Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
She just listened to what he had to tell her.
Her Kingdom Book III, Chapter I. Frontispiece
HER KINGDOM
A STORY OF THE WESTMORELAND FELLS
BY
AMY LE FEUVRE
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED
LONDON AND MELBOURNE
1929
Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
My Heart's in the Highlands
"The vividly human and moving story of Rowena and her wonderful power of influence in the lives of others will do every one good to read. Charmingly told in Amy Le Feuvre's best manner."—Northants Evening Telegraph.
A Girl and Her Ways
"Miss Le Feuvre writes with much charm and insight of the escapades of a modern girl who is fortunately possessed of the right spirit that enables her to overcome her difficulties."—The Record.
Jock's Inheritance
"Miss Le Feuvre has never written anything more beautiful or more amusing. The tone is as usual, excellent, and the story cannot fail to interest one and all."—Church of England Newspaper.
Noel's Christmas Tree
"Miss Le Feuvre has a classic style, and seems to be able to pierce straight into the heart of human beings. It is a humane book, written by a brilliant novelist."—Cornish Echo.
Adrienne
"The story of a really unselfish girl, touchingly and beautifully told."—Country Life.
"The story of Adrienne is delightful and particularly touching, and the author is to be heartily congratulated on evolving such a magnificent story."—Cornish Echo.
CONTENTS
BOOK I
STRANGERS
CHAP.
BOOK II
FRIENDS
[II. THE "BEST OF THE BARGAIN"]
[VIII. AN ENCOUNTER IN THE FELLS]
BOOK III
LOVERS
[I. "I CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT YOU"]
HER KINGDOM
BOOK I
STRANGERS
[CHAPTER I]
AN ASTOUNDING PROPOSAL
THE family lawyer had left her; she had listened with tightened lips, as through a labyrinth of legal phrases, he had informed her that she could only count upon five-and-twenty pounds per annum to feed, clothe, and provide for herself a roof to shelter her. She found herself smiling at the very absurdity of it. For six-and-twenty years she had lived in ease and comfort, almost in luxury. She had read in books about these reverses, but never had she imagined that they would come to her. She had not been educated for adversity, and she knew that not for a moment could she compete with the hundreds of trained certificated women who were flooding the labour markets throughout the country.
Anstice Barrett had lived for the greater part of her life in a country village in Norfolk. Her father had retired from the Army when he came into his small property, and when he was only a major in rank. He had foolishly commuted his pay, as the old house wanted more repairing than he could afford at the time; and he married late in life. Anstice had been brought up by resident governesses, and when, at sixteen, her mother died, she had quietly assumed the reins of government and become mistress of the sweet old manor house.
Unknown to her, Major Barrett, when difficulties arose, had purchased a life annuity for himself. He never thought of his girl's future. Whilst he lived, he had all the comforts he needed. Even through the War, when his ill-health prevented him from taking any part in it, there was little lack of all simple necessaries of life. He had the old-fashioned idea that women could not understand or handle money, and Anstice was kept in absolute ignorance of her father's exact income. At his death, she was suddenly and overwhelmingly enlightened. The manor house was mortgaged up to the hilt. Major Barrett had been in the hands of moneylenders for the previous five years, and the only thing that was preserved from the wreck was a small sum belonging to Anstice's mother in trust for her.
On this wild wet morning in March, Anstice was facing certain poverty. The loss of her home was a crushing blow, but she did not realize how bad things were, until she was told the exact amount of her future income.
Now she stood at the mullioned window of the old library, watching the lawyer drive off in his car, and wondering if she could and would awake from this horrible dream.
In a few minutes, she shook herself free of the torpor which seemed creeping over her.
She went out into the old hall, got down her waterproof cap and coat, and in a few minutes was walking briskly down the drive and out along the country-road. The wind and rain buffeted her face, and beat her back, but she braced herself to meet it, as mentally she was bracing herself to meet the disaster that had come to her.
She conned over her few relations; some cousins in town, busy in trying to make their very small income provide them a modicum of pleasure, combined with a sphere of usefulness. They had visited her at the manor house from time to time, and had envied her, her peaceful environment.
Then there was her father's brother living at a ranch in Australia, with a large growing family of sons and daughters. Finally there was an old cousin of her mother's, a Lady Lucy Harcourt, who lived about ten miles off with a companion, who had been with her for about twenty years. It was this cousin who came uppermost in her mind now.
"I think I shall go over to her, and get some advice. She's practical and sensible. Of course, I must do something at once. There is no time to be lost."
But she did not retrace her steps, she walked on for a couple of miles through pinewoods, and taking shelter in the depths of them, seated herself on a fallen tree-trunk to review the situation.
It was a good two hours later when she returned to her home; and then found that the very person she was needing had arrived in her car to lunch, and was waiting for her in the drawing-room.
Lady Lucy looked at the girl critically as she entered the room.
Anstice was tall and fair with deep blue eyes and pale gold hair which was coroneted round her head in a very unfashionable manner. She had determination in her chin and lips, sunny good temper in her eyes, and two dimples which came and went in her softly rounded cheeks.
"My dear!" exclaimed Lady Lucy. "You look blooming! What a complexion you have, and all without any artificial aid! It is good to be young."
Anstice laughed as she put up a hand to her blushing cheeks.
"I've been out in the wind and rain, Cousin Lucy. I never expected you over such an afternoon as this, but oh! I am glad to see you—"
Then soberness crept into her eyes and stayed there.
"It is nearly a month," she said, "since father left me, and only to-day did Mr. Stone tell me exactly what I may expect in the way of income. It has staggered me."
"I feared it would," said Lady Lucy gravely. "I knew more than you, poor child, have known. I should think you are left without a penny-piece!"
"That is a fact—twenty-five pounds a year. I must earn something at once. I am not afraid of work, and I am young and strong, but my capabilities for earning are almost nil."
"I have come over to-day for the express purpose of talking matters over with you. But all my ideas have been turned topsy-turvy by a visitor who arrived last night. I have just seen him off by train. Is that your luncheon bell? I may stay, may I not?"
"I shall be delighted. It is so good to have some one to talk to. I have been alone since—since his funeral."
They went into the dining-room together. The elderly house-parlour maid being present the whole time, they only talked about trifles, but when the meal was over, they went back to the drawing-room. Anstice stirred the fire, and then dipping into a low-cushioned chair opposite her cousin she looked expectantly at her.
"Have you any advice to give me?"
"My dear," said Lady Lucy, hesitating a little, "I have not only advice, but a—a post open for you, ready for you to accept, and that is what has brought me over. The last time I saw your poor father, he made full confession to me of the hash he had made over his money affairs. He lost a good deal in a foolish investment he made a few years ago, but he was insistent that you should not be told. And so I knew what a predicament you would be in."
She paused. She was an upright, handsome old lady, with very piercing dark eyes, and with great dignity of manner.
Now she seemed ill at ease.
"I had better tell you about my visitor first. You met him once at my house. He is a nephew of my late husband's, Justin Holme, a very handsome fellow, but of a roving disposition."
"I remember him. He was just married, and I heard afterwards that it was rather an unhappy affair. Didn't she leave him?"
"No. She was going to do so; but she was hurt in a motor accident, and the boy, the only one, was born prematurely, a cripple. She died at his birth, leaving two little daughters as well as this boy. Justin took to yachting. He has always been crazed for the sea. His house is in the wilds of Cumberland, by the lakes."
Anstice's gaze wandered out of the window. She was not interested in Lady Lucy's nephew. Her own future filled her thoughts.
"The poor man," went on Lady Lucy, noticing Anstice's abstraction and hurrying over her words, "has been distracted by his home worries. His girls seem mischievous hoydens, and a succession of governesses passes through the house. He has tried schools, they run away from them, or are expelled; the governesses make love to him, and scandal is busy. He spends or likes to spend most of his time away in his yacht; just now, there is the usual difficulty of servants, and he is at his wits' end. He came to me for help. And when we were talking things over, I thought of your love for children and the wonderful gift you have for managing them. And, my dear, he remembers you quite well. He said yours was not a face which could be forgotten. But he said no more. He seems to have turned into a woman-hater. Perhaps I ought not to say that, for he's anxious about his children; his boy especially, who is too young and delicate to go to school. Well, I won't beat about the bush. It won't be an easy task, but you will have a beautiful home, and you are nothing if not courageous."
"Am I to be governess and housekeeper in one? I couldn't do it, Cousin Lucy. I have not had the education to teach."
"Oh no, you won't have to teach. You can get some one else to do that. And he is nearly always away, so you would be entirely your own mistress."
"A lady housekeeper?"
Anstice felt dubious.
"He has already tried a good many. Why should I succeed more than any of the others?"
"Well, my dear, I won't say any more. He must speak to you himself. He has business in town, but he has promised to come down one day next week, and you must come to lunch and talk over things with him. It seems to have come at the right moment for you. I do hope you will agree to do it."
Lady Lucy seemed extraordinarily nervous. Anstice, who was very perceptive, wondered if there was anything in the background which she was keeping from her.
"He wants me to keep house and superintend the education of his children while he is away from home? I think if there's scandal about all the young women whom he has had there, that I may come in for my share!"
"No, no, my dear. That is just what he is going to prevent. I had better say no more. You must see him and talk to him yourself. Promise me, you will come over to lunch next Tuesday."
"My car is sold, how can I get to you?"
"I will send mine over for you. My dear Anstice, I have always been fond of you, and I foresee that happy days may be in front of you. You are not the girl to go up to London, and join the typewriting class, and starve in dingy lodgings, whilst you're doing it. Now I must be off! Will you order my car?"
Anstice rang the bell. She said little more to her old cousin, but wished her good-bye with rather wistful eyes.
Lady Lucy heaved a long sigh as she drove off, and murmured to herself:
"I don't believe she'll hear of it; but he must break it to her himself. I can't. He's a nice fellow, but is as hard as granite! A really charming character, spoiled by one bad woman."
And Anstice sat in her chair before her drawing-room fire all that afternoon, thinking, thinking, thinking!
Tea roused her, and for the rest of the day she occupied herself with the sad task of sorting out and destroying all her father's private letters and papers.
When Tuesday came, and Lady Lucy's car arrived, Anstice stepped into it, feeling that a great deal hung upon her personal interview with Mr. Justin Holme.
Lady Lucy welcomed her affectionately, but seemed vexed that Mr. Holme had sent a wire to say that he was delayed in town, and would not be down till between three and four in the afternoon.
Anstice told her she was glad to hear it.
"My interview is purely a business one with him. It will not take me long to discover what his actual needs are. But I must stipulate for a good salary."
"My dear, you need not think of money. He can well afford to give you all you need. I think one of his disadvantages through life has been too much money. He spends most of it in travelling all over the globe, but I always think he would have been a happier man, had he been obliged to earn his livelihood."
Anstice sat chatting with her old cousin in her drawing-room for a couple of hours after lunch. Miss Dawe, Lady Lucy's companion, took advantage of the occasion to go into the neighbouring town to do some shopping. And then about four o'clock, Lady Lucy's car returned from the station with the guest.
He came striding into the drawing-room with such vigour that he seemed to bring a fresh atmosphere into the quiet there.
"We do not need to be introduced," he said to Anstice, as he shook hands with her. "May I express sympathy for your loss?"
"Thank you," Anstice said.
He looked at her quickly; but after that first moment, his gaze never met hers again. She was a graceful figure in her black gown, which seemed to enhance the fairness of her hair and skin. He would not sit down, but stood on the hearth-rug and talked to Lady Lucy. Anstice saw a man with a strong resolute face, and a smile that might have been sweet, had it not been for a cynical twist to the lips. His hair was dark, his eyes hard and restless. His voice was a peculiarly pleasant one. Lady Lucy was not herself, she seemed nervous and distrait, and at last she rose from her seat.
"I will leave you now to discuss your business together."
"No," remonstrated Anstice. "Why should we turn you out of your room? Let us go to the library."
So to the library they went. It was a big, rather shabby room, used by Miss Dawe for cleaning bird-cages and arranging flowers. The books lined against the walls were old and fusty, and never used.
Anstice stood looking out of the window upon the lawns outside. Then Justin Holme drew up a chair for her before the fire, and she sat down. He began to pace up and down the room, and she was amused to see that he seemed to be getting nervous.
She spoke first to put him at ease.
"Well, Mr. Holme, my cousin tells me you want some one to look after your house and children in the North. You have heard that I am selling up my home, and looking for a job. Do you think I shall suit you? Of course, I must hear a few more particulars first."
He drew a quick breath.
"Of course, of course. It is a comfortable old house close to the river and lakes; but is well above them, so it's healthy. It is lovely. I don't want to conceal that fact. There are a few nice neighbours. My children adore their home; that's the only point we have in common. They won't stay at school, and I'm tired of trying to force them to do so. The boy is mostly confined to his couch. They're all three chock-full of mischief, and are thorough rebels of the first water! But I hear you have a flair for troublesome children."
"I love any child," said Anstice, with warmth. "They're the freshest, most wholesome things in creation, with all their powers and possibilities awaiting them."
"I rather think my youngsters only want a little more understanding. But as far as education and training go, they're little heathens."
"Do you want me as a governess or a housekeeper, or both?"
"No," said Justin Holme, turning his back upon her and gazing out of the window, "as neither—I want you as a wife."
"A wife!"
Anstice repeated his words, in utter amazement and incredulity.
He turned round, but though he faced her, his eyes were on the glowing coals. He would not meet her indignant gaze.
"Listen to me, please."
He spoke sternly.
"I give you my name to give you the right position in my house. I am sick of the constant changes there. It will be a mere matter of form, but you will have a home, and every comfort, and a chance of creating order out of chaos and of influencing my young barbarians. I am nearly always away. You must look upon me as a negligible quantity. My aunt said you would be the one for the position. I asked her to find some one for me. We are strangers, I know. But I believe in my aunt's judgment, and now I have seen you, I believe in you."
"A very one-sided bargain, isn't it?"
Anstice's tone was cool and aloof.
"I am to be debarred of my freedom, and only gain a roof as a shelter, and a very strenuous life of struggling with unruly children and servants. And I am to be married to you so as to ensure my being a permanency."
"Yes. It sounds diabolical," said Justin, with a short laugh; "but it's the only way out of my difficulties, as far as I can see, and it is all I can offer you. A home, and the possible love of another person's children. That, I believe, might appeal to some women. But you are free to take the offer or refuse it. I shall settle something on you, of course, and you will have your own banking account and cheque book. You will not be stinted in money and will have a free hand in most things. You can think it over and let me know in a week or so. If you agree to my proposal, I want to settle things up before I take a trip out to the South Sea Islands. We could be married at a Registrar's in town. I won't suggest a Church Service, as it is a strictly business arrangement between us and nothing more. And then I would take you down home and introduce you to the youngsters, and leave you with them. I should go off with an easy mind, for by hearsay I have formed a high opinion of your capabilities."
Anstice could only gaze at him in absolute bewilderment of mind. Did he really imagine for a moment that she would assent to such an astounding proposal? She found herself smiling at the very idea of it.
"You are a most extraordinary man," she said after a moment's silence. "Do you go through life entirely one-sided? Do you never think of other people's desires and needs?"
He was pacing up and down the room, and reminded her of a caged animal. Now he half turned towards her, and his tone was hauteur itself:
"I am thinking of a great many people in this venture, myself last of all. It won't affect me or touch my life. It is the need of my children that makes this step essential. I must marry again for their sakes."
"Oh, don't call it marriage. It is a business arrangement." Anstice spoke hotly.
She was furious with her cousin for letting her in for such an interview as this. She was humiliated, and indignant at having such a proposal made to her.
"I had better decline your kind offer at once," she said, and her tone was biting. "We need not prolong the interview, need we?"
"I am sorry if I have offended you by my proposition. I should not have spoken to you, but your cousin gave me to understand that you are one of these modern women who prefer to be independent and live a single life. It's what I prefer myself, and she said you were a passionate child-lover. You would be absolutely free and unfettered. You would have been willing to come to me as a lady housekeeper or governess. Am I not offering you a better position than either of those?"
He spoke very quietly, almost despondently.
Something in his tone made Anstice feel ashamed of her momentary exhibition of temper. She was very sweet tempered as a rule. Now her voice softened.
"I don't wish to be discourteous. It has been a misunderstanding on my part. I dare say you may get other more suitable women than myself, to fall in with your proposal."
She rose from her seat and left the room. Then, when she had found Lady Lucy, she expressed her feelings. Lady Lucy at first looked quite frightened, then set her lips, and began to remonstrate.
"You are a foolish, silly girl! Here are you without a penny-piece to your name, obliged to go out into the world and scrape and save enough to keep body and soul together. It's a life of drudgery and toil, and you are utterly unfit for it. You've always told me you don't care for men. I have known you refuse three of them. Here is an ideal home offered to you, wealth and comfort and an assured position, and no man to worry you. Justin will always roam the world, I am afraid. Because your pride is touched, and he doesn't want you for yourself, only for what you can give his home and children, you consider yourself insulted and injured. I consider Justin is offering you a great deal. You have always posed as one who wants to help her fellow-creatures. Here is a chance to benefit these poor neglected children. I suppose the real fact is that you are hoping for marriage with some one else. Have you anyone in your mind?"
This was turning the tables upon her with a vengeance indeed! The blood rushed to her cheeks, and then she laughed.
"You know, Cousin Lucy, the answer to that question. We are getting angry with each other, so I think I had better go home."
"My dear child, I am not angry, only very sorry that you have judged and decided so hastily. I do beseech you to take time and think things out. I own I have a vision ahead of you and Justin drawing together and settling down as an ideal couple. He is such a nice fellow when you really know him. Circumstances have soured and embittered him, and several women whom I know well by name are pursuing him ruthlessly, with the intent of being mistress of his home. It makes him hard in his outlook towards women. Do, I implore you, weigh matters well, and don't give any definite answer now. If you will go, I won't try to keep you. I will order the car round. Have you said good-bye to Justin?"
