THE MAJOR'S HOSPITALITY
JOAN was making apple jam in the kitchen. Jenny was attending on her,
for Sophia had gone to the dentist's in Coppleton; she very seldom had
an afternoon out, and would not have gone now unless Joan had insisted
and had promised to make the jam instead of her. Poor Sophia had had
three days and nights of raging toothache, and Joan bundled her up in
wraps, seated her in the jingle, and the odd man drove her in.
It was a cold grey afternoon in November. The wind soughed in the old
rectory chimneys, and the sky had that peculiar metallic blue-grey hue
which betokens the coming of snow. Joan looked out of the cosy kitchen
through the window.
"I would rather be in than out to-day, Jenny, wouldn't you? I hope
Sophia won't be caught in a storm."
"The master be out too," said Jenny. "Old Dan'l Tucker be taken very
bad and sent for him."
Joan looked anxious as she turned to her jam and stirred it.
"I did not know he was going there. It is quite three miles off. I
thought he was only going his round in the village."
Jam making continued, she could not leave it, but when dusk began to
gather, and neither Sophia nor the rector was back, Joan began to
worry. Snowflakes appeared, not very large at first, but growing bigger
and thicker as time went on.
At last sounds of wheels across the yard were heard, and Sophia
staggered into the kitchen.
"Oh, Miss Joan, glad I am to be back. 'Tis blowing a blizzard. I can't
feel my hands or feet."
"Have you seen Father? He has actually gone across the heath to the
Tuckers. I am quite nervous about him."
Sophia looked horrified, then she spoke in a reassuring tone.
"They'll keep him over the night. The Tuckers be superior folk, and
their farm be as big and comfortable as any gentlefolk's. Don't you
fret, Miss Joan. They'll keep him there sure enough."
"I don't think Father would stay. He would know that I should be
anxious."
She left the kitchen and went into the dining-room, which gave her a
glimpse of the road for some distance. Mr. Adair had a slight cold, and
Joan remembered now that he had complained of oppression on his chest
that morning.
"I ought to have looked after him. I was too engrossed in my jam, and
in Sophia's toothache. I ought not to have let him go out at all this
afternoon."
As she watched at the window, she saw a man in the distance making his
way down the street. For one instant she thought it was her father, and
heaved a sigh of relief, then she saw the figure was taller and more
erect than the old rector was, and she waited to see him approach. He
came in at the rectory gate and up the drive.
Joan impulsively dashed out into the porch. "Have you come from my
father? Do you know where he is?"
"Safe in bed at my house, and I hope he will stay there."
It was Major Armitage who spoke, and in her anxiety, Joan drew him into
the hall.
"Has he met with an accident? Is he ill?"
"Well, Miss Adair, the fact is, I came across him leaning up against
my fence a couple of hundred yards from the house. He was panting for
breath, and pretty well exhausted by his tramp across the heath. I took
him straight in and gave him some brandy. It did him good. I consulted
my housekeeper, and she thought that bed was the best place for him.
And then to ease his mind, I came off to tell you where he was. And on
the way, I met the doctor and sent him to have a look at him, for I
think he has some kind of bronchial attack."
"Come in where there is a fire," said Joan, opening the door of her
father's study. "How kind of you to keep him. But I must go to him; I
understand him. Is he not well enough to come back here to-night?"
"I shouldn't advise it. By all means come back with me now. Perhaps we
shall find the doctor still there."
Without a word more, Joan left the room. She called Sophia to her and
told her what had happened, whilst she got ready to go out.
"Aye, dear Miss Joan, here's trouble. But Maria will know what to do.
She be a first-rate nurse, and maybe to-morrow will find him quite
himself again. 'Tis no use to drag upon our heads the burdens of the
morrow, so we'll just leave it at that. And if it will ease your mind,
just tell Maria to make you up a bed in his room and stay the night.
If you don't come back in the hour, that's what I know you'll do. And
remember, a good mustard poultice will ease his chest!"
