"Well," said Jock easily, "you see I'm the man in possession. I don't want to turn Lady Violet and her daughter out. You let the house to them for six months, so we'll let that still stand good. As regards the library, it's as big a loss to me as it seemed to be to you, but the insurance will help to restore the wing, if necessary. It will not bring the books back. Those are gone for ever. Our lawyers must have a consultation together and arrange business matters. Shall I tell Miss Coventry you're coming to see her?"
"I shall be returning to town to-morrow," said Mrs. Calthrop. "I shall, of course, wish to know if this later will is genuine and legal. You will hear from me in a few days' time. Good morning!" She swept out of the room.
And Jock gave vent to an exclamation.
"She has pluck, certainly!" he muttered to himself. And then he went out into the hall, and almost tumbled into the arms of Mrs. Snow.
He did not chaff her as was his usual custom. He could not forget the way in which she had talked about Orris.
"You'll remember the notice I gave you," he said gravely. "You have a month more here, not a day longer."
Mrs. Snow stared at him, as if he were not responsible for his words. In fact, she really did wonder whether he was right in his senses. But he gave her no explanation, only joined Reyne and her mother, who were taking a little walk up and down the terrace outside. In a very few words he explained his position to them.
"The only apology I must make is the dismissing of Mrs. Snow, who is no doubt serving you well. But she has been a most baleful influence in this house for many years, and I want to get rid of her at once. I'll try and find you another housekeeper to take her place."
But Lady Violet assured him this would not be necessary.
"It's kind of you to wish us to stay out our time, but I shall be very glad to get back to town sooner. We will stay till the end of the month, then you can take possession. I really must congratulate you, Mr. Muir, for I know how you have loved the place. We have heard a good deal of the village talk, and it seems right and proper that you should come here."
Jock gave a funny little bow. He admired Lady Violet's quick change of front. A few days ago she was alluding to him in terms of disparagement as "that penniless young farmer."
Reyne looked at him with a friendly smile.
"I always felt you belonged here," she said. "But I can't understand why you have been in hiding, as it were, all this time."
"I was going to wait till Mrs. Calthrop came back from her trip abroad," said Jock, a little hesitatingly. "I wasn't in a hurry. Besides, I wanted to give Preston a help with his place. I enjoy farming—the practical part of it—and every year you're at it, you gain experience!"
Then he made off, for he feared more questions, and he would not for all the world have told anyone his real reason for remaining incognito.
He visited the farm in the afternoon, and there made a clean breast to the Prestons, who were much amazed, and not a little perplexed, at his news.
"Don't ask me why I've done it," he besought them. "It was a sudden freak or fancy, and for many reasons I should like to have slipped along as I was. But this fire and Mrs. Calthrop's return have hurried things on a bit. It was no good her uselessly distressing herself over the loss of her son's library, when it was in reality mine."
Then he went off to Orris. He found her under her favourite apple tree in the orchard. She was reading, and for a wonder Pippa was away, out for a walk with the village girl.
"Oh," he groaned, throwing himself down on the grass at her feet, "I'm having such a time confessing! I can't stand the queries as to why I haven't taken possession of my house before."
"Well, we all think it very foolish of you," said Orris.
"You know why I did it," he retorted, looking at her reproachfully. "How are you feeling, Orris?"
"Very much better, thank you, Jock," she said, laughing. "If you will use my name, I will use yours. After all, we know each other well enough by this time to do so."
"Say my name again, do," entreated Jock. "You have put new life into me by doing it."
She shook her head at him. Then she said:
"We have had rather a trying visit this afternoon. About two o'clock, the inspector of the police from Spenbury called. I was put through a searching cross-examination, and in the end I had to send for Pippa. She was very funny, as you can imagine she would be. First, she was rather frightened, then excited. She was asked to give an exact account of herself when she was left alone in the library.
"'Teddy Bear wanted to smoke a cigarette,' she said, 'so o' course I had to make one for him like mummy does sometimes. And then he wanted me to light it for him, and I tried, but it wouldn't burn. And then Aunt Ollie came along, and I threw the matchbox in the paper basket and came away, and I 'sure you there wasn't one tiny bit of fire there! I never left any fire at all!' She repeated this with much emphasis.
"I said to the inspector that there was no conclusive evidence that she was the culprit. And he agreed with me, but it was a probable explanation of the origin of the fire. He began talking about it to me, and then Pippa stepped up to him with big eyes and, putting her hand on his knee, said in an awed whisper:
"'If you don't know for certain, why don't you ask God to tell you? He's the only Person who truly knows who did it.'
"The inspector smiled. 'I could ask, missy,' he said; 'that part would be easy, but the difficulty would be to get the answer.'
"'Oh, I get lots of answers from God, I feel them inside me,' she said; 'and God knows quite well that I wouldn't have burnt up a house. I couldn't do it if I tried.'
"I sent her out of the room. She is so assured that she did not do it, that it does not trouble her. But I feel utterly crushed."
"There is nothing for you to feel crushed about. I'm sorry that the inspector has bothered you. I meant to have got his ear first. He has lost no time about it."
"Have you broken the news to Mrs. Calthrop? Tell me about it."
He told her.
"I feel I must see her," Orris said. "After all, she got me this job; I am in her employ."
"Yes, but she won't like to see you. She's feeling sore and hurt all round, and will get away from here as quickly as she can. Let her write to you—she's sure to do that."
Orris looked doubtful.
"I will wait, if you think it wiser. When are you going to take possession?"
"I'm not in a hurry. I've a lot of business to tackle, and the Home Farm is my next affair. The man who is in charge of it is a rotter. He'll have to go, and I shall take it over myself."
Orris looked at him meditatively.
"Through me and mine you have lost the most valuable part of your property," she said. "I don't think I shall ever lift up my head again."
