Chapter VII: Town Life Again

CHRISTMAS passed; a very sad time at the Hall, and Sara was glad when it was over. May sometimes seemed to her to be possessed with the fever of unrest. She never sat still unless at meals; she never opened a book to read, and rarely a newspaper. Sometimes in the evenings she would throw herself down in a fit of exhaustion upon the couch in the library, and ask Sara to read her the news. All day long she was either shut up in the study conning accounts, and doing business with her father's bailiff; or else she was going round her father's farms, trying to keep the reins of each in her hand.

"Alan will never cope with it," she said to Sara one day. "He is too easy-going. I expect he will have an agent. Father never had one. He has kept on John Whiting as his working bailiff, and has always superintended everything himself."

"Yes, but, May dear, you are wearing yourself out. No woman can have the same grip as a man. It is too much for you."

"I mean to keep everything going without any change till Alan comes back. And I am happier working hard. I have not so much time to think."

She and Sara were thoroughly content with each other's company, and they did not see much of any one else, except occasionally Nellie Peel.

One day Nellie wrote a note to Sara, imploring her to come to tea with her.

"I shall be quite alone," she wrote; "and I have something of great importance to tell you. My husband has gone to a clerical meeting and won't be home till quite late. Don't disappoint me. May has so much of you that she can well spare you to me this afternoon."

Sara went, and found Nellie looking very bright and happy, with flushed cheeks, and an important turn of her head.

"Come and sit down in this easy-chair. Now then for my news. I don't believe you would ever guess, and a year ago I should have thought it bad news. Now I don't. I think it is seeing you with your little nephew that has made me alter my mind."

"Ah," said Sara, softly. "If my guess is a right one, I do indeed think it good news. Is it that you are going to be a mother one day?"

"Yes," whispered Nellie, "and I am glad. Of course John is delighted. He has been so nice to me. I thought I must tell you before any one else."

"I am so very glad, Nellie dear. It is just what you want. Some little life to tend and care for and train. You will have no more dull empty days. And it will bring such a lot of fresh thoughts and ideas to you."

"It has done that already," said Nellie, gravely. "I mean to turn over a new leaf, and be a model wife and mother. I do want to be good, Miss Darlington, but I hate being a long-faced Pharisee. You are not that. You enjoy life, don't you? It doesn't matter where you are, or what you are doing, you always look absolutely radiant, and I don't want my child to think his mother a selfish pig!"

Sara laughed heartily. But this was a prelude to a very nice little talk together, and she left the rectory with great content in her heart, for she knew that Nellie's rather shallow sleepy little soul was at last waking up to realities.

The winter passed, and spring came. Slowly and gradually May was creeping back to her normal life. She was not averse to seeing visitors now. Occasionally she returned their calls. She and Sara always enjoyed their evenings together. They would read and talk, and many long earnest discussions they had on matters of science and theology, which always led them to spiritual things.

One day May heard from her brother on his way home, and strangely enough, by the same mail, Sara heard from hers. Arnold's friend had fractured his ankle, and they were returning to England before their year was over.

"It seems as if our circumstances are fitting in like a puzzle!" said Sara, laughing.

"My brother will want me in town very soon; and you will be wanting me no longer."

"Don't say that! I think I shall always want you. But I know what you mean. Oh, Sara, what shall I do, when I am forced to leave this dear old house? I have so much to interest and occupy me here. Imagine me at a loose end in town! I always feel like a fish out of water there. Where shall I live? What shall I do? You made your plans before your brother married, but I can't do that. I know he will want help when he first comes back. He knows nothing of the working of the estate. I should like to take a cottage in the village and stay on as his agent. I wonder if I could?"

"I don't think it would be wise. Your brother would not get to know his tenants so well if you did, and though it is delightful for you to be able to look after everything in his absence, it wouldn't be the same thing if he were here. It would place him in a false position."

"Yes, I expect you are right. I had better make myself scarce, as soon as ever he knows his way about."

"I don't see why you shouldn't live in the neighbourhood still. You need not separate yourself from them altogether, need you?"

"The fact is, I know I should not be able to keep from interfering if things went wrong," said May, laughing. "And Lilian is quite as fond of managing as you say I am. I am afraid we should not get on if we lived close to one another; whereas now we are great friends, and I should always be able to pay them a visit in the summer."

"I wish you would come and pay me a visit," said Sara. "I shall settle down in town. My brother will have to be there, and it would be very nice to have you, before you decided about your future."

