But I can't feel like daddy does about things. I can't trust Him. I don't even want to look at the One who asks if it means I have to give up anything. I love all my family so frightfully that I don't know what I would do if He took any of them away. I only hope I would at least be civil to Him. I never could be 'dutiful' about it. I have never really had a trouble, only that dreadful time when darling mother died, but then Michael came along so soon after that it seemed as if God had only taken away one love to give me back an even more perfect one. But since the war it seems to me that God is so relentless and so jealous. He won't share hearts. He will have all or none, and I am growing to feel that it must be 'none' with me. I am like that soul, pursued by the Hound of Heaven; I fear His 'following feet,' I dread lest having Him I must have naught beside.CHAPTER XXIIITwelve days again without a letter, and ah, dear God! the news from France! I kept my promise, and Ross knows, and though he wraps me round with love, it is as if I cannot taste or see or feel, but I can only listen for the post that does not come. It has been a wretched week, several of our friends are killed and many wounded, and to-day at lunch the S.P. brought a telegram, and my heart stopped beating.'It's Foxhill,' Ross said huskily, looking across at me quickly, and my heart went on again, and then I prayed that I might be forgiven for being glad that it was Charlie and not Michael.'Not killed,' said Ross, 'but blinded, and his right arm gone above the elbow. He's in London, and would like to see us. Shall we go this afternoon, there's just time to catch the train?''Oh, poor Charlie—and poor Monica!' I added and got up. I felt I hated God. Just then a car stopped, and the door bell rang, and presently the S.P. came and said,—'The Hon. Miss Cunningham is in the drawing-room,' and even at that moment I noticed how she loved to say 'the Honourable,' it was so exclusive. I thought what a beast I was, and said,—'Monica? oh, my poor Monica.'She was standing by the window with a frozen look upon her face, very pitiful to see.'Don't go, Ross,' she said, after he had shaken hands and was preparing to leave us together, 'You know Charlie best. Don't go, it's you I've come to see. You are his greatest friend. Perhaps you can tell me about this, perhaps you know why he has written this to me, who love him so,' and she held out a letter. It was very short, and typed, except the signature, which was very badly written.'DEAR MONICA,—It was more than good of you to write to me, but I have thought things over very carefully since I received your letter, and have come to the conclusion that it is best for me to say at once that I feel now I cannot marry you. Please do not try to see me, and think of me as kindly as you can.'CHARLIE.''Has he told you, Ross? Doesn't he love me any more?' she said, with quivering lips, pathetic In my proud Monica.'Monica, dear,' said Ross, 'haven't you heard about his wounds?''I have heard nothing since I wrote to him till I got this.'Then very gently Ross told her about the poor blinded eyes while I kneeled beside her and tried to rub a little warmth into her ice cold hands.'And I expect,' Ross finished up, 'that he wrote like this because he was half mad with pain knowing that he must give you up.''Why should he give me up?' she asked.'Why, Monica, surely you see that it's the only honourable thing he could do, now that he's so helpless; don't you see, dear, every other man would do the same?''Then men are cruel,' I burst out. 'They never think the same as women do. If Monica had married him, would he write like that?''Of course not,' said my brother, 'that would be different. She'd have taken him already then for better or for worse.''She doesn't wait to take him till she goes to church in orange blossom and satin, she does that when she first tells him she loves him, doesn't she?''Of course,' said Monica. 'Are you absolutely sure he loves me, Ross, and that there is no other woman?''I did once hear him say he'd rather have the Gidger.''Oh, Ross, the comfort of you!' said poor Monica, and laughed and cried together. 'I must go to him,' she added, and as she did this 'splendid thing' the last vestige of 'littleness' dropped away from her.'And I will take you,' answered Ross, 'but first you must have food and coffee. Had any lunch?''No,' said Monica, 'and I can't eat till it's settled.''Get your hat on, Meg, and let me deal with this rebellious woman, I'm getting such a dab at it.'She laughed and let him put her in a comfy chair, and ate the food he brought, while he sat beside her and told her all the things he could remember that Charlie had ever said about her, and her eyes were shining when I came down ready for the drive. Yes, the 'Hon. Miss Cunningham' looked a different woman; more exclusive, if you know how that looks.'Oh, Meg,' she said, 'I feel heaps better,' and then shamelessly, 'If Charlie throws me over I shall marry Ross.''Done,' said my brother, 'that's a bargain, mind.'Somehow I don't think the S.P. would approve, do you? Such remarks are not made in the best circles.We were very silent in the car. Once Monica turned to Ross,—'Oh, are you sure that it's only his eyes?'And Ross said simply,—'Quite sure, dear, don't doubt his love,' and took her hand and held it till the car stopped at the hospital. We saw the matron first.'He's very brave,' she said, 'and very very patient, but I'm not happy about him, he's got something on his mind. He asked for a typist the day before yesterday and dictated a letter. He hasn't slept since. You can go up and see him at once if you like.'So Ross and I went up, and the matron promised to bring Monica up in ten minutes. Charlie was lying propped up with pillows in a little room alone. I never saw a face with such a tortured look. It nearly broke my heart.'Who is it?' he asked, turning his poor, bandaged face towards the door, and when I took his hand he said,—'Why, it's Meg and Ross; how jolly of you, dear old things.''Charlie,' I said presently, 'why did you write that letter to Monica?' and as I spoke the door was pushed open a little way and Monica slipped in. He turned his face away.'Meg, I can't discuss that, even with you.''But,' I persisted, 'don't you love her any more?''Love her.MyGod, how can you ask me such a thing, how dare you torture me like that. There's some one in the room,' he added quickly, 'oh, who is it?'And then as Monica put her arms around him, he sighed,—'Ah, my dear love, why have you come to make it harder for me now I must let you go?' As she drew him closer, and he hid his sightless eyes in the warm comfort of her breast, we slipped away and left them.After a little while a message came asking us to go up again. He was back on his pillows and Monica was sitting beside him very quietly. All the tortured look had gone from his face and a great peace was there instead, and a great thankfulness in hers.'Meg,' he cried, with his old laugh, 'how brazen all you modern women are. You never have the vapours like your grandmothers, never faint when you are pressed to name the day, as any lady should. Instead, you come and beg a chap to marry you when he's already said he won't in writing, and bother his life out till he says he will, just to stop the creature chattering. This thing,' he said, groping for Monica's hand, 'says that three arms and two eyes are enough for any couple to start housekeeping on, so—oh, good gracious,couldI have a cigarette; being proposed to is so dashed exhausting.'Then we said good-bye and Monica came down to see us off. Just as she and Ross went out of the room Charlie called me back, and as I leaned over him he said with his old absurdity,—'Isn't it a merciful dispensation that I'm "amphidextrous," Meg? I shall, at least, be able to fish with my left hand,' and then, with a little wave of his old diffidence coming back, he added,—'Wasn't it perfect of Him to give me back Monica?'I couldn't think what he meant, so I said,—'Who, Charlie?''Why, the only Person I can see now, Meg—my Lord.' And I choked as I went down the stairs, because from the rapture in his voice he seemed to think his Lord was worth his eyes.In the train Ross said,—'What angels women are!''Oh, no,' I said, 'it's just the contrast.'When we got home another wire was in the hall addressed to me.'Let me open it,' said Ross, picking it up.'No,' and I snatched it from him and ran up to my room. The dreadful ice was all around my heart again. The horror of a great darkness came upon my mind. I couldn't pray. I tried to quieten all my jangled nerves by saying—Daddy says 'They're underneath, oh, always underneath, those everlasting arms,' and then I read the telegram and flung myself upon the floor beside my bed in an agony of tears.Ross came in and gathered me all up into the shelter of his love.'Oh, Meg, not Michael?''Yes.''Oh, Meg, not killed,' he said again and held me closer.'Oh, no, not killed,' I sobbed. 'He's got the D.S.O. and is coming home in three days' time on leave. Oh, it is such a relief.''You ridiculous child,' said Ross, giving me a little shake, 'oh, you poor, funny little scrap, what an awful fright you gave me. Poor Michael, what a wife he's got who sobs and cries because he's coming home on leave, I'm really sorry for that chap.' And then he picked me up, a crumpled heap, from off the floor, and dumped me on my bed. 