VENETIA DISAPPEARS
"NOW, Dugald, you must go away. My time is not my own. It is Mrs.
Calthrop's this morning till half-past twelve, when I go to dinner."
"It's past my comprehension," said Dugald, eyeing the rows of books
in front of him critically, "how a catalogue can take so long in the
making. I bet you I would do it in a fortnight!"
"Where ignorance is bliss!" said Orris, laughing.
"But look here, I came down to see you; I've been here two days and
have hardly got a squint of you. When is your time your own? Answer
truthfully."
"If you promise to leave me in peace, and I can get these three hours
clear of interruptions, I will meet you somewhere this afternoon, and
we'll have a walk, if you like. Be at Lilac Farm at three o'clock.
Venetia will be very pleased to see you to tea if you care to return
with me. That is, providing Lady Violet has not other plans for you. I
would remind you that you are her guest."
"Thank you," Dugald said sarcastically. Then he altered his tone.
"Isn't it queer the Archers coming here and turning you out? I never
heard of such a topsy-turvy arrangement. And I hear the rightful but
defrauded heir is in the neighbourhood, and that you and he are great
pals. Have I cause for jealousy?"
"Go away! I shan't talk to you any more. The friends I make cannot
possibly concern you." Orris turned her back upon him and plunged into
her work.
It was little more than half-past nine, but from his bedroom window
Dugald had caught sight of her crossing the fields, and had hastened
down to have a chat with her. He looked at her very ruefully now.
"You've no occasion to slave away like this," he said, "to give that
lazy parasite money to fly round with. Well, I suppose I must make my
exit. I shall be at the Farm at three, sharp." He left the room.
Orris was not disturbed again. Reyne respected her wishes, and rarely
came near her. Lady Violet ignored her, and her cousin Dugald's sister,
Marie, hardly realized that she was in the house.
When Orris arrived at the Farm for dinner, Pippa met her breathlessly.
"Mummy has gone away in a car with Mr. Riley. And haymaking is
beginning to-morrow, and I'm going to be in the hayfields all day long,
and Master Jock will make me little cubbyholes in it. Won't it be
glorious!"
"And what are your plans for this afternoon, I wonder?" asked Orris.
"Is your mother out for the day?"
"Yes. She said I was to be good. I wiss I'd gone with her, but she
wouldn't take me. She said she mightn't be home till I was in bed!"
"Where is Anita?"
Pippa advanced to her aunt on tiptoe, her finger to her lips.
"Locked in the barn. She—she bored me!"
The last words were in such exact imitation of her mother's tones that
Orris smiled in spite of herself.
"But that is very naughty, Pippa. You wouldn't like to be locked in the
barn."
"Oh, yes, I would, 'cause I can squeeze down through the holes into the
mangers."
Orris went to release the tearful and very indignant Anita, and told
her to take her work after dinner into the orchard, and keep Pippa in
sight.
"I am going out for a walk, but I shall be back before tea. As her
mother is out, you will be responsible for her."
"She is too wild, the child," murmured Anita. "I try, I make play with
her, but she flies like lightning in all parts of the farm at once. She
plays with peegs, she makes herself—her frocks like them. I wash—and
wash—but she is always not fit to look at for a little lady!"
"Never mind! This is the country."
"I do agree with my mistress: I like town."
Anita the adaptable was distinctly ruffled. Orris smoothed her down.
She wondered if she had better leave her little niece, for it was
evidently one of her naughty days.
At dinner Jock asked her if she was worried.
"Do I look so?" she asked.
"You have a certain pucker on your brow which always comes there when
your mind is working at something unpleasant."
Orris laughed, and her brow cleared.
"I am going for a walk with my Cousin Dugald," she said; "and I am
wondering whether Pippa will be all right if I leave her at home."
Pippa was chattering away to the farmer at the other end of the table
or Orris would not have discussed her. Jock looked at her with his
whimsical smile.
"Is it a case of pleasure versus duty? Let the cousin go, and bring
Pippa out into the five-acre meadow. We're starting the haymaking."
"To-day?
"Well, the machine isn't working quite right—we're giving it a trial."
"Anita might take her down, if you could have an eye on her."
"All right—I'm game. Because I think you ought to have a change from us
country folk sometimes."
Mrs. Preston overheard this conversation.
"No, Mr. Muir, don't hint that Miss Coventry doesn't like us. She might
have been born and brought up in the country, she's so understanding
and simple."
"Now you've said it!" laughed Jock. "Miss Coventry, simple!"
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said poor Mrs. Preston, covered with
confusion.
"My dear Mrs. Preston," said Orris, "simplicity is a virtue which all
of us ought to possess. I wish I had more of it."
