Winona Turns Chauffeur
After the Christmas holidays Winona returned to Abbey Close. Miss Beach
was installed once more in her own home, though under strict orders from
the doctor not to over-exert herself. During her stay at Harrogate she
had bought a small two-seater car, and had learnt to drive it. She kept
it at a garage in the town, and used it almost every day. It was
invaluable to her as a means of getting about. She was anxious not to
relinquish all her work in Seaton, but she could not now bear the
fatigue of walking. In her car distance was no obstacle, and she could
continue her inspection of boarded-out workhouse children, attend
babies' clinics in country villages beyond the city area, visit the
wives of soldiers and sailors, regulate the orphanage, and superintend
the Tipperary Club. Miss Beach's energetic temperament made her
miserable unless fully occupied, so, the doctor having forbidden her
former strenuous round of duties, she adopted the car as a compromise,
assuring him that she would limit her list to a few of her pet schemes
only. It was probably her wisest course. It is very hard for elderly
people to be laid on the shelf, and to feel that their services are set
aside. Miss Beach had lived so entirely in her various philanthropic
occupations, that to give everything up would have been a severe mental
shock. As it was, she managed to obey medical orders, and at the same
time, to a certain extent, keep her old place in the work of the city.
As the days became longer and lighter, she sometimes took her
great-niece with her in the car. Winona had really very little time out
of school hours; her duties as Games Captain were paramount, and hockey
practices and matches absorbed most of her holiday afternoons. When she
had an occasional free hour, however, it was an immense treat to go
motoring. She loved the feeling of spinning along through the country
lanes. It was delightful to see new places and fresh roads. Seaton was
in the midst of a beautiful district, and there were charming villages,
woods, and lovely views of scenery within easy distance.
One Saturday, when for a wonder there was no event at school, Miss Beach
suddenly suggested that they should start in the car, take a luncheon
basket with them, and explore some of the country in the neighborhood.
It was a glorious spring morning, with a clear pale blue sky, and a
touch of warmth in the sunshine that set winter to flight, and brought
the buds out on the trees. On such a day the human sap, too, seems to
rise, there is an exhilaration, physical and spiritual, when we long to
run or to sing for the sheer vital joy of living, when our troubles
don't seem to matter, and the future looks rosy, and for the moment we
feel transferred to the golden age of the poets, when the world was
young, and Pan played his pipes in the meadows among the asphodels.
Winona, at any rate, was in an ecstatic frame of mind, and though Aunt
Harriet did not openly express her enthusiasm, the mere fact of her
suggesting such an outing proved that the spring had called her, and
that she was ready to go out and worship at Nature's shrine. Do not
imagine for a moment that Miss Beach, whatever her feelings, allowed any
romantic element to appear on the surface. She fussed over the car,
measured the amount of petrol left in the tank, debated whether she had
better go to the garage for an extra can in case of emergencies, called
out the cook to dust the seat, sent the housemaid flying to the attic
for an air-cushion, inspected the lunch basket, gave half-a-dozen
directions for things to be done in her absence, wrote last messages on
a slate for people who might possibly call on business, scolded Winona
for putting on her thin coat, and sent her to fetch her thick one and a
rug for her knees, and finally, after a very breathless ten minutes got
under way, and started forth. They drove slowly through the town
traffic, but soon they had left streets behind, and were spinning along
the high road in the direction of Wickborough.
Long as she had lived at Seaton, Miss Beach had never seen Wickborough
Castle, and to-day she was determined to pay it a visit. It was a very
ancient place, built originally by King Canute, in the days when red war
was waged between Saxon and Norseman. Little of the old Danish tower
remained, but successive generations had erected keep and turret,
bastion and guard house, crumbling now indeed into ruins, but
picturesque in their decay, and full of historical associations. Here
proud Queen Margaret, hard pressed by her enemies, had found a timely
shelter for herself and her little son, till an escort could convey her
to a spot of greater safety; here Richard II. had pursued sweet
unwilling Anne of Warwick, and forced her to accept his hated suit;
Princess Mary had passed a part of her unhappy childhood within its
walls, and Anne Boleyn's merry laugh had rung out there. The situation
of the Castle was magnificent. It stood on the summit of a wooded cliff
which ran sheer into the river, and commanded a splendid prospect of the
country round, and a bird's-eye view of the little town that clustered
at the foot of the crag.
