THE SHADOW OF A CLOUD
IT was a wild wet November afternoon. Rain and wind were making havoc
of the few late flowers in Sidney's sheltered garden. Petals of
dahlias, chrysanthemums, and even late roses were flying through the
air; the trees and shrubs were swaying and bending under the gale, and
every window and chimney in the house creaked and whistled in company
with the wind outside.
The Admiral sat with his head in his hands over the study fire. He had
caught a slight chill, and a bout of toothache completed his discomfort
and depression. He had had words with his brother at luncheon, a most
unusual occurrence, and Major Urquhart had sworn and flung out of the
room, leaving his food unfinished upon his plate. It was over a trifle:
the Admiral did not want some trees cut down in the garden, the Major
did, and the altercation was sharp and bitter. Sidney was astonished at
the Major's virulence, and when he got up from the table, he shouted:
"By —, we'll see who's master here!"
She puzzled over his words. Major Urquhart had been proverbial for his
good nature and easy temper. He had never, since Sidney could remember,
asserted his wishes above those of his brother's, but lately he had
become irritable and restless, and much more argumentative than of
old. They had always been a very peaceful household, so that it was
bewildering to Sidney now. She had gone after her uncle to try to make
peace, but he shut himself up in his workshop, and told her he did not
wish to be disturbed. Then she came into her father's study and softly
touched him on the shoulder.
"Dad dear!"
The Admiral looked up. It was not only pain that had brought such a
shadow across his face, but he tried to smile.
"I shan't be good company this afternoon," he said, with an effort to
speak cheerfully.
"I don't know what possesses Uncle Ted! He is quite unlike himself."
Sidney spoke resentfully.
"I think there's something going on down at the Cottage," said the
Admiral a little wearily.
"But it would be too ridiculous if he were in love with Mrs. Norman,"
said Sidney; "and I think she aspires higher than poor Uncle Ted. She
is making a fool of him, and he knows it, and that makes him angry.
Why, Austin would be a much better match for her, for he will come into
a big property!"
"If she wants a comfortable home, Ted could give it to her."
"By bringing her here? Oh, don't suggest such a thing! It would be
too awful! I am sure she would not agree to it. She must be mistress
wherever she is."
"But she would be!" said the Admiral. "Do you think this house belongs
to me?"
Sidney stared at him. She thought for a minute that her father had
taken leave of his senses.
And then the Admiral put his arm round her.
"Come and sit down. I have never told you, for there seemed no need;
but when my father died, he left this house and property to Ted. He
gave me extra money in lieu of it. He fancied that as a seafaring man I
would never settle down. You know your uncle and I are twins, but he is
my senior by a few minutes. Well, at the time of my father's death, Ted
was abroad, and much in need of money. He wrote to me saying that he
did not care for this part of the world, and that he would never elect
to live here. If I liked to have the house, and send him some of the
extra money that had been left me, we would be quits. I agreed, sent
him a big cheque in a very unbusinesslike fashion, and took up my abode
here.
"Then he got wounded and left the Army. He travelled abroad for a short
time, but drifted back here and settled down. We mutually agreed to
live together, but I was to run the house, and he to pay me so much
yearly towards the household expenses. There has never been a hitch
till the other night. He came back late from the Cottage. You had gone
to bed. He told me he much regretted giving over this house to me, and
added, 'Of course, it is still legally mine.' I asked him why he should
talk so, and he muttered something about a man wishing to settle down,
and it was a mistake to have a divided household."
Sidney's face blanched.
"Why, dad, this is dreadful! He can turn us out! If she means to marry
him—and I believe she does—she will make him do it! Our sweet pretty
home! I can't believe it!"
Quick tears sprang to her eyes.
"It's awful! I never imagined the house was not yours. It is, it must
be. He gave it to you. He could not be so despicable as to say he did
not."
"I'm afraid it's a question of pride with me," said her father, holding
up his head sternly. "If he wishes to dispute the fact of ownership,
you and I must make our best bow and walk out!"
Sidney's face was full of horror at the thought.
"It will never come to that, it cannot! We have been such a happy
family, and I'm really fond of Uncle Ted, and he likes me. He couldn't
be such a brute! Oh, dad, dear, you don't feel well, and facts have
become distorted in your mind. It is only the merest, most shadowy
possibility! It will not come to pass!"
"We will hope for the best."
