BOY AND GIRL
It was during those early days that Mary made the acquaintance of Robin
Drummond. She had a comfortless feeling afterwards about the meeting;
but it was not because of Sir Robin or anything he did: he was always a
kind boy in her memory of him. It was because of his mother, Lady
Drummond. Mary knew from Lady Anne, who always thought aloud, that Lady
Drummond made a good many people feel uncomfortable.
They had driven out all the way from the city to the Court, the big
house on its wide plain below the mountains. It was a long drive--quite
twenty miles there and back--and Jennings, who liked to have a good deal
of his time to himself, had been rather cross about it. Not that he
dared show any temper to Lady Anne, who was easy and kindly with her
servants, as a rule, but could reduce an insubordinate one to humble
submission as well as any old lady ever could. But Mary, who knew the
household pretty well by this time, knew that Jennings was out of temper
by the set of his shoulders, as she surveyed them from her seat in the
barouche. It was a road, too, he never liked to take, because of a
certain steam tram which ran along it and made the horses uncomfortable
when they met it face to face. And there his mistress was unsympathetic
towards him. She had been a brilliant and daring horsewoman in her youth
and middle age.
"I never thought I should live to amble along like this," she confided
to Mary as they drove between golden harvest fields. "Rheumatic gout is
a great humbler of the spirit. Ah! here comes one of those black
monsters to make the pair curvet a little. They are too fat, Mary. They
have too easy a life. It is only on such an occasion as this that they
remember their hot youth."
They reached the Court without mishap, although once or twice the horses
behaved as though they meditated a mild runaway.
"You shall take the other road home, Jennings," Lady Anne said
graciously, as she alighted in front of the great square, imposing
house, amid its flower-beds of all shapes, its ornamental fountains
flinging high jets of golden water in the sun.
"It's time we gave up the horses, my lady," Jennings said, with
bitterness, "with the likes o' them black beasts on the road."
Later, as she and Mary waited in the great drawing-room for Lady
Drummond, she returned to the subject of Jennings and his grievance.
"He is always bad-tempered when we come to the Court," she said. "For
all its grandeur it is not a hospitable house. Jennings will have to go
without his tea this afternoon."
Mary looked with wonder down the great length of the magnificent room.
Her feet sank in the Turkey carpet. The walls, which were papered in
deep red, were lined with full-length portraits, some of them
equestrian. The place had an air of rich comfort. Was it possible that
the mistress of so much magnificence could grudge a visitor's coachman
his tea?
"Her ladyship looks after the bawbees," Lady Anne went on, thinking
aloud as usual, rather than talking to Mary. "And those who are in her
employment must think of them too, or they go. Ah! you are looking at
Gerald Drummond's portrait. What do you think of it, child?"
It was one of the equestrian portraits. The subject, a man in the
thirties, dressed in a lancer uniform, stood by his horse's head. His
helmet was off, lying on the ground at his feet; and it was easy to see
why the artist had chosen to paint the sitter with his head uncovered.
The upper part of the face--the forehead and eyes--was strikingly
handsome. The sweep of golden hair, despite its close military cut, was
beautiful also. For the rest, the nose was too large and not
particularly well-shaped, the chin was rugged, the mouth stern.
Lantern-jawed was the epithet one thought of when looking at the
portrait of the man whose deeds were written in his country's history.
It was an epithet Mary Gray would not have thought of. Indeed, she
stared at the hero in fascinated awe, but would not have known how to
express an opinion regarding his looks. Fortunately, Lady Anne did not
wait for an answer to her question--had not, perhaps, ever intended that
it should be answered.
"It is very like," she went on. "Half Greek god, half fanatic. He led
his charges with Bible words on his lips. He spent the night before a
battle in prayer and fasting. He was as stern as John Knox, and as sweet
as Francis de Sales. The only time his light deserted him was when he
married Matilda Stewart. We were all in love with him. I was, although I
ought to have had sense, being ten years his senior and a widow. He
picked the worst of the bunch. Luckily, he could get away from Matilda,
for he was always fighting somewhere, and perhaps he never found out. He
kept his simplicity to the day he died. Some people thought he married
Matilda because she was one of the Stewart heiresses, and the Drummonds
were as poor as church mice. They didn't know him. It was more likely
he'd marry her because she was plain, with a face like a horse, and was
head over ears in love with him. I will say that for Matilda. She was
desperately in love with her husband, although no one would believe now
that she had ever been in love with anybody."