"I left him. I don't want to see him again."
But as she said the words Justin himself opened the door and walked into the room.
"Oh, here you are," said Lady Lucy cheerfully, "just in time to see Anstice off in the car. She is going to think over matters. It has been a bombshell to her, and perhaps I ought to have prepared her for your interview. Not a word, Anstice; you are going home to think things over, and I shall try and keep Justin with me for a few days, whilst you have time to make your decision. Young people often spoil their lives by impulsiveness. Good-bye, my dear."
Lady Lucy stopped further remonstrance from Anstice by kisses. Then she gently pushed her towards the door.
Justin went along the big hall with her, and as they stood in the porch waiting for the car which was coming round the drive, he said very quietly:
"May I give you a subject for your thoughts, a miserable harassed man, who thought he was steering into a peaceful harbour, and instead finds himself among the rocks again."
"I suppose," said Anstice slowly, "I am really a selfish woman. I am unwilling to sacrifice my life, and all that it entails, to ease a man who cannot shoulder his burden. If only you realized how little wealth and comfort appeal to me. Perhaps it is because I have never been without a certain amount of it in my life. It is possible that if you had waited to make your proposition till I had failed to procure any work, and was entirely starving and homeless, I might have listened to you more calmly."
"I will wait if you like," said Justin in his dry, matter-of-fact tone.
Anstice laughed again. She laughed very often when she felt near tears.
"Oh," she said impulsively, "what disadvantages we women have, in spite of all our modernity! Men rove over the sea when they have domestic troubles. It is women's part to put their shoulders to the wheel and create order out of chaos! Cousin Lucy is very angry with me, but I am not unreasonable; and I will think matters over, and write to you. Give me till the beginning of next week. This is Thursday. On Monday, I will send you my answer."
She held out her hand, and he took it and gripped it.
"If you have any womanly feeling, you will help me," he said, and then wheeling round, he disappeared into the house; and the car glided down the drive, and Anstice was left alone to her reflections.
She suddenly saw herself in Southampton Docks by the side of a big liner taking troops to France. She was standing with her hands in another's, with a cold set face of misery, meeting the yearning, agonizing glance of the handsome boy by her side. Only a boy and girl affair. Yet that parting, and the subsequent terse telegram announcing the death of a promising young officer, left marks on Anstice's soul that she would bear to her dying day. It had made her indifferent to men, it had made her determined to enjoy a single life for the rest of her days on earth.
And now she was asked to link her life to one who was supremely indifferent to her, who purposed to bind her to him merely for the mitigation of his home difficulties. "Womanly feeling!" She must have womanly feeling and sympathy for him and for his children, but what manly feeling had he for her?
Sitting in the car with her clasped hands in her lap, she was a picture of serene, contented youth, and yet in her heart, a seething passion of bewilderment, wounded pride, and indignation, coupled with uncertainty and doubt, was passing to and fro.
She had not enough religion in her life to help her, but she had a real love for children. Perhaps the thought of the little crippled boy and his mischievous sisters in a lonely house in the country, with no one to comfort or guide or train them except a succession of unsatisfactory governesses, made more impression upon her than she realized.
For when, after tossing about in her bed that night, unable to rest or sleep, she fell off at last into an uneasy slumber, she had a very vivid dream.
She thought she was standing on a stony beach, watching tremendous waves roll in from the ocean and break in a thundering roar at her feet. Suddenly, far away, she spied a small boat being driven towards her. In it were helpless children sending out shrill cries for aid.
She knew they were being driven on the rocks, but she stared at them dully, saying over and over again:
"I cannot help you."
And then distinctly the voice of her boy lover spoke to her:
"I lost my life for such as these; will you not save them? Is it not your turn?"
And then she plunged into the foaming sea, and battled for her life as she swam to meet that boat. She found an end of rope which the children flung out, and with this wound round her body, she swam back to the beach and rocks. All the time that she was struggling with the waves, she had the consciousness that her lover was watching for and waiting for her, and when finally the beach was reached, she opened her arms to embrace him. But to her consternation, the man who stood like a sentinel against the cliffs, and who moved forwards to meet her, was not her lover, but Justin Holme!
With a cry of anguish, she awoke.
There was no more sleep that night.
When the morning came she rose with an aching head and troubled heart.
But she found herself instinctively imagining the relief and comfort a capable woman might bring to that disordered and most unhappy home. And though one part of her stoutly resisted all thoughts of herself being that one, another part of her was mentally arranging and sorting out her personal possessions with the view of going up North.
[CHAPTER II]
THE STRANGE MARRIAGE
ON Monday morning, Anstice was surprised to get the following letter from Justin Holme:
"DEAR MISS BARRETT,—
"I am writing to you, because I feel that in our interview yesterday I was rude, abrupt, and much too peremptory. I was ill at ease, and did not control my feelings. Now I realize that I prejudiced you against me to start with; I rushed into my needs when I ought to have kept them in the background till I had gained your liking. I desperately want a stepmother for my children, but I frankly own that at present I am not a family man—I am too much of a rover to settle down. It seems a hopeless impasse, unless we determine to wed under the conditions I proposed. I am trading, I am afraid, on your love for children. I would ask you to come as housekeeper or governess, but feel convinced after so many experiences in that line that you might be only another failure. My children are dead set against all species of governesses and housekeepers. The only chance for them is a real second mother.
"I do implore you to give us a chance. Forgive my selfishness. I am entirely thinking of my own happiness and welfare, not of yours. But perhaps one day you may teach me to do so.
"I will subscribe myself—
"A very unhappy man who sees a light before him which he fears he will fail to reach.
"JUSTIN HOLME."
Anstice sat with this upon her knee. When she had left her room that morning, she had felt a reaction set in. She could not give up her life for such a position, to please a perfect stranger—a man who had been so embittered and soured by the treatment which he had received from one woman that he determined never to let any other woman enter his life.
And now this letter had made the pendulum swing the other way again. Her dream became more vivid to her. This was an unhappy, disillusioned, desperate man, who was not content to fling his responsibility as regards his children to the winds. That was the only good trait in his character. He was so anxious about them, that he was willing to tie himself up for life to a woman for whom he had no affection or desire.
What a tangle it all was!
All that day the battle raged in her heart.
But on Tuesday morning, when Justin Holme came to his aunt's breakfast table, he found the following letter awaiting him:
"DEAR MR. HOLME,—
"Thank you for your letter. I have thought a great deal; and time and thought have altered my point of view. In spite of a natural great distaste to the step you wish me to take, I will do my best to be a second mother to your children, if you still wish it. I leave you to make all plans, asking you to let me know your arrangements as soon as you can. But I must have three clear weeks before I can leave my home. After that, it will be in the market for sale.
"Yours sincerely,
"ANSTICE BARRETT."
Justin read this slowly. He read it more than once, then folded it between his fingers, and gazed thoughtfully out of the window.
Lady Lucy, from her post behind the silver tea service, looked at him with eager, anxious eyes.
"Well, Justin, what does she say? I know you have heard from her."
"The answer is in the affirmative," was the brief reply.
Lady Lucy heaved a sigh.
"Sensible girl. I felt that she needed to be saved from her impulsiveness! I can tell you again, Justin, that you have a woman in a thousand! Anstice is old for her age, as capable and efficient as—as a man, and she's just sweetness itself when you come to know her. She couldn't do a dishonourable thing. Courageous, unselfish, and loving. What could you want more for your children, to say nothing for yourself?"
"Leave me out of it," said Justin sharply. "She is quick to recognize that it is the children who need her and not I. But—she makes me wait three weeks!"
"You impatient man! What are three weeks out of a lifetime? I must go to her at once. She must have some kind of a trousseau."
Justin frowned heavily.
"Are you picturing us having a fashionable wedding? Don't you realize that we shall do the Registrar's business on our way up North!"
"I know that I mean to be with her when the rite is performed," said Lady Lucy. "The Registrar's Office is the only part of the business that I disapprove of."
Justin was silent. It had been rather a shock to him when Anstice had so curtly refused to entertain his proposition. Women had pursued him since his wife's death. It was quite unusual for any woman to dislike him. He had been at first amused, then angry, when Anstice had spoken so frankly and straightly upon the subject. Now he weighed her few words carefully. It was certainly a whole-hearted surrender. What had influenced her, he wondered, to alter her views? He would rather like to have had an inkling of her thoughts. And then he summarily dismissed her from his mind. He had got what he wanted, and very soon now he would be scudding through the ocean waves, leaving all his responsibilities behind him.
An hour later, and he was in the express train for town; and Lady Lucy was driving over in her car to see her young cousin, and to give her advice concerning this strange marriage.
* * * * *
Sitting in a first-class carriage being whirled along to the North, Anstice looked out of the window with a dazed expression in her clear blue eyes. Opposite to her was a man almost a stranger to her, and yet the uncomfortable, unnatural feel of the gold band on her finger under her glove reminded her that he was her husband.
She looked back to the events of the last two days. She had come up to town with her cousin who had taken rooms at the Grosvenor Hotel. Lady Lucy had wanted to ask Justin round to dinner on the eve of their arrival, but Anstice had begged for a quiet evening alone with her.
Anstice had retired early to bed, and Justin came round to find her gone. She did not see him till she stood with her cousin at the Registrar's Office. Lady Lucy had insisted that they should come back to the Grosvenor to have an early lunch, and then they wished her good-bye, and went off in a taxi to Euston Station.
It was an awkward moment when Lady Lucy said to Justin:
"You must take care of her and make her happy. And don't forget she has given up her own life to become your wife."
Justin contracted his brows, but said not a word.
Then Lady Lucy turned to Anstice:
"God bless you, child, and if those children are too much for you, when Justin is the other side of the world, and you get lonely or ill, send for me, and I will come to you."
"Thank you, Cousin Lucy. That is good of you."
Anstice had kissed her cousin warmly. For one moment, as she stood in the hotel lounge drawing her gloves on, and watching her luggage being taken to the taxi, panic had seized hold of her.
What was she doing? What had she done? Taken an irrevocable step which might lead to disaster, but which certainly seemed devoid of any brightness or real happiness for herself. Why had she sacrificed herself for a man's whim and gratification? He was demanding all her powers and personality in his service, and giving her nothing of himself in return.
This moment of panic passed, and quietly and serenely she accompanied Justin to the station, accepted the magazines and a box of chocolates he gave her, and now as the train started and he immersed himself in his papers, she gazed out of the window and reviewed the situation.
Suddenly he put down his paper and spoke:
"We have not had much time for any quiet conversation. If there is anything you want to ask me connected with house or children, now is the opportunity. I shall be very busy when I reach home, for I shall have a lot of things to arrange with my farm bailiff."
"I should certainly like to know a few things," said Anstice quietly. "To begin with, I should like to know the ages of your children."
"The boy is eight, the girls a year or two older. I'm afraid I don't know their exact ages."
"And how many servants have you?"
He gave a short laugh.
"I cannot answer that. Sometimes I arrive to find that there are none, barring Brenda—she's the boy's personal attendant—nurse, I suppose, you'd consider her. Eliza Falkland, my farmer's wife, comes in to cook whenever we want her. Personally I want no better cook than she is. I give you carte blanche to have as many servants as you need. The little girls are looked after by their governesses. But they have been without one for the last six weeks—Brenda sees to them. I won't advise you what to do. Running a house is a woman's work, not a man's."
Anstice was silent.
"You'll have a good roomy trap and stout cob for the children's use. I did have a car, but the governesses were always out in it with their friends, so I gave it up. I'm home so seldom that I hire when I want one. I ride a good deal. My mare is kept at the farm."
"Am I to be allowed to invite a friend to stay with me occasionally?"
"You are hardly in the same category as the governesses," he said dryly; "and I suppose you had better have a car. I'll see about it."
"No," said Anstice decidedly. "I prefer the trap. How long do you intend to be away?"
"About five or six months."
"Then let the car wait till you come home again. I am fond of the country and am never dull in it. You generally use cars to get away from your surroundings. I shall settle down like a cat, and be quite content with the cob. Do you wish me to have anything to do with the farm?"
He looked at her reflectively.
"Bob Falkland isn't good at writing. He runs the farm pretty well on his own, but if any difficulties arise I will tell him to come to you, and if you can't cope with them, you can write to me."
"What is your nearest town?"
"Penrith. You have no difficulties in the way of supplies. For Penrith contains all that we need. Any more questions?"
"No, thank you. Not at present."
He returned to his paper, and Anstice to her magazines. They had the carriage to themselves until they came to Crewe. Then he took her to the restaurant car to have tea. They were talking pleasantly together about the country in general, when suddenly a stout, handsome-looking woman came across from her seat opposite them, and accosted Justin.
"Well, you gad-about," she said playfully. "Where do you come from? Going home for twenty-four hours, I suppose, as usual."
"Let me introduce you to my wife," said Justin gravely. Then turning to Anstice, he said: "This is our nearest neighbour, Mrs. Wykeham."
Anstice could see that Justin's announcement was a distinct shock to the lady, though she concealed it as best she could.
"Yes, I live about eight miles away, but that is nothing in these days. Well, Justin, I must congratulate you. All your troubles will be over now. Are the children expecting you? They were not two days ago. I met them in the lanes having a riotous time with Hal Cross, who was driving them."
"No," said Justin; "we're taking them by surprise."
"I hope," said Mrs. Wykeham, addressing Anstice with a merry twinkle in her eyes, "that he has prepared you as to the propensities of his small folk. They are exceedingly formidable as foes, but quite engaging as friends."
"I hope I shall find them my friends," said Anstice with her pleasant smile. She was astonished at her own composure, but the fact that her husband was uneasy and uncomfortable, gave her the assurance she needed.
"Have you ever been up in these parts before?" asked Mrs. Wykeham.
"Never," replied Anstice. "It is all new country to me. I am looking forward to seeing the Lake District. I have always heard that it is so lovely!"
"Well, well, I am more glad than I can say, Justin, that you are settling down at last. I shall hope to make my call on Mrs. Holme very soon."
She stepped back to her table, and Justin drew a breath of relief. As he sat down to his tea, he looked across at Anstice, with a queer little smile.
"I hope you know how to hold your own. You will need all your discretion in an interview with Mrs. Wykeham. She is our local gossip, and tells me all the iniquities of my household whenever I set eyes on her. She's good-natured, and a meddler, and she's always upsetting other people's apple-carts. But she's a real friend if you're in trouble—so people say—for myself, I've had no use for her."
"I shall get on very well with her," said Anstice, "and eight miles away is better than at our gates."
He shook his head.
"Eight miles is nothing to her. She'll be perpetually running in and out, you will find. She's one of those poor souls who lives on people, their sayings and doings. I've choked her off when I'm at home; you had better do the same if you want any peace."
"I'll wait and see," said Anstice, smiling; "I am not going to quarrel with my neighbours if I can help it."
They were soon back in their own carriage.
Mrs. Wykeham had nodded and smiled to them as they passed her.
"We shall see each other at Penrith. Have you a car meeting you, Justin, or may I take you with me?"
"I have a car, thank you."
He spoke a little curtly. He was vexed at meeting Mrs. Wykeham and knew the news of his marriage would be all over the neighbourhood, and he had wanted to get away before the fact was known.
They had little more conversation together. Anstice grew very tired, and, leaning her head back in the corner, went fast asleep. And then it was that for the first time Justin took a very long and critical inspection of her features.
He was absolutely indifferent to her personality. It was expediency that had made him marry her, and his heart was steeled against all women. Yet there was something in the tender softness of Anstice's smile, and in the vivid sparkling of her blue eyes, that made him feel glad he had chosen her to be the custodian of his children.
"She'll be good to them, and give me no trouble," was his summing up; "and she will give Mrs. Wykeham no cause for writing me one of her catty letters."
It was very late when they at length reached Penrith. The freshness and sweetness of the air struck Anstice as she got out of the heated train.
A car was waiting for them. Mrs. Wykeham came up and said a few words to them as they were getting into it. She was intensely curious about Anstice, but saw that she was beyond criticism as to birth and breeding; and though she noted her deep mourning, she did not attempt to ask any of her usual inquisitive questions.
"I shall come and call very soon," she said cheerfully. "You don't know how glad we shall be that a mistress is coming to Butterdale Manor."
"Is she expecting social festivities, I wonder," said Anstice lightly, when Mrs. Wykeham had left them. "I fancy my position will be rather a difficult one."
"Not at all. Why should it be? You can entertain the neighbourhood as much as you like. I have laid down no restrictions, have I?"
"No," said Anstice, with a little amused curl to her lips; "I see that, as your wife, I cannot be hedged about in too marked a way. But I think, for my own peace of mind, the less I see of the outside world the better."
"May I ask why?"
Anstice looked at him. They were driving along in the gathering dusk. His profile by her side was set and determined.
"Well," she said in her sweetest tone, "the chatterers will naturally wonder why the wife has been deserted so soon. I shall not feel inclined to give them the solution, and I shall certainly not pose as an injured, aggrieved wife, so absolute indifference will be my rôle. It is, after all, the true state of things on both sides, is it not?"
"You have a sharp tongue," said Justin.
"I hope not. A true one."
Silence fell between them, then she drew in a long breath of delight as they passed along in full view of the beautiful lake with the Fells on the other side. Turning to him again, she said:
"Forgive me, if I have seemed discourteous. You have given me a great deal besides your name, and I should be ungrateful to forget it. All this will be real joy to me. To live in one of the most beautiful spots in England will be delightful."
