Bess at Home
The Pilgrims, after a glorious tramp down the dale of Beechcombe,
reached Pursborough without further adventure, and spent the night
there. They gave an hour next morning to inspecting the glorious old
church and the ruins of the castle, then once more resumed the Roman
road. It was the last day of their tour, so they made the best of it.
They explored some delightful woods, followed the course of a
fascinating stream, ate their lunch in a picturesque quarry, had an
early tea at a wayside inn which rivalled "The Pelican" in quaintness,
and finally reached Ribstang in time to catch the 5:20 train to
Grovebury. The conclusion of the excursion meant the close of the
holiday, for school would begin again on the following Monday. Everybody
had enjoyed it immensely, and everybody was only too sorry it was over.
To Ingred it marked an epoch. She had suddenly made friends with Bess
Haselford. Now she viewed Bess with unprejudiced eyes she realized what
an exceedingly nice and attractive girl she really was. The adventure in
the field had flung them together, and--much to the astonishment of the
others, who did not know their secret--they had walked the whole way
from Pursborough to Ribstang in each other's company.
"I can't make out Ingred!" declared Verity. "Here she's been abusing
Bess, and calling her a bounder, and now she's hanging on her arm! The
way some people turn round is really most extraordinary----"
"'There's naught so queer as folks!'" quoted Linda. "Glad Ingred's come
to her senses, at any rate. I always thought she was perfectly beastly
to Bess!"
"So she was. I wonder Bess will put up with her now. I'm sure I
wouldn't!"
Bess, however, was of a forgiving disposition, and let bygones be
bygones. It is the only plan at schools, for girls are generally so
frank in the nature of their remarks that if you begin to treasure up
the disagreeable things said to you, and let them rankle, you will
probably find yourself without a chum in the world. Though the fashion
may be for plain speaking, it is often a matter of mood, and the mate
who genuinely believes you a "blighter" one day, will claim you as a
"mascot" with equal persuasion on the next. It is all part of the
wholesome rough-and-tumble of your education, and proves of as much use
in training you and rounding your projecting corners as the lessons you
learn in your form. The girls thought Ingred's new infatuation would
soon wear off, but it had come to stay. She herself was quite surprised
at the force of the attraction. It was almost like falling in love. She
marched with Bess at drilling, chose her for her partner at tennis, and
would have changed desks to sit next to her, had not Miss Strong refused
permission. As a natural result of this new state of affairs came a shy
invitation from Bess asking Ingred to tea at Rotherwood. After the many
previous refusals she would hardly have ventured to give in but for
several hints which paved the way. Circumstances, however, alter cases,
and Ingred, who had declared that nothing should induce her to set foot
in her old home, was now all eagerness to go. She was delighted to find
that she was to be the only guest. She felt that on this particular
visit even Verity would be _de trop_.
On a certain Tuesday afternoon, therefore, with full permission from
Miss Burd, she absented herself from the hostel tea-table, and walked
home with Bess instead. It gave her quite a thrill to turn in at the
familiar gate of Rotherwood. The lawns were in beautiful order, and the
beds gay with tulips, aubrietias, forget-me-nots, and a lovely show of
hyacinths. So far from being neglected, the place seemed even better
kept than in the old days. The house, with its pretty modern
black-and-white front, its many gables, and its cheerful red-tiled roof,
looked the same as formerly; but indoors there were great changes. The
hall, which used to be Moorish, was now hung with tapestry, and
furnished in old oak; the drawing-room was yellow instead of blue, with
a big brocade-covered couch and a Chappell piano; the dining-room had
rows of book-cases and some good oil-paintings; the morning-room was a
cheerful chintz boudoir with a gilt mirror and Chippendale chairs; the
conservatory was full of choice flowers, and an aviary had been added to
it.
"Mother is so fond of birds," explained Bess. "They amuse her when her
head's bad and she doesn't care to see anybody. She's made most of them
wonderfully tame."
Mrs. Haselford proved to be a gentle pleasant lady who shook hands
kindly with Ingred, then excused herself on the score of ill-health, and
retired to her room, leaving the girls to have tea by themselves.
"Mother's never been really well for three years," said Bess. "Not since
Bert and Larry----"
She did not finish her sentence, but her eyes turned to the wall where
hung two portraits of lads in khaki. Ingred understood. She knew that
Bess had lost both brothers in the war, and she had heard that poor Mrs.
Haselford had shut herself up in her grief and refused all comfort,
sometimes even to the extent of remaining for days upstairs, and
neglecting the company of husband and child. Her attitude to Bess was
often peculiar, it was almost as if she resented her daughter being left
when her adored boys had been taken from her. Bess never knew how she
would be received, for sometimes her mother would seem unable to bear
her presence, and at other times would unreasonably chide her for
neglect. It began to dawn on Ingred how very lonely her friend must be.
She had secretly envied her the possession of Rotherwood, but now she
realized how little the house itself would mean without the happy home
life in which brothers and sister had borne their part.
"I'd rather have the bungalow with the family, than Rotherwood all
alone!" she ruminated. "As for Muvkins, she's one in a million. I
believe she'd be cheery in a coal cellar, so long as she'd a solitary
chick to keep under her wing. Why, if we'd lost _our_ boys, she'd have
been trying to make it up to Queenie and me for not having brothers. I
know her! That's her way!"
