Chapter Nineteen.
Gervase Vanburgh.
“Humph!” remarked Miss Nan to herself the next afternoon, as she watched the lovers pacing the garden walk, “Humph! unless my eyes deceive me, relationships are strained between our dear young friends. The atmosphere seems charged with—not electricity, but an amount of ice which is suitable neither to the season nor the occasion. Strikes me, I’d better be out of the way! I’ll do an act of charity to another and a good turn to myself at one and the same time, and go and have tea with Diogenes!”
She spoke with a certainty of welcome, justified by the delight with which Mr Vanburgh invariably greeted her appearance, for she had discovered that nothing pleased him so much as to see her running in and out of the house, popping in for ten minutes’ chat on her return from a walk, or livening a dull afternoon by taking her work across the road, and stitching by his couch. This latter attention had also brought about the happy results of interesting the invalid in the coming sale, and more than one of Nan’s efforts was bought before it was completed, thereby affording that young lady a terrible temptation to scamp the work which remained. On the present occasion, however, she was in a lazy mood, and frowned sternly on her conscience, when it suggested that she should make use of the opportunity to finish a certain table centre. No, indeed, she decided, she would do nothing of the kind. Unwilling work was invariably a failure, and she felt no vocation to do anything more energetic than sit still and eat Mr Vanburgh’s delicious cakes, and drink Mr Vanburgh’s excellent tea.
She stood up then, and, as a preliminary step, regarded herself critically in the mirror, for among other things which had been borne in upon her concerning her new neighbour, one was that he was exceedingly fastidious about appearances, and as sharp as a needle to discover any discrepancies in her attire. He was too polite to put his criticisms into words, but his face spoke volumes, and certain historic occasions, when she had sat smarting beneath the consciousness of a missing button or a crooked tie, had made a lasting impression on the mind of the careless young woman. Nowadays, however fleeting might be her visit to the Grange, she never went without a careful examination of her appearance. A shop window answered the purpose of a mirror, if nothing better could be found, and one morning, as Agatha and Christabel walked along the village street, they had been reduced to a state of speechless amazement by discovering Nan twisting and turning before the wired windows of the Bank, with as much concern for her appearance as though she had been Lilias herself.
On the present occasion there were only a few stray locks to be pinned in order, and then the glass reflected a charming picture of happy girlhood. The piqué skirt was fresh and neat; the pink shirt belted in by a natty white band, and the dark hair curled softly round the fresh bright face. Nan stared at herself solemnly, contorting her face into the curious, strained expression with which nine women out of ten regard themselves in a mirror, twisted round, to be sure that her belt showed no unsightly gap, pulled her tie accurately into the middle of her collar, and finally fastened on a sailor hat, and ran gaily across the street. She did not go to the front door this time, for—unique and extraordinary sign of favour—to her, and to her alone, had been granted permission to use the garden gate, enter the house by the side door, and so make her way upstairs unannounced. Mr Vanburgh had been anxious to put every facility in his favourite’s way, for only an invalid can appreciate the brightness which had come into his life since this merry-hearted girl had taken compassion upon his loneliness. To see her bonnie face peering in at the door, to hear her ringing laugh, and listen to her voice, was better than any tonic, and seemed to put fresh strength into his feeble body.
Up the stairs, then, Nan ran, and made straight for the study where the invalid spent his afternoons. The door was closed, but to wait to announce her arrival by a knock was a proceeding far too dignified for one of her impetuous nature; she merely turned the handle, thrust a mischievous face round the corner, and announced boldly, “I’ve come to tea!”
There was no answering exclamation of delight, and Nan had just discovered, with a gasp of surprise, that the couch was empty, when a tall, fair-haired man rose suddenly and confronted her.
“Oh,” cried Nan, and stood agape with astonishment.
“I beg your pardon,” drawled the stranger, and stared back out of a pair of handsome, sleepy eyes, “You—er—you expected to see Mr Vanburgh; I am sorry to say he is not very well—”
“Not well? Oh dear, I’m sorry! And are you the doctor?—Have you come from town?”
