I MEET GOOD FORTUNE
‟WE want to get up a big boating picnic, Mother,” Beryl McNab said one
morning at breakfast. “Everybody is coming: the crowds from Willow Park
and Karinyah, and a few people from Wootong. We’re going to make a very
early start, sail round some of the islands, bathe in the big
diving-pools on Rocky Spit and land on Shepherd’s Island for lunch.
After that we’ll do whatever the spirit moves us.”
“Or whatever we have any energy left to do,” Dicky Atherton said.
“Personally, I shall lie flat on a hot patch of sand and sleep all the
afternoon.”
“Then you’ll certainly find yourself marooned,” remarked Harry.
“However, if you fly a towel as a signal of distress some one will
probably pick you up within a few days. And the fishing’s pretty good
from Shepherd’s Island.”
“One might be worse off,” Mr. Atherton rejoined placidly. “I’m beginning
to need a rest-cure, thanks to the life you people lead down here.”
“We want to go on Thursday,” said Beryl. “Can we have an extra-special
lunch, Mother?”
“I suppose so,” Mrs. McNab answered vaguely. She had been deep in
thought, and it seemed an effort for her to rouse herself. It was
understood in the house that the spirit of work was harassing her; she
had spent most of the two previous days in the Tower rooms, and one
gathered that at any moment she might be expected to go into retreat
altogether. “Miss Earle, will you consult with Mrs. Winter about it?
Just tell Miss Earle if there is anything in particular that you would
like, Beryl.”
“We’re going, too!” chorused Judy and Jack.
“Oh, we don’t want kids!” Beryl said. “You two are a perfect nuisance on
a picnic.”
“Oh, rubbish, Beryl!” Harry said. “The kids from Willow Park are coming,
and they’ll want mates.”
Beryl shrugged her shoulders.
“Well, you can be responsible for them,” she said. “But you know
perfectly well, Harry, that no one ever can tell what Judy and Jack will
do.”
“Oh, they’ll behave—won’t you, kids?” said Harry easily. “I’ll hammer
you both if you don’t. I say, Mother, I don’t see how we can possibly
expect Miss Earle to have a big lunch ready as early as we want to
start. Why shouldn’t she come too? If she had the lunch down at the
boat-house about half-past twelve some of us could easily run across in
the launch and pick her up.”
“Good-oh!” said Jack. “I’ll come back for you, Miss Earle. I can run the
launch all right.”
“Not by yourself, young man, thank you,” said his brother. “But it would
be quite easy to arrange. How about it, Mother?”
“Certainly, if Miss Earle would like to go,” said Mrs. McNab, a little
less dreamily. “It would be good for her. Bence could carry the baskets
to the beach. You would care for the outing, Miss Earle?”
“I should like it very much, thank you,” I answered, trying to keep any
eagerness out of my voice. Except for bathing, I had scarcely been out
of the house for some days, and the prospect of a boating picnic was
alluring. Beryl had carefully refrained from making any comment, but
this time it didn’t worry me. There would be so many people at the
picnic that it would not be difficult to keep out of her way. I heaved
an inward sigh of thankfulness at the recollection of a white linen
frock that would be just right, and registered a vow to find time to
wash and iron it next day.
“Then that’s all settled,” said Harry gleefully. “I’ll telephone to the
other people. And just you youngsters make up your minds to behave as
decently as you know how. I don’t say that’s much, but it may carry you
through the day.”
I spent a hectic day in the kitchen on Wednesday. Mrs. Winter was
fighting a bad cold, and chose to resent the list of extra delicacies
which Beryl had airily handed in. “One ’ud think it was a ball supper at
Govinment House, instead of a picnic on a sandy island,” she grumbled,
and made a hundred difficulties. Beryl had disappeared; as a matter of
fact, she had never appeared at all, but had sent her list by Julia; and
Mrs. McNab was vaguer than ever, and had a kind of worried look that I
put down to trouble over her writing. Whatever delight her work might
give her when once she was shut up in her sanctum, the period while it
was hatching in her brain seemed to be something like what one endures
in cutting a wisdom-tooth. I felt sorry for her as she went about with
her dreamy look—she was so far apart from all the cheery,
happy-go-lucky house-party. At any rate, it was my job, as I
recollected, to act as her buffer; and the end of it was I pretended
that I had an easy day, rolled up my sleeves, and went to help in the
cooking.
