_August 20th_.
It is lovely to be able to go out again into the sweet summer land, and
drive about with father and mother, and have our nice, homely talks
again. The Greaves' are perfect angels of kindness, and what we should
have done without their hospitality I'm sure I can't tell, but every
family has its own little ways, and, of course, you like your own the
best. The Greaves' way is always to say exactly precisely whatever they
mean and nothing beyond, and to think you rather mad if you do anything
else. Our way is to have little jokes and allusions, and a great deal
of chatter about nothing in particular, and to think other people bores
if they don't do the same. We call our belongings by proper names. My
umbrella is "Jane," because she is a plain, domestic-looking creature,
and mother's, with the tortoiseshell and gold, is "Mirabella," and our
cat is "Miss Davis," after a singing-mistress who squalled, and the new
laundry-maid is "Monkey-brand," because she can't wash clothes. It's
silly, perhaps, but it _does_ help your spirits! When I go out on a wet
day and say to my maid "Bring `Jane,' please," the sight of her face
always sends me off in good spirits. She tries so hard not to laugh.
Father and I just make plain, straightforward jokes, like everyone else,
but mother jokes daintily, as she does everything else. It's lovely to
listen to her when she is in a frisky mood!
We are all depressed enough just now, goodness knows, but it cheers us
up a little to be together, and, in comparison with the Greaves'
conversation, ours sounds frisky. Yesterday we drove up to see the dear
home, at which dozens of men are already at work. It was at once better
and worse than I expected. The ivy is still green in places, and they
don't think it is all destroyed, so that the first view from the bottom
of the drive was a relief. Near at hand we saw the terrible damage
done, and, when I went inside for a few minutes, the smell was still so
strong that I had to hurry back into the air. It will take months to
put things right, and meantime father has taken a furnished house four
miles off, where we go as soon as Vere can be moved, and stay until she
is strong enough to travel to the sea, or to some warm, sunny place for
the winter. We shall probably be away for ages. No balls, Una! No
dissipations, and partners, and admiration, and pretty new frocks, as
you expected. Furnished houses and hospital nurses, and a long, anxious
illness to watch. Those are your portion, my dear!
I am a wretch to think of myself at all. Rachel wouldn't; but I do, and
it's no use pretending I don't. I'm horribly, horribly disappointed!
One part of me feels cross and injured; the other part of me longs to be
good and unselfish, and to cheer and help the others. I haven't had far
to look for my sister. While I was searching the neighbourhood for
someone to befriend, the opportunity was preparing inside our very own
walls! Now then, Una Sackville, brace up! Show what you are made of!
You are fond enough of talking--now let us see what you can do!
_August 28th_.
The spinal chair arrived yesterday when I was at the Lodge. Father
cried when he saw it. I hate to see a man cry, and got out of the way
as soon as possible, and, when I came back, mother and he were sitting
hand in hand in the little parlour, looking quite calm, and kind of
sadly happy. I think bearing things together has brought them nearer
than they have been for years, so they certainly have found their
compensation.
The doctor says Vere is to live out of doors, so this morning she was
carried out on her mattress, laid flat on the chair, and wheeled to a
corner of the lawn. As I had prophesied, she arranged all details
herself. She wore a soft, white serge dressing-gown sort of
arrangement, which was loose and comfortable, and a long lace scarf put
loosely over her head, and tied under the chin, instead of a hat.
Everything was as simple as it could be. Vere had too much good taste
to choose unsuitable fineries, but, as she lay with the sunlight
flickering down at her beneath the screen of leaves, she looked so
touchingly frail and lovely that it broke your heart to see her. Her
hair lay in little gold rings on her forehead, the face inside the lace
hood had shrunk to such a tiny oval. One had not realised, seeing her
in bed, how thin she had grown during these last few weeks!
We all waited on her hand and foot, and walked in procession beside her,
gulping hard, and blinking our eyes to keep back the tears whenever we
had a quiet chance, and she laughed and admired the trees, and said
really it was the quaintest sensation staring straight up at the sky;
she felt just like "Johnny Head in Air" in the dear old picture-book!
It was a delightful couch--most comfortable! What a lazy summer she
should have! If there was one thing she loved more than another, it was
having meals in the open air--all in the same high, artificial note
which she had used ever since her accident.
We all agreed and gushed, and said, "Yes, darling," "Isn't it, darling?"
"So you shall, darling," and we had tea under a big beech-tree, and
anyone might have thought we were quite jolly; but I could see father's
lip quiver under his moustache, and mother looked old. I hate to see
mother look old!
Just as we had finished tea a servant came up to tell father that Will
and Mr Carstairs had called to see him. They had too much good feeling
to join us where we were, but Vere lifted her languid eyes and said
"Stupid men! What are they afraid of? Tell them to come here at once."
And no one dared to oppose her.
I shall never forget that scene. It was like treading on sacred ground
to be there when Mr Carstairs went forward to take Vere's hand, yet, of
course, it would not have done to leave them alone. His face was set,
poor fellow, and he couldn't speak. I could see the pulse above his ear
beating like a hammer, and was terrified lest he should break down
altogether. Vere would never have forgiven that! She thanked him in
her pretty society way for all his "favaws," the flowers, and the books,
and the letters, all "so amusing, don't you know!" (as if his poor
letters could have been amusing!) and behaved really and truly as if
they had just met in a ball-room, after an ordinary separation.