Justin's brow cleared. He began pointing out several places of interest. To Anstice, this drive through wooded heights with the blue Fells behind against the sunset sky was one of pure pleasure. And then as the dusk deepened, they came along buttercup meadows and pastureland, passing various small hamlets where lights were already twinkling through the cottage windows.
It was dark when they turned in at some big gates on the high road and up an avenue of chestnuts now opening into flower.
"The gardens are not as tidily kept as they should be. Cross, my gardener, is getting old, and his son Hal, who works under him, and minds the pony and poultry yard, is better at vegetables than flowers. I dare say, if you were to take an interest in the place, they would do better. Here we are!"
He handed her out of the car, and led her up the steps. The door was opened to them by a pleasant-looking young woman.
"This is Brenda," said Justin, turning to Anstice. "She's our only stand-by."
Anstice held out her hand.
"I have heard about you," she said, with her winning smile. "I am afraid we are very late in arriving."
"The children are in bed, I suppose?" Justin asked, as they entered a big, dimly-lit hall, and made their way into a room which was dubbed the library, but which seemed used for general purposes, and was littered with children's toys and games. There was a fire, and a round table drawn up to it on which was laid the supper for the travellers.
"Yes, sir, they are all asleep. They tried hard to keep awake. Happily for all of us, they could not manage it. Will you like to come upstairs to your room, ma'am?"
"Thank you, I should."
So Anstice was led up bare black oak stairs to a very big, old-fashioned bedroom.
"The late Mrs. Holme slept here," murmured Brenda. "I hope it will be comfortable for you."
Anstice said nothing. She walked to the window and drew aside the thick curtains to look out, but a dense mist and the darkness prevented any sort of view.
Her luggage was soon brought up. It was not long before she was down in the old library again. And Justin joined her, apologizing for not having changed into evening clothes.
A couple of ducks, and a fruit tart with cheese and biscuits, were set before them. Brenda brought in everything and then left them. It all seemed primitive to Anstice, and as she looked about the dreary, untidy room, she wondered if she would ever be able to improve it.
Justin caught her wandering gaze.
"I told Brenda we ought to have meals in the dining-room, but if you can believe it, she was afraid of making the change because of the children. I told her to tell them nothing. They think you are a fresh governess. I must explain to-morrow. I've always had meals in this room. I dare say you will be able to make the drawing-room comfortable for yourself, and there is another sitting-room shut up—the morning-room. It has been a question of servants; but if you can get some in, you will be able to run the house as it used to be."
"I will look over the house to-morrow," said Anstice cheerfully.
"I have been thinking," went on Justin, "that now you will be here looking after things, I believe you could get a very good daily governess for the girls. There's a Mrs. Fergusson, an elderly lady, who was a governess to some Russian Count's family for many years. She's a very clever woman, and offered at one time to give up her mornings to my small folk; but it would not have answered then, as I wanted a resident governess for them, and she could not give her whole time. She lives about two miles from here. Mrs. Wykeham could tell you about her."
"That sounds feasible. Do the children know her?"
Justin gave a short laugh. "They heard about her and told me they would stand no old woman about them! They're first-class little rebels, but you may be able to tame them."
He said little more during the rest of the meal. Immediately it was over, Brenda appeared, saying that Bob Falkland was waiting to speak to Justin. Justin went out at once, and for nearly an hour was shut in the smoking-room with his bailiff.
When he came out, he went into the library expecting to see Anstice sitting over the fire, but she had gone, and Brenda informed him that the mistress was tired, and had gone to bed.
At that moment, Anstice was leaning out of her open window inhaling the fragrant scent of a sweetbriar bush, and watching the moon struggling through the mist which surrounded it.
She had had a strange experience when first coming into her room. Her bed was one of the large, old-fashioned, four-posted testers, and looking at it with a little distaste, and wondering if she might be compelled to sleep on a feather bed, she saw a movement in the middle of it under the blankets. Thinking it might be a cat or dog which had crept in there, she hastily turned back the bedclothes, and there she found a hedgehog wriggling about. She seized hold of her bath towel and enfolding the intruder in it, opened her door to take it downstairs, but Brenda happened to be passing along the passage, so she called her.
Brenda threw up her hands in horror.
"Those wicked children! They've done it, ma'am. It's a mistake the master keeping it from them who you are. They think you're a fresh governess. I may tell you now that I prepared the dining-room with all the best china and silver, and Miss Georgie went in and seized hold of the cloth and pulled the whole of it off upon the ground. Such a smash of the beautiful dishes and plates. It properly upset me. I didn't like to tell the master to-night. They're furious, because the master's message to them was that he was bringing a lady to stay this time, and they're determined to drive you away quicker than they've driven the other ones."
Anstice laughed, though she did not feel like laughing.
"I must share in their fun," she said. "Don't look so troubled, Brenda. I must try and come to an understanding with them as soon as possible. Is this a pet beastie?"
"Yes, his name is Joshua, but they have been forbidden to bring him into the house. I'll take him back to his shed where he sleeps."
Anstice went back to her room. She did not anticipate an easy time, and yet longed to make acquaintance with these young rebels. It was rather a forlorn beginning of her new life, and she was at her window still wrapt in meditation when she heard Justin come up to his room next hers, and move about. Then she crept quietly into bed and fell asleep, not to wake till the sun was shining in a clear blue sky, and the birds singing in the garden beneath her window.
[CHAPTER III]
MAKING FRIENDS
BEFORE she dressed, Anstice went again to her window, and this time she could not help giving a cry of delight.
Such an exquisite view was before her. First a sloping green park with magnificent old spreading trees grouped here and there, under which cattle were browsing, then the blue lake like a sheet of glass lying between the purple Fells, which ranged themselves around it, in various heights and shapes, and with beautiful shadows passing to and fro. Directly underneath her window was a wide terrace walk; then, on a lower level, a well-kept lawn, on one side of which was a long herbaceous border already bright with flowers. At the bottom of the lawn was an old wall covered with fruit trees and flowering shrubs and creepers, and a gate in the middle of it which led into the park.
An hour later she left her room; for a big bell was ringing, and that was a summons to breakfast.
She had heard childish voices about the house, and once, from her window, had a flying glimpse of two short-frocked, long-legged girls, chasing each other across the lawn.
As she was crossing the corridor outside her room to go downstairs, she passed a room which had the door open, and heard her husband's voice: he evidently had caught sight of her, and called her in.
"I want to introduce my son to you."
It was the old nursery. Anstice saw at once that it was a large and sunny room, and was far more comfortable in every way than the room downstairs. Justin sat upon a chintz-covered couch under one of the big windows, and in his arms was his boy.
For a moment Anstice surprised a look upon his face, that she had never thought possible for him to wear. It was of passionate tenderness and love; and then, as he looked up from the little face nestling against his shoulder, the hard light was in his eyes again, and the easy, indifferent tone upon his lips.
"This is Rufus, commonly known as Ruffie, and this, Ruffie, is your stepmother. Shake hands with her and wish her well."
Anstice impulsively went down on her knees before the child. She almost started, as she saw a face of exquisite beauty. Red gold curls clustered about a broad white brow with large brown eyes, which looked up at her with a mixture of pathos and mischief in their depths. A little delicate oval face, with small pointed chin and a most beautiful mouth, belonged to Ruffie. His complexion was like a blush rose, his tiny white hands were those of an artist, the rest of his poor little body was crippled and deformed. He wore a tussore silk shirt with a pale blue tie, but a shawl was wrapped round his legs. One small hand shot out in response to his father's words.
Anstice took it, and held it for a moment in both hers. But she met a look of horror and incredulity from the child.
"We are going to be friends," she said, smiling at him.
"A stepmother!"
Ruffie's voice rose shrilly.
"Does that mean she's going to live here always, or are you going to take her away with you, Dad?"
"She has promised me she will stay here with you," said Justin.
His voice sounded helpless, and his eyes met Anstice's with a hint of appeal in them. She came to his rescue, and said cheerfully:
"Yes, we're going to have good times together, I hope, Ruffie. I am not a governess, you mustn't think of me as one, for I'm not half clever enough to teach your sisters."
"You're a new mother," said Ruffie, scowling heavily at her. "We've got our own mother. She's dead, and we don't want another. If Dad doesn't want you to go with him, we don't want you to stay with us, so you can go home where you came from."
Anstice shook her head and smiled, whilst her dimples came in play.
"When I got up this morning, Ruffie," she said, "I looked out of my window, and I saw such a beautiful corner of the world, that I knelt down and said my prayers before it. And I said to myself when I got up: 'Every one who lives in such beauty must be happy and kind.' That's what I mean to be; will you join me?"
The scowl faded away. Ruffie was now regarding her curiously.
"Are you frightened of things?" he asked. "But all women are, we know them. First they try to frighten us, then they get frightened themselves, and then they go."
"If I don't go till I am frightened," said Anstice, "you will have to wait a long time, Ruffie. But this is my home now as well as yours. I shall soon fit into my corner, you see if I don't! And one person determined last night to be friends with me and give me a welcome. I mean to see more of him. Do you know his name? Joshua."
Ruffie's face was a picture. Interest, curiosity and ripples of mischief showed themselves in his eyes.
"Did he prick you?" he asked impishly.
"I should think not. He thought he was in a prison with hot, heavy clouds suffocating him. First he thought he was under the earth, but he couldn't burrow a way out. Then he turned head over heels, and was preparing to give a squeal, when suddenly the clouds lifted, and then he was lifted. In a few minutes, he was back again in his usual bedroom, and if you asked him about it this morning, he would tell you it was a bad dream."
"We must come to breakfast."
Justin spoke abruptly. He very gently put Ruffie back upon his couch amongst his cushions, and Anstice left the room saying to Ruffie:
"We will see each other later on."
Justin and she had hardly taken their places at the breakfast table in the library, when the door was flung open, and the two little girls, arm in arm, came in most defiantly.
"Good morning," said their father gravely, "come and speak to this lady. She is going to be a second mother to you."
They stood perfectly still, astonishment and disgust plainly discernible on their faces.
"She's only another governess. You're pretending, Dad."
The taller of the two, Josephine by name, was spokeswoman.
"Aren't you glad I am not another governess?" said Anstice, pouring out a cup of coffee and handing it to her husband as she spoke. Her tone was easy, and a little indifferent.
"We don't want any sort of mother fussing round here," said Josie, tapping the carpet impatiently with her foot. "We manage ourselves. You know we do, Dad."
Justin looked at them for a moment in silence, then he said:
"I don't think your manners do you credit. You make a poor sort of show beside other children of your age."
"Oh, come on, Josie," cried Georgie, the smaller girl, "if she's come to manage us she won't stay long."
And like a whirlwind they both swept out of the room, banging the door behind them.
Justin gave his short, indifferent laugh.
"Now you've seen them at their worst," he said. "I'm sorry they've given you such a poor welcome, but my aunt seemed to think troublesome children interested you more than good ones."
"Much more," said Anstice. "They interest me very much. You have very nice-looking children, and if their high spirits can be turned in the right direction, they will grow up delightful girls."
"Well, they will be a test of your powers. I must tell you I have a good bit of business to do before I leave, which I hope will be to-morrow afternoon. But I shall be in this evening. I have to go round and look up my tenants; I have about half a dozen tenant farmers, and they always expect a call from me when I'm home, and they live far apart. You wouldn't think it perhaps, but though I can't manage my house, they say my estate is one of the best run of its kind in these parts."
"I can't think why you aren't content to live here," said Anstice, gazing out of the window with a dreamy look in her eyes.
Justin made no reply. He made short work of his breakfast, and then Anstice saw a beautiful bay mare being brought round to the door. As he was mounting, he called out to her:
"Don't wait dinner for me, but I think I shall be in by eight o'clock. Brenda will take you over the house, and give you all the information you need."
He was gone; and Anstice drew a long breath of relief. She felt at last that she was free and independent.
As she stood outside on the terrace, drinking in the fresh sweet air, the little girls suddenly appeared holding between them by the collar a huge mastiff.
"It's Hercules and he wants to see what you're like," announced Josie. "You'd better make friends with him quick—while we hold him; he's awful to strangers, he's a kind of bloodhound, and seizes you with his teeth if he doesn't like you."
"He looks good tempered," said Anstice happily. "I'm very fond of big dogs."
She advanced towards him as she spoke, but as she was about to lay her hand on his head, a blood-curdling deep growl emitted from his great throat.
"There! He hates you, he won't be friends!" cried Georgie triumphantly.
"If you stop pinching his tail and let him loose, I'll see whether he likes me or not."
Anstice spoke quietly, but she had quick eyes, and the children looked slightly abashed.
"He'll knock you down, if I let him go," Josie said.
"I'll risk that."
Very reluctantly they loosed their grip of his collar.
Hercules made a bound towards her. Anstice stood her ground, and smiled at him. He sniffed at her shoes, wagged his tail, and then as she patted his head, he turned up his beautiful brown eyes, and regarded her with favour, even going so far as to lick her hand.
Then Anstice turned to the little girls.
"Won't you show me the animals? I expect you have a good many pets and I want to know them."
But they took to their heels, whistling for Hercules, who bounded after them, and a wave of depression passed over Anstice's soul. Then she turned with brisk steps to search for Brenda.
"Can you leave your little charge?" she asked her when she met her on the stairs.
"Indeed, yes, ma'am. He's accustomed to loneliness, poor little soul! But I've carried him down to the library and his sisters will be in and out concocting mischief with him. For the matter o' that 'tis his brain that hatches most of their plots, and they carry them out."
"Is he able to read?"
"Yes, indeed he is, but his doctor doesn't like him to do too much of it. It gives him headaches. He's great at drawing, and has books and books full of his funny figures."
"Oh, that's good to hear! Now, will you take me over the house?"
For an hour Anstice talked and planned with Brenda, making arrangements for the comfort of them all. There evidently seemed no lack of money, but utter lack of organization. Brenda said that no good servants would come, where there was no proper mistress.
"I haven't the authority, ma'am—nor am I good at getting others to work. I'd rather do it all myself. There's an aunt of mine—she's lately been left a widow. She's a good cook and was living with some gentry about eight mile from here. I asked her wouldn't she come to us; but she knew the master was always away, and didn't like the idea of doing for the governesses who've been driven away one after the other owing to the children's wicked ways."
"Where does your aunt live? Could she come and see me? Or I could go to her?"
They discussed the matter together. Anstice longed to get help in and have the empty rooms all prepared and got ready for use.
The house was of grey substantial stone, with several quaint buttresses and corners. The windows on the ground floor all opened to the ground. There was a very large conservatory on one side of the drawing-room, but beyond one creeping rose that covered the outside wall there was not a plant in it. Old boxes and lumber of all sorts were stacked up inside it. As Anstice walked about, and noted the possibilities of the house, she felt glad that she had come to it.
"I can make it into a pretty and comfortable home, I know I can; but I wonder whether I can make it into a happy one."
A little sigh left her lips. Later on she unpacked her trunks and arranged her room according to her liking.
At luncheon the little girls appeared, expecting to meet their father at it. Anstice told them that he was away for the day. They sat together, whispering and giggling. Then suddenly Josie addressed Anstice:
"Are you afraid of ghosts? There's one in your room. We think it's mother."
"I shouldn't be afraid of her, or of any other spirit," said Anstice very gently.
"You wait and see. Our mother will be furious to find you in her room. You'd better get out."
"My dear Josie," said Anstice, "no one could drive me out of my room. And as to your mother, I am sure she would only be too thankful to me for coming here to give you a more comfortable and, I hope, a happier home."
"We don't want you," said Georgie sullenly.
"Look here," said Anstice impulsively, "I tell you what we will do. We will have a 'pow-wow' to-morrow evening in the nursery. Do you know what a 'pow-wow' is?"
"Some old rubbishy thing!" muttered Josie scornfully.
"It's what the Red Indians have. They sit round a fire, all the heads and chiefs are invited, and then they talk and talk and talk. Every one can have a say."
"What do they talk about?" inquired Georgie, a gleam of interest in her deep blue eyes.
"Whether they're going to have peace or war. It is settled once for all. Ruffie must take part in it. Shall we all dress up as Red Indians to make it real? And the evenings are chilly, we'll have a delicious drink that I know how to make. I used to make it for the school children in my old home where we had treats. And I call it 'Honeybunny'!"
"You're trying to make us like you," said Josie deliberately; "and we don't want to like you."
"Don't tell me that now. Tell me to-morrow evening. You will have the chance of saying anything you like then. I shall want you to listen to me, and then I will listen to you. Do you agree?"
"We'll talk to Ruffie about it, and see what he says."
But there was a little sparkle in Josie's eyes as she spoke.
Anstice felt that she had already scored a point.
When lunch was over, the little girls tore up to the nursery, and Anstice went out of doors. She crossed the lawn and had a few words with the old gardener, Stephen Cross, who seemed delighted to see her.
"Ay," he responded to some pleasant words of hers, "th' 'ouse ha' wanted a mistress these mony years, an' a mistress who'll bide in it, an' ha' an interest in it."
Then she went out through the little gate into the park, rejoicing in the fresh green underfoot and around her. A wide beaten path led her across the sward down to the edge of the lake. Here she found a boathouse and small landing stage, and in an enclosure fenced off from the cattle was a very pretty little chalet evidently used for making afternoon tea. The door was unlocked, and inside she found remains of a meal. Unwashed cups and saucers were on the table. An open cupboard showed more crockery and a small oil stove.
Then she went outside, and sitting on the short grass under the shade of an acacia tree, she looked out upon the blue lake before her. It was very still, only a little ripple washed up at her feet. Opposite were the blue Fells and mountains, some in the background crested with wreaths of cloud. She watched the wonderful lights and shadows playing across them, and her thoughts were lifted for the time away from rebellious children and a disordered house.
