Chapter III: A Row Upon the Lake

WHEN mother and son were alone, Mrs. Laird said fretfully—

"She's a very new broom! But they all begin so well."

Her son shook his head. There was an amused gleam in his eye.

"No, mother; three have informed me the first morning at breakfast that it was not what they expected. She has not done that yet. What a pretty voice she has!"

"So she seems to think herself. She insisted upon my listening to her. But so far I must say she knows how to bring the sense of comfort and order with her. Do you notice how tidy my room is? She wants me to go into her room to-morrow, whilst she and Izzie have a clean out. She is full of energy and reform, but it won't last."

"She has brought you a pretty nosegay of red berries and leaves."

"Yes, but they give me no pleasure."

A heavy sigh followed.

Mother and son had half an hour's chat together. Then a tempting little supper-tray appeared. Sara brought it. And when a quarter of an hour later, she came to the dining-room, she found Mr. Laird ready for his evening meal.

He had lost his touch of reserve. Both of them chatted together in an easy unembarrassed manner. Then when Izzie came in and removed the cloth, Mr. Laird took out his pipe. And when she had left the room, he said—

"I wish you could try to get my mother downstairs, Miss Darlington. There is no reason why she should not venture. The change of atmosphere would do her good."

"She speaks as if it were impossible. She seems to imagine she might be worried with visitors. Have you any?"

"You can imagine not many!"

"Is there any real reason why Mrs. Laird should not meet people?"

He took his pipe out of his mouth, and looked at her. Was this audacity, or the result of a keen observation, he wondered. He had never had such a question put to him before.

Sara quietly waited for his reply.

"Why do you ask such a question?" he asked.

"Because I want to help your mother. I see she has something on her mind; is it a delusion? I was singing a little song of a tiny girl's talk with her mother about her dead father, and she stopped me with agony of tone and gesture—

"'Never mention a girl child to me!' she cried. 'For one moment I thought I was free from the haunting thought of her!'

"'I am sorry,' I said.

"'Sorry!' she cried. 'You sang that song on purpose! You are cruel! Do you think my punishment is not already greater than I can bear?'

"Then she saw my astonishment, and said no more."

"My mother has grown morbid," Mr. Laird said slowly. "She has had a great sorrow. I have told you so. You must bear patiently with her, and try to get her from thinking too much."

"Ah!" said Sara. "That is a hard task. But I will do my best. And now I think it is time I went up to her. I shall stay with her till she is in bed; so I shall not come down again. Good night."

Mr. Laird sprang up, held open the door for her, and when she had gone, tumbled back into his seat again.

"She is angry, because I won't tell her," he muttered. "Well, there is plenty of time. I've never told any of her predecessors. But she is different to any of them. Can't think why she takes such a post. It's like old times—to see a woman of that sort opposite one at table."

Upstairs Sara was finding Mrs. Laird difficult to please. She was very irritable, and nothing that Sara did was right.

"I'm tired of trying to train young women to my ways. It's only Graham's whim that I should have some one about me. Now, don't hurry me. I suppose you are like the rest of them, wanting to get down and make yourself pleasant to him."

For one moment an angry spark shot from Sara's eyes, then she said with extreme quietness—

"I wished Mr. Laird good night before I came up. You must not say such things to me, Mrs. Laird, not until I deserve them. I have been too much accustomed to men to take any special notice of your son. If we are to live happily together, you must believe that I am single woman by choice, and am far too content to be such to ever wish to try to alter my state."

"One of these rampant suffragettes, I suppose!"

"No," said Sara, laughing; "I emphatically am not one of them. And now will you let me brush your hair?"

She talked away quite pleasantly. Her gentle deft ways soothed the old lady. When she was comfortably in bed enjoying what her son called her "nightcap," Sara said—

"Would you like me to read you the evening Psalms before I leave you?"

"Why should you? I burnt my Bible and Prayer-book long ago, and all the pious books which I possessed. I am not a hypocrite, and if there is a God, He has treated me so inhumanly that I never wish to see His Face."