"It's quite an age since I saw you; and now, I suppose, it is a case of
`How do you do, and good-bye,'" she said lightly. "You must be longing
to get away from this dull place, to pay some of your postponed visits."
"They will have to be postponed a little longer. Dudley is good enough
to say he can put me up another week or two, and I should like to see
you settled at Bylands. There--there might be something I could do for
you," returned the poor man wistfully, but she would not acknowledge any
need of help.
"Dearie me! Have you turned furniture remover? Are you proposing to
pack me with the rest of our belongings?" she cried, lifting her chin
about a quarter of an inch in feeble imitation of her old scornful tilt.
It was very pitiful to see her do it, and Mr Carstairs' lip twitched
again, and he turned and began talking to mother, leaving the coast
clear for Will Dudley. He looked flushed, but his eyes were curiously
bright and determined.
"I am so thankful to see you out again, Miss Sackville," he said.
"That's the first step forward in your convalescence, and I hope the
others may follow quickly!"
That was his cue! He was not going to allow Vere to ignore her illness
talking to him; he had determined to make her face it naturally and
simply, but the flash in her eyes showed that it would not be too easy.
She stared up into his face with a look of cold displeasure, and he
stared straight back and said--
"Are you as comfortable as possible? I think that light is rather
dazzling to your eyes. Let me move you just a few inches."
"I am perfectly happy, thank you. Pray don't trouble. I prefer to stay
where I am."
"I'll move you back again if you don't like it," he said coolly.
"There! Now that branch screens you nicely. The sun has moved since
you first came out, I expect. Confess, now, that is more comfortable!"
She would not confess, and she could not deny, so she simply dropped her
eyelids and refused to answer; but a little thing like that would not
daunt Will Dudley, and he went on talking as if she had thanked him as
graciously as possible. Presently, however, the hospital nurse gave us
a private signal that Vere was getting tired and ought to rest, so we
all strolled away and left them alone together beneath the tree.
We had only three days more at the Grange, and during them Rachel
devoted herself as much as possible to Vere, trotting between the house
and the beech-trees on everlasting missions, and reading aloud for hours
together from stupid novels, which I am sure bored her to extinction.
Vere herself did not seem to listen very attentively, but I think the
sweet, rather monotonous voice had a soothing effect on her nerves; she
was relieved to be spared talking, and also intent on studying this
strange specimen of human nature.
"Oh, admirable but dullest of Rachels, she absolutely delights in doing
what she dislikes! It was as good as a play to watch her face yesterday
while she read aloud the reflections of the worldly Lady Peggy! They
evidently gave her nerves a severe shock, but as for omitting a passage,
as for even skipping an objectionable word, no! not if her life depended
upon it. `It is my duty, and I will.' That is her motto in life. How
boring people are who do their duty!" drawled Vere languidly on the last
afternoon, as poor Rachel left her to go back to the other invalid, who
was no doubt growling like a bear in his den as he waited for her
return. Everyone seemed to take Rachel's help for granted, and to think
it superfluous to thank her. Even Will himself is far less attentive to
her wants than my _fiance_ shall be when I have one. I simply couldn't
stand being treated like a favourite aunt, and really and truly he
behaves far more as if she were that, than his future wife. He is never
in the least tiny bit excited or agitated about seeing her.
I wouldn't admit this to Vere for a thousand pounds, but I felt cross
all the same, and said snappishly--
"It's a pity she wasted her time, since you were only jeering at her for
her pains. I don't know about enjoying what she hates, but she
certainly loves trying to help other people, and I admire her for it. I
wish to goodness I were like her!"
At this she smiled more provokingly than ever.
"Yes. I've noticed the imitation. It's amusing. All the more so that
it is so poor a success. Your temper is not of the quality to be kept
persistently in the background, my dear."
It isn't. But I _had_ tried hard to keep patient and gentle the last
few weeks, even when Vere aggravated me most. I had been so achingly
sorry for her that I would have cut off my right hand to help her, so it
hurt when she gibed at me like that.
"I'm sorry I was impatient! I wanted so badly to help you, dear. You
must forgive me if I was cross."
"Babs, _don't_!" she gasped, and her face was convulsed with emotion.
For one breathless moment, as we clutched hands and drew close together,
I thought the breakdown had come at last, but she fought down her sobs,
crying in tones of piteous entreaty--
"Don't let me cry! Stop me! Oh, Babs, don't let me do it. If I once
begin I can never stop!"
"But wouldn't it be a relief to you, darling? Everyone has been
terrified lest you were putting too great a strain on yourself. If you
gave way once to me--it doesn't matter for me--it might do you good.
Cry, darling, if you want, and I'll cry with you!"
But she protested more vigorously than ever. "No, no, I daren't! I
can't face it! Be cross with me--be neglectful--leave me to myself, but
for pity's sake don't be so patient, Babs! It makes me silly, and I
must keep up, whatever happens. Say something now to make me stop--
quickly!"
"I expect the men will be here any moment. You'll look hideous with red
eyes," I said gruffly. It was the only thing I could think of, and
perhaps it did as well as anything else, for she calmed down by degrees,
and there was no more sign of a breakdown that night.
After that day we seemed to understand each other better, and when I saw
danger signals I was snappy on purpose, and felt like a martyr when Will
and Mr Carstairs glared at me, and thought what a wretch I was. We
wanted Vere to be resigned and natural about her illness, but we dreaded
and feared a hysterical breakdown, which must leave her weaker than
ever, and she had said herself that if she once began to cry she could
never leave off.