“I’ll help you by leaving the report as I pass, if you like,” he said, at last, “but you can’t expect me to do more. What time is the meeting? Three? Then I shall only just do it. Fetch the papers along, please, and don’t invent any fresh messages for his lordship while I’m away.”
“And while you’re getting them,” he threw after her, “just think up some really plausible lie. Even a committee of women won’t swallow that bazaar.”
He stood waiting with a hand on the saddle, too trained to patience even to flick his worn cords with a restless whip. Blacker, the horse, had the same air of long-suffering towards feminine caprice. The black spaniel sank her nose between her paws. Black was the Bluecaster colour, from the flag on the roof to the household liveries and the pigs at the Home Farm. There had been a Bluecaster, fleeing from the Plague, who had put all posterity into mourning for his particular sins.
The odd-job man, who did a little of everything, including stable-work and summer-house texts, leaned somnolently against the horse’s shoulder. Lanty exchanged a word with him, and then left him in peace. Armer had had a hard morning. Helwise was entered for a bumble-puppy competition, in aid of a Dogs’ Home, and when he had finished the bead-curtain he had been called out to give her practice.
Through a window above she could be heard engaged in a scatter-brained search, and Lanty wondered vaguely why she kept nursing reports in the bathroom, but to follow the workings of Miss Lancaster’s mind was to return Ophelia-like, weaving wreaths for one’s distracted head. She appeared at last with a bundle of papers through which he looked carefully, having once been basely misled over Boarding-Out Agenda produced by him on her behalf at a golf-meeting; receiving a volley of instructions as he climbed finally into the saddle.
“If you don’t like to mention the bazaar, you must think of something for yourself,” she told him, following him down the drive. “There are plenty of useful things to say on these occasions, and nobody believes them. And you can just tell them I think nothing of the new district nurse—nothing at all! I’ve met her at least three times this week, and she never even dreams of bowing to me. Of course, I wasn’t able to attend the meeting at which she was interviewed, but that’s no excuse, as she must know as well as I do that I’m the Treas—no, what was it?—Honorary Secretary. She cycles with her saddle far too low, too—wait a minute, though; that was the last but one—and she spends too much of her time making herself pleasant to people of no importance whatever—the sort who are never ill and don’t subscribe a penny. Don’t forget the watch, will you, and the slippers—did I mention the slippers? Bedroom-blue-quilted-one-and-elevenpence-ha’penny—size 6—Wilson’s—no, I can’t get them in Bluecaster, you might have known that—and be sure you say something useful!”
She turned to seize on the factotum, who had adroitly vanished to finish his nap in the harness-cupboard, and Lanty succeeded in leaving her behind. Once safe in the road, however, he checked his horse a moment for a survey of the house. It was a square, gray-stone building, comfortable and compact, old enough to have acquired atmosphere, yet not too old for convenience. The garden, thanks to Armer, and in spite of Helwise, was looking well. There were roses everywhere, creepers and climbers as well as bushes, and here and there the dark velvet of violas foiled the pallor of the pinks. At the back of Crabtree Bluecaster stood in its park, with its shoulder to the hill, and behind and behind again, as far as he could see, the fells rose in long ranks until the Whygills towered above them all.
It was a strange day, very sultry and sunless, and the hills had an edge to their ominous dark blue. The stillness had a menace in it, too. Only in the garden, as he looked at it, where the colours showed vividly, as always before thunder, there seemed a protected peace. The house slept and the garden held its breath, and, caught in the spell, he could almost have believed the place a home indeed. Then his aunt’s voice came running (it seemed) from all directions at once, her feet scurrying in search of the slumbering one; and with a sigh he touched up the chafing horse, and made west to the marsh.
He met the district nurse almost immediately, a bright little woman of 100 h.p. energy, and found no difficulty in getting himself recognised; and a mile further on he turned up a drive, drawing rein before a porch arched with sweetbriar, where he pulled the bell without dismounting. Mrs. Yare herself came out to him, and to her he handed the papers. Through the near window he had a glimpse of a selection of hats, framing various degrees of interest and annoyance. His regrets were received with gracefully concealed unbelief.
“We were all wondering what had happened!” she told him. “We always have the meeting here—I’m a Chief Lady Superintendent or something Mikado-ish of that kind, you know—so I hardly thought Miss Lancaster could have forgotten, especially as she calls the meeting herself! I’m very disappointed she wasn’t able to come, but no doubt we shall manage all right. She is well, I hope?” she added courteously.