freshness in the air and Sally, looking out towards the sea, sighed.

“We are going to miss this, David.”

“Terribly,” he agreed, and then added, “I suppose you are right, Sally, it is best for you all to go to London. Though I somehow cannot imagine you there – you have always seemed to belong here.”

Sally made a little helpless gesture with her hands.

“What else is there we can do?” she asked. “I have thought and thought, but there is just nothing. You cannot see Anne serving in a shop in St. Ives or Truro, or Marigold helping in an arty-crafty tea room in Penzance, and there is nothing else, just nothing!”

“No you are right,” David said hastily. “But, Sally, look after yourselves.”

“We will,” Sally said.

He got into this car and waved to her. It suddenly struck him that she was very small and rather pathetic as she stood there on the steps of the old-fashioned Vicarage. The actual house was badly planned and was architecturally an eyesore, yet to David it had always been one of the most attractive places he had ever known in his life because of the people who were in it.

Sally stood on the steps watching him out of sight and then, instead of going back into the house, she shut the door behind her and walked across the untidy, ill-kept garden and out on to the cliff-side. She walked on across the coarse grass, climbing gradually until she stood high above a small sandy cove. The sea was calmer than it had been earlier in the day, but the waves were still breaking in silver spray against the rocks at the end of the bay. Sally stood listening to them. Suddenly there were tears in her eyes, overflowing and falling softly down her cheeks. This was her world and she must leave it all behind. She threw out her arms in a gesture of despair.

“Oh, Daddy, Daddy!” she whispered. “How can I bear to go away?”

2

“Goodness, I am tired!”

Anne put her bag and shopping basket down on the table and pulled off her hat, passing her fingers through her flattened hair.

Sally looked up from the other side of the room where she was painting the skirting board.

“Any luck?”

Anne shook her head.

“No, and I’ve walked till my feet feel double their usual size.”

She made a movement as though to sink exhaustedly in the nearest chair but was arrested in mid-air by a scream from Sally.

“Don’t sit there, it’s wet!”

“Heavens! Why on earth didn’t you say so? Put a notice on it or something.”

She turned round to try to catch a glimpse of the back of her dress.

“I haven’t touched the paint, have I?” she asked. “This is the only decent get-up I have and that’s not saying much!”

“If you are talking about clothes,” said a voice from the doorway, “I’ve got a good deal to say on the subject.”

“Hello, Marigold!” Sally exclaimed. She got up from the floor, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’ve been working like a Trojan and I am so hot I think I shall have to have a bath.”

“What? Climb down three floors?” Anne exclaimed. “I wouldn’t have the energy!”

Marigold crossed the room and, as Anne had done, pulled off her hat. She held it in her hand looking at it disgustedly.

“Do you know what this thing is?” she asked.

The others stared at her.

“It’s a museum piece,” Marigold went on, not waiting for an answer to her question. “Either that or a relic from the Ark. I feel positively antediluvian walking about London in it. Have you seen what other people are wearing?”

“We haven’t time to fuss about clothes,” Anne said wearily. “When we have got ourselves jobs we can begin to think about spending money. In the meantime, we…”

“In the meantime, we shan’t get a job,” Marigold interrupted. “Not dressed like this. I have been looking in the shop windows and at other women and at last I have realised what is wrong with us, all three of us. We look exactly what we are – country cousins – nice innocent little girls from a country vicarage.”

“Well, I don’t see that there’s anything wrong with that,” Sally exclaimed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marigold said sharply. “If we want to get jobs in London, we have got to be sophisticated and smart. You should have seen the way the woman looked at me today when I suggested that I might get a job as a mannequin. She very nearly laughed in my face. It was then I realised what fools we had been.”

She threw her hat down on the floor.

“We have got to alter our whole appearance,” she added dramatically. “Sally, how much money have we got?”

“None for clothes,” Sally replied.

Marigold opened her mouth as if she were going to argue, then she shut it again.

“I expect Marigold is right,” Anne said reflectively. “I’ve tried four different agencies today and they offered me nothing except a job as a kitchen help.”

