WATENDLATH FORGET-ME-NOT
BORROWDALE is beautiful at every season of the year. The summer
sunshine lights up its purple, heather-covered heights; the autumn
tints make the wood in its hollows ablaze with orange and red; and the
winter snows give it a grand and Alpine appearance.
But the hand of spring, after all, lavishes most loveliness upon
Borrowdale. It covers it with a carpet of primroses, it draws through
its woods a pale-blue lining of wild hyacinths, it makes its fields
into cloth of gold with buttercups; whilst the fresh green of the
silver birch, the bursting buds of the chestnuts, the countless signs
in every flower, bush, and tree of awakening resurrection life, combine
to make the whole valley a perfect fairyland.
So Marjorie Douglas thought, as she set out that spring morning, and
began to climb the hill behind Fern Bank, in order that she might pay
her weekly visit to one of her favourite old women. Her heart was as
full of brightness as the spring day, for was not this the week in
which Captain Fortescue had said he was coming to Rosthwaite? She had
not seen him for a year and a half, and had heard nothing of him, save
those two short notes which he had written to her mother. Evidently he
had never yet discovered the missing word in the letter, for he was
still living in Birmingham, in that dismal little house in Lime Street.
She was glad that he was going to have a little holiday from his hard
work. She was pleased to think that Borrowdale would look its very
loveliest when he arrived, and she knew that her mother would be glad
to see him and to have a talk with him again.
As for herself—well, perhaps, she would be glad too.
The path led her through a copse wood where the primroses were a sight
to see, and then, as she went higher still, she came upon a rough
mountain road. She followed this for some way, and, after a stiff climb
over the moorland, she came to the little hamlet of Watendlath, which
nestles in a hollow amongst the hills. A more picturesque place could
scarcely be found; the few white farmhouses and small thatched cottages
stand by the side of a quiet mountain tarn, and are reflected in its
still waters; the little village seems completely shut off from the
world by the mountains which surround it.
Old Sarah Grisedale lived in a cottage at a little distance from the
lake. She was a tall, thin old woman, active, in spite of her great
age, and still able to walk over the mountain to church, and to climb
the steep hill again without even the help of a stick.
Marjorie had a long chat with her old friend, sitting in her usual
place on a three-legged wooden stool in front of the peat fire, and
then she emptied her basket of the good things she had brought for her,
and went on to an ancient farmhouse standing just above the tarn, that
she might buy some eggs which her mother had asked her to get there.
Several dogs ran out barking when she drew near; but they knew Marjorie
well, and were quiet as soon as she spoke to them.
The old farmhouse has stood in this secluded spot for many hundreds of
years, and its low ceilings, oak panelling, heavy wooden beams, deep
chimney corners, and carved cupboards are all relics of the days of
long ago.
When Marjorie left the farm, she crossed the little bridge over the
stream running into the mountain tarn, and as she did so, she noticed
that growing by the edge of the water was a quantity of large blue
forget-me-not. She climbed down the bank to the water and gathered the
blue flowers, and then sat down on the grass to pull off the wet roots
which had come up as she plucked it, and to arrange the flowers in her
basket above the eggs.
As she did so, sitting by the side of the rushing brook and hearing
nothing but its noisy babbling, she was startled by feeling something
bounce against her arm. It was a large white collie, which had come
bounding down the steep bank, and which now lay down beside her,
putting its paws on her knees.
"O you beauty, you lovely fellow!" said Marjorie, as she stroked the
dog's head. "Where have you come from, and whose dog are you?"
She was not left long in doubt on this point, for the dog's master was
close at hand. She heard a voice behind her, a voice she knew well.
"Miss Douglas, I've found you at last."
"Captain Fortescue! How did you know I was here?"
"I called at Fernbank, and Mrs. Douglas told me you had come up the
hill, so Laddie and I came in search of you."
He climbed down the bank and took her hand in his.
A piece of forget-me-not fell at his feet as Marjorie got up to speak
to him. He picked it up and asked, "Is it for me?"
"If you like," she said in a low voice.
"I expect you thought I had forgotten you," he said; "but there is no
need to give me the little blue flower, I assure you, Miss Douglas. I
have never forgotten you. I never could forget what you did for me the
last time I saw you."
"And yet it was all of no use," she said sadly.
"Don't say that. Who can tell? That letter may yet prove to be a most
important link in the chain. What a lovely place this is! Shall we sit
here and talk a little? It is so quiet and beautiful."
They sat down on the rocky bank, and the collie laid his chin on
Marjorie's arm and gazed up into her face.
"Tell me what you have been doing the last eighteen months, Miss
Douglas."