Major Armitage looked about him when he was left alone. He noted the
comfortable chair drawn up to the fire, the warm slippers on the
fender, the dainty little tea-table awaiting the rector's return. And
he muttered to himself:
"A woman's care."
Joan was back almost directly. She said very little, but outside, her
swift strides had no trouble in keeping pace with the Major's.
"It was you who befriended my small dog," said Major Armitage in a
friendly tone.
"And now you have befriended my father," replied Joan quickly. "I
believe I have been most ungrateful, for I have never expressed my
thanks. I was so anxious at Father's non-appearance that I could think
of no one else."
"Don't worry over him. A few days' rest and warmth will set him all
right again; but it is not pleasant weather to be out."
They were met here by a sharp squall of snow and wind. Talking was
impossible. They could hardly keep their footing, and for the rest of
the way they reserved their breath for battling with the elements. He
did not take Joan to the front entrance, but turned in by a side door
and ushered her into a comfortable smoking-room.
"I hope you don't mind the smell of smoke," he said, drawing up a chair
to the fire for her. "I will send my housekeeper to you, and she will
take you to your father. May I relieve you of your cloak?"
He helped her out of her snow-covered garment, but as he did so, his
lips snapped together like steel, and a hard stern look came into his
eyes.
Joan, glancing up at a mirror in front of her, caught sight of the
frowning face behind her. She wondered at it, and then remembered some
of the talk about him, and spoke in her impulsive fashion.
"I am afraid this is all most unpleasant to you, Major Armitage. Don't
think of entertaining me or coming near me. It is only my father I want
to see."
He gave a little courteous bow.
"I hope I know my duties as your host. I assure you I am not a
misanthrope, though I know I do bear a bad character in the village."
Joan's cheeks grew hot. She felt she had blundered, and then she said
in her natural tone:
"Oh, dear, I always do say the awkward thing if I can manage it."
He gave a short laugh.
"We won't stand upon ceremony with each other. Do sit down and warm
yourself."
He left the room, and the next moment Maria appeared.
"Ah, dear Miss Adair. Your pore dear father, there! When I saw him
staggerin' in with the master, I thought he was struck for death! I
assure you his face were a dark purple, and he were gaspin' like a
dyin' fish! But we got him some spirit and put him to bed, and he have
had hot bottles to his feet, and he be now lyin' in a heavy doze, and
his breathin' raucous—well, I must say it is that, but not worse than
to be expected."
"Take me to him," said Joan as soon as she could get in a word. "Has
the doctor gone?"
"Yes, has ordered a steam kettle, says it's a sharp attack of
bronchitis, and he mustn't be moved. Come you this way."
She went upstairs, and Joan followed her, hardly noticing where she
was going, until she found herself in a big comfortable-looking room
with a blazing fire. Her father lying back upon the pillows in an
old-fashioned tester bed recognised her, and smiled but could not speak.
Joan went up, and stooping down spoke in her cheeriest tone:
"Well, Dad, dear, this is unlucky, isn't it? I'm so thankful Major
Armitage took you in. Now don't try to speak. You'll be better
to-morrow, and you must just stop here till you're fit to be moved. I
shall look after you to-night. Try to go to sleep."
Relief and comfort was expressed at once in Mr. Adair's troubled face.
"Now, you know, you'll do everything that is right," he murmured, and
then he closed his eyes.
[Illustration: JOAN AND BANTY CHATTED TOGETHER IN LIGHT-HEARTED FASHION
WHEN THEY WERE SITTING DOWN WATCHING FOR THE KETTLE TO BOIL.]
Maria appeared, but Joan drew her out of the room, where they arranged
everything for the invalid's comfort. Joan said she would sit up in the
big easy chair by the fire all night.
"I shall have a nap when I can, but I will keep the fire in and the
kettle going, and give him what he needs."
She heard all the directions that the doctor had given and promised
to carry them out. The master of the house was of no account in her
eyes, nor did she think of him again until she was sitting up awake in
the silent hours of the night. Then she began to wonder about the life
that he led in this lonely house, and who was the lady of his choice,
whether she were but a sweet memory or a living reality.