“A kitchen help!” Sally exclaimed.

“Yes. I couldn’t say I was good enough to be a cook, so they suggested I might like to help the chef at some woman’s house – I forget her name – Lady something-or-other!”

Sally sat down on the floor.

“Oh, darlings, and I brought you here! It is all my fault!”

“Oh no, it isn’t,” Marigold answered quickly. “You know quite well it was I who suggested London.”

“Yes, but I knew you would, once I said we should seek jobs away from home,” Sally sighed.

“That doesn’t matter,” Marigold said. “You’re not going to take all the responsibility. If anyone is to be blamed, we’ll all take our share, won’t we Anne?”

“Of course,” Anne replied. “And don’t let’s be depressed. After all, we have only been trying to find something for three days.”

“What’s more, we have tried in the wrong way,” Marigold exclaimed. “I am certain of that. I am going to turn the hem of my skirt up at least three or four inches and I am going to buy a rose and two yards of ribbon, throw them together and perch the result on top of my head. We can afford that, can’t we Sally?”

“We’ll have to,” Sally said and laughed.

Nevertheless, her face was serious again as she looked up at her sisters.

Sitting cross-legged on the hearth-rug in an old white overall, which was streaked with paint and with a smear of paint on her cheek, she looked absurdly young, and yet the older girls left unchallenged her position as their leader. It was Sally who decided what was to be done, Sally who had so far taken command in this, the greatest adventure of their lives.

Ever since she had been a baby, Sally had made friends wherever who went, with everyone with whom she came in contact, and it was through one of Sally’s friends that they had found their present accommodation.

Old Fred, the boatman at St. Chytas, who had known the girls since they were babies and had been a close friend of Arthur Granville, although he was a chapel man, had suggested that they should look up his wife’s brother when they got to London.

Anne and Marigold had taken very little notice of the many suggestions that they should visit this person or that on their arrival in London. Like many pioneers and adventurers their one idea was to get away from their old ties, and entering a new world, they wanted everything about it to be new. Although they smiled sweetly and thanked everyone for the advice they were offered, it went in at one ear and out of the other and they had no intention of following any of it.

Sally, on the contrary, took particular note of everything she was told. She kept a notebook and put all the names and addresses down in it – and while the others teased her, they found as usual that Sally’s plans were far more sensible than theirs.

Old Fred’s wife’s brother had greeted them with open arms. He kept a pub called the Saracen’s Head in Chelsea and having invited Sally into the private bar had been disappointed when she would not partake of a small port or a glass of sherry,

He had also been most obligingly helpful when she told him the real object of her visit.

“We have come to London to look for jobs, Mr. Jarvis. The first thing we have got to do is to find somewhere to live,” Sally said, “and I don’t think I need to tell you that it’s got to be cheap.”

Mr. Jarvis scratched his head.

“You are setting yourself a problem, Miss, and no mistake.”

“Yes, I know,” Sally answered. “I feel sure, however, that you with your knowledge of London will be able to help me.”

Mr. Jarvis was obviously flattered, but he said,

“I’m jiggered if I know where to tell you to go first.”

After some moments of thought accompanied by heavy breathing he suddenly went to the door of the bar and, opening it, yelled,

“Hi, Missis!”

Mrs. Jarvis was as genial and as pleasant as her husband.

She was a very large woman who must have been attractive in her youth but was now like an overblown peony. She had a naturally florid complexion, which was not improved by being plentifully befloured with a very white powder. Her hair, dressed high on her head, was a fiery red on top and a dark brown at the roots. Nevertheless, there was a smiling good humour in Mrs. Jarvis’s face, which made Sally take to her at once.

Sally told her story once again of how she and her sisters decided to come to London and how they were looking desperately for accommodation at the right price.

“I tell her, Missis, it’s dickens of a problem,” Mr. Jarvis said.

“That it is, Bill, but you ought to be able to think of something. What about that Mrs. Jenkins down the road?”

