The days that followed Mrs. Otway's journey to London, the easy earning
by good old Anna of a florin for Alfred Head's brief sight of Jervis
Blake's letter, and the exchange of confidences between the mother and
daughter, were comparatively happy, peaceful days at the Trellis House.
Her visit to 20, Arlington Street, had greatly soothed and comforted
Mrs. Otway. She felt sure somehow that those kind, capable people, and
especially the unknown woman who had been so very good and--and so very
understanding, would soon send her the tidings for which she longed. For
the first time, too, since she had received Major Guthrie's letter she
forgot herself, and in a measure even the man she loved, in thought for
another. Rose's confession had moved her greatly, stirred all that was
maternal in her heart. But she was far more surprised than she would
have cared to admit, for she had always thought that Rose, if she
married at all, would marry a man considerably older than herself. With
a smile and a sigh, she told herself that the child must be in love with
love!
Jervis and the girl were both still so very young--though Rose was in a
sense much the older of the two, or so the mother thought. She was
secretly glad that there could be no talk of marriage till the end of
the War. Even then they would probably have to wait two or three years.
True, General Blake was a wealthy man, but Jervis was entirely
dependent on his father, and his father might not like him to marry yet.
The fact that Rose had told her mother of her engagement had had another
happy effect. It had restored, in a measure, the good relations between
Mrs. Otway and her faithful old servant, Anna Bauer. Anna kept to
herself the fact that she had guessed the great news long before it had
become known to the mother, and so she and her mistress rejoiced
together in the beloved child's happiness.
And Rose was happy too--far happier than she had yet been since the
beginning of the War. Twice in recent letters to her Jervis had written,
"I wish you would allow me to tell my people--you know what!" and now
she was very, very glad to release him from secrecy. She was too modest
to suppose that General and Lady Blake would be pleased with the news of
their only son's engagement. But she felt it their due that they should
know how matters stood betwixt her and Jervis. If they did not wish him
to marry soon, she and Jervis, so she assured herself, would be quite
content to wait.
Towards the end of that peaceful week there came quite an affectionate
telegram from Lady Blake, explaining that the great news had been sent
to her and to her husband by their son. The telegram was followed by a
long loving letter from the mother, inviting Rose to stay with them.
Mrs. Otway would not acknowledge even to herself how relieved she felt.
She had been afraid that General Blake would regard his son's engagement
as absurd, and she was surprised, knowing him slightly and not much
liking what little she knew of him, at the kindness and warmth with
which he wrote to her.
"Under ordinary circumstances I should not have approved of my son's
making so early a marriage, but everything is now changed. And though I
suppose it would not be reasonable to expect such a thing, I should be,
for my part, quite content were they to be married during the leave to
which I understand he will shortly be entitled."
But on reading these words, Mrs. Otway had shaken her head very
decidedly. What an odd, _very_ odd, man General Blake must be! She felt
sure that neither Jervis nor Rose would think of doing such a thing. It
was, however, quite natural that Jervis's parents should wish to have
Rose on a visit; and of course Rose must go soon, and try to make good
friends with them both--not an over-easy matter, for they were very
different and, as Mrs. Otway knew, not on really happy terms the one
with the other.
There was some little discussion as to who in Witanbury should be told
of Rose's engagement. It seemed hopeless to keep the affair a secret.
For one thing, the officials at the Post Office knew--they had almost
shown it by their funny, smiling manner when Rose had gone in to send
her answer to Lady Blake's telegram. But the first to be informed
officially, so to speak, must of course be the Dean and the Robeys.
Dr. Haworth had aged sadly during the last few weeks. Edith was going to
nurse in a French hospital, and she and her mother had gone away for a
little change first. And so, as was natural, the Dean came very often to
the Trellis House; and though, when he was told of Rose's engagement, he
sighed wearily, still he was most kind and sympathetic--though he could
not help saying, in an aside to Mrs. Otway, "I should never have thought
Rose would become the heroine of a Romeo and Juliet affair! They both
seem to me so very young. Luckily there's no hurry. It looks as if this
war was going to be a long, long war----" and he had shaken his head
very mournfully.
Poor Dr. Haworth! An imprudent passage uttered in the first sermon he
had delivered after the declaration of war had been dragged out of its
context, and had figured, weeks later, in the London papers. As a result
he had had many cruel anonymous letters, and, what had been harder to
bear, reproaches from old and tried friends.
