'Meg, excuse me mentioning it, but how much do operations cost?'
'It depends on how much they take out,' I said. '"Why, at one hoperation
alone----"'
'Margaret, if you would have the goodness to give me some idea of a
figure, and not make me sick, I should be so obliged.'
I looked round wildly for 'some idea of a figure.' The flower seed
packet in my hand was numbered 207, so I said,--
'About 207, I should think, and it was "Our Lady of Ventre," Ross, who
said that about the "hoperation." As long as it's a quotation, a person
can say anything and not be blamed.'
'Your quotations always were about the limit,' he answered, and went
indoors again.
A little later in the afternoon Ross was drumming idly on the
drawing-room window when he suddenly exclaimed,--
'There are two visitors coming up the path, freaks, too, look at their
clothes. My hat, Meg I it's Aunt Amelia, Keziah, and the fydo!'
I don't know if I said before that Keziah is tall and rather angular,
with smooth black hair parted down the middle, like Aunt Amelia's, and
as the maid is always arrayed in her mistress's cast-off clothes, one
description will do for both. On this occasion each wore a funny little
black bonnet, and a long voluminous broche skirt, the train of which was
held right over the arm, showing acres of white embroidered petticoat.
A black jacket, and square-toed, flat-heeled boots, and those awful
stuff gloves that pull on without buttons completed an awe-inspiring
costume.
Keziah arranged my aunt in an arm-chair and handed over the fydo to her
care, and then retired with my pulverised parlourmaid to the servants'
hall.
Aunt Amelia was extremely gracious for her, in an early Victorian
fashion, 'Hoped we liked our house and had found suitable domestic
help.' She then asked in the next breath, without waiting for my
answers, what we thought of the church, and when I replied that we liked
it very much she said,--
'I'm distressed to hear it, Margaret. It may be a beautiful structure,
but do you know the vicar believes in the Virgin Mary?'
Ross got up hurriedly and opened another window, and then my amiable
relative started on the family and her friends and proceeded to pick
their religious views to pieces, while the fydo wheezed and stank and
panted at her feet.
I felt at all costs the conversation must be changed, so I told her
rather irrelevantly that we kept chickens, but that we couldn't have
many as we hadn't much space.
'Ah, Margaret,' she said, 'if you want space you can always look above.'
'But you can't keep chickens there, Gweat Aunt,' said the Gidger, who
had been listening with great interest to the conversation.
My brother looked at me piteously. I don't know how much longer he
could have controlled his laughter. Mercifully the fydo got fidgety, so
the good lady got up to go. The Poppet observed with deep interest that
the loose cover of the chair upon which the visitor had been sitting was
all pulled out and wrinkled. She looked up at her great-aunt, and in a
voice of the most intense interest, said,--
'Look how you've wuckled up the cover of muvver's chair. You must be
cowogated like our hen-house roof.'
Ross became so alarmingly faint that he could only gasp out a choked
'good-bye' and hurry upstairs.
I found him a few minutes later with his head buried in a sofa cushion.
'Oh, what a thing it is to have a corrugated relative!' he gasped.
'Isn't she a priceless female? And their clothes! I must write and
tell daddy. How he would have enjoyed it.'
And then my brother suddenly turned serious in that funny way he has,
and said,--
'But now, wasn't she absolutely putrid, picking holes in everybody who
differs in the least degree from herself. I hate that type of
"Christian"; you ought to be able to judge Him by His followers, and
half the time you can't. Nasty, spiteful old cat, bet her husband
wished he'd never married her after the first ten minutes. I don't
wonder he kicked the bucket at an early age.'
'Well,' I remarked in a pause, 'you aren't exactly doing the charitable
stunt yourself at the moment, are you?'
My brother looked at me lugubriously.
'_Isn't_ it difficult?' he exclaimed. 'Really, I wonder He doesn't
chuck me right out of The Service. I'm always letting Him down. Oh,
clear out, Meg.'
So I cleared out, and as I passed the top of the back stairs I could see
the staff standing on three chairs, craning their necks to catch the
last glimpse of Keziah as she followed her mistress down the garden
path. When the gate closed on the vision, the staff sighed deeply and
said,--'Golly.'