'You'll stay there till you've had your dinner, anyhow. Now, don't argue,' he exclaimed, flinging himself into the nearest chair, 'I must have a cigarette. How poor old Solomon got on with all his lot beats me, managing two women in one short afternoon's enough. It is, as Charles would say, "so dashed exhausting."'THREE WEEKS LATERCHAPTER XXIVBut of course I'm not. Why on earth should I be crying after three such perfect weeks. It's only just the smell of Harris tweed again. I caught the whiff of it as I came through the door into the hall alone, after the last sound of Michael's car had died away. I wish I had been allowed to go to London with him, it would have been another hour or so with my beloved. No, I don't really wish it if he didn't. I must be ill, I think, to be so meek.After he went there was a ridiculous telegram from Ross saying that he was returning in time for dinner if it was convenient. Wasn't it absurd of him to take himself off like that the morning Michael came, and only come to dine and sleep twice in three whole weeks. He has had another Board, and the verdict is 'Three to four weeks and massage,' and Sam's M.O. said, 'Three to five weeks and massage.' So there you are! The usual arrangement!But, oh, to think in a very few more weeks I shall have to say 'Good-bye' again to both of them. I can't accept God's will about it. My mind's divorced from His, my wishes in opposition. The constant struggle to feel differently fags me out, but perhaps I shall 'feel better in the morning,' as Mrs Williams used to say.When Ross came in to say 'Good-night,' he said,—'By the way, Meg, how's the novel? Got a plot yet?''No,' I sighed, and thought that Nannie was right that time. There is no plot in women's lives just now. They only say 'Good-bye,' as I have done to-day. For, oh, this book begun as a joke is now no longer a book at all. The written words are just a mirror which reflects some pictures from that thing I call my 'life.' Each chapter is the reflection of a day. You who can read between the lines will understand why some of them are grave and others gay, and how my fickle mood alters with each day's news, or varies with the irregularity of the posts from France. You will know, too, that though each day stands as a single, separate thing, unconnected, as Uncle Jasper would say, 'by a strong plot,' yet eachislinked to each by a great fear and an endeavour to be brave. For those whogohave all the 'plot.' Theirs is the splendid hazard, so to them goes all the high adventure and romance. And we who stay at home have just the giving and the waiting. Yet some one said, 'They also serve who only stand and wait.' Ah, you dear women folk! I know the splendour ofyourwaiting. I have told you a little of the rebellion that's in mine.CHAPTER XXVHere's two-thirds of the merry month of May slipped by! The posts are regular. We have had a glorious telegram to say that father's coming home. The Gidger flourishes like a green bay tree. Ross is better, and the house buzzes and overflows (as the old vicarage used to do) with the jolly men that he asks down to lunch, or to 'dine and sleep,' regardless of the servants. Bless you! they don't mind. They'll always slave for Ross, and 'Our Lady of Ventre' 'dotes upon the military,' so she'll always come and lend a hand. But, and there always is one, isn't there—the roof is not all it ought to be!On Friday a regular S.W. gale got up with raging winds and driving rain, and in the middle of the night I heard a little sound in the powdering closet which leads out of my bedroom. 'That's a mouse,' I said to myself. The sound increased. 'That's a rat,' I thought. A horrid roar shook the room. 'That's a bomb!' I shrieked, thinking it was a raid. I heard Ross's welcome voice at the door, asking me what I had dropped. I hurriedly lighted the lamp and let him in, and we surveyed the wreckage. A big bit of the ceiling of the powdering closet had fallen in, and there was a small hole in the roof through which I could see the stars.'Did you say your prayers, last night,' said Ross.'Of course, I did,' I replied indignantly.'Meg, you couldn't have said the litany of St Christopher. I always do. I never get night alarms, my ceilingnevercomes down.''For goodness' sake say it now then, for there's a huge crack over my bed.'So Ross lifted up his voice and chanted,—'From gholies and ghosties,From long leggity beasties,From things that go bump in the nightSt Christopher deliver us.'We spent an exhausting hour mopping up the water. Ross said he could now sympathise with the other occupants of the Ark when Noah would keep opening the window. After we'd got the place dry Ross said,—'It's nearly one o'clock, Meg; come and have lunch in my room. I've got a thermos full of coffee and some perfectly adorable biscuits—the squashed fly sort.'Ross really thought my ceiling might come down, so he rolled himself up on the nursery sofa, and I spent the rest of the night in his bed. I lay awake for some time groaning in spirit at the thought of the mess and muddle workmen always make, and wondering how much more of the roof was likely to descend on us. Presently I heard Ross whisper outside,—'Meg, are you asleep?''No, I wish I was.''Your grammar seems as defective as your dwelling,' he said, poking his head round the door.'What I came in to say, Meg, was that when the workmen strip that bit of roof you may find the date of the house.'I sat up in bed suddenly. Life seemed rosy once more. 'You angel,' I exclaimed, 'how exciting.''What a ridiculous kid you are, little 'un, up one minute and down the next.''Well, itisexciting. What did you wake me up for if you didn't think so?''I thought you said you weren't asleep!'I pushed him out and shut the door. The thought of the date so consoled me that I went to sleep immediately, but I had one of my dreadful nightmares. I dreamed that the foundations of the house fell outwards with a crash, leaving the walls, which were made of squashed fly biscuits, standing on the date—B.C. .4!'Uncle John' came in to survey the wreckage the next morning, but can't repair the roof till Monday. Then I showed him the crack in my ceiling.'That ain't nothing, mum, surface, that is; I can put a bit of plaster on it now if you like, but it don't need it.'So I decided to dispense with the plaster and to sleep in my own bedroom, but my keeper thought otherwise, so we had words about it.'Ross, whatisthe difference between the air coming in at the roof or coming in at the window?' But there is apparently a most enormous difference, and my brother said,—'You're not going to sleep in that draught. There's a most beastly bug about just now. All the men at Canley barracks are down with it, kind of "'flu," I suppose; you get a frightful cold in your head, and then your tummy gets distended, and you can't button your trousers, and——''Is that the bug you suggest I'm going to get?' I interrupted icily.And then he said I was abominable!I am, however, allowed to sleep in my own room after all, because 'Uncle John' nobly suggested that the powdering closet should be boarded over till he could come and mend the roof, to which my keeper graciously agreed.But half the night I could hear that bug walking up and down in the powdering closet, scratching the boarded door, trying to get in, until I said to it,—'You needn't bother about me. I'm not afraid of you.' And then it started howling, and I discovered that it was Fitzbattleaxe up on that ledge in the chimney again, and he kept me awake for hours.In the morning Ross said he must see if the ledge could not be bricked up somehow. We got a ladder and a light, and he rescued the kitten, who spat at him, and then he said,—'Why, Meg, it's such a wide ledge, and at the back there's a small stone slab which seems to be loose. Shall I see if I can get it out? Give me something to poke it with.'I gave him my best silver button-hook, and he jabbed about and broke it, but he eased out the stone and found behind a little hollow, and—yes—an old deed!