ASSORTED GUESTS
“I beg your pardon—is this Homewood?”
Norah, practising long putts at a hole on the far side of the terrace,
turned with a start. The questioner was in uniform, bearing a captain’s
three stars. He was a short, strongly-built young man, with a square,
determined face.
“Yes, this is Homewood,” she answered. “Did you—have you come to see my
father?”
“I wrote to him last week,” the officer said—“from France. It’s Miss
Linton, isn’t it? I’m in your brother’s regiment. My name is Garrett.”
“Oh—I’ve heard Jim speak of you ever so many times,” she cried. She put
out her hand, and felt it taken in a close grasp. “But we haven’t had
your letter. Dad would have told me if one had come.”
Captain Garrett frowned.
“What a nuisance!” he ejaculated. “Letters from the front are apt to
take their time, but I did think a week would have been long enough. I
wrote directly I knew my leave was coming. You see—your brother told
me——” He stopped awkwardly.
Intelligence suddenly dawned upon Norah.
“Why, you’re a Tired Person!” she exclaimed, beaming.
“Not at all, I assure you,” replied he, looking a trifle amazed. Norah
laughed.
“I don’t mean quite that,” she said—“at least I’ll explain presently.
But you _have_ come to stay, haven’t you?”
“Well—your brother was good enough to——” He paused again.
“Yes, of course. Jim told you we wanted you to come. This is the Home
for Tired People, you see; we want to get as many of you as we can and
make you fit. And you’re our very first in the house, which will make
it horribly dull for you.”
“Indeed, it won’t,” said Garrett gallantly.
“Well, we’ll do our best for you. I’m so very sorry you weren’t met.
Did you leave your luggage at the station?”
“Yes. You’re quite sure it’s convenient to have me, Miss Linton? I
could easily go back to London.”
“Good gracious, no!” said Norah. “Why, you’re a godsend! We weren’t
justifying our name. But you _will_ be dull to-day, because Dad has
gone to London, and there’s only me.” Norah’s grammar was never her
strong point. “And little Geoff Hunt was coming to lunch with me. Will
it bore you very much to have a small boy here?”
“Rather not!” said Garrett. “I like them—got some young brothers of my
own in Jamaica.”
“Well, that’s all right. Now come in, and Allenby will show you your
room. The car will bring your things up when it goes to meet Dad.”
Norah had often rehearsed in her own mind what she would do when the
first Tired Person came. The rooms were all ready—“in assorted sizes,”
Allenby said. Norah had awful visions of eight or ten guests arriving
together, and in her own mind characterized the business of allotting
them to their rooms as a nasty bit of drafting. But the first guest had
tactfully come alone, and there was no doubt that he deserved the blue
room—a delightful little corner room looking south and west, with
dainty blue hangings and wall-paper, and a big couch that beckoned
temptingly to a tired man. Captain Garrett had had fourteen months in
France without a break. He had spent the previous night in the
leave-train, only pausing in London for a hasty “clean-up.” The
lavender-scented blue room was like a glimpse of Heaven to him. He did
not want to leave it—only that downstairs Jim Linton’s sister awaited
him, and it appeared that the said sister was a very jolly girl, with a
smile like her brother’s cheerful grin, and a mop of brown curls
framing a decidedly attractive face. Bob Garrett decided that there
were better things than even the blue room, and, having thankfully
accepted Allenby’s offer of a hot tub, presently emerged from the
house, much improved in appearance.
This time Norah was not alone. A small boy was with her, who greeted
the newcomer with coolness, and then suddenly fell upon him excitedly,
recognizing the badge on his collar.
“You’re in Daddy’s regiment!” he exclaimed.
“Am I?” Garrett smiled at him. “Who is Daddy?”
“He’s Major Hunt,” said Geoff; and had the satisfaction of seeing the
new officer become as eager as he could have wished.
“By Jove! Truly, Miss Linton?—does Major Hunt live here? I’d give
something to see him.”
“He lives just round the corner of that bush,” said Norah, laughing.
She indicated a big rhododendron. “Is he at home, Geoff?”
“No—he’s gone to London,” Geoff answered. “But he’ll be back for tea.”
“Then we’ll go and call on Mrs. Hunt and ask her if we may come to
tea,” Norah said. They strolled off, Geoff capering about them.
“I don’t know Mrs. Hunt,” Garrett said. “You see I only joined the
regiment when war broke out—I had done a good bit of training, so they
gave me a commission among the first. I didn’t see such a lot of the
Major, for he was doing special work in Ireland for awhile; but he was
a regular brick to me. We’re all awfully sick about his being smashed
up.”
“But he’s going to get better,” Norah said cheerfully. “He’s ever so
much better now.”
