“I’ve asked the man to put up the horse here for the afternoon,” she said, “so that we shall have time to collect the things we want. They’ll send for our trunks to-morrow.”
Linda’s relief at hearing this news was pathetic to see.
“Oh, you darling—you darling!” she cried, “I might have known you’d save me. I might have known it! Oh, Nance dear, it was horrid of me to say those things to you yesterday. I’ll be good now and do whatever you tell me. As long as I’m not far away from him—not too far—I won’t see him, or speak to him, or write to him! How sweet of Mr. Traherne to let me play the organ! And he’ll pay me, too, you say? So that I shall be helping you and not only be a burden? Oh, my dear, what happiness, what happiness!”
Nance left her and descended to the kitchen to help Miss Doorm prepare their midday meal. The two women, as they busied themselves at their task, avoided any reference to the issue between them, and Nance wondered if the man from the Admiral’s Head, who now sat watching their preparations and speculating whether they intended to give him beer as well as meat, had intimated to Rachel the object of his delayed departure. When the meal was ready, Linda was summoned to share it and the thirsty ostler, sipping lemonade with a wry countenance, at a side table, was given the privilege of hearing how three feminine persons, their heads full of agitation and antipathy, could talk and laugh and eat as if everything in the wide world was smooth, safe, harmless and uninteresting.
When the meal was over Nance and Linda once more retired to their room and busied themselves with selecting from their modest possessions such articles as they considered it advisable to take with them. The rest they carefully packed away in their two leather trunks—trunks which bore the initials “N. H.” and “L. H.” and still had glued to their sides railway labels with the word “Swanage” upon them, reminiscent of their last seaside excursion with their father.
The afternoon slipped rapidly away and still the threatened storm hung suspended, the rain coming and going in fitful gusts of wind and the clouds racing along the sky. By six o’clock it became so dark that Nance was compelled to light candles. Their packing had been interrupted by eager low-voiced consultation as to how they would arrange their days when these were, for the first time in their lives, completely at their own disposal. No further reference had been made between them, either to Adrian or to Mr. Renshaw. The candles, flickering in the gusty wind, threw intermittent spots of light upon the girls’ figures as they stooped over their work or bent forward, on their knees, whispering and laughing. Not since either of them had arrived in Rodmoor had they been quite so happy. The relief at escaping from Dyke House lifted the atmosphere about them so materially that while they spoke of their lodging in the High Street and of the virtues of Mrs. Raps, Nance began to feel that Adrian would, after all, soon grow weary of Philippa and Linda began to dream that, in spite of all appearances, Brand’s attitude towards her was worthy of a man of honour.
At six o’clock they were ready and Nance went down to announce their departure to Rachel Doorm. She found their driver asleep by the kitchen fire and, having roused him and told him to put his horse into the trap, she went out to look for her mother’s friend.
She found Rachel standing on the tow path gazing gloomily at the river. She was bareheaded and the wind, wailing round her, fluttered a wisp of her grey hair against her forehead. Beneath this her sunken eyes seemed devoid of all light. She turned when she heard Nance’s step, her heavy skirt flapping in the wind as she did so, like a funereal flag.
“I see,” she said, pointing at the light in the sisters’ room where the figure of Linda could be observed passing and repassing, “I see you’re taking her away. I suppose it’s because of Mr. Renshaw. May I ask—if it’s of any interest to you that I should care at all—what you’re going to do with her? She’s been—she and her mother—the curse of my life, and I fancy she’s now going to be the curse of yours.”
Nance wrapped herself more tightly in a cloak she had picked up as she came out and looked unflinchingly into the woman’s haggard face.