Chapter Nineteen.
The Scattered Nest.
Two days later a happy party were disporting themselves on the lawn at Cloudsdale. Rex and Edna Freer had driven over to spend the afternoon with their friends, and just as Mary placed the tea-tray on the wicker table, the postman came marching up the drive, and delivered the only thing which was necessary to complete the happiness of the party—a letter from Lettice!
“She has written so little lately, and her letters have been so unlike herself, that I have been quite uneasy,” said Hilary, turning the envelope round and round, and feeling its proportions with undisguised pleasure. “I’ll give you each a cup of tea, and then I’ll read it out, while you listen in comfort.”
The three years which had passed since we saw her last had dealt very kindly with Hilary. The consequential air had given place to an expression of quiet serenity which was by no means unbecoming. Her complexion was pink and white as of yore, and as she presided over the tea-table, her blue cambric dress fitting closely to the line of her neat little figure, her tiny feet crossed before her, and her shining brown hair arranged in its usual fastidious order, it would have been difficult to find a more favourable specimen of a young English girl. Norah, seated opposite on the long hammock chair, was still very girlish in appearance, despite the dignity of eighteen years. She was thin and lanky, and her cheeks had none of Hilary’s delicate bloom, but the heavy eyebrows and expressive lips lent a charm to a face which was never the same in expression for two minutes together, and though there could be no question as to which was the prettier of the two, it was safe to predict that few people who looked at Norah would be tempted to return to the study of Hilary’s more commonplace features.
Edna was narrow-chested and delicate in appearance, but Rex had developed into an imposing looking personage; broad-shouldered, muscular, and with such a moustache as was unequalled by any young fellow of his age in the country-side. He wore a white flannel suit, and though there were several unoccupied seats at hand, chose to loll on the grass, his long legs stretched out before him, his blue cap pushed well back on his curly head. Nestled beside him sat Geraldine, a little taller, a little older in appearance, but with the same grave, earnest little face which had characterised her three years before. Perhaps the member of the family who was the most changed, was the tall, young fellow who sat beside Norah. Raymond had only lately returned from a two years’ sojourn in Germany, where he had acquired an extra four inches, a pair of eye-glasses, and such “a man of the world” manner, that it had been a shock to his sisters to find that his teasing propensities were as vigorous as when he had been a schoolboy. Faithful Bob hovered near, ready to obey his leader’s commands, and take part in any mischief which might be at hand, but for the moment all other interests gave way to the hearing of the letter from London.
Hilary handed the last cup to its owner, and opening the envelope, ran her eye rapidly down the sheet. The next moment a loud “Oh!” of amazement startled the hearers into eager curiosity.
“What is the matter?”
“Oh—oh! It can’t be true—it can’t! Lettice is engaged to be married!”
“Engaged!” A moment’s breathless silence was succeeded by a very babel of questioning.
“Engaged?” “Who to?” “When?” “Where.” “What does she say?” “Oh, read it aloud. Let us hear every word she says!”
But Hilary folded up the sheet with an air of determination. “Not yet. I’ll read it by-and-by; but first you must guess. I’ll give you fifty guesses who it is...”
“The painter fellow who did her portrait!”
“That what-do-you-call-him man—the Polish nobleman who sent her the verses!”
“The curate!”
“Sir Neville Bruce!”
“One of the men she met at Brighton!”
“Wrong! wrong! wrong! Guess again. Nearer home this time. Someone you know!”
“Not Mr Rayner?”
“Oh, dear me, no! I should think not. He and Lettice never get on well together. Someone else.”
“Someone we know! But we know so few of her friends. Only Mr Neville, and the Bewleys, and—oh! No, it can’t—it can’t possibly be—”
“What? what? Who—who? Never mind if you are wrong. Say whom you are thinking of.”
“It—can’t be Arthur Newcome!”
“Arthur Newcome it is, my dear!” said Hilary tragically; whereupon Raymond instantly dropped his teacup on the grass, and fell heavily on Norah’s shoulders.
“Smelling salts! Brandy! I am going to faint! Oh, my heart!”
But, for once, no one paid any attention. Even Norah sat motionless, forgetting to push him away, forgetting everything but the appalling nature of the news which she had just heard.
“Lettice—is—engaged—to—Arthur Newcome?”
“Lettice—is—engaged—to—Arthur Newcome!”
“But—but—we knew that he admired her in his solemn way, but she never seemed to like him! She used to make fun of him, and imitate the way he talked!”