"It's like an eagle's nest!" commented Winona, as leaving the car at the
bottom of the hill they climbed on foot up the zigzag pathway to the
keep. "It must have been a regular robber-baron's stronghold in the
Middle Ages!"
Miss Beach had bought a guide-book, and rejecting the services of a
persistent little girl who was anxious to point out the various spots of
interest, with an eye to a tip, they strolled about, trying to
reconstruct a fancy portrait of the place for themselves. Canute's tower
was still left, a squat solid piece of masonry, with enormously thick
walls and tiny lancet windows. It was rather dark, but as it was the
only portion remaining intact, it was used as a museum, and various
curiosities were preserved there. The great fire-place held a spit for
roasting an ox whole, and had a poker five feet long; stone
cannon-balls were piled up on the floor, and on the walls hung a
medieval armory of helmets, gorgelets, breast-plates, coats of mail,
shields and swords, daggers and lances. A special feature of the museum
was a wax-work figure of a knight clad in full armor which gave an
excellent idea of what Sir Bevis of Wickborough must have looked like
somewhere about the year 1217. Another figure, dressed in rich velvet
and fur, with flowered silk kirtle, represented his wife Dame Philippa,
in the act of offering him a silver goblet of wine, while a hound stood
with its head pressed to her hand. The group was so natural that it was
almost startling, and took the spectator back as nothing else could have
done to the ancient medieval days which it pictured. A small stair in
the corner of the tower led down to a dungeon, where, lying among the
straw, was an equally impressive wax-work figure of a prisoner,
wretched, unkempt, and bound hand and foot with chains. A pitcher of
water lay by his side, and a stuffed rat peering from the straw added a
further touch of realism. Winona shuddered. It was a ghastly sight, and
she was thankful to run up the stairs and go from the keep out into the
spring sunshine. She had always had a romantic admiration for the Middle
Ages, but this aspect of thirteenth-century life did not commend itself
to her. "They were bad old times, after all!" she decided, and came to
the conclusion that the twentieth century, even with its horrible war,
was a more humane period to live in.
At the foot of the crag, close by the river, lay the remains of the old
Priory Church, an ivy-covered fabric, whose broken chancel still gave a
shelter to the battered tombs of the knights who had lived in the Castle
above. Sir Bevis and Dame Philippa lay here in marble, their features
calm and rigid, their hands folded in prayer, less human indeed, but
infinitely grander than in their wax effigies of the tower. Seven
centuries of sunshine and storm had passed over their heads, and castle
and church were alike in ruins.
"Their bones are dust,
Their good swords rust,
Their souls are with the Saints, we trust,"
thought Winona, as she took a photograph of the quiet scene. It was
deeply interesting, but on this glorious lovely spring day it seemed a
little too sad. With all the birds singing, and the hedges in bud, and
the daisies showing white stars among the grass, she wanted to live in
the present, and not in the past. And yet, if we think about it rightly,
the past is never really sad. Those who lived before us accomplished
their work, and have passed onwards--a part of the world scheme--to, we
doubt not, fuller and worthier work beyond. We, still in the preparatory
class of God's great school, cannot yet grasp the higher forms, but
those who have been moved up surely smile at our want of comprehension,
and look back on this earth as the College undergraduate remembers his
kindergarten; for the spiritual evolution goes ever on, working always
Godwards, and when the human dross falls away, the imperfect and the
partial will be merged into the perfect and the eternal. The broken
eggshells may lie in the old nest, but the fledged larks are singing in
the blue of the sky.
From the little town of Wickborough they drove along the old Roman road
towards Danestone. Part of their way lay across Wickland Heath, and
here, as it was now past mid-day, Miss Beach suggested that they should
stop and take their lunch. It was a most glorious spot for a picnic.