But there was no hope in the Admiral's voice, only tired depression.
Sidney looked at him with affectionate anxiety; then she persuaded him
to move to his couch, which she drew up near the fire.
"You said you had a sleepless night, so do try and have a nap now. I
will cover you up warmly. There's nothing so depressing as toothache.
You will feel quite differently about everything when you wake. You
and I will have a cosy tea together. Oh, dad, dear, nothing on earth
matters if you and I have each other."
Sidney bent down and kissed her father passionately as she spoke, then
she slipped out of the room, and for a moment her cheerfulness deserted
her. Then she pulled herself together.
"I shall go out and battle with the elements. I feel I must fight
someone! And Uncle Ted is keeping out of my way."
She ran upstairs to equip herself for her walk, and in a few minutes
was walking briskly out of the house. She had no umbrella, only a
walking-stick; indeed, she could not have kept an umbrella open,
the wind was so violent. But her waterproof tweed coat and cap were
impervious to the wet, and she liked to feel the rain sting her cheeks.
For one wild moment she meditated climbing the Beacon, and then she
realised that she would have no chance of keeping her footing in the
gale, so she tramped along the country roads. They were bordered by
woods for a couple of miles, and the smell of the wet leaves underfoot
and the moist earth gave her a sensation of pleasure. She had plenty
to think about. The prospect hinted at by her father hung like a heavy
black cloud in front of her; but she resolutely tried to push it out of
her thoughts. Her uncle's present state of irritability more concerned
her.
"I wonder if I have been neglectful of him," she mused. "He always has
lived his life pretty much to himself. Perhaps he has felt lonely, and
Mrs. Norman's eager sympathy has made him feel the want of it at home.
Father and I are always together; but he has had his carpentering and
fishing, and we have generally been together in the evenings. I will
try in future to be more with him, to interest myself in what he is
doing."
Then her thoughts, in an inexplicable fashion, flew to Randolph; she
began to picture him in his lonely life, to wonder if he ever longed
for a woman to speak to, for she remembered the statement that the
doctor made to him on board ship. "Not a single European woman in the
station."
"He is too good to go to pieces," she said to herself. "I don't know
how it is, but I always felt that he was a tower of strength to lean
against. I wish he were here now. I believe he would be able to manage
Uncle Ted."
She had come to a turn in the road, and suddenly met Monica walking
briskly towards her. The young women stared at each other. Monica was
also in suitable country garb; she scorned umbrellas at all times, but
it was not her usual custom to take walks by herself, and Sidney knew
that this particular road led to no place or house to which business
might call her.
"How nice to meet you!" Sidney cried. "Where have you been?"
"I've been tramping off my temper," Monica replied stolidly.
Sidney's merry laugh rippled out.
"How delicious! I've come out on pretty much the same errand, only it
is a fit of the blues, not temper, which I wish to get rid of. You're
not going back yet!"
"I'll turn and walk a bit farther with you. I've had a rasping day,
and that imp Chuckles is at the bottom of it. You know I'm having some
new pigsties built; well, one was finished this morning, or pretty
nearly—the masons had done their part and gone. What did that child do
but deliberately slip out in the driving storm and demolish the whole
building. How he did it I don't know; he kicked and beat and tore the
bricks off one after the other. I caught him standing in the ruins. He
seemed beside himself with exultation. He yelled when he saw me:
"'It hadn't a funation, Aunt Monnie; Higgs wouldn't build it on a piece
of rock, and so, of course, it has all come down with a crash. The wind
and storm and me didded it altogether! I telled Higgs he would find it
all gone away! He'll have to build another on a rock!'
"I was so exasperated that I did not argue the point with him, but
gave him bread and water for his dinner for that piece of deliberate
mischief. I left him to Aunt Dannie for the afternoon, and then, as I
discovered the sheep had escaped out of their proper field, I thought
to myself that he might like to help me drive them back. He never bears
malice—that's one of his good points—and I hate being out of friends
with him. So I went indoors and called him. He was in an arm-chair by
the dining-room fire, drawing with pencil and paper. Aunt Dannie was
opposite, nodding off to sleep. When he heard why I wanted him, he
looked up calmly:
"'No, fanks; I'm more comfable here.'
"Then my anger rose, for I am determined to bring him up hardily.