Suddenly a voice beside her broke in upon her musings.
"Good afternoon."
She turned quickly. A tall, broad-shouldered man in clerical attire stood before her. She encountered a pair of keen, kindly eyes looking at her between shaggy brows.
"I must introduce myself. I am the new parson. I was only inducted a few weeks ago and I heard Mr. Holme was here for a day or two, so came to pay my respects to him. He is my nearest neighbour."
The hearty, pleasant voice brought relief to Anstice's heart. Here was some one who would be friendly, possibly a real help-giver.
She shook hands with him.
"My husband is out visiting his tenants. I am so glad to see you. I am enjoying this most exquisite view."
"May I do the same, and sit down beside you? I have come from a busy life in Liverpool, so you can imagine what all this means to me."
"It must be a great contrast," said Anstice.
"Yes, I feel I am too young to be relegated into such a retreat, but heart trouble has enforced rest, and I'm only a crock at present."
"I expect you have been overdoing it."
"I have been told so. It is difficult to prevent it. I have a scattered parish here, a good many farm-houses amongst the Fells. I hear that Mr. Holme is seldom here. But his tenants seem devoted to him. I am sorry to miss him."
"He leaves to-morrow for a sea voyage."
"And do you go with him?"
"No, I shall stay here. There are his children to be mothered, and I am going to try to do it." Then she added impulsively: "I am a stranger here, and I am wondering whether I am going to prove a success or failure. Can you give me a receipt for winning love?"
He looked at her with a smile.
"You will not find that difficult. Love as you are loved."
"Ah, but I have come into a hostile atmosphere, as far as the children are concerned."
"Love as you are loved," he repeated. "The Hand that fashioned all this fair beauty before us is holding your life in its loving keeping."
Anstice looked grave.
"I had a good mother, and heard about good things from her till I was sixteen, yet somehow they have never taken a vital hold of my heart. I was thinking just now, as I looked over to those beautiful hills, how remote and serene they are, so near heaven that earth's little worries cannot touch them. I believe some people's lives are like that. My own mother's life was, but I could never attain to it."
"I don't believe in straining and climbing overmuch," said Anstice's new friend. "Thank God that He reaches down just where we are and as we are. A child has only to raise its arms to its mother. She does the lifting."
Anstice drew in a quick breath, and looked at him with glowing eyes.
"I dare say it is because I have always felt so capable, that I have never wanted to be raised," she said. "Now to-day I am feeling my own helplessness."
"It's a good attitude in our soul's affairs."
Silence fell between them. Then he began to talk about village interests. He told her his wife was an invalid, and that he was in need of an organist, for the last rector's wife had always played for the services.
"Are you musical?" he asked her. "I wonder if you could help me?"
"I can play. I always used to in our little village church at home, but I cannot promise to undertake outside work just yet. I must feel my way. May I let you know later on what I can do?"
After a little more talk, they walked back to the house together.
"May I see the children?" he asked, as walking along the terrace they heard their voices through the open library window.
Anstice took him into the room at once. Here they found the little girls on the carpet sorting over a bag of feathers, Ruffie looking on with the keenest interest. They looked up surprised at the grown-ups' intrusion, but the Rector quickly put them at ease.
"I'm not going to stay, I only want to shake hands, and say that I hope we're going to be friends."
Hands were shaken in grave silence.
"Now, did I see any of you at church?"
Josie shook her head vigorously.
"We don't hardly ever go. It's so dull. And Mr. Penfold looked so cross and old."
"I'd like to go one day," announced Ruffie. "I'd like to hear the music."
"You shall," promised Anstice.
Then the Rector took his leave. But he placed his hand on Ruffie's head before he went, and said softly, "May the Good Shepherd gather His lamb with His Arm and carry him in His Bosom."
And Ruffie stared at him with open eyes and mouth, as if he were an unknown wonder.
[CHAPTER IV]
LEFT TO HERSELF
WHEN Justin reached home that evening, he found dinner in the dining-room. A bowl of pink tulips adorned the table. Anstice in a black lace gown with some early white roses at her breast sat opposite to him, and talked in her soft, happy voice of all that she had done and seen during the day.
"I had better warn you," said Justin in his hard, matter-of-fact tone, "that the lake is not safe sailing for you. I keep the boathouse locked. The children are absolutely forbidden to go on the water by themselves. You might take out the rowing boat on a very fine settled day with old Stephen. He knows the lake better than I do, but keep the boat away from the children."
"I don't want to curtail their pleasures. Do you let them drive about the roads by themselves? They went off in the trap after tea to-day."
"Josie is a good whip and is allowed to drive about the lanes, but the high road is tabooed. There is too much traffic with all these char-à-bancs and cars."
Then he gave a short laugh.
"The less restrictions you lay down, the better for you and them," he said. "As Josie once said to me: 'If you don't make rules we shan't break them!' And there's sound reason in that."
After dinner, he went off to his smoking-room.
Anstice sat on the terrace until dark. It was a still, warm evening. Just before ten o'clock he came out and joined her.
"Are you regretting our hasty step?" he asked her abruptly.
"Why should you think so?" Anstice inquired.
"I don't think about it. I asked out of mere curiosity."
"Well, if I did, and if I ever do, I shall never tell you," said Anstice quietly.
There was silence, then Justin said:
"I find I shall have to leave early to-morrow morning, for I have business to do in Carlisle before I sail; so this is our last opportunity for any conversation. You will find your cheque book in the writing-table drawer in my smoking-room. I have placed two thousand to the credit of your account at the Bank in Penrith. Make any improvements in the house and garden that you feel desirable—I give you carte blanche to do as you like in my absence. You can send me a letter every month if you like, and of course cable out if anything alarming occurs."
"To the high seas?" asked Anstice, smiling.
"Oh, well, I will give you the address of my first, landing-place. Is there anything you want to know?"
"I think not, thank you."
How entirely indifferent he was to her welfare! He did not seem to realize what a difficult time she might have. And yet, she reminded herself, that he might consider that matters were evenly balanced. She was being given a home, and enough money to make it thoroughly comfortable; also a certain position as mistress of the Manor. Would not that compensate for loneliness, and constant contentions with unmanageable children?
She shook her head with a smile, and then encountered a look from Justin; rather a searching look, as if he were trying to probe her thoughts.
"You are very capable," he said briefly, and she made no reply.
Presently she got up from her seat. "Good night," she said. "I suppose I shall see you in the morning before you go? What time do you start?"
"Nine o'clock. Good night."
He held open the door for her, and watched her graceful figure pass up the stairs, then he went back to his smoking-room.
At half-past eight the next morning, he was in the nursery holding his boy in his arms. And once again Anstice was called in to take part in a discussion.
"Ruffie wants to know whether he can have any boating this summer. Last year I was home, and we were on the water a good bit. I have told him he must ask you."
"Of course we'll go on the lake," said Anstice promptly; "I can row, and with Stephen, we'll have some lovely picnics."
Ruffie looked up at her with what she mentally dubbed his "Pucks" expression.
"Can you swim?" he asked.
"Yes."
He gave a little wriggle of disgust and muttered:
"I s'pect you're a kind of witch that can't be got rid of!"
She caught the words, but his father did not.
Then Ruffie glanced up at Justin.
"We're going to have a big talk with her to-night, all of us—dressed in feathers like Indians. Josie is making Hal kill two cocks, so that we can get their tail feathers."
"What are you going to talk about?" said his father idly.
"We're going to discuss the situation," explained Anstice.
"What situation?"
"That of a strange woman coming to take possession of a strange house, and make friends with its belongings. We're going thoroughly to thrash out the subject, and hear all sides of the question."
Then Justin smiled.
"I wish you good luck. Now, my boy, I must go."
"Oh, Dad!"
The little arms were flung round his neck tightly, and the golden head buried against his shoulder.
"Why do you leave us so much? Why can't you take me with you? Why do you bring this new person here and leave her? If she won't leave us, what shall we do? Oh, Dad, will you never come and live with us prop'ly?"
Anstice slipped away, leaving father and son together. There was no question of their affection for each other, but the little girls seemed supremely indifferent to their father's presence or absence. She heard them as she went into the dining-room to breakfast, calling to Hercules; and there were sounds of great disturbance in the poultry yard.
Yet Anstice felt thankful that her proposition had found favour in their eyes.
Justin made a hurried breakfast. Then the car arrived, and his luggage was taken out. He turned to his wife.
"Well, this is good-bye for about six months. I hope you won't regret the step you've taken."
He held her hand in his for a moment, and Anstice faced him with sweet, resolute eyes.
"I don't think I shall regret it," she said, "for I shall have plenty to do, and I am always happy when I am busy."
Then he surprised her by stooping, and giving her a swift kiss on her cheek.
"A husband's privilege," he said with a queer little smile about his lips.
Anstice's colour had risen.
"But not necessary," she said, "and I would rather say a partner—hardly a husband."
"Good-bye, Dad. Bring us some presents when you come back," sang out Georgie.
"And if you find the new person gone when you come back, don't be surprised," added Josie.
Their father stooped to kiss them, but tapped Josie sharply on the shoulder. "That is not the way to speak of your stepmother."
He was gone. Anstice waved a farewell to him, and his children imitated her example. Then they rushed away and Anstice saw them no more till luncheon time.
She was very busy herself looking over store and linen cupboards, and making lists of what was necessary for the comfort of the household.
In the afternoon she started out across the Fells at the back of the house to see Brenda's aunt. She lived with a sister, a farmer's wife, and the farm was a good three miles off. Anstice was a good walker, and she had decided to see her as soon as possible, and ask her if she would like to come to the Manor as cook.
She turned up a steep lane for about a mile between buttercup meadows and rich pasture land. Then she came to a gate which led directly on to the Fells. Meeting an old man, she asked him the way to Hockerdale Farm.
He rubbed the side of his head and looked at her doubtfully.
"Noo, wat be 'ee wantin' ower yon?" he demanded.
"I want a Mrs. Parkin," Anstice said.
"Then ye may taak her an' be kindly welcome to ha' 'er!" he said, rubbing his hands, and giving a little satisfied chuckle. "My Ja-ane an' she be sisters, an' M'ria be too maanagin'. She be wantin' to rule the hoose, an' we all togither—Ye be a straanger in these paarts, I reckon? Noo, list to me, an' keep yer weather eye open. Foller this shaap track, an' doan't 'ee turn aside, fur strangers have a way o' missin' the track, an' bleachin' their bones on the crags below. This 'ere path leadeth to Hockerdale. My missus wull giv' 'ee a dish o' tay, an' more beside, if ye win M'ria awae fra our fireside."
He went on his way with sturdy independence.
Anstice was amused by his speech and manner. And then she lightly sped along the little winding path in front of her. The young bracken was just beginning to uncurl. In some sheltered spots there were sheets of bluebells; then, as she mounted higher, the air grew keen and sharp. Rabbits scudded in and out of their holes, mountain sheep with lambs gave room to her as she passed. She seemed alone in Nature's wilds, and her passionate love for the country filled her heart now with complete satisfaction. Occasionally she would turn and look down at the blue lake beneath her. Then gaze over to the opposite Fells, and in the distance the long range of Helvellyn would stand out, as if guarding the green valleys from the storms that would sweep over his crest.
It was not all stiff climbing. The path led between steep crags at times, and round every turn fresh views would delight her eyes. Cottages and farmsteads were scattered here and there over the Fells, and before very long she came to her destination.
She knew it by Brenda's description: "'Tis facing down a dale, and has a fir wood of shelter behind it, and a couple of tilled fields on the fiat beside it."
It was a grey stone building with slated roof, and a deep square porch before the door.
A woman stood just outside the porch, shading her eyes with her hand, but watching Anstice approach with some interest.
"I am Mrs. Holme," said Anstice pleasantly. "I have only just come here to live, but Brenda has sent me up here to speak to her aunt, Mrs. Parkin. Is she at home?"
"I am herself," said the woman. "Come ye in an' I'll fetch my sister who's the rightfu' mistress of this house."
She led her into a most delightful kitchen, with a blazing fire. Shining copper and brass pans stood on shelves on either side of the wide hearth. Hams were suspended from the beams across the ceiling. Hot bread was just coming out of the oven, and Mrs. James, the farmer's wife, very deliberately set her loaves out on the old oak dresser, before she turned to speak to Anstice.
"Please take a seat, ma'am. 'Tis a pleasure to make acquaintance with you so soon. The Squire were up here yesterday, and did tell us the news. It be a gran' thing for those poor little lasses of his."
Anstice sat down on a cushioned seat near a window, where musks and early geraniums stood on its wide sill. She smiled.
"I have come to ask Mrs. Parkin whether she will come and help me to make a comfortable home at the Manor."
Then she unfolded her errand. Mrs. Parkin, a stout, pleasant-faced woman, listened to her in silence and appeared to be pondering over the matter. Then after a long pause she said:
"I'll come to you and give it a trial, ma'am. Brenda has been at me times without number, but I'm a lover of order and method, and could not face the loneliness and shiftless muddle there."
"I will give you help in the kitchen as soon as I can. I am going to get several maids. But it will take time. When can you come to us?"
"Right off if you like, ma'am. I seem to be out of place here, and my room wanted more'n my company."
"Now, M'ria, don't get in such havers! You'll stay an' have a cup of tea with us, ma'am? I have some fresh-baked scones and a currant loaf."
Mrs. James was bustling about, laying a spotless cloth on a spotless table, so Anstice, seeing she would be hurt if she hurried away, stayed and chatted on with them both, learning much about the neighbourhood and its ways. Her husband's continued long absences from home were deplored.
"There be a certain set of the landlords hereabouts that only come down to enjoy themselves in the summer, but there be those which doan't, and our Squire's feyther were the mon who bided at hoame an' tended to his land hisself. Squire Justin 'ave all the qualities o' his feyther, but he be terrible fearful of living a lone life up there, wi' his children. Noo that he be wedded, we'll look fur better times. He telled us, he be bound by praaperty to go out this voyage, but we'll hope 'twill be the laast. I told him 'twere a shockin' way to traate a bride."
Anstice laughed happily.
"When his home is made comfortable for him, you think it will be a different story, Mrs. James? With Mrs. Parkin coming to me, I am not afraid to face the future."
The women struck her as not inquisitive and gossipy, but profoundly interested in the life of their Squire and his children.
"My niece Brenda be just wrapped up in the poor little lad," Mrs. James asserted, "but the little lasses be limbs of mischief, and I'll dare say that ye'll have a terrible time wi' them."
"I hope we shall be great friends," said Anstice.
"Ah well, ye'll not be a guv'ness. They've had a feckless set down there, wi' no authority nor grit o' purpose, an' the lasses have driven them away wi' their tricks."
Anstice left the farm a little later, feeling light-hearted. She was convinced that Mrs. Parkin would be the first step towards bringing order and comfort to her new home. Brenda, however willing, was not equal to the demands made upon her. Her path back across the Fells was a sheer enjoyment to her. She faced the lake the whole way. The woods and trees overhanging it were in their freshest green. One or two boats were out upon the water; on the opposite side the distant Fells were a deep purple against the sky.
"Oh, it is a lovely country," she exclaimed. "I am glad I came."
When she reached home, Brenda came forward eagerly to hear the result of her visit. She drew a long breath of relief when she heard that her aunt was coming.
"You'll find her all you need, ma'am. 'Tis what the maaster has needed for these many year. A body who'll be head o' the kitchen, and not only cook but keep an eye on his interests."
Then she added:
"I've laid your tea in the library, ma'am, but the children are having theirs in the nursery, and I am to ask you not to go near them. They have locked themselves in and are making great preparations for this evening. Some game with you, they say 'tis."
"Something more than a game, I hope, Brenda. You tell them that six o'clock is the time for our meeting."
At six o'clock punctually Anstice walked into the nursery robed in a red and white silk rug she had taken off an ottoman in her room. She had tied her hair up in a coloured handkerchief, and considered herself sufficiently dressed for the occasion.
Anstice had arranged them . . . in a circle round the fire.
Her Kingdom Book I, Chapter IV.
But when she came into the nursery, she found some startling little apparitions awaiting her. Josie and Georgie were a mass of feathers and paint. They had liberally spotted their faces and arms with red and blue paint, and had decorated Ruffie in the same way. Some of the feathers had been coloured, and hung in strings round their necks. Their heads were in caps with cock's feathers sticking up in all directions.
In a few minutes Anstice had arranged them according to their satisfaction, sitting cross-legged on the carpet in a circle round the fire. Ruffie was made comfortable in a nest of cushions. He refused to stay on his couch.
"My name is Chief Baggwanda," he said, "and I've come through black forests to talk in this pow-wow."
"And I am Chief Rattleskunk," said Josie, lifting a stick and brandishing it aloft as if it were a sword. "I am for war."
"And so is Chief Wallajinks," cried Georgie, "which is me. I am for the scalp of our bitter enemy!"
"My brothers," said Anstice, falling into the game at once, "I, the oldest Chief in our country, must speak first. I, Hiamona-stagabrokkin, know not whether we are for peace or for war. That cannot be settled by one or two, it must be settled by us all. And now let us start. Give me your ears."
She paused, then she fell into her natural tones.
"I have come up here at your father's wish to make this house a happy home for us. I am not going to teach you, or give you lessons. I am not clever enough to be a governess. Brenda has tried her utmost to provide you with clothes and food; your father has provided the money, but it is too big a house for Brenda to run by herself. I am here to help her."
Josie had listened so far with impatience. Here she broke in:
"We don't mean to be managed; Georgie and I manage ourselves. We won't have anybody ordering us about, and if you're going to start telling us what to do, we shall get rid of you. We've got rid of six governesses already. We know how to do it."
