'Keeps pretty level with the arm, miss--ma'am, I should say.'
Now what does he mean by that?
There has been another thaw and everything is distinctly mucky, but
yesterday, after lunch, I put on my shortest skirt and my oldest hat,
the one with the pheasant wing in it that Michael likes, and we tramped
over the dripping meadows to call on 'Uncle John.' 'Aunt John' opened
the door. She was resplendent in black silk with a necklace of melon
seeds and a pair of the most enormous pearl ear-rings, that even
Cleopatra might have envied.
She invited us into the little front parlour. This room was almost
entirely filled with a full-sized grand piano, which 'Uncle John' had
bought at a sale cheap, owing to the fact that most of the notes were
missing, 'But then,' as he explained, 'look at the case, real Hebony.'
He came in a few minutes after, looking a perfect ragamuffin in his
stained overalls and battered hat, not at all a suitable mate for the
resplendent vision in silk and melon seeds. The pair rather reminded me
of Uncle Jasper and Aunt Constance--she dressed for dinner in all her
finery and jewels and he just come in from grubbing out a foundation of
a buried abbey. And 'Aunt John' looked at 'Uncle John' in much the same
way that Aunt Constance looks at Uncle Jasper under the same
circumstances.
'Fair caught, I am,' he exclaimed affably, shaking hands all round;
'ain't had it off yet, then?' he said to Ross by way of cheering up an
invalid. And then with great pride he added, reverting to his first
paragraph, 'but the missis fair makes up for it, don't she, always
dressed up like a 'am bone of an afternoon is Sarah.'
'Well, mum,' he said, turning to me, 'I got your letter, and it's a fair
blow, that it is; I don't say but what wall-papers ain't expensive and
likely to go up, but if you could 'ave afforded the yaller with the
cream stripe I think it would 'ave fair made the place. Perhaps if you
wrote and told yer 'usband 'ow much better I say it would look 'e might
be willing to do a bust for once, especially as you don't seem to cost
'im much in clothes,' and he glanced at my plain tweed skirt.
Here Ross tittered, as I happened to have mentioned at lunch the price I
had paid for the garment in question.
''Owever, it ain't for me to say,' said 'Uncle John,' 'owe no man
nothing is my motter and always 'as been, and it ain't always that I
could give the wife a silk dress for the afternoon, is it, Sarah?'
Sarah, with ready tact, changed the conversation by offering us tea, and
observed that John was always 'a bit free with his tongue.'
'Oh, no offence intended, I'm sure,' said 'Uncle John,' but the dear
soul has it firmly fixed in his mind that we are rather poor, and he
keeps assuring me that he will keep expenses down as much as possible.
He will begin the work on Friday, with the owner's consent, although the
deeds will not be actually signed by then. I hope we shall be in 'Our
House' by the middle of March.
When we returned from calling on 'Uncle John' I found a letter asking me
to go to Staple Inn this week to sign some deeds. But why should they
want me to do that when Ross has Michael's Power of Attorney? I asked
my brother if he knew, but he professed the most profound ignorance of
everything in heaven and earth, except the evening paper (which was
private).
So I had to possess my soul in patience all night, and this morning when
we got to the lawyer's office I discovered two conspiracies.
Fancy! Michael has given me the cottage. Isn't it too sweet of him? I
was quite overcome when the lawyer said that the deeds were to be in my
name. I have never had anything of my own like that before, except L2 a
year paid quarterly, that an old cousin left me.
When the lawyer had congratulated me on my elevation to the position of
a landed proprietor, he said, 'And now, my dear young lady, I have
another piece of news which will, I think, make you an even more radiant
vision than you are at the moment.'
'Oh, lor!' Ross whispered, 'that's another 13/4 for poor old Michael;
the larger the lie, Meg, the bigger the bill!'
And then the lawyer told me that all the family silver and the old
furniture had been stored all these years by daddy's orders for me if I
cared to have them.
My brother and I were so excited that we could hardly stop to say
'good-bye' to our legal adviser, but tumbled head-first downstairs and
into a taxi. Ross exhorted the Jehu to drive furiously to the Furniture
Depository, where I found all my treasures, all the things that in the
old days made home, that had acquired a special value from their
association quite apart from their intrinsic worth. I sat in the chair
of the nine devils and cried for the days when mother used the things,
wept because daddy had been so thoughtful, and because I badly wanted to
hear him say the old joke I loved as a kiddie, 'Oh, can't you see the
ninth devil? I can!'
I found in store the eight old wheel-back chairs which were used in the
servants' hall at home and the two arm-chairs to match, which were
always set at either end of the long table for the cook and parlourmaid.
Woe betide any lesser lights that dared to sit in those seats of the
mighty! Fashion changes rapidly, however, and they will be our best,
oh, very best dining-room chairs, with little flat cushions added,
perhaps, for comfort. Then there is mother's grandmother's gate leg
table, it used to stand in the hall for cards and letters, but that will
be used for us to dine at. I seem to see the flowers on it and the
little pools of light made by the glass and silver and the soft
reflection of the shaded candles on the oak.