That cheered Mrs. Winter a good deal. She was really very seedy, with
the kind of heavy head-cold that makes speech difficult and extra
brain-exertion a torment: she welcomed my cooperation even more than my
actual help in the work, and forgot a good many of her woes in the
course of the first hour. I made oyster-patties and charlotte russe and
fruit salad, and we thought out new ideas for sandwiches and cool
drinks. I even managed to enlist Judy and Jack, as the best means of
keeping them out of mischief; Mrs. Winter supplied them with aprons and
they beat up eggs and whipped cream, and became desperately interested
in my sponge-lilies and cheese-straws. “I’d be a cook myself, if I could
always make things like these,” Judy averred, as she sat on the table,
delicately licking the cream from a sponge-lily, with a red tongue that
seemed as long as an ant-eater’s. “How ever do you go on cooking things
like boiled mutton and steak-and-onions, Mrs. Winter, when you might
make gorgeous experiments all the time?”
Mrs. Winter sniffed.
“If you had to eat theb thigs for a week, Biss Judy, you’d be botherig
roud the kitched for good boiled buttod and sdeak-ad-odiods,” she said
severely—at which afflicted utterance the pair yelled with joy, and
spent much time in devising questions that could only be answered in
words containing letters impossible at the moment to the poor woman. By
four o’clock we had made all the preparations that could be finished
that day, and had got the dinner well under way as well. Mrs. Winter
sighed with relief as I washed the kitchen table.
“I thought this bordig I’d be id by bed before dight,” she said. “But
I’ve laughed at you three so buch by cold’s dearly god, I believe! Off
you go, Biss Earle—you bust be tired.”
“No, I’m not,” I said. “I have a dress to iron yet: I’ll come back and
help you when I’ve done it. You’re not to get yourself all hot over
dishing-up.”
“’Deed, an’ you’ve been enough in the kitchen for wan day,” said a new
voice; and Julia came in, with my rough-dry frock over her arm. “Let you
run off to your tay: I’m afther bringin’ this in from the line, and I’ll
have it ironed in two twos an’ be ready to do the dishin’-up meself.
Take her away, now, Miss Judy an’ Master Jack. An’ for pity’s sake wash
the two faces of ye before your Mother sees you, for there’s samples on
them of every blessed thing that’s been cooked to-day!” Whereat Judy and
Jack gripped each an arm and raced me off to my room.
I saw that they were respectable, made a hasty toilet myself, and we
went out to the lawn, where afternoon tea was in full swing. A stranger
was there, sitting in a basket-chair by Mrs. McNab: a spare, elderly man
with keen blue eyes, at sight of whom my charges uttered a delighted
yelp.
“Hallo, Dr. Firth! We’ve been cooking!”
“Then I won’t stay to dinner, thank you,” replied the stranger promptly.
“Not that I believe you have; you’re far too clean!”
“Oh, that’s thanks to Miss Earle—she’s awfully fussy about little
things like that,” said Judy, laughing. “This is Miss Earle, Dr. Firth.
She’s the worst we’ve had!”
“Judith!” said her mother in a voice of ice.
“I can well believe you think so, judging by your fine state of polish,”
said Dr. Firth, laughing. “You seem to have done wonders, Miss
Earle—congratulations.” He had risen to shake hands with me: I liked
his firm grip and his straight glance. “Now, where are you going to sit
while I get you some tea? Jack, my boy, there’s a chair over there”: and
Jack was off like a flash to fetch it.
To be waited upon at The Towers was something new to me. I looked round
nervously. But some one else had claimed Mrs. McNab’s attention and
every one appeared to be already supplied with tea; there was nothing
for me but to do as I was bid and sit down. I did so thankfully, for I
was tired enough after my day in the kitchen. Jack and Judy, already
full-fed, had wandered away, and presently I was enjoying my tea, with
my new friend sitting near me—our two chairs somewhat apart from the
crowd.
