HOMEWOOD GETS BUSY
“Good morning, Captain Hardress.”
Hardress turned. He was standing in the porch, looking out over the
park towards the yellowing woods.
“Good morning, Miss Linton. I hope you’ll forgive me for being so lazy
as to stay in bed for breakfast. You’ll have to blame your butler: he
simply didn’t call me. The first thing I knew was an enormous tray with
enough breakfast for six men—and Allenby grinning behind it.”
“You stay in bed to breakfast here, or get up, just as you feel
inclined,” Norah said. “There aren’t any rules except two.”
“Isn’t that a bit Irish?”
“Not exactly, because Jim says even those two may be broken. But I
don’t agree to that—at least, not for Rule 2.”
“Do tell me them,” he begged.
“Rule 1 is, ‘Bed at ten o’clock.’ That’s the one that may be broken
when necessary. Rule 2 is, ‘Please do just what you feel like doing.’
That’s the one I won’t have broken—unless any one wants to do things
that aren’t good for them. Then I shall remember that they are
patients, and become severe.”
“But I’m not a patient.”
“No—but you’re tired. You’ve got to get quite fit. What would you like
to do? Would you care to come for a ride?”
Hardress flushed darkly.
“Afraid I can’t ride.”
“Oh—I’m sorry,” said Norah, looking at him in astonishment. This lean,
active-looking fellow with the nervous hands certainly looked as though
he should be able to ride. Indeed, there were no men in Norah’s world
who could not. But, perhaps——
“What about a walk, then?” she inquired. “Do you feel up to it?”
Again Hardress flushed.
“I thought your brother would have explained,” he said heavily. “I
can’t do anything much, Miss Linton. You see, I’ve only one leg.”
Norah’s grey eyes were wide with distress.
“I didn’t know,” she faltered. “The telephone was out of order—Jim
couldn’t explain. I’m so terribly sorry—you must have thought me
stupid.”
“Not a bit—after all, it’s rather a compliment to the shop-made
article. I was afraid it was evident enough.”
“Indeed it isn’t,” Norah assured him. “I knew you limped a little—but
it wasn’t very noticeable.”
“It’s supposed to be a special one,” Hardress said. “I’m hardly used to
it yet, though, and it feels awkward enough. They’ve been experimenting
with it for some time, and now I’m a sort of trial case for that brand
of leg. The maker swears I’ll be able to dance with it: he’s a hopeful
soul. I’m not.”
“You ought to try to be,” Norah said. “And it really must be a very
good one.” She felt a kind of horror at talking of it in this
cold-blooded fashion.
“I think most of the hopefulness was knocked out of me,” Hardress
answered. “You see, I wanted to save the old leg, and they tried to:
and then it was a case of one operation after another, until at last
they took it off—near the hip.”
Norah went white.
“Near the hip!” Her voice shook. “Oh, it couldn’t be—you’re so big and
strong!”
Hardress laughed grimly.
“I used to think it couldn’t be, myself,” he said. “Well, I suppose one
will get accustomed to it in time. I’m sorry I distressed you, Miss
Linton—only I thought I had better make a clean breast of it.”
“I’m glad you did.” Norah had found control of her voice and her wits:
she remembered that this maimed lad with the set face was there to be
helped, and that it was part of her job to do it. Her very soul was
wrung with pity, but she forced a smile.
“Now you have just got to let us help,” she said. “We can’t try to make
forget it, I know, but we can help to make the best of it. You can
practise using it in all sorts of ways, and seeing just what you can do
with it. And, Captain Hardress, I know they do wonders now with
artificial legs: Dad knew of a man who played tennis with his—as bad a
case as yours.”
“That certainly seems too good to be true,” said Hardress.
“I don’t know about that,” said Norah eagerly. “Your leg must be very
good—none of us guessed the truth about it. When you get used to it,
you’ll be able to manage all sorts of things. Golf, for
instance—there’s a jolly little nine-hole course in the park, and I
know you could play.”
“I had thought golf might be a possibility,” he said. “Not that I ever
cared much for it. My two games were polo and Rugby football.”
“I don’t know about Rugby,” said Norah thoughtfully. “But of course
you’ll play polo again. Some one was writing in one of the papers
lately, saying that so many men had lost a leg in the war that the
makers would have to invent special riding-legs, for hunting and polo.
I know very well that if Jim came home without a leg he’d still go
mustering cattle, or know the reason why! And there was the case of an
Irishman, a while ago, who had no legs at all—and he used to hunt.”
“By Jove!” said Hardress. “Well, you cheer a fellow up, Miss Linton.”
“You see, I have Jim and Wally,” said Norah. “Do you know Wally, by the
way?”