I shall set the chair of the nine devils beside the fire. The corner
cupboard with the one side longer than the other will do for glass and
salts and peppers, but as our dining-room is low, it must stand instead
of hang as it used to do at home. Alas for Aunt Amelia's feelings, the
cupboard door is panelled and the four divisions form a cross! Then
there is a funny old Devonshire dresser made of deal, with three deep
drawers, that we used in the school-room. It will do for a sideboard,
and the drawers, if divided and lined with green baize, will hold the
forks and spoons. It is painted black and has fascinating drop handles.
There is a hard, uncompromising Elizabethan air about it that just
matches the heavy beams in the ceiling. There is a splendid old brass
Chinese incense burner amongst the ornaments, and somewhere in one of my
multifarious boxes I have a flaming square of crimson with that glorious
embroidery only Chinese people produce. It shall be made into a cushion
for the black oak chair, and be the only splash of colour in the room.
One or two of the pictures will look quite nice. There is a quaint
print, in an old maple frame--Speech Day at Christ's Hospital--rows of
stately dames mixed up with Mayors and Aldermen and maces sit round the
hall, listening to one of the pupils reciting an ode. The pride and
agony on the headmaster's face near by is funny. 'Will he remember it
all? Such a credit to the school.' This at home used to be in an
attic, but I loved it because, the glass being cracked, it made the
Mayor appear to squint. Evidently daddy remembered this, for he had
written on the back on a bit of stamp paper, 'For Meg,' that was what
started the tears.
There are a few silhouettes in black frames with acorns on the top. One
is of Grandpa Fotheringham as a baby, and his mother has written the
date at the back and added, 'Very like my little boy, so dear to me.'
There is a painting, black with age, of one of my mother's family. She
is a severe-looking old lady, with rather a low-necked bodice (too low
for a Bishop's relative), but I forgot she was on the distaff side. She
has huge, full, puff sleeves and her head is entirely covered with a
large muslin cap with a goffered frill all round her face, tied under
her chin. That must hang near the silhouettes, I think. I found in a
box a funny old sampler framed in an ancient black and gilt frame. It
is a picture, beautifully sewn in faded silks, of a little girl and a
lamb sitting under a tree in a meadow, which looks damp, and her home is
in the distance at the back. She, too, is in a low-necked gown, with
short sleeves, and she wears a muslin erection on her head. She is
loving the lamb, which is extremely woolly. He is made entirely of
French knots, so if you know what those are you will know how very
woolly that lamb is. There is a pair of small shoes peeping out from
under the little girl's gown, they are red. Somehow I feel that they are
her best ones, and I don't believe her mother knows she's got them on.
They look most unsuitable for a damp meadow, and the lamb will step on
them in a minute, and then there'll be trouble. She'll probably cry.
When I got home I found a batch of letters and a picture from Uncle
Jasper. It is a copy of one in the cathedral library at Canterbury. I
will copy out a bit of his letter, which is so typical of the darling
pet:--
'I am sending you a copy, painted by a pal of mine, of the Mediaeval
Portrait of Queen Ediva. I expect you never heard of the lady, Little
'un, but she was the second wife of Edward the Elder, A.D. 961. Do try
to remember that date. She was a great benefactress to Christ Church
Priory, which I suppose you know is Canterbury Cathedral. In the
picture you will see she is dressed in her royal robes and crown.
Notice the beautiful jewelled and enamelled morse which fastens her
ermine-lined cloak. The original is painted on wood and is presumably
of the latter part of the fourteenth century. It is signed I.P.F., and
if he's the chap I think he is, the date will be about 1392. You can
hang it in the dining room of your ridiculous cottage. Why don't you say
what the date of it is, instead of jawing about the creepers and leaded
windows, which I expect are modern.'
Alas, there are no old deeds, so I do not know the date.
There was a letter from Aunt Constance, such a sad one. She asks me if
I would like the Manor House nursery furniture for the Gidger. She has
been saving it for her grandchildren, but now that Eustace has finally
decided, there will never be any little folk to use the pretty things.
Ross ejaculates at intervals, after reading the letter,--
'Oh, my hat! I simply couldn't, and when he could fight, too!'
No, I don't think the monastic life is the one for Ross.
So poor Aunt Constance, being a soldier's daughter, eats her heart out
because her Eustace cannot see his way to fight and pray. Well, it's a
funny throw-back.
Aunt Amelia acknowledged my letter telling her of my plans in thoroughly
characteristic fashion. There is a good bit about the Devil in her
epistle. She thinks 'one's days might better be occupied these solemn
times than in amassing possessions and lands, marrying and giving in
marriage'; but Michael and I are married, and it's only one house, and
as to land, two acres and a cow is considered a minimum, and I've left
out the cow. She 'hopes that the Vicar is faithful, and wears a black
gown,' that the Gidger is showing signs of grace, and that I have been
able to purge from the child's young mind the recollection of that
dreadful recitation, taught her by some ungodly friend of her poor
afflicted nephew.