"Would your little niece like to bide in the kitchen with me? We're
making some raspberry jam this afternoon."
Directly Pippa heard this she was enchanted at the idea of it, and
Orris departed for her walk with a light heart.
She took Dugald through the pinewoods. They had many mutual friends,
and she enjoyed hearing of town life, and all that was going on.
"It seems years since I was in the bustle of it all," she said. "I
suppose you think my life stagnation at present?"
"I'm afraid I couldn't stick it. Why doesn't Venetia get married again,
and relieve you of herself and child, then we would have you in town?"
"I don't know that you would," said Orris slowly.
It was an exquisite afternoon; they were leaning over a fence at the
edge of the woods and looking down along the rich pastoral valley below
them. There was a peculiar freshness in the air; every tree and shrub
seemed vibrant with luxurious life, and the pines behind them were
sending out their aromatic fragrance.
Orris turned to pick a branch of wild roses as she spoke; and as she
inhaled their delicate fragrance, she said again:
"I don't know that you would. The country is getting a hold of me.
The naturalness and simplicity of it all appeals to me. I am enjoying
first-hand the good gifts of God. I feel now as if I could not take
town life up again. If I could find a thatched cottage vacant, which
is, of course, an impossibility in these days, I believe I would
venture to take it. Look at that view in front of you! Isn't it
exquisite?"
"Oh, you can get many as good, outside town," said Dugald
indifferently. Then, turning to her eagerly, he said: "You mustn't
vegetate here too long. You have gifts which are squandered here. And
we—I—want you back again. I haven't a soul who cares whether I live
or die. I mean it. And I miss your motherly—sisterly—oh, how I wish I
could say 'wifely'—lectures for my good. Hurry up over that library and
come back."
"I have a good three months' work at it, yet," said Orris. "You don't
any of you want me. You map out your days and nights in one long array
of gaieties; you say the same things every day, you repeat scandal,
you tell each other 'bon mots,' you criticize each other, and you
contribute nothing towards the welfare of the unfortunate. And at the
end of your life, what have you got to show for it?"
Dugald looked at her with mischievous eyes. "Go on. I've heard all this
before."
"Yes; it's futile talking to you. And I'm just as bad myself. Reyne
Archer has been stirring me up by her fresh enthusiasm, and longing
after a busy, useful life. I have done very little in town, but here, I
fancy, if I were to settle down and get to know the country folk round,
I could do something to help them on a bit. So little amuses them, so
little pleases them. I'm not speaking of the young, but of the old and
feeble. I've just seen a few of them, but they fascinate me. I have
never come in contact with country people before. They're so leisurely
and shrewd, and think more than the Cockneys do. They have more time,
of course."
"How you drift away from the point," Dugald said. "Promise me you will
return to town in September. You will have had your three months by
then."
"Indeed, I shall promise nothing of the sort. Now shall we go back?"
Dugald felt, when the walk was over that he had gained nothing by
it. He had hoped that absence from town might make her more eager to
return. He had also hoped that she would have missed him, and learnt to
wish for him.
When they reached the farm, they found a bountiful tea awaiting them.
Mrs. Preston had suggested to Anita to carry it out under the apple
trees in the orchard.
Dugald did not stay long. Perhaps Pippa's chatter of her wonderful
"Master Jock" did not smooth matters. If Jock did not like the sound of
him, Dugald most certainly disliked his presence at the farm.
When he was gone, and Pippa had been taken to bed, Orris sat on in the
silent orchard. The future looked uncertain to her, and sometimes she
had an intense craving for a home of her own. Her flat was not a home,
she told herself. She wanted a garden, a sweet restful place where, as
now, she could sit and meditate with no fear of interruption.
She was a little anxious over Venetia. Every day found her more
discontented and more restive. These new friends of hers did not seem
to make her happier, only made her long the more to return to town.
And Orris did not care for this new admirer of hers. Mr. Riley seemed
to her a parvenu, and neither well-bred nor intellectual. Venetia was
never happy unless she had some man attendant on her, but Orris feared
she was more than interested in this one.
She did not return till half-past ten, and was cross with Orris for
waiting up for her.
"I thought you might be glad of a cup of soup. Have you been out in the
car all day?"
"We've been up to town," Venetia said shortly, "and we dined at
Salisbury on the way back."
Orris saw she did not wish to be questioned, so said no more and went
off to bed.
The next day she and Venetia dined with the Archers. The Rector and his
wife were there, but no one else. It was not exactly a happy gathering.
Venetia and Dugald heartily disliked each other. Mrs. Villars had
taken it into her head not to approve of Orris. Marie, a lively young
matron of two-and-thirty, put her foot into it all round. She told Mrs.
