Chapter XVII: A Visit to Ireland

IT had been raining all day, but when the little local train drew up at the station, the sun was shining through the clouds, and every tree and bush held thousands of diamond points of wet glistening in the golden rays.

The soft, moist air was refreshing to the travellers, who were both tired. An antiquated landau was waiting outside for them, and when Lady Alicia suggested that it should be opened, the old coachman looked very troubled.

"The colonel's lady has never ridden with her head bare to the heavens, me lady. Sure, the fastenin's will be rusted entoirely; but if so be that Mr. Murdoch here will put his shoulder to the cratur, we'll be able to open her between us."

Then, in a loud aside, he ejaculated: "May the Holy Virgin kape a hold of me coat tails, for me body as it is be burstin' through!"

Joan laughed out, and Lady Alicia said that she would not trouble them to open it if it was so difficult. But the station-master, Mr. Murdoch, was hot and impetuous; he called two porters, and the four men threw themselves upon the vehicle, where they wrestled and talked and swore to such an extent that Joan thought they were indulging in a free fight. At last it was wrenched open, and Pat McQuick, the old coachman, mounted his box again in triumph. But the seams of his coat justified his fears, and the neck of it was ripped open in more places than one.

"We are true to our traditions," said Lady Alicia, laughing softly. "After our immaculate English servants, these give us rather a shock. I have lived so little in Ireland that I have not had much personal experience of it; but my friends tell me it is impossible to keep their servants tidy. Of course, in the towns it is different, and in the big houses; but my house is very old and very primitive. I wonder what you will think of it?"

"I shall love every inch of it," said Joan enthusiastically.

They drove along a flat, marshy moor; the wild duck and peewits seemed to have it to themselves. Then they came to woods, climbed a steep hill, and there had the most lovely view of the blue ocean below them.

"I did not know you were near the sea."

"Three miles from it."

Then they descended into a green valley, twisted in and out of some very narrow lanes, and eventually came to a cluster of cottages and a small church. Some barefooted children raced after the carriage cheering and gesticulating wildly.

"That's a welcome to us," said Lady Alicia, smiling. "We are only just outside the village."

They stopped at a very imposing-looking iron gate, flanked with massive pillars. There was a little lodge inside, and an old woman, curtsying deeply, opened the gate.

Joan looked out with great interest as they drove up the avenue. Rather an overgrown shrubbery flanked it on either side, then they turned the corner and came out upon a large grass lawn. Two goats and a flock of chickens were perambulating across it. The house faced them. It was a little grey stone building, with a rose-covered veranda running along the front of it.

To Joan it seemed very unassuming after the long avenue and pretentious entrance. The door was opened by a very stout, smiling woman in a red striped cotton dress and a large, coarse, white apron. She wore no cap. Lady Alicia knew her, and called her Biddy.

"Glad we are to see you, me lady," she said; "but there's few enough to greet ye. The kornel an' his lady, well they just ran the house with meself an' me niece Mary; but sure it wasn't the kornel that was masther, but his valet—just a sojer man. And then there was the foine English maid that turned her nose upwards and her lips down, an' she an' the kornel's man—they just had very clever heads an' lazy bodies—for 'twas orders here and orders there, an' even Larry was under the cratur's thumbs!"

Talking all the time, she led them into a stone-flagged hall, and then into a long, rambling room at the back of the house with quaint corners and recesses, and three casement windows opening into an untidy flower garden. There was a small fire lighted, and the room looked comfortable. It was furnished more for comfort than show, though it had some good pictures and china on the walls.

"This is, or was, the drawing-room, Joan," said Lady Alicia. "You see we shall not be in luxury, but it makes a cosy living-room. We have a dining-room and small morning-room besides; but if the weather is fine, we must spend most of our time out of doors. Now, Biddy, how soon can you give us something to eat? And then we will go to bed early, for we are very tired."

