Then She Fled Me by Sara Seale

yet. He ’ s unpacked, and Nolan ’ s carried his gramyphone up, but he fetched his records himself. Said they might get broke. ”
    “ A gramophone! ” said Kathy softly. “ He must be fond of music. What ’ s he like, Nonie? Is he very old? Does he look ill? ”
    Nonie surveyed them all, and some of her agitatio n seemed to evaporate. A twinkle came into her eyes.
    “ Old, is it? ” she mocked. “ He ’ s not old at all. ”
    “ Not old? ” said Sarah blankly.
    “ Well, he ’ s no young sprig with his mammy ’ s milk still wet on his lips, if that ’ s what you mean, ” Nonie retorted. “ A little older than Mr. Joe—thirty, perhaps. ”
    “ Is he—is he—quite normal? ” Aunt Em asked, and No ni e laughed.
    “ He ’ s right in his head, and as cross as two sticks an ’ he waiting nearly an hour at the station for the cyar and obliged to hire Cribbens ’ new taxi to carry him home, an ’ he going by the north road and asking double fare. You ’ d best go up and see him, Miss Sarah, and explain about the tely g ram. ”
    “ Why not let Kathy go? ” suggested Miss Dearlove, her eyes popping with pleasurable anticipation, but Nonie replied:
    “ He said the proprietress and that ’ s who he ’ ll get. It was Miss Sarah ’ s notion to take in strangers here and she ’ s the one to pacify them. Off you go, me doty, and ask him when he wants his supper. ”
    “ Not like that, Sarah, ” protested Aunt Em. “ At least change out of your wet trousers. ”
    “ My wet trousers are good enough for him, ” pronounced Sarah, scowling. “ Besides, I ’ ve got my farm rounds to do yet. ”
    She slowly began to climb the stairs, squeezing the damp out of her hair as she went. She knocked on the door of the nursery, thinking it must be the first time in her life she had ever done such a thing. A clipped, English voice answered immediately, and she pushed open the door.
    He was sitting by the fire, reading, a lamp at his elbow, and in the brief moment before he looked up she had the impression of a cold, clear-cut profile, quite different from Joe ’ s irregular rugged n ess. He looked at home and completely unruffled, in fact, Sarah thought resentfully, he looked as though he never lost his temper at all.
    “ Hello, ” he said quite pleasantly, putting down his book. “ Who are you? ”
    “ I ’ m Sarah Riordan, ” she said, and he frowned, giving the polite impression that he disliked being disturbed. “ Did you want anything? ”
    She closed the door behind he r.
    “ It was you who wanted to see me, ” she pointed out. It did not occur to her that he might not know who she was. He was looking at her with the unfocused attention he might have given to a child, and indeed, he took her to be one of the younger members of the family. There appeared to be several Riordans.
    “ Did I? It was the proprietress I wanted to see—your aunt, perhaps? Is she in, yet? ”
    “ We ’ re all in, ” said Sarah severely. “ And I ’ m the proprietress. ”
    ‘ My dear young lady! Is this a joke with an I ri sh flavor? ”
    Sarah might have been feeling nervous a moment ago, but this sensation soon passed into one of indignation. How dared he laugh at her!
    “ I am Sarah Riordan, ” she repeated on a higher note. “ You replied to my letters and I replied to yours. Dun Rury is my house and I think at least you might get up when you speak to me. ”
    He rose slowly to his feet, but his face showed no signs of discomfiture.
    “ I beg your pardon, ” he apologized gravely. “ How do you do, Miss Riordan. Didn ’ t you get my telegram? ”
    “ I wanted to explain about the telegram, ” she said quickly. “ You see, our postal system is a bit erratic here—we ’ re so isolated. Willie-the-Post gives the mail to anyone who ’ s coming this way to save himself the extra five miles, and it ’ s the same with telegrams, unless Casey rows across the lough himself, which he wouldn ’ t do unless