Lady Drummond delayed about coming to her guests. Lady Anne tapped an
impatient small foot on the floor.
"She's heckling someone now--take my word for it," she said.
Then her face wrinkled up, shrewdly humorous.
"What are you thinking, child?" she asked. "Thinking of how oddly we in
the world talk of the friends we go to visit? I don't trouble the Court
much. But I am interested in Gerald's boy. I should like to know how he
is going to turn out. Not much of her Ladyship in him, I fancy."
However, there was no question of Mary's judging her benefactress; and
Lady Anne smiled as she noticed that the girl had not heard her
question, and watched the innocent, tender, worshipping look with which
she was gazing at Sir Gerald's portrait. The smile faded off into a
sigh. "_Ah, le beau temps passe!_" The expression on Mary's face
recalled to Lady Anne the one romantic passion of her life, which had
come to her after widowhood had put an end to a marriage in which esteem
and liking for an elderly husband had taken the place of love.
"You must excuse me, Anne."
A monotonous, important voice broke into Lady Anne's dream like a harsh
discord, shattering it to atoms.
"You must excuse me. I've been interviewing my gardener. In your town
life you are spared much. Considering the size of the gardens here and
the labour I pay for, the yield is far too little. I expect the gardens
to pay for themselves, and send the fruit to market. This year there is
a great falling-off."
"It has been a wet summer," said Lady Anne.
"Ah! and who is this young lady?"
Lady Drummond's voice told that she had no need to ask the question. She
had heard of Anne Hamilton's extraordinary freak and had suggested that
for the protection of the interests of Anne's relatives she had better
be put under proper restraint. Still, she asked the question. One would
have said from the deadly monotony of Lady Drummond's voice that she
could not get any expression into it. Yet she could on occasion; and the
chilling disapproval in it now made Mary look up in a frightened
surprise.
"This young lady, Miss Gray, is my companion," Lady Anne said, with a
stiffening of herself for battle and a light in her eye which showed
that she had not mistaken Lady Drummond's challenge, and had no
objection to take it up.
"Ah!" Lady Drummond again lifted the lorgnette that hung at her belt and
stared at Mary through it. "The young lady is very young for the post,
and a companion is a new thing--is it not, Anne?--for you to require."
"You mean that I never could get one to live with me," Lady Anne said
good-humoredly. "Well, Mary and I get on very well together--don't we,
Mary?"
"Miss Gray is very young."
"If we are going to discuss her, need she stay?" Lady Anne asked. "I am
sure she is longing to see the gardens. I couldn't get round myself. The
damp has made me stiff."
"Can you find your way, Miss Gray?"
Lady Drummond was plainly anxious to be rid of Mary, and made an effort
at politeness which was only awkward and discouraging.
"I think so," said Mary, looking round with an air of flight.
Lady Drummond's disapproval chilled her. She was not accustomed to be
disapproved of, and it filled her with a vague terror as though she had
done something wrong ignorantly.
She glided out of the room like a shadow. As she went, Lady Drummond's
unlowered voice followed her.
"Your choice is a very odd one, Anne Hamilton. That gawky child, all
eyes and forehead. I remember I wanted you to have my excellent Miss
Bradley."
"I wouldn't have your excellent Bradley for an hour...."
But Mary had fled beyond the hearing of the voices. She had no curiosity
to hear any more of Lady Drummond's unflattering remarks concerning her.
Once again she longed for Wistaria Terrace. There was no place for her
in _this_ world, she said to herself; and sent a tender reproach in her
own mind to the father who had given her up for her good. Then she felt
contrite about Lady Anne. How good the old lady was to her, and how she
stood up for her, would stand up for her, even to the terrible Lady
Drummond! Still, it was not her world; it never would be. She thought,
with sudden childish tears filling her eyes, that the next time Lady
Anne went to see any of her fine friends she would pray to be left at
home.