'Does she mean me?' asked Ross indignantly.
'Yes, you're the afflicted one, and Captain Everard is the person
who----'
'Well, old Everard does know some tales, I admit,' said Ross, 'but go
on.'
'Oh, I can't bear to read any more of it out.' I threw the letter at
him.
'Why does she always spell devil with a capital "D"? I should have
thought the smallest she could write was good enough for that old
beast,' remarked my brother as he handed the missive back.
*CHAPTER XIV*
I don't know if the day in London was too much for Ross, but he had a
bad 'go' of pain in the night and cussed with great enthusiasm after
breakfast because he couldn't light his own pipe. Somehow he cannot
strike a match with his left hand, though heaps of men do it, I believe.
Half an hour after the outburst Sam appeared with a vase filled with
spills.
'Why these funny things?' said Ross, picking one up.
'Spills, sir, light them at the fire, sir; can't get matches.'
'Oh,' said Ross, and tried one. 'Why, Sam, this is a brain wave. I can
light my own pipe.'
'Can you, sir,' said Sam, going away contented. He is so thoughtful in
those little ways. He gives Ross such a very perfect service. Sam
never attempts to serve two masters. He is wholehearted for his one.
After lunch Ross said that he didn't feel up to going out, and that his
"Rev. Mother" wanted him to lie down and take some soothing syrup.
'And are you going to?' I asked.
'Of course I'm not. Do you think I always do what Brown says. The
'Rev. Mother's' the one that will do the lying down,' said my brother
grimly.
So I went over to the Gidger's cottage and found it full of ladders,
paint-pots, pails of white-wash, workmen knocking down partitions, while
'Uncle John,' his hair and whiskers bristling like a wild man of the
woods, whirls in and out like a dog at a fair, glorying in all the mess
and confusion. Now that the house is mine, I go round anxiously and
point out the flaws and cracks in the walls, and 'Uncle John' says
soothingly, 'Oh, yes, mum, it only wants a bit o' mortar, it won't cost
you much,' 'a bit o' mortar' is his panacea for all ills. He says the
roof is sound except over the powdering closet, which may give trouble,
no doubt 'a bit o' mortar will set it right.'
The two partitions are down and the doorways unblocked so that I can now
walk through my entire domain without going out in the garden, over the
fence and in at the other front door. All the rooms have had one coat of
distemper and the drawing-room is finished. The pale cream walls are
quite delightful and cry out for water-colours in gold mounts and
frames, the oak floors have been beautifully polished, and joy, there
are three Persian rugs in the Depository. To-day I bought a pair of
plain old iron dogs to rest the logs on in the open fireplace. The
casement curtains are to be made of the anemone besprinkled chintz with
frills along the top. But, alas, the little curtains cut into more
yards of stuff than one would think, and so I must have others in the
bedrooms. I went into a shop to-day and asked the man to show me
dimity.
'Dimity,' said he with a supercilious stare, '_dimity_, why, good
gracious, it's a hundred years old, madam.'
'But my house,' I said with quiet scorn, 'must be at least two hundred
and fifty.'
I bought a seventeenth century settee and some deep chairs when I was up
in town. They have loose covers made of chintz with a design of birds
and baskets printed from the original old wood blocks.
The drawing-room is such a jolly room, very light and bright, with three
big windows facing north and east and south. It has only one beam going
across the ceiling and none of the sombre dark beauty of the
dining-room, so I feel I may be flippant there. I shall have heaps of
colour in the covers and curtains. There are a few delightful things of
daddy's for this room--a lovely old mahogany corner cupboard with
latticed doors, and some bits of china to go in it, bowls and jugs and
funny old cups without handles. There are also three beautiful chairs
with rounded backs filled in with lattice work painted in black and
gold; the gold is very faint and worn in places. The seats are cane and
the front legs very spindly, the kind of chair one's heaviest male
visitor will inevitably choose. I think they must be French, they are
so elegant. No one should sit in them but an old gentleman with
powdered hair, delicate lace ruffles, and a little cane, and his lady
opposite must have a small patch box, there is one that I can lend her
if she likes. None of my men folk will look well in them, unless
perhaps my father, in his robes and full lawn sleeves. And I bought an
old mahogany bureau with deep drawers and little hidy holes and secret
places in it. It was really most expensive, but I asked Ross, and he
said Michael's balance at the bank was so indecent that he thought I
really must. I don't think we shall want much else; I like space and
Michael needs plenty; he will only fall over things if I crowd the rooms
too much, and complain that there is nowhere for his legs.
