THE LUCK OF ROLLESTON COURT
THE neighbourhood was very much surprised when it heard the news. Banty
was too taken aback to congratulate Joan.
"I didn't know you liked him," she said bluntly. "He has been so
unsociable and cranky that none of us has seen much of him. I hope
you'll get on with him, Joan. He isn't good enough for you."
It was a trial to Joan to be constantly made aware of the fact of Major
Armitage's unpopularity. There is nothing a country village hates more
than reticence and exclusiveness. The poor consider that if anybody
shuts himself away from society, there is something to hide, and that
something is most likely criminal. The rich resent their overtures
of friendship being repulsed. Major Armitage himself was supremely
indifferent to it all, but for Joan's sake, he made an effort and
accepted an invitation to dine at the Hall. It was the beginning of a
little more sociable intercourse between himself and his neighbours,
and the fact of his engagement led many to make fresh endeavours to
know him.
In due time, Joan received letters from Lady Alicia and from Cecil.
Cecil's was characteristic of her.
"MY DEAR JOAN,—
"I suppose I must send congratulations. I have to readjust my estimate
of you. I should have said from my lifelong knowledge of you that you
would have cheerfully sacrificed yourself at duty's or Father's shrine
and refused to leave your sphere of work. But I am glad for your sake
that you have been sensible. I, of course, pity myself exceedingly.
Will Father expect me to slip into your shoes? They never did fit me,
and never will. But I am not home yet, and 'things may happen,' as we
used to say when we were small. I am much amused at you and the Major
coming together. Did I not propose it to you? I hope you will make him
less uncanny than he was. Of course, you have told him of our descent
from the Rollestons? You will bring back the luck to his house. He
ought to be very grateful to you for liking him. I wonder if you are
really in love. I can't imagine you! You are so sane, so wise, that it
does not seem to be your role.
"Love,
"Your affectionate sister,
"CECIL."
"P.S.—I have read this over, and it doesn't sound quite nice. I wonder
why? But I can't gush over the engagement, for I don't know Major
Armitage. I can only wish you happiness."
Joan's face became rather downcast as she read this. She did not know
that Cecil was sore and bitter since her broken engagement, and angry
with Joan in an unreasonable way for her present happiness.
Lady Alicia's letter brought warmth and comfort at once. She allayed
the scruples that were always troubling Joan's sensitive conscience.
"It is right, dear, that you should marry when you love, and when that
one, like Randal Armitage, is worthy of your love. Your father will
be far happier in feeling your future provided for and in seeing your
happiness. If you were to sacrifice all your future for the sake of
being for a few years a help to your father, the time would be certain
to come when you and he would regret it; and I think your circumstances
will be wonderfully favourable to you."
Derrick also wrote to Joan.
"DEAR OLD CHUM,—
"Hearty congratulations is the conventional phrase, is it not? I
congratulate him on getting you, and for the rest—well, I don't bear
him malice, and if you're happy, that's the main thing. I'm going on
the Continent for a holiday. My respects to Dominie, and if I meet the
Malingerer, will let you know how she is faring. Adieu.
"Yours,
"DERRICK."
"Poor Derrick!" sighed Joan. "How I hope he will forget and marry!"
Yet, though she said this, it was a tremendous shock to her, a month
later, to get another letter from Cecil.
"I suppose," she wrote, "your engagement made me restless and
unsettled. We are now at Lucerne, and, to our amazement, one day
Derrick walked in. As he has always been one of the family, he and I
went about a good bit together. We have talked you and the village
threadbare, and at last, as we had nothing else to do, we made up our
minds that we would try to follow your example. You see, he and I have
both been foiled in our first experience, so we can feel for each
other. He knows I am not domesticated; but I feel I could run a London
flat and make it a success. And we don't jar on each other. In fact, I
have a wonderful sense of rest in his company. I know I could help him
in his work, and am determined that he shall be an M.P. very soon, and
later on Prime Minister at least. Well, all this rigmarole means that
we're engaged, and as we've known each other all our lives, we mean to
marry straight away. I could not face wedding bells in Old Bellerton
village. Lady Alicia is a trump; she has been as anxious as a mother
over us. She talked to him and talked to me, and warned us not to be in
such haste. But we've got her on our side now, so make your mind easy
over us. Derrick will like to hear what your views are about our match.