“Yes, she takes in lodgers, but not always the right type.”

“No, I remember now, Mrs. Jenkins would not do at all,” Mrs. Jarvis said, “not for three young girls.” Suddenly she put her hands on her hips. “Bill! What about the attic? You have never had it done up as you said you were going to.”

“The attic? Why, God bless my soul, that wouldn’t be good enough.”

“Well, it’s dry and airy, and if the young ladies were not too particular I dare say they could make it do, and whatever other disadvantages they may have to put up with, this house is at least respectable – anyway, while I’m in it!”

“That’s true enough,” Mr. Jarvis said. “At the same time it isn’t much of a place, but if you would like to see it, Miss…”

Sally was only too anxious to view the attic and having seen it she made up her mind instantly. It was both dirty and untidy, but she saw that there was nothing wrong that could not be put right by a good scrubbing and a touch of paint. It was a long room with a low ceiling, partly sloping, and had three small gable windows, which looked over the housetops. From one of them there was a glimpse of the river, and it was that, perhaps, which decided the issue quicker than anything else. The mere sight of that silver water made Sally think of home although the grey Thames was a poor substitute for the blue-and-emerald ocean she knew and loved so well.

“It’s perfect, Mr. Jarvis,” she said enthusiastically, turning from the window with her eyes bright and shining with excitement. “We can be very happy here and it will be wonderful to think that you will be our landlord.”

Mr. Jarvis, mopping his forehead after the stiff climb up the stairs, beamed at her.

“I am glad you like it, Miss,” he said. “I’ll have to try and get it cleaned up for you, of course.”

“No, you are not to bother,” Sally said, “we will do that ourselves. It won’t take us long. The only thing, Mr. Jarvis, is – what about furniture? We could get some things sent up from home, of course, but I am afraid it would be rather expensive.”

Mr. Jarvis considered.

“I have not got much that I could rightly spare,” he said, “but I’ll tell you what I could do. I’ve got a friend who often has a lorry going down to Penzance. If there wasn’t too much, I dare say he could bring the things back for you.”

“But that would be marvellous,” Sally said. “The new Vicar has let us store our things in the stable until we find somewhere to put them. I can write to someone in the village who knows where everything is to sort out the things we want and if your friend could bring them up...”

“I’ll make the arrangements for you, Miss. In the meantime, if you like to come here and get on with the cleaning, that will be O.K. with us. I don’t like to ask ladies such as you to do it for yourselves but, at the same time, the Missis is hard put to get help in the bar, let alone for anything else.”

“Of course we will do it ourselves. Now, Mr. Jarvis, what are you going to charge us?”

There was some argument over this. Mr. Jarvis was all for giving them the attic for practically nothing, but Sally was determined to be businesslike.

“We hope soon to be making good money,” she said, “and we must pay what is right and fair.”

In the end Mr. Jarvis offered it to her for three pounds a week and both sides were entirely satisfied. It took a week to get their furniture up from St. Chytas and during that week all three girls worked from early morning until evening. They were staying in a respectable boarding house in Bloomsbury that had been recommended to them by David’s father. David had lodged there when he was a student at the London University.

It was squalid and uncomfortable and its only advantage was its cheapness. In contrast the attic had immense possibilities and the girls were determined to make it as attractive as possible. Sally had made a list of all the things she wanted from St. Chytas and this included two armchairs, a table, and some bookshelves, for they had decided to make one end of the attic their bedroom and the other a sitting room.

They had got a local carpenter, who was ready to oblige any friend of Mr. Jarvis, to run a long curtain rail across the centre of the room so that it would be possible to curtain off the beds if they ever wished to entertain.

“We may have friends coming to see us,” Sally said, “and I hate the look of beds about the place. Even if you try to make them into divans, they always look ‘beddy’, and besides, who ever heard of three divans in one sitting room?”

The result, when it was divided, was not too bad although the so-called ‘sitting room’ was very tiny and, as Anne pointed out, it would not be possible to entertain many friends at the same time.

