Garth of Tregillis by Henrietta Reid

employer. The house had been like a sleeping castle until his vibrant, dark, vital presence had brought it to life.
    ‘Imagine, I was sound asleep when Mr. Seaton arrived from abroad! You could have knocked me down with a feather,’ said Hilda, ‘when I walked straight into him in the corridor this morning. “Good morning, Hilda”, he said to me.’ She giggled happily.
    So even the maids were affected by his presence! It was clear that the girl was half in love with him, I thought irritably.
    When Hilda had gone, I began my breakfast in an angry mood, as I recollected the events of the previous night. I became even more angry as I thought that Garth had apparently told Melinda she might be present at Emile’s lessons. It was clear that she intended to seize the opportunity to be as naughty as possible. Did Garth seriously expect the lessons to be of any use to Emile while Melinda was free to be as disruptive as she pleased? Then I recalled Mrs. Kinnefer’s remark that Garth was the only person Melinda respected and I decided that the first thing I would do would be to ask for an interview with Garth Seaton and protest against Melinda’s presence at the lessons.
    With this resolution I sprang out of bed and began to dress. A shaft of morning sunlight shone through the window raising bright copper lights in my flamboyant curls, and as I surveyed myself in the mirror I remembered with annoyance Garth Seaton’s remarks about my hair. Everyone else at Tregillis seemed to be under his spell, I thought resentfully, and I decided that the picture I should present in our interview should differ as much as possible from that of the tousle-headed girl with slippers peeping beneath her dressing-gown who had been caught red-handed in the library on the previous evening.
    I put on a grey linen dress with a wide snowy puritan collar, combed my hair back severely until the waves in it were flattened and secured it at the nape of my neck with plenty of pins to keep it under restraint.
    Still in a belligerent mood I began to descend the stairs—only to find when I reached the hall that there was no sign of anyone around. I realized then that I had not the slightest idea where, in that vast house, Garth Seaton might be found—that is, if he was in the house at all and had not already gone out. The thing to do would be to pull the bell beside the giant chimney place in the hall, but in my character as menial at Tregillis. I hesitated to do this. I prowled around for a while, peeping into the public rooms.
    The vast dining room was empty, so was the smaller dining-room in which I had lunched with Paul Newsom on the previous day.
    As I wandered past the door of the library, it was ajar. I pushed it wider—to find myself once more abruptly in Garth Seaton’s presence.
    He was seated at a table littered with papers in one of the wide window embrasures. ‘Yes, Miss Westall?’ His voice held a question.

    He was demanding to know what I meant by interrupting him and for the moment I was taken aback and hovered uncertainly in the doorway.

    ‘You’re looking for someone—Mrs. Kinnefer,
    perhaps?’
    His tone of barely restrained impatience stiffened my backbone. ‘Not Mrs. Kinnefer,’ I replied, drawing myself up. ‘It’s you I want to speak to.’
    He put down the pen he had been holding and sat back in his chair. ‘In that case you’d better come in, hadn’t you,’ he said dryly, ‘or do you intend to conduct the interview from the doorway?’
    Feeling a little deflated by this reception, I traversed the big room under his gaze and seated myself in the chair he indicated.
    Now I was facing him across the great wide table. The air this gave of my being like one supplicating some favour from a powerful dictator annoyed me intensely. Nor did his opening words assuage my ruffled feelings.
    ‘You have a problem of immense complexity, I assume, when you feel you must see me personally. Nothing that Mrs. Kinnefer or Paul Newsom