Chapter XX: Her Inspiration

"AND so, you see, Dr. Carisbrooke, I am perfectly cured."

"I really think you are. I am afraid you are not placid enough to grow much flesh."

Lunch was over. Tomina was her old self again, impetuous and gay, and very dignified by turn.

As her stepmother said, "One could rarely guess what she was going to do or say next."

But the old doctor, remembering the nervous, strained expression of her face when he last saw her, was very pleased at the result of the country's quiet.

"And now I suppose your year of exile is over, and you will come back amongst us, and live the same old life until you have another breakdown?"

"Oh dear, no! You are responsible for having changed my whole life. You buried me, and now I have come to life again, but with quite a different outlook, and—if I may say it—with a different soul."

She and the doctor were talking quietly together in the drawing-room. Lady Gavin had gone to her room to rest, and Madge had gone out.

Dr. Carisbrooke nodded gravely.

"I congratulate you—"

"So you will not see me pursuing pleasure, for all I am worth, any more. And I have learnt to love the country and hate the town."

"What else?"

"Much that I cannot talk about. You see and study human beings a good deal, don't you? Do you ever tell them the secret of real peace and content?"

Then Dr. Carisbrooke's eyes glistened.

"Ah!" he said. "You have indeed been learning things in your retreat."

"Well, now, I'll tell you what I've been doing."

Tomina gave a short account of her van.

"I can't tell you what it has done for me! It has made me determine to be a carrier for the rest of my life. Not always in a van, but anywhere, everywhere. For, Dr. Carisbrooke, life is a burden to most people. Not when we are very young, but as we live on, it gets pretty heavy for some shoulders. And I'm going to try and help carry for those who are sinking under the weight of theirs. I can't tell you what I have learnt merely by listening to the everyday sorrows and difficulties of village people. It has made me see that those who only shoulder a light burden like myself are bound to share the heavier ones of others."

"Is this Tomina Gavin?" said Dr. Carisbrooke, smiling. "You have indeed changed. And so you're going back to your country life again? God bless you, child!"

The old doctor was visibly moved.

Then Tomina smiled suddenly and brilliantly upon him.

"I think I must confide in you what I have not told my stepmother yet. I am going to marry Gerald Norman. You know him?"

"Should think I did. Have been attending his mother since she came to town. They're leaving for Torquay this afternoon at my recommendation. I want her to see a friend of mine there. Well, I always felt there was something wrong in the break between you and him, but I'm bound to say he has come out in a marvellous light. His life for some months has been a severe test, physically and mentally."

"I know it, and I mean to go shares."

"Is that why you are marrying him?" asked the old doctor, sharply.

Tomina laughed.

"That's why I am 'insisting' upon marrying him soon. Don't ask any more questions, Dr. Carisbrooke. I'm the happiest woman alive, and Gerald and I understand each other."

When the doctor had gone, Tomina ran lightly up to her stepmother's room. She found her lying on her couch, reading a novel.

"Is your cab here?" she asked, turning to look at her stepdaughter, and wondering at the brightness of her face. "What does Dr. Carisbrooke say to you? Doesn't he think it absolutely unnecessary for you to banish yourself from town any more?"

"He thinks it the best thing I can do. I haven't much time, but I would rather tell you than write it. I am going to meet Gerald Norman and his mother at Paddington, and go down for part of the way with them. I branch off at Bristol. They go on to Torquay. I am really going to marry him, after all."

Lady Gavin put down her book in amazement.

"Well, you astonish me! I did not know you had had anything to do with him for years. And what is going to become of his mother? I suppose he will put her in some nursing home, or get a companion for her."

"Indeed, no—I am going to help Gerald nurse her!"

"It's preposterous, Tomina! You couldn't and wouldn't do it! Why, your life would be slavery! He has no right to ask you to do such a thing."

"He didn't. I asked myself. Good-bye mother—I must really go. I have been in one wild rush ever since I got up this morning. Tell Madge my news. I am so happy that I feel treading on air!"

Then Tomina kissed her stepmother and sped away. The taxi was already at the door.

A little later, she was greeting Colonel Norman on the platform at Paddington station. He had engaged a special carriage for his mother. Tomina looked up at him with a radiant face.

"Isn't this delicious? Yesterday I quite thought I was going to make my journey alone, travelling away from you for ever. To-day—why, Gerald, I do believe you have already one wrinkle less across your forehead!"