I forgot to say there is a great cupboard in this room with battened
shelves for fruit. (I told you the domestic offices were all mixed up),
and there are Cox's orange apple trees in the garden. I seem to see a
man who will get up suddenly and leave the fire on a winter's night and
hie him to the cupboard 'for a map,' but his pockets will bulge
suspiciously on his return, and there will be a kind of 'ain't going to
be no core' look in his eyes. Then he will lean back in the chair
covered with the bird and basket chintz and blatantly and vulgarly eat a
Cox's, skin and all, regardless of the fact that he's already had at
least one properly at dinner with finger bowls and silver knives and
plates. Then I shall say in righteous indignation, 'Where's the map?'
and he will say, 'Why, in my pocket, can't you see it sticking out?' 'I
can see something round,' I say severely. 'Well, what would you have?'
he drawls, 'the world's round, isn't it? It follows that the maps
should be round, too.' And he picks up his book again and reads. But I,
because the flesh is weak and the man tempted me too far, and because
his second apple looks so good, I shall shriek out, 'Oh, now I know how
Adam felt, Michael, you old serpent, give me one.' 'You can't eat
maps,' he says. 'Oh, yes, I can,' I say, and snuggle down beside the
fire and lean against his knee and munch in jolly comradeship, while the
tale of cores mounts steadily and sizzles with delightful splutterings
in the fire. Ah, well!
*CHAPTER XV*
Everything now is signed, sealed, and delivered. Gidger's cottage really
belongs to me.
I have engaged a most enchanting charwoman: she cleans silver and brass
better than any one else in the world, and polishes furniture till it
dazzles, but she can't scrub, she has an 'inside.' It is of deep and
lasting interest to her, and must be such a consolation on a wet day
when one wants a hobby in the house. She is never tired of talking of
it. It has a way of cropping up in every conversation, like the head of
Charles the First in Mr Dick's memorial. Ross calls her 'Our Lady of
Ventre,' which sounds more like a Belgian cathedral than it really is!
She is very emaciated and her looks are more 'delicate' than her
conversation.
'You see, mum, it's my inside,' she says; 'what I've suffered no one
don't know but those what 'as it; why, one hoperation alone they took
out----' but I spare you. So I have a second woman to scrub, and
between them they are getting the house like a new pin, and it will
burst upon the staff in all its pristine and primeval cleanness. I am a
little afraid of the staff. I understand that English servants in these
days need 'standing up to.' I can manage a man all right, having had a
vast experience, and Ross keeps my hand in, but a woman--how does one
stand up to her?
To-day the saucepans and baking tins arrived. I was thrilled, so was
'Our Lady of Ventre,' she helped me to unpack them while the other lady
scrubbed the shelves.
'Could you wash them, do you think?' I asked.
'Oh, yes, mum, as long as I don't do no scrubbing; you see, it's my----'
but I changed the conversation quickly by asking how her husband was.
'I 'ad a field card yesterday' (I wish I had), she answered, ''e was all
right then; my 'usband's in the calvery, in the calvery 'e is, always
was a one for 'orses.'
'So is mine,' I said.
'Fond of hall dumb hanimals, my 'usband is.'
'Ah, a kind man,' I answered.
''E is that,' she said, waving the lid of a saucepan at me, 'never laid
a 'and on me or any of the children, and what I've cost 'im in doctors
you never would believe; you see, it's my inside, mum,' and she took a
header into it, which I was powerless to prevent. 'Why, when I first
went out walkin' with 'im, mum, only nineteen I was at the time, I got
such a hawful pain in my inside they took me to the 'orsepital, took me
kidney right out they did, never thought I would 'ave lived they didn't.
Me young man, 'im what's me 'usband now, you understand, mum, 'e come to
see me when I began to git over it a bit; fair upset 'e was when the
sister told 'im about me kidney. I says to 'im, "Alb," I says, "I'm
sure if we gets married I shall cost you a hawful lot in doctors, and as
I lay 'ere," I said, "I've thought it's 'ardly fair to expect a man to
feel the same to 'is young woman when she ain't got all 'er orgins, and
if you feel you'd rather 'ave some other young lady, why, say so now," I
says, and I cried, I did, I was that weak and low, for I thought a deal
of Alb, I did, and I didn't want to lose 'im, mum.'
'"Liza," 'e says, "don't never talk like that again, my gal, I'd rather
'ave you with no hinside than any other young lady what's got all her
guts." Always one was Alb to speak 'is mind, and 'e fair blubbed, 'e
did, 'e was that upset, and then the nurse come along again and sent 'im
off, but I never forgot it, mum' (I shouldn't have either), 'and, as I
say, I've never 'ad an unkind word from 'im. 'Elped with the 'ousework,
too, many a time, and always lights the kitchen fire and brings me up a
cup of tea, 'e does, of a morning, suppose that's why I miss 'im so now
'e's in France,' and a tear splashed down into the saucepan she had
started washing.