Mr. Adair slept a good deal, and by the time the dawn broke his
breathing was considerably easier. When Maria appeared, Joan smiled up
at her.
"We have had a good night, and he is not worse, but better I should
say."
Maria brought her a cup of tea, then persuaded her to go into an
adjoining bedroom and have a bath, so as to refresh herself.
An hour later she was downstairs in the hall just in the act of going
out of the door, when Major Armitage appeared from the dining-room and
stopped her.
"You are not going off without any breakfast? I could not allow you to
do that. I am glad to hear good accounts of your father."
"Yes, I'm so thankful. I must get home to ease our old servant's mind.
I thought I might run up again to see the doctor when he comes, and to
ask him how Father can be moved."
"I have already sent a message down to the rectory. I am not going to
let you go till you have had something to eat. Come in here."
Joan could not resist his pleasant peremptoriness. She followed him
into the dining-room. It was a large comfortable room, with a broad bay
window overlooking the garden. The expanse of dazzling snow outside
gave a reflected light into the room. Joan was conscious as she looked
at the smart soldier-like neatness of the Major, that she herself was
tired and unrefreshed by the night's watch. But he was thinking as he
took her in with one swift glance that he had seldom seen a woman with
a sweeter, fresher countenance.
Breakfast was laid on a small round table near the fire. The long
dining-table in the middle of the room was evidently not used.
Major Armitage presided over the coffee and tea himself. He waited on
Joan with cheerful alacrity. There was nothing in his manner to prove
that he disliked women guests. Their talk was, of course, about the
invalid.
"I dread my father getting bronchitis at the beginning of the winter.
He has had it before, but I am so immensely thankful and grateful to
you for finding him. How did you manage it?"
"I heard one of my dogs barking outside. I'm afraid he took the rector
for an intruder. It is my dog you have to thank for telling me of your
father's whereabouts."
"But you offered him shelter and hospitality."
"Who would not? If I had been in a similar case, would you not have
taken me in and nursed me?"
"I hope I should," said Joan with a smile; "which reminds me of an old
man in the village—do you know him? A superannuated postman, Dicky
Grubb. He called me in to take shelter from the rain, and when I
thanked him, he said:
"'Why, that be all right. I do reckon I'd have asked the evil one
hisself in if I'd seen 'im. I do be just desperate for a talk wi'
somebody.'"
"These country folk have a great belief in the personality of the evil
one," said Major Armitage with an amused smile.
"I must rank myself amongst them," said Joan, a soft grave light coming
into her eyes at once. "If we believe our Bibles, we must, but the
comfort is to feel that the Power above him is greater."
"Do you believe in a gracious providence overlooking our lives and
ordering all things for our eternal good?" questioned the Major
abruptly.
"Yes, I do," said Joan simply. "I believe it with all my heart. I
always have liked that verse in Job. Do you know it?—
"'For He performeth the thing that is appointed for me.'
"It takes the sting out of so much if we can feel it is His hand
behind."
"Life has a good deal of bitterness in it," said Major Armitage, "but I
think if I hadn't believed in that Hand, I should have blown my brains
out long ago. As one lives on, though, one's patience gets exhausted."
Then he pulled himself together, as if he had said too much. "What a
beautiful little organ you have."
"Yes, isn't it? I have been wondering if you would ever like to take
our services for us. We should enjoy it so much if you did."
"Would you? I always think organists are tenacious of their position
and resent any amateurs touching their beloved instrument."
"But I am much more of an amateur than you are," said Joan, smiling.
"And I have heard your playing once, and I long to hear it again."
"Music is the comfort of my life," said Major Armitage. "I have only a
piano here, but I am thinking of building an organ. Meanwhile, I tell
you that I have very happy times in your little church."
Then he began to talk over organ music with her. The personal note in
his conversation disappeared, and Joan was rather glad of it. He was
as yet too great a stranger for her to touch upon the deep things of
life with ease in her talk with him. She was always shy of mentioning
them herself; and he had surprised her by his words. Yet as they talked
there over their comfortable meal, Joan felt an increasing liking for
this man. He seemed so frank and straightforward that she could not
reconcile the account of him which Maria had given to her sister with
her actual experience now.