“Now you are not to move for twenty minutes,” he said, in a cool tone of
command. “Doctor’s orders, and therefore not to be disregarded. No, you
needn’t argue,” as I opened my mouth. His tone was so final that I
pretended that I had merely opened it to put cake into it, and he
laughed.
“That’s better. There are plenty of young fellows here to hand round
teacups. And I want to talk to you. Mrs. McNab has been telling me that
you are a doctor’s daughter. Not Denis Earle’s daughter, by any chance?”
“My father was Denis Earle,” I said, wondering—and wondered still more
at the change in his face.
“If you knew how glad I am to find you!” he said. “I knew you when you
were a baby, my dear. Did Denis ever speak to you of Gerald Firth?”
“Oh—often!” I cried. “But I thought you were in England. He—he just
loved you, you know!” I felt an ache in my throat; my eyes swam as I
looked at his kind face.
He moved his chair so that he sheltered me from every one else.
“Drink your tea,” he said quietly. “You’re tired, you poor child. And
I’ll do the talking.” He leaned forward, his voice low.
“I was in England for fifteen years—until six months ago,” he said.
“Then I came out hurriedly, to attend to business; my elder brother had
died, leaving me his property near here. It was only just before I
sailed from England that I heard that my old friend had gone; we were
both bad correspondents, and not many letters passed between us. I did
make inquiries about his children in Melbourne, but I couldn’t get on
your track: I have been intending to go down and find you, but all my
brother’s affairs were very tangled, and I have only just succeeded in
straightening them out. It’s the queerest thing that I should come
across you here!”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” I murmured. “It’s just lovely to find some one who
knew Father!”
“He and I were friends as boys and at the University,” Dr. Firth said.
“We took our degrees in the same year. I owe more to him than to anyone
in the world—more than I could tell anyone except his own children. I
was a pretty wild youngster, and I got into a horrible mess in my
University days. It would have been the end of my career as a doctor,
but for Denis. His help and his cool judgment pulled me through, but he
went poor for three years because of it. I paid him back in money—hard
enough it was to get him to take it, too. But the biggest part of it,
that wasn’t money, I never could repay. I’ll be his debtor all my life.”
He paused, and I could see that he was wrung with feeling.
“I don’t know anything about it, of course,” I stammered. “But Father
would never have thought anything of it. You were his great friend. He
often talked to us about you, and told us what mates you had been.” I
hesitated. “Colin is named after you: Colin Gerald Earle.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m rather proud of it. And where is Colin now? A
full-fledged doctor, I suppose? He was a great little boy.”
“He is a great boy still,” I said. “He is just like Father. But he isn’t
a doctor, and he never will be, now. He is just a clerk in an insurance
office.”
“A—clerk!” he uttered. “But Denis wrote me that his whole soul was in
medicine. He was to succeed your father in his practice. And you—why
are you here, bear-leading these youngsters? Surely there were no money
troubles?”
I told him, briefly, just how things had been. He did not say much, but
it seemed to me that his face grew older.
“If I had known!” he said, when I had finished. “Denis’s children! Well,
I can alter one thing, at any rate: you needn’t stay here as general
factotum a day longer. Come over to my place, and look after me,
instead: I’ve a huge house, and my old housekeeper will welcome you with
open arms. I won’t have you earning your living here.”
I felt myself turn scarlet with astonishment. It was a wonderful
prospect. I couldn’t take it all in, but it flashed on me that it would
be very soothing to meet Beryl McNab on equal terms. Then I caught sight
of Mrs. McNab’s face as she moved slowly across the lawn with her head
bent and the look of worry plainly in her face, and I knew I couldn’t do
it. Father would have said it wasn’t the square thing.
“It’s ever so good of you, Dr. Firth,” I told him, “and I’m very
grateful. Some other time it would be lovely. But I couldn’t throw over
my job here. I don’t think it would be fair to Mrs. McNab: her hands are
very full, and I do believe she is beginning to depend on me.”
“She could get some one else to depend upon.”
“Not in the middle of the holidays. She wouldn’t have taken me if she
could have found some one older and more experienced. And the children
are really pretty good with me—I think it’s because I am young enough
to play about with them now and then. They hate the elderly governess
type.”
“Are you working too hard?” he asked doubtfully. “You are far too thin,
you know, young lady.”