But what was far, far worse to the Dean than these mosquito bites was
the fact that his own darling child, Edith, could not forgive him for
having had so many German friends in the old days. Her great loss, which
in theory should have softened her, had had just the opposite effect. It
had made her bitter, bitter; and during the weeks which had followed the
receipt of the fatal news she had hardly spoken to her father. This was
the more unreasonable--nay, the more cruel--of her inasmuch as it had
been her mother, to whom she now clung, who had so decidedly set her
face against the hasty marriage which poor Edith was now always
regretting had not taken place.
But if the Dean's congratulations were saddened by his own melancholy
situation, those of the Robeys were clear and sunshiny. They knew Jervis
Blake, and they regarded Rose as a very lucky girl. They also knew
Rose, and they regarded Jervis Blake as a very lucky man.
True, Mrs. Robey, when alone with her husband after first hearing the
news, had said, rather nervously, "I hope more than ever _now_ that
nothing will happen to dear Jervis!" And he had turned on her almost
with ferocity: "Happen to Jervis? Of course nothing will happen to
Jervis! As I've often told you, it's the impulsive, reckless boys who
get killed--not born soldiers, like Jervis. He knows that his life is
now valuable to his country, and you may be sure that he takes all
reasonable precautions to preserve it."
And as she did not answer at once, he had gone on hurriedly: "Of course
one can't tell; we may see his name in the list of casualties to-morrow
morning! But if I were you, my dear, I should not build a bridge to meet
trouble!"
As a matter of fact Mrs. Robey had no time to waste on such an
unprofitable occupation. Her brother-in-law, the great surgeon, Sir
Jacques Robey, and all his best nurses had been now waiting for quite a
long time for wounded who never came; and it required a good deal of
diplomacy and tact on Mrs. Robey's part to keep them all in a good
humour, and on fairly pleasant terms with her own original household.
* * * * *
Rose's engagement was now ten days old, and she was about to start for
her visit to her future parents-in-law, when early one afternoon the
Dean, who had been lunching with Mr. and Mrs. Robey, rang the bell of
the Trellis House.
_"Die Herrschaft ist nicht zu Hause"_ ("The family are not at home.").
Anna was smiling in the friendliest way at the Dean. He had always been
in a very special sense kind to her, and never kinder than during the
last fourteen weeks.
"Do you expect them back soon? It is very urgent," he exclaimed, of
course speaking German; and the smile on Anna's face faded, so sad did
he look, and so concerned.
"Oh, most reverend Doctor!" she cried, joining her hands together, "do
not say that anything has happened to the Betrothed of my young lady?"
"Yes," he said sadly. "Something has happened, Anna, but it might be
much worse. The Betrothed of your young lady has been severely wounded.
But reflect on the wonderful organisation of our Red Cross! Mr. Blake
was wounded, I believe, yesterday afternoon, and it is expected that he
will be here, in Sir Jacques Robey's care, in a few hours from now!"
Even as he was speaking, a telegraph boy hurried up to the door.
"This is evidently to tell your ladies that which I had hoped to be able
to break to them. So I will not stop now." And as Anna stared at him
with woe-begone eyes, he said kindly:
"It might have been, as I said just now, infinitely worse. I am told
that there is a great difference between the words _severely_ and
_dangerously_. Had he been dangerously wounded, he could not possibly
have been moved to England. And consider what a comfort it will be to
the poor girl to have him here, within a stone's throw. Why, she will be
able to be with him all the time. Yes, yes, it might be worse--a great
deal worse!" He added feelingly, "It is a very sad time that we are
_all_ living through."
He held out his hand and grasped the old woman's hard, work-worn fingers
very warmly in his. Dr. Haworth, as the good people of Witanbury were
fond of reminding one another--generally in a commendatory, though
sometimes in a complaining, tone--was a real gentleman.
* * * * *
There followed hours of that merciful rush and bustle which at such
moments go a long way to deaden suspense and pain. General and Lady
Blake were arriving this evening, and the spare room of the Trellis
House had to be got ready for them, and Rose's room--a lengthier matter
this--transformed into a dressing-room.
But at last everything was ready, and then Rose went off, alone, to the
station, to meet the London express.
The train was very late, and as she paced up and down the long platform
she began wondering, with a kind of weary, confused wonder, whether
there had been an accident, for now everything startling and dreadful
seemed within the bounds of possibility. Yesterday with what eagerness
would she have bought two or three evening papers--but now the thought
of doing so did not even occur to her.