"You see," said Georgie, putting in her word eagerly, "we're the new race, that's what Mrs. Penfold, the clergyman's wife who went away, was always saying. She said modern girls were awful, and couldn't be managed anyhow. That's Josie and me. We're awful, and we'll show you how awful we can be!"
"I don't doubt that," said Anstice, nodding her head gravely. "But the trouble is that you won't be able to turn me out. I have come to stay. I am not a governess, and this is my home, and everything in this house belongs to your father and me, and of course you go shares! You can treat me like your governesses, but you will find I can't be frightened or threatened or driven away. The only thing you could do would be to poison me or drown me or kill me in some way; but if you did that, it would of course, be found out, and you would be taken away by the police."
"Would they be hung?" asked Ruffie excitedly.
"I think most likely they'd be sent to a children's prison, a reformatory, where instead of managing themselves, they would be ruled up all day long and kept continuously at work. They would never be able to come home. Ruffie would be so lonely that he would die of a broken heart. Your father would feel the disgrace and shame of it so much that he would sell the house and the grounds and everything that was in it, and go away to foreign lands and live and die there and never come home again. DO you think that would be a happy thing for all of us?"
The little girls were much impressed, though it was difficult to tell beneath their paint and powder how they were taking it.
Anstice turned to Josie politely.
"Brother Rattleskunk, will you speak now?"
For a moment Josie hesitated.
"If you let us alone, and let us do what we like, and just do things in the house without interfering, we might be friends."
"We might be, but we'll promise nothing," said Georgie.
"Well, now we're going into the matter thoroughly. What do you mean to do with yourselves? No lessons, of course. You know how to read and write, but you don't want anything more. You have been born into the world with brains which you don't intend to use. You will grow up, not troubling to open the wonderful treasure chests of knowledge."
"Let me tell you of a spoilt child I knew some years ago. She would do no lessons, and her mother gave way to her. I met her at a dinner-party once. She was a pretty girl, but we had some clever people round the table. She was taken in by a French Count, and she couldn't speak a word of French to him. She could take no part in the conversation lest she should show how ignorant she was. When they talked of England as it was in olden times, she knew nothing about it. She asked if the Coliseum at Rome was a play, and whether Whigs and Tories were savages over the seas. Before the evening was over, she was left in a corner by herself. Nobody cared to talk to her, for they thought she must be an idiot, some one who hadn't sense or understanding. I suppose, Brothers Rattleskunk and Wallajinks, you will decide to grow up like that poor girl?"
There was a pause, and Anstice, wishing her words to have weight, now turned to Ruffie.
"And what does Brother Baggwanda say?"
Ruffie's eyes twinkled; he looked from his sisters to Anstice, and from Anstice to his sisters.
"Brother Baggwanda is opening his ears, but not his tongue. He will speak when all have spoken."
"But he's with us, he's with us, and not with you!" cried the little girls almost simultaneously.
Anstice laughed her rippling merry laugh. Then she became grave again.
"Now I'll give you my idea of this beautiful home of yours as it ought to be. And then you'll give me your idea of it. It must have a beautiful drawing-room with flowers and pretty things about, but not too grand for everyday use. In the evening, Brother Baggwanda may rest amongst the soft cushions on the big couch by the window. He can look out upon the still blue lake, and the rosy sunset sky. And from his couch, he will be singing joyously some lovely little songs which his brother chiefs are joining in. Brother Hiamona-stagabrokkin will be playing on the grand piano, and Brothers Rattleskunk and Wallajinks will be dancing as they sing."
"Shall we describe a happy day? In the morning every one very busy. It is the time for work of all sorts, and every one has their own particular business to do. But in the afternoon there will be picnics on the lake, and drives and tea with gipsy fires on the Fells, and as the winter comes on, there will be games and stories told in the firelight, and sometimes some of us will have shopping at Penrith or Carlisle, and then there will be surprise packets for the ones at home. Every one will go singing about the house, for every one will be happy."
"And then when Dad comes home, he will look round with wonder. He will see new curtains and carpets and there will be no dusty unused rooms, except perhaps some unwanted bedrooms. I fancy in the distance, I can see a charming little sitting-room made for Brothers Rattleskunk and Wallajinks, with perhaps a small cooking stove in it, on which they will cook some delicious scones and cakes when they ask Brother Baggwanda to tea with them. And no one but themselves will have a right to enter that room unless they receive an invitation to do so. Dad will see new things—many of them—when he comes home. He will think he has new children, but though different, they will be the same, and joy and happiness and peace will be in Dad's home, and that is what Brother Hiamona-stagabrokkin sees, as he looks out into the future."
Again a long pause.
Anstice produced some long clay pipes out of the folds of her gown.
"Brothers, shall we smoke the pipe of peace together?"
But the little girls shook their heads.
"Not yet, we haven't talked half as much as you have. What about governesses and lessons? That is what we want to know. You've made it sound nice, but will it be true?"
"If we all work together to make it true, it will. The morning will be the time for lessons, but we won't have them dragging on all day. The afternoons will be free."
"And who's the governess going to be?"
"Ah, that we must leave for the present. She must be as different from your young governesses as chalk is from cheese. If a governess and pupils do not like each other, no good will be done. There is going to be no dislike in this new home of ours."
"We'd like the sitting-room of our own, if we can furnish it as we like, and we shall like the picnics and fire in the afternoons, but it's the lessons in the mornings that we don't want."
"That will have to be thought about. The best thing will be to call a truce between us, and have pax for a month. Give the new system a trial. Then we'll have another pow-wow and see if it is to be stopped, or go on."
"How will it be stopped?"
"I suppose school must be tried again."
The little girls' faces wrinkled up in disgust.
Then Anstice leant forward with a flash in her eyes, and great earnestness in her voice.
"Oh, don't be weak inefficients! Have grit and purpose and determination in your lives. Does anyone get to the top of the Fells here and enjoy the lovely views without the trouble or toil of climbing? Can't you endure anything that may be a little hard and dull at first? Do you mean to go through life wrapped in rose-leaves and letting others carry you over the stony places? Won't you prove yourselves men, my brothers, men of courage, of heroic patience and determination? Won't you brace your shoulders and prove yourselves men of mettle? And scorn to be afraid of the necessary difficulties that come before you? You are no longer infants in the nursery, to play with toys all day and be lulled to sleep after you are fed. You are no animals to eat, and drink, and go your own way like the cows and the sheep feeding and wandering to and fro in the Park with no one to hinder their movements."
Three pairs of eyes were staring hard now at Anstice.
Then she smiled.
"I forget. I think of you as older, more reasonable than perhaps you are. I have been talking over your heads."
But she had not. Never in their lives had the children been talked to like this, but they liked it. And being intelligent, perhaps precocious for their age, they understood, and their hearts had responded quickly, as an instrument might respond to the skilled hand which with a touch knows how to draw out its beauty.
Another pause followed Anstice's words.
"Shall we have a month's trial of my plan?" she said.
The little girls were silent. They looked at Ruffie, and then very quietly, he pointed his two thumbs upwards.
"Yes, we'll try. It's a truce remember, only a truce."
"But it will be pax for a month," said Anstice quietly, "and I give you notice that I'm going to try hard for 'Pax' altogether. Now let us smoke the pipe of peace, my brothers, and we'll have a drink of 'Honeybunny.'"
She rang the bell. Her delicious concoction had been made, and Brenda brought it in on a tray. Four glasses were handed round and filled with some golden fizzy drink. The children sipped and pretended to smoke.
"It's like honey and wine and sherbet and lemon," said Ruffie appreciatively.
"If Ruffie had held his thumbs down, you'd have been done for," said Josie, turning to Anstice confidentially.
"Then I have only just escaped by the skin of my teeth," said Anstice. "I must be thankful."
The "pow-wow" was over. Anstice felt in her heart that she had made a good beginning.
[CHAPTER V]
THE FIRST SUNDAY
WITHIN the next few days, Anstice made some discoveries.
One was that Ruffie possessed real talent in drawing, was fond of music, and had a most beautiful little voice in singing. The other was that Josie shared Ruffie's love for music, and that Georgie was a rapacious reader.
After tea in the afternoon, she gave herself up to the children for an hour. She took them into the drawing-room, and taught them songs, played dance music; and lastly told them thrilling stories of adventure and travel.
The weather turned stormy and wet, but the children seemed never at a loss for amusement; and though the little girls kept away from her at first during the day, they invariably turned up in the drawing-room at six o'clock. Anstice was a born story-teller; they hung upon her words with breathless delight; and her gift in this direction did much to win them.
She was given no peace till the room was set apart for the little girls' private use. A small bedroom on one side of the nursery was chosen, and the children were induced to get it ready themselves. Then one afternoon they went off to Penrith in the trap to choose carpet, and curtains, and chair-coverings for it. There was a slight contention at the outset when Josie insisted that she should drive. Anstice quietly took the reins out of her hands.
"Not along the high roads, Josie. You know your father's command."
"Then I shan't come at all."
She flung herself out of the trap in a passion.
"I am afraid I shall have to help Georgie, then, in choosing the carpet and curtains. You will have to be content with our choice."
Back into the trap dashed Josie.
"It has nothing to do with you."
Anstice looked at her.
And somehow or other a quiet look or word from Anstice was enough to bring Josie to her senses. She coloured up and subsided, being specially quiet and amenable for the rest of the day.
Mrs. Wykeham very soon arrived to call upon the bride. Anstice had to bear a good many interrogatories about herself and her marriage.
"I can't understand your husband leaving you."
"I suppose," said Anstice slowly, "that it would have been better in the world's eyes to have put off our marriage till he returned. He has gone out partly on business, you know. He has some land out there. But a mistress was badly wanted here; and I consented for the sake of the children to marry him at once. Don't you think I have done rightly? This house has missed a woman's hand over it. I shall improve many things, I hope, by being here myself."
"Oh, you've done wonders already. I see it in the arrangement of this room, in the look of the hall when you enter it. And in the appearance of the children whom I encountered out on the terrace."
"With them a question of new frocks!" laughed Anstice.
"Partly. What do they call you? 'Steppie,' isn't it?"
"Yes. Ruffie has christened me that, short for stepmother. He and I have become great pals already, over his drawing. That child is a born artist."
"You may be glad to know that when I asked how everybody was, Josie answered, 'We're all right. Have got some one at last with a little sense!' 'I hope you're very polite and nice to her,' I said. 'Oh, we shall treat her as she treats us.' 'And how is that?' I asked. 'Scrumptious!' was the short reply."
Anstice laughed.
"We shall get along," she said. "I shall have things my own way in time; but I have to go slowly."
"Well, now; we must keep you from feeling lonely," said good-natured Mrs. Wykeham. "Will you lunch with me next Tuesday, and I'll get some of our neighbours to come and meet you?"
"Do you know that I would much rather come to you alone. I want to be quiet here for the present. There is a great deal to see to, and to arrange. I don't intend to be a hermit, but I don't want to plunge into social life just yet. I would rather have no callers till the house is more shipshape."
"I understand; then I won't ask a soul. There will be my husband and myself only. I will send my car for you."
Then she asked about servants, and was able to recommend a good strong girl who had been with her as kitchen-maid, and wanted to do housework as she did not care for cooking.
"You shall see her when you come over."
Though she was thoroughly kind, Anstice was relieved when the visit was over. Anstice was not fond of being managed; and Mrs. Wykeman always gave her friends the impression that they were poor inefficients, and that she was the only one in the neighbourhood who had sound common sense and capability.
Anstice never forgot her first Sunday in her new home. It was a lovely day in early June. At breakfast the little girls came in, and told her they wanted to go on the lake.
"You have the boathouse key, Brenda says."
"Yes, but you and I are going to church this morning."
"Georgie and I hate church," said Josie hastily; "we haven't been for months."
"Yes, I know that; but you are coming with me to please me this morning. You have a big family seat, I hear. How can I fill it by myself? You will come to church with me to-day, and then I will come on the lake with you to-morrow. Isn't that just and fair? You know you are not allowed to boat alone."
"We weren't going to. We were going to sit in the boat when it was tied up, and make it rock a bit."
They stood there with mutinous eyes. Anstice smiled at them.
"Have a piece of toast and honey," she suggested; "it will make things easier. I always think honey acts as oil on troubled waters."
She handed them each a slice of toast. For a moment there was doubt as to which side would win, but the honey did it.
"We hate wearing best frocks," said Josie, munching away contentedly.
"You look very nice in those you are wearing now."
Georgie gazed at her light brown jumper suit rather scornfully.
"Everybody comes to church in their best; as if God cares what we wear! But we don't want to be different to the others."
"I don't mind what you wear as long as you are neat and tidy. How long will it take us to walk to church?"
"Ever so long; it's right away from the lake. It will tire us out."
"Oh, we aren't made of china. I'll be ready at half-past ten."
The little girls slipped out of the room with down-fallen faces, and Anstice drew a sigh of relief. At present, her authority was a very uncertain fact. She wondered, even now, if the children would come with her.
But at half-past ten, they were in the hall waiting for her. They had changed into their new white crêpe-de-chine frocks, and wore their best straw hats with wreaths of small roses round them. It was the first time of wearing, and they were a little self-conscious of the fact.
"I hope I look as nice as you do," said Anstice with her bright laugh. "Now come along. You will have to show me that way."
"It's just as if we're going to a party," muttered Josie.
"Well, I suppose we are," said Anstice. "It is a gathering together to meet a King in His Palace."
They walked for a mile along the high road, then turned up a lane between buttercup meadows and arched over with lime trees, which were sending their sweet flowering scent over the fields.
"I'm making a plan for this afternoon," Anstice said. "I wonder if you will fall in with it. I thought we would take Ruffie down to the lake side by the little chalet, and then we can all sit out there, and have our tea in the chalet, and I will read you a lovely story that I used to read when I was a little girl. It is about some adventures of some pilgrim children."
"Then we can have the boat anchored and sit in it," said Josie.
"Yes, perhaps you can. It is such a lovely day that it is a pity to stay in the house."
By and by they came to the church, which was on the road with the Fells rising up steeply behind it. The bell was tolling; and a few country people were making their way into it.
Very curious gazes were sent in the direction of the Squire's seat that morning. It was one of the side seats in the north apse of the church.
There was a good congregation for a country church. Anstice was aware that there was a fair sprinkling of the upper classes. Mrs. Wykeham and her husband occupied the first seat under the pulpit. Behind them were an old couple with their two daughters, who showed, from their bored, indifferent faces, how little interested they were in the service. Farther back in the church was a strikingly handsome, grey-haired woman. Anstice wondered who she was, and thought that she would like to know her.
Then she took herself to task for wandering eyes and thoughts, and for the rest of the service was unconscious of those around her.
The little girls behaved wonderfully well until the sermon commenced. Then they began to whisper and giggle.
In front of them were seated a stalwart farmer, his wife and two small boys. Suddenly there was a yell from the smallest of these two, and he clasped his head with his hands. His mother promptly cuffed him, and tried to hush his sobs. Finally she took him out of the church.
Anstice's quick eyes had seen the cause of his outcry. Georgie, sitting behind him, had pricked his head sharply with a pin. Without a word, Anstice made her move to the other side of her. When separated, the little girls had looked as black as thunder, and wriggling into the corner as far away from Anstice as she could, Georgie had muttered audibly: "I hate you!"
This rather distracted Anstice from the sermon. The Rector, Mr. Bolland, was very earnest and forcible in what he said. His sermon was short, but straight and simple enough for even the children to understand.
When they came outside the church, Anstice saw that Georgie was prepared to make a bolt of it, so she turned to her quite pleasantly, and said:
"I am afraid I made you very angry in church, Georgie, but I had set my heart upon being proud of my small stepdaughters. You both looked such darlings that I was horrified when I realized that you would disgrace us all. It was only fun to you, but it wasn't fun to the poor little boy. Would you like to have been in his shoes?"
Georgie didn't reply.
"Are you going to punish her?" inquired Josie eagerly.
"I hate punishing," said Anstice. "I am sure Georgie won't do such a thing again. We will say no more about it. I expect you know every one in church. Who was that tall, grey-haired lady who sat by herself in the middle aisle?"
"That's Mrs. Fergusson," said Josie. "She's got a boy who's got a sailing boat; he's at school now. But when he's home, we go out on the lake with him. Georgie and me mean to sail a boat of our own as soon as we can save up money to buy one."
"I wouldn't like to sail on this lake by myself," said Anstice.
They were just in view of the lake now, and she pointed out a small sailing boat that was staggering under a strong wind.
"Can you swim?" she asked.
"No."
"I can. I must teach you. Could we bathe in our tiny cove?"
"Dad does, but do let us, do!"
"We'll see. If I'm with you, I don't think you would come to harm."
Georgie had quite recovered her temper. And when they came towards the house, and Josie had run on to the stables to call the dogs out, she pulled hold of Anstice's sleeve.
"I'm sorry I said I hated you," she said in a bashful voice with downcast eyes. "I don't really."
"I'm so glad," Anstice said cheerfully, "because I'm getting to like you very much, Georgie, and I'm anxious that every one else about here should like you too."
"Everybody hates us," said Georgie carelessly; and then she ran on to join her sister.
Two hours later, a happy little party was established on the borders of the lake. Ruffie lay in a nest of cushions under the shade of the acacia tree. Josie and Georgie had pulled the boat out, and as it was tightly moored to its post, Anstice allowed them to get into it, but she had prohibited them from having the oars in the boat, and there had been at first a great commotion over that. Anstice looked at them with a twinkle in her eye.
"I know how you would be tempted," she said, "and I'm going to save you from temptation, if I can. When I would be deep in my story, one pair of hands might softly steal up and unfasten the painter, the other pair of hands would slip the oars over into the water, and away you would go, laughing at my helplessness. I should have helped you to disobey your father."
This was so exactly in accordance with the children's intention, that they stared at her in angry dismay.