"I should love to come to you. May I really? Now, that makes my way clear. I shall come straight off to you directly I leave this."

A heavy sigh followed. May tried valiantly to keep up a brave heart, but as yet she had not always succeeded.

In a very little time her brother arrived.

Sara liked him, and though May had perhaps the stronger character of the two, Alan was a clear-headed straightforward young fellow. He told Sara he was bitterly sorry to leave his profession. He had always had a passion for the sea from a boy, but his father only let him enter the Navy on condition that he would leave it, and take possession of the property when it came to him.

"And I mean to do my best," he said, "but I shall never run the show like my father did. He was a born farmer, and loved his land as I love the sea. I don't know much about farming, but I shall learn, and I mean to have an agent. It wasn't necessary with my father. It will be with me."

Then he spoke of his sister.

"She's a fine woman, isn't she? A born ruler. I'm sorry she means to turn out. The house will hold us both, and Lilian and she are very fond of each other. But I must leave her a free hand. Women can't be coerced these days, eh, Miss Darlington?"

Then came the day for Sara and her little nephew to return to London. She left the Hall with sincere regret, but looked forward to seeing May according to her promise later on.

And when she got back to town, she found her brother awaiting her. He was delighted at the growth of his baby son, who was now a year old, and a most intelligent and amusing little mortal.

Sara, with her usual adaptability, soon settled down in the town house again, and life went on much the same as it had done before.

Then one day she heard from Mrs. Laird, asking her if she could ever spare time to run down to Folkestone and see little True, who had gone back to school, but who had not been well.

"Graham tells me I fuss too much over her," she wrote, "but she's rather a delicate child, and she has had cold upon cold this winter. I don't think the children are looked after carefully enough at her school, and I want Graham to take her away and let me have her. There's a very good day school she could attend here. If you could see her, I should be so glad, for you could tell me what you thought of her."

So one sunny day, Sara went down to True's school, and was allowed to take her out for the whole day.

The child was white and thin, but full of spirit, and delighted to see her "Miss Darling" again.

They went down to the beach, had lunch at a restaurant, and then went for a drive in the afternoon, and True's little tongue was busy the whole time. She spoke quite simply and a little sadly of her mother.

"I never saw her go to Heaven, that's what made me so sorry, she didn't tell me she was so very ill, and I wanted to wish her good-bye. It's so dreadful to lose your Mummy, because you can't get another, and I did love Mummy very much. I used to bother her, she often said so, but I truefully tried not to. She didn't like having to explain things to me—and I always feel I must know things; don't you, Miss Darling? And now I've got two quite new people that I belong to, at least, Dad isn't quite new. I've always knowed him, since we stayed at the farm near the beautiful lake, and he says I can call him Dad."

She paused for breath.

"I'm sure you will get very fond of him," Sara said. "He will be always good and kind."

"Oh, my dear," said True in her old-fashioned way, "him and me are the greatest fren's. We talk to each other about everything, and I tidy out his pockets, and fill his pipe, and pour out his tea for him. He came upstairs and sat with me when I went to bed with the earache, and we said some hymns together. He likes some hymns and I like others. And when I couldn't help crying for the pain, he wrapped me up in a blanket, and set me on his knee by the fire. It was so comforting. He has such nice big shoulders to rest your head against. I'm sure you would think so, Miss Darling, if you did it. We used to talk about you sometimes, and make out what you were doing. I said you were nursing your baby and singing to it; he said you were making dark places light."

"And what about Grannie?" asked Sara.

"Oh, I just adore her!"

True clasped her hands.

"She spoils me, Dad says, but you've no idea what things I do with her. She lets me tidy her boxes and drawers and have bits of ribbon and silk to make dolls' frocks, and she tells me stories, and I play all sorts of games with her. And we sit by the fire when it gets dark and see pictures in the coals, and I tell her stories about them sometimes. I'm very happy in Dalby, Miss Darling, but I do wish you'd come there too."

It was hard to say which of them enjoyed that day the most. Sara was always devoted to children; and she took a peculiar interest in True. When she took her back to her school, she had a long talk with her schoolmistress, who frankly said the child would be better at home than at school.

"Her brain is too quick and active, she works feverishly and excitedly, she is always top of her class, and we have to keep her back. I do not like the headaches she gets. She is too small to have them, and I find they are the result of a high temperature. Of course whenever she has one, she is put to bed and kept quiet. I think the necessary competition in our classes is bad for her."