—Such a nice one, though quite small.It is an Indenture made the two and twentieth day of January, 1645, in the one and twentieth year of the reign of our sovereign lord Charles by the grace of God of England, Scotland, ffrance, and Ireland, King Defender of the Faith. But the part that intrigues me is that it seems to be a kind of marriage settlement for 'George Albury gives to his wife Mary'—Gidger's cottage—'in consideration of the love and affection he bore her.' So Michael has only been repeating history.But why did Mary put her deed in my chimney? She must have got so grubby doing it. I'm sure her husband hated her to get so dirty, didn't like her little hands so soiled; but perhaps her George was up that winter with King Charles's army and she hid it there for safety, for the times were much disturbed and she was frightened. Women don't like war, I know just how she felt. I wonder what George and Mary Albury thought that other winter morning, four years later, when their sovereign lord, who by the grace of God was King of England, ffrance, and Ireland, was beheaded on the scaffold in Whitehall.And every day now I say, 'Daddy's on his way home,' and Ross says, 'Won't it be rotten if I just miss him?'Yesterday in church the vicar announced that there was an awful outbreak of that bug at the local Red Cross hospital, that all the men were down with it, and nearly all the nurses, and the few of them who had escaped were worked to death. He asked for volunteers to help, not with the nursing, but in the kitchen. I told Ross coming home that I should offer, but he wouldn't hear of it, because Toby once said years ago I ought not to go within a million miles of 'flu. But there are times when I don't take kindly to the snaffle, as Sam would say. However, Ross is going to London to-morrow, so I said no more at the moment, and the conversation wandered off to the education and upbringing of the young.'The poor Gidger doesn't seem to get much bringing up,' said Ross.'Well, you're her godfather,' I retorted, 'you're to blame; why don't you teach her whether her name is N or M?''Oh, she knows her name all right, it's her station in life she doesn't seem to be clear about, thinks she's the Queen of England, I think, same as her mother does.''Ross, darling, you don't really think that she's——''Oh, you silly little ass, Meg.''But I have views on the way a child should be trained.''Then for goodness' sake get rid of them at once.''But all the same,' I persisted, 'I do hate the way modern children are brought up. They've no manners, they are such little pigs at meals, and they're always served first.''Well, the Gidger isn't.''No, but that's not your fault, Ross.'I remembered the first time she came down to lunch I told Sam to serve me first, and then Ross, and then the Poppet. He agreed, and said I was 'Quite right, miss.' So he served me first and then went to Ross, who said, 'You've forgotten the other lady, Sam,' and so, without a word to me, Sam upset all my carefully arranged plans for my daughter's edifying and upbringing, and went to the Gidger just because his master told him to. Ross and I had words about it afterwards, and he said I was a silly little ass, and kissed me for some extraordinary reason.'Doesn't Michael think she is a disappointing kiddie?' said Ross, breaking in upon my reverie, but as I didn't answer the conversation changed to oysters.So the Gidger came down to lunch to-day, and as he is better Brown waited, and in a fit of mental aberration he handed a dish of stewed apricots to her before he had been to me.'No, thank you,' said the Poppet.'It's apricots, miss,' said Brown. 'Miss' never having in all the years of her long life been known to refuse them.'Apricots, miss,' said Sam again.'No, thank you, muvver isn't served.'So I was served, and then the lady who thinks she is the Queen of England condescended to allow her faithful henchman to give her apricots, and my brother, with his usual habit of talking backwards, said,—'You see, Meg, how little you know about bringing them up. If you really had "views," such a thing couldn't have happened. You were always such a nice child yourself, so pretty when you were a baby, such a pity that you've altered so.'Then in a tone of most awful consternation he added, 'Why, Gidger?' for my daughter was in tears.'Uncle Woss' was beside her in a moment, kneeling humbly to the 'Queen of England,' 'Darling, whatisit?' he cried distractedly.'You said muvver wasn't pwetty now.''Oh,' said Ross to me, 'could you go outside, woman, while I comfort this lady?'So I went outside. After he had consoled the lady she went off with Sam, but she wasn't quite happy, so he kneeled down and took a turn at comforting.'I assure you, miss, you've not the slightest occasion to worry. Your uncle always does say just the reverse of what he means—gentlemen do——''But are you sure he thinks muvver is pwetty now?' said the Poppet.'Certainly, miss, not a doubt about it.''Doyouthink she's pwetty, Bwown?''She's perfectly distracting at times, miss; that's why I forgot to serve her first.''Oh, you are my gweatest comfort, Bwown; have you known muvver long?''Can't remember the time when I didn't know her, miss.''Neither can I,' said the Poppet. 'I weally don't know what I should do without you, Bwown.''I'm sure I'm very much obliged, miss,' he said, and kissed her little hands, and then offered to make her another boat or a new doll's house if she'd rather.How do I know that last bit? Why, a little bird told Nannie, and Nannie told me, besides I always know everything. Oh, you silly men, because you don't see the finger on the pulse you don't believe it's there. Why, I know every heartbeat in the house (including Brown's!) and so does every other woman!CHAPTER XXVIRoss departed to London last Monday with Sam. And I took the bit in my teeth and went up by the train after they did. I could see Ross and Sam hanging on to the red lights at the back of the last coach. They catch their trains like that (men always do). I, of course, like every other woman, invariably catch the train before.I went to the Red Cross shop and bought a set of General Service uniform, and when I got home I found 'Uncle John' in a state of great excitement because hehadfound the date in the roof, as Ross had said he might! I went up the ladder to look at it. It is carved roughly on a beam. The wood is in as good a state of preservation as the day it was put in, and some initials (of the man who built the house, I suppose) are carved over it so:—J.H.T.1570Elizabethan, after all!It is such a pity that Ross is away, as I have no one to gloat with me, but when he comes back and rows about the hospital, I shall say,—'Yes, but I've found the date,' and then all will be harmony and love. No one could be angry with a person who had found the date 1570.I have to get up so desperately early in the morning. Nannie is horrid about the whole thing, refuses to call me or help me dress, says she is sure Master Michael won't approve and that she's not going to have any hand in it. However, 1570 consoles me for much, though everything else is rather beastly.So on Tuesday I went to the hospital. It was a vile morning, blowing half a gale and raining. It took me so long to get into the unaccustomed clothes without Nannie that I had to run most of the way to avoid being late.If you were outside a place and wanted to get in, what would you do? Ring the front door bell, of course, you say. Well, that's what I did, but it wasn't right, quite wrong, in fact. The person who opened the door to me seemed to think I must be dotty. I ought to have gone to the back door and taken off my hat and coat in a kind of mausoleum in the yard. By the time I had rectified all these mistakes it was a quarter past eight. I didn't know how the veil ought to be worn either, so I put it on as the nurses did in Ross's hospital in London, which turned out wrong, for when I went to matron for my orders, she snapped,—'Washing up—you're not an army sister yet, and no use at all to me unless you're punctual.'I could see that she meant something horrid, but couldn't think what, and I blushed and stammered like a school child. There was a nice girl in the scullery who came behind the door and altered my veil and tried to console me by saying,—'Matron isn't a bit like that usually, only she's absolutely overdone, as we all are.'Then I started washing up. They had had kippers for breakfast, and I had no idea that they were so disgusting cold, or how impossible it was to prevent water going over one's feet when one emptied a big panful down the sink. By the time I had been at it an hour I was soaking, I could feel it on my skin, and the floor was all awash. A diver's costume would have been really useful. The girls who had been there for months thought I was such a fool. (They do not suffer fools gladly in a military hospital!) They were quite polite, of course, that's why it was so hard. I'm not used to people being polite to me.The only person who was really decent was the charwoman, who was also new that morning, so perhaps she had a fellow feeling. She did not, however, seem to be quite clear as to what a V.A.D. was, for she said,—'Oh, duckie, you are wet; new at it, ain't you? Why don't you buy yourself a mackintosh apron? I did in my first place, they aren't expensive.'Later on, when I had dried up a bit and was cleaning a saucepan with great vigour, she said,—'Nice 'elp you'll be to mother after this, duckie.'I was very bucked at that remark. It's nice to feel that one person, at any rate, believes you to be young enough to be 'a nice 'elp to mother.'At 10.30 a.m. the kitchen staff all came into the scullery and sat on boxes and drank cocoa, and ate bread and dripping (I hid the dripping part of mine) while the orderly and boy scout had theirs in the kitchen. After cocoa I helped with the potatoes and then cleaned saucepan lids. Then I washed up the men's dinner things. They had had Irish stew and suet pudding. Have you ever washed a pudding cloth? My last job was the pig pail! In the happy past when I have gone and loved the little pigs at Uncle Jasper's I never knew there was a pig pail. Ours stands outside the backdoor in the yard. It's rather like a domed cathedral; into it