"You're a kind of witch," muttered Josie, giving up the argument.
"No, but I'm not a fool," said Anstice, "and when I was a little girl, I was rather like you, a bit of a tomboy. I had a boy chum and we were up to every kind of mischief. That's why I shan't be hard upon you. Because I understand and remember."
"And I can't do nothing, never at all!" exclaimed Ruffie plaintively.
"Well now, we'll settle down, and read about some children who did a good deal."
The story-book proved enchanting. It was an old-fashioned book, an allegory of children who started on a pilgrimage somewhat after the style of "Pilgrim's Progress." As the children had never seen or read the latter book, the idea was quite a fresh one to them.
Josie's comment on it, as Anstice closed the book, and said it was time for tea, was:
"There, you see! How well those children managed for themselves without any grown-up person to interfere with them! And we could do alone, I know we could. We don't want governesses to bother our lives out."
"Or me," put in Anstice, laughing. "But, Josie, see how much trouble these children got into, until they got hold of and held on to the golden thread. And you know who held the other end of that thread? It was the King Himself, the King of the Golden City. We ought to be all travelling with our fingers on that thread. Heaven is the city, and prayer is the golden thread which keeps us in touch with our Saviour and King. We cannot and ought not, any of us, to travel through life entirely on our own."
There was silence; Josie was rocking the boat to and fro, but she was thinking, and Ruffie's beautiful eyes were dreamily gazing over the lake to the opposite hills, which were tinged with gold from the sun behind them.
"I'd like to have a message to me to set out there," he said very softly.
Anstice could not reply. A lump came in her throat. Could she, had she the knowledge and the power to place his tiny fingers on that golden thread? Was she reading and talking of what she herself had not experienced?
She sprang to her feet.
"And now we'll have tea; but first we must put the boat back till to-morrow."
"Can't we leave it where it is?" questioned Josie. "We shall want it early to-morrow morning."
Anstice stood and looked at them.
"I don't properly know you yet," she said. "Do you keep promises? Can I trust to your honour, not to touch the boat, if we leave it out?"
"Of course we're to be trusted," said Josie, tossing her head in the air. "We won't touch it."
So the boat was left where it was, and the little girls helped Anstice get the tea. Brenda had gone up to the farm to tea. It was not often that she got away, but Anstice had promised to be with the children till six o'clock.
Nothing marred the happiness of the little party. And when Brenda returned, she informed Anstice that she had never known a Sunday pass so peacefully. Anstice wisely left the children, when Brenda took charge again. She knew that her presence with them from morning to night was not desirable; and she determined to go off to evening church.
As she walked along the quiet country lane, a great desire sprang up within her heart. The reading of the childish story had fostered it; the sermon in the morning had begun it. Mr. Bolland's text had been:
"Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known Me?"
And Anstice knew that though brought up on her Bible and Prayer Book, they had never been inspired books to her. She had had a religious training, but it had only taken possession of her head, and not of her heart. She had never gained a real knowledge of her Lord as a personal Friend. And she felt now that she had children to teach and train and influence, that she must have something worth passing on.
The service in the little church soothed and rested her. The evening light stole in through the coloured windows. There was a great hush and peace in the atmosphere. Only the country people formed the congregation. She knew that few of the upper classes now attended church twice a day, and when the sermon commenced, she settled herself back in her seat to listen almost hungrily to it. She could not forget her first talk with the Rector. Mr. Bolland had impressed her as few clergymen had of late years. He had life, and force, and reality of conviction, which made his words go home to the hearts of his hearers. And his text was:
"Ye who sometimes were far off are made nigh."
He began by saying: "Is the world getting nearer to its Creator and to God, or farther off?"
Then he touched on the characteristics of the present generation, comparing them with those laid down in the Bible which were certain to come, even when Christianity was spread throughout the nations. He finally made a personal appeal to his congregation.
"We will leave generalities and other people, and come straight away to ourselves. As the years roll by, are we getting to know our Master with a deeper love, and a greater reality, or with less affection and conviction than when we were young?"
Anstice listened spellbound. She said to herself: "I have never really known Him at all. I have always been far off from Him." And she came out of church with an ache in her heart. She was standing a little way from the church, on a rising hillock overlooking the lake, when a voice behind her made her turn.
"Good evening, Mrs. Holme."
It was the Rector. She did not know in her present frame of mind whether she was glad or sorry to see him.
"I am coming your way," he said. "I want to see a sick parishioner in Butterdale—"
They talked of various things, and then Anstice said impulsively:
"You have made me very unhappy this evening."
"How? My mission is to make people happy, if I do my work rightly."
"You have shown me what I have suspected, that I am far away. I don't think I have ever been really near."
"No? But that can very soon be remedied."
"It is my turn to ask 'How?'" said Anstice wistfully.
"Did I not make it clear?"
"Yes, in a way you did. But belief and faith have been with me from a child. I believe everything."
"Men can believe in a general, a leader; but they never get near him until they come to him and give themselves up to him as his fighters and followers. Perhaps you may never have enlisted—dedicated yourself, shall I say, to His Service? In Baptism and Confirmation you have had the opportunity, but I have known many pass through those times, and still be very far away."
A flash of enlightenment came to Anstice.
"I don't believe I have ever done that," she said.
"It was what the young ruler lacked," said Mr. Bolland. "His life was outwardly blameless, but he could not bring himself to cast in his lot with the Master and follow Him to the death."
Mr. Bolland said little more. He was a man of few words out of the pulpit, and Anstice wanted no more from him.
When their ways parted, she walked on by herself, and when she came to her gate she turned down across the park towards the lake. Here she sat down on a low seat by the boathouse and looked out across the shining water. With hands clasped loosely round her knees, her thoughts and resolves were wafted beyond the earth.
Quite quietly, quite unemotionally, she gave herself then and there to the One whom she wanted to know. And when, about half an hour later, she walked back to the house, there was a peace and joy in her heart that she had never experienced before. The stillness and sweetness of that Sunday evening were to remain with her for many a long day to come.
[CHAPTER VI]
A RAMBLE IN THE FELLS
MONDAY dawned bright and fair. The picnic on the lake was a great success. Ruffie was made comfortable with cushions in the boat, and the little girls were allowed to take an oar together, whilst the old gardener Stephen took the other. They rowed across to a small island, and landed there for lunch.
At six o'clock they came home; a rather tired but a very happy little party. Anstice had the art of making and keeping children so.
She overheard a conversation about herself between Ruffie and his sisters which rather amused her. She was planting a small bed with seedlings outside the library, and their voices came to her through the open window.
"I love Steppie."
This emphatically and a little defiantly from Ruffie.
"You've gone over pretty soon! I'm going to wait a month to see what she's like."
This was Josie speaking.
"Yes," said Georgie. "She may be just pretending to get us under her thumb, like the wicked witches do in the fairy stories."
"No," said Ruffie in his decided little voice, "her face couldn't be a witch's. She looks at me as if she—well, you know—liked me ever so."
"That's only the spell in her eye! I'm going to wait. If I find her out, it will be war at the end of the month."
"She wants to do nice things for us," went on Ruffie; "she's going to have flowers in the conservatory, and one end of it she's going to have doves and birds in a big room with trees and nests in it. She calls it an 'aviary.'"
"That's another spell," said Josie, but there was hesitation in her tone.
"Well, we've got a month to find out what she's like," said Georgie. "Anyhow, she doesn't worry us with lessons."
"But," said Anstice to herself, with a shake of her head, "that is exactly what I am going to do, my poor dears."
The very next day she set out on her errand to Mrs. Fergusson's.
The fine weather had suddenly departed. Rain and mist set in from over the Fells. But Anstice was indifferent to weather. She started out for her two-mile walk in waterproof coat and skirt, and revelled in the moist sweet air, and the scent of wet pines and earth as she passed along the wooded road. She turned up from the high road before long, and then winding up and down she reached a little cottage in front of a cluster of pines, with a magnificent view of the lake below, and the Fells beyond it.
The door was opened to her by the tall, handsome woman she had noticed in church.
"I must introduce myself to you," said Anstice with her happy smile; "but my husband, Mr. Holme, wished me to call upon you about a certain matter which is troubling us."
Mrs. Fergusson led her into a very cosy little sitting-room. A cheerful wood fire was burning in the grate. As she took her seat again after settling Anstice upon a comfortable couch, she took up some very pretty fancywork she was doing, and continued to sew, saying:
"I feel sure you will excuse my working. This is a cushion cover, an order which I must execute in time for a wedding the end of this month. I am very fond of needlework; I used to do a great deal when I was in Russia, and a certain firm in London gives me orders which helps with my son's education. He is at Harrow, and that costs money."
She spoke so simply, and yet with such dignity, that Anstice felt at ease at once.
"May I tell you of our trouble? It is the education of my husband's two little girls. He is away now, but before he went, we talked it over together. You see, now I am with them, they do not need a resident governess. And we were wondering if you could possibly help us in the matter?"
Mrs. Fergusson put down her work in her lap, and looked across at Anstice with smiling amusement in her dark eyes.
"You don't know, Mrs. Holme, how I have longed to take those young pickles in hand! I have always loved teaching. It is a most delicious thing to impart to others what one has acquired for oneself. I have of course seen the relays of young governesses that have come and gone at the Manor. One or two confided in me, but those were the ones who could not stand the solitude and isolation of their position. Once, owing to Mrs. Wykeham, I was very nearly offering my services; but I could not manage to give up my whole time to them. They needed a resident governess, and I have to keep up my house for my boy, and my needlework is my occupation."
"But could you come to them or let them come to you for the morning hours only?"
They plunged at once into a discussion of the subject. Anstice felt the charm of Mrs. Fergusson's personality. She did not wonder that her services had been requisitioned and valued by one of the royal families in Russia. When she asked her how it was she had settled in these isolated wilds, Mrs. Fergusson had made reply:
"I am close to my childhood's home, and in the Lake District which I love. I used to live at Helvellyn Towers, not so many miles from here. My father lost his money when I was just grown-up. I had been extremely well educated, and through interest, I went to Russia and stayed in the Grand Duke's family, the Serge V—'s, for just twelve years. I taught their three girls, and then met my husband who was an attaché in St. Petersburg."
"I came home to be married, had three happy years, then he went to the War, and was killed after four years' hard fighting. My boy was born in the first year of the War. I have had some hard and lonely years since, but settled down here three years ago, and am quite contented now with my lot. The awful tragedies in Russia and my own sorrow have whitened my hair. But I am not an old woman even now, and I long to rub up my teaching faculties sometimes. I know I have a gift in that direction. Will you tell me a little about your small stepdaughters? My boy and they have scraped up acquaintance, but they fight shy of me. I think they heard that I had been a governess once, and that was enough for them!"
So Anstice told her a good deal about the children, and felt what a boon her experience and insight of character would be to the little girls, and also to herself. She returned home having settled that Mrs. Fergusson should come regularly every morning to give the children lessons from nine to one. She preferred to come to them rather than that they should come to her, and Anstice was relieved, for she had feared that the temptation to play truant sometimes would prove too much for them.
When she came home, she broke the news at once to the little girls.
They were astounded and at first most indignant.
"We aren't going to have governesses, and we hate old women!"
"Mrs. Fergusson is not old. Do you know what turned her hair so white? Do you know that the little girls whom she taught in Russia and loved were all horribly murdered? One of them only escaped, and the horrors that she had seen and experienced sent her mad. She has never recovered her senses."
Interest was aroused at once.
"Ivan never told us that."
"No, and I don't think his mother has told him. You had better say nothing about it, I only tell you to make you feel for Mrs. Fergusson. She loved those little girls, and they loved her. They were little princesses. Don't you think if they liked Mrs. Fergusson so much that you might do the same?"
"It isn't fair to spring lessons on us."
"But didn't we agree that for a month we should try work in the morning and play in the afternoon? We are going to give it a trial."
There was silence.
Then Josie shrugged her shoulders.
"It's no good going to Ruffie to make him decide. You've got him quite over on your side. It isn't fair."
"You come over too," said Anstice, laughing; "then we shall be a very happy family."
"Did Mrs. Fergusson see the Czar being murdered? Did she see the little girls being killed?" asked Georgie breathlessly.
"No, but she heard about it, and she has seen the one poor child who is left alive."
Anstice walked away. She had announced her intentions, and thought the less discussion about it the better.
The very next morning Mrs. Fergusson appeared. She rode on a tricycle which was well known to the little girls, as they had had rides on it themselves when playing with Ivan.
Anstice had made a very comfortable room of the library. Curtains and chair-covers had been renovated, a fresh carpet put down, and the whole room cleaned and polished till everything in it looked spotless and shining. This was to be the schoolroom and only used for lessons.
The first morning of study was an undoubted success. Mrs. Fergusson never doubted for a moment her capacity to interest and teach. Her methods of doing so were entirely new to the children, and they were as clay in her hands. Anstice hardly expected to hear Josie say as she did when she came to luncheon:
"Georgie and me like Mrs. Fergusson. It doesn't seem like lessons when she teaches us."
And she was inexpressibly thankful for the result of her endeavours.
That afternoon she took a ramble over the Fells. The little girls had invited Ruffie to tea in their new sitting-room and had been busy cooking cakes and scones for the occasion.
Fond of children as she was, Anstice was sometimes glad to get away alone. Hercules, the big mastiff, had attached himself to her, and now came bounding after her as she went down the drive. The air, as she mounted higher, exhilarated her. She had a message to leave for Brenda at Hockerdale Farm, and after having a pleasant little chat with Mrs. James, went on her way to call upon an old couple who lived at the extreme end of her husband's property.
It was an isolated bit of country, down at the bottom of a little valley near a very small and picturesque lake. It was a still, warm afternoon, but there was a feeling of thunder in the air, and just before she reached the cottage, rain began to fall.
The woman opened the door to her. She had a slim, upright figure and a very pleasant, smiling face. Anstice soon saw that she and her brother had original personalities. Sister and brother had lived in the little cottage for over thirty years; the man, Tommy Nixon, as he was familiarly called, owned some sheep, a couple of cows, a pony and a sheep-dog; his sister Ellen kept poultry. Their small kitchen with its big stove and oven in the well, the thick oak beams across the low ceiling, and the quantity of treasures in brass and china and lustre on its walls, made quite a picture, and Anstice longed for an artist's pencil and brush to transfer it to paper.
"This will be a noted day for us, Mem," said Ellen, drawing a chair out for Anstice to sit on. "An' will ye be havin' a coop o' tay, fur I'm well able to gie't ye? We ha' mony a visitor t' our wee cottage, frae Americky, an' Scotland an' Ireland. We're not advertisin' nor puttin' 'tays' on a board, but we git weel spoken of frae one to anither. But 'tis not often we see the Squire's leddy nor any belongin' to him."
"I shall be very grateful for some tea," said Anstice. "How lonely you are out here! What do you do with yourselves in the winter?"
"We're never lonely," said Ellen, beaming upon her. "I havna been to a big toon fur ower five year. But there be always a lot to do. An' my hens be raal frens to me. I bake our bread and mak' t' butter, an' Tommy, he be always out aboot wi' the shaap."
"But the long winter evenings: what do you do then?"
"We leet t' lamp, an' I have ma bit sewin', an' Tommy, he has his carvin'; an' we be just very cheery a' the toime."
Then, as she bustled about, putting her kettle on, and cutting bread and butter, the old man showed with pride an old dresser which he had made out of some odd boards given him. It was most wonderfully carved. He told her he had never had a lesson in his life, but "the gift" was in the family. Anstice was shown a bird-cage made in the shape of a Swiss chalet and carved on the surface, also a chair and a box, and then he produced a bundle of walking sticks. The first one he had ever done had a most realistic snake wound round and round it, and was carved entirely with a plain pocketknife. Then he told how a gentleman came along and gave him a few tools. One of the sticks had a fox, a hare, and a rabbit, besides two stags' heads with antlers on one side of it; on the other were the hounds chasing their different quarries. And the handle was a ram's head. He told her, he sold a good many of these sticks to summer visitors crossing the Fells.
Sitting in a window-seat as he talked, Tommy looked a perfect picture of an old Westmorland shepherd, but Anstice was struck with the cheerful philosophy and contentment of the sister.
"I wish every one was as happy and contented as you are."
Her Kingdom Book I, Chapter VI.
"So long as God be gude enou' to let us bide together, there be nothin' to complain by. Ma brither be turned seventy. If he were taken from me, t'would be a sorro'fu' daay for me, but thaat daay be not coom yet awhile. An' we ha' all we need, an' each ither, which is very pleasant. An' the visitors brighten our summer daays."
Anstice had her tea. A jug full of rich cream, some oat cakes, homemade bread and butter, and homemade jam were put before her.
"You have done me good," she said as she rose to go. "I wish every one was as happy and contented as you are. I must come up to you here, when I feel inclined to grumble."
Then with kindling eyes she added, as she shook hands with them both:
"If we both believe and trust in the Love of God, we ought never to be unhappy or afraid."
And Ellen responded with happy smile:
"Ay, Mem, that be true enow! I ha' found it sae!"
When she left them, she took a meadow path and wandered round the edge of the small lake. It seemed like a sparkling jewel set in a frame of green. On all sides the Fells rose round it, overlapping each other; those against the horizon were now blue and purple against a yellow sky. The rain had ceased, the thunder clouds had rolled away, and the lights and shadows upon the green slopes above kept Anstice gazing at them in sheer delight, till at last she reminded herself that she was a good five miles from home.
By and by she came to an old bridge across a rushing torrent of water. Here she stood for a moment watching some trout leap up, and then suddenly a car came along, and she was accosted by Mrs. Wykeham.