He smiled upon her—he could not help it.

"I am sadly wanting a long, sensible talk with you, but how are we to get it? My mother's one desire is to have us both with her."

"We can take one turn along the platform," said Tomina, "before the train starts. And I suppose we shall see each other again soon, shall we not?"

"How is it to be managed? I cannot come to you."

"Then I must come to Torquay. I know a Mrs. Darrell there; I will ask her to invite me for a short visit."

"I hope you will come to us. We shall be in rooms."

"Well, we will see."

"It is all wrong," Colonel Norman said hurriedly. "You must let me speak out. I have no right to drag you into the shadows. I would not have you lose your freshness and gaiety for worlds. It would be impossible for you to keep it, if you were to live with us. I—"

Tomina interrupted him.

"I don't think I want to listen to this long, sensible talk of yours," she said, laughing, "if this is to be a sample of it. Just tell me you are happier than you were yesterday. Don't let me feel I have added to your cares! Why, you foolish man, nursing an invalid is a woman's duty—not a man's! A woman makes nothing of it. Look at hospital nurses; what a cheerful race they are! I am not a young girl. I have something independent of circumstances to make me happy, and I am just longing to show you what good times we will have—your mother, you, and I. Let us thoroughly enjoy our journey to Bristol together. Do remember that my butterfly days are over; I'm going to be a busy brown bee, which is much more comfortable and snug than a fragile thing made of gossamer wings."

Colonel Norman drew in a breath.

"I will save my protestations," he said. "We will enjoy ourselves to-day, dearest."

And enjoy themselves they did. Mrs. Norman lay on her comfortably improvised couch and smiled as she listened to Tomina's bright talk. She was told about the van and all the quaint humours of the passengers, and the amusing incidents that occurred upon the road.

Colonel Norman's eyes never left Tomina. Never in all the years that he had known her did she appear more charming than now. There was a softness and sweetness in her ripple of talk, a sudden touch of pathos and tenderness in her tone that he never remembered in her before. And her delicate beauty seemed to have ripened and strengthened into more of a woman's nature and less of the girl's. She had always bewitched him with her rapid variety of moods; he had known that she was not all frivol and froth, but now he was allowed to see something of the deep, true feeling within her.

And when she turned to him with wistful, gentle appeal in her laughing eyes, he longed with a hungry longing to have her to himself alone.

Yet nothing made him oblivious of his mother's needs. He and Tomina vied with one another in arranging her cushions for her comfort and in beguiling the time away. Tomina gave her an inimitable description of the morning when Gerald had met her running breathlessly after the van, and how he had dealt with the mischievous old man who had driven off without her; then of the day when he had so resolutely climbed up and taken the seat beside her; and lastly, of the terrible thunderstorm when she and Harry were fixed up in their tree, unable to move.

"You see, Mrs. Norman, nothing would keep him out of my life, do what I would. And this morning—surely it was not this morning, it seems years ago—this morning he really saved my life—"

As she spoke, Tomina looked across at Gerald with soft radiant eyes.

"Of course," Mrs. Norman said with interest, "you belong to each other. I am not so selfish as to wish to keep my son entirely to myself. I like to see people and to have them about me, and I am delighted to have you, dear, as a daughter. What a lot we shall have to arrange! There will be the wedding, and then—where shall we settle, Gerald? Is it quite impossible to go back to the Court? With Tomina with us, I do not think I should mind so much."

"I fear we could not do that, mother, it is sold, you know."

"I never could understand why you sold it so hurriedly. I am sure, if you had had patience, things would have come right. I can't help feeling it was your lack of business qualities and want of knowledge that landed us in such money difficulties. If your dear father had lived, how different it would have been! You see, you were trained to be a soldier, and soldiers know nothing of business. It almost seems a waste for you to have left the Service; you did no good. I dare say you did your best, but you must have muddled things terribly to necessitate the place being sold."

"You told me when we were abroad that nothing would induce you to go back there, mother dear; you wanted it taken off our hands."

"But people may change their minds sometimes." Mrs. Norman's tone was irritable. "Now I feel quite differently about it."

"Never mind! We won't talk over money matters now."

Tomina was conscious that Gerald was deeply hurt by his mother's words, though his composure was wonderful. She did not know how much of this kind of reproach he was continually called upon to endure. Knowing how masterful and intolerant he had been in the old days, how intensely he had resented any criticism or blame, she marvelled at his patience and forbearance now with his poor mother. She dashed into the conversation.