Biddy assured them that dinner could be served in half an hour, and then she took them up a broad, shallow flight of stairs to the bedrooms. They lay on both sides of a wide corridor running the length of the house, and Joan was delighted with her room. She could catch a glimpse of the sea from her windows, and roses were climbing the wall outside and scenting her room with their fragrance. When she came down to dinner later, Lady Alicia said:

"Why, Joan, you are already looking rested; what have you been doing to yourself?"

"Nothing," said Joan, laughing, "except that I have thrown off the burden of housekeeping and responsibility, and mean to enjoy every minute of my time here."

"We will lead the simple life. I have great confidence in Biddy, for I have known her since she was a girl. I really came over to see who I could place here as caretakers. If she and her niece will stay on, I could not do better. But I see I shall have to have some repairs done. It is an old house, and wants a good deal of attention from time to time."

They enjoyed their simple little dinner, and then, as the evening was fine, they wandered round the old garden. Joan felt as if she were in a dream. She had not left home for so long that she loved the very novelty of a fresh atmosphere and environment. And it was a real treat to be able to confide in her godmother and receive her sympathy and counsel. It almost seemed unreal to her to be absolutely detached from duty, and be able to indulge in rest and recreation just as she felt inclined.

Lady Alicia looked after her well. She sent her early to bed, and told her that breakfast would be served to them in their rooms.

"Then you can sleep on, if you like. We need not meet till lunch time."

But, tired though she was, Joan was not fond enough of her bed to stay there. And very early the next day found her out in the garden, making friends with the horses and dogs in the stable, listening to old Larry's yarns of bygone days, and at last settling down on a charming old seat on a knoll overlooking a wide expanse of country and the ocean upon the horizon. Here she sat for a full hour with her hands loosely clasped in her lap and her eyes and thoughts far-away.

The soft air fanned her brow. There was the scent from a sweet brier hedge close to her, and a waft of burning peat and wood from the chimneys of the house.

Her thoughts flew back home. "What was Cecil doing? Would she remember that this was the day for ordering the groceries and that the village women came to the vestry to pay in their club money? Would Mr. Adair remember that clerical meeting in the afternoon? And would Benson remember to earth up the potatoes and mend the orchard fence?"

Then she gave herself a mental shake and began to think of some nature studies that were simmering in her mind. But very soon her mind was back in the old rectory. Would Wilmot Gascoigne be continuing to come there? Was there a fragment of truth in the village gossip? Was it possible that Cecil was learning to care for him? And if Wilmot really cared for her, would it be a good match for them both? Again she determined not to worry. Lady Alicia came out in a few minutes to find her.

"I wonder if you would like to drive out to the sea this afternoon," Lady Alicia said. "I must go over the house with Biddy and do a good deal of business with her; but Larry could drive you down in the pony trap. There is a fat pony out at grass who wants to be exercised, and the coast is lovely; I am sure you would enjoy it."

Joan was delighted at the idea, and at two o'clock she set off in a jingle. Larry used a good deal of whip and tongue before the pony could be persuaded to settle into a steady trot; but time was no object, and Joan was so interested in everything which she saw that she was in no hurry to end the drive.

Once a motor whizzed past them.

Larry gave an indignant snort.

"Bad luck to those that use 'em!" he said vindictively. "Me son's wife have lost foive pigs this very year, an' sorra a bit did the craturs giv' her for the slaughter of 'em, for she were seven mile from town, an' the police never got in toime to tak the number, an' they just tore on for all they were worth! 'Tis one of the things we hope for when this Home Rule comes, that them motors be kep' under strict control of police."

"But I thought they were! What else do you expect Home Rule to do for you, Larry? I thought you were all against it up here."

"'Tis like this, Miss. There be a lot of injustice to us Oirish, and I were born in Cork and be a strict Catholic. The priests tell us the good old times be comin' back, an' I believe 'em. An' we shall have a king an' parlyment all of our own one day, an' money will run the streets like water, they say. A gran' toime be comin'!"

He shook his head slowly from side to side.

Joan did not attempt to argue with him; she drew him on to talk, and when they came out upon miles of rough moorland by the sea, she left off talking to enjoy the scene before her.