They came out in front of the cottage, and discovered Mrs. Hunt playing
hide-and-seek with Alison and Michael—with Alison much worried by
Michael’s complete inattention to anything in the shape of a rule.
Michael, indeed, declined to be hid, and played on a steady line of his
own, which consisted in toddling after his mother whenever she was in
sight, and catching her with shrill squeaks of joy. It was perfectly
satisfactory to him, but somewhat harassing to a stickler for detail.
Mrs. Hunt greeted Garrett warmly.
“Douglas has often talked about you—you’re from Jamaica, aren’t you?”
she said. “He will be so delighted that you have come. Yes, of course
you must come to tea, Norah. I’d ask you to lunch, only I’m perfectly
certain there isn’t enough to eat! And Geoff would be so disgusted at
being done out of his lunch with you, which makes me think it’s not
really your society he wants, but the fearful joy of Allenby behind his
chair.”
“I don’t see why you should try to depress me,” Norah laughed. “Well,
we’ll all go for a ride after lunch, and get back in time for tea, if
you’ll put up with me in a splashed habit—the roads are very muddy. You
ride, I suppose, Captain Garrett?”
“Oh, yes, thanks,” Garrett answered. “It’s the only fun I’ve had in
France since the battalion went back into billets: a benevolent gunner
used to lend me a horse—both of us devoutly hoping that I wouldn’t be
caught riding it.”
“Was it a nice horse?” Geoffrey demanded.
“Well, you wouldn’t call it perfect, old chap. I think it was suffering
from shell-shock: anyhow, it had nerves. It used to shake all over when
it saw a Staff-officer!” He grinned. “Or perhaps I did. On duty, that
horse was as steady as old Time: but when it was alone, it jumped out
of its skin at anything and everything. However, it was great exercise
to ride it!”
“We’ll give him Killaloe this afternoon, Geoff,” said Norah. “Come on,
and we’ll show him the stables now.”
They bade _au revoir_ to Mrs. Hunt and sauntered towards the stables.
On the way appeared a form in a print frock, with flying cap and
apron-strings.
“Did you want me, Katty?” Norah asked.
“There’s a tallygrum after coming, miss, on a bicycle. And the boy’s
waiting.”
Norah knitted her brows over the sheet of flimsy paper.
“There’s no answer, Katty, tell the boy.” She turned to Garrett,
laughing. “You’re not going to be our only guest for long. Dad says
he’s bringing two people down to-night—Colonel and Mrs. West. Isn’t it
exciting! I’ll have to leave you to Geoff while I go and talk to the
housekeeper. Geoff, show Captain Garrett all the horses—Jones is at the
stables.”
“Right!” said Geoffrey, bursting with importance. “Come along, Captain
Garrett. I’ll let you pat my pony, if you like!”
Mrs. Atkins looked depressed at Norah’s information.
“Dear me! And dinner ordered for three!” she said sourly. “It makes a
difference. And of course I really had not reckoned on more than you
and Mr. Linton.”
“I can telephone for anything you want,” said Norah meekly.
“The fish will not be sufficient,” said the housekeeper. “And other
things likewise. I must talk to the cook. It would be so much easier if
one knew earlier in the day. And rooms to get ready, of course?”
“The big pink room with the dressing-room,” Norah said.
“Oh, I suppose the maids can find time. Those Irish maids have no idea
of regular ways: I found Bride helping to catch a fowl this morning
when she should have been polishing the floor. Now, I must throw them
out of routine again.”
Norah suppressed a smile. She had been a spectator of the spirited
chase after the truant hen, ending with the appearance of Mrs. Atkins,
full of cold wrath; and she had heard Bride’s comment afterwards. “Is
it her, with her ould routheen? Yerra, that one wouldn’t put a hand to
a hin, and it eshcapin’!”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Atkins. “Extraordinary ways. Very untrained, I must
say.”
“But you find that they do their work, don’t they?” Norah asked.
“Oh, after a fashion,” said the housekeeper, with a sniff—unwilling to
admit that Bride and Katty got through more work in two hours than
Sarah in a morning, were never unwilling, and accepted any and every
job with the utmost cheerfulness. “Their ways aren’t my ways. Very
well, Miss Linton. I’ll speak to the cook.”
Feeling somewhat battered, Norah escaped. In the hall she met Katty,
who jumped—and then broke into a smile of relief.
“I thought ’twas the Ould Thing hersilf,” she explained. “She’d ate the
face off me if she found me here again—’tis only yesterday she was
explaining to me that a kitchenmaid has no business in the hall, at
all. But Bridie was tellin’ me ye’ve the grandest ould head of an Irish
elk here, and I thought I’d risk her, to get a sight of it.”
