The expedition to Bingley woods was not a success. Pauline was in one of
her worst tempers, and treated Rose so rudely that the poor girl was more
ashamed of her chosen friend than angry with her.
To Rhoda, Pauline was all that was sweet and flattering. She had promised
Miss Merivale to say nothing to her; but she was eager to ingratiate
herself with the girl whom she now knew to be an heiress, and to make her
forget how she had treated her while she was Clare’s assistant.
Rhoda was strongly irritated by her advances. Pauline’s snubs had never
wounded her very deeply. Rhoda only valued the good opinion of those whom
she respected. But Pauline’s eagerness to make friends turned her
indifference to something like violent dislike. She found it hardly
possible to speak civilly to her.
She went off at last into the depths of the wood, leaving Rose and Pauline
together. Her irritation soon passed away when she was alone. The basket
she had brought to fill with primroses remained empty in her hands. She
wandered on, her eyes drinking in the beauty round her. Only the lower
boughs of the trees were in leaf as yet, and the wood was full of golden
light. Primroses were everywhere, and in the more open spaces celandines
starred the ground with deeper yellow. In a month the glades between the
trees would be carpeted by bluebells. But there were no bluebells yet.
Spring was still in its infancy. The great oaks that skirted the wood
stretched bare wintry boughs over the flowers beneath them.
It was a time of hope, of delicate, exquisite promise; and Rhoda’s lips
curved with a happy, dreamy smile, as she listened to the story the woods
whispered to her that April day.
The deep voice of the clock in Bingley church tower recalled her to the
necessity of going back to her companions. It was four o’clock, the time
they had fixed for starting homewards. It was not with any pleasure that
she thought of the long drive. She suspected that Pauline and Rose had had
a serious quarrel, and that Pauline’s politeness to her arose from a wish
to vex Rose.
All the way to the woods Pauline had criticised Rose’s driving, speaking
with authority, as if she had driven a pony carriage all her life. Rhoda
could have laughed outright if she had not been so angry.
She found the two girls ready to start for the village when she got back
to the spot where she had left them.
“Pauline wants to go round by the high road,” Rose said, looking
appealingly at Rhoda. “It will make us much later at home. You can see the
Abbey another day, Pauline. There isn’t much to see; is there, Miss
Sampson?”
“It will not take us half an hour longer. How obstinate you are, Rosie!”
exclaimed Pauline irritably. “I will drive, and make Bob understand that
he must hurry a little. Why should we walk up that long tiresome lane to
save his legs? There is no hill to speak of the other way, you say. I am
too tired to walk a step. I am not so strong as you are. Miss Sampson,
don’t you agree with me that the high road will be much the better way for
us?”
“We promised Miss Merivale that we would be back early,” Rhoda said
coldly. “I think it is a pity to go out of our way.”
“But we should be at home just as soon. Rose insists that we must all walk
up the lane. I am sure you are too tired to do it, Miss Sampson, if I was
not. But Bob is to be considered before either of us, eh, Rose?”
Rose walked down the turf slope towards the village without answering; she
was too cross to discuss the question any further.
A new complication arose when they reached the rustic inn where Bob and
the carriage had been left. One of Bob’s shoes was found to be loose, and
it was necessary to get it fixed before starting for home.
Rose drew Rhoda aside, and spoke eagerly to her. “Miss Sampson, would you
drive home with Pauline? I could walk across the downs and be home in half
an hour. I don’t like to leave Aunt Lucy so long alone.”
“Will you let me go?” Rhoda answered, as eagerly as Rose had spoken. “I
know the way quite well. I would so much rather go, if you don’t mind.”
Rose could quite well understand that Rhoda must find Pauline’s society
unpleasant, even though Pauline now appeared bent on being agreeable to
her. “Are you sure you know the way?” she said doubtfully. “But it is
easy. You will see Woodcote when once you are on the top of the downs.”
“I know the way quite well,” Rhoda said, with a bright face. It was
delightful to her to escape the drive home with Pauline.
She started at once, and was soon on the top of the downs, enjoying the
breezy expanse of beautiful rolling country round her. Half an hour’s
rapid walking brought her to the furzy common close to Woodcote woods. She
had come down to it from the downs; and Tom, seated on his hillock, with
his eyes turned to the road, did not become aware of her presence till she
was quite close to him. He had been hidden by the gorse bushes from Rhoda
till the moment before he started up. And she would have shyly hurried on
without speaking to him if the sound of her step had not made him look
round.