Yesterday--nay, to-day, up to three hours ago--she had been so happy,
lacking even that latent anxiety which had been with her for so long,
for she had supposed Jervis to be out of the trenches, resting. In fact,
for the first time she had not been thinking much of Jervis, for her
mind had been filled with her coming visit to London.
She was but very slightly acquainted with Sir John Blake, and she felt
rather frightened of him--of the father whom Jervis loved and feared.
True, he had written her a very kind, if a very short, note; but she had
been afraid that she would not please him--that he would not approve of
Jervis's choice....
At last the train came in. There was a great crowd of people, and her
eyes sought in vain for the tall, still active figure she vaguely
remembered. Then suddenly she saw Lady Blake--Lady Blake looking about
her with an anxious, bewildered face, which changed to eager relief when
the girl grasped her hand.
"Is this Rose? Dear little Rose! I am alone, dear child. I have not
brought a maid. My husband went down to Southampton early this morning
to wait for the hospital ship. I was so grateful for your mother's kind
telegram. It will be an infinite comfort to stay with you both. But I
think Sir John may find it more convenient to stay at an hotel." She
grew a little pink, and Rose Otway, whose perceptions as to a great deal
that is sad or strange in human nature, had grown of late, felt a little
rush of anger against Sir John Blake.
As they left the station, Rose was able to ask the questions she was
longing to ask. But Lady Blake knew nothing. "No, we have had no details
at all. Only just the telegram telling us that he has been severely
wounded--severely, you know, is much less serious than dangerously--and
that he was being sent to Sir Jacques Robey's hospital at Witanbury. It
seems so strange that Jervis should be coming _here_--so strange, but,
my dear, so very happy too! My husband says that they probably show the
wounded officers a list of hospitals, and perhaps give them a certain
measure of choice."
They did not say much during the short drive to the Close; they simply
held each other's hands. And Rose's feeling of indignation against
Jervis's father grew and grew. How could he be impatient, still less
unkind, to this sweet, gentle woman?
There followed a time of anxious waiting at the Trellis House, and,
reluctantly, Rose began to understand why Sir John Blake was impatient
with his wife. Lady Blake could not sit still; and she made no effort to
command her nerves. In her gentle voice she suggested every painful
possibility, from the torpedoing of the hospital ship in the Channel to
a bad break down, or even a worse accident, to the motor ambulances
which were to convey Jervis and four other wounded officers to
Witanbury.
But at last, when even Sir Jacques himself had quite given them up for
that night, three motor ambulances drove into the Close, and round to
the temporary hospital.
And then such a curious, pathetic scene took place in the courtyard of
"Robey's." Improvised flares and two electric reading-lamps, brought
hurriedly through the windows of the drawing-room, shone on the group of
waiting people--nurses ready to step forward when wanted; Sir Jacques
Robey and a young surgeon who had come up from the Witanbury Cottage
Hospital; Lady Blake trembling with cold and excitement close to Mrs.
Otway and Rose; and a number of others who had less reason and excuse
for being there.
From a seat by one of the drivers there jumped down Sir John Blake. He
looked round him with a keen glance, and then made his way straight to
where his wife was standing. Taking no notice of her, he addressed the
girl standing by her side. "Is this Rose," he said--"Rose Otway?" and
taking her hand gripped it hard. "He's borne the journey very well," he
said quickly, reassuringly; and then, at last, he looked at his wife.
She was gazing at him with imploring, anxious eyes. "Well," he said
impatiently, "well, my dear, what is it you want to say to me?"
She murmured something nervously, and Rose hurriedly said, "Lady Blake
wants to know where Jervis was wounded."
"A fragment of shell struck his left arm--but the real mischief was done
to his right leg. When the building in which he and his company were
resting was shelled, a beam fell on it. I should have thought myself
that it would have been better to have kept him, for at any rate a
while, at Boulogne. But they now think it wiser, if it be in any way
possible, to bring them straight back."
Rose hardly heard what he said. She was absorbed in wondering which of
the stretchers now being brought out of the ambulances bore the form of
Jervis Blake; but she accepted, with a quiet submission which increased
the great surgeon's already good opinion of her, his decree that no one
excepting himself and his nurses was to see or speak to any of the
wounded that night.