"'You'll come out at once,' I said, 'or go straight to bed. I'm not
going to have you turn into a little mollycoddle, sitting by the fire
and letting your aunt go out in the rain. A man would be ashamed to do
such a thing.'
"That touched him, but unfortunately Aunt Dannie woke and gave a shiver.
"'Ugh!' she said. 'It's not fit for a dog to be out in such weather!'
"And then the imp pursed up his mouth and defied me.
"'I won't come, fanks,' he said.
"So I carried him, kicking and screaming, upstairs, undressed him, and
put him into bed; and then, as I shut the door and came downstairs, he
burst it open and shouted after me:
"'I hates you, Aunt Monnie, I hates you!'
"I heard the thud of his bare feet as he scampered back into bed. It
may seem ridiculous, but I was in such a tumult that I came straight
out of the house, drove the sheep back, and then tramped the roads to
bring myself into order. For, Sidney, I cannot show it, but I dote on
that child! He is all I live for, work for! Do you think he will learn
to hate me? I do want to bring him up a self-disciplined industrious
man; but am I making him my enemy by so doing?"
"Poor baby!" said Sidney, the soft tender look stealing into her eyes,
the look that all mothers have, and that some single women have, too.
"His heart is yours, you need not trouble, but your methods are drastic
with him. I own he is a pickle, but I'm afraid I'm to blame for his
demolishing your pigsty. I have filled his mind with the necessity of
a foundation, and he applies it at once in a practical fashion to the
first fresh-made building he sees!"
"Oh, I don't mind that so much, but I will not have him choose ease
rather than duty."
Sidney laughed.
"You do amuse me, Monnie, though I own your principles are right; but
you make duty a terrible bugbear!"
"It's a stern reality with me."
"You have the spirit of the old Puritans. You're quite a generation or
two behind your time."
"I may be behind most of you, but I'm not a Puritan. I wish sometimes I
had a little of their faith. I live in a material world, and I'm of a
material nature."
"And you build on the sand," said Sidney softly; "but, of course, your
building is only for this life, so you do not expect it to last."
"I expect it to last over my time, and for Chuckles, too. I'm building
for him and no other."
"And if at any time anything happened to him? Suppose he did not live
to grow up?"
Monica gripped her arm fiercely.
"Don't say such horrible things! His life and mine are bound up in each
other. Let us talk of other matters."
"No," said Sidney, "this is so interesting; but we won't suppose
anything dreadful will happen to Chuckles. You don't really mean,
Monnie, that your whole life will be given to providing a prosperous
farm for Chuckles? Do you see no other goal ahead?"
"None. I want to be a success in the line I have mapped out for myself.
I care for nothing else. My epitaph can be:
"'She made earth give her its best,
And earth demanded her best in return.'"
"No, that's heathenish. It isn't worthy of you. Earth is our servant,
not our master."
"Look at the churchyards."
"I see nothing there but worn-out caskets, waiting till their owners
come back. Oh, Monnie, look up and believe!"
"It's too much trouble."
Monica seldom spoke so unreservedly, but Sidney was not shocked. She
remembered her daily in her prayers, and believed that she would see
differently one day. Then Monica gave herself a little shake.
"We have talked enough of my concerns. Tell me yours. Something is
troubling you. What is it?"
"It seems such a mare's nest," said Sidney. "It's undefined trouble in
the future, and, yet I don't know, I have something definite to worry
me. You are so safe that I will tell you."
And Sidney told her friend of what her father had said to her that
afternoon.
Monica's face grew grave as she listened.
"I don't quite share your fears. I think Mrs. Norman is one of those
women who must be friendly with all men. Look at young Austin de
Cressiers! They rode up to me yesterday; he had mounted her! She
strikes me as being interested in everybody and everything. She talks
most sensibly about poultry and farming, and really enjoys the subject.
I heard them talking a good deal of the hunting field. She is a
first-rate horsewoman, and if that engrosses her, your uncle won't see
much of her, poor man!"
"No," said Sidney reflectively, "I suppose not; and if she wants
another husband, there are plenty of men about who would suit her
better than Uncle Ted. She will meet them if she hunts. But I am sorry
for Mrs. de Cressiers. She won't see much of Austin now; she told me
she hoped he would not hunt so much this winter as he did last, for
the estate business wanted his attention. Of course, I think this
weather and father's little chill has made both him and Uncle Ted a
little teasy. I am sure Mrs. Norman will not be mistress of our home at
present! It's quite ridiculous to imagine it. Oh, how good the wind and
wet air is! I feel a different creature, don't you?"