I told him I was by no means over-worked; there was plenty to do, but
nothing really difficult. He was not satisfied: that was clear. He asked
me a great many questions, and finally repeated that Mrs. McNab should
be asked to find some one to replace me.
We were supposed to be an obstinate family, and I may have a certain
share of the quality. At any rate, I shook my head.
“Please don’t ask me, Dr. Firth, for I hate saying ‘No’ to your
kindness. But I’ve undertaken a responsibility, and I don’t feel that I
can drop it. You know, Father always taught us that it was an
unpardonable thing to let anyone down.”
He looked at me keenly.
“Yes, you’re like Denis,” he said. “Well, I won’t try to persuade you
against your own judgment. But I warn you, I shall keep an eye upon you,
and if I see that you are getting fagged, I shall write to Colin and
take the law into my own hands. Give me his address, please”—he wrote
it down—“and promise that you will tell me if I can help you in any
difficulty. I know the McNabs pretty well.”
I promised that readily enough.
“But I don’t think there will be real difficulties,” I said. “I am
beginning to feel that I can hold down my job, and I like the children.
And it will all seem so different, now that I know I have a friend close
by. I shan’t be lonesome any more.”
“I’m glad you feel like that about it,” he said. “And now, I suppose, I
had better find my hostess: every one seems to have gone over to the
tennis-courts.” He made me go with him, and we looked for Mrs. McNab,
who was sitting alone, knitting, under a big jacaranda.
“You have had a long talk,” she said, her voice rather cold.
“We have,” Dr. Firth said cheerfully. “I have found an old friend, Mrs.
McNab: I knew this young lady in her cradle. Her father was my greatest
friend. It has been a very great pleasure to discover one of his
children.”
“That is very nice,” said Mrs. McNab absently. “Won’t you sit down? Dr.
Firth, have you heard anything of the robbery last night? Or is it only
a rumour?”
“No rumour, worse luck. Some mean scoundrel broke into the Parkers’
cottage—you know, those two old maiden sisters who live on the
outskirts of Wootong: they used to keep a little fancy shop, but they
retired last year. Last night they went to choir-practice, leaving their
place locked up, as usual. Some one managed to open the kitchen window
and climb in, and when they came home they found their writing-table
ransacked.”
Mrs. McNab leaned forward, looking anxious.
“Did they—was there much taken?”
“The thief was evidently looking for money only. Unfortunately, the old
ladies had money in the house: a foolish habit of theirs. The
writing-table drawers had flimsy modern locks, easily enough picked by
anyone with a little skill in that direction. The rascal got away with
five-and-twenty pounds.”
“How dreadful!” Mrs. McNab said. “I am so sorry for them. And—the
police? are they looking for the thief?”
Dr. Firth shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, of course. But the Wootong policemen aren’t a very brilliant pair,
and the man left no trace, they say. It is so easy, nowadays, to get
away with the proceeds of a robbery; a motorcar or motor-cycle lands a
thief forty miles away in an hour. And the Parkers’ cottage is on the
main road, where cars pass every few minutes. I don’t suppose the poor
old ladies have much chance of seeing their money again. It is a heavy
loss for them: they have very little to live on, and the elder sister is
not strong.”
“Poor old things!” Mrs. McNab said, in a troubled tone. “It was a very
mean robbery.”
“It was; and it looks as though the thief knew something of their
circumstances. One would not expect a little cottage like that to be
burgled; the ordinary thief would hardly expect to get enough to make
his risk and trouble worth while. Some people are saying that the
burglar is not far off. It appears that Henessy, of the hotel, lost some
money last week; some one had helped himself from the till. Henessy had
been in and out of the bar a good deal, and a great many people had been
there during the day; he felt that he had no clue, so he held his tongue
at the time. But he told the constable about it this morning.”
“But that is very worrying to the whole neighbourhood,” said Mrs. McNab
anxiously. “You should be careful, Dr. Firth: your house is lonely, and
you have so many beautiful things in it.”
“Oh, they’re well enough secured, I fancy,” he said. “My brother had
very special locks for all his cabinets of curiosities. All the same, I
admit that I think there is too much there for prudence. I have none of
the collector’s fever, as my brother had, and a good many of his
treasures mean very little to me, valuable as they are. They would not
be much use to the average burglar, either.”