“Is that Meadows?—oh yes, I met him with your brother.”
“Well, he’s just like my brother—he nearly lives with us. And from the
time that they joined up we had to think of the chance of their losing
a limb. Jim never says anything about it, but I know Wally dreads it.
Dad and I found out all we could about artificial limbs, and what can
be done with them, so that we could help the boys if they had bad luck.
They are all right, so far, but of course there is always the chance.”
Hardress nodded.
“We planned that if bad luck came we would try to get them to do as
much as possible. Of course an arm is worse: to lose a leg is bad
enough, goodness knows—but it’s better than an arm.”
“That’s one of the problems I’ve been studying,” Hardress said grimly.
“Oh, but it is. And with you—why, in a few years no one will ever guess
that you have anything wrong. It’s luck in one way, because a leg
doesn’t make you conspicuous, and an arm does.”
“That’s true,” he said energetically. “I have hoped desperately that
I’d be able to hide it; I just couldn’t stick the idea of people
looking at me.”
“Well, they won’t,” said Norah. “And the more you can carry on as
usual, the less bad it will seem. Now, let’s plan what you can tackle
first. Can you walk much?”
“Not much. I get tired after about fifty yards.”
“Well, we’ll do fifty yards whenever you feel like it, and then we’ll
sit down and talk until you can go on again.” She hesitated. “You—it
doesn’t trouble you to sit down?”
“Oh, no!” said Hardress, laughing for the first time. “It’s an awfully
docile leg!”
“Then, can you drive? There’s the motor, and a roomy tub-cart, and the
carriage.”
“Yes—I can drive.”
“Oh, I say!” cried Norah inelegantly, struck by a brilliant idea. “Can
you drive a motor?”
“No, I can’t! I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. Con will teach you—it will give you quite a new interest.
Would you like to learn?”
“By Jove, I would,” he said eagerly. “You’re sure your father won’t
mind my risking his car?”
“Dad would laugh at such a foolish question,” said Norah. “We’ll go and
see Con now—shall we? it’s not far to the stables. You might have a
lesson at once.”
“Rather!” he said boyishly. “I say, Miss Linton, you are a brick!”
“Now about golf,” Norah said, as they moved slowly away, Hardress
leaning heavily on his stick. “Will you try to play a little with me?
We could begin at the practice-holes beyond the terrace.”
“Yes, I’d like to,” he said.
“And billiards? We’ll wait for a wet day, because I want you to live in
the open air as much as possible. I can’t play decently, but Captain
Garrett is staying here, and Jim and Wally come over pretty often.”
“You might let me teach _you_ to play,” he suggested. “Would you care
to?”
“Oh, I’d love it,” said Norah, beaming. The beam, had he known it, was
one of delight at the new ring in her patient’s voice. Life had come
back to it: he held his head erect, and his eyes were no longer
hopeless.
“And riding?” she hesitated.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t believe I could even get on.”
“There’s a steady old pony,” Norah said. “Why not practise on him? He
stands like a rock. I won’t stay and look at you, but Con could—you see
he’s lost a leg himself, so you wouldn’t mind him. I’m sure you’ll find
you can manage—and when you get confidence we’ll go out together.”
“Well, you would put hope into—into a dead codfish!” he said. “Great
Scott, if I thought I could get on a horse again!”
Norah laughed.
“We’re all horse-mad,” she said. “If I were—like you, I know that to
ride would be the thing that would help me most. So you have just got
to.” They had arrived at the stables, where Con had the car out and was
lovingly polishing its bonnet.
“Con, can you teach Captain Hardress to drive?”
“Is it the car?” asked Con. “And why not, miss?”
“Can I manage it, do you think?” asked Hardress. “I’ve only one leg.”
“’Tis as many as I have meself,” returned Con cheerfully. “And I’m not
that bad a driver, am I, Miss Norah?”
“You’re not,” Norah answered. “Now I’ll leave you to Con, Captain
Hardress: I suppose you’ll learn all about the car before you begin to
drive her. Con can run you round to the house afterwards, if you’re
tired. The horses are in the stables, too, if you’d care to look at
them.”
“Jones have the brown pair out, miss,” said Con. “But the others are
all here.”
“Well, you can show them to Captain Hardress, Con. I want him to begin
riding Brecon.”
She smiled at Hardress, and ran off, looking back just before the
shrubberies hid the stable-yard. Hardress was peering into the bonnet
of the car, with Con evidently explaining its inner mysteries; just as
she looked, he straightened up, and threw off his coat with a quick
gesture.
“_He_’s all right,” said Norah happily. She hurried on.
The Tired People were off her hands for the morning. Colonel and Mrs.