"I am not going to encourage you to bemoan past events," said Jock. "You and I are going to begin a fresh chapter together, very soon. I won't hurry you. I must tell you that the Elf is going to pay another visit to the powder-room with me. Lady Violet has given me 'carte blanche' to come and go as I please, and there is something I want to give her out of the attic."
"You are very good to her."
Orris spoke slowly, as if weighing her words. For a moment she felt inclined to confide in him her intentions ahead; then she judged silence would be most prudent. And after some further talk, he took his leave.
On the following Sunday, Pippa got her wish and went off to the powder-room with him. And a few days later, she was shown the old dolls' house in the attic. Jock promised to have it done up for her, and she was in a state of wild delight about it.
Then, towards the end of the week, Jock came up to the farm again. He had been very busy, had been up to town once or twice to see his lawyer, and had been making many necessary changes on his small property.
The village and neighbourhood heard of the news with much exhilaration. They all wanted Jock to be owner of Pinestones. Now, as he strode across the fields to Lilac Farm, his heart was filled with hope. Surely Orris would listen to his suit! Surely she would not hold out much longer! She was so downcast, so gentle and diffident now! It would be easier to persuade her, to bend her to his will. He felt that he had the power within himself to make her happy. And no one else in the wide world could love her as much, or give her such wholesale worship and adoration! So he reasoned with himself.
His step was blithe and gay as he opened the porch door. Mrs. Preston had seen his approach and came to welcome him, but he was struck by her tired dispirited look.
"Well, Mrs. Preston, I've come to see Miss Coventry. I haven't seen her for these last three days, I've been so awfully busy. I hope she's nearly well by this time."
Mrs. Preston looked at him with miserable eyes.
"She's gone away. She went yesterday."
"Gone away!" Jock looked dumbfounded. "Where to?"
"That I don't know. She wouldn't tell me. I am afraid she thought I would tell you."
"But she hasn't gone away from me?" Jock's tone was short, sharp and bitter.
"She's left a note to be given to you when you called."
Jock seized it, saying somewhat impatiently: "Why didn't you let me have it yesterday? I suppose she has gone back to town?"
"I don't think she has. But perhaps the letter will tell you," said Mrs. Preston. "I'm sure it's a blow to me. I loved having them here. Miss Coventry has cheered me as I've never been cheered before, and as to little Pippa, she's the darling of my heart. I dote upon her, and so does Tom."
Jock strode off with his note to the old orchard, then, leaning his back against Orris's apple tree, he read, with rather angry eyes, the following letter:
"DEAR JOCK,
"This is going to be a difficult letter, for I fear you will
misunderstand me and be hurt. You have been so good, so kind, so
forgiving through this time of trouble, that I cannot bear to distress
you. But I must get away. And I don't want to be followed or to be
written to. They say time heals wounds. Time and absolute quiet may
heal mine. At present, I feel I want no sympathy, no friends, above
all, no environment that will open up the past. It is cowardly on my
part, but I want to be free of it all, to be able to take stock of
myself, as it were, under fresh and strange conditions. I hope I am
not morbid. I must face life again, and take up some work for the
sake of my darling Pippa, but for the present I am going to rest—my
brain, my body, my soul. So don't on any account worry over me, don't
try to discover where I am, don't write to me. If you really care for
me, do none of these things. Our part in the late destruction of your
property will keep people's tongues wagging busily for some time yet. I
am perhaps not altogether making this move on my own account, but the
position is bad for Pippa, who is being made the centre of comment and
attraction. I want her to forget her part in the tragedy. We shall be
quite well and comfortable. Do not give us a thought, but take care of
yourself and be happy.
"Yours always sincerely,
"ORRIS COVENTRY."
Jock read this through and through, snapping his lips together like steel, as he did when he was much moved. The blow had fallen heavily. He had not been prepared for it. He had not thought it possible that Orris would take herself out of his life so suddenly.
"It's a cruel letter," was his first thought; and then he relented.
"Poor little soul! She has gone to hide her wounds, and thinks that she can hide from me! She's more like a child now than I ever thought she could be. Hide from me! It's quite an absurd impossibility!"
CHAPTER XI
IN RETREAT
AWAY down in Devonshire was a little village by the sea. As yet no motor-bus had touched it, for it could only be reached by one of the old pack-horse lanes, and the way was steep and stony, up a precipitous hill, and down through a narrow combe to the sea. A cluster of fishermen's cottages, an old storm-battered grey church on the hill above them, a couple of farmhouses, and a small granite vicarage, these composed the village of Cudweed Cove.
A butcher came every Saturday from Drangerford, a small town eight miles inland; he brought loaves of bread for those who did not bake at home. A grocer and oilman arrived every Wednesday; he also brought bread, and with these supplies the people of Cudweed were well content. Fish was not very plentiful, but shrimps and crabs were always to be had, and lobsters occasionally.
Into this small village, at the close of a hot afternoon in August, arrived Orris and her little niece. They had been driven in a small trap from Drangerford, and their destination was a little whitewashed cottage half-way up the combe.
The cottage was owned by a Mrs. Dabbs, a widow, and she had as a young girl lived with Orris and her father for some years. She had always been devoted to Orris, and had often said how much she would like to see her again. On the previous Christmas, she had come up to London to see a married sister, and Orris had given her tea at her flat, and promised one day that she would pay her a visit at Cudweed.
As Orris had racked her brain to think of what place she could take refuge in, away from all friends and acquaintances, she suddenly thought of Maria Dabbs. So she wrote to her at once, and received a reply in two days' time, saying that she could put her large spare bedroom and little parlour at her disposal, and would be delighted to take her in and do for her.
Pippa was half delighted, half regretful, at this sudden move. She did not at all like going away without wishing "Master Jock" good-bye. She wanted her dolls' house, and she loved the farm, but, childlike, the excitement of a journey in a train, and going to the sea kept up her spirits.