Raymond sat up and passed in his cup for a fresh supply of tea. What was the good of fainting if nobody took any notice! “I say,” he cried energetically, “fancy Arthur Newcome proposing! I’d give anything if I could have overheard him. ... ‘Miss Bertrand!—Lettice!—may I call you Lettice? Deign, oh deign—’”
“Oh, be quiet, Raymond, and let us hear the letter,” pleaded Norah, who was on the verge of tears with agitation and distress. “I can’t believe it until I hear her own words. Read it, Hilary, from the very beginning.”
Hilary opened out the dainty, scented sheet, and read aloud, with an impressiveness worthy of the occasion:—
“My dearest old Hilary, and Norah, and every one of you,—I have a great piece of news to tell. I am engaged to Arthur Newcome, and he wants to be married some time this autumn. He proposed to me a month ago, on the day of our water party, but father and Miss Carr wished us to wait a month before it was settled, so that I should have time to make up my mind. They think I am so young, but if we wait until September I shall be twenty, and many girls are married at that age. I have a beautiful ring—a big pearl in the centre, and diamonds all round, and Arthur has given me a brooch as well, three dear little diamond swallows—it looks so sweet at my neck! Madge is very pleased, of course, and Mr and Mrs Newcome are very kind. Won’t it be nice when I have a house of my own, and you can come and stay with me? I shall have six bridesmaids—you three, Madge, Edna, and either Mabel Bruce or Monica Bewley. You must think of pretty dresses. I like a white wedding, but it doesn’t show the bride off so well—that’s the great objection. We shall have a great deal to talk about when I come home next month, and I am longing for the time to come. It is so hot and close in town, and Cloudsdale must be looking lovely just now. Father expects to leave on Tuesday. He does not seem very pleased about my engagement. I suppose parents never are! Good-bye, dear, darling girls. I wish I could be with you now.
“Your own loving Lettice.
“PS—How surprised you will be. Tell me every word you said when you read this letter!”
“Humph I slightly awkward if we took her at her word!” It was Rex who spoke, and there was the same expression of ill-concealed scorn in his voice which had been noticeable on his face since the announcement of the news. “Charming epistle, I must say. So much about ‘dear Arthur’ and her own happiness. One must excuse a little gush under the circumstances, and Lettice was always demonstrative!”
Hilary looked at him, puckering her forehead in anxious fashion. “You mean that sarcastically! She says nothing about being happy. I noticed that myself. There is something strange about the whole thing. I am quite sure she did not care for him when I was there in spring. What can have possessed her to accept him?”
“Because he asked her nicely, and puts lots of treacle on the bread,” said Raymond, laughing. “You could always make Lettice do what you wanted if you flattered her enough. She would accept any fellow who went down on his knees and swore he worshipped her. Oh, I say I fancy having Arthur Newcome as a brother-in-law! We used to call him ‘Child’s Guide to Knowledge’ when he was at Windermere last summer, because he would insist upon improving every occasion. We played some fine pranks on him, didn’t we, Norah? We’ll give him a lively time of it again if he comes to visit us, as I suppose he will, under the circumstances.”
“We can’t,” said Norah dolefully. “He is engaged to Lettice, and she would be vexed. I don’t feel as if I could ever play pranks again. I was so looking forward to having Lettice with us again when we went up to London, but now it will never be the same again. Even if she has a house of her own, Arthur Newcome will be there, and I could never, never get to like him as a brother.” She put her cup on the table and walked off by herself into the shrubbery which encircled the lawn, and though the others looked after her in sympathetic silence, they did not attempt to follow. As Lettice’s special friend and companion, the news was even more of a shock to her than to the rest, and it was understood that she might prefer to be alone.
Ten minutes later, however, when tea was finished, Rex rose lazily from the ground, stretched his long arms, and strode off in the direction of the shrubbery. Half-way down the path he met Norah marching along in solitary state, white about the cheeks, suspiciously red and swollen about the eyes.
Rex clasped his hands behind his back, and blocked the narrow way.
“Well, what are you doing here?”
“Crying!” Norah flashed a defiant glance at him, then turned aside to dab her face with her handkerchief and gulp in uncontrollable misery, whereupon Rex looked distressed, uncomfortable, and irritated all at the same moment.
“Then please stop at once. What’s the use of crying? You can’t help it now, better make the best of it, and be as jolly as you can. Norah—look here, I’m sorry to bother you any more to-day, but I came over specially to have a chat. I have not had a chance of speaking to you quietly until now, and my father is driving round for us at six o’clock. Before he comes I wanted to tell you—”
Norah put her handkerchief in her pocket, and faced him with steady eyes. Her heart gave a leap of understanding, and a cold certainty of misery settled upon her which seemed to dry up the fountain of tears, and leave her still and rigid.
“Yes?”