She hurriedly explained how she came to be there alone. “I don’t think
they will be back for an hour or more,” she said, looking at the white
ribbon of road Tom had been watching for so long. “The high road is much
longer than the lane, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Tom briefly. He had forgotten all about the traction engine.
In fact, he had hardly understood what Rhoda was saying. His heart was
heavy within him.
They turned and walked down the sunny bit of slope, where the bees were
busy among the golden gorse blossoms. Tom was not silent. He could not
trust himself to be silent. He began to speak of the meeting he had just
been attending at Croydon. He gave Rhoda a vivid account of it, which
lasted till they got close to the house; then, with a hasty excuse of
having forgotten to tell Jackson something, he left her.
Rhoda walked on to the house with a calm, even step. Wilmot, who met her
in the hall, and told her that Miss Merivale was lying down and did not
wish to be disturbed, noticed nothing unusual about her. She stood and
talked some minutes with the old servant before going upstairs to her
room. And she gave her a sunny smile as she left her. Even when she was
alone, and had shut the door between her and the world, she did not fling
herself down by the bed and burst into tears, as unhappy heroines so often
do. She changed her dress, and carefully mended a rent the briers had made
in the one she took off. Then she got _Hamblin Smith’s Arithmetic_ and her
notebook, and began the hour’s work she set herself every day. A tear or
two did come--she could not keep them back; but she worked steadily on.
She would not even allow herself to think how she could have offended Tom,
or what the explanation of his changed manner could be. She picked out the
hardest examples in Complex Fractions she could find, and concentrated her
mind on them.
She was still working when Wilmot came to her door.
“Miss Rose and Miss Smythe have not come home, miss. Shall I send in tea?
It is past six o’clock.”
Rhoda opened the door. “I will go and ask Miss Merivale, Wilmot.”
Wilmot looked doubtful. Her mistress had given strict orders that she was
not to be disturbed.
“I will not go in,” Rhoda said, as she saw her doubtful glance. “I will
just knock softly. If she is awake, she might be glad of a cup of tea.”
Rhoda’s first knock was not answered; but when she tapped softly again,
she heard Miss Merivale’s voice telling her to come in. Miss Merivale was
lying on the bed, with her face turned to the wall. She reached out her
hand for Rhoda’s, and clasped it tenderly, but did not turn round.
“My head is very bad, darling. Tell Rose I won’t have any tea. I want to
keep quite quiet.”
Rhoda did not tell her that Rose and Pauline had not returned. She was
afraid she might be alarmed. The deadly pallor of her face quite
frightened her. She spoke to Tom when she went downstairs.
“Miss Merivale looks very ill,” she said, “and she won’t let me do
anything for her.”
Tom was sitting at the table before the hall window, busy making flies for
his trout fishing. He was so intent on his work that he did not look up.
“She gets bad headaches. I should not be anxious. She always likes to be
left alone.”
Rhoda did not answer this. She went into the dining-room, where tea was
laid ready, and sat down in the broad window-seat with some needlework.
If Tom had come in then, she would have been very cold to him. Her pride
was up in arms. But he did not come near her; and for a miserable half
hour Rhoda sat there alone, feeling as if all life’s music had suddenly
stopped, and winter had taken the place of spring.
Wilmot came in at last to urge her to have some tea. “Miss Rosie may be
stopping to tea at the Rectory. It isn’t any good for you and Mr. Tom to
wait any longer.”
Rhoda looked at the clock in some alarm. She had not been conscious of the
lapse of time. “I don’t think Miss Rosie meant to stop anywhere, Wilmot.
But they ought to be home. I hope nothing has happened.”
At that moment Tom entered the room. “It is getting very late,” he said to
Rhoda. “How long did Jones mean to take to put that shoe right? Not very
long, surely.”
“Miss Merivale thought they would be at home by six o’clock,” Rhoda
answered.
“And it is seven now,” Tom said, glancing at the clock. “It will be dark
in half an hour. They were coming by the high road all the way, didn’t you
say?”
“Yes; Miss Smythe did not want to go up the lane. But the high road is not
very much longer, is it, Mr. Merivale?”
“About two miles longer. But it is a better road. They ought to be home by
this time.”
Rhoda was standing by the window, and he came to her side and looked out.
He carefully avoided glancing at her, yet he knew that her face was very
proud and cold.