Which seemed to exactly sum up the situation.
'Our Lady of Ventre' remarked,--
'Give my inside quite a turn she did when she first come in the
kitchen!'
Then I went in to Sam's little sitting-room.
'I've come to have it out with you, Sam, sit down.'
'Won't hurt me to stand up for five minutes, miss.'
'Sit down when you're told. I'm going to stay hours. Put your leg up
properly. Now then,' I observed, when discipline had been unwillingly
restored. 'We've had enough to eat since last Friday, have you been
interfering in my kitchen, Brown?'
'Sorry, miss, but he told me to, you know.'
'Yes, but do you think that is sufficient reason when I told you not to.
You must take a month's notice,' I said severely. 'Who's the mistress
of the house, Brown?'
'You are, madam,' and he twinkled at me.
'Well, now, as you are really respectful, I may feel inclined to
withdraw the notice if you tell me exactly where I go wrong. Why are we
so disliked, let's have the whole truth, what's the matter with us?'
'Everything,' said Sam, surveying me gloomily, 'but some things
specially, the silver's one.'
'The silver? Why it's almost all old, some of it's seventeen hundred
and something.'
'Well, that's what I'm telling you, miss; it's battered in places, it
isn't embossed enough, even a bit of chasing would be better than
nothing. And then your clothes----'
'Well, they cost enough.'
'Yes, but they don't look it, then Master Ross----'
'Well, he always looks clean, Sam.'
'Looking clean don't matter, miss, he should try to look rich; then your
relatives--what's the good of some of them having titles if you call
them plain "father" and "aunt"?'
'You can leave that bit out.'
'I'm not going to. You asked for the whole truth and you're going to
get it for once in your life, besides I want that notice withdrawn, I've
got a comfortable place.'
'Oh,' I said, 'I _do_ hope you are comfortable, Sam. Do you think your
knee is any better? I so wish I could give you a nicer sitting-room and
not in front of the house. It's so rotten for you to see us go out for
walks and not be able to come.'
Sam has such nice soft eyes. He said he was 'Much obliged, miss.' He
is always 'obliged' for such funny things, and never about the things I
would be. He's never obliged for his wages, really seems to rather
loathe them. Now I would love them, especially if they were paid
punctually, which his never are.
'Well, now, miss,' he continued, 'when the letters come, for instance,
why can't Master Ross behave like a gentleman and say,--
'"Brown, if there are any communications from his lordship, or from my
uncle, Sir Jasper Fotheringham, Bart., or from Lady Amelia Leigh, you
may hand them to me on a silver salver and retire." Instead of, "Sam,
chuck over anything from father or Aunt Constance, and stick the bills
on the mantelpiece."'
'Oh, Sam,' I giggled hopelessly, 'we always pray there mayn't be one
from Aunt Amelia.'
'"_Aunt!_" There you go again,' said Sam desperately. 'Is it _any_
good my talking to you?'
'Well, but what about the housekeeping, Sam?'
'Oh, that's worse than anything, apparently. The first morning you went
into the kitchen you said vaguely, "We like thick soup better than
clear, and junkets when there's any cream from Devonshire, and there are
those chickens my uncle sent, I suppose they'd better be used soon."
And you seemed to think you'd done the housekeeping for a week,' said
Sam severely.
'Well, but that's what mother used----'
'Yes, but not after old Mary died. If you want a thick soup, you must
say what they've got to put in it.'
He got up hastily and murmured, 'Caught again,' as the S.P. came along
the passage with his tea, and as she came in and I got off the table, he
said, 'Very well, madam, I'll see to it,' and I retired with dignity!
At dinner to-night Mr Williams quite warmed up. I suppose it's because
his little wife is better. He nearly forgot to be a pallid curl paper
and told us tales of the East End parish he had worked in after he
returned from Ligeria. He said that some of the poor things were never
washed except when they were born and buried, and never entered a church
unless to get married, and they're all so ignorant that he found one
wedding party kneeling round the font. (I wish to goodness I had got
the chance of kneeling round a font again; sometimes the ache for the
small son is simply not endurable.) Mr Williams spoke, too, of the
awful grinding poverty, and the vice, and how the housing question was
responsible for so much. 'It's all a question of money,' he said,
'money can buy everything.'