Villars that the country was deadly, and that parsons and their wives
were the deadliest. This was in innocence of Mrs. Villars' calling. She
told Lady Archer that they thought it a burning shame for Mrs. Calthrop
to let her house and turn Orris out, after making arrangements with her
definitely to stay there. And she asked Venetia why she did not try
another millinery venture in town. It was so fashionable, and she would
promise to patronize her if she did so!
Reyne and Orris did not get a chance of any talk together until just as
she was leaving, and then Reyne said:
"I want to tell you that I have mother's consent to my taking over some
of Miss Villars' work when she leaves. I am so happy about it. It seems
as if it has just been given to me. And I do agree with you that I
ought not to leave mother at present. If only she stays in the country,
it will be delightful! I am going to enjoy it all now, and shall leave
the future to take care of itself."
Dugald walked home with Orris and Venetia. The latter said, when she
came into the farm:
"Preserve me from going out again to any of these deadly country
dinners! Orris, I'm getting to the end of my tether. I shall have to
break away from you."
"But what do you think of doing?" said Orris, a little wearily. This
kind of conversation was getting frequent and monotonous.
"I think I should commit suicide if I stayed here much longer."
"Don't be foolish!" Orris's tone was sharp. "You have more backbone
than that, Venetia, so don't pretend that you haven't. We can't get
everything we want in life; and you have here at least food and
lodging."
"I thought you would add 'comfort,' for that I have not got. And talk
of life! This isn't life, it's stagnation. I am not a tortoise. I can't
sleep away my time as you want me to do. I shall go to one of those
cheap boardinghouses in Bayswater or Kensington. I don't mind leaving
you Pippa for a time. She ought to be going to school soon. How is it
to be managed?"
"I shall be able to do it," said Orris. Then she added, with a little
laugh: "That is, if I don't get too many bills of yours to pay."
Venetia shrugged her shoulders.
"If you will take your brother's liabilities upon your shoulders, it
isn't for me to complain. Good-night. I'm off to bed. I've warned you
that I shall make my exit soon." Then, as she was turning away, she
looked back. "You and I are not fitted to live together, Orris. You are
too superior in your aloofness from all fun and frivolity. You good
people are on such a different plane to us mere ordinary beings that
you make us uncomfortable in your presence."
"I have tried not to be a prig," murmured Orris.
"You can't hide your contempt for me."
Orris was dumb. She realized that she had been impatient, intolerant
of her sister-in-law's vagaries, and she wondered if she could have
influenced her more, had she shown her more sympathy. She looked at
Venetia somewhat wistfully.
"I wish you would teach me how to understand you," she said.
Venetia laughed and blew her an airy kiss.
"Good-night again. You've been a useful old thing to me, and you're a
pattern aunt to Pippa. You ought to be a mother. I'm not suited to the
role. Marry this young penniless farmer who's so desperately in love
with you. He isn't a bad sort—not spicy enough for me, but good enough
in his way." She disappeared.
Two days after, she made good her words. She had gone off again with
Mr. Riley in his car, presumably to some races that were taking place
about ten miles away.
This time Orris waited up till between eleven and twelve. She had felt
uneasy all the evening. Pippa had been curiously mysterious, and wagged
her head to and fro every time her mother's name was mentioned.
When she was put to bed, Orris went in and tucked her up after hearing
her say her evening prayer.
When Pippa got to, "God bless mummy," she gave a little giggle.
Orris promptly reproved her, whereupon she looked up with big eyes.
"God knows why I'm laughing. He will ascuse me."
"Have you got anything on your mind, my pet?" Orris asked, as she gave
her a "good-night" kiss.
"No," said Pippa virtuously; "I've been a 'markably good girl to-day."
Orris paced outside the house in the sweet dusky evening till it was
too dark to see, then she came to the conclusion that Venetia might be
sleeping at the Potters', so she went to bed when it was nearly twelve
o'clock.
The next morning Anita brought her a note which she had found on her
mistress's dressing-table. It ran as follows:
"DEAR ORRIS,—
"I haven't been long in doing it, have I? But Jack Riley has
precipitated matters. We are being married to-morrow at the Registrar's
in town. I go up to-night and sleep at the Metropole. He joins me
to-morrow. I didn't think he was in earnest till yesterday. He has
a ranch in California and we're going out there, but I must have a
maid to go with me, so will you send Anita along with my trunks? I've
packed one. She must pack the other and bring them up to town—to the
Metropole. She loves travelling, so will like to come with me. I
leave you Pippa. I shall miss her, but Jack doesn't want a ready-made
daughter at present; and we shall be travelling about, which would be
bad for her. You won't have me as a burden on your shoulders, so you
will be able to do better for her. She must be educated soon. I should
pack her off to a boarding-school if I were you, and go back to your
club again. Good-bye.