“Oh no!” The tall man smiled, as if, for some reason, the idea seemed quite preposterous to his mind. “I am not the doctor. I am Mr Vanburgh’s nephew. I was coming to visit him shortly in any case, and as I heard that he was not well, I thought it better to come down and see for myself exactly how he was.”
“Of course. I am so vexed that I did not know about it, but I have been so busy this week that I have not seen him since Sunday. He is really ill? In bed? Not able to get up?”
“He has kept in bed for two days, but is coming in presently to join me at tea, so I hope that you—er—you will fulfil the intention with which you came!” and the speaker smiled at the pretty girl with a sudden lighting of the sleepy eyes. He was thinking to himself what a marvellous difference her coming had made in the aspect of the dim, solemn room. All day long he had roamed about the house and grounds with the eerie feeling of being alone in an enchanted castle, where a spell of sleep was laid on the occupants. Wherever the eye lighted, some rare and costly treasure greeted the sight; the great rooms opened one into the other, while rare Venetian mirrors reduplicated the tapestries on the walls and seemed to open out fresh vistas before the eye. It was a palace among houses, a very storehouse of treasures, but the want of life chilled the blood in the young man’s veins. Not a human soul to be seen but the silent-footed servant with his foreign tongue, and the crippled master, dead already to all that makes life worth living! All day long he had been alone, struggling with a depression which seemed to close more and more heavily around him; but here, at last, was a creature like himself, young, radiant, full of life, with the glow of health and happiness on her rosy cheek. His glance was so undisguisedly friendly that Nan responded to it with a smile, and seated herself forthwith on her accustomed chair. Shyness not being a complaint by which she was troubled, she saw no reason for refusing the stranger’s invitation, or for disguising the keen interest which she took in his own individuality.
“Thank you; I’d like to stay,” she said frankly. “I am so pleased to meet you, for I know all about you. ‘Gervase Farrington Vanburgh’,”—she checked off each word on uplifted fingers, and nodded her head with an air of triumph at the completeness of her information.
“‘The Boundaries, Lipton, Devonshire.’ I have posted ever so many notes to you, and once I addressed an envelope. Perhaps you remember my scrawly writing, with long tails to the letters? We were dreadfully disappointed that Mr Vanburgh had no daughters, for we have not many friends of our own age, but he tried to console us by saying that you were coming to pay him a visit. I asked him especially to arrange it for June, for we shall have our brother home then, and several things going on which will make it livelier than usual. We have made all sorts of plans for your amusement!”
“That is kind; I appreciate it very much. I have heard of you too, and of the pleasure which your acquaintance has given my uncle. He was giving me an account of you all last night, from which I have no difficulty in recognising you from your sisters. You are Miss Lilias!”
“Lilias!—I! Good gracious! Whatever made you think that?” gasped Nan, staring at him with eyes so clear and honest, that, though an adept in the gentle art of flattery, Gervase Vanburgh found himself incapable of explaining the reason of his mistake. He could not tell Nan Rendell that, after hearing Lilias described as the beauty of the family, he had at once identified her with the charming figure whose presence had brought sunshine into the gloomy house. He murmured some vague excuse, while Nan proceeded to expatiate on the difference between herself and her sister. “Lilias is fair, and I am dark; she has golden hair, and is quite grown up and staid and proper. I am supposed to be grown up too, in the afternoons and in the evenings, but the mornings are my own, and then I am disgracefully young, and behave as badly as if I were a child again. I wish I were! I shall never be so happy again as I was in the dear old school-days.” Nan’s eyes roamed wistfully across the road to the porch room, where Elsie’s sleek head could be seen bent over her work, with Agatha and Christabel vaguely outlined at the table; then suddenly her face lit up with mischievous smiles. “If they could only see me!” she told herself ecstatically. “If the girls could see me sitting here talking to this strange young man! They’d have a fit! They’d go crazy with excitement! I must, I must lure him to the window, and let them see us together! They will never believe me unless I do.” She looked up, to meet Gervase’s eyes fixed upon her, and found inspiration in his first remark.
