JOAN'S ILLNESS
WHEN the holidays were over, and her pupils came back to her, Joan grew
happier. Her life was too busy to allow her much time for brooding. She
found more and more to interest her in the parish, and began to have a
real liking for those she visited. She always made a point of absenting
herself from the house after tea, for Wilmot was incessantly there
and shut up in the drawing-room with Cecil. Sometimes she felt amused
at the quick ending to her own intercourse with him, and the easy way
in which he had transferred his society to Cecil. If she met him, she
always said a pleasant word to him. In a way she was thankful for the
interest and occupation brought into Cecil's life, who looked forward
eagerly to Wilmot's visits, and, if irritable and exacting the rest of
the day, was always her gay sweet self when with him.
Sophia shook her head over the visits.
"'Twas well enough with you, Miss Joan, my dear. You meant business,
you did; and if you'd worked all day and night with him I wouldn't have
had a tremor, but I've eyes in my head, and I've been into the room at
times on messages, and Miss Cecil she doesn't mean business—she means
amusement! And if she plays with fire, she'll get burnt. There's too
many smiles, and arch looks, and playful ways, and honeyed words to
please me. It's my belief 'tis just flirtation over the inkpot, there!
'Tis plain words, but just the truth."
"Oh, Sophia, you're a foolish old dear, but you don't understand," Joan
would say.
"Don't I? I know Mr. Gascoigne has a level head and a still heart, but
Miss Cecil haven't, and she'll be the one to suffer."
Joan felt a little uneasy, but could not do anything. She knew if she
warned Cecil in any way, she would only make matters worse.
And then an epidemic of a bad type of influenza swept through the
village, and Joan herself became one of the victims.
She kept up as long as she could, but at last went to bed, and stayed
there for nearly three weeks. When she got up again, she felt very weak
and depressed.
Cecil had not helped much during her illness. She was so afraid of
being infected with it herself that she had spent most of her days
out of doors, only returning to the house to sleep. It was beautiful
weather, too dry to be healthy, for rain had not fallen for over a
month. Cecil would take her books and luncheon to the pine woods, and
there Wilmot would often meet her, with his roll of MS. under his arm.
Naturally, when Joan came downstairs again, she found a great many
things demanding her attention, and she had little strength to give to
them. Her father, like a man, did not realise her weakness, and was so
glad to get her help again in parish matters that he spared her little
and made greater demands than she had the strength to fulfil. But she
made every effort to please him.
One afternoon Sophia came into the dining-room and found Joan literally
sobbing over some parish club accounts. She tried to laugh when she met
Sophia's concerned gaze.
"I'm such a fool! I think I must have left half my brains in my bed. I
can't add the least sum, and poor Father is hopeless with accounts. The
books are so muddled that I can't make head or tail of them. I've been
a whole hour over them, and the figures are now swimming in a thick
haze before my eyes."
Sophia swept the books up with her arm, and carried them off.
"If you look at them again to-day, I'll put you straight to bed, Miss
Joan, and keep you there. You come into the drawing-room and lie down
for an hour. You're as weak as a baby."
"I can't do it, Sophia. I have the schoolmistress coming to see me
about some school difficulty. Here she is, coming up the drive."
Sophia snorted, then went out to the kitchen and seized hold of pen and
ink.
"Jenny," she said sharply, as that young person came past her, "you
go out of this kitchen, and don't come into it for half an hour. I've
business to do which will take all the head I possess, and I won't be
scatterbrained by you fussing round!"
In half an hour's time a letter was written, and then Jenny was sent
to the post office with it. It was addressed to "The Lady Alicia
Fairchild."
Three days after, Mr. Adair received a wire:
"Can you put me up for a few days?—ALICIA."
He was rather perturbed at first.
"I suppose we must say 'Yes,' my dear? I was hoping to get a little
more of your time and attention now that you are well again. It has
been a strain whilst you have been laid aside. Cecil seems as if she
cannot give any help, and there are so many things that have got out of
gear. But, of course, we cannot refuse to have Lady Alicia, and it will
be only for a few days."