“It’s over there,” Norah said, pointing to a mighty pair of horns on
the wall behind the girl. Katty looked at it in silence.
“It’s quare to think of the days when them great things walked the
plains of Ireland,” she said at length. “Thank you, miss: it done me
good to see it.”
“How are you getting on, Katty?” Norah asked.
“Yerra, the best in the world,” said Katty cheerfully. “Miss de Lisle’s
that kind to me—I’ll be the great cook some day, if I kape on watchin’
her. She’s not like the fine English cooks I’ve heard of, that ’ud no
more let you see how they made so much as a pudding than they’d fly
over the moon. ’Tis Bridie has the bad luck, to be housemaid.”
Norah knew why, and sighed. There were moments when her housekeeper
seemed a burden too great to be borne.
“But Mr. Allenby’s very pleasant with her, and she says wance you find
out that Sarah isn’t made of wood she’s not so bad. She found that out
when she let fly a pillow at her, and they bedmaking,” said Katty, with
a joyous twinkle. “’Tis herself had great courage to do that same,
hadn’t she, now, miss?”
“She had, indeed,” Norah said, laughing. The spectacle of the stiff
Sarah, overwhelmed with a sudden pillow, was indeed staggering.
“And then, haven’t we Con to cheer us up if we get lonely?” said Katty.
“And Misther Jones and the groom—they’re very friendly. And the money
we’ll have to send home! But you’d be wishful for Ireland, no matter
how happy you’d be.”
The telephone bell rang sharply, and Norah ran to answer it. It was
Jim.
“That you, Nor?” said his deep voice. “Good—I’m in a hurry. I say, can
you take in a Tired Person to-night?”
Norah gasped.
“Oh, certainly!” she said, grimly. “Who is it, Jimmy? Not you or
Wally?”
“No such luck,” said her brother. “It’s a chap I met last night; he’s
just out of a convalescent home, and a bit down on his luck.” His voice
died away in a complicated jumble of whir and buzz, the bell rang
frantically, and Norah, like thousands of other people, murmured her
opinion of the telephone and all its works.
“Are you there?” she asked.
“B-z-z-z-z-z!” said the telephone.
Norah waited a little, anxiously debating whether it would be more
prudent to ring up herself and demand the last speaker, or to keep
quiet and trust to Jim to regain his connexion. Finally, she decided to
ring: and was just about to put down the receiver when Jim’s voice
said, “Are you there?” in her ear sharply, and once more collapsed into
a whir. She waited again, in dead silence. At last she rang. Nothing
happened, so she rang again.
“Number, please?” said a bored voice.
“Some one was speaking to me—you’ve cut me off,” said Norah
frantically.
“I’ve been trying to get you for the last ten minutes. You shouldn’t
have rung off,” said the voice coldly. “Wait, please.”
Norah swallowed her feelings and waited.
“Hallo! Hallo! Hallo!—oh, _is_ that you, Norah?” said Jim, his tone
crisp with feeling. “Isn’t this an unspeakable machine! And I’m due in
three minutes—I must fly. Sure you can have Hardress? He’ll get to you
by the 6.45. Are you all well? Yes, we’re all right. Sorry, I’ll get
told off horribly if I’m late. Good-bye.”
Norah hung up the receiver, and stood pondering. She wished the
telephone had not chosen to behave so abominably; only the day before
Wally had rung her up and had spent quite half an hour in talking
cheerful nonsense, without any hindrance at all. Norah wished she knew
a little more about her new “case”; if he were very weak—if special
food were needed. It was very provoking. Also, there was Mrs. Atkins to
be faced—not a prospect to be put off, since, like taking Gregory’s
Powder, the more you looked at it the worse it got. Norah stiffened her
shoulders and marched off to the housekeeper’s room.
“Oh, Mrs. Atkins,” she said pleasantly, “there’s another officer coming
this evening.”
Mrs. Atkins turned, cold surprise in her voice.
“Indeed, miss. And will that be all, do you think?”
“I really don’t know,” said Norah recklessly. “That depends on my
father, you see.”
“Oh. May I ask which room is to be prepared?”
“The one next Captain Garrett’s, please. I can do it, if the maids are
too busy.”
Mrs. Atkins froze yet more.
“I should very much rather you did not, miss, thank you,” she said.
“Just as you like,” said Norah. “Con can take a message for anything
you want; he is going to the station.”
“Thank you, miss, I have already telephoned for larger supplies,” said
the housekeeper. The conversation seemed to have ended, so Norah
departed.
“What did she ever come for?” she asked herself desperately. “If she
didn’t want to housekeep, why does she go out as a housekeeper?”
Turning a corner she met the butler.
“Oh, Allenby,” she said. “We’ll have quite a houseful to-night!” She
told him of the expected arrivals, half expecting to see his face fall.