At last, she got out of the jingle, told Larry to wait for her, and made her way down to the beach. The tide was out. Great waves in the distance dashed and foamed over long reefs of rock; the golden sand with its seaweed and shells proved an enticing place to Joan. She wandered on, meeting nobody, and revelling in her solitude.

Suddenly she turned a corner, and heard a child's shrill cry for help. Looking out upon a rock close to the sea, she saw a small figure waving a handkerchief. She set off running towards it, and saw it was a tiny girl quite surrounded by the sea. The tide was evidently on the turn, and had crept in round her before she had noticed her peril. She was tugging at something which was evidently caught in a wedge of the rock. Joan wasted no time in thought. She pulled off her shoes and stockings, tucked up her skirts, and walked right in, till she reached the child. She was surprised to find the water reach her knees.

"My fis' net! My fis' net! A nas'y cwab has got it in his teef!" the child cried excitedly.

Joan made a grab at the stick, and with a jerk pulled up a shrimping net; then she lifted the little girl in her arms and waded back into safety. Putting her down on the sand, she said:

"Now, where's your nurse? You might have been drowned."

"Yes," nodded the small girl. "I screamed and screamed because the wicked sea ran at me so quick, and I couldn't and couldn't get my fis' net out of that hole! And then I see'd you, and I waved my hanky, and then you comed. And now I'll go back and sit down where Uncle Randal putted me. He'll be coming soon, but poor Rory hurted his foot and it bleeded, and he was carrying him to the car."

"Your uncle ought not to have left you on the beach alone," said Joan severely.

"I did pwomise him I wouldn't move; but then—why then—well, I had to, for a little cwab ran away from me, and I followed him, and then I forgot!"

She trotted across the sand—a dear little barefooted mite in white jersey and cap and a rough serge frock, with a crop of golden curls and mischievous, sparkling face.

Joan stayed to slip into her shoes and stockings, then leisurely followed her. By the time she reached her, a tall man had appeared down an opening in the cliff, and the little girl was gesticulating wildly in Joan's direction.

Joan came up, then started in amazement, for the man strode towards her in no less surprise.

It was Major Armitage.

"Miss Adair, have you dropped from the skies?"

"No, indeed I have not; have you?"

"I brought my small niece for a motor ride. She inveigled me down to the sea; then our dog cut his foot, which necessitated my taking him back to the car, which is waiting for us above; and I find, as usual, she has nearly brought catastrophe upon herself by not doing as she was told. How on earth do you happen to be in these parts?"

Joan told him. He listened with the greatest interest. He seemed more animated and in better spirits than when she had seen him last; but he did not compliment her upon her appearance.

"You must have been ill," he said to her, "to lose your colour so! I have never seen you anything but radiant and blooming."

"And now I am a haggard wreck," said Joan, laughing, the colour and light coming into her eyes and cheeks. "This is a very surprising encounter. Of course, I knew you had gone to Ireland; but my mind has been so engrossed with difficulties at home that I never thought of associating you with this part. You know Lady Alicia, do you not?"

A shadow came over his face at once.

"I have never met her, though she has often stayed at my brother's. She is charming, I believe. We are about twenty miles away; that is nothing to us, for my sister keeps a car. We will come over and call."

Then he looked down upon his little niece. "Sheila, this lady who rescued you just now is an old friend of mine. Kiss her and thank her for what she has done for you."

"I don't call her old at all, at all!" responded Sheila quickly, then she sprang lightly up and seized hold of Joan round the neck, and gave her a hug. "She's my fren' as well as yours, Uncle Randal, but I shan't call her old as you do. She's young—quite young, like Mummy!"

"May I say what a pleasure it is to see you again," said Major Armitage, letting his eyes dwell on Joan in almost a tender way. "The one bright memory of Old Bellerton is my evenings in the church on Sunday, and supper at the rectory afterwards. I have felt such a long way off from you all that the sudden sight of you is a very delightful experience."