“I think I will go down the road to meet them,” he said. His voice shook a
little. It was very hard--it was almost harder than he could bear--to let
her go on misunderstanding him. Yet how could he explain?
“I wish they would come home,” Rhoda answered. “Do go and meet them, Mr.
Merivale. Miss Smythe wanted to drive, and I do not trust her driving.”
“Bob doesn’t want much driving,” Tom answered. But as he spoke he suddenly
remembered the traction engine crawling up the hill. For the first time he
felt really alarmed. “I will go down the road,” he said, moving quickly
from the window. “Though I daresay I shall meet them almost at once.”
Wilmot followed him into the hall. “Mr. Tom, where can they be?”
“Somewhere on the road between Bingley and our gates,” he said lightly.
“Don’t alarm Miss Sampson or my aunt, Wilmot. But send Ann round to the
stables to tell Jack to get my horse ready. If I do not see any sign of
them on the road, I will ride towards Bingley.”
He went off; and Rhoda, after watching him down the drive, crept upstairs
to listen at Miss Merivale’s door. But as she crossed the landing the door
opened, and Miss Merivale stepped out, a black lace shawl framing the
whiteness of her face.
“Rhoda, where has Tom gone?” she asked. “How still the house is! Haven’t
Rose and Miss Smythe come back?”
“Not yet,” answered Rhoda lightly. “Bob’s shoe got loose, you know. They
were delayed at the village.”
“But it is nearly dark. Something must have happened. Let us go down to
the gate, Rhoda. I am frightened.”
Rhoda could not persuade her to let her go alone, and they went together
down the drive. Tom had just ridden off; they could hear the sound of his
horse’s feet on the hilly road. But when that died away, a long period of
silence ensued. They went out of the gates and down the hill towards the
station, Miss Merivale clinging to Rhoda.
It was after what seemed hours to them both that they heard a horse
trotting rapidly towards them. Miss Merivale leant against the low stone
wall that divided the road on one side from the common.
“Rhoda, that is Tom. I could tell Black Beauty’s trot anywhere. Go on to
meet him, dear. I cannot go any farther.”
Rhoda went quickly on. It was Tom; he sprang off his horse on catching
sight of her.
“Miss Smythe has been badly hurt,” he said. “She is at the Rectory. Rose
is with her.”
“Your sister is not hurt?”
“A bruise or two. They met that traction engine; Miss Smythe was driving,
and tried to make Bob pass it. The result was that Bob bolted down the
hill.”
They were walking quickly up the hill as he spoke. Rhoda told him that
Miss Merivale was waiting for them, and a couple of moments brought them
to her side. She refused to accept at first Tom’s emphatic assurances that
Rose had escaped with only a bruise or two, and begged him to take her to
the Rectory. Tom would not hear of her going. “Rose did not want to leave
Miss Smythe, or I would have brought her home, Aunt Lucy. She is perfectly
well. Rose is a plucky little girl She wasn’t half as frightened as you
are.”
It was not till they got back to the house and he had made Miss Merivale
drink the cup of tea Wilmot brought her, that he allowed her to know how
serious Pauline’s injuries were.
“They fear concussion of the brain,” he said. “I have promised Hartley to
telegraph for her friends. Can you give me their address?”
Miss Merivale hesitated. “I am afraid she has no near relatives, poor
girl. I never heard her speak of any.”
“But she is continually calling for ‘Granny,’ Mrs. Hartley says. Her
grandmother ought to be here, if she has one. How could we find out?”
Rhoda, who had been sitting silent till then, now looked up and spoke.
“Her grandparents live at Leyton, Miss Merivale. They have a shop next
door to Aunt Mary’s brother. Mr. Smith is a grocer.”
Miss Merivale stared at her. “My dear, are you sure?”
“Quite sure,” Rhoda answered. “I saw her photograph when I took little
Hugh to his uncle’s, and they talked a great deal about her. Polly, they
call her. She writes to them constantly. They brought her up, and I expect
she is really very fond of them.”
“But--Rhoda, are you quite sure? Why has she never spoken of them? Do you
think she was ashamed of the shop? It must have been that.”
“She had no reason to be ashamed,” Rhoda answered quietly. “They are dear,
good people.”
“Poor girl, poor girl!” was all Miss Merivale could say; but Tom, who had
brought a telegraph form from the library, asked Rhoda to give him the
address.
“I will send this off at once,” he said, getting up. “She evidently wants
to have her grandmother with her now. She calls continually for her.”