HER INSPIRATION
"AND so, you see, Dr. Carisbrooke, I am perfectly cured."
"I really think you are. I am afraid you are not placid enough to grow
much flesh."
Lunch was over. Tomina was her old self again, impetuous and gay, and
very dignified by turn.
As her stepmother said, "One could rarely guess what she was going to
do or say next."
But the old doctor, remembering the nervous, strained expression of
her face when he last saw her, was very pleased at the result of the
country's quiet.
"And now I suppose your year of exile is over, and you will come
back amongst us, and live the same old life until you have another
breakdown?"
"Oh dear, no! You are responsible for having changed my whole life.
You buried me, and now I have come to life again, but with quite a
different outlook, and—if I may say it—with a different soul."
She and the doctor were talking quietly together in the drawing-room.
Lady Gavin had gone to her room to rest, and Madge had gone out.
Dr. Carisbrooke nodded gravely.
"I congratulate you—"
"So you will not see me pursuing pleasure, for all I am worth, any
more. And I have learnt to love the country and hate the town."
"What else?"
"Much that I cannot talk about. You see and study human beings a good
deal, don't you? Do you ever tell them the secret of real peace and
content?"
Then Dr. Carisbrooke's eyes glistened.
"Ah!" he said. "You have indeed been learning things in your retreat."
"Well, now, I'll tell you what I've been doing."
Tomina gave a short account of her van.
"I can't tell you what it has done for me! It has made me determine
to be a carrier for the rest of my life. Not always in a van, but
anywhere, everywhere. For, Dr. Carisbrooke, life is a burden to most
people. Not when we are very young, but as we live on, it gets pretty
heavy for some shoulders. And I'm going to try and help carry for
those who are sinking under the weight of theirs. I can't tell you
what I have learnt merely by listening to the everyday sorrows and
difficulties of village people. It has made me see that those who only
shoulder a light burden like myself are bound to share the heavier ones
of others."
"Is this Tomina Gavin?" said Dr. Carisbrooke, smiling. "You have indeed
changed. And so you're going back to your country life again? God bless
you, child!"
The old doctor was visibly moved.
Then Tomina smiled suddenly and brilliantly upon him.
"I think I must confide in you what I have not told my stepmother yet.
I am going to marry Gerald Norman. You know him?"
"Should think I did. Have been attending his mother since she came to
town. They're leaving for Torquay this afternoon at my recommendation.
I want her to see a friend of mine there. Well, I always felt there was
something wrong in the break between you and him, but I'm bound to say
he has come out in a marvellous light. His life for some months has
been a severe test, physically and mentally."
"I know it, and I mean to go shares."
"Is that why you are marrying him?" asked the old doctor, sharply.
Tomina laughed.
"That's why I am 'insisting' upon marrying him soon. Don't ask any more
questions, Dr. Carisbrooke. I'm the happiest woman alive, and Gerald
and I understand each other."
When the doctor had gone, Tomina ran lightly up to her stepmother's
room. She found her lying on her couch, reading a novel.
"Is your cab here?" she asked, turning to look at her stepdaughter, and
wondering at the brightness of her face. "What does Dr. Carisbrooke say
to you? Doesn't he think it absolutely unnecessary for you to banish
yourself from town any more?"
"He thinks it the best thing I can do. I haven't much time, but I would
rather tell you than write it. I am going to meet Gerald Norman and
his mother at Paddington, and go down for part of the way with them.
I branch off at Bristol. They go on to Torquay. I am really going to
marry him, after all."
Lady Gavin put down her book in amazement.
"Well, you astonish me! I did not know you had had anything to do with
him for years. And what is going to become of his mother? I suppose he
will put her in some nursing home, or get a companion for her."
"Indeed, no—I am going to help Gerald nurse her!"
"It's preposterous, Tomina! You couldn't and wouldn't do it! Why, your
life would be slavery! He has no right to ask you to do such a thing."
"He didn't. I asked myself. Good-bye mother—I must really go. I have
been in one wild rush ever since I got up this morning. Tell Madge my
news. I am so happy that I feel treading on air!"
Then Tomina kissed her stepmother and sped away. The taxi was already
at the door.
A little later, she was greeting Colonel Norman on the platform at
Paddington station. He had engaged a special carriage for his mother.
Tomina looked up at him with a radiant face.
"Isn't this delicious? Yesterday I quite thought I was going to make my
journey alone, travelling away from you for ever. To-day—why, Gerald, I
do believe you have already one wrinkle less across your forehead!"
