ONCE AND FOR EVER.
Freda had not been able to come to our wedding, to my grief. She had
now been six months with Mrs. Des Vœux in Devonshire, and seemed
at last to have found quiet happiness. She wrote to us that the old
blind lady treated her more like a daughter than a dependant, and if
she did not come to our wedding it was because she could not bear to
leave her in her darkness, even for a little while.
So after Lance and I had been three weeks at Killarney, which is, I
am sure, the most beautiful place on earth, I acquiesced cheerfully
when he suggested that we should cross to England from Cork, and
wander about Cornwall and Devonshire for the remaining weeks of our
honeymoon.
"Oh, yes!" I said, "and we shall see Freda, shall we not? I have
wished it of all things."
For somehow I had felt sad about Freda being outside our happiness
during those momentous times at Brandon.
"As you will, my sweetheart," Lance had said, as he would have said,
I believe, to any proposal of mine that did not involve our
separation.
I wrote to Freda to tell her of our plans, and by return of post I
had a letter from her so full of delight, that I felt how her
distance from us all must have hurt her during those years. She
wrote:
_It is the most ideal arrangement, for Mary Vincent and Jacky are to
be here in June. But as for going to an inn, no such thing. There
is a little summer cottage attached to this house, and just hidden in
the combe beyond the garden-hedge. Mrs. Des Vœux has invited Mary
and my boy to spend the summer there, and when she heard of you, she
begged me to ask if you two would make use of it--Mary will take care
of you both--you know how admirable a housekeeper she is, and she is
the soul of discretion. Let me know when you will come. I am
longing to see you and to meet my new brother._
We arrived at Wyncombe one lovely June afternoon and found our
cottage a very delicious place. It was built of wood with a verandah
running around it, and the whole hidden in creepers. The little
valley was wooded to the top, and in front of the cottage door ran a
little brown stream which might have been one of our trout streams at
home. There was a small boy of a very martial aspect standing
a-straddle in the trellised porch when we arrived, with an
unhappy-looking fat puppy pressed tightly to his breast.
"Hello!" he hailed us. "Where is Old Soldier? This is a soldier
dog, Moustache is his name. He has to learn to shoulder arms, but he
always rolls over."
"Old Soldier didn't come this time, Jacky," said I.
"You are to come to see him in Ireland. But this is his son, who is
also a soldier."
"He has got no medals," said Jacky, as he shook hands gravely. "Are
you greedy at your dinner, or will you not have your hands washed?"
From this speech I learned that Jacky had been insubordinate, and had
perhaps lost a stripe or two since coming to Wyncombe.
Half the cottage was allotted to us, and I discovered very soon that
so excellent was Mrs. Vincent's discipline that even Master Jacky
respected our frontier, and was only in evidence when
desired--admirable small boy! However, Lance capitulated to Jacky
the minute he saw him, so I expected to have him tolerably often in
evidence.
Freda came over to dinner in a pretty black gauze dinner-gown, and
looked very fair and sweet and comely. She brought a message from
Mrs. Des Vœux that she thought we would be happier together this
one evening, but that she hoped we would come over and dine the next
day, and excuse her not calling first.
My sister was delightfully changed for the better. She seemed
brimming over with quiet happiness, and I could not wonder. After
her hard and disillusioning experiences of the world, after the stony
streets of London, it must have been indeed delicious to be in this
quiet place, surrounded by everything that kindness and consideration
could give.
After dinner we sat in the verandah and talked. Lance romped on the
grass with Jacky and Moustache, who seemed a very jolly little puppy
when he wasn't half stifled by his master's loving embraces.
However, as Freda said, a dog will stand a good deal done in the way
of love. Mrs. Vincent had gone over to keep Mrs. Des Vœux
company, so we had a long quiet comfortable chat, lounging in our
rocking-chairs, and with nothing to disturb us but the singing of the
birds and the shrill laughter of Freda's boy.
I had a long story to tell her, the details of all that had been
happening to us at Brandon. Then when I had done, I had to hear all
about her since she came to Wyncombe.
"When you see Mrs. Des Vœux," she said, "you will know what an
angel she is. She has it written in her dear face. She has had such
sorrows, Hilda, but they have only made her more heavenly. It is a
privilege to be with her, and though she takes occasion many times in
the day to send me out, for she is obliged to sit in a darkened
room,--she is not altogether blind, you know,--yet I always come back
into the shadows with joy. I have nothing to do but read to and
write for her; she has many friends, out in the world, as she says,
who are always needing her counsel and comfort. Yes, and I have to
gather her roses, as Lady A---- said. Wait till you see our roses,
Hilda. You will be out of conceit with Rose Hill."
"Never!" I cried.
"Ah, well!" she laughed, "I suppose immortal roses have grown there
for you."