Orris felt tired and depressed. She did not see her future. She had a shrinking from town life again, and yet felt that to give Pippa a good education, she must supplement her small income in some way or other.
Mrs. Calthrop had written her a brief letter, enclosing a cheque up to the date of the fire. Jock had judged her rightly. She had no desire to see Orris, but in her letter she wrote:
"Of course, I cannot believe in this extraordinary will that has so
suddenly been produced by Jock Muir. If he had received it when he says
he did, would he have kept it so quiet all this time? I am going to
take legal steps when I reach town."
She never mentioned the fire. The loss of the library did not trouble her now, it was eclipsed by her intense anxiety to prove this recent will invalid.
But nothing could put the disastrous fire out of Orris's thoughts. She was thinking of it now as the trap creaked and rattled up and down the stony lane, with the steep banks and high hedges on either side of it.
"Would the drive ever end?" she wondered. She marvelled at Pippa, who was keeping up an animated conversation with the old driver. His broad soft Devonshire tongue amused her greatly.
"Say it again," she said, with her rippling laugh. "It's something like French, isn't it? What is 'gurt,' and 'wisht'?"
The old man shook his head.
"Aw, 'ee'll find 'en oot, I rackon, when the wind do cum auver 'ee. It do drive doon to the zay praper strong 'twixt the girt hedges. Us be terrible buffeted here to winter. The moor on tap on we, an the zay to bottom, but there, a' be livin' to Drangerford now, on'y foreigners ull niver bide in this vitty plaace."
"You mustn't depress us," said Orris, smiling, and trying to turn her thoughts to things around her. "It isn't winter yet, but August—the month in the year which is best for the sea."
When they at last came in sight of Cudweed, the old driver rattled down the lane at a tremendous pace and drew up at Pansy Cottage in great style. Mrs. Dabbs was standing at the door to welcome them, dressed in a fresh-starched pink cotton gown.
Pippa was enchanted with the smallness and quaintness of the cottage. The big shells and china dogs on the mantelpiece of the small sitting-room delighted her, as did also a stuffed parrot in a case. She wanted to go and see the sea before her supper, and scampered up and down stairs and in and out of the rooms till Orris felt giddy. But she was quite firm on one point, that Pippa must do no sight-seeing that night, but have her supper and go straight to bed. And by the time supper, consisting of hot chicken and bread sauce, and a milk pudding, had been consumed, and her box unpacked, and everything arranged for bedtime, Pippa was quite ready to be tucked in upon a real feather bed and fall asleep, to be ready for the joys of to-morrow.
After she was disposed of, Orris took a turn along the beach to ease her aching head. The tide was out, the rocks, with their slimy amber seaweed, were touched with gold from the setting sun. It was a very still evening; the sea lay calm and still with just a ripple at the edge, and as Orris paced the golden sand and dreamily gazed out over the ocean in front of her to the opalescent sky, with faint rosy clouds on the horizon, peace stole into her heart.
"After all," she mused, "I am not a criminal. I have only been guilty of an act of carelessness. And if he doesn't feel it as much as I do, I ought to be thankful."
And then her thoughts dwelt on Jock. At first, she had looked upon him as a careless, irresponsible boy. Gradually, as she came to know him better, she found, if he had a boy's sense of humour and light-hearted gaiety, he had a man's will and purpose in life. At the farm, the Prestons' opinion of him impressed her.
"He's a born master of men," said the old farmer.
"He's the kindest heart and the sweetest temper in the world," said his wife.
And Orris had proved both these statements to be true.
"I have really come away to test my own heart," she murmured to herself; "to discover whether I could love him enough to cast in my lot with his. I was afraid of his hurrying me into something of which I might repent later. I believe I'm a very cold-blooded, cautious creature. I have lived down my warm impulses. I felt too old for him a short while back, but I don't now. I believe, if we did come together, he would be my master, and his will bears mine down already. But I never, never could marry him unless we were of one mind on the deepest things in life. He knows that, I am sure, though I think he feels more than he says. It is of no use; I cannot make up my mind yet. If I were really in love with him, there would be no hesitation. And he is worthy of being loved as he would himself love. I will try and not think about him any more at present."
But in the ensuing days Orris found this very difficult, for Pippa's talk was incessantly about "Master Jock," as she always insisted upon calling him.
"If he was here, I b'lieve he would take me into the sea on his back!" she sighed one day.
"If only Master Jock would walk in at the window one day and come and help me build my sand castles, Aunt Ollie! Can't you write and ask him to come?"
"Do you think Master Jock is settled in his house yet? We'll soon go back, won't we? And then he'll ask us to tea, and p'raps we'll have it in the darling little powder-room."
Orris found it quite impossible to explain the situation to Pippa, so would generally try to turn her mind to another subject.
And one day a fair-haired boy appeared on the sands. He was the old Vicar's grandson, who came every summer to see his grandparents. He and Pippa were about the same age, and were soon the greatest friends. Orris was glad and thankful to see the intimacy between them. She was making friends with some of the fisher-folk. Occasionally she went to tea at the Vicarage, but the old Vicar and his wife were badly off, and plainly said they could not offer much hospitality to visitors. Orris liked the Vicar; he was a dreamy mystic, talked over the heads of his parishioners in his sermons, but was a good friend to them in the week, and was never absent from any sick-bed or troubled house.
A week or two passed very quietly. Then came Orris's birthday. Pippa had made great preparations for it. Mrs. Dabbs had been told to make a big iced cake; Pippa herself had made some wonderful little cakes for the occasion, Mrs. Dabbs had, of course, superintended them. They were made of dough, and were supposed to represent mice, with currants for their eyes and slips of candied peel for their mouths.