you scrape the kipper skins and bits of bread and fat and apple cores, and things like that.I can do it now without active sickness. By the end of the week, perhaps, I need not shut my eyes or hold my nose.But my hands are disgusting. My finger-nails are in deep mourning and the grease will not come off.On Wednesday I committed the sin that can never be forgiven, for, unaddressed, I spoke to a General in front of matron, and I am to be shot at dawn on Friday.This is what happened. I was just about to replenish the pig pail, trying to screw up my courage to remove the dome from the cathedral, when round the house came matron in a very starched apron with several extra ramrods down her back. With her was a most splendid brass hat—rows of ribbons, gorgets, gold braid, all complete, and there were several other officers. Picture me standing by the pig bucket—I was not too clean. I hadn't got my sleeves on, my arms were streaked with blue bell, and my cap was slightly crooked. Suddenly I looked at the advancing General, and I said quite loudly,—'Toby, dear, what priceless luck!'It was General Sir Tobias Merriwater, K.C.B., D.S.O., M.D., F.R.C.P. All I remembered was that I had known him all my life, and never called him anything but 'Toby'.Suddenly the warm spring day vanished, I was up at the North Pole, or the South one if it's colder, as I saw the matron's face. And then, by way of trying to ease the situation, I dropped the scullery pig pail, showered the kipper skins and apple cores, bits of bread and fat and suet, like rice and rose leaves at a wedding in the pathway of a bride.There was an awful silence, even the officers forgot to be bored, and looked quite interested. I drew back and wished I could get right inside the pig bucket, and shut down the lid.'Ah,' said General Sir Tobias Merriwater to the matron, 'you keep pigs?''Yes, sir,' said she.She was very bright and nice to him. (I understand people are always nice and bright to Generals.)'And this is for them, I suppose. Most commendable, very.' And the retinue passed on.I picked up all the 'rice and rose leaves,' every bit of it by hand, and then I went and told the girl I work with in the scullery. She collapsed into the coal box, saying, 'You'll be shot at dawn,' when a hand cautiously opened the scullery window and a voice said,—'I'll be waiting outside the gate when you go home at one o'clock, and if you would kindly hurry I think it would be better, for I'm very much afraid I shall explode.'So at one o'clock I went outside the gate, whereupon there appeared the unseemly spectacle of the latest V.A.D. hugging the Visiting Committee!'Oh, Toby, it's such pure bliss to see you. I wish I could shake hands,' I said, 'but I really am so filthy.''A kiss of yours is good enough for any man,' said Toby. So of course I kissed him, as I always have, and at that moment matron caught us! Somehow, my luck's dead out. However, I felt as I was not on duty I could hug Generals if I chose, and, anyway, I was to be shot at dawn on Friday, so nothing mattered.So the Visiting Committee came home to lunch with me and stayed to tea, which it hadn't meant to do, and then stayed on for dinner, but it couldn't stop the night, or else it would have. It was delightful to see Toby. When he went he said,—'Darling, you don't look too frightfully well, are you being taken care of properly? You ought not to be going to that beastly hospital when they've got influenza. You're not strong enough. Do you ever faint now?''Never, except once last Thursday.'But I don't think he heard, for he went down to the car and drove away.CHAPTER XXVIIRoss wired to say that he was delayed till Tuesday, and then came on Saturday after all. I was in the hall wondering why I felt so tired and whether I'd bother to change for dinner, when my brother let himself in at the front door, followed by Brown.'Why, Ross, this is a surprise. I didn't expect you to-day!'He had, however, somehow grown deaf during his absence, and merely said,—'Good-evening, Margaret. See to the luggage, will you, Brown,' and walked upstairs, followed by all the dogs.'Has anything happened, Sam?' I asked.'Not in London, miss,' and he handed me the evening paper.Obviously a storm was brewing, so I decided that it was worth while to dress. I put on my best and latest frock. At dinner I was sparkling, and told my brother all about the hospital in my most vivid style. Somehow he didn't think any of it the least amusing. I asked him then if he wasn't sorry to miss Toby, and he informed me that he had had lunch with him at the club in London.Ross was, however, quite polite and civil, more so than he'd been for years, but as to rowing me as I had thought, oh, dear, no; he quite obviously was not interested in me at all, the whole subject of the hospital bored him stiff.I thought I'd see if the date would warm the atmosphere.'Ross, we've had such an excitement while you were away. We've found the date in the roof, and it's 1570.''Oh, really,' he drawled.After that I gave it up. If 1570 wouldn't melt an iceberg, nothing would, so we adjourned to the hall for coffee, and now there sits on one side of the fire, surrounded by ice and snow fields, something which was once my twin, while I sit on the other writing my novel, trying to get thawed, pretending I don't mind a bit.I have such a poisonous headache. I feel so funny! I——* * * * *For ten days I haven't been allowed to write, not even to Michael, and even now I may only do so for a 'very little while.'After my headache I remember nothing till I found myself in bed and Ross making up the fire, still in his old dinner jacket. He looked a giant in the dim light, and I called out to him,—'Why am I in bed if it's dinner time?''It isn't, it's eleven o'clock at night.''Then why are you here, Ross?''You weren't very well, fainted or something naughty, and I'm just going to change and stay with you for a bit.''But I don't want any one to sit up with me.''Sorry,' said the giant firmly.'No, but I mean that I don't need any one.''The doctor's the best judge of that, Meg.''Ross, amIever the best judge of anything?'Not to talk till you're better,' he replied.I said, 'Oh, I shan't be better till I've talked.' So he said I might 'a very little while then.''Have I got the bug?' I asked.'Yes, a minute one, so Nannie mustn't come because of the Gidger; it's nothing to be alarmed about.''I'm not a bit alarmed about the bug, only it always frightens me to faint. You won't leave me when I feel like fainting, will you?' I asked, feeling very like it at the moment. Even an iceberg seems a standby when you're going to faint. Then I began to shake and shiver and felt as if I were slipping down a slope, till Ross held me in his arms to stop me sliding down so fast. When I was a little better I said,—'Oh, don't be angry with me any more.' He was so ridiculous then and teased me, said I must be much worse than the doctor thought, to mind about any one being angry with me.'But I do mind,' I said.He was very sweet to me. I can't think how big things can be so gentle.'Of course, I'm not "angry" with you, darling, only I feel I have so badly bungled things, if you felt it was necessary to go to the hospital without telling me.''But, Ross, if you had been here, you wouldn't have let me go.''Well, of course I wouldn't when you catch the 'flu every time you meet the bug. Michael——''Oh, don't let Michael be angry with me either, I can't bear it.''Oh, Meg, I'm sure your temperature must have gone up miles, I shall have to send the S.P. for the doctor, if you go on being "meek." Has Michael ever been angry with you, you little goose?''No, except about the being taken care of side of things.''Well, don't you see, one must take care of something smaller than oneself. I can't explain, little 'un, only it's in one's blood, and your going to the hospital like that——''Hurt you?''Well, darling, if you make me say it, yes, a little bit.''I wish that I were dead and buried.''The bug always makes a chap feel like that, Meg.''It isn't the bug,' I answered, and cried against his sleeve. 'Oh, could you stop feeling hurt?''It depends how good you're to be in future,' said the giant, grinning. 'Will you do all the things I want you to, the next few days? Will you be a doormat just for once and let me trample on you because you've got the bug?''Yes,' I said meekly.'Oh, my angel,' exclaimed my brother in great amazement, 'I do feel frightfully worried about you, I'm perfectly certain you'll be dead in the morning.'So the list includes a nurse, no letters till I'm told I may, 'a willing spirit' as to letting the doctor decide when I am to get up, and millions of etcs. When I tell you that I took the whole lot 'lying down,' you will know to what deeps that bug has brought me. So I am a doormat, and Ross tramples on me.One day Toby came to see me when I was feeling extra specially ill. Ross sent for him, I found out afterwards. And when he went away and Ross came back into my room he said,—'Oh, Meg, you look heaps better, your eyes are shining so,—why, darling!' For the tears and smiles were all mixed up. But I couldn't tell him why just then, only Toby said he thought the stork might fly into my house again some day if I were careful.
