Chapter VI

WHEN Mrs. Caruth invited Joyce Minces to stay at Fernsclough she was quite in earnest, and yet, whilst anxious to serve the daughter of her old friend, she was hardly sorry that the girl did not accept the invitation. Her only son was absent, but time would bring him back. Joyce had been his pet, and he had made himself her playfellow as a child. But she was a woman now, and the best of mothers are ambitious for their sons. It was, perhaps, as well that Alec should find a partner for life before he and Joyce met again.

She was a dear girl, undoubtedly. Good, true, and with a sturdy independence of character which Mrs. Caruth respected. But Alec was master of Fernsclough, and Joyce the penniless daughter of his old tutor. She had been a little afraid that something might come of that old companionship between the child and the youth; but Alec was every inch a soldier, and duty with him always came first. He had been less at home than he might well have been, but the mother was proud to see her son's name in the honour lists from time to time. He had rejoined his regiment after his recovery, but now it was ordered home, and she was looking forward to having him near or with her for, perhaps, years to come. They would spend next Christmas together, and the mother was planning what friends should be gathered at Fernsclough to make the happy season still brighter for her son.

It was November before he arrived, brown, bearded, more erect and strong-looking than before his illness.

Mrs. Caruth must have stood on tiptoe, if her son had not bent his tall head to receive her kiss of welcome, and return it with interest.

"It is delightful to have just you alone to receive me, mother," he said. "I was half afraid you might have visitors, seeing you could not know quite when to expect me. I might have brought one myself, Captain Tyson, whom I have named in my letters as such a fine fellow and reliable friend. But he would not come straight here with me—I think on your account, that we might be together for a few days first. He is leaving the army for good."

"He will be welcome, Alec, for your sake. But there will be plenty to talk over. Butler, too, is longing to go into business matters with you as soon as possible."

"Dear mother, do not compel me to assume the responsibilities of a landowner until twenty-four hours have been given to inquiries and reminiscences. I have shaken hands with Butler, and promised to talk to him the day after to-morrow. Till then, my time is my mother's."

Mrs. Caruth's face showed her pleasure; and after dinner her son said—

"Let us go into your boudoir, cosiest of rooms, and question each other about everything and everybody."

The mother agreed, and the mutual questioning went on for some time.

"Now," said Major Caruth, "I want to know all about my dear old tutor's death. You told me very little beyond the bare fact when you wrote to me."

Mrs. Caruth gave all the particulars, adding, "I believe the loss of everything broke Mr. Mirlees' heart. But I was not at home when he died. I preferred remaining abroad for some time after you left me to facing home without you."

"But there was his little girl—Joyce. What became of her?"

"You forget, Alec, Joyce is now twenty-one. Her uncle, Mr. Walter Evans, took her to his home."

"Evans! Surely you mean a subdued-looking man with a rich, vulgar wife, and two very handsome daughters, whom we first saw when we were staying with the Clives at The Warren. Mr. Evans had a beautiful place near theirs. We afterwards met the family at Mentone."

"The same people. Mr. Evans was poor before his marriage, but a man of good birth, refined manners, and excellent education. Every one liked him, but the wife was tolerated for his sake, or by some, perhaps, on account of a full purse."

"So my little Joyce went to live with that vulgar, purse-proud woman; my playmate, whom I petted and protected when she was a child and I a man. Have you heard from her lately; I should like to know how she gets on with Mrs. Evans, seeing that she had a wonderfully tender nature, combined with a fine spirit of her own, which would ill brook a position of dependence on such a woman."

Mrs. Caruth could only answer truly, and she said—"I fear Joyce was unhappy at The Chase. Mr. Evans was fond of his niece, but he yielded to his wife, and was hardly master in his own house. Joyce grew tired of her position, and wrote to me for a character to enable her to obtain a situation."

"A what? Joyce Mirlees used that word in connection with herself? What could she mean?"

"I use her own word, Alec."

"Then I presume she was falling back on the only resource of a friendless young gentlewoman, a governess's post."

"No, dear; Joyce did not consider herself sufficiently accomplished to take a situation as governess. People want so much nowadays, and Joyce, though to my mind unusually well-educated in all that is most valuable, had none of the more showy qualifications."