Then she told me how Mrs. Des Vœux's only son had died in India.
"Her grief," she went on, "has made her profoundly tender and
sympathetic to all mothers. She wanted me to have Jacky under the
same roof with me, but I was afraid his high spirits might oppress
her sometimes. Still, she loves to have him with her now and again,
and he behaves sweetly to her; and would you believe it, Hilda, she
has offered me the cottage for him and Mary to make their home there?
She put it so delicately, that they would keep up the place and save
it from going to pieces with damp during the winter. I shall be the
happiest woman on earth. Think of this place for Jacky after
Parson's Green!"
"You accepted, of course?"
"I cried with joy. She only suggested it this evening before I came
over, and I was already so full of joy at the prospect of seeing you.
'Ask your friend Mrs. Vincent, my dear,' she said in her humble way,
'if she will do me this great favour.' And I just took up her dear
old hands and kissed them, and said, 'You shall ask her yourself when
she comes this evening, and see what she will say.'"
"She will like it, Freda?"
"Like it!" cried Freda. "It is what we have dreamt of for our old
age! We used to plan that when Jacky was grown up and a successful
man, he would make just such provision for us two old ladies. But
that it should come while Jacky was still a little boy and dependent
on us, with years of his childhood still to come,--we never dreamt of
such happiness as that."
"You poor dear!" said I, "the Hazeldines ought to have done that for
you. It would not have cost them much."
"Oh, that reminds me!" said Freda. "Since I came here Lady Hazeldine
heard from a friend of Mrs. Des Vœux of me and what I was doing.
She wrote me, for her, a really humble letter, saying how shocked she
and Sir John had been to learn that their son's widow had had to earn
her bread and her child's. She implored me to forgive anything that
had occurred between us, and to come to them to live with them, or to
make arrangements to live independently as I would. Poor woman, when
I read the letter all resentment faded out of my heart.
"I explained that I couldn't leave Mrs. Des Vœux just at present,
but it was love which kept me, not servitude. I said I was happier
in my working life, and did not feel now that I should care to give
it up, but said I would come whenever Mrs. Des Vœux could spare
me. I am going to them in the autumn for a while with Jacky, while
Mary takes my place with Mrs. Des Vœux. I am very glad to be at
peace with Jim's people. The difference between us has hurt me all
those years."
"They will be delighted with Jacky," I said.
"Lady Hazeldine has seen him. She drove down to Parson's Green as
soon as she heard where he was, making, I've no doubt, a fine
sensation for Grove Avenue with her carriage and pair. She cried
over Jacky, poor woman, and he, ungrateful monkey, just wriggled out
of her embrace. 'You aren't my grandmother,' he said flatly. 'I've
a mother and a Gran, (that's what he calls Mary when he doesn't call
her by her Christian name) and lots of aunties, but I've no
grandmother.' Poor Mary was horrified, and tried to persuade him of
the relationship, but he stuck to his own opinion. 'If you were my
grandmother," he said, 'you'd have taken me for a ride in that
carriage long ago.' The poor woman felt it acutely. She wrote and
told me about it. _Your boy was right, Freda_, she wrote, _that is
the sting of it. But for Jim's sake you will teach him to love and
forgive me._"
"Oh, poor woman," said I, "I am sorry for her!"
"So am I," said Freda, "but Jacky is terribly uncompromising. And
how strange it is that the Hazeldines' good-will comes to me now that
I am independent of it! Last year, or the year before, it would have
meant deliverance."
The next evening we went over to the Court to dine. It was a
delightful house in the midst of rose gardens, and when we had gone
into the shaded drawing-room, we found roses everywhere, in bowls and
vases and baskets, so that the room was as sweet as the sunny garden.
In the midst of all the sweetness sat the dear white-haired old lady,
with her thin hands in the lap of her black silk gown, and her figure
wearing the ineffable look of patience that comes to the blind.
Freda introduced us, and then the dear old lady made me sit beside
her, and held my hand and patted it.
"I can't make out your face, my dear," she said, "but I always think
I can imagine what people are like from touching them. Even your
hands tell me you are fair and soft and sweet like your dear sister,
who has done so much to brighten my life since she came."
Then she held Lance's hand a minute and congratulated us so sweetly
on our happiness, and read us a little homily on the married life, to
which we both listened as reverently as if we were in church.
Jacky, who had been specially invited, arrived just then looking very
spruce. He came in with the most sedate little air imaginable, and
getting round to Mrs. Des Vœux's side, bent down and kissed her
hand.
"You dear boy," she said, putting her hand on his curls, "where did
you learn your pretty, pretty ways?"
"It is Jacky's way of expressing affection," said Freda proudly, "and
no one taught him. It just came to him untaught."