Sara was shocked, but she did not expostulate.

"I have my Prayer-book in the next room; please let me read to you."

She opened the door into her room, and came back with the book in her hand.

Mrs. Laird said no more. In a soft, reverent voice Sara read the evening Psalms. She made no comment on them, and Mrs. Laird did not speak again.

Then Sara went to her room, and occupied her time by writing a letter to her brother.

"MY DEAREST ARNOLD,

"Here I am as far from town seemingly as Kamschatka is! But oh, the beauty of the scene from my window! I have just had a peep out. Do you know we're in the heart of the lake country, a lake is down below me framed with blue hills, and the moon is on it now, and the hoar frost makes the woods like fairyland! My dear boy, don't give me a pitying thought. All my desires and hopes and energies and machinations are centred in an old lady, who is in the next room to me. I am going to be her physician, nurse, and friend, all rolled into one.

"You know how I adore old people, so rest assured I am having a good time. I am given 'carte blanche' to manage her household, and I have two very good-natured and inefficient servants to deal with. We live in a solid square granite house, but it has its redeeming points, mullioned windows, oak beams across the lower rooms, and is a genuine fourteenth-century manor house.

"Mrs. Laird's son, who lives with her, is agent to a big landowner near us. They are gentle-people, and I am at present quite content with my enterprise. Good-bye, old boy. I know you live in the clouds, but Millie will be with you, and I hope that Lacy makes you comfortable.

"Ever your own sister,

"SARA."

She sat for a moment after writing this letter with her cheek in her hand. Her eyes grew very soft and tender.

"A soured embittered sorrowful woman," she said to herself, "and more behind than I am allowed to know. How I hope I may bring her comfort!"

Comfort of body Sara certainly did bring her employer from the moment she entered the house. In a few days, her room was a picture of dainty freshness.

The whole house was the better for Sara's presence. She did not scold Izzie for her untidiness and want of thoroughness in her cleaning. She simply tidied and cleaned herself, until from very shame Izzie learnt to do better.

Every evening when dusk fell, Sara played and sang to Mrs. Laird. But she always laid aside her guitar when Graham Laird entered the room.

She did not know that he often crept up quietly and sat on the top stair of the old staircase outside, listening for some time before he opened the door.

Except at meal times, they did not meet much; and Mrs. Laird was quite content that it should be so. Sara read to her and talked to her, and Sara was a very good talker. She had travelled, and had met a good many interesting people. She produced some easy fancy-work which she persuaded Mrs. Laird to work at. She herself began to make chintz covers for the shabby couch and chairs in the bedroom.

Shopping by post was a new experience to Mrs. Laird; she began to take interest in the patterns and parcels, and was almost bright whilst opening and discussing them. But Sara soon found her black moods of gloom more frequent, as she became accustomed to her. There were days when she would not utter one word, and when she could with the greatest difficulty be persuaded upon to take her meals.

"Why should I eat?" she exclaimed suddenly one day. "Why should I try to prolong my miserable life? Am I of any use to any one in the whole wide world? Would not Graham shut up the house with glee and go back to his former world feeling like an escaped prisoner if I were only out of the way? Prisoner! It is I who ought to be a prisoner. I should have felt better had they made me suffer as I deserved!"

Sara found the best way was to ignore such speeches as these, but they made her think.

One afternoon she found her way down to the lake. It was a still bright day in February. To her surprise, she came upon a boat lightly tied to a post outside a boathouse. She had often rowed on the Thames with her brother, and seeing the calm stillness of the water, a longing seized her to go out in it.

The boat was swaying up and down, the gentle lap of the water against its sides seemed to invite to her to venture. In another moment, she had lightly jumped in, unmoored it, and taking the oars, began to row out with long easy strokes.