The great suite of rooms opened one into the other. Mary was in the last
of them--a library walled in books from floor to ceiling. The heavy
velvet curtains that draped the arched entrance by which she had come
had fallen behind her. The silence in the room where the feet fell so
softly could be felt. There was not a sound but the ticking of a clock
on the mantel-shelf.
Suddenly she came to a standstill. She had entered the room, but how was
she to leave it? The doors were constructed of a piece with the
book-shelves. The backs of them were dummy books. Mary did not know in
the least how to discover the doors. In fact, she supposed that there
were not any. She would have to retrace the way she came--perhaps even
ask the terrible Lady Drummond how to get out.
She looked up at the long windows with the eye of a bird who has strayed
in and cannot find the way out. The elusive air of flight that was hers
was more pronounced at the moment.
Suddenly there was a sound, and, as Mary thought, the book-shelves
opened. She saw light through the opening. A tall boy came in,
whistling, and pulled up short as his eyes fell on her. He was about her
own age, or a little older.
Mary never forgot in after years the kindness and friendliness of his
face as his eyes rested upon her. He came forward slowly, putting out
his hand. The colour flooded his face to the roots of his fair hair.
"You came with Lady Anne Hamilton," he said. "I found the carriage
outside. I have sent it round to the stables and told the man to put up
the horses for a while. He will want some refreshment; and they need a
rest."
Mary put a limp hand into the frankly extended one.
"I couldn't find my way out," she said, with a sigh of relief. "I
thought there were no doors. I was going to see the gardens while Lady
Anne and Lady Drummond talked."
"Let me come with you," the boy said eagerly. "I don't know how anybody
stays in the house on such a day. Do you like puppies? I have a
beautiful litter of Clumber spaniels. And I should like you to see my
pony. I have just been out on him. It's a bit slow here, all alone,
after so many fellows at school. I'm at Eton, you know. I am going back
next Thursday. Shan't be altogether sorry, either, though I'll miss some
things."
They went out together into the golden autumn afternoon. First they went
round the gardens, where the boy picked some roses and made them into a
little bunch for Mary. He took a peach from a red wall and gave it to
her. They sat down together on a seat to eat their fruit. Gardeners and
gardeners' assistants passing by touched their hats respectfully. It
was, "Yes, Sir Robin," and "No, Sir Robin." The young master had a good
many questions to ask of the gardeners. He was evidently well liked, to
judge by the smiles with which they greeted him.
"They're no end of good fellows," he confided to Mary. "The mater's
rather down on them; thinks they don't do enough. It's a mistake, a
woman trying to run a place like this. She can't understand as a man
does. Now, if you've finished your peach, Miss Gray, we'll go round to
the stable yard and see the puppies. After that I'll show you the pony.
His name's Ajax, and he's rather rippin'. Do you like Kerry cows? The
mater has a herd of them--jolly little beasts, but a bit wicked, some of
them. You needn't be afraid of them. They wouldn't touch you while I'm
there."
Mary inspected the Clumber puppies, and was promised the pick of the
litter if Lady Anne would allow her to accept it.
"She won't refuse," said the boy, confidently. "She thinks no end of
me."
"Unless the puppy might worry Fifine."
"The puppy wouldn't take any notice of that thing--the old dog, I mean.
Besides, she lives in her basket, doesn't she? You might keep the puppy
in the stables and take him for walks whenever you can. He'll have a
beautiful coat like his mother, and if he's half as clever as she
is...!"
"He's a lovely thing," said Mary, hugging the puppy, who was licking her
face energetically and patting her with tremendous paws.
They visited the paddock next; and Sir Robin, springing on Ajax's back,
trotted him up and down for Mary's inspection. He had a good seat in the
saddle, and he looked his best on horseback. To be sure, Mary had not
discovered that Sir Robin was plain, his mother's plainness militating
in him against what share of beauty he might have inherited from his
father. There was something so exhilarating to Mary in the afternoon's
experience, after its beginning so badly, that she forgot what had gone
before. She thought Sir Robin a kind and delightful boy. They saw the
Kerries, and afterwards there were the rabbits, and the ferrets, and the
guinea-pigs to be visited. Intimacy advanced by leaps and bounds. Before
the inspection had concluded she was "Mary" to her new-found friend,
although she was too reticent by nature to think of addressing him so
familiarly.