Oh, it was really very sweet: the little woman's eyes were all alight
with love at the remembrance of her Alb's renunciation of her 'orgin,'
which, after all, was inspired by the same divine spark which caused
Dante to adore his Beatrice, Jacob to serve fourteen years for Rachel,
and Elizabeth to cry out to Robert,--
'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
. . . . . . I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears of all my life! and if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.'
I nearly forgot to say that the workpeople are out of all the rooms,
except the servants' bedrooms, so we are able to make a start arranging
furniture. Really, there isn't time to breathe, but when it is finished
Michael will perhaps come home. Oh, the happiness of seeing him walk up
to the front door, of taking him round the rooms, of introducing him to
all the dear old things, of showing him the garden. I can't think about
it, I cannot bear the separation bravely if I do--and for five days I
have had no letter.
The weather is delightful for going to and fro from Fernfold. It is
warmer, and there is a shade of green over the garden. Snowdrops and a
few early primroses make a show of bloom and great fat buds are coming
on the lilac trees. Soon there will be violets under the hedges. My
lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places. Each morning Ross and I
walk over to the cottage with sandwiches and Cornish pasties, eggs and
things, and coffee hot as hot in thermos flasks. The two chars meet us
there and Nannie and the Gidger come sometimes for tea. We all go home
tired but happy in the bus at five o'clock. The General Public will be
relieved to know that up to now the horse has not succumbed to any other
fits on my account!
To-day we arranged the hall. Three sides of it are panelled with black
oak. There are large red flagstones for a floor and a wide window
looking out across a bit of lawn into a little wood already pierced with
bluebell spikes. Amongst the family things there is an old deal settle
painted black, and this and a spinning wheel now stand beside the open
fire, and where there is no panelling on the walls, I've stood an
ancient dresser and filled its shelves with plates and dishes, made of
stoneware, blue and gold. There are cups to match as well upon the
hooks, and on the board below a naval copper rum jug Ross dug up from
somewhere, and some copper bowls and pans. The carved oak chest now
stands beneath the window, and there are other things besides which you
shall see if you like to come and call on me! And then, although it
looked so nice it lacked the feel of Michael, and because I am a very
foolish woman I hung some caps and a coat of his upon the hooks just by
the door, and flung a pipe and matches and a riding whip upon the table,
and pretended that he had just come in and said, 'Lunch ready, old lady,
what's the pudden?' and was gone upstairs for a moment followed by a
trail of dogs. Then because he hadn't, and his things only increased
the desolation, and because I have not had a letter for five days, I
wept copiously into the aforesaid coat, and made a wet patch on the
sleeve. Ross, passing unexpectedly, caught me with wet eyes, so I told
him that the smell of Harris tweed always had, did, and would make my
eyes water, which was the best excuse I could make at such short notice.
This statement my brother received with the tact of an archangel, merely
remarking as he went out that he knew exactly what I meant. Some things
made his eyes run, for example, pepper and onions, and measles in the
early stages. He returned soon after and said,--
'Meg, I want my lunch.'
'But you can't possibly eat your lunch at half-past twelve, Ross.'
'Can't I? You try me. Nature abhors a vacuum, come on, I'm starving.
Now,' said he, as he stood, a great tall thing with his back to the
fire, 'you're going to have a long rest this afternoon.'
'Indeed, I'm not, I've simply stacks to do.'
'This afternoon and every afternoon,' continued Ross, ignoring my
remark. 'Michael says I'm letting you do too much, you're tired out and
it's got to be stopped, I've got to read the Riot Act and then the list
of crimes.'
'I should have thought the crimes came first,' I said.
'They have,' replied my brother grimly. 'Been reading in bed?' he asked
abruptly.
'Yes, I haven't been able to sleep the last three nights, and it's no
good, I simply must work, I can't do nothing with the news so bad and
Michael in the thick of all that hell. Work all day and reading at
night stop me thinking, and keeps me sane, so don't ask me to do less,
Ross.'
'I don't "ask" you,' he said, and there was a horrid little silence.
One of the masters at Harrow once said to daddy, 'Don't mistake your
boy, in spite of his wild spirits, his fun and charm and fascination,
there's iron underneath.' The iron has a way of slipping up at times;
it was uppermost just then, floating merrily, like the borrowed axe, and
where was the prophet to whom I could go for rescue and say, 'Alas,
Master.'
'You're too thin,' he began again, and then he pulled a letter out of
his pocket and said, 'I don't really know any one who can express
himself more clearly than Michael, once he really starts. I've had a
regular jawing to-day from him for letting you get overtired--he----'
'Oh, Ross,' I interrupted, getting up hurriedly and clutching at his
sleeve, 'have you had a letter from Michael to-day?'
'Yes, and another yesterday; why, what's the matter, kid?'
'Oh, why didn't you tell me?'
'It never occurred to me,' he said, 'Michael only wrote yesterday about
money matters, and about you to-day; you hear from him every day
yourself, don't you?'
'But I haven't had a letter for nearly a week, Ross.'
'Why on earth didn't you tell me, then,' he said, sitting down beside me
on the settle.