Write him one of your nicest letters."
Joan went to her father, who was as astonished as she and very
delighted.
Joan herself was honestly and deeply thankful. At first she was
almost afraid that both of them were plunging into matrimony more
from expediency than from real love or liking for each other; yet she
remembered how Derrick had always admired Cecil's dainty grace and
beauty, and though he had teased her unmercifully, Cecil had never
resented it, but invariably showed the best side of her nature to him.
But the speedy marriage made her anxious; and she thought Cecil's
indifference to her home and her father a bad beginning for her married
life. Derrick wrote to Joan in a day or two.
"I'm doing all there remains to be done. I have lost you for good. I
want to marry and settle down; and Cecil and I suit each other as well
as most people, and a good deal better. The Malingerer has died; in her
stead is an exceedingly beautiful and attractive woman. I shall be the
model husband, and she will daily be moulded to my will. Joking apart,
we are going to be happy; but I always and for ever intend to remain,—
"Your old chum,
"DERRICK."
"I always wanted him as a son," said Mr. Adair, "but I hoped you would
marry him, Joan. Do you think Cecil will make his home happy?"
"I am sure she will," said Joan stoutly. "Cecil has a heart and depths
which as yet have not been reached. She will develop as a married
woman."
Cecil's marriage was the means of postponing Joan's. She was not in
haste to leave her home, and Major Armitage felt obliged to go over to
Ireland to his sister again. He much wanted Joan to accompany him, but
she steadfastly refused.
"My father wants me. I will not leave him yet."
The summer slipped by. In the middle of it, Cecil and Derrick came for
a visit, and the visit was a complete success.
All Cecil's old irritability and laziness seemed to have disappeared.
She was full of the little flat in town which was going to be their
home. She was gentle and considerate to her father, very affectionate
to Joan.
And one day she told her, with a burst of confidence, that she was
going to make religion a power in her life.
"Derrick is really good, you know, though he never talks about it. And
Lady Alicia lived her religion every day, like you do. I am going to
read my Bible every day and say a prayer."
"Oh, Cecil!" said Joan, half amused, half sad. "I hope you will get
farther than that."
"I heard of Motty when we were staying in town," said Cecil, turning
the subject. "That American girl didn't marry him, and he has left them
and is touring round America with a spiritualist and his wife. He will
never keep at anything long. It's a great pity, for he has brains and
is a fascinating talker."
"I am so thankful you did not marry him," said Joan. "I prayed that you
might not."
"Oh, how wickedly unkind I should have thought you if I had known that
at the time. But it has all turned out for the best. Joan, my dear,
tell me truly, does your heart ever fail you as you think of settling
down in this small corner of the world for good and all? Won't it be an
awfully dull, monotonous life?"
"I should have thought so once," Joan responded; "but I have learnt to
look at life differently. I suppose I used to long for power and the
sphere for using it, but I am content now. And you must remember I have
my writing, and my friends, and my parish work, and, last of all, my
husband. My life will be quite as full as yours."
"Well, you must come up and see me when you want waking up; and I will
come and see you when I want peace and quiet."
And that compact was made between them before Cecil left for town.
Two years have slipped by.
It is a cold, frosty day in December.
In a big easy chair by the fire in the music-room of Rolleston Court
sits Joan. There is a wonderfully soft and radiant look in her face
as she looks down upon a little bundle of clothes upon her knee. The
firelight flickers on tiny, helpless fingers clutching the air, and
as the mother bends her face lower and moves a Shetland shawl, a pair
of big blue eyes look expectantly up at her. Such a wee face, with a
round, sturdy chin and red, soft lips, and a brow that reminds her of
Randal.
And then the door opens and in strides Major Armitage. Marriage has
erased the gloomy lines in his face and given him a spring in his walk,
an eagerness in his voice, and a free and upright carriage. He stoops
over Joan and gives her a kiss, inspects his son and heir, then sinks
into the other big chair on the opposite side of the hearth and heaves
a sigh of relief. The sparkle comes into his eyes as he glances across
at Joan.
"I've been to the other side of the heath to see the new cottages.