He smiled upon her—he could not help it.
"I am sadly wanting a long, sensible talk with you, but how are we to
get it? My mother's one desire is to have us both with her."
"We can take one turn along the platform," said Tomina, "before the
train starts. And I suppose we shall see each other again soon, shall
we not?"
"How is it to be managed? I cannot come to you."
"Then I must come to Torquay. I know a Mrs. Darrell there; I will ask
her to invite me for a short visit."
"I hope you will come to us. We shall be in rooms."
"Well, we will see."
"It is all wrong," Colonel Norman said hurriedly. "You must let me
speak out. I have no right to drag you into the shadows. I would
not have you lose your freshness and gaiety for worlds. It would be
impossible for you to keep it, if you were to live with us. I—"
Tomina interrupted him.
"I don't think I want to listen to this long, sensible talk of yours,"
she said, laughing, "if this is to be a sample of it. Just tell me you
are happier than you were yesterday. Don't let me feel I have added
to your cares! Why, you foolish man, nursing an invalid is a woman's
duty—not a man's! A woman makes nothing of it. Look at hospital nurses;
what a cheerful race they are! I am not a young girl. I have something
independent of circumstances to make me happy, and I am just longing
to show you what good times we will have—your mother, you, and I. Let
us thoroughly enjoy our journey to Bristol together. Do remember that
my butterfly days are over; I'm going to be a busy brown bee, which is
much more comfortable and snug than a fragile thing made of gossamer
wings."
Colonel Norman drew in a breath.
"I will save my protestations," he said. "We will enjoy ourselves
to-day, dearest."
And enjoy themselves they did. Mrs. Norman lay on her comfortably
improvised couch and smiled as she listened to Tomina's bright
talk. She was told about the van and all the quaint humours of the
passengers, and the amusing incidents that occurred upon the road.
Colonel Norman's eyes never left Tomina. Never in all the years that
he had known her did she appear more charming than now. There was a
softness and sweetness in her ripple of talk, a sudden touch of pathos
and tenderness in her tone that he never remembered in her before. And
her delicate beauty seemed to have ripened and strengthened into more
of a woman's nature and less of the girl's. She had always bewitched
him with her rapid variety of moods; he had known that she was not all
frivol and froth, but now he was allowed to see something of the deep,
true feeling within her.
And when she turned to him with wistful, gentle appeal in her laughing
eyes, he longed with a hungry longing to have her to himself alone.
Yet nothing made him oblivious of his mother's needs. He and Tomina
vied with one another in arranging her cushions for her comfort and
in beguiling the time away. Tomina gave her an inimitable description
of the morning when Gerald had met her running breathlessly after the
van, and how he had dealt with the mischievous old man who had driven
off without her; then of the day when he had so resolutely climbed up
and taken the seat beside her; and lastly, of the terrible thunderstorm
when she and Harry were fixed up in their tree, unable to move.
"You see, Mrs. Norman, nothing would keep him out of my life, do what I
would. And this morning—surely it was not this morning, it seems years
ago—this morning he really saved my life—"
As she spoke, Tomina looked across at Gerald with soft radiant eyes.
"Of course," Mrs. Norman said with interest, "you belong to each other.
I am not so selfish as to wish to keep my son entirely to myself. I
like to see people and to have them about me, and I am delighted to
have you, dear, as a daughter. What a lot we shall have to arrange!
There will be the wedding, and then—where shall we settle, Gerald? Is
it quite impossible to go back to the Court? With Tomina with us, I do
not think I should mind so much."
"I fear we could not do that, mother, it is sold, you know."
"I never could understand why you sold it so hurriedly. I am sure,
if you had had patience, things would have come right. I can't help
feeling it was your lack of business qualities and want of knowledge
that landed us in such money difficulties. If your dear father had
lived, how different it would have been! You see, you were trained to
be a soldier, and soldiers know nothing of business. It almost seems a
waste for you to have left the Service; you did no good. I dare say you
did your best, but you must have muddled things terribly to necessitate
the place being sold."
"You told me when we were abroad that nothing would induce you to go
back there, mother dear; you wanted it taken off our hands."
"But people may change their minds sometimes." Mrs. Norman's tone was
irritable. "Now I feel quite differently about it."
"Never mind! We won't talk over money matters now."
Tomina was conscious that Gerald was deeply hurt by his mother's words,
though his composure was wonderful. She did not know how much of this
kind of reproach he was continually called upon to endure. Knowing how
masterful and intolerant he had been in the old days, how intensely he
had resented any criticism or blame, she marvelled at his patience and
forbearance now with his poor mother. She dashed into the conversation.