'It's such a small worry compared with other people's, but I've been so
dreadfully anxious.'
'You poor little scrap,' he said, and the cry which he had interrupted
earlier in the morning I finished on his shoulder comfortably.
'What ridiculous handkerchiefs women use,' he remarked presently,
exchanging my wet crumpled ball for his nice big, cool, dry one. 'Some
chap said that men must work and women must weep, and you'd think that
the sex that did the weeping would go in for the larger handkerchiefs,
but I suppose you can't expect a female thing to be consistent. I shall
have to ask our Lady of Ventre to bring a mop if you don't stop soon,
and it'll be so bad for her inside, Meg.'
'How can you be so absurd,' I said, cheering up a bit, 'and I'm not a
female thing.'
'You're a very provoking one,' he replied, 'and if there's another
interval in Michael's letters, I'm to be told.'
'What does Michael say?' I asked.
'I'm to be told,' he repeated, tilting up my chin.
'So you said before,' I answered, trying to take his hand away, 'but I
don't want to worry you with all my woes, you've got enough of your
own.'
'My dear child, I could have told you two days ago that as I had heard
from Michael his letters to you were only hung up in the post, and you
would have been spared all this needless worry. Are you going to tell me
in future, or must I order Nannie to bring me all your letters first?'
and he tilted my chin still higher.
'I will tell you,' I said weakly, leaning up against him, it seemed the
only way to stop him looking at me, 'What does Michael say?'
'That the Power of Attorney he gave me to manage his affairs is now
extended to his wife, that there's to be no more reading in bed, no more
rackety days in London. Blows me up sky high for letting you work all
day and sew miles of little frills at night. Here, I'll read you out
the last bit: "Yes, it's all right about the shares. You take quite
decent care of my goods, why can't you of my chattel? I'll scrag you if
you let her get knocked up; don't take the slightest notice of anything
she says, make her obey orders."'
'The audacity of the man, the cheek,' I exclaimed, 'to call me a
"chattel," to talk of "orders"--to a person who by Act of Parliament has
been put on an equality with himself--to a woman with the vote--to a
householder--the autocracy of it!'
'Good word that,' said my aggravating brother, 'but then, you see,
Michael isn't exactly Mr Jellaby, and I'm going to see that you do obey
orders, and chuck in a few extras of my own--milk and things,' said Ross
vaguely. 'Here, get outside this sandwich and have some more coffee for
a start, and then up you go to get a rest.'
'It's so nice by the fire,' I remarked rebelliously, and then he
remembered the old joke and said whimsically, 'You know what you
promised in the harness-room that day, darling,' and he gave me one of
his rare kisses.
So I hope Michael the caveman is satisfied--that black beast--out there.
All my plans upset, all the crockery still in straw, no curtains up, and
not a picture hung. Oh, I had planned to have the cave so nice for his
return, to sprinkle all the floor with fine sea sand, to hang up the
skin of that big tiger that he killed, to keep away the draught, and
over the driftwood fire to set a pot of rabbit stew (he always is so
hungry), and then perhaps with a new necklace for myself I should have
been ready.
Just as we were getting in the bus to-night our Lady of Ventre came
running out to ask me if she might come two hours late to-morrow. She
said that an old woman in the village was dying, and was sure to be dead
by the morning, and she had been asked to lay her out, there being no
nieces or daughters who could do it. 'Can't say I like the job, mum,
but one can't 'ardly refuse to perform the last horfice for the dead
seeing as 'ow we've all got to come to it; it's different if you know a
person; if it was you now, mum, or the capting, I'd do it with
pleasure.' Ross's guffaw nearly took the roof off.
When we got back to Fernfold there were three letters from Michael, but
I only liked two of them. If he gives another man a Power of Attorney to
row his wife, he oughtn't to do it himself as well. It's not cricket.
Oh, well, I read the third one through again and liked it better,
because I left out all the written part and only read between the
lines--my darling!
*CHAPTER XVI*
Another week has passed. The workpeople have gone and taken all their
pots and pails. Gidger's cottage is almost finished. It will be quite
completed by to-night and we are going to sleep in it.
At the moment the two chars are working in the kitchen: Brown with his
leg up is unpacking china, Ross ordering every one about, Nannie and the
Gidger very busy in the nursery (the Poppet giving much advice about her
own department), while the only person who really matters is doing
'nothing much' for a day or two, except cussing her male relatives in
her heart.
The day-nursery is rather pretty--soft green walls, so that there may be
no glare to strain the precious eyes: white furniture, just big enough
for tiny folk: cupboards with shelves, low enough for little hands to
reach the toys and that lovely 'Masque of Flowers' for pictures.
There is a window seat with cushions, where big people can tell small
ones fairy stories in the dusk. There's a comfy chair for Nannie and a
rocking-horse and doll's house, all presents from Aunt Constance, sent
'with love.'