Allenby, on the contrary, beamed.
“It’ll be almost like waiting in Mess!” he said. “When you’re used to
officers, miss, you can’t get on very well without them.” He looked in
a fatherly fashion at Norah’s anxious face. “All the arrangements made,
I suppose, miss?”
“Oh, yes, I think they’re all right,” said Norah, feeling anything but
confident. “Allenby—I don’t know much about managing things; do you
think it’s too much for the house?”
“No, miss, it isn’t,” Allenby said firmly. “Just you leave it all to
me, and don’t worry. Nature made some people bad-tempered, and they
can’t ’elp it. I’ll see that things are all right; and as for dinner,
all that worries Miss de Lisle, as a rule, is, that she ain’t got
enough cooking to do!”
He bent the same fatherly glance on her that evening as she came into
the hall when the hoot of the motor told that her father and his
consignment of Tired People were arriving. Norah had managed to forget
her troubles during the afternoon. A long ride had been followed by a
very cheerful tea at Mrs. Hunt’s, from which she and Garrett had
returned only in time for Norah to slip into a white frock and race
downstairs to meet her guests. She hoped, vaguely, that she looked less
nervous than she felt.
The hall door opened, letting in a breath of the cold night air.
“Ah, Norah—this is my daughter, Mrs. West,” she heard her father’s
voice; and then she was greeting a stout lady and a grey-haired
officer.
“Dear me!” said the lady. “I expected some one grown up. How brave!
Fancy you, only—what is it—a flapper! And don’t you hate us all very
much? _I_ should, I’m sure!”
Over her shoulder Norah caught a glimpse of her father’s face, set in
grim lines. She checked a sudden wild desire to laugh, and murmured
something civil.
“Our hostess, Algernon,” said the stout lady, and Norah shook hands
with Colonel West, who was short and stout and pompous, and said
explosively, “Haw! Delighted! Cold night, what?”—which had the effect
of making his hostess absolutely speechless. Somehow with the
assistance of Allenby and Sarah, the newcomers were “drafted” to their
rooms, and Norah and her father sought cover in the morning-room.
“You look worn, Daddy,” said his daughter, regarding him critically.
“I feel it,” said David Linton. He sank into an armchair and felt
hurriedly for his pipe. “Haven’t had a chance of a smoke for hours.
They’re a little trying, I think, Norah.”
“Where did you get them?” Norah asked, perching on the arm of his
chair, and dropping a kiss on the top of his head.
“From the hospital where the boys were. Colonel West has been ill
there. Brain-fever, Mrs. West says, but he doesn’t look like it.
Anyhow, they’re hard up, I believe; their home is broken up and they
have five or six children at school, and a boy in Gallipoli. They
seemed very glad to come.”
“Well, that’s all right,” said Norah practically. “We can’t expect to
have every one as nice as the Hunts. But they’re not the only ones,
Dad: Captain Garrett is here, and Jim is sending some one called
Hardress by the 6.45—unfortunately the telephone didn’t allow Jim to
mention what he is! I hope he isn’t a brigadier.”
“I don’t see Jim hob-nobbing to any extent with brigadiers,” said her
father. “I say, this is rather a shock. Four in a day!”
“Yes, business is looking up,” said Norah, laughing. “Captain Garrett
is a dear—and he can ride, Dad. I had him out on Killaloe. I’m a little
uneasy about the Hardress person, because he’s just out of a
convalescent home, and Jim seemed worried about him. But the telephone
went mad, and Jim was in a hurry, so I didn’t get any details.”
“Oh, well, we’ll look after him. How is the household staff standing
the invasion?”
“Every one’s very happy except Mrs. Atkins, and she is plunged in woe.
Even Sarah seems interested. I haven’t dared to look at Miss de Lisle,
but Allenby says she is cheerful.”
“Has Mrs. Atkins been unpleasant?”
“Well,” said Norah, and laughed, “you wouldn’t call her exactly a
bright spot in the house. But she has seen to things, so that is all
that counts.”
“I won’t have that woman worry you,” said Mr. Linton firmly.
“I won’t have _you_ worried about anything,” said Norah. “Don’t think
about Mrs. Atkins, or you won’t enjoy your tea. And here’s Allenby.”
“Tea!” said Mr. Linton, as the butler entered, bearing a little tray.
“I thought I was too late for such a luxury—but I must say I’m glad of
it.”
“I sent some upstairs, sir,” said Allenby, placing a little table near
his master. “Just a little toast, sir, it being so late. And if you
please, miss, Miss de Lisle would be glad if you could spare a moment
in the kitchen.”
The cook-lady, redder than ever, was mixing a mysterious compound in a
bowl. Katty, hugely important, darted hither and thither. A variety of
savoury smells filled the air.