Sara wrote this to Mrs. Laird. She hoped that True would be taken away; she seemed to her much too small and delicate to be at such a big boarding-school.

Then one day when she was sitting at tea, Graham Laird was announced.

The suddenness of his coming brought a flush to her cheeks, and his quiet determined handshake discomposed her for a moment.

"How nice to see you!" she said. "Do sit down and let me give you some tea. How is Mrs. Laird?"

"Wonderfully well. I had to come to town on business, and I have come to take away the child from school. It was good of you to take her out for the day. A long account was written to me of the joys of that day."

"She is a darling little thing," said Sara, warmly. "Are you going to take her away before the Easter holidays? They are very late this year."

"They are breaking up this week and expect me. My mother and I are living together again, and she says she would like the charge of her."

"Are you still going to live right in the town?" asked Sara.

He looked at her with a little smile.

"You wonder at our taste," he said. "The fact is houses are difficult to get. I am keeping my eyes open, for I'm sure the child would be much better in country air, and my mother would like it too. As I have my car, I could easily live a few miles out."

He took his tea from Sara's hands. He was conscious, as he always was in her presence, of the freshness and fragrance of her atmosphere.

She was dressed in a blue lavender cloth gown, her soft bright hair seemed to be touched with sparkles of sunshine, her grey eyes as she looked at Graham were the same sweet, steadfast ones that he remembered so well. Her room was full of flowers, her surroundings had that peculiarly homelike comfortable look which was characteristic of every room which she occupied.

And Sara, as she looked at the face that had never left her memory, saw a change in it. Graham had streaks of grey in his dark hair; his face was thinner and a little sharper in outline, but there was a serenity and peacefulness in his eyes that never used to be there.

"How are you?" he asked. "My mother will ask a good many questions about you when I return. You must give me all the information that you can. Are you going to stay in town all this summer?"

"I am very well, thank you. We are thinking of going down to our farm in Devonshire—baby and I—when the hot weather sets in."

"Why don't you come up our way? My mother would enjoy seeing you again."

Sara did not answer for a moment. The idea was delightful to her, but hardly feasible.

"I want your mother to come and see me," she said pleasantly. "She and little True might like to pay a visit to Devonshire this summer."

A shadow came into his eyes.

"Perhaps they might," he said quietly.

And Sara was vexed with herself for making the suggestion.

"How is dear Ina?"

"Very well. She and the Colonel are very busy people. She still keeps her fingers in some of my pies and so does he. I don't think any of my cousin's good works have been allowed to drop."

"How nice!"

Then he said abruptly—.

"Do you think the child looking very delicate?"

"Not particularly, but I do think she would be better at home and not at school."

"Yes, and we want to have her with us. She is very good company. She stayed with me for a couple of weeks, before my mother came to me, and she seemed perfectly happy and able to take care of herself."

"I think her mother brought her up to be useful," said Sara; then she added softly—

"I was so sorry to hear of your trouble. Was it not very sudden? Perhaps you would rather I did not speak of it?"

"No, I would like to tell you. She and I both knew that her days were numbered when we married. She was very lonely and afraid, and I think I was able to comfort her—latterly. Her doctor told her he would give her two years, but he told me that was the possibility, not the probability."

He paused. Sara's quick woman's intuition in an instant filled out that short sketch of his married life. She knew his chivalrous nature; she realized that Graham had married Eva out of tender compassion, because he believed that he could help her. She had always known that Eva was fond of him.

But she was speechless.

And after a moment or two, Graham went on—

"I expect you would like to know that her end was a very peaceful and happy one. She died in her sleep. But she was absolutely prepared and ready for death."

"I am so glad."

Sara murmured the words.

"Yes," he said in the same clear grave tone; "and though we were married such a short time, though one can consider it but an interlude, I shall never to the end of my life regret the step we took. For it was then—"

He was interrupted. Arnold Darlington came into the room.

Sara introduced the two men, and they chatted together on various subjects before Graham left.

He told Sara he was staying in town the following day, which was Sunday, and going down to Folkestone on the Monday.

Arnold asked him to lunch, and he accepted the invitation.

When he was gone, Arnold looked at his sister with a whimsical smile.

"So that is Laird with whom you lived in the wilds so long!"

"I lived with his mother," corrected Sara.

"It comes to the same thing. I like him. He's a strong able man."

Sara said nothing. She felt she could not discuss him with her brother.