They were at the top of a tableland, and before them spread the Common,
a brown sea of last year's heather and bilberry, with gorse bushes
flaming here and there like golden fires. A sparrow-hawk, more majestic
than any aëroplane, sailed serenely overhead, and a pair of whinchats,
perturbed by his vicinity, flew with a sharp twitter over the low stone
wall, and sought cover among the brambles. Beyond stretched the Roman
road, broad and straight, a landmark for miles. Cities and civilization
were far away, and they were alone with the moor and the peaty little
brook, and the birds and the sun and the fresh spring wind. The joyous
influence was irresistible; even Miss Beach dropped ten years' burden of
cares, and waxed almost light-hearted. Winona had seldom seen her aunt
in such a mood, and she seized the opportunity as a favorable moment to
proffer a request which she had often longed, but had never hitherto
dared, to make. It was no less a suggestion than that she might be
allowed to try to drive the car. She put it in tentative fashion, fully
expecting a refusal, but Aunt Harriet received the idea quite
graciously.
"There's no reason why you shouldn't. The road's wide and straight, and
not a vehicle in sight; you couldn't have a better place to learn on in
the whole of the kingdom. Mind you do exactly what I tell you, that's
all!"
Winona's face was shining. Ever since she had first seen the pretty
little two-seater it had been her secret ambition to work its steering
wheel for herself. She packed up the lunch basket in a hurry, for fear
her aunt might repent. But Miss Beach seldom went back on her word, and
was quite disposed and ready to act motor instructress. She began by
explaining very carefully the various levers, and how to start.
"One golden rule," she urged, "is to take care the lever is at neutral
before you begin, or the car will jump on you. Many motorists have had
nasty accidents by omitting that most necessary precaution. Next you
must see that the ignition is pushed back, or you'll get a back-fire in
starting, and break your wrist. It must be just at this notch--do you
see? Now you may swing round the handle."
The engine began to work, and Winona took her place in the driver's
seat. Miss Beach, sitting by her side, showed her how to put the low
gear in, then to put in the clutch. The car started off under Winona's
guidance.
She gripped the steering wheel tightly, turning it to right or left at
first according to her aunt's directions, but soon from instinctive
comprehension. It was something like guiding a gigantic bicycle; she
could not yet exactly estimate the amount of turn required, but she felt
that it would come to her with practice. There was an immense
exhilaration in feeling the car under her control. For a beginner, she
really kept very steadily in the middle of the road; occasionally Aunt
Harriet made a snatch at the wheel, but that was seldom necessary. They
were going very slowly, only about ten miles an hour, but even that
seemed a tolerable speed to a novice. The road was curving now, and
Winona must steer round a corner; it was easier than she had expected,
and her instructress ejaculated "Good!" The sense of balance was
beginning to come to her. Such a tiny movement of the wheel sent the car
to right or left; at first she had jerked it clumsily, now she could
reckon the proportion with greater nicety. Was that something coming in
the distance? "Sound your hooter!" shouted Aunt Harriet quickly, as a
motor cycle hove in sight. In rather a panic, Winona squeezed the
india-rubber bulb, making the car lurch as she took her hand momentarily
from the wheel. "Keep well to the left!" commanded Miss Beach, and
Winona, with her heart in her mouth, contrived to obey, and passed her
first vehicle successfully. She heaved a sigh of relief when it had
whizzed by, and the road was once more clear. Naturally, however, she
could not expect to keep a thoroughfare all to herself. Further on, she
overtook a farmer's cart full of little squealing pigs. As it occupied
the exact center of the road she hooted (with great confidence this
time), and, when it had swung to the left, she rounded it successfully
on the right. A furniture van looked a terrible obstacle, but she passed
it without assistance, and began to wax quite courageous. Three motor
cars in succession tearing along one after another, and sounding
ear-splitting electric hooters, left her nerves rather rocky. When
houses and chimneys appeared in sight Miss Beach told her to stop.
"I daren't let a learner drive through a village. There are always too
many children and dogs about the street. Change places with me now, and
you shall try again when we come to a quiet road."
Rather thankful not to have to venture her 'prentice skill in the narrow
winding street, Winona gave the wheel into her aunt's more experienced
hands. It was only _pro tem._, however, for when they were once more in
the open country Miss Beach continued the lesson, making her start and
stop several times just for practice.