They had forgotten the time till half-past five struck from a clock in
the stable-yard. At this time they were down by a pond in the shrubbery,
where there was an islet with a water-hen's nest and a couple of swans
sailing on the water. There was a boat, too, and Sir Robin was just
getting it out preparatory to rowing Mary round the pond.
"Oh!" she said, with a little start. "What time is that?"
"Half-past five. I'd no idea it was so late."
"Nor I. I must go back at once. Lady Anne said we should be returning
about five. I hope she will not be very angry with me."
Mary had begun to tremble. She always trembled in moments of agitation,
as a slender young poplar might shiver in the wind.
The boy jumped out of the boat hastily.
"There, don't be frightened," he said. He had caught a glimpse of Mary's
face. "Lady Anne won't mind. She's a good sort. You should see the
hampers she sends me. The mater doesn't approve of school hampers. You
must put the blame on me. It was my fault entirely, for I had a watch."
They hurried along the path leading back to the open space in front of
the house. When they emerged into the open a breathless maid came
towards them.
"I've been looking everywhere for you and the young lady, Sir Robin,"
she said. "Lady Anne Hamilton is waiting for Miss Gray."
Poor Mary! When they arrived in the drawing-room it was not with Lady
Anne she had to count. Lady Anne sat with an air of humorous patience on
her face, but Lady Drummond's brow was thunderous. The haughty
indignation in her pale eyes terrified the very soul in Mary. She shrank
away from it in terror.
"I had no idea you were with Miss Gray, Robin," she heard the lady say
in glacial accents.
"I discovered Miss Gray trying to find her way out of the library. No
one could find those doors without knowing something about them. And we
went to see the puppies and the pony and the other beasts."
"We'd better be going, Mary," Lady Anne said, standing up. "You and
Robin have made my visit quite a visitation."
"The horses had to rest and the coachman to have his tea," said Sir
Robin, sturdily.
"You take too much care of your horses, Anne," Lady Drummond said. "They
are too fat; they can't be healthy. And your coachman is very fat, too."
"Oh, they take it easy, they take it easy," Lady Anne said, laughing;
"they've only my temper to worry them."
They left Lady Drummond looking as black as thunder in the drawing-room.
Sir Robin escorted them to their carriage.
"So sorry, Lady Anne," he said, apologetically. "It was my fault. I hope
you won't be angry with Miss Gray."
"It is your mother's annoyance has to be considered, my dear boy,"
answered Lady Anne, while he tucked the rug about her.
"All the same, Miss Gray and I had a rippin' time," he said, flinging
back his head with an air of humorous defiance. "And--I say--you're too
good to me, you know, you really are." Lady Anne had pressed something
into his palm. "The mater doesn't see what boys want with so much
pocket-money. Sometimes I don't know what I'd do only for you. There are
so many things a fellow has to subscribe to."
The carriage rolled off, leaving him bare-headed on the drive in front
of the house.
"That's a good boy," said Lady Anne, emphatically. "He has his father's
heart. He's getting the ways of the master about him, too. I can tell by
Jennings' back that he's had a good tea. He'll be a good son, but the
time will come when he'll choose for himself. Well, Mary, I hope you've
enjoyed yourself. Matilda won't want to see me for a month of Sundays
again. Nor I her, for the matter of that. Dear me, she can make herself
unpleasant."
Mary sat in a conscience-stricken silence during that homeward drive.
Yet Lady Anne was not angry with her--that was very obvious. She seemed
to be enjoying herself, too, judging by the smile that played about her
lips. Now and again she cast a humorous glance on Mary. Once she
chuckled aloud.
"Never mind me, my dear," she said, in answer to Mary's glance. "I was
only thinking of something Denis Drummond, Gerald Drummond's elder
brother, said of her Ladyship. Ah, poor Denis! He'd face a charge of the
guns more readily than he would her Ladyship. Odd, isn't it, Mary, how
those thoroughly disagreeable women can make themselves feared?"