An Unlooked-For
Collapse
MR. DALE stood in the doorway of his new home, looking out.
He and Pattie had arrived nearly a week before, and already the house
was in pretty fair order.
Furniture was not too abundant, and he had shown himself unwilling
to make many purchases, even though Cragg named the lowest possible
prices for things that really could not be done without. Over each one
Mr. Dale had mused dubiously; and over each, when he gave in, he did
so with a sigh.
A girl had been found for them by Mr. Cragg; clumsy and slow and dull,
it is true, but good-tempered; and Pattie toiled like a horse to make
up deficiencies.
Such carpets as they possessed were squares, needing only to be laid
down on well-scoured boards; and old curtains fitted the windows,
almost without alteration. Mr. Dale had given fitful help, but he was
not a handy man; and most of the things that he did had to be undone
and done again by Pattie, when he was out of sight.
He was tired now, even with the exertion of doing so little; and he
made his way to the open front door for a breath of fresh air.
It was a very soft and balmy air which met him, and the world around
seemed full of life. Insects buzzed and flashed to and fro, and birds
were singing at the utmost pitch of their voices on all sides. The sun
had just dipped below the horizon, and long red clouds lay over
distant hills, bright with his radiance. Though the country round
could not be called pretty, it looked pretty now, as almost any
English country does on a fair June evening.
A bush near was clothed in wild clematis, and wild white rosebuds were
bursting into bloom upon the hedge beyond. The muddy little stream,
flowing amid grass and flags, carried a gleam of red.
Mr. Dale did not seem to enjoy the prettiness. His eyes had an unhappy
careworn expression; and he sighed profoundly so soon as he found
himself alone.
Perhaps the sigh was loud enough to penetrate into the room behind,
where Pattie was busy, putting a few last touches. It was easy to see
that Pattie was tired with her week's toil, very tired indeed. The
blue eyes were heavy, with dark shadows under them, and the small face
was quite colourless. Yet as she came to the door, perhaps in response
to that sigh, she smiled and spoke in a cheerful tone; for when
Mr. Dale was depressed, Pattie was sure to wear a bright face.
"How the birds do sing, daddy! Isn't it sweet?"
"My dear, a man has to be easy in himself before he can enjoy birds'
singing."
"Do you think so? They comfort me. Poor little things—they all seem
so happy."
"For how long, I wonder?"
Pattie was silent, and Mr. Dale made a doleful attempt at a rally.
"Come—this won't do. I get a fit of the dumps now and then—not much
wonder if I do, considering! But you mustn't mind me, my dear. Things
can't be helped. How are you doing in the house? Got everything
ship-shape?"
"I have just finished the books. They look nice. Come and see them."
She led him in as if he had been a child, and showed him the small
book-case in their tiny dining-room, neatly filled.
"We must read them all through together. I think books are such
friends, don't you? The only friends you and I are likely to have."
"But why? Why shouldn't we make new friends in Putworth? There are
nice people everywhere."
Mr. Dale shook his head. Then he surveyed the ceiling with doubtful
eyes.
"Seems to me this house is not too well built," he remarked. "Just
look at those cracks. A house that hasn't been standing six months!
I don't understand it. Wonder I didn't see them sooner."
"It is a cracky house altogether," laughed Pattie. "There are cracks
in the sitting-room as well, and all up the side of the passage.
I never noticed them till to-day; at all events, I didn't see they
were so big. And in my bedroom they are just as bad. It can't be
helped. They don't look pretty, but we mustn't mind that. When you can
spare a shilling or two, I'll get a few Japanese fans to pin over the
worst of them, and then they won't matter."
"Let me look at your bedroom, dear. I did not notice anything there."
Pattie felt disinclined to go upstairs. "It doesn't signify,"
she said. "Lots of houses have cracks in them."
"Not new houses, like this one, only just built. They ought not."
He began to mount the staircase, and Pattie followed slowly. She
wanted to see all the best points in their new home, not the worst,
and she knew her father's tendency to get into a mournful mood over
small discomforts. Naturally these big cracks, which oddly enough had
made no previous impression, seemed less important to a young girl
than to a man.