West had gone for a drive; Captain Garrett was playing golf with Major
Hunt, who was developing rapidly in playing a one-armed game, and was
extremely interested in his own progress. It was the day for posting to
Australia, and there was a long letter to Brownie to be finished, and
one to Jean Yorke, her chum in Melbourne. Already it was late; in the
study, her father had been deep in his letters for over an hour.
But as she came up to the porch she saw him in the hall.
“Oh—Norah,” he said with relief. “I’ve been looking for you. Here’s a
letter from Harry Trevor, of all people!”
“Harry!” said Norah delightedly. “Oh, I’m so glad! Where is he, Dad?”
“He’s in London—this letter has been wandering round after us. We ought
to have had it days ago. Harry has a commission now—got it on the
field, in Gallipoli, more power to him: and he’s been wounded and sent
to England. But he says he’s all right.”
“Oh, won’t Jim and Wally be glad!” Harry Trevor was an old
school-fellow whom Fate had taken to Western Australia; it was years
since they had met.
“He has two other fellows with him, he says; and he doesn’t know any
one in London, nor do they. His one idea seems to be to see us. What
are we to do, Norah? Can we have them here?”
“Why we _must_ have them,” Norah said. She made a swift mental
calculation. “Yes—we can manage it.”
“You’re sure,” asked her father, evidently relieved. “I was afraid it
might be too much for the house; and I would be very sorry to put them
off.”
“Put off Australians, even if one of them wasn’t Harry!” ejaculated
Norah. “We couldn’t do it! How will you get them, Dad?”
“I’ll telephone to their hotel at once,” said her father. “Shall I tell
them to come to-day?”
“Oh, yes. You can arrange the train, Dad. Now I’ll go and see Mrs.
Atkins.”
“’Tis yourself has great courage entirely,” said her father, looking at
her respectfully. “I’d rather tackle a wild buffalo!”
“I’m not sure that I wouldn’t,” returned Norah. “However, she’s all the
buffalo I’ve got, so I may as well get it over.” She turned as she
reached the door. “Tell old Harry how glad we are, Dad. And don’t you
think you ought to let Jim know?”
“Yes—I’ll ring him up too.” And off went Norah, singing. Three
Australians—in “dear little Surrey!” It was almost too good to be true.
But Mrs. Atkins did not think so. She was sorting linen, with a sour
face, when Norah entered her sanctum and made known her news. The
housekeeper remained silent for a moment.
“Well, I don’t see how we’re to manage, miss,” she said at length. “The
house is pretty full as it is.”
“There is the big room with two single beds,” Norah said. “We can put a
third bed in. They won’t mind being together.”
Mrs. Atkins sniffed.
“It isn’t usual to crowd people like that, miss.”
“It won’t matter in this case,” said Norah.
“Did you say Australians, miss?” asked the housekeeper. “Officers?”
“One is an officer.”
“And the others, miss?”
“I don’t know—privates, very possibly,” said Norah. “It doesn’t
matter.”
“Not matter! Well, upon my word!” ejaculated Mrs. Atkins. “Well, all I
can say, miss, is that it’s very funny. And how do you think the maids
are going to do all that extra work?”
Norah began to experience a curious feeling of tingling.
“I am quite sure the maids can manage it,” she said, commanding her
voice with an effort. “For one thing, I can easily help more than I do
now.”
“We’re not accustomed in this country to young ladies doing that sort
of thing,” said Mrs. Atkins. Her evil temper mastered her. “And your
pet cook, the fine lady who’s too grand to sit with me——”
Norah found her voice suddenly calm.
“You mustn’t speak to me like that, Mrs. Atkins,” she said, marvelling
at her own courage. “You will have to go away if you can’t behave
properly.”
Mrs. Atkins choked.
“Go away!” she said thickly. “Yes, I’ll go away. I’m not going to stay
in a house like this, that’s no more and no less than a boarding-house!
You and your friend the cook can——”
“Be quiet, woman!” said a voice of thunder. Norah, who had shrunk back
before the angry housekeeper, felt a throb of relief as Allenby strode
into the room. At the moment there was nothing of the butler about
him—he was Sergeant Allenby, and Mrs. Atkins was simply a refractory
private.
“I won’t be quiet!” screamed the housekeeper. “I——”
“You will do as you’re told,” said Allenby, dropping a heavy hand on
her shoulder. “That’s enough, now: not another word. Now go to your
room. Out of ’ere, or I’ll send for the police.”
Something in the hard, quiet voice filled Mrs. Atkins with terror. She
cast a bitter look at Norah, and then slunk out of the room. Allenby
closed the door behind her.
“I’m very sorry, miss,” he said—butler once more. “I hope she didn’t
frighten you.”