Joan felt rather pleased. There was a triumphant gleam in Sophia's eyes
when she was told that the spare room must be got ready. And Cecil
acknowledged that a visitor would be very acceptable.
Joan dragged herself about the house, feeling everything an effort,
but determined to have all as dainty and fresh as possible for her
godmother.
Banty happened to call upon her the afternoon when Lady Alicia was
expected, and exclaimed at Joan's white face and tired eyes:
"What have you been doing to yourself? You ought to be in bed! You
aren't fit to be up!"
Joan's eyes filled with tears. Then she laughed. "I cry like a baby
at nothing," she said, meeting Banty's surprised gaze. "The 'flu' has
knocked me all to pieces. I feel quite aged. But I suppose I shall get
all right in time."
"You never will, if you slave away like this. What are you doing?
Flowers? Why doesn't Cecil do them? There's nothing more tiring. I
never touch them at home."
When Banty took her leave, she said bluntly to Cecil, who walked to the
gate with her:
"You should make your sister rest, and run the show yourself for a bit.
She's knocked all to pieces—couldn't believe my eyes when I saw her.
Are you like me—no good in the house at all?"
"Joan is a difficult person to manage," said Cecil sharply. "She will
fuss about, doing everything herself, and will allow nobody to help
her."
"I'd pack her back to bed and lock the door," said Banty, as she walked
off; but Cecil did not take the hint.
When Lady Alicia eventually arrived she was met, as usual, at the
station by Joan, whose white, strained face moved her to instant pity;
but she said nothing to her about herself. When she was having a cup
of tea in the drawing-room, Lady Alicia noted that Joan's hand visibly
trembled when she lifted the teapot, and that she had a way of passing
her hand over her eyes when anyone spoke to her. When Cecil dropped a
teaspoon, she started with a little cry.
In a few minutes, Jenny appeared at the door. "If you please, miss, the
master wants to know if you've found the key of the poor-box?"
Joan got up at once. Turning to Lady Alicia, she said, with a laugh:
"I do believe that whilst I was ill, Father lost every key he ever
possessed, as well as making hay of all the parish accounts and
registers. We haven't reached our normal state yet."
She left her tea untasted. Lady Alicia turned to Cecil at once when
Joan had left the room.
"Cecil, dear, do you know why I came down? I see I was right to come."
"To see Joan, I suppose. I know you wouldn't come so far to see me."
"To take her away with me for a rest and change. Don't you realise that
she is badly needing it?"
Cecil's laughing face grew grave.
"Father pesters her so! He seems as if he is perfectly lost without
her. She will never leave him."
"You must help her to do so by promising to take her place."
"I couldn't. It would be an impossibility. I am not cut out for parish
work. I hate the lower orders, and they, of course, know it, and hate
me back!"
"Well, many of us have to do things we dislike, and you are going to
prove your courage by doing it, too."
Lady Alicia laid a gentle hand on her arm.
"My dear child, you must, unless you want Joan to have a serious
relapse. Don't pretend to be more selfish than you really are."
"Father won't hear of Joan's leaving. He can't even let her have her
tea in peace. Here they come, together. By their faces I should say the
key is found."
Mr. Adair came in beaming.
"Found in the lining of my hat," he said. "Joan remembered that I have
a trick of putting things there. Now I can enjoy my tea."
"Joan's tea is quite cold," said Cecil severely.
But Mr. Adair could never take a hint. He was quite unaware that he was
inconsiderate in his continual demands for Joan's help.
Joan sat down at the tea tray again and gave her father his tea, then
leant back in her chair and listened to the conversation with an absent
air, forgetting to take her own.
[Illustration: JOAN HEARD A CHILD'S SHRILL CRY FOR HELP, AND LOOKING
OUT UPON A ROCK CLOSE To THE SEA, SHE SAW A SMALL FIGURE WAVING A
HANDKERCHIEF.]