“If our prospective husbands all call at once,” Marigold said, “it is going to be rather a crush.”

“They’ll have to take it in turns,” Sally answered, laughing. “That will give us two days a week each and we’ll toss for Sundays.”

As soon as they had moved into their new home Sally sent Anne and Marigold off job-hunting, while she put the finishing touches to the attic.

“I’ve only got to paint the skirting boards,” she said, “and the hard chairs, and then we have finished. It really does look nice!”

It was by no means an overstatement. They had scrubbed the boards as clean as they could get them and then stained them a dark oak colour. They had distempered the walls a pale primrose-yellow and painted the window-frames and skirting-boards and chairs a lovely shade of blue – this matched the flowers on the chintz curtains and chair covers that had been sent up from St. Chytas.

There was a gilt-framed mirror over the fireplace and a picture that had always hung in their father’s study. It was of a flight of birds coming homewards across the evening sky, with the sea below them. Sally would stand and look at that picture and when she did so she could always hear her father’s voice saying,

“What a wonderful instinct the birds have, Sally. Have you ever thought how much wiser humans would be if, like the birds, we followed our instinct rather than our convictions which are so often wrong?”

When the picture was hung on the wall, Sally had said a little prayer in her heart that her instinct had been right in bringing them all to London. She had not realised until she got there how big and overwhelming a city could be.

When she walked about the streets, she felt very small and unimportant. Sometimes she had an overwhelming desire to go home, to be back again amongst the people she knew and loved and who she knew would always extend to Arthur Granville’s daughter the helping hand of friendship. Here they were nobodies.

No one knew them, no one cared what became of them. Sometimes when she was alone in the attic and the other two girls were out, Sally would feel an unreasoning panic sweep over her. Suppose things went wrong – suppose they found nothing to do and all their money was swallowed up? What would happen to them then? They had so little.

When she felt like that, she would rise, go to the window, and look out at the river. The shimmering water would bring her comfort. It gave her a sense of security, even as the sight of her beloved waves had always brought her a sense of belonging, of being an intrinsic part of the great universe.

‘It is all right, be of good cheer. Be not afraid.’

That was what the river said to Sally and she would go back to her work comforted and reassured.

But now, as she looked up from the floor at Anne and Marigold, she felt afraid.

They were both so attractive – they were both so helpless. They were not equipped to fight for a place in the hard commercial world – and yet, Sally thought, surely there was something all three of them could do?

“The room’s finished now,” she said. “Tomorrow I’m going to try and see what I can find. There is no need for us to get upset – we haven’t been in London a fortnight yet.”

“What are you going to try for?” Anne asked.

Sally smiled.

“I have an idea, but I don’t want to tell you about it in case I fail.”

“I haven’t got any pride left,” Marigold said. “I will do anything!” Then she laughed. “That isn’t true – I’m only saying it for effect! Actually, I feel very particular. Besides, I don’t want to let London beat me. If other girls can get jobs, so can I.”

“That’s the spirit,” Sally said. “By the way Anne, did you bring back a newspaper?”

Anne went to the table and opened her shopping basket.

“Yes, and I remembered the bread and I bought a cucumber. Was that extravagant of me?”

“No, it’s lovely,” Sally said. “We will have cucumber sandwiches for tea. Whose turn is it to go downstairs? No, don’t answer, I’ll do it. You are both tired out.”

Mrs. Jarvis allowed them to boil a kettle in her kitchen for breakfast and tea. For other meals, they went out to one of the many little restaurants round about. The only disadvantage of meals at home was that they had four floors to climb down before they reached the kitchen.

Sally hurried downstairs kettle in one hand, the teapot in the other and the canister containing the tea under her arm. Mrs. Jarvis was not in the kitchen. She filled the kettle and put it on to boil.

On the table was a newspaper, and while she was waiting Sally turned the pages over attentively. It was the Daily Telegraph and she began to look down the columns of ‘Situations Vacant’. Suddenly one advertisement caught her eye. She read it two or three times and, having done so, waited impatiently for the kettle to boil. She made the tea and hurried up the stairs as quickly as she could, the Daily Telegraph under her arm.