Mr. Dale went round her little bedroom, which lay above the
dining-room,—his own being over the "sitting-room," so-called,
while the maid slept over the kitchen. He examined the various cracks
with anxious eyes, felt those that were within reach, murmured to
himself, went into the other rooms on the same floor, and presently
came back to Pattie, who had seated herself on the window-sill.
She was too tired to remain standing. It was a rather low and wide
window-sill, and afforded a comfortable seat.
"Pattie, I must have a talk with the landlord. There's something
wrong. Cracks in my room, too, and in the girl's—some very bad ones.
I shouldn't wonder if Mr. Cragg has been taken in somehow. He wouldn't
have taken us in, I'm sure, on purpose. Those cracks weren't there
when you and I first looked over the house. I know they were not.
I should have seen them directly. Nor when we came last week.
I believe they have all begun in the last day or two. We couldn't
have overlooked them, you know. It's impossible."
He inserted the tip of his finger into a wide one near the bed.
"Just look at this. Of course we should have noticed it. Quite out
of the question that we should not. It must have come in the last day
or two. Something must be wrong with the foundations."
Mr. Dale stood surveying the wall with a gloomy air.
"Some people never seem to be allowed to settle down anywhere. I did
really think we had found a quiet corner in the world, where we might
be in peace. And it seems I was mistaken. No sooner are we here than
fresh troubles begin. It really is hard. Such a nice little house,
and just the right size; and now I daresay we shall have to turn out
and go elsewhere."
"O no, father. A few marks in the walls don't matter. Perhaps our
landlord will have them seen to. I'm sure he will do what he can."
"My dear, if the foundations are unsafe, we could not remain. It would
not do. Really it is very tiresome—very unfortunate."
"We can't do anything to-night, at all events," and Pattie tried not
to yawn. "We must go to bed and get rested, the first thing. To-morrow
you might see Mr. Cragg, and ask him what he thinks. But I daresay
he will say that the cracks don't matter, and that they have always
been there."
"The house has not been built many weeks—months, at all events. And
the cracks were not there one week since, I am positive—quite
positive."
Pattie turned her head to look out of the open window. The sky was
of a clear pale blue, and the red cloud-streaks had turned to a faint
yellow. A bird flew past, uttering impatient little cries, and then
a moth swept near. Pattie was gazing down the road which led from
Putworth, and she saw a figure advancing along it. Something in the
outline of the figure seemed familiar, and she studied it earnestly.
"I do believe that is Mr. Cragg himself, coming to see us. Or perhaps
he only means to take an evening walk. You could meet him if you like,
daddy."
No answer came, and Pattie turned her head, to find that her father
had left the room. He called, after a moment, from the passage,—"I'll
be back in five minutes. Just going out on the roof to take a look."
There was easy exit, Pattie knew, by means of steps and a good
trap-door; but it seemed to her unnecessary trouble. She remained
where she was, glad to be able to rest; and silence followed.
The door of her room was wide open, and the trap-door also. Suddenly a
shout in her father's voice startled her. Something in the tone seemed
to portend disaster, and a cold shock of fear went through the girl.
She did not catch any words, it was the tone only which alarmed her;
and she would have sprung up to go to him, but there was not time.
She was seated in a somewhat cramped position on the sill, her feet
inside, her face turned the other way. Till that instant she had been
looking down the road.
Afterwards she never could recall exactly what happened next. She was
vaguely conscious of a whirl of noise and confusion, everything about
her seeming to give way together, while she herself remained where she
was. She had, indeed, no power to stir. A numbness seized her limbs,
a kind of paralysis overwhelmed her, as the flooring of the room sank
away, together with the whole opposite wall and part of the two side
walls. Only the front wall of the house, which held the window in
which she sat, and parts of the side walls, stood firm. The greater
part of the house was gone, collapsing into some large hollow below.
Of the roof hardly a trace could be seen; and with the roof was gone
Mr. Dale, who had been standing on it. Pattie found herself left
behind, seated on the sill, with no flooring beneath her feet;
a tumult of terror and agony surging in her brain.