But I can't feel like daddy does about things. I can't trust Him. I don't even want to look at the One who asks if it means I have to give up anything. I love all my family so frightfully that I don't know what I would do if He took any of them away. I only hope I would at least be civil to Him. I never could be 'dutiful' about it. I have never really had a trouble, only that dreadful time when darling mother died, but then Michael came along so soon after that it seemed as if God had only taken away one love to give me back an even more perfect one. But since the war it seems to me that God is so relentless and so jealous. He won't share hearts. He will have all or none, and I am growing to feel that it must be 'none' with me. I am like that soul, pursued by the Hound of Heaven; I fear His 'following feet,' I dread lest having Him I must have naught beside.
CHAPTER XXIII
Twelve days again without a letter, and ah, dear God! the news from France! I kept my promise, and Ross knows, and though he wraps me round with love, it is as if I cannot taste or see or feel, but I can only listen for the post that does not come. It has been a wretched week, several of our friends are killed and many wounded, and to-day at lunch the S.P. brought a telegram, and my heart stopped beating.
'It's Foxhill,' Ross said huskily, looking across at me quickly, and my heart went on again, and then I prayed that I might be forgiven for being glad that it was Charlie and not Michael.
'Not killed,' said Ross, 'but blinded, and his right arm gone above the elbow. He's in London, and would like to see us. Shall we go this afternoon, there's just time to catch the train?'
'Oh, poor Charlie—and poor Monica!' I added and got up. I felt I hated God. Just then a car stopped, and the door bell rang, and presently the S.P. came and said,—
'The Hon. Miss Cunningham is in the drawing-room,' and even at that moment I noticed how she loved to say 'the Honourable,' it was so exclusive. I thought what a beast I was, and said,—
'Monica? oh, my poor Monica.'
She was standing by the window with a frozen look upon her face, very pitiful to see.
'Don't go, Ross,' she said, after he had shaken hands and was preparing to leave us together, 'You know Charlie best. Don't go, it's you I've come to see. You are his greatest friend. Perhaps you can tell me about this, perhaps you know why he has written this to me, who love him so,' and she held out a letter. It was very short, and typed, except the signature, which was very badly written.
'DEAR MONICA,—It was more than good of you to write to me, but I have thought things over very carefully since I received your letter, and have come to the conclusion that it is best for me to say at once that I feel now I cannot marry you. Please do not try to see me, and think of me as kindly as you can.
'CHARLIE.'
'Has he told you, Ross? Doesn't he love me any more?' she said, with quivering lips, pathetic In my proud Monica.
'Monica, dear,' said Ross, 'haven't you heard about his wounds?'
'I have heard nothing since I wrote to him till I got this.'
Then very gently Ross told her about the poor blinded eyes while I kneeled beside her and tried to rub a little warmth into her ice cold hands.
'And I expect,' Ross finished up, 'that he wrote like this because he was half mad with pain knowing that he must give you up.'
'Why should he give me up?' she asked.
'Why, Monica, surely you see that it's the only honourable thing he could do, now that he's so helpless; don't you see, dear, every other man would do the same?'
'Then men are cruel,' I burst out. 'They never think the same as women do. If Monica had married him, would he write like that?'
'Of course not,' said my brother, 'that would be different. She'd have taken him already then for better or for worse.'
'She doesn't wait to take him till she goes to church in orange blossom and satin, she does that when she first tells him she loves him, doesn't she?'
'Of course,' said Monica. 'Are you absolutely sure he loves me, Ross, and that there is no other woman?'
'I did once hear him say he'd rather have the Gidger.'
'Oh, Ross, the comfort of you!' said poor Monica, and laughed and cried together. 'I must go to him,' she added, and as she did this 'splendid thing' the last vestige of 'littleness' dropped away from her.
'And I will take you,' answered Ross, 'but first you must have food and coffee. Had any lunch?'
'No,' said Monica, 'and I can't eat till it's settled.'
'Get your hat on, Meg, and let me deal with this rebellious woman, I'm getting such a dab at it.'
She laughed and let him put her in a comfy chair, and ate the food he brought, while he sat beside her and told her all the things he could remember that Charlie had ever said about her, and her eyes were shining when I came down ready for the drive. Yes, the 'Hon. Miss Cunningham' looked a different woman; more exclusive, if you know how that looks.
'Oh, Meg,' she said, 'I feel heaps better,' and then shamelessly, 'If Charlie throws me over I shall marry Ross.'
'Done,' said my brother, 'that's a bargain, mind.'
Somehow I don't think the S.P. would approve, do you? Such remarks are not made in the best circles.
We were very silent in the car. Once Monica turned to Ross,—
'Oh, are you sure that it's only his eyes?'
And Ross said simply,—
'Quite sure, dear, don't doubt his love,' and took her hand and held it till the car stopped at the hospital. We saw the matron first.
'He's very brave,' she said, 'and very very patient, but I'm not happy about him, he's got something on his mind. He asked for a typist the day before yesterday and dictated a letter. He hasn't slept since. You can go up and see him at once if you like.'
So Ross and I went up, and the matron promised to bring Monica up in ten minutes. Charlie was lying propped up with pillows in a little room alone. I never saw a face with such a tortured look. It nearly broke my heart.
'Who is it?' he asked, turning his poor, bandaged face towards the door, and when I took his hand he said,—
'Why, it's Meg and Ross; how jolly of you, dear old things.'
'Charlie,' I said presently, 'why did you write that letter to Monica?' and as I spoke the door was pushed open a little way and Monica slipped in. He turned his face away.