She burst into the attic breathless both with her haste and the stairs.

“I say, Anne, I’ve found something in this paper that I think will interest you.”

Anne, who was sitting in the armchair, looked up.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s here – the Daily Telegraph” Sally said, putting down the tea pot.

“Daily Telegraph!” Anne exclaimed. “But I bought the Daily Sketch. I adore Blondie and Pop.”

“So do I,” Sally said. “But this isn’t our paper – it’s Mr. Jarvis’s – I’ve borrowed it for a moment. Look here!”

She pointed to the small advertisement and Anne read aloud,

“‘Titled lady requires daily companion. Must be young and educated. Apply, Box ‘X’.”

“There you are,” Marigold exclaimed. “A titled lady is just your cup of tea, Anne, you may even meet your Duke there!”

“Young and educated – do you think I’m educated?” Anne said.

There was a tone of doubt in her voice, but she was obviously excited by the advertisement.

“Of course you are,” Sally said. “Sit down and write at once. I expect they will have lots of applications.”

Anne jumped up and went to the table where they kept their writing materials.

“Write on the Vicarage notepaper,” Sally said. “At least it’s printed and personally I don’t think that the Saracen’s Head sounds a very good address!”

“Why not put just the number of the street?” Marigold suggested.

“But of course!” Sally exclaimed. “How silly of me! That’s a good idea – 9 Medway Street sounds much better than the Saracen’s Head.”

“How do I start!” Anne enquired.

They spent some time arguing as to what was the best way to address the advertiser and twenty minutes passed before Sally remembered that Mr. Jarvis might be wanting his paper.

“Hurry up and address the envelope,” she said, “and I’ll post the letter and put the newspaper back at the same time.”

“There it is,” Anne exclaimed. “Oh, bring me luck, please!”

“I feel in my bones that something will come of this,” Sally said reflectively, and picking it up she put the newspaper under her arm and ran downstairs.

There was still no one in the kitchen, so evidently the paper had not been missed. She put it back on the table and opening the door let herself into the street. There was a pillar-box on the comer and as she inserted the letter into its gaping mouth she gave a little sigh that was half a prayer that something might come of it – and then, turning round swiftly, she knocked into a tall man who was standing behind her.

“I’m sorry,” Sally exclaimed.

The man was bare-headed so he could not take off his hat, but he smiled at her.

“It’s all right,” he said, “it was my fault. I was crowding you.”

Sally smiled in reply and was just turning away when he stopped her.

“Excuse my asking you,” he said, “but aren’t you staying at the Saracen’s Head?”

“Yes,” Sally answered.

“Then you are one of the Miss Granvilles aren’t you? Jarvis was talking about you the other night when I was having a drink. I wonder if you would think me very impertinent if I asked you something?”

“What is it?” Sally asked.

She was taking stock of the young man as she spoke. He was rather nice-looking, clean shaven and fair, but his hair was too long and he dressed rather unconventionally in a deep wine-coloured sweater and baggy corduroy trousers.

“I’m an artist,” the young man began.

“Of course!” Sally exclaimed. He looked at her enquiringly and she blushed, embarrassed by her own impulsiveness. “I only mean…” she stammered, “…that you look like one.”

“Is it so obvious?” the young man asked, then added, “Yes, I suppose it is. Well, now you know what I want to say. I wondered if your sister, the one with the wonderful hair, would sit for me.”

“I wonder if you mean Anne or Marigold?”

“I’m sure it must be Marigold,” the young man answered. “The name describes her.”

“I’ll ask her,” Sally said, “but the point is we are all rather busy at the moment looking for jobs.”

“Well, look here, I’m perfectly willing to pay. She is exactly the model I have been seeking for some illustrations that I am doing for a magazine.”

“Oh, I thought you wanted her to sit for a proper portrait,” Sally said in a disappointed tone.

The young man smiled.