"Yes," assented Monica. "We get apt to exaggerate trifles when we shut
ourselves up within four walls. I'm going back to my imp now, and I
don't feel that his fit of temper is likely to bring dire consequences
upon us. Now we part ways. My advice is to you, treat your uncle's
infatuation lightly, and be just and generous to Mrs. Norman. You are
such a sympathetic little soul that you ought to see her side and make
allowances for her accordingly. I'm not one to take to strangers, but I
must say I like what I have seen of her."
Sidney walked back feeling that there must be something very wrong with
her not to have the same regard for the young widow as had everyone
else. "Even Mrs. de Cressiers is beginning to sing her praises, only I
doubt if she will like Austin providing her with a hunter."
When she reached home she went straight to her uncle's workshop, and
this time she was successful in gaining admission. He was not working,
but sitting over his fire smoking his pipe. Sidney came in like a fresh
genial breeze.
"Well, Uncle Ted, have you been in all this afternoon? It's really
delicious out, if you don't mind a wind. I wish you'd been with me to
enjoy it."
"I've been busy," her uncle said curtly. "Only just finished my job.
How do you like it?"
He pointed to a wooden bench daintily turned and panelled.
"I think it's charming," said Sidney, stooping down to examine it.
"It's for Mrs. Norman, I suppose?"
"Yes."
There was a hint of defiance in the Major's tone. Then Sidney took the
bull by the horns.
"Dear Uncle Ted, I want to talk to you. We have been so happy together,
that a breeze between you and dad is dreadful to me! Why were you so
cross at luncheon? Now, tell me why."
She was down on her knees by his side, her hand affectionately on his
shoulder. Few could resist Sidney when she exercised her charms.
The Major looked into her sweet pleading face and melted.
"It was my d-dashed leg again!" he said contritely. "This weather plays
'Old Harry' with it, and I've had red hot wires pulling at my nerves!
And your father is so d-dashed conservative that he won't uproot a
tree, even if it's blocking out an exquisite view. It's the one corner
in the garden that would give us the mouth of the river and the sea.
Mrs. Norman called my attention to it."
"Yes, we'll see what we can do. I think dad fancied you wanted more
timber for your work, and you've had several trees this year, haven't
you?"
"Well, and if I'd had fifty, is there any reason why I shouldn't have
fifty-one?" demanded the Major, getting choleric again. "Whose are the
trees, I'd like to know?"
"I always thought they were father's till to-day," said Sidney quietly.
"You've given us quite a shock. I never knew properly how things stood
between us. Of course, legally you can turn us out."
"Is it likely I'm going to do that?" said the Major, calming down. "I
had no intention of saying what I did. Vernon is a fool to take notice
of it. He had no right to repeat it to you."
"But it places us in a very awkward position, Uncle Ted, dear. Father
is proud, and so am I. If you say you have the right to the house, and
want to live alone, we shall walk out of it—to-morrow, if necessary."
The Major shot an almost frightened look at his niece; then he said
humbly:
"We won't quarrel, Sid. We've lived fair and square together, only
sometimes I feel I'd like to have a wife and a home of my own. It's not
likely to happen. No one would put up with a lame, maimed creature like
me, but I own I did have a bout of temper this morning."
"Then we won't say any more about it; but come into father's study with
me, and we'll have a cosy tea together."
"I can't do that. I saw the hounds come back half an hour ago. That
puppy is out with her, and she asked me to come down and hear about
her first day out. It's lonely for a woman to turn into an empty
house after a hard run and have no one to speak to. I wish to heavens
that young cub had never lent her a mount! She'll break her neck with
some of his half-trained hunters, but she told me her doctor strongly
recommended her to ride for the sake of her health. It makes one feel
the loss of one's legs when one remembers bygone days and what hard
hunting one had."
Sidney gave a little caressing pat to his shoulder.
"We'll let bygones be bygones," she said half pityingly, half cheerily.
"And when you meet father again, do be nice to him. He isn't at all
well to-day."
"Nice," muttered the Major. "Wonder how often women make mention of
that feminine adjective! I always loathed 'nice' behaviour!"
But his growl was no longer surly, and Sidney knew that peace had been
restored.