“We had a big talk last night, Norah. The three years are up, you know, and I have fulfilled my share of the bargain. I have known all the time what my decision would be, and six months ago I wrote to all the men I know abroad, asking them to look out for the sort of berth I wanted. On Tuesday I had a letter from a man in India offering me a good opening. You will be surprised to hear why he gives me the chance instead of all the other fellows who are anxious to get it. It is because I am a good musician! I don’t mean in your sense of the word, of course, but I can rattle away on the piano and play any air I happen to hear, and he says the fellows up-country set no end of store by that sort of thing. If other qualifications are equal, the post is given to the man who can play, and make things cheerful in the evening. Rather a sarcasm, isn’t it, after all the money that has been spent on my education, that such a trifle should decide my destiny? Well—I showed the letter to my father, and he was terribly cut up about the whole thing. I had said nothing about my plans for some time back, for it seemed no use to upset him before it was necessary, but he has been hoping that I was ‘settling down.’ Norah, I can’t do it! I hate leaving home, and shall be wretched when the time comes; but I have roving blood in my veins, and cannot settle down to a jog-trot, professional life in a small English town. If I go out to this place I shall lie low until I have a practical knowledge of the land and its possibilities, and then I’ll buy an estate, and work it in my own way. I have the money my uncle left me, and can make my way without asking father for a penny. He is coming over this afternoon, and I am sure he means to talk to you. We didn’t say anything to the mater and Edna, but he knows that you and I are friends, and that I will listen to what you say. He means to ask you to persuade me to stay at home. But—you understand how I feel, Norah?”
“Yes, Rex. Don’t be afraid! If your father speaks to me I shall advise him to let you go. You have kept your share of the bargain: it is for him to keep his,” said Norah steadily. “And it appears that you want to go away and leave us.”
“You will live in London now for the greater part of the year. If I were at home I should only see you at long intervals. I should not settle in this neighbourhood. Our life would be quite different...”
“Oh yes, quite different! Everything will be different now. You will have gone, and—Lettice too! Rex! don’t be angry if I ask you something. I will try to persuade your father to give you your way, but—tell me this before you go!— Has the news about Lettice had anything to do with your decision?”
Rex stopped short, and stared at her in amazement.
“This news about Lettice! Norah, what do you mean?”
“About her engagement! I always thought that you liked her yourself. You remember what you used to call her—‘Lovely Lettice’?”
“Well, and so she was lovely! Anybody might have seen that. Of course I liked her, but if you mean that I am jealous of Arthur Newcome—no, thank you! I should not care for a wife who would listen to the first man who came along, as Lettice has done. She was a jolly little girl, and I took a fancy to her at first sight, but—do you remember our adventure in the old passage, Norah? Do you think Lettice would have stuck to me, and been as brave, and plucky, and loyal as you were in the midst of your fright? I never forgot that day. It was last night that I spoke to my father, before I heard a word about Lettice, or her matrimonial intentions.”
“So it was; I forgot that!” Norah smiled with recovered cheerfulness, for Rex’s words had lifted a load from her mind, and the future seemed several shades less gloomy than it had done a few minutes before.
“And if you went, how soon would you start?”
“As soon as possible. I have wasted too much time already. The sooner I go, the sooner I can make my way and come home again to see you all. Three or five years, I suppose. You will be quite an old woman, Norah.”
“Yes; twenty-three! Lettice will be married; Hilary too, very likely. The Mouse will be as big as I was when you first knew us, and Raymond a doctor in practice. It will all be different!” Norah’s voice was very low as she spoke the last words, and her face twitched as if she were about to break down once more.
Rex looked at her with the same odd mingling of tenderness and vexation which he had shown a few minutes earlier.
“Of course it will be different! We are not children any longer, and can’t expect to go on as we have been doing. What was the Vicar’s text the other Sunday?—‘As an eagle stirreth up her nest’—I liked that sermon! It has been very happy and jolly, but it is time we stirred out of the old nest, and began to work for ourselves, and prepare for nests of our own. I am past twenty-one, my father need not be afraid to trust me, for I can look after myself, and though the life will be very different out there, I’ll try to do nothing that I should be ashamed to tell you, Norah, when I come home!”
Norah turned round with a flush, and an eager, outstretched hand, but only to behold Mr Rex marching along on the edge of the very flowerbeds, with a head in the air, and a “touch me if you dare” expression, at the sight of which his companion gave a dismal little smile.
That was Rex all over! In spite of his masterful ways, he was intensely shy where his deeper feelings were concerned. To say an affectionate word seemed to require as painful an effort as to drag out a tooth, and if by chance he was betrayed into such an indiscretion, he protected himself against its consequences by putting on his most “prickly” airs, and freezing the astonished hearer by his frigid tones. Norah understood that having shown her a glimpse of his heart in the last remark, he was now overcome with remorse, and that she must be wise and take no notice of the indiscretion.