'Meg, I can't discuss that, even with you.'
'But,' I persisted, 'don't you love her any more?'
'Love her.MyGod, how can you ask me such a thing, how dare you torture me like that. There's some one in the room,' he added quickly, 'oh, who is it?'
And then as Monica put her arms around him, he sighed,—
'Ah, my dear love, why have you come to make it harder for me now I must let you go?' As she drew him closer, and he hid his sightless eyes in the warm comfort of her breast, we slipped away and left them.
After a little while a message came asking us to go up again. He was back on his pillows and Monica was sitting beside him very quietly. All the tortured look had gone from his face and a great peace was there instead, and a great thankfulness in hers.
'Meg,' he cried, with his old laugh, 'how brazen all you modern women are. You never have the vapours like your grandmothers, never faint when you are pressed to name the day, as any lady should. Instead, you come and beg a chap to marry you when he's already said he won't in writing, and bother his life out till he says he will, just to stop the creature chattering. This thing,' he said, groping for Monica's hand, 'says that three arms and two eyes are enough for any couple to start housekeeping on, so—oh, good gracious,couldI have a cigarette; being proposed to is so dashed exhausting.'
Then we said good-bye and Monica came down to see us off. Just as she and Ross went out of the room Charlie called me back, and as I leaned over him he said with his old absurdity,—
'Isn't it a merciful dispensation that I'm "amphidextrous," Meg? I shall, at least, be able to fish with my left hand,' and then, with a little wave of his old diffidence coming back, he added,—
'Wasn't it perfect of Him to give me back Monica?'
I couldn't think what he meant, so I said,—
'Who, Charlie?'
'Why, the only Person I can see now, Meg—my Lord.' And I choked as I went down the stairs, because from the rapture in his voice he seemed to think his Lord was worth his eyes.
In the train Ross said,—
'What angels women are!'
'Oh, no,' I said, 'it's just the contrast.'
When we got home another wire was in the hall addressed to me.
'Let me open it,' said Ross, picking it up.
'No,' and I snatched it from him and ran up to my room. The dreadful ice was all around my heart again. The horror of a great darkness came upon my mind. I couldn't pray. I tried to quieten all my jangled nerves by saying—Daddy says 'They're underneath, oh, always underneath, those everlasting arms,' and then I read the telegram and flung myself upon the floor beside my bed in an agony of tears.
Ross came in and gathered me all up into the shelter of his love.
'Oh, Meg, not Michael?'
'Yes.'
'Oh, Meg, not killed,' he said again and held me closer.
'Oh, no, not killed,' I sobbed. 'He's got the D.S.O. and is coming home in three days' time on leave. Oh, it is such a relief.'
'You ridiculous child,' said Ross, giving me a little shake, 'oh, you poor, funny little scrap, what an awful fright you gave me. Poor Michael, what a wife he's got who sobs and cries because he's coming home on leave, I'm really sorry for that chap.' And then he picked me up, a crumpled heap, from off the floor, and dumped me on my bed. 'You'll stay there till you've had your dinner, anyhow. Now, don't argue,' he exclaimed, flinging himself into the nearest chair, 'I must have a cigarette. How poor old Solomon got on with all his lot beats me, managing two women in one short afternoon's enough. It is, as Charles would say, "so dashed exhausting."'
THREE WEEKS LATER
CHAPTER XXIV
But of course I'm not. Why on earth should I be crying after three such perfect weeks. It's only just the smell of Harris tweed again. I caught the whiff of it as I came through the door into the hall alone, after the last sound of Michael's car had died away. I wish I had been allowed to go to London with him, it would have been another hour or so with my beloved. No, I don't really wish it if he didn't. I must be ill, I think, to be so meek.
After he went there was a ridiculous telegram from Ross saying that he was returning in time for dinner if it was convenient. Wasn't it absurd of him to take himself off like that the morning Michael came, and only come to dine and sleep twice in three whole weeks. He has had another Board, and the verdict is 'Three to four weeks and massage,' and Sam's M.O. said, 'Three to five weeks and massage.' So there you are! The usual arrangement!
But, oh, to think in a very few more weeks I shall have to say 'Good-bye' again to both of them. I can't accept God's will about it. My mind's divorced from His, my wishes in opposition. The constant struggle to feel differently fags me out, but perhaps I shall 'feel better in the morning,' as Mrs Williams used to say.
When Ross came in to say 'Good-night,' he said,—
'By the way, Meg, how's the novel? Got a plot yet?'
'No,' I sighed, and thought that Nannie was right that time. There is no plot in women's lives just now. They only say 'Good-bye,' as I have done to-day. For, oh, this book begun as a joke is now no longer a book at all. The written words are just a mirror which reflects some pictures from that thing I call my 'life.' Each chapter is the reflection of a day. You who can read between the lines will understand why some of them are grave and others gay, and how my fickle mood alters with each day's news, or varies with the irregularity of the posts from France. You will know, too, that though each day stands as a single, separate thing, unconnected, as Uncle Jasper would say, 'by a strong plot,' yet eachislinked to each by a great fear and an endeavour to be brave. For those whogohave all the 'plot.' Theirs is the splendid hazard, so to them goes all the high adventure and romance. And we who stay at home have just the giving and the waiting. Yet some one said, 'They also serve who only stand and wait.' Ah, you dear women folk! I know the splendour ofyourwaiting. I have told you a little of the rebellion that's in mine.
CHAPTER XXV
Here's two-thirds of the merry month of May slipped by! The posts are regular. We have had a glorious telegram to say that father's coming home. The Gidger flourishes like a green bay tree. Ross is better, and the house buzzes and overflows (as the old vicarage used to do) with the jolly men that he asks down to lunch, or to 'dine and sleep,' regardless of the servants. Bless you! they don't mind. They'll always slave for Ross, and 'Our Lady of Ventre' 'dotes upon the military,' so she'll always come and lend a hand. But, and there always is one, isn't there—the roof is not all it ought to be!
On Friday a regular S.W. gale got up with raging winds and driving rain, and in the middle of the night I heard a little sound in the powdering closet which leads out of my bedroom. 'That's a mouse,' I said to myself. The sound increased. 'That's a rat,' I thought. A horrid roar shook the room. 'That's a bomb!' I shrieked, thinking it was a raid. I heard Ross's welcome voice at the door, asking me what I had dropped. I hurriedly lighted the lamp and let him in, and we surveyed the wreckage. A big bit of the ceiling of the powdering closet had fallen in, and there was a small hole in the roof through which I could see the stars.
'Did you say your prayers, last night,' said Ross.
'Of course, I did,' I replied indignantly.
'Meg, you couldn't have said the litany of St Christopher. I always do. I never get night alarms, my ceilingnevercomes down.'
'For goodness' sake say it now then, for there's a huge crack over my bed.'
So Ross lifted up his voice and chanted,—
'From gholies and ghosties,From long leggity beasties,From things that go bump in the nightSt Christopher deliver us.'
'From gholies and ghosties,From long leggity beasties,From things that go bump in the nightSt Christopher deliver us.'
'From gholies and ghosties,
From long leggity beasties,
From things that go bump in the night
St Christopher deliver us.'
We spent an exhausting hour mopping up the water. Ross said he could now sympathise with the other occupants of the Ark when Noah would keep opening the window. After we'd got the place dry Ross said,—
'It's nearly one o'clock, Meg; come and have lunch in my room. I've got a thermos full of coffee and some perfectly adorable biscuits—the squashed fly sort.'