Pippa had been to the post office in the village, and had bought a wonderful shell box out of her own money. She rather coveted it herself, and spent a good deal of her time in unwrapping it and wrapping it up again in its silver paper coverings. But of course it was a dead secret. Then, the day before, she had been into some meadows and collected all the wild flowers she could find, chiefly ox-eyed daisies and wild grasses, and had made a long wreath or garland with which to decorate her aunt. This also was hidden away, and for the time Pippa was a most mysterious little person, stealing up and down stairs on tiptoe, and into the kitchen to talk about the event in loud whispers to Mrs. Dabbs.
Of course, Orris was delighted with the garland and the shell box. They were both presented to her at half-past six in the morning by a very wide-awake little person in her white nightie and bare feet.
"Dear Aunt Ollie, I wiss you very many happy returns of the day."
So Orris took the giver and the gifts into bed with her, and had no more rest that morning.
But the postman arrived that day with a parcel for her. She had as yet told no one of her address, and could not understand it. The postmark was unfortunately erased, but the box proved to contain some most exquisite hot-house flowers, and at the bottom, in a little separate parcel of silver paper, were two pairs of white suede gloves. A hot flush came into Orris's face as she recognized the writing:
"Blessing and joy be yours to-day. From one who thinks of you."
"Now how has he discovered my address?" Orris gasped in bewilderment and dismay. She remembered how often he had said: "You'll never be able to get away from me. I should find you in any corner of the earth you chose to go to!" He had done it. Her secrecy was a failure. If he knew her whereabouts, there was no reason to conceal it from anyone else. And how had he known her birthday? She called Pippa to her.
"Pippa darling, have you ever talked about my birthday to anyone?"
"No," said Pippa promptly and cheerfully; "at least, Master Jock asked me one day. He put it down in a book he had; and he put mine too. I wish my birfday would be quicker about coming. It seems 'years' since my last one. Has Master Jock sent you these pretty flowers?"
"I rather think he has."
Orris sat looking at her presents as if she were lost in a dream. How "could" he have discovered her retreat? She had not told Dugald or any of her friends in town. No one knew that she had left Veddon Weal. She wondered if he would respect her wish to be left alone, or whether he would suddenly appear in person one day. She finally decided that she would not acknowledge his gifts. Then he would know that she wished to be left undisturbed.
But the following week a box of chocolates arrived for Pippa. There was no word with it, no signature, so that also was left unacknowledged.
Pippa was now quite reconciled to her new life; she played daily with Allan Bridges, the little boy, and she was friends with all the fishermen. Orris simply rested—or lazed, as she expressed it. She had not had such a holiday for years, and it was doing her good. But when September came, and the days began to shorten, and the weather became chilly, she wondered what her next move had better be. Her cousin Dugald implored her to come back to town. She had, after some considerable thought, let him have her address, and then, feeling she was rather like an ostrich hiding her head in the sand, she had at last written to Reyne. She and Lady Violet were back in town, and Lady Violet had been extra poorly and was going to the Riviera for the winter.
"I am going," Reyne wrote, "with a contented heart. Miss Dashwood has taught me such lessons from her cheerfulness with that poor sister of hers that I am now going to put her principles into practice. I have missed the village people so much. I learnt to know them as friends, but Mrs. Dane writes occasionally, giving me all the village news. I hear that Mr. Muir has not yet taken possession of his house, for it is in the builder's hands, and he is having it renovated from top to bottom. He is busy farming his own land. He often dines with Mr. Dane—they seem to be great friends. I am afraid we shall not meet each other again before I go abroad, but if you chance to come up to town, do come and see us."
Orris shook her head.
"No," she murmured to herself, "I do not feel like town—not yet!"
It was a few days after this that she met, on the sands, a stranger. She looked a well-bred woman, was very tall, and carried her head proudly. She was dressed plainly in a severely-cut coat and skirt, with a soft grey felt hat pulled over her head. She might be between fifty and sixty, had white hair, very striking dark eyes with thick bushy eyebrows, and her face was stern and unfriendly. Yet when she saw Pippa dancing about on the sand, covered all over with strands of seaweed, and calling out to her aunt that she was a mermaid just come out of the sea, she smiled at her, and her smile was peculiarly sweet. When Orris went in to dinner, she asked Maria Dabbs who she was.
"Oh, that's Miss Lyle," she replied promptly. "She has come down to her house again. She really owns the village, and lives at Cudweed Chase. 'Tis about two miles from here. She lives in London most of the year, but comes down here for a month or two at a time, and she arrived yesterday. She generally rides about on a big grey horse. She's masterful, but kind; she's very good to our Vicar and his wife, and she always takes charge of the Sunday school when she's here."
Orris felt interested in this new arrival. It was not long before Pippa made her acquaintance.
She was playing on the beach alone one morning—for Orris had rather a bad headache and was lying down—and Miss Lyle stopped and spoke to her.
Pippa, of course, was delighted to give her full information about herself.
"I think I must come and see your aunt," Miss Lyle said, after she had received a jumble of facts from the child.
"I wish you would," said Pippa. "Aunt Ollie has no books to look at here, and no Master Jock to talk to, nor Mrs. Preston, and she doesn't laugh so often as she used to. Can you make people laugh?"
"No, I never could," said Miss Lyle a little grimly, though her eyes twinkled in spite of herself.
Pippa sighed.
"Master Jock always does—'always.' You simple can't help laughing, for if you don't, he gives you a squeeze and a tickle. He says if you laugh, you make the world go round quicker. Did you know that?"
"I expect you could teach me a lot of things," said Miss Lyle pleasantly. And then she passed on.
Pippa told Orris, when she saw her, that the new lady was "very solemn indeed, but just a little bit smily when you talked to her."
The very next day Miss Lyle appeared at the cottage, and in the course of conversation Orris gleaned that she was a lonely woman and had had a great deal of trouble in her life. She did not give Orris any details.
