Free Mistress of Elvan Hall by Mary Cummins

yourself.”
    “I’m only shouldering my own responsibilities.”
    “And making a fool of yourself at times, girl!”
    Anne flushed again. Their meal that evening had been less appetising than usual, because she had recommended alternative cuts of meat.
    “All right, so I make mistakes. Can’t you help me to learn?”
    “Why should I? If Francis had listened to me, he’d have found a girl who doesn’t have to be taught. I told him so before.”
    “Before what?”
    Mrs. Wyatt heaved herself out of her chair.
    “It doesn’t matter now. I’m going upstairs. I feel rather tired.”'
    “I’m sorry,” said Anne. “Goodnight.”
    “G’night,” muttered Mrs. Wyatt, and Anne sighed a little, though at least she had received an answer.
    The day before the decorators were due to start on the drawing room, Anne spent the morning tidying drawers and cupboards. She had been to see Caroline Cook the previous afternoon, and felt very satisfied that the girl’s work was excellent. Caroline was starting work on Monday, and was going to give Anne her opinion on how much work was needed to renovate the old tapestries. She had also found some delicately worked bed-covers, and some old samplers which might look very nice if they were framed.
    Helen was delighted that Caroline was taking on the work, and threw rather malicious glances at her mother, who clearly didn’t care for Caroline. She and Helen had been having words over the girl’s friendship with Roger Baxter, the man who had telephoned her.
    “Who is he?” demanded Mrs. Wyatt.
    “A friend of mine.”
    “Don’t be impertinent!”
    “But he is a friend. I met him in Carlisle and Teresa Elliott introduced us. He’s a company director.”
    “What sort of company?”
    “I don’t know. Honestly, Mummy, do lay off. I can decide for myself who my friends are, thank you very much.”
    “First Francis, now you,” said Mrs. Wyatt sourly, and this time Anne’s lips tightened.
    She was still thinking about Mrs. Wyatt as she tidied up bundles of old bills and clipped them neatly with bulldog clips.
    There was an old sheet of paper with closely written notes, difficult to read, which fascinated her, and she sat down to read notes on otter hunting which had taken place almost a hundred years ago, a diary kept most probably by a member of the family or some friend of an earlier Wyatt. She read that in the first half of the nineteenth century, otter-hounds were kept in small numbers in different parts of the county, and used for hunting otters and foulmarts, or polecats. A full-strength pack numbered ten couple, and this particular pack included a Newfoundland dog.
    Anne read on, fascinated yet repelled, that in December of 1837 an otter was dragged from Bassenthwaite Beck into the side of Dash waterfall and over a hilltop adjoining Skiddaw, then down the watershed of the River Ellen, where it was killed.
    She shivered a little at the mental picture this invoked, and put the papers back again, going to the window to look out at her favourite view, which was of a long sweep of garden, bright with herbaceous borders, protected by tall, stately silver birch trees, pines, firs and cedars, and the bright sparkling river beyond, where otters had been hunted to their death.
    Yet she herself had been furious with the owls when she saw the wreck of a wren’s nest.
    Anne finished tidying the room and tried to imagine it with fresh ivory walls instead of the present neglected-looking buff colour. The lovely old panelling could be polished until it reflected the light, and the carpet and curtains were still good. The chairs and tapestries would look splendid after Caroline Cook had Worked on them.
    Anne felt a sudden surge of happiness and satisfaction, and a strange inner excitement at the thought of seeing Francis again. She was sure he would be pleased with everything she had done, and she thought how nice it would be if it had all been finished before his return. However, in his