“You are looking at your own house, are you not? It is exactly opposite this, I think. My uncle pointed it out to me last night.”
“Yes, just opposite. It stands on the road, as this one does, but we have a lovely garden behind. You can see a little bit of it from here!” and wily Nan led the way to the window, secure of bringing Gervase in her train, and keeping him in evidence until it pleased her to finish her explanations. The appearance of her own light dress was sufficient to attract Elsie’s attention; but what of the agitation of the three at sight of her companion? Elsie fled into the background—“The better to see you, my dear,”—and Nan’s keen eyes could discern the three patches of white made by the gaping faces, the while she smiled and posed, far more for their benefit than that of her companion. Presently Elsie disappeared, and Nan knew as well as if she had heard the words spoken, that the object of her flight had been to bring the opera-glasses from the drawing-room, when the three would take turns to stare at the stranger, and speculate as to his identity. In the first mischievous enjoyment of the moment she found it impossible to face her companion, but when at last she did venture to meet his glance she was vastly impressed by his appearance. A superfine specimen indeed, this Gervase Vanburgh, with his frock-coat, well-creased trousers, and immaculate linen. Even Nan, the unnoticing, noted the faultlessness of detail which characterised his attire, and had an instant perception that Ned Talbot would look rough and countrified by his side, and even Jim himself suffer from the contrast. Evidently this was a dandy of the first water; yet, despite his languid bearing, his face was full of intelligence, and decision of character was proclaimed in the large nose and square, clean-cut chin.
“What a mercy I tidied my hair!” sighed Nan to herself; and at that moment the door opened, and in came the Italian servant, pushing his master before him in the wheeled chair in which he was moved from one room to another. The invalid was looking more death-like than ever, but his face lighted with pleasure at the sight of Nan, while she ran to the sofa and arranged his cushions with loving solicitude. When he was settled she knelt beside him to exchange greetings, putting her hand on his with a caressing gesture, and he held it firmly while he replied, as if gaining strength from the contact. Gervase Vanburgh thought he had never seen so typical a picture of youth and age as that made by his uncle and the bright-faced girl, and mentally contrasted this welcome with the one given to himself the day before. His uncle had never shown such pleasure on his arrival; but he felt no jealousy of the girl who was so evidently preferred before himself; for, whatever his faults might be, he was free at least from any tinge of self-seeking. The lazy smile lingered on his face as he listened to the exchange of question and answer.
“This is a pleasant surprise, little woman! When did you come across? I did not hear of your arrival.”
“Bounced in ten minutes ago, and had such a fright to find a stranger here instead of you. Why didn’t you send at once to tell me that you were worse?”
“Because I could not have seen you if you had come. On my bad days I am best alone; but I am pulling round again, and am glad to have Gervase’s company. You have made each other’s acquaintance, I see! I suppose neither had much difficulty in guessing the identity of the other.”
“He thought I was Lilias!” said Nan, glancing at Gervase with laughing eyes. “Think of that! He will be surprised when he sees her, won’t he? But I knew who he was in a moment. Now, tell me honestly, would you rather I went away? I came meaning to stay to tea, but if you don’t feel able to talk to two people at once I’ll come again when you are alone. I won’t be a scrap offended!”
Mr Vanburgh smiled.
“I am sure you would not, but I should like you to stay, please. We want you to pour out tea for us; and I won’t attempt to talk, but just lie still and amuse myself listening to you.”
“But I never can be amusing when I try,—can you?” said Nan, appealing to Gervase with a friendly smile. “The girls at home think I am amusing, because I generally say the wrong thing at the wrong moment, which may be entertaining to them, but is very poor fun for me. Maud says I speak first and think afterwards; but what can I do? I once made a vow to cure myself of being impetuous by counting twenty slowly before I began to speak, and I kept it religiously two whole days. They seemed like a month; and if I had persevered I should have become dumb, for by the time I had counted twenty the conversation had hopped on to another subject, and any remark was hopelessly out of date! So now I have gone back to my old ways, and say my say, and take the consequences.”