When breakfast was over and she was about to depart again, Major
Armitage stopped her.
"You have a mile and a quarter to walk to the rectory through the fresh
snow. If you want to see the doctor, he will most likely be here in an
hour's time. What is the good of rushing home and back again before his
visit? Stay with the rector till he comes, and write a note to your old
servant. I will send my groom over with it at once."
Joan considered a moment and then agreed. He took her across the hall
to his smoking-room, and left her at the writing-table there. She
wrote her note, gave it to the groom, who was waiting in the hall for
it, and then with rapid steps went upstairs to her father. Maria was
superintending one of the housemaids, who was tidying up the room.
"I'm glad you haven't gone, miss. The rector has been asking for you."
Joan went up to the bedside. Her father was awake and feverishly
anxious to get up.
"I have been told by this good woman, my dear, where I am. I could
hardly remember how I came here. I must go home, Joan. If I am ill,
I must be in my own house; and there is Sunday coming. To-morrow is
Saturday. If I cannot take the service, we must get someone else to do
it. There are a lot of things to arrange. I must—"
"Now, Father, dear, I will see to everything. We are only waiting till
the doctor has been. You must not worry, and you must not talk."
Joan was very firm. She sat down by the bed and began telling her
father of some funny experiences she had had the previous morning in
the village. His attention was diverted from himself; he smiled, then
became sleepy again, and had a good half-hour's nap before the doctor
arrived. Dr. Blount gave a good report of his patient.
"I believe he has just staved off an attack of pneumonia. You must not
attempt to move him to-day. Send over your old servant; she and her
sister here will manage him nicely, and you can ease his mind best by
running his business."
For practical common sense Dr. Blount had no equal. When Joan was once
convinced that her father was in no danger, and only required rest
and care for a few days, she went straight down and interviewed Major
Armitage again.
She found him out in the garden directing a lad how to sweep the snow
off the paths.
He anticipated her in what she was about to say. "I am not going to let
your father go to-day or to-morrow, whatever the doctor says."
"It is most kind of you," Joan said; and then she told him what the
doctor wished.
"If you do not mind Sophia coming up, she will be a great comfort to
Father; and I have really so many things to see to in the parish that I
shall be quite content with Sophia's reports once a day."
"I'll do anything you like to suggest; but I hope you will feel free to
run up whenever you have time. I am going up to town to-morrow for the
night, but I'll come down to you myself on the way to the station, if I
may, to tell you how I leave him."
Joan thanked him with a lightened heart. Then, looking round her, she
could not help exclaiming:
"What a beautiful old home you have! Isn't it wonderful how grand and
majestic a heavy fall of snow makes its surroundings? We might be now
in the depths of a huge forest. Your trees and snow glades through them
are magnificent."
Major Armitage turned with her to face his old, weather-beaten,
ivy-covered house. The wind had gone down, and there was that peculiar
silence and stillness that fallen snow always brings.
"It is a waiting house," he said, somewhat dreamily. "It has always
borne that characteristic on its walls to me."
Joan hardly knew what to say. He turned to her with a slow smile upon
his face.
"Do you know any of its history, Miss Adair? For over a hundred years
it has been the abode of lonely souls. No children's voices or steps
have ever brightened its rooms. Three old bachelor brothers succeeded
each other, then a childless couple, then two single women, and each
heir was well over fifty before taking possession. My mother was the
first who broke the chain, but she died six months after it had been
bequeathed to her. And she told me that it had always been considered
an unlucky legacy."
"Has that any foundation?" Joan asked with interest.
"There is a saying that until it reverts to the old family to whom it
originally belonged, there will be no luck to its possessor."
Joan was about to ask the name of that family, but such a stern shadow
came over the Major's face that she refrained, and he turned almost
abruptly away from her for a moment. Then, as she moved away from him,
the smile came back to his lips again.
"My house and I wait," he said.
Joan went home that morning with much food for thought, and though her
father figured foremost in her mind, there was another who figured in
it too.