Ross really thought my ceiling might come down, so he rolled himself up on the nursery sofa, and I spent the rest of the night in his bed. I lay awake for some time groaning in spirit at the thought of the mess and muddle workmen always make, and wondering how much more of the roof was likely to descend on us. Presently I heard Ross whisper outside,—
'Meg, are you asleep?'
'No, I wish I was.'
'Your grammar seems as defective as your dwelling,' he said, poking his head round the door.
'What I came in to say, Meg, was that when the workmen strip that bit of roof you may find the date of the house.'
I sat up in bed suddenly. Life seemed rosy once more. 'You angel,' I exclaimed, 'how exciting.'
'What a ridiculous kid you are, little 'un, up one minute and down the next.'
'Well, itisexciting. What did you wake me up for if you didn't think so?'
'I thought you said you weren't asleep!'
I pushed him out and shut the door. The thought of the date so consoled me that I went to sleep immediately, but I had one of my dreadful nightmares. I dreamed that the foundations of the house fell outwards with a crash, leaving the walls, which were made of squashed fly biscuits, standing on the date—B.C. .4!
'Uncle John' came in to survey the wreckage the next morning, but can't repair the roof till Monday. Then I showed him the crack in my ceiling.
'That ain't nothing, mum, surface, that is; I can put a bit of plaster on it now if you like, but it don't need it.'
So I decided to dispense with the plaster and to sleep in my own bedroom, but my keeper thought otherwise, so we had words about it.
'Ross, whatisthe difference between the air coming in at the roof or coming in at the window?' But there is apparently a most enormous difference, and my brother said,—
'You're not going to sleep in that draught. There's a most beastly bug about just now. All the men at Canley barracks are down with it, kind of "'flu," I suppose; you get a frightful cold in your head, and then your tummy gets distended, and you can't button your trousers, and——'
'Is that the bug you suggest I'm going to get?' I interrupted icily.
And then he said I was abominable!
I am, however, allowed to sleep in my own room after all, because 'Uncle John' nobly suggested that the powdering closet should be boarded over till he could come and mend the roof, to which my keeper graciously agreed.
But half the night I could hear that bug walking up and down in the powdering closet, scratching the boarded door, trying to get in, until I said to it,—
'You needn't bother about me. I'm not afraid of you.' And then it started howling, and I discovered that it was Fitzbattleaxe up on that ledge in the chimney again, and he kept me awake for hours.
In the morning Ross said he must see if the ledge could not be bricked up somehow. We got a ladder and a light, and he rescued the kitten, who spat at him, and then he said,—
'Why, Meg, it's such a wide ledge, and at the back there's a small stone slab which seems to be loose. Shall I see if I can get it out? Give me something to poke it with.'
I gave him my best silver button-hook, and he jabbed about and broke it, but he eased out the stone and found behind a little hollow, and—yes—an old deed!—Such a nice one, though quite small.
It is an Indenture made the two and twentieth day of January, 1645, in the one and twentieth year of the reign of our sovereign lord Charles by the grace of God of England, Scotland, ffrance, and Ireland, King Defender of the Faith. But the part that intrigues me is that it seems to be a kind of marriage settlement for 'George Albury gives to his wife Mary'—Gidger's cottage—'in consideration of the love and affection he bore her.' So Michael has only been repeating history.
But why did Mary put her deed in my chimney? She must have got so grubby doing it. I'm sure her husband hated her to get so dirty, didn't like her little hands so soiled; but perhaps her George was up that winter with King Charles's army and she hid it there for safety, for the times were much disturbed and she was frightened. Women don't like war, I know just how she felt. I wonder what George and Mary Albury thought that other winter morning, four years later, when their sovereign lord, who by the grace of God was King of England, ffrance, and Ireland, was beheaded on the scaffold in Whitehall.
And every day now I say, 'Daddy's on his way home,' and Ross says, 'Won't it be rotten if I just miss him?'
Yesterday in church the vicar announced that there was an awful outbreak of that bug at the local Red Cross hospital, that all the men were down with it, and nearly all the nurses, and the few of them who had escaped were worked to death. He asked for volunteers to help, not with the nursing, but in the kitchen. I told Ross coming home that I should offer, but he wouldn't hear of it, because Toby once said years ago I ought not to go within a million miles of 'flu. But there are times when I don't take kindly to the snaffle, as Sam would say. However, Ross is going to London to-morrow, so I said no more at the moment, and the conversation wandered off to the education and upbringing of the young.
'The poor Gidger doesn't seem to get much bringing up,' said Ross.
'Well, you're her godfather,' I retorted, 'you're to blame; why don't you teach her whether her name is N or M?'
'Oh, she knows her name all right, it's her station in life she doesn't seem to be clear about, thinks she's the Queen of England, I think, same as her mother does.'
'Ross, darling, you don't really think that she's——'
'Oh, you silly little ass, Meg.'
'But I have views on the way a child should be trained.'
'Then for goodness' sake get rid of them at once.'
'But all the same,' I persisted, 'I do hate the way modern children are brought up. They've no manners, they are such little pigs at meals, and they're always served first.'
'Well, the Gidger isn't.'
'No, but that's not your fault, Ross.'
I remembered the first time she came down to lunch I told Sam to serve me first, and then Ross, and then the Poppet. He agreed, and said I was 'Quite right, miss.' So he served me first and then went to Ross, who said, 'You've forgotten the other lady, Sam,' and so, without a word to me, Sam upset all my carefully arranged plans for my daughter's edifying and upbringing, and went to the Gidger just because his master told him to. Ross and I had words about it afterwards, and he said I was a silly little ass, and kissed me for some extraordinary reason.
'Doesn't Michael think she is a disappointing kiddie?' said Ross, breaking in upon my reverie, but as I didn't answer the conversation changed to oysters.
So the Gidger came down to lunch to-day, and as he is better Brown waited, and in a fit of mental aberration he handed a dish of stewed apricots to her before he had been to me.
'No, thank you,' said the Poppet.
'It's apricots, miss,' said Brown. 'Miss' never having in all the years of her long life been known to refuse them.
'Apricots, miss,' said Sam again.
'No, thank you, muvver isn't served.'
So I was served, and then the lady who thinks she is the Queen of England condescended to allow her faithful henchman to give her apricots, and my brother, with his usual habit of talking backwards, said,—
'You see, Meg, how little you know about bringing them up. If you really had "views," such a thing couldn't have happened. You were always such a nice child yourself, so pretty when you were a baby, such a pity that you've altered so.'
Then in a tone of most awful consternation he added, 'Why, Gidger?' for my daughter was in tears.
'Uncle Woss' was beside her in a moment, kneeling humbly to the 'Queen of England,' 'Darling, whatisit?' he cried distractedly.
'You said muvver wasn't pwetty now.'
'Oh,' said Ross to me, 'could you go outside, woman, while I comfort this lady?'
So I went outside. After he had consoled the lady she went off with Sam, but she wasn't quite happy, so he kneeled down and took a turn at comforting.
'I assure you, miss, you've not the slightest occasion to worry. Your uncle always does say just the reverse of what he means—gentlemen do——'
'But are you sure he thinks muvver is pwetty now?' said the Poppet.
'Certainly, miss, not a doubt about it.'
'Doyouthink she's pwetty, Bwown?'
'She's perfectly distracting at times, miss; that's why I forgot to serve her first.'
'Oh, you are my gweatest comfort, Bwown; have you known muvver long?'
'Can't remember the time when I didn't know her, miss.'
'Neither can I,' said the Poppet. 'I weally don't know what I should do without you, Bwown.'