Then in the Gidger's other room the same soft green, and all the
pictures the small owner loves: that perfect Madonna of Andrea del
Sarto, and a copy of Watts' 'Whence--Whither?' Do you remember that
perfect baby, who runs out of the sea toward you, whichever way you
stand and look at it. By special request, hung where she can always see
them, are the two great favourites, 'The Good Shepherd' with a lamb, and
the other--five Persian fluffy kittens sitting in a row.
'Because I like,' explained the Gidger to Uncle Woss, 'to see Jesus and
the tittens when I get into my byes.'
'Would you call King George by his Christian name, Gidger?' Ross asked.
'Course not, Uncle Woss.'
'Why?'
'Because it would be most fwightful cheek.'
'Then don't you see it's much more cheek to call Him by His, darling?'
'But I didn't mean to be wude to Him,' said the Poppet tearfully, 'I'm
fond of Him.'
'Of course, darling, so if you just say "Sorry, Sir," it'll be all
right.'
So the Gidger said, 'Sorry, Sir,' and the conversation changed to
kittens.
'I wish I had a titten, Uncle Woss, just like the one in the miggle.'
Ross said he would see what could be done, with which my daughter seemed
contented.
But, ah, why is there only one little bed in the nursery, why is there
no little son? Yes, of course, Michael is 'better to me than ten sons,'
only he's so 'normous, the other would be so cuddley.
The Gidger does so want a long clothes baby doll. She's got a mother
hunger for it, and I won't give her one. Shall I tell you why? If I
should ever have the joy to hope about a little son, I shall hunt the
garden for a nest, and let the Gidger peep at it with all the soft,
downy things inside. Then I shall say, 'I made a little nest for you
once, darling, just underneath my heart,' and I shall take her up in the
nursery and open a drawer and show her all the small robes and garments
that I made for her, and then she'll say, 'Oh, muvver, why won't you let
me have a long clothes baby dolly?' And I shall tell her about the
second nest that I've begun to make, and then I shall give her a most
perfect baby doll that I've got waiting in a box just now. I shall ask
her sometimes if she'd like to come and learn to sew some clothes for
her baby while I sew some for mine: and if she pricks her little
fingers, and makes a tiny spot of blood upon the narrow hem, and looks
at me with eyes like drowned forget-me-nots (as she does if she is going
to cry), I shall say, 'But, darling, don't you think it's worth it for
your baby?' She'll learn to know then, when she's married and she's got
the mother hunger, that her baby will be worth the mother pain.
And now the evening time has come. The house is finished, the last
picture is up, the last curtain hung, and all the dear domestic gods
arranged. Alas! the fly in the ointment has turned up also. The staff
has arrived, and I am terrified of it. I feel all awash inside to think
that I have to order the dinner in the morning and tell the S.P. what
her work is. However, 'sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'
Tired, but happy, I wandered into the scented garden in the dusk to
gather great branches of white and purple lilac, armfuls of
forget-me-not and fragrant pheasant eye and the very early honeysuckle
that grows over the porch. Then I filled every vase and pot that could
be induced to hold water, and some that couldn't, Ross says, because I
stood a leaky jar on his dressing-table and the water trickled into the
drawer beneath and reduced the contents to pulp.
The house is so sweet, filled with the spring, but if only I had
decorated all the rooms for Michael! My heart goes out to him to-night
with a great longing. The rooms are full of the peace and fragrance
only found in old houses, yet, dear as it is, it can never be to me
anything more than a house till he comes and transforms it into _Home_.
*CHAPTER XVII*
I think 'The Staff' might be worse, though it could not be more
alarming. Dulcie cooks beautifully, only she won't cook enough of
anything, and the S.P. is very superior, quite appallingly so. She does
her work well, but she despises me. I try to like her, but it is
difficult to feel any affection for a person who looks as if you were a
bad smell under her nose. She has always lived with such exclusive
families that I cannot think she will stay very long with us. Her last
place was a failure, she only stayed a month. 'After I got there,' she
explained, 'I found the mistress was not a lady.'
'How did you know?' I inquired politely.
'Oh, she never dressed for dinner, put the coals on with her fingers,
and had tea in the dining-room. (By a merciful dispensation we have ours
in the hall.) 'I was most uncomfortable,' she added, 'but I liked him.
He was a real gentleman, his underclothing was all made of silk.'
'My 'Ilda' needs a great deal of polishing. At lunch the S.P. teaches
her to wait at table, but it is a daily martyrdom for any one so
perfectly genteel, so unutterably refined!
Monica turned up yesterday, unexpectedly, in a motor-car. She stayed
ten minutes and then dashed back to her hospital.
'Oh, Meg!' she laughed as she came in, 'why didn't you tell me the truth
years ago? What an utter little fool I've always been, but I've found
out that I love him after all.'
'Well, you'd better write and tell him so,' I said, and kissed her.
