The Hall and the Grange: A Novel

by Archibald Marshall

That was why Miss Baldwin watched the pair of them so closely, as with their heads almost touching they bent over their common task, and the talk flowed, with never a ripple that she could discern to disturb it, and give it a deeper meaning. There were signs in his speech and looks of what she wanted to see, but she had got used to that by this time. It was like carrying on for too long with a chapter that had already told its tale. She wanted the next one, in which Pamela was to show the signs. Sometimes she thought it might be beginning; but it never did. Pamela had not even seen yet what had become so plain. Her friendliness could not be misunderstood. There was no hint of self-consciousness in it; or if Miss Baldwin sometimes thought that she caught a hint of her awakening, it soon died away again. She was forced to believe that Pamela was as yet fancy-free.

But here, unexpectedly, was a factor introduced into the story of which she had lost sight. Sitting at the window, and looking up just at the right moment, she saw Norman come out into the garden, from the wood which lay between the Hall and the Grange. He was buttoned up at neck and sleeves in a rain-coat, and the brim of his soft felt hat was pulled down over his face. He carried an ash sapling, which he was swishing about as if he were conducting an orchestra. In imagination he may have been, for he was a musical enthusiast. He was walking very fast, and there was something in his appearance that appealed to Miss Baldwin's imagination, which within its limits had the same artistic enthusiasm as his. For a moment he presented himself to her as the third suitor, whose success—after vicissitudes to be undergone—was finally to be hoped for. But the idea was rejected as soon as formulated. There was no story in it, for it was difficult to see where the vicissitudes were to come from. Besides, the cousinship held. She could not see Norman and Pamela as lovers.

There was material for Miss Baldwin in Norman's first meeting with Fred. He came into the room with a breezy, high-spirited air, which changed completely as he caught sight of Fred sitting at the table, intent upon his task, with Pamela's head very near to his, and Isabelle's still nearer. Only she saw this; for he had burst into the room unannounced, and by the time heads were raised his expression had changed again, though not to that of eager pleasure with which he had entered. He shook hands with Fred, if not cordially, with no marked hostility, and said a few words to him before answering the inquiries that were showered upon him by the others.

No, they had not meant to come down to the Grange this week. His father had gone to stay with some old duffer who wanted to talk politics with him. His mother had been going too, but wasn't very fit. He had turned up the night before in London, and persuaded her to let him motor her down. He had come to ask if Aunt Cynthia and Pamela would come to luncheon.

Miss Baldwin's eyes were on the strong silent man-to-be during this passage. He did not quite fulfil her expectations, for he looked almost as if he were ashamed at having been caught. This might mean that he knew he would have to face opposition from Pamela's cousin, which Miss Baldwin would not have expected him to divine at so early a stage. But she would have liked him to hold up his head higher, while for the moment he was apart from the centre of the scene. The silence was there, but not the strength; he looked merely awkward.

She waited until attention was upon him again. Norman's first look of dislike had impressed her, and contained promise of drama. It looked as if these two had crossed each others' path before; but that could hardly be, for she knew by this time that Fred had been carving his way to fortune in foreign climes and had not for years visited the home-land. They had met in boyhood; but any differences of opinion they might have had then would not have amounted to crossing each other's path. She came, somewhat reluctantly, to the conclusion that there was nothing more in it than what she expected; dislike on the part of Pamela's relations to the idea of her being wooed by the vicar's self-made son, when once they woke up to the possibility of such a thing. Norman had apparently woke up to it instantly. Of that she gained assurance, as he talked to Fred about his experiences in the war, and other matters, in a way unlike his usual open sociable manner of speech, which showed plainly, to her at least, that dislike was behind it all. It seemed to her that Pamela was aware of the hostility, and deprecated it. She helped Fred, and pointed for him the modesty of some of his replies. She even seemed to suggest that he should be included in the invitation to luncheon; but Norman did not respond to the suggestion, and when she went off to find her mother he went with her, as if he did not want to be left with Fred; and when he said good-bye to him he made no proposal of their meeting again. His attitude, indeed, was so significant that even the children noticed it. For Alice said: "Norman seems to have something on his mind. I don't think he's liking us as much as usual." And Isabelle added: "Perhaps he's in love. It takes them like that, doesn't it, Miss Baldwin?"

Miss Baldwin made a suitable reply, to the effect that Isabelle should go on with what she was doing, and not ask silly questions. The children, of course, knew of her taste for fiction, but were not enough interested in her to make it the subject of more than an occasional allusion of this sort, with which she could cope by assuming her rôle of instructress. Fred took his departure soon afterwards. Perhaps he had some hope of coming across Pamela in another part of the house. Perhaps he was too dispirited to go on with what he was doing with Pamela gone. There was a marked drop in his air of contentment during the short time he remained, and he did not respond to the chatter of the children with his usual complacency. Oh, no doubt the affair was in train of development now, and a new chapter might fairly be said to have begun.

It was not until after luncheon that Norman and Pamela were alone together. Rain was still falling, and they went into the billiard-room, but did not immediately begin the game which they usually played on such occasions. Norman had recovered his spirits, never for very long obscured, but his first words, as he shut the door behind him, were: "I say, old girl, it was rather a shock to find that fellow making himself at home with you this morning. I don't think you ought to accept him into the bosom of the family in that way. Really, he's a most awful outsider."

Perhaps Pamela had been giving the subject some consideration, in preparation for some such attack. She affected no surprise at it, but said: "I know you don't like him. I'm not particularly anxious that you should, or I might have been annoyed at the way you treated him this morning. But do leave us alone about him. We're going to be nice to him as long as he stays here. Father and mother want us to, for one thing. Anyhow, it's nothing to do with you. Now tell me about Margaret."