"I am a busy woman in town," she said. "I have found the only cure for loneliness is work. I am secretary and treasurer to one or two philanthropic projects, but I get away here for relaxation in the summer and autumn. I'm fond of the fisher-folk. I suppose I must not ask you if you are making a long stay here?"
"I don't know," said Orris; "I came here for a rest and change, but my circumstances are rather difficult at present, and I hardly know what my future plans are going to be."
"Will you come over to lunch with me one day next week? I won't ask the child. I would like to have you to myself."
Orris consented. She felt strangely drawn towards this grave stately woman.
After she had left, Maria Dabbs told Orris a little more about her. Her father and mother had died together of virulent 'flu in London. She was engaged to be married to the Vicar of Cudweed, evidently a charming man, from Mrs. Dabbs's account. And then, only a twelvemonth after her parents' death, and a week before their wedding was fixed, he was drowned trying to rescue a fishing boat in a gale.
"And she's been all alone in the world ever since," Mrs. Dabbs said. "She did have a brother away at sea, but he was killed in the war; it seems that every one has been taken from her that she loves. Of course, she's wealthy, but she lives in a most simple style, and doesn't seem to care for the things that money could give her."
"Perhaps," said Orris gently, "she has most of her treasures away from this world."
"Yes," assented Mrs. Dabbs, "she's very religious—I know that; for one month, in a very stormy autumn that we had, when our Vicar was down with pneumonia and nobody could be got to take the services, and the church was shut, she opened the schoolroom on Sunday evening and had a service there with us. And we had some hymns, and she got Peter Lobbs to read the lessons, and she gave us such a sweet simple kind of talk out of the Bible that all of us said we wished we could have her always doing it."
Orris went to lunch at Cudweed Chase the following week. It was a rugged grey stone house by the sea, not beautiful, but sheltered and comfortable inside, furnished in the solid Early Victorian style. Miss Lyle received her in a pleasant sunny morning-room overlooking the bay; and before very long Orris found herself confiding in her a little of her late history. Jock's name did not figure much in it, but Miss Lyle showed such interest and sympathy, that Orris perhaps was led to be more confidential than she would have thought it possible, with such a comparative stranger.
When they parted, Miss Lyle said:
"You are fortunate in having such a charming little niece. If I had any of my flesh and blood left to me, I should not feel so desolate at times. My house, my money will come to an end when I die. I have no one to whom I could leave my possessions. I have sometimes been tempted to sell them. And then, again, I've felt when bring a few town friends for rest that perhaps I can do more good with my house than would anyone else. And my tenants look to my coming and are glad to have me here for a bit."
As Orris walked home, she felt she had made a new friend, and she was thankful for the fresh interest that had been put into her life.
CHAPTER XII
NEW QUARTERS AGAIN
AS the days went on, Orris began to wonder whether she should ever hear of Jock Muir again. Though she had told him not to write or follow her, she inconsistently began to want him to do one or the other. She had withdrawn herself from him of her own free will, but the miss of him brought an aching blank in her life. She took herself to task for this; she was angry that she could not shut him out of her thoughts, and tried her best to forget him.
Pippa still chatted incessantly about him, but, like a happy child, she took this change in her life philosophically, and was engrossed with her little playmate at the Vicarage. When he went home, and she was left alone once more, she turned to the old fishermen for companionship. They all loved her, and would take her out in their boats to their lobster-traps, and occasionally for a row out to sea.
Orris was at first a little nervous about these expeditions, but the old men were cautious and experienced boatmen, and Pippa was absolutely tractable and good when with them.
One day Orris was sitting on the rocks reading a letter from Venetia. She did not often write, but whenever she did, she made allusions to Pippa's education. Was she being sent to school? There was no possibility of having her out in California, but she hoped she would be well educated, for she regretted in her own case that she had not been at a good school when young.
Orris made an attempt at lessons with Pippa for an hour every morning, but she felt that the child ought to be learning more steadily. And now, the letter in hand, she was once more considering ways and means.
She was interrupted presently by the appearance of Miss Lyle, who sat down beside her to have a chat.
"What is worrying you this morning?" she asked at once.
Orris smiled.
"My old problem, which I must solve pretty soon. I cannot continue to laze away my life here, and let Pippa grow up a dunce. I can't bear to send her away from me, but she must be educated."
"It's very strange to find you at that problem this morning. You know, as I go through life, I am always trying to bring together employers and employees. It's a difficult task. I have told you that my interests in town are with the poor gentlefolk in our land. Now, I know a girl there who is simply working herself to death at a High School in Kensington. She is not strong, and the confined life is killing her. Her doctor told her the other day that she ought to get out of London, but in these days of competition she is afraid of giving up her present post for fear she would not find another. Her earnings help a delicate mother in little comforts. Now, can you afford to have her as governess to your small niece? She is not a London girl, she loves the country, and it would be the making of her to get these Atlantic breezes through her."
Orris considered.
"Of course, a governess is what Pippa ought to have, if she does not go to school. I cannot teach her. I feel it would spoil the conditions of our affection—if you know what I mean. Pippa needs a certain amount of discipline during lesson hours. She thinks she can play with an aunt, but she would not try to play with a governess. But I am a little uncertain of my movements, and Mrs. Dabbs could not find room for another lodger. May I think over it, and let you know?"
"Of course. But I want to say something more. You have told me a little about your circumstances, and I gather that the governess's salary may be a difficulty. Now I have a proposal to make to you. I spend, as you know, most of the year in town; my house lies idle, and will be empty this coming winter. Will you and your little niece take possession of it, and keep it warmed and aired for me? I have three or four old servants who find it dull without anyone there. Mabel Raynor can be fitted in easily. Now, please, listen, and don't let pride stand in the way of benefiting me and many others. I want you to do something for me. I have been longing to send down certain invalids and poor gentlefolk, who are needing comfort and rest, for a long stay at my house, but I cannot do it unless there is some one there who would act as hostess and run the house. You have managed a club in town: would you care to manage a kind of rest home for me? Live in my house and be the lady superintendent? I would give a salary of £200 a year, and this would help to pay for your little niece's education." She paused.