"She had those which, showy or not, are most valuable in every-day life, and really show the most too, because they are in hourly exercise for the good of others. Tell me, now, what were the duties she undertook?"

"She went as attendant to two little children."

"Do you mean as a nursemaid?"

"The children were too old to need nursing. Joyce wrote of them that they were the most winning little creatures imaginable, and quite a comfort to her."

"She needed some comfort, poor child!" said Major Caruth, with a sigh. "And you, mother; what did you do for the daughter of an old friend?"

He spoke quietly, but his face and words expressed deep feeling.

"I wrote to Joyce and offered her a home and a welcome here, Alec. I have a copy of my letter and of Joyce's answer. You will see from these that she had a choice in the matter. I can scarcely be blamed if, in spite of my offer, she yet preferred her own independent course, even to a home at Fernsclough. I was grieved to think of Joyce in the position of a mere serving-maid, but I own I did not respect her the less for declining to eat the bread of dependence."

Major Caruth took the letters, read them through, and then returned them without a word of comment to his mother. His face did not express entire satisfaction, and of this she was sensible.

"Do you not think I wrote kindly, and did what I could under the circumstances?" she asked, in a somewhat aggrieved tone, and after a rather prolonged silence.

"You did well, so far, mother. But do not be hurt at my saying, I think you should not have stopped where you did. Joyce was not the girl to accept home and maintenance from anyone on whom she had no claim but that of life-long acquaintance, without doing something in return. She had already tried that sort of existence with relatives, and knew what it meant."

"Joyce could never suppose that she would receive anything but the greatest kindness and consideration here, and as my friend. She would never make a mental comparison between me and Mrs. Walter Evans."

"Certainly not; but you must remember Joyce was bound to earn something. Where would her clothes and mere pocket and travelling expenses come from? She had no income from any source. What could the girl do? Come to Fernsclough as your guest and friend, without a pound in her pocket? I presume you made no allusion to money matters?"

"I assure you, Alec, I did not think of doing so. Had Joyce come here, she would have wanted for nothing."

"I believe you meant all that was kind. What you might have done is this: represented to Joyce that, being alone, you wished for a lady companion, and that your old friend's daughter would be so much more agreeable to you than anyone else could be; but that, for her sake and your own, the arrangement must be made on a business basis, the same as with a stranger, and so as to leave you both perfectly free to end it, should either wish to do so."

"I see, dear, and I wish I had done this; but it is too late now."

"Quite too late, mother," said Alec, thoughtfully.

"After all, Joyce has not done so badly. The lady she is with, who must be exceptionally nice, treated Joyce from the first with great consideration, and, finding out how well qualified she was to teach the children, made her their governess at three months' end. She now fills a position that would disgrace no lady."

"I am certain she never did fill one that the idea of disgrace could be associated with. Perhaps her employer thought it would be more economical to promote the capable maid than to engage a governess proper. One has heard of such things before."

"You do not know of whom you speak, my dear Alec, or you would not say so."

"Then tell me the lady's name. If she is on my visiting list, I shall be better able to judge."

"Joyce particularly requested that I would tell no one the name of her employer, or communicate her present address. I do not suppose she would mind now, because her position is so entirely satisfactory. Still, I am bound to respect her wishes until I have asked permission to do otherwise. If you like, I will write at once."

"You shall violate no confidence for me, mother; and to-night you must talk to me instead of wasting these precious first hours in writing to anyone."

Then, as if wishing to hear no more of Joyce, Major Caruth began to ask after old acquaintances, and the rest of the evening passed without further allusion to her.

When bed-time came, he remarked—

"According to Tyson's plans when we parted, he will probably be with us on Friday night. This is Tuesday, so before he comes I shall have time to satisfy old Butler, have a run round the place, make myself acquainted with all that has been done during my absence, and be ready for Tyson when he arrives. He will have to settle down now, though he is four years my junior, for he has just succeeded to a fine estate."

"I wish you would settle down, Alec."

"So I shall, mother—for a while at any rate."

"But I mean get married."

"That even is within the verge of possibility. I will look for some one who is worthy to be your daughter, and when I find her—"

He did not say what would follow, but kissed his mother, and disappeared into his own room.