“Oh, but think!” Mrs. McNab urged, leaning forward. “The jewels set in
those barbaric ornaments—they would be easily removed. I don’t think
you should run the risk.”
“Well, yes, I suppose the jewels would make decent plunder,” Dr. Firth
admitted. “To tell you the truth, Mrs. McNab, I don’t seem to have had
time to learn my brother’s collections yet: there are ever so many
things of which I have only a hazy notion. They are all listed, of
course, and I had an expert down to value them, in connection with
Michael’s estate; but since then they have been locked away.” He looked
almost apologetic as he spoke. “I’m pretty busy, you know: there has
been so much business to see to, and so much writing to England—I left
at a moment’s notice when the news of Michael’s death came. And the
local people won’t believe that I am not a practising physician: they
come to me whenever Dr. Harkness is not to be found in Wootong. I tell
them it’s their own risk, considering that I haven’t practised my
profession for fifteen years. But one can’t refuse them. So my time is
sadly cut to waste. But for that I should have found out Miss Earle and
her brother and sister long ago: and then, I doubt if you’d have had
Miss Earle here, for I should have wanted her myself.”
To my astonishment, Mrs. McNab looked genuinely concerned.
“You do not want to take her away, I hope?”
I shot him a warning glance, and he laughed as he answered the quick
question.
“I don’t imagine that she would come if I suggested it,” he said
lightly. “But don’t let her over-do it, Mrs. McNab: she is not as strong
as she might be. I mean to exercise my rights as an old family friend
and keep a sharp eye upon her.”
“Oh!” said my employer. “Quite so. By all means, Dr. Firth. But I trust
that we are not overworking Miss Earle. Though indeed,” she added,
apparently recollecting something, “I was much horrified, on going to
the kitchen just now, to see how my cook is, to be shown all the cookery
you have done to-day. Piles of dainties. But quite unusual, I assure
you, Dr. Firth.”
“Quite,” I said, laughing. “I haven’t gone in for such a baking orgy
since I left my cookery class. It was really great fun, Mrs. McNab, and
Judy and Jack enjoyed it, too. Please don’t worry about me. I am really
much stronger than when I first came here.”
“I am very glad to hear you say so,” Mrs. McNab said. “Indeed, Dr.
Firth, I should be sadly lost without Miss Earle. For one so young she
has surprising tact in dealing with cooks and children!” At which I
turned a brilliant red, and Dr. Firth laughed and said good-bye. I
walked with him to the gate, where his car stood. Just as he started the
engine, Judy and Jack came tearing up.
“When are we to come over to see you? You said we were to come one day
in the holidays!”
“So you are. Miss Earle, too, if she will: I’ll telephone and fix a day.
And look here, you two: I knew Miss Earle when she was much younger than
either of you, and she is my charge. Just you behave decently to her, or
you needn’t expect to be friends with me.” He nodded over the wheel at
them, and was gone.
Judy and Jack looked at each other.
“Well, I like that!” uttered Jack. “He was about the only one in the
country that didn’t jaw at us, and now he’s begun!”
“And there wasn’t any need to jaw, either,” added his sister. “For we do
treat you quite beautifully, don’t we, Miss Earle?”
“Quite,” I told them. “We have established friendly relations.”
“I’m hanged if I’m friendly with most of my relations,” said Jack.
“They’re a moulty lot: always on the jump for what a fellow’s going to
do next. But you’re sensible, Miss Earle.”
“Yes,” said Judy. “You don’t expect us to behave like angels every bit
of our time.”
“I do not—and isn’t it a good thing?” said I. “But I would be really
glad if you would try to check your queer desire to put things into
people’s beds. I really didn’t mind the Jew-lizard you put into mine,
because I have met Jew-lizards before, and also because I found him
before I got into bed. But Miss Vaughan was quite peevish about the frog
she found in hers last night.”
“He was a gorgeous green one!” said Judy soulfully. “Do tell us what she
said, dear Miss Earle!”