“I just wanted to tell you,” said Miss de Lisle confidentially, “that
I’m making a special _souffle_ of my own, and Allenby will put it in
front of you. Promise me”—she leaned forward earnestly—“to use a thin
spoon to help it, and slide it in edgeways as gently as—as if you were
stroking a baby! It’s just a _perfect_ thing—I wouldn’t sleep to-night
if you used a heavy spoon and plunged it in as if it was a
suet-pudding!”
“I won’t forget,” Norah promised her, resisting a wild desire to laugh.
“That’s a dear,” said the cook-lady, disregarding the relations of
employer and employed, in the heat of professional enthusiasm. “And
you’ll help it as quickly as possible, won’t you? It will be put on the
table after all the other sweets. Every second will be of importance!”
She sighed. “A _souffle_ never gets a fair chance. It ought, of course,
to be put on a table beside the kitchen-range, and cut within two
seconds of leaving the oven. With a _hot_ spoon!” She sighed
tragically.
“We’ll do our best for it,” Norah promised her. “I’m sure it will be
lovely. Shall I come and tell you how it looked, afterwards?”
Miss de Lisle beamed.
“Now, that would be very kind of you,” she said. “It’s so seldom that
any one realizes what these things mean to the cook. A _souffle_ like
this is an inspiration—like a sonata to a musician. But no one ever
dreams of the cook; and the most you can expect from a butler is, ‘Oh,
it cut very nice, ma’am, I’m sure. Very nice!’” She made a despairing
gesture. “But some people would call Chopin ‘very nice’!”
“Miss de Lisle,” said Norah earnestly, “some day when we haven’t any
guests and Dad goes to London, we’ll give every one else a holiday and
you and I will have lunch here together. And we’ll have that _souffle_,
and eat it beside the range!”
For a moment Miss de Lisle had no words.
“Well!” she said at length explosively. “And I was so horrible to you
at first!” To Norah’s amazement and dismay a large tear trickled down
one cheek, and her mouth quivered like a child’s. “Dear me, how foolish
I am,” said the poor cook-lady, rubbing her face with her overall, and
thereby streaking it most curiously with flour. “Thank you very much,
my dear. Even if we never manage it, I won’t forget that you said it!”
Norah found herself patting the stalwart shoulder.
“Indeed, we’ll manage it,” she said. “Now, don’t you worry about
anything but that lovely _souffle_.”
“Oh, the _souffle_ is assured now,” said Miss de Lisle, beating her
mixture scientifically. “Now I shall have beautiful thoughts to put
into it! You have no idea what that means. Now, if I sat here mixing,
and thought of, say, Mrs. Atkins, it would probably be as heavy as
lead!” She sighed. “I believe, Miss Linton, I could teach you something
of the real poetry of cooking. I’m sure you have the right sort of
soul!”
Norah looked embarrassed.
“Jim says I’ve no soul beyond mustering cattle,” she said, laughing.
“We’ll prove him wrong, some day, Miss de Lisle, shall we? Now I must
go: the motor will be back presently.” She turned, suddenly conscious
of a baleful glance.
“Oh!—Mrs. Atkins!” she said feebly.
“I came,” said Mrs. Atkins stonily, “to see if any help was needed in
the kitchen. Perhaps, as you are here, miss, you would be so good as to
ask the cook?”
“Oh—nothing, thank you,” said Miss de Lisle airily, over her shoulder.
Mrs. Atkins sniffed, and withdrew.
“That’s done it, hasn’t it?” said the cook-lady. “Well, don’t worry, my
dear; I’ll see you through anything.”
A white-capped head peeped in.
“’Tis yersilf has all the luck of the place, Katty O’Gorman!” said
Bride enviously. “An’ that Sarah won’t give me so much as a look-in,
above: if it was to turn down the beds, itself, it’s as much as she’ll
do to let me. Could I give you a hand here at all, Miss de Lisle? God
help us, there’s Miss Norah!”
“If ’tis the way you’d but let her baste the turkey for a minyit, she’d
go upstairs reshted in hersilf,” said Katty in a loud whisper. “The
creature’s destroyed with bein’ out of all the fun.”
“Oh, come in—if you’re not afraid of Mrs. Atkins,” said Miss de Lisle.
Norah had a vision of Bride, ecstatically grasping a basting-ladle, as
she made her own escape.
Allenby was just shutting the hall-door as she turned the corner. A
tall man in a big military greatcoat was shaking hands with her father.
“Here’s Captain Hardress, Norah.”
Norah found herself looking up into a face that at the first glance she
thought one of the ugliest she had ever seen. Then the newcomer smiled,
and suddenly the ugliness seemed to vanish.