'Except the Kingdom of Heaven,' said my brother, with one of his gentle
looks.
And then the S.P. came in with a note for Mr Williams. It was from his
bank, apparently.
'There must be some mistake,' he said aloud. 'Some one has paid in L207
to my account. Oh, Mrs Ellsley,' looking across at me, 'I can't
possibly accept such a sum, you know. Why, one never could thank you
for half the things you have done already.'
'Mr Williams, I swear it's nothing to do with me, I haven't done it,'
and I glanced across at Ross.
'Captain Fotheringham,' said poor Mr Williams, 'can it possibly be you?'
'Do you know, sir, what a captain's pay is?' asked my brother.
'Why,' I exclaimed, rushing in where angels would fear to tread, 'good
gracious, Ross can't live on it without an allowance from his
godmother.' ('Since deceased,' I added underneath my breath, to make it
truthful).
'No, I suppose not,' said Mr Williams (he is so easy to deceive); 'but
what _am_ I to think?'
'Well, I should think it was the most amazing bit of luck, sir,' drawled
my brother, slightly bored. 'And I wish you'd introduce me to your
friend.'
So Mr Williams went upstairs in a state of complete bewilderment to tell
his little wife, and Ross was really rather nice to me, though I was not
allowed to mention the subject of our recent conversation. However, he
did say that I was a nice child not to have given the show away, kissed
me once and called me 'Jonathan,' which he only does when he is pleased
with one, I mean not actively _dis_pleased. Funny old 'David.'
*CHAPTER XXII*
My visitors departed soon after breakfast to-day in a motor-car with the
nurse. Mrs Williams is going to the sea for a month to get quite strong
so as to be very brave and have the operation. He is really touching,
so is she. It seems such a small thing to have done for such a wealth
of gratitude, and that absurd L207 will make it possible for her to go
to a proper nursing home, instead of the free ward of a London hospital.
I was rather glad to see them go, although I have learned to like them
very much. But for six days I have had no letter from Michael, and
yesterday the mail brought me one from father which upset me horribly.
He wrote:--
'DARLING--I want to tell you something I have never told any one before.
I can hardly write of it even after all these years--But I once saw a
vision of my Lord.
'That summer, Meg, after you were married, Ross and I were so wretched
without you, that we went down to that little house-boat of Uncle
Jasper's on the Helford River.
'One lovely evening, after a wet day, I was in the dinghy fishing when
Ross came out in the duck punt and said,--
'"Father, shall I go back and fetch our supper: It's too perfect to go
in?"
'So he went back in the duck punt and I went on fishing. Suddenly _The
Man_ I told you about the night before your wedding sat down in the
dinghy, and as I was about to kneel to Him, He said, just naturally, as
a king might to any one he'd known for years,--
'"Oh, Fotheringham, a boat is an impossible place for you to be
respectful in!" And He laughed as He said, "Sit down."
'And then after a minute He asked,--
'"Any luck?"
'"No, Sir," I answered.
'"It's because you're anchored; it doesn't do in this river, and you're
in the wrong place. I'll take you to a better."
'So He rowed me further down the river towards the sea.
'"Is your line clear of weed?" He asked.
'And I looked and said, "Yes, Sir."
'"Do you ever breathe on your hooks?"
'"No, Sir, is it any good?"
'"Well, those old fishermen always say it's better, why don't you try
it?"
'So I did, and I began to catch. Then _The Man_ said,--
'"What about My other fishing?" And at first I didn't answer, because
He had mentioned it to me before, and I wanted to refuse, but His eyes
compelled me, for all they were so gentle, so I said,--
'"I'm not cut out for that other kind of fishing."
'"Not if I breathed on your hooks?"