"I believe you know the routine now," she said. "It's the motorist's
first catechism. Remember those cardinal rules, and you can't go so far
wrong."
"Do experienced people ever forget them?" asked Winona.
"Sometimes, when they grow careless. Mr. Forster sprained his wrist the
other day with a back-fire, which he ought to have avoided, and I heard
of a horrible accident in Paris, when a chauffeur started his car with
the clutch in gear, with the consequence that it dashed over a bridge
into the Seine, and the occupants--a lady and two little children--were
drowned before his eyes. There's no need to be nervous if you take
proper care, but cars are not playthings to be trifled with."
They had reached a part of the country which Miss Beach had known as a
child. She had not visited it since, and was interested to see again
spots which had once been familiar.
"I remember the river perfectly," she said. "And that hill, with the
wood where we used to get blackberries in the autumn. I wonder if the
wild daffodils still grow in Chipden Marsh! It's fifty years since I
gathered them! Shall we go and see? They ought just to be out now, and
it's really not late yet."
Winona was only too delighted to prolong the day's outing, and would not
have demurred if Aunt Harriet had proposed returning home by moonlight.
She caught eagerly at the suggestion of finding daffodils. Though
half-a-century had sped by Miss Beach remembered the way, and drove
through many by-lanes to a tract of low-lying pasture land that bordered
the river. She had not forgotten the stile, which still remained as of
yore, so leaving the car in the road they walked down the fields. At
first they were disappointed, but further on, beside the river, the
Marsh might well have been called "Daffodil Meadow." Everywhere the
lovely little wild Lent lilies were showing their golden trumpets in
such profusion among the grass that the scene resembled Botticelli's
famous picture of spring. Miss Beach said little, but her eyes shone
with reminiscences. Winona was in ecstasies, and ran about picking till
her bunch was almost too big to hold. The slanting afternoon sunlight
fell on the water with a glinting, glistening sheen; the sallows
overhanging the banks were yellow with pollen, the young pushing arum
shoots and river herbs wore their tender early spring hue; the scene was
an idyll in green and gold. They were loath to leave, but time was
passing, so, very reluctantly, they walked up the fields again to rejoin
the car. They had stowed their daffodils in the lunch basket, and Winona
was peeping over the hedge to take a last look at the river, when an
exclamation behind her made her turn round. Miss Beach was leaning
heavily against the car, her face was ashen gray, her lips were white
and drawn. She looked ready to faint. Winona flew to her in a panic.
"What is it, Aunt Harriet? Are you ill? Get into the car and sit down.
Let me help you!"
Miss Beach sank on to the seat, and sat with half-closed eyes, moaning
feebly. Winona was terribly alarmed. She had seen Aunt Harriet before
with one of her bad heart attacks, and knew that restoratives ought to
be given. In this lonely spot, with no help at hand, what was to be
done? Suppose her aunt were to faint--die, even, before aid could be
rendered? For a moment Winona shook like a leaf. Then, with a rush, her
presence of mind returned. There was only one possible course--she
herself must start the car, and drive to within reach of civilization.
It would need courage! It was one thing to drive with an experienced
instructor at her elbow to shout necessary directions, but quite
another to manage alone, with Aunt Harriet half unconscious beside her.
Suppose she were to forget part of her motorists' catechism, and make
some horrible, fatal mistake! Well, it must be ventured, all the same!
Every minute's delay was important.
