MARGARET STARTS ON A JOURNEY
The immediate result of the conversation that Mr. Anstruther had
overheard between his granddaughter and her imaginary friend was a visit
from the doctor to Margaret. Mr. Anstruther was sure that Margaret would
never have dreamed of rebelling against him even in her thoughts had she
not been ill, and within an hour from the time he had dispatched his
granddaughter in disgrace to the house, Mr. Anstruther followed her there
accompanied by Dr. Knowles. Dr. Knowles it was whose conversation with
the clergyman Margaret had in her turn overheard from behind the hedge,
and if he had pitied Margaret before, his pity increased tenfold, when by
a series of skilfully put questions he had drawn from her a description
of her daily life. But he smiled reassuringly at her as he bade her
good-bye, and promised to send her a prescription that he knew she would
like.
But though, when she came to hear of it, Margaret approved this
prescription, her grandfather strongly objected to it when it was
first mooted to him. For it was change of air that the doctor
prescribed--change of air immediate and complete.
"If you could fill this house with young people, and let her lead a gay,
lively life here, I don't say that it might not do her as much good as a
change of climate, but," perceiving that Mr. Anstruther's face was set
like a flint at a mere suggestion of such a thing, "a change would be
better still. She has been too long in this flat, low-lying district;
Brighton or Eastbourne, or any part of the Sussex Downs, would be of
immense benefit to her."
"And if I follow neither of these alternatives," said Mr. Anstruther
harshly, "if I let her go on as she is doing now, what then?"
"Then I think you will run a great risk of having a morbid, melancholy
young lady on your hands--a delicate one too--for she is in danger of
becoming anemic, unless her health improves."
Dr. Knowles spoke so emphatically that, averse though he was to the idea
of letting his granddaughter go away, Mr. Anstruther dared not disregard
his warning. Nothing, he told himself obstinately, would have induced him
to accept the alternative proposal and fill his house with young people
for her sake. That would have been denying the very principles on which
she had been brought up. But the change was another matter altogether.
The next point to be considered was where he should send her; the doctor
had specified the Sussex downs, and that brought to Mr. Anstruther's mind
the fact that he had a friend who lived in a village high up on those
same downs. Many years ago he had visited her in the breezy place in
which she had chosen to make her home, and if his memory served him
rightly, and he had no doubt on that point, Windy Gap, as the village was
called, would be bracing enough to please the doctor, and quiet enough to
satisfy him. To the best of his belief there was scarcely another house
within three or four miles, and even if she had possessed near neighbours
Mrs. Murray would not have been likely to hold much intercourse with
them, for she was very deaf, and, as when he had known her, at least, she
had objected strongly to using an ear-trumpet, and few people had
sufficient lung power to make her hear without it, she had been quite
content not to hear them at all. Mr. Anstruther smiled rather grimly as
he reflected that Margaret's stay at Windy Gap was not likely to make her
own home seem dull by contrast when she returned to it.
Although he had held no correspondence with Mrs. Murray for many years,
they had in the days of their youth been such very good friends that Mr.
Anstruther had no scruples at all in writing to ask her if she would be
willing to consent to receive his granddaughter on a long visit. An
answer came by return of post to say that Mrs. Murray would be delighted
to have her, but that as she was totally unused to young people and
would be at a loss to know how to entertain a young girl, George must
give her some idea of what amusements she would need.
"My dear Julia," wrote Mr. Anstruther by the very next post, "Margaret
requires no amusement of any sort whatever. I particularly wish her to
make no friends and to pay no visits. You will find her obedient and
quiet, respectful towards her elders, to whose opinion she has been
taught to defer implicitly on every point. You, I think, were among those
who remonstrated with me when fourteen years ago I sketched to you the
lines on which I intended to bring up my granddaughter. When you see the
result of my training, however, you will admit that your remonstrances
were misplaced. I will not, however, disguise from you that during the
last few days her conduct has not been altogether satisfactory, but
suspecting that a grave act of disobedience of which she had been guilty
arose from the fact that she was not quite in her usual health, I called
in a doctor, and he confirmed me in this opinion and recommended change
of air. Of course, you are aware that when Margaret comes of age or when
she marries, if she marries before she is twenty-one, she inherits a
fortune of about £2,000 a year. Her mother inherited nearly double this
sum, but she and her husband--she married her second cousin and did not
change her name--between them reduced the capital by considerably more
than half. But I have brought Margaret up in utter ignorance of the fact
that she is an heiress, and have always taken pains to prevent her from
coming into contact with any one who might inform her of it. And this I
have done to guard her from being married merely for the sake of her
money. Let her lead while with you the same simple life that she has led
hitherto. Make her study for five or six hours daily and spend the rest
of the time in your lovely garden. If she goes out for walks, which seems
to me unnecessary, for she can surely take all the exercise needful to
her health in your garden, pray see that she is attended by a maid whom
you can trust. I also particularly wish her to take up the study of a new
language. It will give her something definite to work at, and will drive
from her thoughts sundry silly fancies and whims to which of late she has
given way. She already talks French and German very well indeed, thanks
to a most painstaking governess who has helped me to bring her up, and
now she might with advantage take up Italian. You are so close to
Seabourne, which place is, I know, a great educational centre, that you
will have no difficulty in getting teachers. Pray spare no expense and
get the very best. Perhaps you might also arrange for a competent singing
mistress to come out to Windy Gap two or three times during the week, for
Margaret has a nice little voice--not strong, but sweet and true--and
singing, when not displayed in public, is a becoming accomplishment for a
woman to have."