"We have missed you very much," Joan said quietly, looking up; and then she turned again to the child, for somehow or other she was shy of meeting his eyes.

"I can't conceive how Lady Alicia managed to spirit you away. What will they do without you? You were indispensable to everybody."

"I'm afraid I thought so; but I'm not at all, and Cecil is home now, and she is looking after things. I was cross, and slack, and very unpleasant after my attack of 'flu,' and I dare say they are glad to get rid of me!"

"Look here, how are you going back? Can't I offer you a seat in my car? I'll run you to Ballyclunny in no time."

"Thank you, but I must return the same way I came. Old Larry would feel quite hurt if I were to desert him. He is the old coachman, and has driven me here in a small jingle. He let me know that it was a great favour to have his company; and said that it was only because I was fresh to 'Oireland' that he had come with me himself instead of sending the boy. I can't give you his accent, but he said I was the very divil for getting information, and he was the only one in that part of the country who could give it to me!"

She laughed merrily as she shook hands with the Major. He smiled, then grew grave.

"I hope you did not get wet in rescuing this naughty child? I blame myself for having left her. I am really deeply grateful to you, and so will her mother be, when she hears of her escapade."

"I did very little."

Then glancing at the laughing, dancing child, she said:

"I am so glad you have a small niece, Major Armitage. Children are an exhilarating tonic."

"And you think I wanted one? I am not a man who sits down with a broken backbone when life deals him blows. When I left your part of the world, I closed and sealed a chapter in my life. Here I am in a fresh one."

He spoke bravely, but in the tired, weary lines upon his face he carried the stamp of suffering. And when Joan had left him and was jogging home behind the fat pony, she wondered if he would ever be quite the same man again.

Lady Alicia was very interested when she heard of the encounter.

"You are not able to get away from your Old Bellerton friends even here. I had forgotten he had a married sister. What is her name?"

"I think she married a Mr. Donavan."

"Oh, I know! The Donavans have a beautiful old place about twenty miles away. Well, how strange! But I am not sure that I like your being drawn back into your old atmosphere. I wanted you to have a complete break from it."

"Oh, we are not likely to meet very often. Major Armitage is not fond of society."

Lady Alicia looked in a meditative fashion at Joan, then shook her head.

To herself she said:

"The man that prefers one woman to many is dangerous!"

Two days afterwards a car drove up.

Mrs. Donavan and Major Armitage were announced. Meta Donavan was a bright, vivacious little woman. She took hold of Joan by both hands and said:

"I feel inclined to kiss you! You saved my darling from what might have been a watery grave. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Of course, I have heard of you, and I pictured you a Madonna and a saint. You look quite like an ordinary being! Saints don't have dimples. I congratulate you upon that possession!"

Joan could not help laughing. Then, as Major Armitage was talking to Lady Alicia, Mrs. Donavan gave a little nod in his direction.

"How do you think he is looking? I flatter myself Sheila and I have done him a world of good. Be came up here looking like a ghost. I could hardly get a word out of him; but I never rested till I got him at my piano, which happens to be a very good one, and then he relaxed, and I won a smile out of him!"

Joan wondered if she was her brother's confidante. She hardly thought so, but she could well understand that she would win her way with anybody.

And then presently whilst tea was being got ready, they sauntered out into the untidy garden, and Joan and Major Armitage were thrown together.

"Are you coming back to us again?" she asked when he had been asking for village news.

He gave a little shudder.

"God forbid! I told you that bit of my past is sealed."

"But what are you going to do about your house?"

"I'm never going to live in it again."

Joan looked grave.

"Your tenants will be sorry. Are you going to sell it?"

"No; at least, I have not made up my mind."

"I am very inquisitive," said Joan apologetically; "you must forgive me. I get so very interested over everyone that I almost regard their affairs as mine, which is most foolish."

"Not at all," said Major Armitage quickly. "You are a friend. You have a right to ask me questions. If things became quieter over here, my sister would like to leave Ireland for a time. Then I thought she might like to have my old house. And I shall perhaps go abroad or drift into club life in London."