"I am on my way to Ireland," said Lady Alicia. "I dare say you may
remember that I have an old house there, which for the last ten years
has been let to a retired colonel and his wife. They have become
alarmed at the prospect in front of them, for she has delicate health,
and gave me notice to leave last quarter. They have actually left now,
and I have an empty house on my hands. I am afraid, in the unsettled
state of poor Ireland, that tenants will not be forthcoming, so I must
go up there and see what I had better do about it. People tell me it
may be needed as a hospital or convalescent home, but I pray that even
yet some settlement may be arrived at to prevent the awful cloud of war
coming down upon our unhappy land."
"I never knew you had Irish property," said Mr. Adair. "Unless you live
there yourself, you will, as you say, have no chance of letting it in
these days."
"No; it is in Ulster, and that fact alone, all agents tell me, is
enough to keep people away from it."
"Are you going to the choir practice to-night, Joan?" asked Mr. Adair.
Joan started. She swallowed down her cold cup of tea.
"I suppose I must. I had forgotten it."
"Can't you let it slip to-night?" pleaded Lady Alicia. "You are not fit
to do it, Joan dear. Do you know, Mr. Adair, I find Joan looking very
ill?"
"She has been very poorly," said Mr. Adair, quite cheerfully, "but she
is well again now, thank God."
Cecil laughed.
"Oh, Father, Lady Alicia will not think much of your powers of
observation! Now, Joan, you sit still for once in your life, and I will
step across to the church and dismiss those choir boys."
She sauntered out of the room. After rather a feeble protest, Joan
remained in her seat.
"I do feel frightfully lazy," she said, "and perhaps it will not matter
missing a practice for once."
Mr. Adair put on his spectacles and looked across at Joan with a
puzzled air.
"Joan, dear," said Lady Alicia, "could you let me speak to your father
alone for a few minutes?"
Joan looked surprised, but immediately left the room. She went upstairs
to see if Lady Alicia's luggage had been carried to her room.
She found Sophia there unstrapping the boxes, and when Joan said that
that was Jenny's work, the old servant shook her head.
"I'm waiting to see her ladyship, Miss Joan."
"How fond you are of her!"
"She is my only hope," said Sophia, "for she's a sensible woman, and
never lets the grass grow under her feet."
Joan sat down in the easy chair.
"Oh, Sophia, I wish I did not feel so tired. What is the matter with
me, I wonder?"
"The matter! Have you given yourself a chance? Haven't you just left
your bed to run up and down everywhere, after everybody and everything?
You're just tempting Providence—that's what you're doing."
Joan did not answer.
Sophia was down on her knees, unpacking now. It was not very long
before they heard the drawing-room door open, and in a moment or two
Lady Alicia was in the room. She held out her hand to Sophia.
"It is all settled," she said. "Miss Joan is coming over to Ireland
with me next Tuesday, and I shall keep her there till she is her bonny
self again!"
Sophia's face glowed with pleasure, but Joan protested in amazement.
"How can I leave home! It's impossible!"
"It's perfectly easy. Your father has consented to part with you, and
it will be Cecil's opportunity to prove her abilities."
Joan could hardly believe her ears. The prospect of a change and a
holiday with her beloved godmother almost overwhelmed her. She still
would not believe that it could be realised.
"Cecil will never take my place," she said. "Father will get miserable
and ill, and the whole parish go to pieces."
"Perhaps you over-estimate your powers," said Lady Alicia dryly.
Joan flushed crimson.
"Oh, ask Sophia what it was like when I was ill. She said she could
never go through it again!" Sophia looked a little abashed.
"I may have spoken rash, Miss Joan, but I'm willing to do it again, for
if I don't, you'll just sink into your grave. I want to see your face
smile and hear you singing as you go about. It's been a dreary time
of late. Her ladyship has my full sanction, as she knows, to take you
away, and glad I'll be to see you go!"
With that, Sophia stumped out of the room; and, looking up at Lady
Alicia, Joan cried, between tears and smiles:
"I believe it is a plot between you."
"It is, my dear. Sophia wrote to me asking me to come and look after
you. Now, Joan, you must help me by making it easy for them to spare
you. Your father is willing; that is the one thing that matters. I am
going to have a long talk with Cecil to-night. I think she will rise to
the occasion."