Could Mr. Anstruther have heard the running fire of exclamations
expressive of amazement, amusement, and pity with which Mrs. Murray
punctuated the reading of this letter, Margaret would never have been
permitted to go to Windy Gap.
But Mrs. Murray's reply gave no hint of the feelings with which she had
read his long letter of instructions; she merely promised to take every
care of his granddaughter and to keep her well occupied.
"I am delighted to hear," she wrote, "that you particularly wish her to
take Italian and singing lessons, for as it happens she will enjoy an
unique opportunity of studying both those things. For living in this
village is an Italian lady, a certain Madame Margherita Martelli, who was
once a famous operatic singer, but who lost her voice after a very short
career. She lives here so as to be near her only daughter, who married a
clergyman in Chailfield. She is by no means well off, and will be very
glad to make a little money by teaching Margaret singing and Italian. I
have heard she is a splendid teacher. As for Margaret forming any
intimate friendships while with me, you can set your mind at rest on that
point, for my deafness has increased so much since I last saw you that I
do no visiting in the ordinary sense of the word, but am quite happy with
my books and my garden. Then, too, I have a large acquaintance with my
poorer neighbours in the surrounding villages, and though my lameness
prevents me from walking to see them, I have a sturdy little pair of
ponies who take me everywhere, and I am looking forward to having
Margaret as a companion on my daily drives."
When Margaret heard, as she did four or five days after the doctor's
visit, that she was to go away from Greystones for a prolonged period,
her amazement was only equalled by her delight. She had known that some
change was impending for her, for the day after his visit she had been
ordered to spend all her time out of doors, and, as long, of course, as
she did not go out of the wood, to do exactly as she pleased. So she had
taken out the lightest books the schoolroom shelves contained and had
spent the long, hot days lying under the shade of the trees. The state of
suspense in which she had lived during those days gave ample support to
the doctor's verdict that a change of some sort had become necessary to
her. She grew even paler than was her wont, and a succession of two or
three wakeful nights brought dark circles under her eyes, making them
look almost unnaturally large and bright.
"So," said her grandfather, who had called her into his study to acquaint
her with the plans he had made for her, and who had had no difficulty in
reading on her tell-tale face the delight the news had given her, "you
are pleased to be going away even before I have informed you what your
destination is?"
"Yes, grandfather."
"And you feel no regret in leaving Greystones?"
"No, grandfather."
Mr. Anstruther suppressed with some difficulty the strong feeling of
irritation that seized him at these monosyllabic answers. He knew that it
would have been highly unreasonable on his part to have displayed
annoyance, for had he not himself taught her to give a simple "Yes" and
"No" when possible to his questions?
"Or in leaving me?"
For a brief instant Margaret hesitated the while her clear, candid eyes
were fixed thoughtfully on his face. Her natural politeness forbade her
to give the negative reply which her innate truthfulness also demanded.
He saved her from the necessity of making a reply at all.
"I am answered," he said in the sarcastic tones which never failed to
bring the colour to her face. "Pray did you think my feelings would be
wounded if you had told me that you felt no regret at leaving me?"
"I--I do not know," stammered Margaret uneasily.
"Well, as it is my desire that you go it would not be of much use
discussing your feelings or wishes on the matter. This is Thursday; you
will go next Tuesday."
"Yes, grandfather."
This time Mr. Anstruther could not restrain the impatient glance he threw
at her pale face and downcast eyes.
"Yes, grandfather! no, grandfather! I do not know, grandfather!" Was that
really all she felt capable of saying in his presence? A few days ago he
could have believed that to be the case, but now he was conscious for the
first time of a baffled sense that he really knew nothing whatever of the
real character of this granddaughter of his. She was obedient, yes, but
that was after all a matter of conduct rather than of character, and he
found himself wondering what traits might be hidden away under the quiet
reserve of her manner. But again with an effort he suppressed his
irritation and proceeded to describe to her the place to which she was
going and the life she would lead there. "For if you imagine that the
senseless delights I overheard you picturing to yourself the other day
are to be yours you may as well disabuse yourself of the notion at once.
Nor will you have the opportunity of making the acquaintance of a number
of giddy young people. You will lead a life of as strict retirement there
as here. My friend, Mrs. Murray, who has so kindly consented to take you
for a time, is about my age; she will have the additional drawback in
your eyes of being very deaf. She lives quite alone in a little village
on the Sussex Downs and sees no one. But you will have plenty to do. I
have made arrangements for you to begin the study of Italian. It is time
you learned another language, and fortunately there is an Italian lady,
a Madame Margherita Martelli, once a famous singer, resident in the
village, who will instruct you in her language and also give you singing
lessons. She will also, perhaps, accompany you on your daily walk."