"My dear, what a long way from home! I have been showing my cousin some of our biggest lakes. May I introduce him to you? Colonel Malcolm Dermot. Now we will drive you home. Jump in. Malcolm is allowed to fish in your husband's preserves, so you ought to know each other."
"I can't desert Hercules," said Anstice, laying her hand on the mastiff's head. "And he is not swift enough on his legs to follow."
"He is too big to come in with us," said Mrs. Wykeham. "Let him find his way home."
"I think I must walk, thank you," said Anstice.
Then Colonel Dermot opened the car door and sprang out.
"I want to stretch my legs," he said to Mrs. Wykeham. "I'll accompany Mrs. Holme across the Fells."
"That is very nasty of you, Malcolm, to prefer Mrs. Holme's company to mine, but I'll forgive you. Good-bye, both of you."
She drove off, and Colonel Dermot turned to Anstice with a smile upon his face. He was a handsome, stalwart, grey-haired man, with energy imprinted upon his features.
"I'm not a car lover," he said; "in a country like this, one ought to walk to appreciate its beauties."
"That is how I feel," said Anstice; "I always have loved walking, and can anything be more perfect than the short springy turf on the Fells?"
They had turned off from the road now; Hercules with delight was bounding on in front of them.
"You and I must be friends," said Colonel Dermot presently; "for your husband and I have been pals for a long time. And I'm sincerely glad to find he has come to his senses at last. I've been dinning the advantages of marriage into his ears for ages, but quite ineffectually so I thought. Did you know I am godfather to his boy?"
"No," said Anstice; "then you must come and see him. Ruffie loves visitors."
She felt a little restraint in talking to this new acquaintance, for she did not want him to discover how little she knew of her husband's ways, or of his friends.
"I'll certainly look in. I'm staying about ten days with Mrs. Wykeham. She tells me that you are working wonders with those knibs of mischief—the small girls. My last experience of them was last autumn. We had a water picnic. Mrs. Wykeham invited them, because she had some grandchildren staying with her, and we all went over to have tea on the big island. We stayed there till dusk; and if you'll believe me, those imps stole down to the boats about an hour before we were leaving, and cut them adrift from their moorings. There was a strong current which took them out beyond our reach. We very nearly had to camp out that night, but we made a big bonfire and sent out signals, and young Ivan Fergusson came over to our rescue."
"I can believe anything of them," said Anstice, laughing; "but I am still hopeful that they will grow up into nice, sensible girls. It is only high spirits, and an extra fund of energy, that makes them so mischievous. And I have often noticed that the children who are pickles when they are small, are much the pleasantest men and women when they grow up."
"Why did you not accompany Justin on his voyage overseas?" said Colonel Dermot a little abruptly.
"We—we thought it better not," said Anstice after a moment's hesitation. "The Manor needs a mistress, does it not? And for the children's sake I came here."
Colonel Dermot stole a quick look at her.
"Uncommonly unselfish of you," he said. "I shall have my knife into Justin for not sending me an invite to your wedding. I always told him I would be his best man!"
"Do you know these Fells well?" Anstice asked, steering away from the difficult topic. "I am sometimes afraid of losing my way, for I have a passion for taking short cuts, and sometimes these paths are like those in 'Alice through the Looking-glass.' They give themselves a wriggle, and a shake, and land me back where I came from!"
"I shouldn't wander from the beaten track if I were you. It's easy to lose oneself, especially if a mist settles down upon you. I'm a North-countryman myself. Was brought up at a place about fifteen miles from here, near Windermere. It's sold now, worse luck; but my wife likes town and is never well anywhere else."
His face had assumed rather a bitter expression. Anstice could read between the lines of his words and felt sorry for him.
"I'm a South-country person," she said happily, "but I love the air and the sweet pungent breezes across these hills. I always feel I could go on walking for ever, and never come back. Now, as you are a native, give me the names of some of the heights in front of us."
Colonel Dermot promptly did so. When they finally reached the turning that led to Butterdale Manor, they parted, feeling that a friendship had been formed between them.
Anstice invited him over to tea the next afternoon to see his little godson, and as Colonel Dermot swung down the road away from her, he muttered to himself:
"Now where did Justin pick her up? To my certain knowledge, he did not know her three months ago, when we were in town together. And how dares he leave his bride, and go off on one of these mad voyages of his! Can't understand it. No wonder Myra Wykeham says it's a mystery. But she's a fascinating girl. I must see more of her."
[CHAPTER VII]
SLOWLY GAINING GROUND
COLONEL DERMOT turned up punctually at tea-time the next afternoon. It was laid in the drawing-room, and the children were invited down for the occasion. Ruffie was much excited, and when his godfather greeted him, he cried:
"We're all new here, Uncle Morky; we've new clothes, and curtains and carpets, and flowers in the 'servatory. And new servants and new governess—and—"
Here he hesitated for a moment, then added boldly: "A new mother."
"I heartily congratulate you," said Colonel Dermot.
Then he sat down by Ruffie's cushioned chair, and Josie and Georgie edged up beside him. It was easy to see that he and the children were on very friendly terms, so Anstice having a letter to write left them together, till tea was brought in by Brenda.
"What do you think of her?" Josie asked in a piercing whisper, directly Anstice had disappeared.
"I'd rather hear your opinion first," said Colonel Dermot shrewdly.
"Josie keeps saying she may be a witch in disguise," said Ruffie eagerly; "but I say she's a princess in disguise. And do you know me and she are going to make a book, and have it printed so that every one will read it? She's writing the story, and I'm doing the pictures, and she bought a little wooden figure from Penrith, which I can copy for my figures; it moves its joints any way you like to put them."
"She writes a chapter every day, and reads it to us every evening," put in Georgie; "it's ripping! We hate it when she gets up suddenly and says: 'To be continued in our next,' for that means bedtime."
"We're just trying her for a month," said Josie grandly; "if she turns out different, and gets nasty or silly like all the rest, we'll just do to her what we did to the others."
"But, you skallywag, she's not a governess but your father's wife! And now I'll tell you what I think of her. I think your Dad has picked out the most beautiful woman and the most lovable in the whole world. And if I hadn't my own dear little wife at home waiting for me, and if she were not already married to your Dad, I would pick her up and run away with her, and marry her myself before you could say Jack Robinson."
The children looked at him with big eyes. "Uncle Morky," as they always called him, was a prime favourite of theirs, and his opinion had weight in their eyes.
"We shouldn't let you take her," said Ruffie in a bristling tone. "We'd fight for her."
"Hum!" said Josie, considering. "Georgie and me aren't sure about that. We'll see when the end of this month comes."
"You don't know when you're well off! Here's Brenda coming in. What a tea! You never had teas like this when I was here last."
"It's Mrs. Parkins," said Georgie, dancing round the heavily laden tray of cakes and bread and butter which Brenda was carrying. "She sends us hot cakes and scones every day, and you're a visitor, so we have an extra lot. I think Dad would like these teas."
"He ought to be here," said Colonel Dermot emphatically. "I'll write and tell him what I think of him."
And when he got back to Mrs. Wykeham's that evening, he wrote the following letter before he retired to bed:
"DEAR JUSTIN,—
"I'm going to give you a thorough drubbing with my pen. What do you mean by keeping your marriage a secret from me? I've just come back from a visit to my small godson. And I can tell you the change in your place makes one sit up. You've flung a young and charming bride into our midst, as you would your line into the lake, and then you've run off and left her! Give me the key to such an enigma! She has such a dignity about her that I daren't ask inquisitive questions, but I've gathered that you met her at your Aunt Lucy's; that you must have fallen suddenly and violently in love with her, and married her on the hop. But why you've deserted her as quickly as you married her is past my comprehension! Enlighten your old pal a bit! I can tell you that she's too good a sort to be served such a shabby trick, and though she carries it off with a high hand, you're placing her in a false position. Come back, you villain, or justify yourself in the sight of—
"Yours,
"J. D."
And by the same post went Anstice's first letter to her husband. She sat for a long time at her open window with her writing pad on her knee. She had a strange shrinking from the effort, and yet she steeled herself to do it, for she felt that it was her duty to cement the band between them, and not loosen it.
She tore up three attempts.
The first was a bald statement of facts, the second an apologetic justification of all the changes which she had seen fit to make in the house, and the third an account solely and wholly of his children.
Then she tried again, and this time let her pen run on easily and pleasantly as was natural and unpremeditated.
"DEAR JUSTIN,—
"I promised to write to you, so I must not forget to do so. I hardly know how to begin. But I will ease your mind first about your small people. I find them quite delightful, naughtiness and all. I am still on probation as far as Josie and Georgie go, but Ruffie has surrendered absolutely, and he and I are real chums. I discovered that he was the instigator of most of his sister's pranks. His the master brain, they his willing tools. He would concoct schemes to annoy and distress the poor governesses, depict them in his wonderful notebook and the girls would carry them out with alacrity. In turning over the pages of his book and admiring his genius, I came upon several premeditated plots against myself. I laughed till I cried at some of them. I have managed to turn his genius in another direction, and he and I are going to produce a book together which will surprise you one day.
"I have secured Mrs. Fergusson as governess. What a charming and interesting woman she is! I feel I should like to do lessons myself with her. She has asked me if she cannot have Ruffie as a third pupil. Have you any objection to this? As you cannot answer quickly, and perhaps may feel rather bored at being asked to do it at all, I think I shall make the experiment. She is too wise a teacher to overwork so fragile and precocious a brain as Ruffie's. He does remind me so much of little Paul Dombey. But as his brain is so active, I think a little schoolroom knowledge and discipline would be good for him. He is wild with delight at the prospect. If any headaches come, I will stop the lessons at once. Josie and Georgie are all the better for hard work. They have been suffering from too many idle hours. I mean to keep them both busy and happy; so busy and interested in useful occupation, that they will have no time for mischief. Their energy or dynamic force has, I hope, been directed into the right channels. I feel this is rather à la governess; but if I'm not their governess, I have come here to give them the training they need, have I not?
"Perhaps this is enough about the children. I am revelling in your wild Fells, and sweet luscious pasture lands, they are so intermingled that one cannot separate them, and it is the combination that I find so fascinating. What has surprised me is the number of people residing round the lake. I pictured your home in the wilds; but it is nothing of the sort. They say our neighbours are mostly summer visitors, and that in the winter they shut up their houses and go South, but I have come across several who do not do this. I have been to lunch with your old friend Mrs. Wykeham; I have made acquaintance with Colonel Dermot, who naturally is very curious over our marriage. I shall become a very good dissembler, for I have to parry and evade many an awkward question.
"At present, I am content to be out of society. The Fells and lake when I want quiet meditation; the children when I want active recreation; and the house and its needs when I want work, are enough for me. And for friends, I have Mrs. Fergusson, whom I think a most charming personality; and lastly, but not least, our Rector, Mr. Bolland. I went to see his wife yesterday. They are new-comers, so you do not know them. She reminds me of a robin. Very small, very cheerful, with bright dark eyes and a small brown head. She is quite an invalid, and is on her back for years, if not for life. She is full of schemes for the good of the parishioners, and has enlisted me as her ally. But to the Rector, I owe a deep debt of gratitude, for without turning myself inside out, I may tell you that the whole pivot of my life has been changed since I came here, and it is through words of his that it has been done. I was beginning to worry over the training of your small people. Now I feel I need never worry again over anything!
"Is this a very egoistical letter? I hope not, for I must realize that my private life is of no moment to you. I have asked Bob Falkland if he has any message to send you, but all is going well. Eliza gives us a couple of hours help every morning. This may not be necessary when I get our full staff of domestics. Ruffie encloses one of his latest pictures. It represents us down by the lakeside on Sunday afternoon. Admire his colouring of water and Fells! He is a born artist, and if spared to grow up, should be able to do something really good. Now have I given you all the news you desire? And how am I to sign myself?
"Just
"ANSTICE HOLME."
* * * * *
Colonel Dermot was a constant visitor at the Manor during his short stay at the lakes.
One day he took Anstice and the children on the lake in a small motor launch belonging to the Wykehams; another day he went off for a nine-mile walk over the Fells with Anstice; he came to lunch; he came to tea; and when he finally left the neighbourhood, he paid his farewell visit after dinner.
It was a most lovely evening, and he and Anstice strolled down to the lake and sat beside it.
"I can't picture you here in the winter," he said, "but I suppose Justin will be back before then."
"He went for a six months' cruise. That will bring him back in time for Christmas," said Anstice.
"You must cure him of his restlessness."
"Well, I don't know," said Anstice thoughtfully; "it is not much of a life for him here. The farm is too small to give him occupation, the estate is not much bigger. He is not old enough to settle down here for good and all, and the love of the sea is not easily eradicated."
"Up to now he has not had much to keep him here. His house has not been his home."
"Perhaps not."
Anstice was sitting, gazing out dreamily over the lake. And Colonel Dermot, peculiarly susceptible to woman's charm, again wondered at Justin's desertion.
Anstice's grace and beauty, and her strong personality, had made a very deep impression on him.
He suddenly said:
"How much, how well do you know each other, I wonder?"
Anstice laughed.
"Ah! That's our secret," she said. "I am not going to dissect my husband's character. But I agree with you that he has had a miserable home here for years."
"And it has warped and twisted his whole being," said Colonel Dermot. "As a youngster, he was a radiant specimen of youth and high spirits. Marriage in his case was his undoing. I was abroad for three years, and could not believe when I saw him that such a transformation in character could be effected in so short a time."
"Perhaps it was only on the surface," said Anstice.
"No, the bitterness had gone deeper than that. You women have much to answer for. But I knew his wife as a girl, and was not surprised. I'm telling you this for old Justin's sake, as he's not such a bad chap at heart."
"I'm quite aware of that."
The amusement in Anstice's eyes drove Colonel Dermot to an apology.
"I'm so confoundedly glad that you and he came together that I'm letting my tongue run away with me. But you mustn't shut yourself away from people as you do. It's cruel on them. We haven't too many charming acquaintances round. And housekeeping and nursery talk can't satisfy a woman with such gifts as yours."
"Oh, come! What gifts have I? I can talk and laugh, and listen, not much else."
"Do you want the truth from me?"
Something in his tone and look made Anstice say hastily:
"No, I think not. And I know my own limitations. I feel friendly disposed towards every one, but I've a certain amount of home duties which cannot be neglected. I came here to do certain things in my husband's absence. I do not want to be hindered from carrying out my plans."
"Don't be too conscientious," advised Colonel Dermot. "Let your natural impulses have a chance."
They talked on together. He found her elusive directly he tried to get to close quarters, and when he got up to go, he sighed heavily.
"I think I must come down in the autumn and have some more rambles over the Fells with you. Perhaps when you have tasted real loneliness, you will be kinder to me."
"I could not be kinder than I feel at present," replied Anstice with her frank, sweet smile; "as my husband's old friend, and Ruffie's godfather, I look upon you as my friend also, and shall always be glad to see you when you are in our neighbourhood. Good-bye."
She gave him her hand, which he deliberately raised to his lips, and as he strode away, he murmured to himself:
"I wish I had the power to penetrate her outer crust. She is too warm-blooded a creature to be so sweetly indifferent. If Justin does not appreciate her, he will find that others do."
When Anstice met Mrs. Wykeham a few days later, she was chaffed lightly upon her friendship with the Colonel.
"He has spent most of his time with you, and if you were not both suitably married, I should say you were made for one another."
"He is my husband's friend," protested Anstice, "and my husband's friends will always, I hope, be mine."
Her quiet dignity and ease of manner stopped Mrs. Wykeham's banter.
"Well, my dear, I consider myself one of your husband's oldest friends, so I expect to see more of you than I have done already. I am giving a garden-party next Thursday. Don't give me any excuses, but come."
"Thank you. I will."
But when the day came, Anstice felt loath to meet her neighbours. One or two had already called, and each visit had been somewhat of a strain. She was really delighted to see the heavy clouds roll up from the Fells, and come down in a steady downpour at three o'clock and onwards. Loneliness had no terror for her. She was perfectly content with her simple, lonely life. And for the present she much preferred being out of all social festivities.
A little later she agreed to play the organ for the Sunday services. Josie and Georgie were quite willing to sit by her side. Josie especially took the greatest interest in the organ, and even asked to attend the choir practices. She was passionately fond of music, and was getting on splendidly under Mrs. Fergusson's tuition. Their behaviour was blameless for the first two Sundays, and then Josie's love of mischief got the better of her. In the middle of the Venite, she got behind Anstice, put out her hand, and pulled out a very loud stop. The result was an awful blast of sound, and a shocked congregation.
Anstice's face was really stern as she turned to Josie when the service was over.
"Did you think it fine to disgrace yourself and me by such a feat?" she asked her when they were walking home.
Josie grinned.
"She'd better not go to church any more," said Georgie with alacrity, "and I'll keep her company at home."
"I think her disgrace would be then complete," said Anstice gravely. "A girl of ten years old who does not know how to behave in church, and has to stay at home lest she should prove a nuisance to the congregation, is indeed to be pitied."
Not a word more did she say. But for the rest of the day she ignored Josie, never speaking to her at all. And this was such a new procedure that Josie was first indignant and then repentant. At bedtime, it was Anstice's custom to visit them each in turn for a good night kiss. The little girls slept together in two small beds. On this Sunday night Anstice went to Georgie's bed as usual, but having wished her good night, she looked as if she were going to walk straight out of the room without noticing Josie at all. And then she seemed to alter her mind, and came to the foot of the child's bed. For a moment Josie raised a defiant head from her pillow.
"Have you anything to say to me?" Anstice asked.
"You're in a temper with me. I don't care!"
Down went the dark curly head under the clothes.
Anstice turned away, and left the room, but her heart was aching for the rebellious child, and later on she visited the bedroom again. Georgie was fast asleep, and so at first she thought was Josie; but when she gently removed some of the bedclothes, she found a hot, tear-stained face pressed close against the pillow.