She was absolutely happy, and gave herself up to the enjoyment of her surroundings. Exercise kept her warm, and the hills with their wonderful lights and shadows reaching down to the water's edge fascinated her. Time slipped away, and then suddenly she was aware of a hoarse shout in the distance.

She pulled round and saw two men calling to her from the shore. For a moment she felt guilty, and imagined that she had no right to be in the boat. Then she looked up and saw a thick roll of black cloud coming towards her from over the hills. At the same moment, a sudden wind bore down upon the lake, and in a few minutes more the waves were tossing her up and down in sudden fury.

She set her teeth, and turned back in the direction of the shore. She had heard of these sudden squalls that swept across inland lakes, and knew she would need all her wits and strength to return in safety.

Happily the wind was driving her in the direction she wished to go, but occasionally it would veer round, and to her excited imagination seemed like some demon determined to upset her. The boat tossed up and down as if it were on an angry sea. Waves began to wash over the boat and into it, and at last one broke over her.

Drenched to the skin, she shipped her oars, then felt under the seat, and to her relief found a big can, with which she instantly began to bale out the water. When she could, she took up her oars again. Twice she thought she was going to be upset. Still, she laboured at her rowing. The shore seemed to recede instead of becoming nearer. Her hands were blistered, her breath came in great gasps. Gradually her strength began to fail her. But Sara's will was strong, and she would not give in to being beaten.

She saw the men watching her anxiously; one had a rope ready to fling, and that gave her fresh courage. As she slowly approached them, she heard a whizz and a hiss through the air, and a small coil of rope fell neatly into the boat. She saw that one man had got hold of the other end. Without any hesitation she made her end of it fast to the painter. A sense of security came to her, but she did not slacken in her rowing, and though the waves were now dashing into the boat, she did not stop to bale out the water.

And at last, she came to shore driving her boat with a dash against the rough stone pier. The next moment she was being helped out of it by Graham Laird, and she sank exhausted to the ground. Another man was by Graham's side, and it was he who spoke first—

"Now, don't have hysterics! Don't spoil your courage! I couldn't have fought through better myself, and Graham and I are accustomed to squalls!"

Sara looked up a little indignantly—

"I am only breathless. You must have mercy!"

Graham said nothing, he was occupied in fastening the boat to its moorings. When his task was done, Sara was able to get upon her feet.

He looked at her.

"The quicker you get home the better, for you are drenched. It's a mercy we caught sight of you before you had gone too far out! If you had asked me, I would have warned you against trusting the weather to-day. I had better introduce my friend, Colonel Fleming, to you."

Sara looked at Colonel Fleming with a little laugh.

He was a square, sturdily built man, with fair hair and blonde moustache, his face was tanned with an outdoor life, and when Sara laughed, his eyes twinkled.

"Have you been accustomed to hysterical women?" she asked. "I am not one of them. I'm afraid I took out the boat on the impulse of the moment. I did not know or care who owned it. These wilds make one do and dare anything!"

She turned and made her way up the little lane which led to the house. The men accompanied her, but as they reached the hall door, Graham turned into the yard to see to something.

"I am coming in for some tea," said Colonel Fleming; "I hope you are going to give it to us. Graham Laird and I are very old chums. I moved up here to be near him. I'm farming my own land—about three miles off, that's all. You haven't been here long?"

"No," said Sara with reserve, feeling that Colonel Fleming was oddly communicative. "You will excuse me, I must change my wet things."

"Of course, of course. Hope you won't take cold. I'm quite at home. Don't mind me."

Sara vanished upstairs. She was feeling shivery and shaken by her experience. But when she had got into dry clothes, she felt better, and went into Mrs. Laird's room before going down to tea. She told her of her misadventures, for she always tried to give the invalid all details of her walks abroad.

When Mrs. Laird heard that Colonel Fleming was downstairs, she said—

"That man is too ridiculous in his adoration for Graham. He worries him to death by always hanging round."

"I thought they were friends."

"So they are, or were, but you can have too much of a good thing."