A curious light flashed suddenly into Margaret's down-drooped hazel eyes.
Her daily lessons! Her daily walk! And one deaf old lady for company! For
one wild minute she felt inclined to rebel, to tell her grandfather that
she was tired of being treated as a child, and that she had a right, at
eighteen, to have some voice in the disposition of her own time.
If she had raised her eyes then, he must have seen the mutinous look in
them, and then, whatever else had happened, or whatever the doctor had
said at his advice being set at nought, it would have been quite certain
that Margaret would not have been permitted to leave Greystones that
summer.
But that desire to rebel vanished as suddenly as it had come, leaving
Mr. Anstruther as unaware as he had been before of all that his
granddaughter's quiet, almost indifferent manner concealed.
"After all," she told herself afterwards, "there will be the downs and
the sea to look at. And it will be a change from this."
So she held fast to those two thoughts, and did not permit herself to
be dismayed by the picture her grandfather had drawn of the life that
awaited her at Windy Gap.
Of course, it was out of the question that Margaret should travel alone,
and Mr. Anstruther made arrangements for his housekeeper and cook to
escort her to her journey's end. The almost childish delight that
Margaret felt at the thought of the actual journey itself was somewhat
damped by the news that Mrs. Parkes was to accompany her. For her
grandfather's estimable cook and housekeeper was a grim old woman who
ruled the maids with a rod of iron, and who, even in the days of her
childhood, had never had a kind look or a smile for Margaret. That,
however, in Mr. Anstruther's opinion, had added to her recommendations,
for it had been one of his rules that his granddaughter should have
nothing whatever to say to any of his servants. But though the news
that Mrs. Parkes was to be her escort lessened the pleasure that she was
feeling at the thought of the long railway journey that lay before her,
it could not by any means wholly destroy it. After all, they could sit at
opposite ends of the carriage, and Margaret knew that, except when they
changed trains, which they had to do once, she would be tolerably certain
to forget Mrs. Parkes' presence altogether.
As soon as she had heard where she was to go, Margaret looked her
destination up on the map. But Windy Gap was too small a place to be
marked. Chailfield, however, was the nearest station, and that was on the
map, as was also Seabourne. The latter place was a large and fashionable
watering town renowned for its schools, in one of which Miss Bidwell had
been a governess for some years. Many were the dictations in English,
French, and German, descriptive of the town and the surrounding downs
which Margaret had written, and it was strange to think that she was now
about to see these places for herself.
The few days that intervened between the Thursday on which she had heard
that she was to go away and the following Tuesday could not pass too
quickly for Margaret, and when Monday dawned and the actual packing of
her trunk could begin, she was in a high, though carefully repressed
state of excitement. Lizzie, the housemaid, who had been getting her
clothes ready during the last few days, fully sympathised with the eager
impatience which Margaret showed that everything should be ready in time.
"For if I had had the dull time that Miss Margaret has had ever since
Miss Bidwell went away, not that she was very gay company, I should be
off my head with joy too."
"Is Miss Margaret off her head with joy, then?" said the kitchen-maid, to
whom the remark had been addressed.
"Well, in a quiet way of her own she is," said Lizzie. "She don't sing
nor dance like other young ladies would, but her eyes shine like stars,
and now and again she smiles quiet to herself."
But, after all, Margaret did not have Mrs. Parkes as a travelling
companion. The day before they were to start for Chailfield two things
happened. Scarlet fever broke out in Clayton, and Mrs. Parkes fell down
the cellar stairs and broke her leg.
"The departure of my granddaughter, who was to have left to-morrow
morning by the nine-thirty train, must therefore be delayed," said Mr.
Anstruther, "until I can procure for her a suitable escort."
This was said to Dr. Knowles, who had been summoned to set the broken
leg.
"Departure delayed! Escort! Fiddlesticks!" said Dr. Knowles in his most
staccato manner. "Don't keep her an hour longer here than necessary. In
her run-down state she would be just the sort of person to go down with
fever. The sooner she is away from here the better."
"But I hardly like the idea of her travelling alone," said Mr.
Anstruther, who saw the reason of what the doctor said far too clearly
to resent his manner. "I would have taken her myself, but it is quite
impossible for me to leave home for several days----"
"Then send her alone. What on earth can happen to her? Put her in charge
of the guard, engine-driver, inspector, every official on the line, but
don't keep her here another day. It would be wicked to let her run
unnecessary risks."
As it was then ten o'clock at night, and Margaret was to start so early
the next morning, it was impossible to find any one to go with her,
especially as Dr. Knowles had warned her grandfather against bringing her
in contact with any one in the infected village. After all, he thought,
Dr. Knowles was right, and no harm could come to her through travelling
alone. It was not even as though she were going through London. The
journey was a perfectly simple one, and involved only one change at a
place called Carden Junction. If he spoke to the guard at Clayton, and
told him to put the young lady into the Southern Express at the junction,
she would be well looked after the whole way.