“It’s too bad to take you by storm this way. But your brother wouldn’t
hear of anything else.”
“Of course not,” said Mr. Linton. “My daughter was rather afraid you
might be a brigadier. She loses her nerve at the idea of pouring tea
for anything above a colonel.”
“Indeed, a colonel’s bad enough,” said Norah ruefully. “I’m accustomed
to people with one or two stars: even three are rather alarming!” She
shot a glance at his shoulder, laughing.
“I’m sure you’re not half as alarmed as I was at coming,” said Captain
Hardress. “I’ve been so long in hospital that I’ve almost forgotten how
to speak to any one except doctors and nurses.” His face, that lit up
so completely when he smiled, relapsed into gloom.
“Well, you mustn’t stand here,” Norah said. “Please tell me if you’d
like dinner in your room, or if you’d rather come down.” She had a
sudden vision of Mrs. West’s shrill voice, and decided that she might
be tiring to this man with the gaunt, sad face.
Hardress hesitated.
“I think you’d better stay upstairs,” said David Linton. “Just for
to-night—till you feel rested. I’ll come and smoke a pipe with you
after dinner, if I may.”
“I should like that awfully,” said Hardress. “Well, if you’re sure it
would not be too much trouble, Miss Linton——?”
“It’s not a scrap of trouble,” she said. “Allenby will show you the
way. See that Captain Hardress has a good fire, Allenby—and take some
papers and magazines up.” She looked sadly after the tall figure as it
limped away. He was not much older than Jim, but his face held a world
of bitter experience.
“You mustn’t let the Tired People make you unhappy, mate,” said her
father. He put his arm round her as they went into the drawing-room to
await their guests. “Remember, they wouldn’t be here if they didn’t
need help of some sort.”
“I won’t be stupid,” said Norah. “But he has such a sorry face, Dad,
when he doesn’t smile.”
“Then our job is to keep him smiling,” said David Linton practically.
There came a high-pitched voice in the hall, and Mrs. West swept in,
her husband following at her heels. To Norah’s inexperienced eyes, she
was more gorgeous than the Queen of Sheba, in a dress of sequins that
glittered and flashed with every movement. Sarah, who had assisted in
her toilette, reported to the kitchen that she didn’t take much stock
in a dress that was moulting its sequins for all the world like an old
hen; but Norah saw no deficiencies, and was greatly impressed by her
guest’s magnificence. She was also rather overcome by her eloquence,
which had the effect of making her feel speechless. Not that that
greatly mattered, as Mrs. West never noticed whether any one else
happened to speak or remain silent, so long as they did not happen to
drown her own voice.
“Such a lovely room!” she twittered. “_So_ comfortable. And I feel sure
there is an exquisite view. And a fire in one’s bedroom—in war-time!
Dear me, I feel I ought to protest, only I haven’t sufficient moral
courage; and those pine logs are _too_ delicious. Perhaps you are
burning your own timber?—ah, I thought so. That makes it easier for me
to refrain from prodding up my moral courage—ha, ha!”
Norah hunted for a reply, and failed to find one.
“And you are actually Australians!” Mrs. West ran on. “_So_
interesting! I always do think that Australians are so original—so
quaintly original. It must be the wild life you lead. So unlike dear,
quiet little England. Bushrangers, and savage natives, and gold-mining.
How I should like to see it all!”
“Oh, you would find other attractions as well, Mrs. West,” Mr. Linton
told her. “The ‘wild life in savage places’ phase of Australian history
is rather a back number.”
“Oh, quite—quite,” agreed his guest. “We stay-at-homes know so little
of the other side of the world. But we are not aloof—not uninterested.
We recognize the fascination of it all. The glamour—yes, the glamour.
Gordon’s poems bring it all before one, do they not? Such a true
Australian! You must be very proud of him.”
“We are—but he wasn’t an Australian,” said Mr. Linton. The lady sailed
on, unheeding.
“Yes. The voice of the native-born. And your splendid soldiers, too!—I
assure you I thrill whenever I meet one of the dear fellows in the
street in London. So tall and stern under their great slouch-hats.
Outposts of Empire, that is what I say to myself. Outposts here, in the
heart of our dear little Surrey! Linking the ends of the earth, as it
were. The strangeness of it all!”
Garrett, who had made an unobtrusive entrance some little time before,
and had been enjoying himself hugely in the background, now came up to
the group on the hearthrug and was duly introduced.
“Lately from France, did you say?” asked Mrs. West. “Yesterday! Fancy!
Like coming from one world into another, is it not, Captain Garrett? To
be only yesterday ’mid the thunder of shot and shell out yonder; and
to-night in——”
“In dear little Surrey,” said Garrett innocently.