“Oh, no—only she was rather horrible,” said Norah. “Whatever is the
matter with her, Allenby? I hadn’t said anything to make her so
idiotic.”
“I’ve been suspecting what was the matter these last three days,” said
Allenby darkly. “Look ’ere, miss.” He opened a cupboard, disclosing
rows of empty bottles. “I found these ’ere this morning when she was in
the kitchen: I’d been missing bottles from the cellar. She must have
another key to the cellar-door, ’owever she managed it.”
There came a tap at the door, and Mr. Linton came in—to have the
situation briefly explained to him.
“I wouldn’t have had it happen for something,” he said angrily. “My
poor little girl, I didn’t think we were letting you in for this sort
of thing.”
“Why, you couldn’t help it,” Norah said. “And she didn’t hurt me—she
was only unpleasant. But I think we had better keep her out of Miss de
Lisle’s way, or she might be hard to handle.”
“That’s so, miss,” said Allenby. “I’ll go and see. ’Ard to ’andle! I
should think so!”
“See that she packs her box, Allenby,” said Mr. Linton. “I’ll write her
cheque at once, and Con can take her to the station as soon as she is
ready. She’s not too bad to travel, I suppose?”
“She’s not bad at all, sir. Only enough to make her nasty.”
“Well, she can go and be nasty somewhere else,” said Mr. Linton. “Very
well, Allenby.” He turned to Norah, looking unhappy. “Whatever will you
do, my girl?—and this houseful of people! I’d better telephone Harry
and put his party off.”
“Indeed you won’t,” said Norah, very cheerfully. “I’ll manage, Dad.
Don’t you worry. I’m going to talk to Miss de Lisle.”
The cook-lady was not in the kitchen. Katty, washing vegetables
diligently, referred Norah to her sitting-room, and there she was
found, knitting a long khaki muffler. She heard the story in silence.
“So I must do just the best I can, Miss de Lisle,” Norah ended. “And
I’m wondering if you think I must really advertise for another
housekeeper. It didn’t seem to me that Mrs. Atkins did much except give
orders, and surely I can do that, after a little practice.” Norah
flushed, and looked anxious. “Of course I don’t want to make a mess of
the whole thing. I know the house must be well run.”
“Well,” said Miss de Lisle, knitting with feverish energy, “I couldn’t
have said it if you hadn’t asked me, but as you have, I would like to
propose something. Perhaps it may sound as if I thought too much of
myself, but with a cook like me you don’t need a housekeeper. I have a
conscience: and I know how things ought to be run. So my proposal is
this, and you and your father must just do as you like about it. Why
not make me cook-housekeeper?”
“Oh, but could you?” Norah cried delightedly. “Wouldn’t it be too much
work?”
“I don’t think so—of course I’m expecting that you’re going to help in
supervising things. I can teach you anything. You see, Katty is a
treasure. I back down in all I ever thought about Irish maids,” said
the cook-lady, parenthetically. “And she makes me laugh all day, and I
wouldn’t be without her for anything. Give me a smart boy in the
kitchen for the rough work; then Katty can do more of the plain
cooking, which she’ll love, and I shall have more time out of the
kitchen. Now what do you say?”
“Me?” said Norah. “I’d like to hug you!”
“I wish you would,” said Miss de Lisle, knitting more frantically than
ever. “You see, this is the first place I’ve been in where I’ve really
been treated like a human being. You didn’t patronize me, and you
didn’t snub me—any of you. But you laughed with me; and it was a mighty
long time since laughing had come into my job. Dear me!” finished Miss
de Lisle—“you’ve no idea how at home with you all I’ve felt since
Allenby fell over me in the passage!”
“We loved you from that minute,” said Norah, laughing. “Then you think
we can really manage? You’ll have to let me consult with you over
everything—ordering, and all that: because I do want to learn my job.
And you won’t mind how many people we bring in?”
“Fill the house to explosion-point, if you like,” said Miss de Lisle.
“If you don’t have a housekeeper you’ll have two extra rooms to put
your Tired People in. What’s the good of a scheme like this if you
don’t run it thoroughly?”
She found herself suddenly hugged, to the no small disadvantage of the
knitting.
“Oh, I’m so happy!” Norah cried. “Now I’m going to enjoy the Home for
Tired People: and up till now Mrs. Atkins has lain on my soul like a
ton of bricks. Bless you, Miss de Lisle! I’m going to tell Dad.” Her
racing footsteps flew down the corridor.
But Miss de Lisle sat still, with a half smile on her rugged face. Once
she put her hand up to the place where Norah’s lips had brushed her
cheek.
“Dear me!” she murmured. “Well, it’s fifteen years since any one did
_that_.” Still smiling, she picked up the knitting.