She told him of Mr. Holtby's death, and how they had all left Daisy
Bank.
"Yes," he said, "I went there one day to see you, and found you gone."
"Did you? I wish I had known!"
"Why? Oh, I see. You thought I had forgotten. Well, where did you go
next?"
"I went to some friends of yours, very great friends, I believe. I was
companion to Lady Violet Berington."
She glanced doubtfully at him as she said this, as though she wondered
whether the mention of the name would give him pain, but she was
reassured by his face. There was no trace of anything in it but great
interest in her story.
"I wonder how you found out that I knew them."
"I saw your photograph in Lady Violet's book."
"Yes, in the Riviera. I remember I was taken with her a great many
times."
"And I thought—"
"What did you think?"
"You will laugh when I tell you! I thought you were Lord Kenmore."
"Kenmore, of all people on earth! Why did you think that?"
"I knew that Lady Violet was engaged to Lord Kenmore, and I thought
that perhaps Kenmore was the missing word which we tried to read in the
letter."
"I see. And you thought Lady Violet and I seemed very much together in
the photos? I understand now. Have you seen Lord Kenmore?"
"Yes, once; he came to see Lady Violet, and I went into the room
expecting to see you. I had followed him up the avenue, and he looked
exactly like you in the distance. Have you ever met him, Captain
Fortescue?"
"Never."
"His figure is really very like yours, and his hair and the way he
walks—really very much alike; but his face is quite different."
"Were you glad or sorry when you found that I was not Lord Kenmore?"
Marjorie did not answer, and he repeated the question; but she was
busily throwing the forget-me-not flowers on the water, and watching
them float under the bridge, and still she did not speak.
"How long were you at Grantley Castle, Miss Douglas?"
"I left at Christmas. Lady Violet was quite well then."
"Were you sorry to leave?"
"Yes, in some ways; it's a lovely place, and they were really very good
to me, all of them. I think, I am sure Lady Violet would have liked me
to stay a few months longer, to help her in the preparations for her
wedding; but—"
"But what?"
"Well, I fancy Lady Earlswood was anxious that I should not stop
longer. Captain Fortescue, do you know Captain Berington?"
"Yes, of course I do; we were at Sandhurst together."
Marjorie stopped, as if she did not like to say more.
"Please go on, Miss Douglas. What about Captain Berington?"
"Well," she said, "perhaps I ought not to say it, especially as you
know him, but I rather think it was on his account that Lady Earlswood
wanted me to leave."
"Why on his account?"
"Well, he was very kind to me, and when I went for my afternoon walk
in the park, he often happened to be going in the same direction. I
couldn't help it, could I? But I think Lady Earlswood thought I could;
and it was rather uncomfortable, you see, so I was glad to get away."
"Really glad?"
"Yes, really glad. It was so very awkward. I did not want him to come,
but he always seemed to turn up wherever I went, and I did not know
what to do."
"So you came home at Christmas?"
"Yes, on Christmas Eve."
"Have you heard from any of them since?"
"Only once. I had a letter from Lady Violet a few weeks after I left,
saying there was some disturbance about Lord Kenmore's property, or
rather the property which he expected to get at his brother's death,
and she was afraid he would be robbed of what rightfully belonged to
him; but she did not say what the trouble was, nor who wanted to rob
him. That was in January, and I have never heard since."
"Not from any of them?"
"Oh no. Now, will you tell me what you have been doing?"
"Well, things have brightened a bit for me. As I told Mrs. Douglas in
my letter, I am better off than I was. I am leaving Mrs. Hall."
"Poor Mrs. Hall!"
"Yes, she seems sorry to lose me, good old soul!"
"Where are you going to live? At the other end of Birmingham?"
"No, quite out in the country."
"Not the Daisy Bank way?" she said, laughing.
"No, north of Birmingham."
"I'm so glad you will be in the country! I love the country, and it
will be so restful for you after your hard work in the city."
"Yes, I hope it will; I feel sure it will."
"What is the name of the place?"
"North Eaton."
"Have you got nice lodgings there?"
"No, I am not going into lodgings again. I am going to start
housekeeping."
"Housekeeping! Have you got a house?"
"Yes, I have got a house. I have had one for a few weeks now."
"Is there a garden?"
"A very nice garden; and the house is—well, rather a nice house, I
think. It only wants one thing. Marjorie dear, can you not guess what
that one thing is?"
She was bending over Laddie, so that he could not see her face.
"Can you guess, Marjorie?"
She shook her head.
"You can't guess?" he whispered, as he took hold of the hand which was
stroking Laddie's head. "Then I shall be obliged to tell you; Marjorie
darling, it wants you!"