"Let us picture our home," she said. "We have the whole world at our
disposal, Mrs. Norman. I do love seeing new places, don't you?"
"I am tired of moving about," was the rather peevish reply. "I want to
settle down. I want to have my own things about me."
"Gerald and I must go house-hunting, and come back and tell you all
about them. It will be delightful."
"I cannot be left alone."
Mrs. Norman's good temper was forsaking her. She was not a good
traveller, and her son instinctively felt that she was suffering. He
bent over her and shifted her position a little.
"Would you like me to read to you? Perhaps you could get a little
sleep. I have a paper here. I will read you the Court news; I know that
always interests you."
Tomina sat still, gazing out of the window. A sudden fear seized her
that life lived out by Mrs. Norman's bedside might prove too trying for
her patience. And if she failed in good humour and perfect serenity of
temper, she would add to Gerald's burden instead of lessening it. She
remembered her month with Mrs. Cuthbert, and how desperately she had to
struggle against impatience at that lady's selfish garrulous talk.
And then Gerald began to read. He had a very pleasant voice, and in a
few minutes a soothed, rested look came over his mother's fretful face.
In a short time, she slept peacefully, and then very gently Gerald came
across to Tomina. He sat down by her side, and then, putting his arm
round her, drew her to him.
"My darling, you see how it is with my poor mother. I warn you that on
some days nothing pleases her. I am grieved that you should have seen
her like this to-day, but you must make allowance for her. Travelling
always upsets her."
Tomina nestled against his broad shoulder.
"It only makes me think about you," she said. "I don't know this saint.
How did you become one? All at once?"
"She is my mother," he said softly, "and I love her. But trouble has
taught me lessons, and it has drawn me to the One Who chastens as well
as blesses."
"Ah!" said Tomina, with a happy sigh. "Then you and I will love and
serve together. I felt there was something different about you."
They sat silent, quite content that they were with each other. Then he
said—
"Tomina dearest, if you marry me, I shall not be able to give you the
comforts which are natural to you. My little mother cannot understand
it, but for a long time her income has only been half what it was when
my father was living. We shall have to be content with a small house
and simple living. This is one of the reasons that made me feel I had
no right to speak to you now."
"Why, Gerald, what nonsense! Have you seen the size of the cottage I
now live in, and in which I am so supremely happy? And I have my own
money, you know, which is more than ample for my wants. I never have
valued big houses and property as some people do. I would be perfectly
happy in a cottage. Don't you see that my greatest pleasure will be
to make you happy? I believe, I hope I can. Can't we find some sweet
little country house or farm where we could enjoy all the country
people, and things which I have learnt to love?"
Gerald hesitated.
"My mother," he said, "wants a great deal of amusement. She likes to
lie on her couch, watching a busy thoroughfare. It seems to distract
her thoughts."
"Then we must live in town," said Tomina, bravely and cheerfully. "What
does it matter where we live? You and I will be together, and we shall
never, never be anything but supremely happy."
"I'm afraid I shall never be able to have my sensible talk with you,"
said Gerald, as he looked down upon her with fond, smiling eyes. "You
have bewitched me, Tomina. I shall not be able to live without you."
They talked in soft whispers then, as only lovers can. Mrs. Norman
slept on and never woke till they came to Bristol, and Tomina had to
leave them.
The rest of her journey seemed like a dream. She arrived at her
cottage tired in body, but in very good spirits. Susan welcomed her
rapturously, and had plenty of village news to give her.
And then she went early to bed, for she had had a very strenuous and
exhausting day.
It was astonishing how easily she slipped into her simple life again.
The spring weather was delightful to her. When she took the van out,
she wore her motor bonnet with the cherries, and the admiration which
it evoked was tremendous.
"'Tis what Miss Kirk in Damerton allays says," announced Mrs. Tibbs,
"if you can't afford to foller the fashions up to time, put your
old-fashioned gown in a box with camphor and wait a few years, then
bring it out, and you'll be as stylish as you like, and no cost
to nobody! It stands to reason, fashion comes back agen and agen.
Now that there bunnet be just a pattern sure enough made after my
great-grandmother's, for I have her picture taken in it."
"Ah, dear Miss Tomina! You're lookin' bonny! We all do say as we shan't
have you single much longer?"
"I don't believe you will," said Tomina, looking at them seriously.