“Quite. Such a peaceful county—war seems so remote. You must tell me
some of your experiences to-morrow.”
“Oh, I never have any,” said Garrett hastily.
“Now, now!” She shook a playful forefinger at him. “I was a mother to
my husband’s regiment, Captain Garrett, I assure you. Quite. I used to
say to all our subalterns, ‘Now, remember that this house is open to
you at any time.’ I felt that they were so far from their own homes.
‘Bring your troubles to me,’ I would say, ‘and let us straighten them
out together.’”
“And did they?” Garrett asked.
“They understood me. They knew I wanted to help them. And my husband
encouraged them to come.”
“Takes some encouragin’, the subaltern of the present day, unless it’s
to tennis and two-step,” said Colonel West.
“But such dear boys! I felt their mothers would have been so glad. And
our regiment had quite a name for nice subalterns. There is something
so delightful about a subaltern—so care-free.”
“By Jove, yes!” said Colonel West. “Doesn’t care for anything on
earth—not even the adjutant!”
“Now, Algernon——” But at that moment dinner was announced, and the rest
of the sentence was lost—which was an unusual fate for any remark of
Mrs. West’s.
It was Norah’s first experience as hostess at her father’s
dinner-table—since, in this connexion, Billabong did not seem to count.
No one could ever have been nervous at Billabong. Besides, there was no
butler there: here, Allenby, gravely irreproachable, with Sarah and
Bride as attendant sprites, seemed to intensify the solemnity of
everything. However, no one seemed to notice anything unusual, and
conversation flowed apace. Colonel West did not want to talk: such
cooking as Miss de Lisle’s appeared to him to deserve the compliment of
silence, and he ate in an abstraction that left Garrett free to talk to
Norah; while Mrs. West overwhelmed Mr. Linton with a steady flow of
eloquence that began with the soup and lasted until dessert. Then Norah
and Mrs. West withdrew leaving the men to smoke.
“My dear, your cook’s a poem,” said Mrs. West, as they returned to the
drawing-room. “_Such_ a dinner! That _souffle_—well, words fail me!”
“I’m so glad you liked it,” Norah said.
“It melted in the mouth. And I watched you help it; your face was so
anxious—you insinuated the spoon with such an expression—I couldn’t
describe it——”
Norah burst out laughing.
“I could,” she said. “The cook was so anxious about that _souffle_, and
she said to do it justice it should be helped with a hot spoon. So I
told Allenby to stand the spoon in a jug of boiling water, and give it
to me at the very last moment. He was holding it in the napkin he had
for drying it, I suppose, and he didn’t know that the handle was nearly
red-hot. But I did, when I took it up!”
“My dear child!” exclaimed Mrs. West. “So your expression was due to
agony!”
“Something like it,” Norah laughed. “It was just all I could do to hold
it. But the _souffle was_ worth it, wasn’t it? I must tell Miss de
Lisle.”
“Miss de Lisle? Your cook?”
“Yes—it sounds well, doesn’t it?” said Norah. “She’s a dear, too.”
“She is certainly a treasure,” said Mrs. West. “Since the regiment went
out I have been living in horrible boarding-houses, where they
half-starve you, and what they do give you to eat is so murdered in the
cooking that you can hardly swallow it. Economical for the management,
but not very good for the guests. But one must take things as they
come, in this horrible war.” She paused, the forced smile fading from
her lips. Somehow Norah felt that she was sorry for her: she looked
suddenly old, and worn and tired.
“Come and sit in this big chair, Mrs. West,” she said. “You must have
had a long day.”
“Well, quite,” said Mrs. West. “You see, I went to take my husband from
the hospital at twelve o’clock, and then I found that your father had
made this delightful arrangement for us. It seemed too good to be true.
So I had to send Algernon to his club, and I rushed back to my
boarding-house and packed my things: and then I had to do some
shopping, and meet them at the station. And of course I never could get
a taxi when I wanted one. I really think I am a little tired. This
seems the kind of house where it doesn’t matter to admit it.”
“Of course not—isn’t it a Home for Tired People?” Norah laughed. Sarah
entered with coffee, and she fussed gently about her guest, settling
her cushions and bringing her cup to her side with cream and sugar.
“It’s very delightful to be taken care of,” said Mrs. West, with a
sigh. The affected, jerky manner dropped from her, and she became more
natural. “My children are all boys: I often have been sorry that one
was not a girl. A daughter must be a great comfort. Have you any
sisters, my dear?”
“No. Just one brother—he’s in Captain Garrett’s regiment.”
“And you will go back to Australia after the war?”
“Oh, yes. We couldn’t possibly stay away from Australia,” Norah said,
wide-eyed. “You see, it’s home.”
“And England has not made you care any less for it?”