“I would like her to sit for that, too, but I usually have to wait for those to be commissioned. Illustrations pay well and portraits – well, I haven’t got to the stage when a rich financier’s wife offers me a cool thousand for her face on canvas.”

Sally laughed. She liked this young man, there was something frank and ingenuous about him. She hesitated a moment, then suggested,

“I suppose you would not like to come back with me now and meet Marigold?”

“I’d simply love it,” the young man said instantly. “By the way, you didn’t ask my name. It’s Peter Aird.”

“Come on,” said Sally. “Incidentally, you will be our first guest.”

“This calls for a celebration,” Peter Aird said. “We ought to have champagne at least, but instead, what about those strawberries?”

He pointed to a street vendor who was coming down the road pushing a barrow, and without waiting for Sally’s reply he walked across to him. He was a moment or two choosing a basket, then he came back with it.

“All the big ones are on top as usual,” he said. “These men are always rogues, but at least I can lay them at Marigold’s feet as a tribute to her beauty!”

“It would be much better if you put them on the table and we all ate them,” Sally said almost sharply.

She hoped this young man was not going to flatter Marigold too much. Already she was half-regretting having invited him to come back with her. Artists were impecunious, and although he had offered to pay Marigold, Sally had an idea that the pay would not be big. Then, as she turned her latchkey in the door, she heard him say humbly,

“It’s awfully good of you to ask me, Miss Granville.”

Somehow she found herself smiling up at him. He was rather a nice young man and after all they hadn’t many friends in London.

“It is rather a climb up the stairs,” she said. “Would you mind waiting a moment just while I go up and tell the others you are coming? We would like to have everything spick and span for the first visitor.”

“Of course I will wait,” he said. “Give me a shout from the top when you are ready.”

“I will,” Sally promised.

She hurried up the stairs, two steps at a time, opened the door and rushed in breathlessly.

Anne was sitting staring out of the window. Marigold was on the floor, her sewing things scattered all round her, her scissors in her hand. She was chopping several inches of material off the end of her skirt.

Sally slammed the door behind her and pulled the curtains to divide the sitting room from the three divans, which always reminded her of the Three Bears side by side at the end of the room.

“Quick,” she said. “Tidy the place and look nice, I have brought you a visitor – our first visitor.”

Marigold looked up, her mouth full of pins.

“Bother,” she muttered. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” She had changed from her coat and skirt into a green linen frock. It was old and faded, but it threw into relief the whiteness of her skin and the curly burnished glory of her hair.

She was frowning and yet she looked ridiculously lovely.

Anne turned round eagerly.

“A visitor?” she said. “Who is it?”

Suddenly Sally felt her heart contract. Anne was lovely, too – lovelier perhaps in many ways than her younger sister, and yet Peter, like David, was attracted by Marigold.

3

Marigold was brusque with Peter Aird the first time she met him.

She informed him quite frankly that she was not interested in sitting for his illustrations and she was not going to model for artists.

“What future is there in it?” she asked scornfully later when the girls were alone. “Painters are always impecunious – I’m sure Daddy would not have approved of our associating with them even if we do live in Chelsea.”

Sally felt guilty and she blamed herself for letting her invariable knack of making friends lead her astray. She told herself severely that she should not have asked in a strange young man to meet her sisters, but despite his appearance and Marigold’s criticisms she knew that she liked Peter Aird.

On acquaintance he was by no means what she had expected of a Chelsea artist. His clothes were misleading, for there was nothing sloppy or Bohemian about his speech and she found herself longing to argue with Marigold and defend Peter against such scornful disparagement. However, two evenings later things were much altered. Peter called unexpectedly bringing with him another basket of strawberries and some peaches.

Marigold and Anne had spent two more unsuccessful days looking for jobs and were therefore inclined to welcome any friendly face even if it was that of an impecunious artist. Marigold told them of the various places she had tried during the day and added,

“It’s extraordinary to think how unsuited we all are to earning our own living. When I have daughters, I shall bring them up to be really efficient at something.”

“What exactly do you want?” Peter asked.