"Hasn't he a wife?"

"He had, but he had to divorce her. I am thankful we have no wives in the neighborhood. I never have a visitor; and if one did come, I should not see them. Go downstairs and give those men their tea, and then come up to me again."

So Sara went down in her russet-brown serge gown. Her pink colour and bright eyes made her look unusually fresh and girlish.

"You are evidently none the worse for your wetting," said Colonel Fleming. "Do you know that several rash boatmen have been drowned in a squall like the one we had this afternoon?"

"I will profit by my experience," said Sara, sedately, "and not venture boating again until the weather is settled."

"Tell me when you want to use the boat," said Graham; "and then I shall be able to tell you whether it is safe to venture. Storms sweep down very suddenly from our hills."

"Yes, I was ignorant and foolhardy," acknowledged Sara, "but how delicious it was down there before the storm came on! You seem framed in a little world all to yourself, I loved it!"

"How strange is the variety of human nature!" said Colonel Fleming. "I should be bored to death unless I were fishing. To row aimlessly about in a boat would be dull work to me. No object in it!"

"You are a sportsman, I suppose?"

"I suppose I am, though I pride myself on being a working man now, don't I, Graham?"

They talked away; Graham Laird showing himself in quite a different light as he and his friend discussed things together. He was brighter and keener than Sara had ever seen him before. Then a message came to him from his mother through Izzie saying that she wanted to see him at once. He left his tea unfinished, as he promptly obeyed the summons.

Colonel Fleming gave his head a comical little shake as he looked across at Sara.

"A man of one idea, he is. It's just his mother. Awfully good son, isn't he?"

"Yes," assented Sara.

"So glad you're a cheerful soul. He wants cheering in this hole! Personally I believe in cheerfulness—it's essential to body and soul. I'm a bit of a philosopher in my way. I've knocked about in different parts of the world, and gone under the hammer as I call it, and I've learnt this much, that one is bound to be hammered sooner or later—beaten gold, you know! And bad though the time may be, it passes. It is bound to pass. The trick is to extract as much enjoyment as you can. Get the honey out of the dead carcase, like that chap in the Bible—Samson, wasn't his name? That's what I tell Graham.

"He's been under the hammer, Miss Darlington, for fifteen years, some of the best years of his life, and his mother, poor soul, is likely to give him a good many more years of it still. But he's got to clench his teeth and be cheerful. I keep him at it! We did some game shooting when we were out in India together. Did you know he was in the woods and forests there? A good appointment, but he chucked it and came home directly his mother was in trouble. And having been boss over a pretty big district, things go hard with him now when he has to knuckle under to one of these petty chiefs as I call them. Not that Malcolm Ferris is a bad chap, but he has rather a swelled head, and imagines his agent a bailiff."

He paused for breath. Sara looked thoughtful. Then he went on—

"So cheer up the old lady, Miss Darlington, and you will cheer him up. It's his dark time, but it will pass—as I say—it will pass."

"Yes," said Sara, with shining eyes, "and if we remember Who wields the hammer as you call it, we ought to do more than simply endure it!"

"Quite so—my old mother—bless her soul—taught me these things when I was a boy, soaked me in them—and they've all come back. I've lived to see them come true. Get him to church, Miss Darlington. It's only three miles off, quite a nice walk. And the parson's a friend of mine, lives his religion out—you know what I mean?"

They heard Graham's approaching step. Colonel Fleming nodded at her.

"Thought you were a good woman. Do your job thoroughly, and you'll have the thanks of two people for it!"

Sara wondered what he meant. Her heart warmed to this short sturdy little man. She felt glad she knew him. Though he was plain in features, there was something extremely attractive in his happy eyes and cheerful voice.

And when she went up to Mrs. Laird's room, she carried with her an extra amount of cheeriness. She was stimulated afresh to bring happiness to this lonely woman. But she very naturally wished to know what was the nature of her trouble, and how it had taken such complete and masterful possession of her spirit.