Bess had much to show to her visitor when tea in the dainty morning-room
was over. There were her books, and her photographs and postcard albums,
and all kinds of girlish possessions, and a cocker spaniel with three
puppies as fat as roly-poly puddings, and a fern-case opening out of one
of her bedroom windows, and a collection of pressed wild flowers, and a
green parroquet that would sit on her wrist, and allow her to stroke its
head, though it snapped at strangers. They had been working upwards
through the house, and finally Bess led the way to the top landing of
all. She paused for a moment before the door of an attic room.
"I expect you'll know this place!" she remarked shyly, ushering in her
guest.
Ingred looked round in amazement. It was a little sanctum which she and
Quenrede had shared in the old days as a kind of studio. Here they had
been allowed to try experiments in poker work, painting, fret-carving,
spatter-work, or any other operations which were considered too messy to
be performed in the school-room downstairs. They had loved their "den,"
as they called it, and had taken a particular pleasure in covering its
walls with pictures, cut, most of them, from magazines, and stuck on
with glue or paste. During the occupation of Rotherwood by the "Red
Cross," this room had been locked up, and Ingred had imagined that Mr.
Haselford would have had it papered when the rest of the house was
decorated. She was delighted to find it in this untouched condition. All
her dear former treasures adorned the walls, and she ran from one to
another rejoicing over them. There was even a further surprise. Years
ago an artist cousin had sketched her portrait in pastel crayons upon
the color-wash of the wall. It had been done as a mere artistic freak,
but like many such spontaneous drawings it had been an admirable
likeness and a very pretty picture. It bore her name, "Ingred," in
flourishy letters underneath. The whole of this had now been protected
with a sheet of glass and enclosed by a frame. A table in the room, an
easy chair, and a gas-fire seemed to point to its occasional occupation.
"You actually haven't had this changed!" exclaimed Ingred. "I thought it
must all have been swept away by now!"
"No. You see, Father took me over the house when first he decided to
come here, and when he was arranging what papers to choose. I fell in
love with this dear wee room just as it was, and begged that it mightn't
be touched. Father let me have it for my very own. It was so different
from all other rooms. I liked the pictures pasted on the walls, and the
bits of poker-work nailed up. I knew some other girls must have been
here, and it gave me a homely feeling, as if you had only gone away for
a few minutes, and might come back any time and talk to me. Then there
was your portrait. I wondered who 'Ingred' was! The name struck my fancy
immensely, and so did the face. You remember we removed to Rotherwood at
the end of July, and all the rest of the summer I wondered about the
portrait. I used to come up here and sit when I felt very lonely, and it
seemed company, somehow. You can't think how fond I got of it. I suppose
I was rather silly and absurd, but I knew nobody in Grovebury then, and
Mother was ill in her room, and Father away all day--anyhow I got into
the habit of talking to it as if it were a girl friend, and showing it
my paintings, and my pressed flowers, and everything I was doing. I
pretended it liked to see them. Sometimes I even brought up my violin
and played to it. That was nicer than being quite by myself. It grew to
be as dear to me as the little sister I had always longed to have.
"Then in September I went to the College. You can imagine what a start
it gave me when somebody called you 'Ingred.' I looked at you, and I saw
at once that you were the 'Ingred' of my picture, only grown older. I
was absolutely thrilled. It was very foolish of me, but I thought
somehow you'd understand. Of course you didn't! How could you? It was
idiotic of me to expect it. The 'Ingred' on the wall was simply the
friend of my fancy."
"And the real one was just hateful to you!" said Ingred sorrowfully. "I
know I was a perfect beast! I was ashamed of myself all the time, only I
wouldn't confess it. Lispeth used to slate me sometimes for my
nastiness. She called me 'a jealous blighter,' and so I was! The girl of
your fancy is a great deal nicer than I am, or ever can be, but I'll try
to live up to her as well as I can, Bess, if you'll let me!"
"Let you!" echoed Bess, linking her arm affectionately in that of her
friend. "You're a perfect dear nowadays."
The girls tore themselves away quite regretfully from the little attic
studio, but time was passing only too quickly, and they wished to try a
game of tennis before Ingred returned to the hostel.
"So you like the house in its new dress?" asked Bess as they walked down
the steps into the garden. "Father thinks it's beautiful. He says Mr.
Saxon is the best architect he knows. He's simply put every thing in
exactly the right place. Does he only design houses, or does he go in
for anything bigger?"
"He would if he got the chance," replied Ingred. "What sort of things do
you mean?"
"Oh, a church, or a museum, or an art gallery."
"I know he's done most splendid designs for these, but he's never had
the luck to get them accepted. There's generally so much influence
needed to get your plans taken for a big public building like that. At
least, that's what Dad says. If you have a relation on the City Council,
it makes a vast difference to your chances. We've no friends at Court."
"Oh!" said Bess, rather abstractedly, and the subject dropped.
The girls had only time for one game of tennis, when the stable-clock,
chiming half-past six, reminded Ingred that if she wished to do her
preparation that evening she must rush back to the hotel. She bade Bess
a reluctant good-by.
"You'll come and see me again?" asked the latter.
"Rather! And I'll send thought-waves to animate my portrait, and let it
talk for me in my absence," laughed Ingred. "Perhaps you'll get more
than you bargain for--I'm an awful chatter-box."
"You'll never talk too much for me," said Bess, as she kissed her
good-by.