“At the moment,” Marigold answered. “I want any job that will bring me in six or seven pounds a week regularly every Friday. I would prefer to model or be a mannequin for the simple reason that I am untrained in everything else, but I really believe I would take a position as a crossing sweeper if it was offered to me.”

“If you want to be a mannequin,” Peter said, “I might be able to help you.”

Marigold raised her eyebrows and looked at him enquiringly.

“Why on Earth didn’t you tell me so before?”

“For the simple reason that you did not condescend to tell me what you wanted to do – you were far too intent on telling me what you didn’t want to do.”

“All right, I apologise. Now please be magnanimous and help me.”

“I don’t promise anything will come of it,” Peter said, “but a friend of mine works at Michael Sorrell’s – you’ve heard of him, of course?”

“What? The big dress designer?”

“Yes.”

“And you will give me an introduction?”

“Of course I will.”

Marigold jumped to her feet in excitement.

“But it’s too wonderful! And to think I was so beastly to you when you asked me to sit for your illustrations. If you will give me a letter of introduction to your friend, I will sit for however long you like, in whatever position.”

“Thank you,” Peter answered, “but I don’t want to be paid for my magnanimity. I would like to give you an introduction. My friend’s name, by the way, is Nadine Sloe.”

“Oh, it’s a ‘she’, is it?” Marigold said. “A girlfriend of yours?”

“Not exactly, but I have known her for a great many years,” Peter answered.

“You will write the letter now, at once?” Marigold asked. “Can I take it there tomorrow morning? I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get too excited,” Peter begged. “They may be full up or you may not be the type they want. I would hate you to be disappointed.”

“Not half as much as I should hate it.”

“I think you are very lucky,” Anne said enviously. “I wish someone would come along who could find me a job.”

“You haven’t had an answer to your letter yet?” Peter asked.

He had already heard about the advertisement that Anne had answered.

Anne shook her head.

“Hope is beginning to die hard.”

“Oh, something else will turn up,” said Peter. “I’ve often felt like that myself and then the unexpected has happened. There have been days when I have looked in the letterbox every five minutes to see if the postman had called.”

“Talking of that,” Sally said quickly, looking up from the net curtain she was hemming, “there ought to be a delivery about this time. Shall I go down and see if there is a letter?”

“Yes,” Anne said. “I would go myself only I know if there isn’t one I shall burst into tears on Mr. Jarvis’s shoulder.”

“He wouldn’t mind that – he’d like it,” Sally said, jumping to her feet.

“Yes, but would Mrs. Jarvis?” Anne asked.

Sally turned from the doorway.

“You flatter yourself. Old Bill thinks there is no one like ‘his Missis’, and I’m certain he is right.”

She ran downstairs, hoping desperately as she went, that there would be an answer to their application. Anne, who was usually so placid and calm, had been quite nervy for the last twenty-four hours. Marigold was short tempered and Sally felt it was time one of them had a lucky break.

Although she had not yet told the others, she had also been disappointed in her search for a job. She had made up her mind when she first came to London that she would like to look after children – to be an assistant in a children’s nursery or something like that – but although she had applied to three different addresses, she had found at each one that they required no further helpers.

There were other places of course, Sally told herself courageously, but all the same, too, felt a little downcast. She reached the little hall and saw with a sudden sinking of her heart that there were no letters. She hated to go back to the attic and break the dismal news to Anne, so to make certain that the postman had come and gone, she opened the kitchen door.

Mrs. Jarvis was sitting in the armchair with her feet up and the cat purring comfortably in her lap.

“Has the post been, Mrs. Jarvis?” Sally asked.

Mrs. Jarvis turned her head round quickly.

“Dear, dear, what a start you gave me! I was just having forty winks. The post did you say? No, I haven’t heard him. What’s the time?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry if I woke you!” Sally exclaimed. “It’s six o’clock.”

“Well, he usually comes about this time, but I haven’t heard him and if there is anything for us that letterbox makes a noise fit to wake the dead. Any news of a job?”