Free Mistress of Brown Furrows by Susan Barrie

which hung on the farther wall.
    “Timothy, my dear! ”—Meg’ s voice came floating out to them, warm but controlled—“welcome home! And welcome to you too, Carol! ”
    She came down the steps with her hands held out. She was dressed in a smart, shadowy, dark evening frock and a long stole composed almost entirely of sequins, which glittered like the scaly skin of a serpent. Her perfume was sophisticated, and when her face came close to Carol’s the girl felt it smooth and cold against her cheek. And Meg’ s hands touched hers ever so lightly, and held them for an instant.
    “I do hope you’re not altogether exhausted after your journey!” And then she turned back to Timothy and embraced him. “Timothy, darling, this is wonderful! ” she said.
    C H A P T E R N I N E
    MUCH later that night Carol stood before her mirror brushing out her hair and listening to the heavy silence of the house.
    Outside the window—and really quite alarmingly close to it—an owl hooted suddenly; and, muted by distance, she heard a cow bellowing with a pathetic insistence which proclaimed that it was probably due to calve. But the house itself, with its thick carpets and its ancient dark wood panelling, was as still and almost as solemnly hushed as a reed-fringed pool in the depths of a silent wood.
    And yet it was not late. The little clock on her mantelpiece, with the delicate porcelain figurines clinging to the round dial, said half-past ten. And Meg, her sister-in-law, had said that she never went to bed before midnight, because otherwise she would never have slept, although she was always up at the first crack of dawn. In most parts of Westmorland sportsmen must perforce follow hounds on foot; but the country round Brown
    Furrows was practicable for horses, and Meg hunted hard during the winter, and rode every morning before breakfast throughout the year.
    She was probably downstairs in the library, talking to Timothy, who naturally had a great deal to talk to her about. Despite their dissimilarity in looks they were much of a type— that is to say they had the same interests, the only difference being that Meg apparently had no desire to travel, and never had had. But she loved listening to Timothy recounting all his various adventures, and describing all the fresh places and the fresh faces he had seen. And Timothy enjoyed talking by the hour to his sister, for she was a good listener.
    They had decided that Carol must go to bed early, as she had had such an exhausting day. In the drawing room after dinner, in her white frock with the large black velvet pansies girdling the waist, and the snowy neck fichu which lent such a demure line to her throat and shoulders, she had sat so silently holding her coffee-cup that Meg had commented on the wanness of her looks. Meg had dispensed the coffee, taking the place she had always taken at the little round table on which the delicate Sevres china was set down, and had looked very much like a gracious and completely self-possessed hostess. Carol, sitting on the edge of one of the spindly chairs, had wondered whether any young women on the first night of their honeymoon—or on the first night of their marriage, at any rate—had felt as she was feeling at the moment when Meg said she looked definitely ‘all in’ .
    “And I promise you I won’ t keep Timothy up half the night, talking about all the things we’re both dying to talk about,” Meg added archly. “It’ s a temptation, but I give you my word to resist it. And I do hope you sleep well, Carol, and find the bed comfortable. If it isn’ t you must let me know in the morning.”
    “Thank you, I will,” Carol replied, and avoided looking at Timothy as he rose to accompany her to the door.
    Outside the door, at the foot of the carved oak staircase, Timothy looked down at her frowning.
    “Meg doesn’t know about us—yet,” he said. “But I promise you she shall by the morning.” He placed a hand very gently on her