1
JOAN got out of the cab. In her hand she gripped a birdcage, containing
Bobbie, well muffled for the journey.
"That's the 'ouse, miss," said the driver, pointing with his whip.
A large gate painted and grained, with "The Pines" in bold black
lettering across it. She pushed it open and walked up the drive.
Speckled laurels and rhododendrons, now damp and dripping, flanked her
on either hand. The yellow gravel was soggy and ill-kept, with grass and
moss growing over it. At a bend in the drive the house came into view; a
large three-storied building of the Victorian era, with a wide lawn in
front, and a porch with Corinthian columns. The house had once had the
misfortune to be painted all over, and now presented the mournful
appearance of neglected and peeling paint. As Joan rang the bell she got
the impression of a great number of inadequate sash windows, curtained
in a dull shade of maroon.
A middle-aged maid-servant opened the door. "Miss Ogden?" she inquired,
before Joan had time to speak.
"Yes, I'm Miss Ogden. Do you think my luggage could be brought in,
please?"
"That cabby should have driven up to the door," grumbled the woman. "And
he knows it, too; they're that lazy!"
She left Joan standing in the hall while she lifted her skirts and
stepped gingerly down the drive. Joan looked about her, still clutching
the cage. The impression of maroon persisted here; it was everywhere: in
the carpet, the leather chairs, the wallpaper. Even the stained-glass
fanlight over the front door took up the prevailing tone. The house had
its characteristic smell, too; all houses had. Glory Point, she
remembered, had smelt of tar, fresh paint and brass polish; the Rodneys'
house had smelt of Ralph's musty law books. Leaside had smelt of
newspapers, cooking, and for many years of her father's pipes. But this
house, what was it it smelt of? She decided that it smelt of old people.
The servant came back, followed by a now surly cabby, carrying a trunk.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, miss," she said less austerely.
A door opened at the far end of the hall, and a pleasant-looking old
woman came forward. Her blue print dress and large apron were
reassuringly clean, and she smiled affably at Joan. She spoke in the
loud sing-song voice of the midlands. "I'm the cook-housekeeper; Keith's
my name," she drawled. "I don't know why you've been left standin' like
this, miss. I says to 'er, I says, 'Now you be sure an' ask her into the
drawing-room when 'er comes, and let me know at once!' But Mary, 'er be
that queer, some days."
"Oh, it's all right," said Joan, tactfully. "She had to go and see about
my luggage."
"Very impolite, I calls it; Mary should know better. Please to step this
way."
Joan followed her into a large, cold room, evidently seldom used, for
the blinds were down and the furniture in linen covers.
"And I says to 'er, 'Mind you 'ave the blinds up and all,' and now just
look at this!" grumbled Mrs. Keith, as she struggled with a cord at one
of the windows. "And now, miss," she continued, turning to Joan, "since
you're new to us and we're new to you, I'd better tell you about the
master. He's a little queer like, childish, as no doubt you've heard.
But he's very gentle and quiet some days, and if as how you find him
troublesome at first, please just come to I. He knows I and he be good
with I. And when you goes in to him first, mind to take notice of his
toys, if he asks you; he be just a great baby, although he's a
grey-haired man, and his toys is all the world to him. After you've been
introduced to him, you come downstairs and I'll explain about his diet
and all his little fancies. He's a poor, afflicted gentleman, but we're
all very fond on 'im. I've been here for thirty-five years, and I hope
you'll stay as long, miss, if I may say so. And now I'll show you your
room."
They mounted the sombre staircase to a fair-sized bedroom on the first
floor.
"I'll be waiting for you on the landing, to take you to Master Rupert
when you're ready," said Mrs. Keith as she closed the door.
Joan put Bobbie's cage down on the chest of drawers and took off his
cover. "My dear little yellow bird," she murmured caressingly, "we must
keep you out of the draught!"
She took off her hat and washed her hands. Going to her bag she found a
comb and hastily tidied her hair.
"I'm quite ready, Mrs. Keith," she said, rejoining the housekeeper.
The old woman opened a door a little way down the passage. "This be his
nursery," she whispered.
The room was long and unexpectedly light, having three large windows;
but it struck Joan with a little shock of pity that they were barred
along the lower half, just as the window had been in the old bedroom at
Leaside when she and Milly were venturesome little children. In front of
the fire stood a tall nursery guard.
"Here's the kind lady, Master Rupert; 'er what I told you about."
A large, shabby man, with a full grey beard and a mane of hair, was
kneeling in front of an open cupboard. As Joan came forward he looked
round piteously.
"I've lost my dolly, my best dolly," he whimpered. "You haven't hidden
my dolly, have you?"
"Now, now, Master Rupert!" said Mrs. Keith sharply. "This is Miss Ogden,
what's come here to look after you; come and say 'How do you do' to her,
at once."