Orris drew a long breath. It seemed at first too good to be true. Her tangled knot was unravelled. Her way before her was clear and plain. She did not hesitate a moment. She turned to Miss Lyle with deep feeling in her tone:
"I can't thank you enough for your generous offer. I will not let pride stand in the way. Why should I? I must earn. I have not a big enough income to support Pippa as well as myself, and I am afraid her mother has cast her off for the time. You have indeed solved my problem. There is nothing I should like better than to take such a post."
"What a sensible girl you are! I shall come down for visits now and then, but I warn you I shall fill your hands with occupation. There are so many of my ventures in this small village in which I should like your help. You will be my substitute in my absence. I suppose you will not find it dreary in the winter?"
"How could I, with Pippa?" said Orris. "And I'm getting to know the fisher-folk, and I'm never tired of the sea."
Then they began to discuss the plan in every detail.
Miss Lyle lost no time in setting to work. She went up to town the next day, and insisted upon Orris accompanying her to interview Miss Raynor. She took Orris to her town house as guest; and when they came back in two days' time, the matter was settled.
Pippa had been as good as gold in her aunt's absence, but she was rather mystified as to what was going on. Orris broke the news to her one fine morning, as they sat on the sands together. At first Pippa pouted.
"I don't like governesses."
"How many do you know?" asked her aunt, laughing. "This governess is so young and bright, Pippa! She loves games, and will play with you as well as teach you; and I shall never be far-away."
But when told of their move into the big comfortable house by the sea, Pippa's spirits rose.
"I do love the sea so much, Aunt Ollie; there are so many lovely things in it—like crabs and seaweed and shells. But aren't we ever going back to see Master Jock again? I thought we'd come here for a holiday."
"So we did, darling, but the sea suits us both, doesn't it? And I have got a new job, Pippa. I can't be idle, you know; and I'm going to keep house for Miss Lyle when she is away, and look after some visitors of hers, who will be coming to stay."
This sounded rather exciting to Pippa. She loved making fresh friends, and would have made acquaintance with the whole world, could she have managed it.
A few weeks later, they left Mrs. Dabbs, and moved into Cudweed Chase.
A short time before their departure, Orris received a brace of partridges and a pheasant. This time the label was quite decipherable, and she knew they had come from Jock.
Still she could not make up her mind to write to him. He was obeying her injunction, and she felt, if she once broke the ice, he might come down and try to interfere with her plans.
Miss Lyle did not go back to town till Orris was thoroughly settled into her new home.
Miss Raynor arrived, and she and Pippa had a pleasant suite of rooms all to themselves—a schoolroom, a large bedroom, and a smaller one leading out of it where Pippa slept. The little girl was very proud and pleased to have a bedroom of her own, and took at once a great liking to her governess.
Mabel Raynor was a delicate-looking girl, with large dark eyes and pale cheeks, but she was energetic and high-spirited, and had the knack of teaching small children and keeping them happy in lesson time.
When Miss Lyle left, Orris began to find her time pleasantly occupied. She acted as organist every Sunday in the little church, she took the Sunday school in the afternoon, and she had a weekly class for the fisher-lads, and young men when they worked at crafts. She was thankful that she had little leisure for brooding over the past. When Dugald heard of this fresh move of hers, he came down to expostulate.
"You are the most extraordinary soul for falling on your feet," he grumbled. "I was hoping you would get so moped and dull with the lack of occupation and of society that you would thankfully throw yourself into my arms when I came down to see you, and beseech me to take you back to town."
"Is that like me?" questioned Orris, with dignity.
"Perhaps not, but I'm always hoping to see a change in you. You are too self-sufficing, my dear Coz."
"Oh!" sighed Orris, with downfallen face, as she remembered another who complained of the same fault in her. "Surely I am not, now. I have had a fall, and a bad one, Dugald. I sometimes think that, like Queen Mary with Calais, I shall go down to the grave with 'library' engraven on my heart. I hope I shan't fail in my trust now. I pray I may not."
Dugald looked around him. They were talking in the comfortable morning-room at Cudweed Chase, the room in which Orris chiefly lived. There was a blazing log fire in the open grate, golden chrysanthemums were in great bowls on the deep window-sills, brightening the room with their colour. If it was furnished in Early Victorian style, it was essentially comfortable. There were deep armchairs, and a big Chesterfield covered with bright cretonne; the Turkey carpet underfoot and heavy red velvet curtains to the three windows facing seaward all made for warmth and cosiness.
"Yes," he repeated; "you fall on your feet, and go from one comfortable house to another. Not that I call the farmhouse comfortable, but you started well down there, at Pinestones. What is that fellow doing? Going on with his farming, or living decently, like the rest of us?"
"I think his life as a farmer more decent than lounging about in London clubs," said Orris rather sharply. "I believe he is continuing to farm."
"Knew I would get a rise out of you if I but mentioned his name," said Dugald, with a short laugh. "Now, look here, Orris, you are not going to waste your life down in this quiet place, and spend the rest of your years as a housekeeper or caretaker—whichever you like to call it. Give it a trial if you like, but come up to town before Christmas, now do! Your flat will be vacant again, I believe, by that time. We want you badly."
Orris shook her head.
"You are a disturber of peace, Dugald. I may come up for some Christmas shopping, that is all that I can promise. I am perfectly happy here, and so is Pippa. I could not be dull. Next week we are having three or four visitors."
Dugald shrugged his shoulders.