At mention of Cecil's name, Joan's face clouded.
"I am afraid I cannot, ought not to leave her. You know what she is,
Lady Alicia. So difficult to influence and restrain. Yesterday I
heard some unpleasant gossip in the village about her. She and Wilmot
Gascoigne are going to publish my mother's book. I wrote to you about
it, did I not? They spend hours together in the woods over it—Cecil
never does conform to convention—and the village will have it that they
are 'courting,' to use their own expression. Don't you see that if I go
away, matters may get worse? There will be nobody to look after Cecil;
she does want looking after. Mother shielded her and lived for her; she
is quite unaccustomed to stand alone. And if she wants to do a thing,
she will do it, regardless of appearances or consequences."
"My dear child, your absence will prove her salvation. She will be kept
too busy in house and village to have the time for long rambles with
this young man. Is he not the one with whom you were going to write a
book?"
"Yes—oh, I have so much to tell you, and so much to talk about!"
Lady Alicia noted again the weary gesture of the hand across the eyes.
"We shall have plenty of time for talk by and by. It will all keep for
the present."
"I can't believe I shall go with you. I haven't thanked you yet. It
seems too like a dream to be true. I wonder if it will be possible for
me to leave?"
"I can tell you, my dear, that I do not intend to leave this house
without you."
"But my pupils! Oh, dear Lady Alicia! There are such crowds of
objections to my going. You see, my illness has been such a set-back.
Harry and Alan are running wild; it isn't fair to them."
"I think, if I may say so, you ought not to continue to teach them.
Surely, my dear Joan, there is not such pressing need now for money?"
"I am afraid we have still back bills troubling us. You are no
stranger, Lady Alicia; you know what a struggle it was when Mother and
Cecil were abroad. My Father has never got straight since the expenses
of our move, and Cecil will not realise the necessity for economy. I
have now in my possession bills to the amount of thirty pounds which
she has incurred since Mother's death, and nearly all of them are for
clothes. I dare not let Father see them; he would worry so!"
"But, my dear Joan, this must be stopped. I am very glad you have told
me—I always feel I come next to your mother with regard to you two
girls, and Cecil is a little influenced by me, I know. Does not your
father give her a settled allowance?"
"No. You see, Mother and she were always together, and Mother gave her
a free hand."
"I will try and get him to do it at once, and then, if she exceeds
it, she will be responsible for her own bills. You will not mind my
helping you in this matter? You know I am fond of Cecil, though I see
her faults. And I will call on your doctor's wife and put the case
before her. Perhaps she can manage to teach her boys herself till you
come back. Be strong-minded, my dear. Refuse to worry, and things will
smooth themselves out."
Lady Alicia certainly worked wonders. She went out into the village the
next day, arranging what part of Joan's duties should be undertaken by
the schoolmistress, and enlisting Miss Borfield's help as well. Mrs.
Blount was flattered by a visit from her, but announced her intention
of sending her boys to school.
"Their father fully meant them to go this term, but we did not like to
take them away from Miss Adair. She has taught them splendidly, and I
am very grateful to her. My husband was only saying yesterday that she
ought to go away for a thorough rest and change. He met her on her way
to station, and thought her looking shockingly ill. I am sure he will
be very glad to hear that you are taking her away."
Then Lady Alicia came back to the rectory, and had a very long talk
with Cecil about helping her father in Joan's absence and keeping down
expenses.
Cecil was at first airily indifferent; then she grew hot and indignant,
and, finally, her better self prevailed.
"I never can make money go far—it slips through my fingers like water;
but I'll just keep things going till Joan comes back. She does deserve
a holiday; I know she ought to have it. I dare say it will be easier to
do things when she is away than when she is here. Anyhow, I am not a
fool, and Sophia is a host in herself. We shall manage."
Lastly, Lady Alicia talked to Mr. Adair, and before she left, he
arranged with Cecil that he should give her a dress allowance, which
allowance she was not to exceed.
On Tuesday, Lady Alicia and Joan set off for Ballyclunny, in the north
of Ireland.