"You did your best for us, but a country farm is the limit for—
"Your good-for-nothing Sis,
"VENETIA."
Orris read this through with dazed eyes. She hardly knew whether
she was glad or sorry. Her immediate anxiety was Pippa with no maid
to look after her. She realized her capacity for mischief, and the
impossibility of doing her work and looking after the child.
She called Anita to her. It was quite true what Venetia had said. She
had a passion for travelling, and was willing to go anywhere with her
mistress.
"Miss Pippa, she is too great a charge; she likes not me when I am
reproving her; and she is too wild to be held still and good. I do
better with full-grown ladies who do not pour ink into my shoes and
comb the peegs with my best comb!"
"I'm afraid Miss Pippa has been very naughty."
"She is born so," said Anita philosophically.
She departed with alacrity to pack her mistress's trunks, and Orris
went down to breakfast with perplexed eyes.
Pippa was chattering in the porch to Jock who was filling his pipe
preparatory to going into the hayfields.
"Oh, Aunt Ollie, be quick with our brekfus', I'm going to be all day in
the hayfield, and I shall make it into little cocks to-day. Jock says I
can."
"Do you know your mummy has gone away?"
Pippa looked at her aunt and smiled.
"Aha! You didn't know I'd a secret! Mummy told me not to tell, and so
last night I didn't, though it nearly bursted from me ever so many
times. Mummy came to me in the orchard when the car was waiting for
her, and she kissed me and whispered in my ear that she was going away.
Mummy often goes away quite sudden, doesn't she? She told me not to
tell you till this morning, and I really quite forgot, I was so busy
thinking about the hay."
"Have children any hearts?" queried Jock, in an undertone. "Is it
anything serious, Bright Eyes?"
"Run in, Pippa; there's some bread and milk for you this morning. I'm
just coming."
The child danced into the house. In a few words, Orris told Jock of
what had happened. He gave a low long whistle.
"You don't want me to congratulate you," he said.
"No; it has almost knocked me down—the suddenness of it. But I wonder
that it has not happened before. He has money, so I consider she ought
to be content."
"And send you something for the child, I should hope?"
Orris shook her head.
"Never. He evidently has stipulated that the child is to be shunted
on me. I would not have it otherwise. She would be ruined if she
accompanied them. I don't consider him a nice man—he is very fast and
go ahead. Of course, Venetia is old enough to know her own mind."
"Well, I'm inclined to feel cheery about it. The Elf has stolen her way
into Mrs. Preston's heart, so you needn't worry."
"But she is too busy to look after her."
"She will be my charge for to-day."
"I must get some kind of nursemaid for her," said Orris. Then she
smiled at him. "I am beginning to tell you all my difficulties. I
wonder why!"
"Because you know that everything that interests you interests me,"
responded Jock quickly. "I expect you to confide in me."
"Go along to your work," said Orris, laughing. And then she joined her
little niece at breakfast.
Mrs. Preston, on being told the news, showed immense relief.
"I have done my best for Mrs. Coventry, but she's like a fish out of
water here, miss. She was always grumbling and bewailing our simple
ways. We'll manage fine. I believe Mrs. Will's Lily is at home out of
place. She's a nice girl and has known good service—been nurse-girl up
at Tarbets Hall. Shall I make inquiries about her?"
"Do, please, dear Mrs. Preston, for Anita must leave at once—this
afternoon, if possible. My sister-in-law will want her luggage."
There were a good many arrangements to be made before Orris was free to
leave for her work. In fact, she did not go to Pinestones till after
dinner. Anita had left by the two o'clock train, and Mrs. Preston said
Pippa could have tea with her in the kitchen, if she did not have it in
the hayfield. So Orris left the farm with an easy conscience.
As she was crossing the fields, she met Mr. Dunscombe.
"You are quite a stranger," he said. "How are you getting on with your
work?"
"I am seeing my way through the foreign section, but I haven't tackled
the Old English yet."
She plunged into her subject. Mr. Dunscombe had been of the greatest
help to her in many ways.
"Don't hurry too much," was his advice, on parting. "We don't want you
to leave us, you know."
"I am not nearly at that point," Orris said. "Sometimes I think I shall
never want to leave this smiling country. My town tastes are retiring
to the background."
"We'll do our best to keep you," he said pleasantly.
And then he went his way, and Orris went hers, more than glad to feel
that her work should occupy her thoughts for the present.