"Let us picture our home," she said. "We have the whole world at our disposal, Mrs. Norman. I do love seeing new places, don't you?"

"I am tired of moving about," was the rather peevish reply. "I want to settle down. I want to have my own things about me."

"Gerald and I must go house-hunting, and come back and tell you all about them. It will be delightful."

"I cannot be left alone."

Mrs. Norman's good temper was forsaking her. She was not a good traveller, and her son instinctively felt that she was suffering. He bent over her and shifted her position a little.

"Would you like me to read to you? Perhaps you could get a little sleep. I have a paper here. I will read you the Court news; I know that always interests you."

Tomina sat still, gazing out of the window. A sudden fear seized her that life lived out by Mrs. Norman's bedside might prove too trying for her patience. And if she failed in good humour and perfect serenity of temper, she would add to Gerald's burden instead of lessening it. She remembered her month with Mrs. Cuthbert, and how desperately she had to struggle against impatience at that lady's selfish garrulous talk.

And then Gerald began to read. He had a very pleasant voice, and in a few minutes a soothed, rested look came over his mother's fretful face. In a short time, she slept peacefully, and then very gently Gerald came across to Tomina. He sat down by her side, and then, putting his arm round her, drew her to him.

"My darling, you see how it is with my poor mother. I warn you that on some days nothing pleases her. I am grieved that you should have seen her like this to-day, but you must make allowance for her. Travelling always upsets her."

Tomina nestled against his broad shoulder.

"It only makes me think about you," she said. "I don't know this saint. How did you become one? All at once?"

"She is my mother," he said softly, "and I love her. But trouble has taught me lessons, and it has drawn me to the One Who chastens as well as blesses."

"Ah!" said Tomina, with a happy sigh. "Then you and I will love and serve together. I felt there was something different about you."

They sat silent, quite content that they were with each other. Then he said—

"Tomina dearest, if you marry me, I shall not be able to give you the comforts which are natural to you. My little mother cannot understand it, but for a long time her income has only been half what it was when my father was living. We shall have to be content with a small house and simple living. This is one of the reasons that made me feel I had no right to speak to you now."

"Why, Gerald, what nonsense! Have you seen the size of the cottage I now live in, and in which I am so supremely happy? And I have my own money, you know, which is more than ample for my wants. I never have valued big houses and property as some people do. I would be perfectly happy in a cottage. Don't you see that my greatest pleasure will be to make you happy? I believe, I hope I can. Can't we find some sweet little country house or farm where we could enjoy all the country people, and things which I have learnt to love?"

Gerald hesitated.

"My mother," he said, "wants a great deal of amusement. She likes to lie on her couch, watching a busy thoroughfare. It seems to distract her thoughts."

"Then we must live in town," said Tomina, bravely and cheerfully. "What does it matter where we live? You and I will be together, and we shall never, never be anything but supremely happy."

"I'm afraid I shall never be able to have my sensible talk with you," said Gerald, as he looked down upon her with fond, smiling eyes. "You have bewitched me, Tomina. I shall not be able to live without you."

They talked in soft whispers then, as only lovers can. Mrs. Norman slept on and never woke till they came to Bristol, and Tomina had to leave them.

The rest of her journey seemed like a dream. She arrived at her cottage tired in body, but in very good spirits. Susan welcomed her rapturously, and had plenty of village news to give her.

And then she went early to bed, for she had had a very strenuous and exhausting day.

It was astonishing how easily she slipped into her simple life again. The spring weather was delightful to her. When she took the van out, she wore her motor bonnet with the cherries, and the admiration which it evoked was tremendous.

"'Tis what Miss Kirk in Damerton allays says," announced Mrs. Tibbs, "if you can't afford to foller the fashions up to time, put your old-fashioned gown in a box with camphor and wait a few years, then bring it out, and you'll be as stylish as you like, and no cost to nobody! It stands to reason, fashion comes back agen and agen. Now that there bunnet be just a pattern sure enough made after my great-grandmother's, for I have her picture taken in it."

"Ah, dear Miss Tomina! You're lookin' bonny! We all do say as we shan't have you single much longer?"

"I don't believe you will," said Tomina, looking at them seriously. "You all say a woman ought to marry, so I think I shall take your advice."