'I have,' she answered, blushing like a wild rose. 'Aren't I a bold,
bad girl? Aren't modern women hussies? I'm so longing for his letter,
Meg. Oh, you were funny! I'm not a bit patrician, am I? I adore
cement!'
Dear old Monica!
And after she had departed like a young whirlwind I had another thrill.
The curate and his wife called, and he turned out to be Mr Williams. He
is still solemn, and thinner and limper even than he used to be, but he
cheered up a bit at the mention of the Bishop of Ligeria. She is a
frail little person with a dress like a spasm and the most desolating
hat it has been my lot to meet for years. I wonder if she dresses so
from choice or poverty.
I was glad my brother was in London when they called. His eyes would
have been fascinated by the reserve of food on Mr Williams's coat.
Funny old thing I Ross is always so well-groomed himself that, like the
robin, he makes all the other birds look dirty.
When he came home he brought a hamper.
'The one in the miggle's in there,' he said with pride.
'You are famed for your lucidity,' I remarked politely.
It was a kitten for the Gidger, such a purring, fluffy atom, just out of
the frame and christened Fitzbattleaxe by my daughter the moment she saw
it. When Nannie had whisked her away, Ross said,--
'You'll have to put up with me for a bit longer, old thing. I got a big
overhauling to-day. They say my arm is better, and I can have it in a
sling now instead of these infernal bandages.'
'Well, that's something,' I observed, but Ross is not of a grateful
nature.
'Small something, I think,' he snorted. 'Boards are a lot of old women,
said I must be content to "Make haste slowly," as if I were a
schoolgirl. I want to be back with my men. Oh, what an awful time it
seems since I saw anybody decent.'
'Well,' I ejaculated, 'if that's not the pink-edged limit!'
'Oh, twins don't count, Meg, but I am in a vile temper. Let's go and do
something. Clean the greenhouse roof, shall we? There's just light
enough. Come on!'
Ross decided the plan of campaign. I was to pour the water from my
bedroom window on to the glass beneath, while he, armed with a long
broom borrowed from the kitchen, would stand on a pair of steps in the
garden and clean the glass with the broom aforesaid.
'Now, Meg, plenty of water, no stinting,' he ordered.
So I got a huge canfull, and in order that Ross should have all the
water he desired, I poured it out, not from the spout but from the other
end, with great pride and force. Alas, 'the ways of mice and men aft
gang agley.' The gutter of the beastly thing was too small to catch my
Niagara, and the entire volume of water rushed over the glass, down
Ross's neck, into his eyes and mouth, flooding his pockets and soaking
him to the skin.
He gave one awful yell and overbalanced into the water butt, the lid of
which, of course, was off (it would be in my garden). In my agitation I
dropped the can, which followed the water in a wild leap on to the path
below, smashing two or three panes of glass in its mad career.
'Well, you have done it,' said Ross, surveying the wreckage from the
water tub. 'There's no doubt if you want a thing really well done, it's
best to do it oneself.'
Then Sam appeared and looked reproachfully at me, and spoke to Ross, and
I heard the words 'arm' and something about 'taking more care.'
Ross looked through Sam in that disgusting way he has when he isn't
pleased, and said,--
'I can't go through the house like this, Meg; why do you have your tubs
lined with green. Get me a bath, Brown.'
'Cold, sir?'
'How can I get this stuff off in cold? Hot, of course,' snapped his
master, 'and ask the Titmouse for the ladder, Brown, and I'll go through
the bathroom window.'
As I went upstairs a little later, Ross's door was slightly open; Sam
was catching it. King's Regulations and the Hickley Woods wrestling for
the mastery.
'You'll excuse me, sir, you don't take care.'
Then my brother's voice floated towards me down the passage.
'No, I'll not excuse you, Brown. I've had too much cheek from you the
last ten minutes! Get me a shirt. If you mention my arm again in front
of Mrs Ellsley, you'll quit. Now my coat. Do you call this brushed?
Now a handkerchief, and get out.'
Then as he remembered that he was now promoted to a sling he added
stormily,--
'Understand once for all, I will not be fussed over like a schoolgirl,
I'm not a sucking dove.'
'Oh, no, sir,' said Brown, and I caught a flicker of amusement on his
impassive countenance as he closed the door behind him with the wet
clothes on his arm.
Just then the carrier brought a crate of hens and a box of rabbits from
Aunt Constance. We felt rather like Noah when the animals began to file
into the ark. The hens were the breed that have the very large combs.
'My 'Ilda' remarked as they were put into their run,--
'My! you won't get many eggs from them, mum, they're all cocks.'
The Gidger loved the rabbits and I told her how the mother bunny would
presently have some little ones, and that she would love them very much
and make a warm nest for them, and pull off her own soft fur to keep her
babies warm. I want my little daughter to know of all the wonderful
protective instincts God has implanted in His creatures and the sweet
provision that He makes for all the tiny things.
Just before dinner we flew down the village to buy some bran for the new
arrivals. On our return my brother did one of his atrocious lightning
changes.