“I will not: there was too much of it for me to remember. But you might
bear in mind that I reap the harvest when you sow frogs. If Dr. Firth
heard——”
“Oh, he mustn’t!” Judy cried. “Miss Earle, he’s got the jolliest place
ever. It belonged to old Mr. Michael Firth, who was a perfect Jew and
hated every one, so, of course, no one went there. Then he kindly died,
so this brother inherited it, and he’s a dear. The house is just full of
queer things that old Mr. Firth collected. He never would let anyone
look at them, except people as snuffy as himself, but Dr. Firth is going
to show us everything. I’m so glad he’s going to let you come too!”
I went to my room that night, tired enough, but with a heart lighter
than it had been since my arrival at The Towers. Mrs. Winter had beamed
upon me after dinner, and had forbidden me to come near the kitchen next
morning, remarking that if she could not pack a few baskets her name was
not Susad Widter. Julia had left my white frock on a hanger in my
wardrobe, ironed to a glossy smoothness of perfection that was heartsome
to see; and even Bella had unbent from her haughty pedestal to hope that
the weather to-morrow might be fine. I had not again encountered Mrs.
McNab, who had disappeared directly after dinner into her upper
fastness: but her words in the garden with Dr. Firth had been
reassuring. Judy and Jack were friendly—even roughly affectionate. It
really seemed that my holiday job might be a success.
And, best of all, I had found an old friend. A good many of our friends
had vanished after we fell on evil times. No one had been actively
unpleasant; we simply felt that we were outside the circle, and we had
made up our minds, rather bitterly, that money was the only thing that
counted. To meet Dr. Firth, with his warm memories of Father, had helped
me wonderfully, even though I had not felt able to do as he wished in
leaving The Towers. It was delightful to think that we were to have his
friendship after I had gone back to Prahran. Now—what a jolly letter I
could write to Colin and Madge! I could not wait a moment to begin: I
found writing materials hurriedly, and in a moment my pen was fairly
flying over the paper.
It was late when I finished. My eyes were aching, and I switched off the
light and leaned out of the window. Every one seemed to have gone to
bed: the house was very still, and the scent of a great bush of
bouvardia under my window came up to me in a wave. I stayed there
dreaming, until I began to feel cold, and found myself yawning.
Just as I turned to undress and go to bed a faint sound below caught my
ear. I held my breath to listen. Clearly there was some one below: the
muffled, stealthy steps were unmistakable. The memory of the Wootong
burglar flashed upon me. Was the thief about to try his luck at The
Towers?
As I listened, the soft movements passed from the path beneath my
window, and seemed to come from the direction of the yard. I heard a
faint crunch that could only be the gravel at the back. There, I knew,
everything was locked up—Mrs. Winter had a pious horror of unfastened
doors and windows, and saw that all were secure every night before she
went to her room. I resolved to reconnoitre a little farther before
alarming the house. In a moment I was running softly down the back
staircase.
Half-way down, a sudden sound brought me to a standstill, trembling.
Some one had come in and had closed a door, very gently. In a moment
stealthy steps were mounting the stairs towards me.
There was no time to get back to my room: quiet as the steps were, they
were swift—whoever was coming was almost on me. The scream which all
proper young persons should be able to produce refused to come from my
lips; my feet would not move. I put out my hand to the wall to steady
myself, shrinking away, and my fingers encountered an electric light
switch. Almost without knowing what I did, I turned it on.
The light, magically transforming the black darkness, shone full on Mrs.
McNab, coming up the stairs in her dark day gown and soft hat. She might
have been out for a morning walk. But the glimpse I had of her face
under the brim of the hat staggered me, so white was it and so haggard.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. McNab!” I stammered. “I thought you were a
burglar!”
She had started violently when the light flashed out—started almost as
though she would run away. Then she came on swiftly, and brushed rudely
past me, without a word or glance. I stood staring after her, but she
did not turn. Her quick strides took her beyond the landing: I heard her
feet on the upper staircase, and then the click of her door as it shut.
I made my way upstairs, still trembling. Within the shelter of my room I
collapsed on my bed, thankful for its support.
“Well!” I uttered. “Literary genius may make you do queer things, Mrs.
McNab, but it needn’t give you the manners of a jungle pig!”