With a nervous shiver she forced herself to action. She looked first
that the clutch was out of gear, and that the ignition was pushed back,
then swung round the handle to start the engine. It had cooled while
they were picking daffodils, and she was obliged to repeat the process
four times ere the welcome whirring answered her efforts. She sprang to
her seat, took off the brake, and put in the low gear. Then she put the
clutch in with her foot. But alas! in her tremor and hurry she had done
it too suddenly, and stopped the engine! She could have cried with
annoyance at her stupidity. There was nothing for it but to put the
lever again at neutral, put on the brake, and climb out to re-swing the
handle. This time the engine, being warm, was more amiable and
condescended to start easily. Winona leaped into the car, adjusted her
levers, put in her clutch more gradually, and the car glided slowly
away. With a feeling of desperation she gripped the steering wheel. The
lane was narrow and twisting, and not too smooth. Suppose she were to
meet a farm cart--could she possibly pass it in safety? She had a
feeling that she would run into any vehicle that might approach her. So
far the lane was empty, but at any moment an obstacle might arise. What
was that? There was a sound of baa-ing, and round a corner ran a flock
of sheep, urged on by a boy and a collie dog. Here was the first human
being she had seen, and for a second she thought of stopping to ask for
help. But what could a stupid-looking young boy do for her? No, it were
better far to push on. She managed to sound the hooter, and with a
supreme effort kept in the middle of the lane, while the sheep scattered
to right and left. She dared not go any slower, for fear of stopping her
engine, but she expected every instant to feel a bump, and find that she
had run over one of the flock. The collie did his duty, however, and in
a whirl of barking, shouting, and baa-ing she steered safely through the
danger.
She looked anxiously at every turning, for fear she might miss her way.
Her object was to regain the main road, where she might find some
passing motorist, and implore help. Yes, there was the sign-post where
Aunt Harriet had halted, she must keep to the left by that ruined
cottage--she remembered noticing its broken roof as they had passed it.
How interminably long the lanes were! They had seemed far shorter when
Aunt Harriet was driving! Oh! thank goodness, there was the big oak
tree--it could not be far now. A few minutes more and Winona had reached
the sign-post, and swung round the corner into the Crowland Road. She
felt as if her nerves would not stand very much more. Would help never
come? A distant hooting behind her made her heart leap. She stopped the
car beside the hedge, and standing up, waved her handkerchief as a
signal of distress. A splendid Daimler came into sight. Would the
chauffeur notice and understand her plight? She shrieked in desperation
as it whizzed past. Oh! It was stopping! A gentleman got out, and walked
quickly back towards her. She jumped down, and ran to meet him.
"Can I be of any assistance?" he asked politely.
"Oh, please! My aunt is very ill, and I don't know how to drive properly
yet. How am I going to get back to Seaton?" blurted out Winona, on the
verge of tears.
She never forgot how kind the stranger was. With the aid of his
chauffeur he lifted poor Aunt Harriet into his own car, and told Winona
to take her place beside her.
"Now tell me exactly where you want to go," he said, "and I'll run you
straight home as fast as I can. My man shall follow with your car. You
can manage this little two-seater, Jones?"
"Yes, Sir," grinned the chauffeur, inspecting the levers.
The stranger made his big Daimler fly. Winona never knew by how much he
exceeded the speed limit, but it seemed to her that they must be
spinning along at the rate of nearly fifty miles an hour. Aunt Harriet
had recovered a little, though she still moaned at intervals. The hedges
seemed to whirl past them, they went hooting through villages, and
whizzed over a common. At last the familiar spires and towers of Seaton
appeared in the distance. Their good Samaritan drove them to their own
door, helped Miss Beach into the house, and volunteered to take a
message to the doctor, then, evading Winona's thanks, he sprang into
his car, and started away.
The chauffeur arrived later with Miss Beach's car, and considerately
offered to run it round to the garage.
Aunt Harriet was laid up for several days after this episode, and Dr.
Sidwell forbade any long expeditions in the immediate future. He
encouraged the idea of Winona learning to drive.
"You could be of the greatest help in taking your aunt about," he said
to her. "You must have a capital notion of it, or you couldn't have
brought the car three miles entirely on your own. But of course you'll
need practice before you can be trusted to mix in traffic. You'll have
to apply for a license, remember. You'll be getting into trouble if you
drive without!"
Winona looked back upon that outing as a most memorable occasion. She
hoped to try her skill again as soon as opportunity offered. The charm
of the wheel was alluring. She wished she knew the name of the stranger
who had rendered such invaluable assistance. But that she never learnt.
[Illustration: "WINONA STOPPED THE CAR BESIDE THE HEDGE, AND, STANDING
UP, WAVED HER HANDKERCHIEF AS A SIGNAL OF DISTRESS"]