Young Garton was there, and gave me somewhat sheepish thanks. I told
him he deserved to have a wife and home; and I told him, too, that I
had learnt the value of them. Joan, dearest, how few dreams come true
in life! Yet mine has. I have you there sitting opposite to me, ready
to comfort, to advise, or to—"
"Scold," put in Joan with her dimpling smile. "And now here is a third
coming to demand our care and attention. Oh, Randal, I have been
thinking big thoughts this afternoon. What a wonderful thing motherhood
is! What an awful responsibility! This little creature in my arms now
occupying his position as a future citizen of our Empire, all his gifts
and powers, that will be for good or evil in his future life, wrapped
up dormant in his tiny brain. And we have the training of him, the
making of him. I want him to be a great man, strong, purposeful, pure,
honourable, and high principled."
An interruption came.
Banty, in her rough tweeds, walking with something of her old vigour,
though with a limp, entered the room.
"I have interrupted a happy family party," she said brightly; "but I've
come to see my godson."
Major Armitage pulled forward a chair for her. If his tête-à-tête with
his wife was brought abruptly to a conclusion, he was too courteous
a gentleman to allow his disappointment to be seen. Banty was always
welcome, and she knew it.
After a little time, he left the women together and went off to the
smoking-room. Joan put the baby into Banty's arms, and the girl held
him with some delight and a little anxiety.
"I'm not so used to nursing as you are," she said; "don't laugh at my
awkwardness. It seems so ridiculous to think of you with a child, Joan."
"Does it? It seems the most natural thing in the world to me. And yet,
as I was saying just now, he will make a big difference in my life."
"You won't have so much time for your writing or for the parish."
"My parish work seems drifting away," said Joan. "My father told me
yesterday that he had hardly missed me since I was laid up, for you
have proved such a good substitute."
Banty looked pleased.
"It's all I have to do. It gives me the excuse of getting out of the
house. You're a lucky woman, Joan."
Joan looked quickly at her.
"What is at the back of that speech?"
"Nothing. A wave of restless discontent takes possession of me
sometimes, when I think that I shall live on in this village all my
life, doing the same things and seeing the same people."
"Yes, I know. I used to feel the same. I longed to be in the rush of
life; but I think I have learned to be content."
"What did you want to do?"
"To be the head of some big school or training college, where I could
train and influence the rising generation. That was my ideal when I
was at college and when I left it. I did get the offer of being senior
mistress in an important school, but I could not be spared. It was not
to be. You see, I wanted big things for myself, and was given small. I
have been trying to learn to be faithful in the little things of life."
"I don't know about little things," said Banty musingly. "I think
you have done some big things amongst us. If you had not been here,
I should either have blown my brains out or have become a useless,
whining invalid. And a good many in the village owe you much. What
a change you have wrought in Major Armitage! You have a wonderful
influence with everyone with whom you come in contact."
"We all have influence, Banty," Joan said quickly. "You have a great
many guests coming and going at your home. You can help others as you
say you have been helped. Yours is not a small life at all; and there
are the Chronicles!"
Laughter was in her eyes as she added this.
Banty smiled.
"I'm beginning to have sympathy with Motty. They are endless, perfectly
endless! I go into the library and shut myself up there as a penance
when I have been cross to Mother or furious with my maid. I peg away
at them, and suppose they'll be finished some time; but it is not very
elevating work. I am not as proud of our family history as father is.
Oh, I am content, on the whole, Joan. But sometimes I look forward. An
old maid's life!"
"My dear Banty, you are not upon the shelf yet."
Banty laughed a little scoffingly.
"Who would want to marry a cripple? And I don't think I shall ever be
taken with any man now. I feel a hundred years old sometimes, when I
see an otter hunt sweep by in the meadows below us, or hear the hounds.
And then—well, I come back to your verse, which you have practised to
such success. I wonder if I shall be helped to do so too. I believe I
shall."
When Banty had left, and the nurse had come for the baby, Joan still
sat on in the firelight. In thought she was reviewing her life within
the past few years—the life of an ordinary girl in a country village.
Yet she would not now have had it different. She started when her
husband's voice sounded again in her ear.
"Are you dreaming? Shall I play to you?"
"Please."
He went to a beautiful little organ worked by electricity, and the full
soft tones of an anthem of his own setting brought a wonderful hush and
peace to Joan's spirit.
"The Lord thy God bare thee, as a man doth bear his son, in all the way
that ye went, until ye came into this place."
And then he sang the words, and Joan joined him softly under her breath.