"Oh!" said Joan impulsively. "You talk as if you have no object in your life."

"I don't think I have."

"But your music! Your music!" she cried. "You must not lay that gift aside. If you do not compose, you can play. And you like Church music. If I had your gift, I would take some big post as organist and would speak to souls with my music. Oh, Major Armitage, you have not given up your music?"

He looked down upon her and smiled.

"I wish I could have you always near me to rouse me from my lethargy and inspire me! I think one needs to be very happy, or very miserable, to produce good music. And over here I have been living a day at a time, refusing to think at all deeply, or do more than enjoy the present. But I don't mean to give up my music. You are quite right there. And already I am being pestered to return to town and undertake several things there. But for the present, I am looking after my sister's estate for her. It badly needs a man upon it."

"And brains," said Joan, smiling. "I do acknowledge the superiority of your sex. I might have known you would not be idle. Forgive my impertinence."

Then the others joined them, and they went indoors to tea.

Mrs. Donavan insisted that they should come over to lunch in two days' time, and this they did. Joan thoroughly enjoyed the day. It was one of the very few old houses in Ireland which had not been allowed to suffer decay, and the gardens were beautifully kept. She thought Mrs. Donavan must be a very happy woman till she took her up to the top of a turret tower to see the view, and then leaning her arms on the parapet the young widow gazed away to the distant country with misty eyes.

"Oh!" she cried. "For a log cabin and a man to take care of me! Miss Adair, you were saying just now you envied me my home. I have come to see that no environment compensates for the loss of close companionship. I have been a lonely miserable woman since my husband died, and if civil war comes to our poor country, I will almost welcome the opportunities I shall have of doing and denying myself in the great cause. I am tired and sick of comfort and prosperity. I am not made for it, unless I have someone I love to share it with me."

"You have your brother now."

"Yes," and her face sparkled through its tears. "I can't tell you what he has been to me! He has had his trouble, poor fellow! The world is full of it, but as I tell him, his bliss was snatched away from him before he tasted it. I tasted mine to the full, and the miss of it is agony!"

Then she shook off her emotion, and after that one glimpse of a hidden self, Mrs. Donavan relapsed into her usual sparkling and charming gaiety. Major Armitage was in a quiet, grave mood. Joan did not see much of him, for Sheila claimed her as an old friend, and carried her off to see her pets and her own little garden.

When they were driving home, Joan said to Lady Alicia:

"I think if I were given very favourable circumstances, I should live a very lazy self-indulgent life. I do love spending my days in idleness."

"You are resting now. I should not be afraid for you, Joan. Life is too real to you to waste."

Joan shook her head doubtfully.

"I don't want to go home and settle down in the old routine. You don't know how I chafe against it, Lady Alicia. I am so weary of it, and Cecil tries my patience, and I even get fretted by my father's continual cheerful optimism!"

"You must remember you have been ill. You will feel quite differently soon. I would remind you of a favourite text of yours which will be made your experience, and has been, has it not? 'Strengthened with all might, according to His glorious power, unto all patience and long-suffering with joyfulness.'"

Joan drew a long sigh.

"My dear child, 'being' is as important as 'doing' in God's sight. A life lived consistently is a sermon in itself. Think of Cecil and of Banty Gascoigne. Both watching you, both keenly conscious when you fail in gentleness and patience. Are they not worth winning?"

"I feel it would need a miracle to alter Cecil," Joan said despondently.

There was a pause, then Lady Alicia said: "I want you to go back invigorated and refreshed, and I expect you will. But you are not ready yet either in mind or body."

And Joan found that Lady Alicia was right. As the days sped on and she found her keenness and energy return to her, thoughts of her home duties no longer oppressed her. She revelled in the simple outdoor life she was leading, and drew fresh health from her surroundings. When next Major Armitage met her, he complimented her on the improvement in her appearance.

"It is the Irish air," she said, laughing. "I can no longer pretend that I am an invalid."