“Goodness, no!” Norah said warmly. “It’s all very well in its way, but
it simply can’t hold a candle to Australia!”
“But why?”
Norah hesitated.
“It’s a bit hard to say,” she answered at length. “Life is more
comfortable here, in some ways: more luxuries and conveniences of
living, I mean. And England is beautiful, and it’s full of history, and
we all love it for that. But it isn’t our own country. The people are
different—more reserved, and stiffer. But it isn’t even that. I don’t
know,” said Norah, getting tangled—“I think it’s the air, and the
space, and the freedom that we’re used to, and we miss them all the
time. And the jolly country life——”
“But English country life is jolly.”
“I think we’d get tired of it,” said Norah. “It seems to us all play:
and in Australia, we work. Even if you go out for a ride there, most
likely there is a job hanging to it—to bring in cattle, or count them,
or see that a fence is all right, or to bring home the mail. Every one
is busy, and the life all round is interesting. I don’t think I explain
at all well; I expect the real explanation is just that the love for
one’s own country is in one’s bones!”
“Quite!” said Mrs. West. “Quite!” But she said the ridiculous word as
though for once she understood, and there was a comfortable little
silence between them for a few minutes. Then the men came in, and the
evening went by quickly enough with games and music. Captain Garrett
proved to be the possessor of a very fair tenor, together with a knack
of vamping not unmelodious accompaniments. The cheery songs floated out
into the hall, where Bride and Katty crouched behind a screen, torn
between delight and nervousness.
“If the Ould Thing was to come she’d have the hair torn off of us,”
breathed Katty. “But ’tis worth the rishk. Blessed Hour, haven’t he the
lovely voice?”
“He have—but I’d rather listen to Miss Norah,” said Bride loyally.
“’Tisn’t the big voice she do be having, but it’s that happy-sounding.”
It was after ten o’clock when Norah, having said good-night to her
guests and shown Mrs. West to her room, went softly along the corridor.
A light showed under Miss de Lisle’s doorway, and she tapped gently.
The door opened, revealing the cook-lady’s comfortable little
sitting-room, with a fire burning merrily in the grate. The cook-lady
herself was an extraordinarily altered being, in a pale-blue kimono
with heavy white embroidery.
“I hoped you would come,” she said. “Are you tired? Poor child, what an
evening! I wonder would you have a cup of cocoa with me here? I have it
ready.”
She waved a large hand towards a fat brown jug standing on a trivet by
the grate. There was a tray on a little table, bearing cups and saucers
and a spongecake. Norah gave way promptly.
“I’d love it,” she said. “How good of you. I was much too excited to
eat dinner. But the _souffle_ was just perfect, Miss de Lisle. I never
saw anything like it. Mrs. West raved about it after dinner.”
“I am glad,” said the cook-lady, with the rapt expression of a
high-priestess. “Allenby told me how you arranged for a hot spoon. It
was beautiful of you: beautiful!”
“Did he tell you how hot it was?” Norah inquired. They grew merry over
the story, and the spongecake dwindled simultaneously with the cocoa in
the jug.
“I must go,” Norah said at last. “It’s been so nice: thank you ever so,
Miss de Lisle.”
“It’s I who should thank you for staying,” said the big woman, rising.
“Will you come again, some time?”
“Rather! if I may. Good-night.” She shut the door softly, and scurried
along to her room—unconscious that another doorway was a couple of
inches ajar, and that through the space Mrs. Atkins regarded her
balefully.
Her father’s door was half-open, and the room was lit. Norah knocked.
“Come in,” said Mr. Linton. “You, you bad child! I thought you were in
bed long ago.”
“I’m going now,” Norah said. “How did things go off, Daddy?”
“Quite well,” he said. “And my daughter made a good hostess. I think
they all enjoyed themselves, Norah.”
“I think so,” said she. “They seemed happy enough. What about Captain
Hardress, Dad?”
“He seemed comfortable,” Mr. Linton answered. “I found him on a couch,
with a rug over him, reading. Allenby said he ate a fair dinner. He’s a
nice fellow, Norah; I like him.”
“Was he badly wounded, Dad?”
“He didn’t say much about himself. I gathered that he had been a long
while in hospital. But I’m sorry for him, Norah; he seems very down on
his luck.”
“Jim said so,” remarked Norah. “Well, we must try to buck him up. I
suppose Allenby will look after him, Dad, if he needs anything?”
“I told him to,” said Mr. Linton, with a grin. “He looked at me coldly,
and said, ‘I ’ope, sir, I know my duty to a wounded officer.’ I believe
I found myself apologizing. There are times when Allenby quite fails to
hide his opinion of a mere civilian: I see myself sinking lower and
lower in his eyes as we fill this place up with khaki: Good-night,
Norah.”