'We fell silent. Then I thought of the loathing I have always had for
slums and dirt and squalor, and especially for natives, and He must have
known what I was thinking, for He said,--
'"Isn't it a good thing I didn't have an antipathy for black
people--that time I died for you?"
'And I said, "Yes, Sir," because all in a moment I realised how black
sin was to the Son of God who in the perfection of His whiteness had
been "made sin" that I might become the righteousness of God in Him.
'And then He said, "Anthony, you've been horribly lonely lately, haven't
you?"
'"Yes, Sir."
'"And you think I can't comprehend that kind of loneliness, but it's you
who don't understand. I have never had My marriage supper--My bride
delays to make herself ready.'
'I looked at Him again then, and saw His ache and hunger for _His
Church_.
'"Anthony, land and water only divide you from your children, so many of
Mine are separated from Me by sin," and I looked at Him again, and saw
that He would always be lonely till the last of His children kneel to
Him.
'"So, Anthony, what about My other fishing?"
'"I've not forgotten what you chose I should do years ago, Sir, and if
you order this I must go."
'"And still----?"
'"And still be Your unprofitable servant, Sir." For all at once I saw
that, too.
'"Anthony, is 'I'll go because I'm ordered' _really_ the best that you
can say?"
'I looked out over the beautiful river, at the hills I loved, and I
thought of the friends I would have to leave, and of the beauty of my
old Devonshire home, and my heart ached increasingly for your mother. I
looked at Ross, too, coming back in the duck punt--Ross, the last of my
immediate family left to me--and I felt that I could only go out to the
mission field if I were ordered.
'"Anthony, have you ever heard the old saying, 'Don't look at the thing
that is asked for, but at the One who asks'?"
'"No, Sir."
'"Some people say you see then if it's worth while."
'So I looked at _The Man_ who asked, and saw afresh God's Son. And
suddenly I perceived the limitless love of Him, and His unbounded
sacrifice, and the whole divine patience and perfection and beauty of
_The Man_, and I cried, in sudden surrender and adoration,--
'"Lord, I will go willingly, because I love You."
'And although _The King_ had had every right to give the order, He
deigned instead to accept my long-delayed submission to His love. And
presently He said,--
'"Oh, here's Ross coming back in the duck punt with your supper. I must
go."
'But I cried, "Oh, don't leave me, stay to supper with us both."
'"I can't to-night, Anthony, I simply must go in to Plymouth, and
there's an old woman in a cottage I must look in at on the way. You
come to supper with Me instead on Sunday."
'So He departed over the fields to Plymouth, through clouds and trails
of gorgeous blue and gold, and the water was all luminous from His
footsteps, and the hills as He passed ablush with rose. As He went the
sunset faded, and then suddenly the brightness all came back, for _The
Man_ called to me again from the cliff above the water,--
'"Anthony, the climate on that other river isn't fit for English women."
'"Oh, Beloved of my soul," I cried, "I am contented. I would not ask
You for her back."
'Then He smiled and my Vision Splendid faded, but He left His peace
behind, and the moon rose undimmed out of the ocean where the Helford
River runs into the sea.
'And the reason that I've told you this, my dearest little daughter, is
that you sound unhappy in your letters. You are haunted by a fear that
_He_ may take things from you. But, darling, don't you see that when
you have Him you have everything. Oh, Meg, His strength! and the supreme
perfection of His eyes. No brush can paint Him, no words describe Him.
Oh, darling, won't you be dutiful to Him and leave everything to His
most unutterable love?'
But I can't feel like daddy does about things. I can't trust Him. I
don't even want to look at the One who asks if it means I have to give
up anything. I love all my family so frightfully that I don't know what
I would do if He took any of them away. I only hope I would at least be
civil to Him. I never could be 'dutiful' about it. I have never really
had a trouble, only that dreadful time when darling mother died, but
then Michael came along so soon after that it seemed as if God had only
taken away one love to give me back an even more perfect one. But since
the war it seems to me that God is so relentless and so jealous. He
won't share hearts. He will have all or none, and I am growing to feel
that it must be 'none' with me. I am like that soul, pursued by the
Hound of Heaven; I fear His 'following feet,' I dread lest having Him I
must have naught beside.