The big, untidy man stood up. He eyed Joan with suspicion, fingering his
beard. "I don't like _you_," he said thoughtfully, "I don't like you at
all. Go away, please; I believe you've hidden my dolly."
"Can't I help you to look for her?" Joan suggested. "What's this one; is
this the dolly?" she added, retrieving a dilapidated wax doll from under
a chair.
"_That's_ my dolly!" cried the man in a tone of rapture. "That's my
dear, darling dolly! Isn't she beautiful?" And he hugged the doll to his
bosom.
"Say 'Thank you,' Master Rupert," admonished Mrs. Keith.
But the man looked sulky. "I shan't thank her; she hid my dolly. I know
she did!"
"Oh, you must thank her, Master Rupert. It was her who _found_ your
dolly for you. Come now, be good!"
But the patient stamped his foot. "Take her away!" he ordered
peremptorily. "I don't like her hair."
"Come downstairs," murmured Mrs. Keith, pushing Joan gently out of the
room. "He'll be all right next time he sees you; you be strange to him
just at first, but presently he'll love you dearly, I expects."
2
In the housekeeper's room the old woman became expansive. Obviously
nervous lest the patient had made a bad impression, she tried clumsily
to correct it by entertaining Joan with details about her predecessors,
of whom Mrs. Keith had apparently known four. Seated in the worn
arm-chair by the fire, Joan listened silently to this depressing
recital.
At last Mrs. Keith came to Joan's immediate predecessor, Miss King, who
had stayed for twenty years. She had been such a pretty lady when she
first arrived, yellow-haired and all smiles. She had only taken the post
to help her family of little brothers and sisters. But when they were
all grown up and no longer in such pressing need of help, Miss King had
still stayed on, because, as she said, she had grown used to it,
somehow, and didn't feel that she could make a change after all those
years. Master Rupert had loved her dearly, for she had understood all
his little ways and had played with him for hours. She used to read
aloud to him too. He liked fairy stories best, after "Robinson Crusoe";
Miss Ogden would find that he was never tired of "Robinson Crusoe," it
would be a good book for her to start reading to him.
Master Rupert used to beg to have his little bed put in Miss King's
room, he was so afraid of the dark. But of course she couldn't consent
to this, for he was a full grown man, after all, though he didn't know
it, "Poor afflicted gentleman, being all innocent like." When Miss King
had had to go in the end, she had been very unhappy at leaving. But her
old father had become bedridden by that time, so her family had sent for
her to look after him.
"Hard, I calls it," said Mrs. Keith, "for her to have to go home for
that, after all the years of toiling with Master Rupert; but then you
see, miss, her was a spinster like, and so the others thought as how her
was the one to do it."
From the discussion of Joan's predecessors, Mrs. Keith went on to speak
of Master Rupert himself. She explained that his mind had only grown up
to the age of six. "Retarded something or other," she said the doctor
called it. His parents had died when he was twelve, and his guardian,
not knowing what to do with him, had sent him to a home for deficient
children. But after a time he had grown too old to remain there, and so,
as he had been left quite well off, poor gentleman, his trustees had
bought "The Pines" for him to live in, and there he had lived ever
since.
Mrs. Keith explained at some length the daily routine that Joan must
follow, and went into the minutest details regarding the patient's menu.
"He do be greedy, a bit," she remarked apologetically. "Them as is
mentally afflicted often is, the doctor says. The way he eats would
surprise you, considering how little exercise he takes! But his stomach
is that weak, and he's given to vomiting something awful if I'se not
careful what he gets; so the doctor, 'e says to me, 'e says, 'Better
give him light meals in between times,' 'e says, 'so as to fill him up,
like.' He's a poor afflicted gentleman," she repeated once more, with
real regret in her voice. "But he'll be all right with you, miss, never
fear; I knows 'im and he's that fond of I, it's touching. You see, miss,
I'se known 'im for thirty-five years."
"If I want advice I shall certainly come to you, Mrs. Keith," Joan told
her gratefully. "But I expect I'll get on all right, as you say."
She felt very tired after the journey and longed painfully to lie down
and rest. Her brain seemed muddled and she was so afraid she might
forget something.
"Was it Benger's at eleven and beef-tea at four, or the other way
round?" she asked anxiously.
"It were the other way round, miss; don't you think you'd better write
it down?"
"Perhaps I had," Joan agreed, fishing in her jacket pocket for her
little notebook.
"Now, then," she said, trying hard to speak brightly. "Now then, Mrs.
Keith, we'd better make a list. Hot milk coloured with coffee, that's
when he wakes up, I understand; then beef-tea at eleven o'clock, and his
cough mixture at twelve-thirty. He has Benger's at tea-time and again
before going to bed. Oh, I shall soon get into it all, I expect. I'm
used to invalids, you see."