"You all say a woman ought to marry, so I think I shall take your
advice."
"Hark to her now! Have you seen a gentleman to your likin', miss?"
"Yes. Now guess. He did my van a good turn one day!"
"Why, 'tis the Colonel what used to live over to Yockley. He ketched
hold of Will Carpenter and shook him upside down!"
"Is it, miss? Surely you wouldn't favour such a grave gentleman?"
"Hush! Don't be so sharp, Mrs. Crabbe. A young lady doesn't always like
the free-and-easy sort."
"It is Colonel Norman. Now I'm waiting for your congratulations!"
There was a great buzz and interest in the van. Some groaned, but all,
as they expressed it, "wished her well."
"It do seem very soon to lose you. 'Tis what we all feared, that it
couldn't last long. Young ladies don't turn into carriers for life.
'Twas bound to come to end some time. Eh, dearie me, 'tis a knock-down
blow for us!"
"I'm not going to give up the carrier's business," said Tomina, looking
at them with her bright smile. "I shall be a carrier, or try to be,
wherever I am. But if I have to leave this part of the world, I shall
undertake to see that this van goes on. You have got on very well
without me all these weeks."
Old Mrs. Crabbe shook her head sadly.
"No, me dear, we hain't! There be too much wrangle, and we like a
carrier with plenty o' fun and sperrit. Now, Joe be very well for a
lad, but he have no sperrit!"
Joe happened at this moment to be walking up the hill by the side of
the cart, so he did not hear the discussion.
"But," said Tomina, "I think spirit is not necessary in a carrier.
Faithfulness, honesty, and a good memory are what is needed, and Joe
has all that."
"There be weddings in the air," said Mrs. Tubbs, gloomily. "Mrs.
Francis up at the Hall is marrying our doctor, and that be comin' off
next week."
"So soon!" exclaimed Tomina. "I did not know it."
The very next day Mrs. Francis came to see her and told her the news.
"I do so want to see you about Harry, for you have done so much for
him," she said. "Dr. Merton and I want to adopt him, and have him to
live with us altogether. Do you object?"
"Indeed I don't. I think it will be splendid for the child. Dear little
Harry! He has helped me so much. I feel I owe him a lot!"
"You will still be able to see him."
"Yes," said Tomina, slowly, "as long as I am here, I shall."
"Are you thinking of leaving us?"
Tomina looked up at Mrs. Francis.
"Only of following your example."
"Oh, my dear, I am so glad. You are not fitted to live alone. I always
said so."
For a moment, Tomina was silent; then she said—
"You don't ask me his name."
"Somebody that I know?"
"Yes, and somebody whom you like."
"Not Gerald Norman? Oh, delightful! I always wondered if he—if you
cared!"
"I knew him long before we came here," said Tomina. "We had quarrelled
very bitterly, or we might have married long ago. And he was ready to
forgive before I was. We did not fraternise much, did we, when he was
here? I don't think I should have come here at all, had I known that
Yockley Court was in the neighbourhood."
"I am so interested," said Mrs. Francis, earnestly, "and so very, very
glad for Gerald to be going to have brightness and happiness in his
life at last. How is his mother?"
"Just the same—a permanent invalid. Do you know, I find Gerald so
altered that my heart aches for him. I long to be able to give him some
of his freedom back again. He has been absolutely tied to his mother's
sick-room ever since she was first taken ill. Not one son in a thousand
would have done what he has done!"
"But, my dear, you cannot take his place. Are you going to nurse her
between you? I cannot think that right. You are young, and trained
nurses could spare you. Of course, I know that, as long as Mrs. Norman
lives, Gerald will have her in his home, but I think, for his sake
and yours, you ought to come to some different arrangement about the
nursing."
"Oh, we shall see," said Tomina, brightly. "I don't feel that
it will be a burden to me. I love Gerald so much that I long to
give—give—give—do you understand me? I long to bring the light to his
eyes again, to hear his tread get brisker, and his voice have the old
masterful ring in it. Both he and his mother want a third person badly
who will shake them out of their groove. He is too resigned, it makes
him dull! She thinks it quite impossible in her circumstances to laugh
or even smile."
"I wish you had a happier commencement to your married life."
"It will be heavenly!" said Tomina, with shining eyes. "Nothing you can
say will damp my hopes."
And Mrs. Francis wisely said no more.
Dr. Merton and Mrs. Francis were married very quietly the following
week; only Tomina and some near relations were at the wedding. They
went to the Lakes for their honeymoon.