Very gently she caressed the dark hair.
"My darling," she said, "do tell me what I want to hear."
And then Josie sprang up and surprised her by clasping her tightly round the neck.
"Don't be against me! I'm sorry. I'll never do it again."
Anstice held her in her arms and her kiss of forgiveness was very tender.
"We will forget all about it. But don't be mischievous in God's House again. You would not play tricks if you were taken inside Buckingham Palace to see the King and Queen. And church is a more important place than any king's palace. It belongs to God, who is the King of Kings."
Then she kissed her, and left her, but there was no fear of Josie behaving badly in church again.
Anstice was slowly but surely winning the children's love, and her displeasure was already more to be feared in their eyes than any punishment.
[CHAPTER VIII]
A LONELY GIRL
ONE day Anstice took one of her long rambles over the Fells. Rain had kept her in the house for over a week. She felt that mentally and physically she needed a change of environment. Holidays were coming soon, and then she knew that she would be much less free to absent herself for hours from her household.
The clear air and fresh mountain breezes braced and refreshed her. Hercules accompanied her, and with him as companion, she never felt lonely. She wanted to reach a certain remote lake which she had been told was very picturesque, so she started early in the morning and took a packet of sandwiches with her. She had to get across to the other side of the lake before she started up the Fells. Stephen rowed her across in the boat, and promised to come over again to row her back about three o'clock in the afternoon.
It was a grey day, but the glass was high, and Anstice preferred a cool day to a sunny one. Now as she trod the soft, springy turf and mounted higher and higher, she felt as if all her difficulties and household cares had flown away. Curlews wheeled about above her head, but save for the bleating of the sheep across the Fells, no other sounds disturbed her. She crossed a high ridge, then descended into a valley. Her path wound in and out at the bottom, under the shadow of high crags above her, and as she went on and on, it seemed to get wilder and more desolate. Once or twice, pedestrians crossed her path. Two youths with knapsacks on their backs directed her towards the lake of which she was in quest. The Fells on each side of her seemed to be gradually narrowing the valley, and then a sudden turn brought her in sight of her goal.
There the water lay, surrounded by green walls of wooded heights; behind were the purple mountains. A small white farm-house on one side and two cottages on the other were all the signs of human habitation. Then as she went on down a green lane arched over by hanging trees, she came upon a tiny grey rough-stoned house, and about ten minutes farther on, a minute stone church, nestling amid splendid old yews. She had heard of the quaint mediæval church, so went inside. The plain dark oak roof and walls, and the massive oak beams supporting the roof—trunks of large trees rough-hewn into shape, and the cushioned seats circling round the altar rails, all delighted her artist's soul.
She wondered how many of the scattered homesteads on the Fells and in the valley congregated within it on Sundays.
Then she returned to the lake, and sitting down on a green bank, determined to have a good rest before she returned home. She ate her sandwiches and gazed about her. The extreme solitude of the place struck her afresh, and then suddenly she was aware of some one in her proximity. A young girl was sitting amongst the bracken a short way from her, with her back against an old gnarled oak. Anstice afterwards wondered what had made her speak to her. But an impulse for which she could not account made her rise and walk over to her.
"Excuse me, but do you know where I could get a glass of milk?"
The girl started and jumped up. She was a slim, dark-haired maiden, with fresh colouring, but with refined and delicate features. Her shabby gown and rather untidy hair made Anstice at first take her for some farmer's daughter, but directly she spoke, Anstice discovered her mistake.
"I think I can give you some milk, if you will follow me. The farm is the other side of the lake, but it is only a quarter of an hour's walk round the head of it."
She led the way to the small stone house near the church.
"This is the vicarage. My uncle is the vicar. Will you come in?"
"It's very good of you, but I did not mean to trouble you like this."
The vicarage inside was dark, and to Anstice seemed depressing. The small sitting-room into which she was ushered was almost monastically furnished. A narrow oaken refectory table was in the centre, and three or four straight-backed chairs were against the wall. A sideboard and two bookshelves in a recess were all the furniture that was in it. The walls were grey, the matting underfoot was a dingy brown. A churchman's almanac was hung against the wall, and one sacred picture depicting the Crucifixion was over the fireplace. The girl had left the room, but soon returned with a glass of milk upon a tray, and a slice of plain currant cake.
"How kind of you! What a beautiful spot you live in!"
The girl gave a short bitter laugh, and her thick dark brows contracted fiercely.
"Beautiful! It's prison to me! I hate it. I was wishing just now I could slip into the lake and get away from it for ever."
Anstice was startled.
"I don't know which I dislike most," the girl went on impetuously, "the lake, or the mountains, or this house. Visitors come and spout poetry, and rave about the beauty of it all. I wish they knew what it was to live here year in and year out, away from civilization, at the back of beyond."
"Tell me about yourself," said Anstice gently. "Shall we come outside again? Have you the time to spare?"
"I have time," the girl responded. "I have nothing to do. I sit outside in the summer-time and watch the visitors come and go. I used to offer to show them the church, but some of them spoke to me so rudely and seemed to think I was dogging their steps to get tipped, that I gave it up. Yes, let us come out, this house is too awful!"
"It seems a dear, quaint little dwelling," said Anstice, hardly knowing what to say; "and as for your church, the age of it alone is entrancing. It is like a nest of tranquillity amongst the trees."
"I believe it's one of the smallest churches in England," said the girl indifferently, "and the vicarage suits it. There isn't room to swing a cat in it! But it's big enough for my uncle. He lives in his study all day."
"And do you live alone with him? It must be dreary for you in the winter."
"I came here when I was seventeen, with my mother. My father was killed in the War just before Armistice Day, and we had very little money, and she was delicate and did not like the London fogs. I was at school at St. Paul's; I meant to teach, but my mother needed me, and I could not leave her. She was all I had, and we loved each other. She liked the quiet and peace of this, but she only lived two years after we came, and then I felt desperate, but I did not like leaving uncle. He is old and not very strong and very absent-minded."
"And now he relies upon me for everything, but it is stagnation! I don't know why I'm telling all this to a stranger. It's your face which encourages me. I never talk to people of my own class. I'm sick of the tourists. And I know no one—only the farmers and a few of the cottagers, and I've used them up long ago. I'm getting desperate, for the summer soon goes, and the rain begins, and the mist and the gales and I'm stifled! Shut into that little hole of a vicarage, without any hope or chance of escape!"
They were walking towards the lake as they talked, and the girl waved her hand towards the mountains that seemed to tower above them.
"Those are my enemies," she said; "I have learnt to hate them. They're grim sentinels between me and the world. They're crushing the life out of me. I rebelled at first, but I am past caring now."
"But this is all wrong," said Anstice; "if you feel like this, surely your uncle won't wish to keep you?"
"I am his housekeeper. We have only a rough girl to do the charing. Mother made me promise not to leave him. I think she did not know how utterly lonely it would be for me without her. He was her only brother. As long as he lives, I must live here with him. It's a gloomy, eerie place, this head of the lake! Only the yews seem to flourish, and they're trees of death, that's what I call them. Let me grumble on, it does me good. You will go your way and forget all about me."
"No, I can't do that," said Anstice firmly; "we have been drawn together for some good purpose. Are you a good walker?"
"Yes, I have to be. We keep no car—no trap, not even a boat. Uncle Edgar is quite content to trot round to his parishioners on his own feet. He is writing some theological book which will never be published, but it keeps him busy and content."
"Then you will have to walk over to me at Butterdale Manor. You must come early to lunch, and have a good rest and talk. Not to-morrow, for I shall have to go out to tea, but the next day. Will that suit you?"
The girl stood still, and regarded her with astonishment.
"But we don't even know each other's names," she said. "And you can't want to continue this scraped up acquaintance."
"My name is Anstice Holme," said Anstice, smiling at her. "My husband is away just now, and I and the children are alone. I do want to know you and be your friend, if you will let me. You are too young to be so unhappy and so bitter."
"I have had cause," the girl answered. "Perhaps I will tell you one day. My name is Louise Repton. I should of course like to come and see you. I would walk twenty miles to have another talk like this. The very pouring out of my troubles has done me good. I expect you will be disgusted at my want of reticence, but you came across me at one of my worst times, and I have just let myself go! It has all been I—I—I! But I have no larger circle than my own to think of!"
Then she added eagerly:
"Could you not come back and have tea with me? Don't leave me just yet."
"But I am afraid I must. It is a long walk back, and my chicks would wonder where I was. We will resume our talk the day after to-morrow, and see if we cannot snatch a few golden gleams out of your monotonous life. Good-bye."
She laid her hand affectionately on the girl's shoulder.
"Cheer up! After all, you have youth and health and strength, and intellect. Those are all precious gifts. But I won't preach. Do you think you will find your way across the Fells to Butterdale?"
"Yes, I have been there once. There was a grand Fête for church schools, and my uncle and I both attended it. It was held at Helvellyn Towers."
"At Mrs. Wykeham's. That is eight miles from us. We are on the lake about five miles this side of Helvellyn Towers. You never walked there surely?"
"No, we went in a char-à-banc. But I shall find my way all right."
They parted, and Anstice, with her faithful attendant Hercules, set off homewards. She felt as if her steps had been directed to that lonely little spot in the Fells where a young life was being crushed by the isolation of her environment.
Anstice was a born helper of all the unhappy and helpless. From a child, she had loved anything that was weak or sick, from animals upwards. Her heart was big, and her sympathy unfailing. She mused upon the difference of characters.
"What I was loving so, she was hating," she murmured to herself. "But even I, fond as I am of the still, tranquil solitudes of these valleys amongst the Fells, would get hipped and depressed, if I had to be shut up in them through the long wet winters here, and youth and age living together do not make for congeniality. I must concoct some plans for her welfare."
She was rather tired when she reached home. Brenda exclaimed when she told her where she had been.
"'Tis too far for you, ma'am, 'deed 'tis. And I always think that Ramdale be a terrible gloomy place. I had a nephew who was courting with a farmer's daughter over yon, and he said most o' the folk seemed asleep, and only concerned wi' their own selves."
"That's not uncommon in busy towns, Brenda; we're all apt to get like that."
She made quite a story of her wanderings to the children that evening. Ruffie insisted upon being taken to the window to see the Fells over which she had climbed. And then gazing ecstatically at the purple mountains, he said softly:
"I should like, oh I should like to be lifted up to the top of one. Perhaps when I'm a man I can go in an aeroplane. Dad said I might. I've never, never been higher than the ground by the lake."
"We've climbed a part of Helvellyn once," said Georgie proudly; "Dad took us in his car, and we were out the whole day."
"I don't see why," said Anstice slowly, "Ruffie should not go up into the Fells one day. I shall try and think of a way."
Ruffie's eyes sparkled.
"You can do anything, Steppie; you're like a magic fairy. You see, I'm too big to be carried a long way now. People get tired."
But his wistful voice remained in Anstice's mind, and the very next morning she was writing to a certain firm in town, asking them to send her down two large wicker panthers suitable for a pony to carry young children in.
Louise turned up in two days' time about half an hour before lunch. Anstice took her into the drawing-room, which was now a most charming spot. The conservatory was full of flowers, and a small aviary at one side of it was the children's constant joy. A pair of doves, two lovebirds, four canaries, and various small foreign birds were at present the happy family in it.
Louise drew a long breath as she stood in the middle of the room.
"This is a perfect Paradise," she said. "If I had such a room to live in, I suppose I should not be so susceptible to the outside scenery."
"I have had a considerable amount of effort and work over this," said Anstice. "I do believe in having a bright atmosphere inside a house wherever you are, especially with children. But you could do a good deal with your vicarage if you chose. Are you fond of flowers?"
"I suppose I am not. I never have any in the house. They are too much bother. I have just let everything go. I am glad you did not see the other room where I sit. It has a piano, a round table and three chairs. There are three pictures on the walls which are colour-washed like those in the dining-room. I have about half a dozen books, and my work-basket. My uncle has never had any money to spend on knick-knacks or comforts. He would be happy in a monk's cell, and I have given up asking for things that I know the house requires."
"I have a lot of suggestions to make to you, but we will wait till after lunch."
Louise felt as if she were in a dream. The dainty lunch, the little girls' chatter at it, and Anstice's happy charm in making all feel pleased with themselves, made her long to stay in such an atmosphere for ever.
When the meal was over, Anstice took her to her private sitting-room. It had been a very dull apartment before Anstice had taken it in hand. Now it was perfectly charming, with its fresh chintzes and soft cream-papered walls. Flowers and potpourri pots and some delicate old china adorned the mantelshelf, and the top of a low book-case in a recess by the fireplace. A work-table and writing-desk showed that the room was for use as well as for rest. A couch was drawn up under one window, two easy chairs were in the other, and Anstice, now gently putting Louise in the most comfortable chair, seated herself opposite her. From the open window in front of them was wafted in the scent of the new-mown hay in the park, whilst the children's happy voices, as they played about in it, brought a smile to Anstice's face.
Louise's lips quivered, then suddenly she lowered her head, and began to sob.
"I wish I was a child again. I wish I had a mother living. I am so utterly alone."
"I suppose your uncle is wrapped up in his books?" asked Anstice gently. "But has he no visitors? My experience of country vicarages is that there are always people coming and going."
"We never have any visitors. Our church and parish seem so far away from any others that we are completely forgotten and ignored."
Then, as she talked on, Anstice soon learnt the real cause of the girl's bitterness. In the sorrow of her soul she poured it into her ears. It was a pitiful little love story. One day, as she had been polishing the brasses in the tiny church, a stranger with a camera had walked in. He had asked questions about the neighbourhood which Louise had been able to answer. They had walked about together, had become very friendly, and then as he was lodging at a farm near, and had fishing rights in the lake, they met again the next day. He was handsome and plausible; he amused himself by flattering her and drawing out her best qualities. She, simple girl as she was, fell headlong in love with him. And after three weeks of love-making, she considered herself engaged to him. He was going back to London; they had a mutual friend there, a school friend of hers, a fellow art student with him. He seemed to be a dabbler in many things. He did a little journalism, a little painting, sent his photos to a Black and White Magazine, and was author of a small book of poems. When he had gone, she felt her life a blank, but looked forward to his letters. She received one, and then no more. After two months of agonized waiting, she heard through her friend that he was engaged to another girl, and had alluded to his time down at the Lake end as an "amusing episode." Then the iron entered into her soul, and Anstice saw that even now, after four years had passed, the blow was still heavy.
She put her arms in a motherly fashion round the girl.
"Oh, Louise," she said, "life is bigger than you think it. The time will come when you too will look back, and treat the past as only an episode. You have done nothing dishonourable; we women often love and trust too much. Put it from you, dear. And now listen! I have a dozen schemes for your good. How would it be to advertise for a paying guest? Londoners would revel in your quiet, tranquil little nook, and many a hard-worked girl would love the seclusion of your life. It would be an interest to you for all the summer months. You might even find some one who would like to stay the winter with you."
"Oh no, that would be impossible. And uncle will not have visitors. Indeed, they would not stay a day. We are very poor, and our food is the very simplest. I have not the means to make them comfortable. I did think of it once, but Uncle Edgar would not hear of it."
"Well, if you are badly off, could you not have 'Teas' for visitors? The hotel farther on is being shut up, I hear. It would be rather fun for you, and teas are quite easy to manage. Let me tell you of an old couple who live in another lonely part of the Fells. The sister told me she was never lonely nor unhappy. That the visitors who came for her teas brightened her life."
Anstice went on, giving an account of old Tommy Nixon and his sister.
Louise listened, but her face did not lighten; she only shook her head.
"Uncle Edgar wouldn't allow it—I know he would not."
"Then I shall try and get you a wireless set, that will amuse and interest you during the winter; and you must come over to me as often as you can. I wish you would take up gardening; that would occupy and interest you all the summer. I am quite certain that a busy life is what you want."
"I might try flowers," said Louise doubtfully; "but the truth is, I don't care about anything enough to take trouble over it."
"No, I suppose you don't. And my suggestions are only surface ones. They don't touch your depths. Will you let me do a little probing? You see, we are comparative strangers. I want to help you, if I can. I know what you really need, at least I think I do. I know what would give you a fresh start and new vision of life. For I have only lately got it myself, and I am longing for every one I know to have it."
Louise looked at her with interest, Anstice put her hand on her shoulder.
"Tell me, dear, is your religion a real joy and comfort to you, or is it only an empty form?"
"An empty, unsatisfying form," said Louise with bitter emphasis. "Church bores me; uncle's sermons bore me. I sometimes wish I had been born a heathen, for I should be free then to do as I like and to live as I like, without any compunction."
Anstice was silent for a moment, then she said:
"I wonder if I can say anything to help you. Every one is helped in a different way. Tell me, does this verse convey anything to you? 'Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known Me?'"
"I know it as a Bible verse," said Louise slowly.
"I heard a sermon on it the first Sunday I was here," Anstice said; "and it came home to me with great force. So much so that it has altered my whole life. My inside life I mean—though I hope that affects my outward one. I had grown-up with the love of God surrounding me and mine, but I never knew Him; least of all had I any love and real personal knowledge of our Saviour—I think if you were to get real peace and happiness in your soul, you would not find your lonely, monotonous life so irksome."
Louise seemed impressed for a moment, then she shrugged her shoulders.
"I don't think I want real religion to seize hold of me. I am matter-of-fact—not visionary! I don't want to be content with my stagnant life. You can only be young once, and I feel the years are slipping away. I want to live, to enjoy, even if I have to work for enjoyment."
"But does fretting and chafing against your circumstances remedy them? Does it make you happier?"
"No one has such an awful life as I have!"
Anstice laughed, but it was a tender laugh.