"'Decayed gentlewomen'! Isn't that the expression? What a life for 'you!' Will you sit up doing knitting and crochet with them, and talking about rheumatics, and all the ills of poverty and old age?"
"At all events, I shall be trying to cheer poverty and old age," retorted Orris good-humouredly. And she sent him back to town with no ray of hope for himself in the situation.
"His life is so limited," she said to herself; "it is bounded on all sides by conventionality. Never, never could I link my life to his, and he must be convinced of it by now."
Her thoughts flashed to Jock. He would never stagnate anywhere. He was a born worker, and whatever he put his hand to seemed to prosper. "I should like a talk with him again," was the desire of her heart; "he braces one, and makes one believe in the happiness of work." Then, as usual, she took herself to task for thinking about him, and turned to other matters in hand.
A great pleasure soon came to Pippa. Miss Lyle kept a couple of horses for her own use, and a tiny Shetland pony to work the big lawnmower. She had an old coachman who had served her faithfully for years; and as he had to exercise the horses in his mistress's absence, he asked Orris if she would care to ride one of them.
"The little Missy could have the pony. I would dearly like to teach her to ride. Miss Lyle herself took her first riding lessons from me."
Orris demurred at first. She had ridden as a young girl, and had always loved horses. As for Pippa, she went perfectly wild at the thought.
Miss Lyle was consulted, and she said she would be only too glad for them both to exercise the horses. So the riding began.
Pippa took to it as a duck takes to water. She went out directly after breakfast with Perkins, before her lessons began, and sometimes had a ride with her aunt in the afternoon. The narrow lanes and steep hills did not incommode the horses. Perkins said that he was thankful they kept the motors and charabancs from coming near them. Like most grooms, he had a jealous horror of Miss Lyle taking to a car and putting down her horses.
"Oh, Aunt Ollie," said Pippa one day, coming in rosy and breathless after her ride, "How I wish Master Jock could see me on my pony! Shall we 'never' see him again? He is my bestest friend in the world!"
"Perhaps he may come and see us one day," said Orris.
She knew that the word must come from her, but she was not yet ready to send it, and little thought of the circumstances in front of her that would force her hand.
The first visitors to arrive from town were a lonely clergyman's widow, an Irish single lady who had lost her beautiful property, and an Indian Officer's daughter who had attempted to set up a small preparatory school for little boys at Hampstead Heath and had failed in the attempt.
Of the three, Orris's sympathy was mostly with the latter. She was barely thirty, but looked much older. She had a young brother at a public school, whom she was educating; and latterly she had almost starved herself to do it. Miss Lyle had found her one day fainting in a 'bus. In her usual prompt energetic way, she had accompanied her home, and then, seeing the poverty of her bed-sitting-room, she had insisted upon taking her into her town house as a guest, and, after hearing her story, had sent her off to Cudweed.
"If you don't like to be idle," she said brusquely to her, "I'll give you orders for knitted silk jumpers. I supply a shop in town with those made by different friends of mine."
So Kathleen Walters had arrived, and Orris and she became very good friends.
Miss O'Flauty and Mrs. Hatton, the other two ladies, got on extremely well together. Orris had often heard of the great difficulty in having a happy household of perfect strangers, but so far she had had no disagreeables. Each of the three was thankful beyond words to be for a time freed from the carking care of a small purse and a lonely life.
And then one morning Miss Raynor came to Orris with a troubled face.
"I don't think Pippa is at all well, so I am keeping her in bed. She does not want to get up, says her head hurts her. She complained of the cold yesterday evening, and I gave her a hot drink and put her to bed; it may be a slight chill. Will you come to her?"
Orris had been at her fisher-lads' class the evening before.
"Why didn't you tell me last night?" she said, as she took a thermometer into Pippa's room.
"I thought it might pass off."
Pippa seemed drowsy and flushed when her aunt bent over her. Her temperature was found to be one hundred and three, and the doctor was sent for at once. He looked grave when he had examined her.
"Has she been playing in the village at all?" he asked.
"I don't think so. Why?"
"There's an outbreak of fever—rather a nasty kind; and one child is dying, I fear."
Orris's face blanched.
The doctor, an old man, put his hand on her shoulder.
"Don't get frightened. With good nursing, there ought to be no danger, but one can never tell. Would you like a nurse?"
"No, oh, no," cried Orris; "not unless she gets very much worse. Is it infectious?"
"Slightly, I should take precautions. If you nurse her, keep in this part of the house." Then he gave her directions, and Orris listened with a clear head but an aching heart.
Very anxious days followed. Miss Raynor ran the house, and looked after the guests. Orris never left the sick child's room. Maria Dabbs came up to help, and proved very efficient as a nurse. Poor little Pippa became delirious, for the fever ran very high, and her incessant talk was about "Master Jock."
"I want Master Jock. Why doesn't he come? I want to go to the powder-room. Let's hide from Snuffy! Not you, Aunt Ollie, I want Master Jock to carry me!"
She was a frail little thing, and had always had more spirit than strength. The doctor was anxious, for her strength seemed ebbing away.
And Orris, outwardly calm and almost cheerful, was in her heart absolutely hopeless. She thought of the light-hearted careless mother so many thousands of miles away, but who yet had a great affection for her child; and she thought of her own life unbrightened by the winning ways and joyous spirits of her little niece. Her lips moved in continual prayer:
"O God, let it be Thy will to spare her! Have mercy on us! Come near,
in our hour of need, and heal and save, for we cannot!"
The fever ran its course, and, when it left her, the child lay like a broken lily, her little wasted face, with its big eyes, white as the pillows on which she rested. She hardly knew her aunt, until one afternoon she sat up in trembling agitation.
"Master Jock! Oh, I want Master Jock."
The pitiful wail was too much for Orris.
"Yes, darling, he will come. I'll send for him."