Beyond the shaded drawing-room we saw the dining-table through an
arch with looped-up curtains. Candles with green shades were lit
among the profusion of roses, though it was still broad sunlight.
"You won't mind, my dears," said the old lady, "my not dining with
you. I can't stand the light nor condemn others to darkness, so I
have a little wheeled table brought in here with my dinner."
Just then a tall dark gentleman stepped in by the French window, as
if he were very much at home.
"Hello, Trefusis!" cried Jacky, from where he was squatted on the
ground by Mrs. Des Vœux.
"Is that you, John, my dear?" said Mrs. Des Vœux, as he came up to
her chair.
Then she introduced him to us as "Our squire and neighbour, Mr.
Trefusis."
I was rather surprised, for Freda hadn't said a word of this
neighbour, who was evidently very much at home in the house.
Mr. Trefusis dined with us, and we found him extremely pleasant. He
was a grave, thoughtful-looking man, with melancholy eyes. Freda
told us afterwards that he had lost his wife in the first year of
their marriage, and had since spent a life absorbed in study and
reading.
"He is much younger than he looks," she added.
I could quite believe that, if it were only because of the terms of
camaraderie on which he was with Jacky. Jacky, indeed, treated him
precisely as if they were of an age, and it was delightful to see
them playing cricket together--Jacky about the height of his bat, and
the two as grave as possible.
I said one day to Mrs. Des Vœux how much we liked Mr. Trefusis.
"John Trefusis is a good man, my dear," she said, "a good man, and
one can't go beyond that. He has suffered a great deal, but I pray
there may be happiness in store for him yet."
That first opened my eyes to the fact that Mr. Trefusis was in love
with my sister. Indeed it was patent enough once we had the clue.
But Freda--that was quite another matter. That she knew I could not
doubt, from the little half-vexed consciousness she betrayed once or
twice under his regard, but of love I could find no slightest sign.
One day Freda and I were together, and Freda's son was delivering his
mind on many matters, as was his way when his commanding-officer was
not present.
"Aunty Hilda," said he to me suddenly, "have you long, beautiful hair
like mother's? And would you mind very much if I were playing with
you and pulled it all down?"
"Of course she would mind," said Freda. "No lady likes to have a
rowdy little boy like you pulling her all to pieces."
"'Cept you," said Jacky; "but then, of course, you're not a lady,
you're only mother. You remember that day I had pulled down all your
hair when Trefusis came in."
"Jacky!" said Freda, with a little blush of annoyance, "you are
talking too much, and you know you must say _Mr._ Trefusis. I am
always telling you so."
"I shan't," said Jacky flatly. "He calls me 'Shaver', and I call him
Trefusis. We understand each other."
Freda's eyes twinkled. She was used to Jacky's insubordination with
her, and I'm afraid rather condoned it.
"Well," said Jacky, embarking on his tale, "mother and I was playing
at bears in the hall one wet morning. 'Cause it was so wet we didn't
think anyone would come. Mother was going round on the floor
growling, with all her hair down. I'd pulled it down in the bear's
hug, and she wanted to put it up, but I said to her,--'I say, you
leave it down 'cause I think it pretty', and so she left it."
"Oh, Jacky, Jacky, you silly boy!" cried Freda laughing.
"Well, all of a sudden I looked up," said Jacky, "and there was
Trefusis in the doorway. 'Hello, Trefusis!' said I. But instead of
saying 'Hello, Shaver!' he never said a word, but stood staring at
mother. I s'pose he couldn't see her because her hair was all over
her, or else he was 'mazed at her for playing bears. Then mother got
up and just twisted her hair round anyway, and went out of the room,
and didn't come back for a long time. And Trefusis stood staring at
the door, till at last he 'membered me, and looked at me and said,
'Hello, Shaver!' though it was quite hours since I'd said to him
'Hello, Trefusis!'"
"Jacky, Jacky!" cried Freda, "here comes Gran, and not a minute too
soon. Do you think your Aunty Hilda wants to be bored by an
egotistical little boy like you?"
Jacky was carried off incontinently to have a fresh toilet made--his
toilet seemed always in need of readjustment--and after he had gone I
turned and looked at Freda.
She looked back at me steadily, and again the wounded and angry
flush, which I had seen once before, rose in her cheeks. Her foot
tapped the ground impatiently.
"It would be a good thing for Jacky," I said wistfully, for I liked
Mr. Trefusis.
"Never, Hilda, never!" said Freda. "How can you think of it, loving
your husband as you do? The Hazeldines will take care of Jacky, but
if they did not, I could still refuse him such a sacrifice as that.
I will meet Jim with my marriage vow to him unbroken."
The tears flashed in her eyes as I bent to kiss her.
Poor Mr. Trefusis!