*CHAPTER XXIII*
Twelve days again without a letter, and ah, dear God! the news from
France! I kept my promise, and Ross knows, and though he wraps me round
with love, it is as if I cannot taste or see or feel, but I can only
listen for the post that does not come. It has been a wretched week,
several of our friends are killed and many wounded, and to-day at lunch
the S.P. brought a telegram, and my heart stopped beating.
'It's Foxhill,' Ross said huskily, looking across at me quickly, and my
heart went on again, and then I prayed that I might be forgiven for
being glad that it was Charlie and not Michael.
'Not killed,' said Ross, 'but blinded, and his right arm gone above the
elbow. He's in London, and would like to see us. Shall we go this
afternoon, there's just time to catch the train?'
'Oh, poor Charlie--and poor Monica!' I added and got up. I felt I hated
God. Just then a car stopped, and the door bell rang, and presently the
S.P. came and said,--
'The Hon. Miss Cunningham is in the drawing-room,' and even at that
moment I noticed how she loved to say 'the Honourable,' it was so
exclusive. I thought what a beast I was, and said,--
'Monica? oh, my poor Monica.'
She was standing by the window with a frozen look upon her face, very
pitiful to see.
'Don't go, Ross,' she said, after he had shaken hands and was preparing
to leave us together, 'You know Charlie best. Don't go, it's you I've
come to see. You are his greatest friend. Perhaps you can tell me
about this, perhaps you know why he has written this to me, who love him
so,' and she held out a letter. It was very short, and typed, except
the signature, which was very badly written.
'DEAR MONICA,--It was more than good of you to write to me, but I have
thought things over very carefully since I received your letter, and
have come to the conclusion that it is best for me to say at once that I
feel now I cannot marry you. Please do not try to see me, and think of
me as kindly as you can.
'CHARLIE.'
'Has he told you, Ross? Doesn't he love me any more?' she said, with
quivering lips, pathetic In my proud Monica.
'Monica, dear,' said Ross, 'haven't you heard about his wounds?'
'I have heard nothing since I wrote to him till I got this.'
Then very gently Ross told her about the poor blinded eyes while I
kneeled beside her and tried to rub a little warmth into her ice cold
hands.
'And I expect,' Ross finished up, 'that he wrote like this because he
was half mad with pain knowing that he must give you up.'
'Why should he give me up?' she asked.
'Why, Monica, surely you see that it's the only honourable thing he
could do, now that he's so helpless; don't you see, dear, every other
man would do the same?'
'Then men are cruel,' I burst out. 'They never think the same as women
do. If Monica had married him, would he write like that?'
'Of course not,' said my brother, 'that would be different. She'd have
taken him already then for better or for worse.'
'She doesn't wait to take him till she goes to church in orange blossom
and satin, she does that when she first tells him she loves him, doesn't
she?'
'Of course,' said Monica. 'Are you absolutely sure he loves me, Ross,
and that there is no other woman?'
'I did once hear him say he'd rather have the Gidger.'
'Oh, Ross, the comfort of you!' said poor Monica, and laughed and cried
together. 'I must go to him,' she added, and as she did this 'splendid
thing' the last vestige of 'littleness' dropped away from her.
'And I will take you,' answered Ross, 'but first you must have food and
coffee. Had any lunch?'
'No,' said Monica, 'and I can't eat till it's settled.'
'Get your hat on, Meg, and let me deal with this rebellious woman, I'm
getting such a dab at it.'
She laughed and let him put her in a comfy chair, and ate the food he
brought, while he sat beside her and told her all the things he could
remember that Charlie had ever said about her, and her eyes were shining
when I came down ready for the drive. Yes, the 'Hon. Miss Cunningham'
looked a different woman; more exclusive, if you know how that looks.
'Oh, Meg,' she said, 'I feel heaps better,' and then shamelessly, 'If
Charlie throws me over I shall marry Ross.'
'Done,' said my brother, 'that's a bargain, mind.'
Somehow I don't think the S.P. would approve, do you? Such remarks are
not made in the best circles.