The doctor happened to call at that moment. Orris followed him out of the room.
"She seems to be conscious. Shall I send for Mr. Muir? She cries continually for him."
"Send by all means. I've known that kind of thing answer if—if he can be in time, but she's getting weaker. A distinct step down-hill this morning."
With trembling hands Orris wrote out a wire:
"Pippa wants you. Come immediately."
And dispatched it by the hands of Perkins.
CHAPTER XIII
JOCK'S ARRIVAL
IT was early dawn when he arrived. Orris met him at the front door, and for the first time, her fortitude nearly forsook her.
"She is sinking fast," she said, as she held out her hand to him, "but she still murmurs your name. She has had no sleep for twenty-four hours, but she is barely conscious."
She led the way swiftly upstairs, and Jock followed her in perfect silence. The darkened room, the tiny wasted form in the bed, the agonized look in Orris's eyes as she signed to him to come near, sent a thrill through Jock's heart. But very softly, he seated himself by the bed, and took the little hand in his.
"Little Elf!" he said, in his cheerful good-natured tone.
Instantly the heavy lashes quivered and the eyelids opened. A long look of recognition followed.
"Master—" the little voice could get no farther, and trailed away into silence.
"Yes, I'm here; and we're going to have great fun when you get better."
Pippa drew his hand up to her, and laid her cheek on it with a quivering smile, the first smile that Orris had seen for many a long day. Her lips moved.
"Stay."
"Yes, I'm going to stay all right."
The heavy eyelids shut again. Orris came forward, and with a teaspoon got some meat jelly into her mouth. She swallowed it, pillowed her cheek afresh on Jock's hand with infinite satisfaction, and dropped off into a sound and healing sleep. Jock sat still, and for two hours never moved.
"It's touch and go with her," Orris had whispered.
He nodded, but the tender pity and love in his face, as he looked at Pippa, brought the tears with a rush to Orris's eyes.
She sat on the opposite side of the bed, and they waited together for the awakening. At one time, Orris thought she might even now be slipping away from them, so faint was her breathing, but Jock reassured her.
"She is breathing regularly. I believe she'll pull round."
His quiet cheery voice brought hope and balm to Orris's soul. She was nearly at the end of her strength, and Jock was shocked to see how thin and worn she had become.
When at last Pippa opened her eyes, Maria Dabbs came forward.
"Go and have something to eat, ma'am. You've been up all night. I'll call you if there's any change. She'll take some food from me, I know."
"You've comed at last," said Pippa in a faint whisper, as poor Jock's hand was released.
He stood up and smiled upon her.
"Yes; and I'm not going to be sent away from you, either," he said in his pleasant way. "There's no Snuffy in this house, is there? Now I'm going to take Aunt Ollie away and make her eat some breakfast. And then we'll come back to you. What you have to do is to sleep and eat all day long until you get strong enough to play hide-and-seek with me."
Pippa smiled. She was being fed by Maria; and then again her eyelids closed, and she slept.
When a little later Jock and Orris met downstairs for breakfast, they were strangely composed and quiet. Pippa was the one subject of their conversation. Orris was asked how long she had been ill, and she gave as much detail as she could.
"I believe," she said, "you have brought her the sleep she needed. She was really fretting to see you. She has never forgotten you, and has talked about you perpetually."
"I could not come till you sent for me," said Jock gravely.
Orris said nothing; then asked him if he had been travelling all night.
"More or less. I started at midnight. There was no train before."
"The doctor will be here directly. We will wait to hear how he finds her, and then you will have some rest, will you not?"
Jock gave a quiet laugh.
"A sleepless night is nothing to me," he said. "I should think you are far more in need of rest than I. Is there an inn of any sort in your village where I could get a bed to-night?"
Orris considered.
"I believe that Mrs. Perkins could put you up," she said. "Perkins is our old coachman here. He lives in the cottage at the bottom of the drive. Would you like to walk down and see?"
"Thanks, but I'll wait till we know how the wee Elf is." Then, after a pause, he asked: "And how long have you been here? I thought you were living in the village."
"Who told you that?"
He looked up at her with a little of the old mischief in his eyes.
"Well, I came down to see one day. Do you wonder how I found out your retreat? In the simplest way possible.
"I knew your banker in Veddon Weal. I went straight to him before you had had time to pledge him to secrecy. He told me you were going to Devonshire, he believed; you had been over, and mentioned Cudweed Cove to him. So two months ago, I ached for the sight of you, and my patience was well-nigh exhausted. I came as a tourist, slept in Drangerford for the night, and got to Cudweed one fine morning—borrowed a motor cycle. I dodged you about the whole morning, saw you and the Elf on the sands, and was satisfied that you were well and happy. I gossiped with the fisher-folk a bit, was told where you were lodging, and went home in the afternoon."
"Oh!" said Orris, with a little sigh. "I don't think there is another man in the whole world so foolish as you."
"Is this a private hotel?" Jock asked. "I came across just now two elderly ladies who bowed to me and disappeared, and a young woman directed me to this room in a very charming way, just as if she were hostess."
"That was Miss Raynor, Pippa's governess."
In a few brief words, Orris explained her present position, and touched on Miss Lyle's extreme kindness to her.
And almost in the same words as Dugald had used, Jock made comment on her explanation.
"You certainly do fall on your feet, but you always would, wherever you go."
They were interrupted here by the doctor's arrival. Orris went out to him immediately, and Jock paced up and down the room with knitted brow and brooding eyes.
She was a long time away. The doctor came downstairs at last. Jock heard their murmuring voices in the hall, and then he opened the door, as the doctor's car moved swiftly off down the drive.
Orris had disappeared, but in a few moments, he found her. She had turned aside into her morning-room, and, throwing herself in a chair by her writing-table, had bowed her head in her hands and was weeping bitterly.