“You don’t look to me as if you were given to making painful remarks,” Gervase remarked in a conciliatory tone, and Nan straightened her back in defence of her own behaviour.
“Wouldn’t hurt a fly! That’s the worst part of it. For I am so soft-hearted over other people’s woes, that I shed tears regularly every time I meet a tramp, and he tells me that he is a discharged seaman who has lost his certificate, and only needs four and sixpence to take him to a port where he is certain to find fresh work. They always have lost their certificates and want a railway fare, but I can’t help relieving them and handing-over last Saturday’s money. But a tender heart is not much use if you make awkward remarks and quote people’s own doings to their faces, as capital jokes against somebody else! I got into terrible trouble in that way with a caller only the other day, and if I had had any sense I should have stopped in time, for I had plenty of warning. Her face grew all stiff and rigid, and I wondered what in the world had given Elsie such a cough all of a sudden. Is there any cure, do you think, for a habit like this—anything I could do to make myself careful?”
There was a pause while the two men looked at the eager face, smiled, and grew sober, as the question awoke memories from their own past.
“A practical kindness of heart, Nan, which is not satisfied with facile tears and offerings, but takes continual thought of the feelings of others!”
“Or a severe lesson!” added the younger man thoughtfully. “If you wounded some one very near and dear, and saw them suffer through your thoughtlessness, you could never forget it. I learnt that for myself long ago, when—”
But Nan heard no more of what he said, for, with a flash, her eager mind had leapt to the solution of the mystery. More love! That was what was needed. Love, the cure for every human fault. She applied the test to her own experience, and found it abundantly proven. Had any word or deed of hers hurt Maud through the period of ultra-sensitiveness through which that dear sister had passed? Ten thousand times, no! On the contrary, she had been quick to ward off blows, to turn dangerous conversations into new channels, to stand between the sufferer and the world. Where she loved it was obvious that she could show both care and tact; it was want of love which lay at the root of her thoughtless acts and speeches. Gervase looked up at the conclusion of his story, to find the girl staring blankly across the room, with a glimmer of tears in the brown eyes, and was at a loss to guess the meaning.
“I’ll begin this instant, and love every one in this world!” Nan was saying to herself determinedly. “It will be fatiguing, but so good for my character. I’ll think of what they will like, and what I can do for them, and spend my time in good works. What can I do now for these two men? It’s no credit pouring out tea, for I want some myself; but I might do something for that poor Gervase to-night, when Mr Vanburgh goes to bed, and he is left alone. He looked dolefully dull when I came in, and I believe he would enjoy coming across and seeing us all, as he has heard so much about us. I’ll ask him anyway, and see what he says.”
The idea was so pleasant that the dimples came back to greet it; she looked across at Gervase with a brilliant smile, and struck amazement to his heart by inquiring blandly—
“Would you like to come to dinner with us tonight?”
Gervase Vanburgh stared, as well he might, at so informal an invitation. His uncle also struggled with a smile, and Nan, tardily conscious of her lack of formality, plunged headlong into explanations—
“I meant to say that it will be lonely for you after Mr Vanburgh goes to bed, and I am sure mother would be delighted to see you. We have Ned Talbot, a friend of Lil—of my brother Jim staying with us, so that there would be two other men to keep you company. When father and Jim are away, we never ask gentlemen to the house, for mother says seven women at one time are too great a tax on any man’s nervous system; but you wouldn’t be afraid of us when there were two other men, would you? The schoolroom girls don’t come down until after dinner, so we are really only three.”
Gervase Vanburgh laughed aloud, and Nan looked up with a quick flash of approval, for a laugh has a tell-tale sound, and this one rang unmistakably honest and true.
“I am not in the least afraid,” he cried boldly. “I’d like to see you all, school-girls included. It is most kind of you to think of it, and if Mrs Rendell will really allow me, I shall be delighted to accept your invitation.”
So Nan ran across the street, and entered the house with the great news that Gervase Vanburgh had arrived, and—given a formal invitation—was coming that very evening to make the acquaintance of the family.