"Hark to her now! Have you seen a gentleman to your likin', miss?"

"Yes. Now guess. He did my van a good turn one day!"

"Why, 'tis the Colonel what used to live over to Yockley. He ketched hold of Will Carpenter and shook him upside down!"

"Is it, miss? Surely you wouldn't favour such a grave gentleman?"

"Hush! Don't be so sharp, Mrs. Crabbe. A young lady doesn't always like the free-and-easy sort."

"It is Colonel Norman. Now I'm waiting for your congratulations!"

There was a great buzz and interest in the van. Some groaned, but all, as they expressed it, "wished her well."

"It do seem very soon to lose you. 'Tis what we all feared, that it couldn't last long. Young ladies don't turn into carriers for life. 'Twas bound to come to end some time. Eh, dearie me, 'tis a knock-down blow for us!"

"I'm not going to give up the carrier's business," said Tomina, looking at them with her bright smile. "I shall be a carrier, or try to be, wherever I am. But if I have to leave this part of the world, I shall undertake to see that this van goes on. You have got on very well without me all these weeks."

Old Mrs. Crabbe shook her head sadly.

"No, me dear, we hain't! There be too much wrangle, and we like a carrier with plenty o' fun and sperrit. Now, Joe be very well for a lad, but he have no sperrit!"

Joe happened at this moment to be walking up the hill by the side of the cart, so he did not hear the discussion.

"But," said Tomina, "I think spirit is not necessary in a carrier. Faithfulness, honesty, and a good memory are what is needed, and Joe has all that."

"There be weddings in the air," said Mrs. Tubbs, gloomily. "Mrs. Francis up at the Hall is marrying our doctor, and that be comin' off next week."

"So soon!" exclaimed Tomina. "I did not know it."

The very next day Mrs. Francis came to see her and told her the news.

"I do so want to see you about Harry, for you have done so much for him," she said. "Dr. Merton and I want to adopt him, and have him to live with us altogether. Do you object?"

"Indeed I don't. I think it will be splendid for the child. Dear little Harry! He has helped me so much. I feel I owe him a lot!"

"You will still be able to see him."

"Yes," said Tomina, slowly, "as long as I am here, I shall."

"Are you thinking of leaving us?"

Tomina looked up at Mrs. Francis.

"Only of following your example."

"Oh, my dear, I am so glad. You are not fitted to live alone. I always said so."

For a moment, Tomina was silent; then she said—

"You don't ask me his name."

"Somebody that I know?"

"Yes, and somebody whom you like."

"Not Gerald Norman? Oh, delightful! I always wondered if he—if you cared!"

"I knew him long before we came here," said Tomina. "We had quarrelled very bitterly, or we might have married long ago. And he was ready to forgive before I was. We did not fraternise much, did we, when he was here? I don't think I should have come here at all, had I known that Yockley Court was in the neighbourhood."

"I am so interested," said Mrs. Francis, earnestly, "and so very, very glad for Gerald to be going to have brightness and happiness in his life at last. How is his mother?"

"Just the same—a permanent invalid. Do you know, I find Gerald so altered that my heart aches for him. I long to be able to give him some of his freedom back again. He has been absolutely tied to his mother's sick-room ever since she was first taken ill. Not one son in a thousand would have done what he has done!"

"But, my dear, you cannot take his place. Are you going to nurse her between you? I cannot think that right. You are young, and trained nurses could spare you. Of course, I know that, as long as Mrs. Norman lives, Gerald will have her in his home, but I think, for his sake and yours, you ought to come to some different arrangement about the nursing."

"Oh, we shall see," said Tomina, brightly. "I don't feel that it will be a burden to me. I love Gerald so much that I long to give—give—give—do you understand me? I long to bring the light to his eyes again, to hear his tread get brisker, and his voice have the old masterful ring in it. Both he and his mother want a third person badly who will shake them out of their groove. He is too resigned, it makes him dull! She thinks it quite impossible in her circumstances to laugh or even smile."

"I wish you had a happier commencement to your married life."

"It will be heavenly!" said Tomina, with shining eyes. "Nothing you can say will damp my hopes."

And Mrs. Francis wisely said no more.

Dr. Merton and Mrs. Francis were married very quietly the following week; only Tomina and some near relations were at the wedding. They went to the Lakes for their honeymoon.