'I'm sure I'm very much obliged, miss,' he said, and kissed her little hands, and then offered to make her another boat or a new doll's house if she'd rather.
How do I know that last bit? Why, a little bird told Nannie, and Nannie told me, besides I always know everything. Oh, you silly men, because you don't see the finger on the pulse you don't believe it's there. Why, I know every heartbeat in the house (including Brown's!) and so does every other woman!
CHAPTER XXVI
Ross departed to London last Monday with Sam. And I took the bit in my teeth and went up by the train after they did. I could see Ross and Sam hanging on to the red lights at the back of the last coach. They catch their trains like that (men always do). I, of course, like every other woman, invariably catch the train before.
I went to the Red Cross shop and bought a set of General Service uniform, and when I got home I found 'Uncle John' in a state of great excitement because hehadfound the date in the roof, as Ross had said he might! I went up the ladder to look at it. It is carved roughly on a beam. The wood is in as good a state of preservation as the day it was put in, and some initials (of the man who built the house, I suppose) are carved over it so:—
J.H.T.1570
Elizabethan, after all!
It is such a pity that Ross is away, as I have no one to gloat with me, but when he comes back and rows about the hospital, I shall say,—
'Yes, but I've found the date,' and then all will be harmony and love. No one could be angry with a person who had found the date 1570.
I have to get up so desperately early in the morning. Nannie is horrid about the whole thing, refuses to call me or help me dress, says she is sure Master Michael won't approve and that she's not going to have any hand in it. However, 1570 consoles me for much, though everything else is rather beastly.
So on Tuesday I went to the hospital. It was a vile morning, blowing half a gale and raining. It took me so long to get into the unaccustomed clothes without Nannie that I had to run most of the way to avoid being late.
If you were outside a place and wanted to get in, what would you do? Ring the front door bell, of course, you say. Well, that's what I did, but it wasn't right, quite wrong, in fact. The person who opened the door to me seemed to think I must be dotty. I ought to have gone to the back door and taken off my hat and coat in a kind of mausoleum in the yard. By the time I had rectified all these mistakes it was a quarter past eight. I didn't know how the veil ought to be worn either, so I put it on as the nurses did in Ross's hospital in London, which turned out wrong, for when I went to matron for my orders, she snapped,—
'Washing up—you're not an army sister yet, and no use at all to me unless you're punctual.'
I could see that she meant something horrid, but couldn't think what, and I blushed and stammered like a school child. There was a nice girl in the scullery who came behind the door and altered my veil and tried to console me by saying,—
'Matron isn't a bit like that usually, only she's absolutely overdone, as we all are.'
Then I started washing up. They had had kippers for breakfast, and I had no idea that they were so disgusting cold, or how impossible it was to prevent water going over one's feet when one emptied a big panful down the sink. By the time I had been at it an hour I was soaking, I could feel it on my skin, and the floor was all awash. A diver's costume would have been really useful. The girls who had been there for months thought I was such a fool. (They do not suffer fools gladly in a military hospital!) They were quite polite, of course, that's why it was so hard. I'm not used to people being polite to me.
The only person who was really decent was the charwoman, who was also new that morning, so perhaps she had a fellow feeling. She did not, however, seem to be quite clear as to what a V.A.D. was, for she said,—
'Oh, duckie, you are wet; new at it, ain't you? Why don't you buy yourself a mackintosh apron? I did in my first place, they aren't expensive.'
Later on, when I had dried up a bit and was cleaning a saucepan with great vigour, she said,—
'Nice 'elp you'll be to mother after this, duckie.'
I was very bucked at that remark. It's nice to feel that one person, at any rate, believes you to be young enough to be 'a nice 'elp to mother.'
At 10.30 a.m. the kitchen staff all came into the scullery and sat on boxes and drank cocoa, and ate bread and dripping (I hid the dripping part of mine) while the orderly and boy scout had theirs in the kitchen. After cocoa I helped with the potatoes and then cleaned saucepan lids. Then I washed up the men's dinner things. They had had Irish stew and suet pudding. Have you ever washed a pudding cloth? My last job was the pig pail! In the happy past when I have gone and loved the little pigs at Uncle Jasper's I never knew there was a pig pail. Ours stands outside the backdoor in the yard. It's rather like a domed cathedral; into it you scrape the kipper skins and bits of bread and fat and apple cores, and things like that.
I can do it now without active sickness. By the end of the week, perhaps, I need not shut my eyes or hold my nose.
But my hands are disgusting. My finger-nails are in deep mourning and the grease will not come off.
On Wednesday I committed the sin that can never be forgiven, for, unaddressed, I spoke to a General in front of matron, and I am to be shot at dawn on Friday.
This is what happened. I was just about to replenish the pig pail, trying to screw up my courage to remove the dome from the cathedral, when round the house came matron in a very starched apron with several extra ramrods down her back. With her was a most splendid brass hat—rows of ribbons, gorgets, gold braid, all complete, and there were several other officers. Picture me standing by the pig bucket—I was not too clean. I hadn't got my sleeves on, my arms were streaked with blue bell, and my cap was slightly crooked. Suddenly I looked at the advancing General, and I said quite loudly,—
'Toby, dear, what priceless luck!'
It was General Sir Tobias Merriwater, K.C.B., D.S.O., M.D., F.R.C.P. All I remembered was that I had known him all my life, and never called him anything but 'Toby'.
Suddenly the warm spring day vanished, I was up at the North Pole, or the South one if it's colder, as I saw the matron's face. And then, by way of trying to ease the situation, I dropped the scullery pig pail, showered the kipper skins and apple cores, bits of bread and fat and suet, like rice and rose leaves at a wedding in the pathway of a bride.
There was an awful silence, even the officers forgot to be bored, and looked quite interested. I drew back and wished I could get right inside the pig bucket, and shut down the lid.
'Ah,' said General Sir Tobias Merriwater to the matron, 'you keep pigs?'
'Yes, sir,' said she.
She was very bright and nice to him. (I understand people are always nice and bright to Generals.)
'And this is for them, I suppose. Most commendable, very.' And the retinue passed on.
I picked up all the 'rice and rose leaves,' every bit of it by hand, and then I went and told the girl I work with in the scullery. She collapsed into the coal box, saying, 'You'll be shot at dawn,' when a hand cautiously opened the scullery window and a voice said,—
'I'll be waiting outside the gate when you go home at one o'clock, and if you would kindly hurry I think it would be better, for I'm very much afraid I shall explode.'
So at one o'clock I went outside the gate, whereupon there appeared the unseemly spectacle of the latest V.A.D. hugging the Visiting Committee!
'Oh, Toby, it's such pure bliss to see you. I wish I could shake hands,' I said, 'but I really am so filthy.'
'A kiss of yours is good enough for any man,' said Toby. So of course I kissed him, as I always have, and at that moment matron caught us! Somehow, my luck's dead out. However, I felt as I was not on duty I could hug Generals if I chose, and, anyway, I was to be shot at dawn on Friday, so nothing mattered.
So the Visiting Committee came home to lunch with me and stayed to tea, which it hadn't meant to do, and then stayed on for dinner, but it couldn't stop the night, or else it would have. It was delightful to see Toby. When he went he said,—
'Darling, you don't look too frightfully well, are you being taken care of properly? You ought not to be going to that beastly hospital when they've got influenza. You're not strong enough. Do you ever faint now?'
'Never, except once last Thursday.'
But I don't think he heard, for he went down to the car and drove away.
CHAPTER XXVII
Ross wired to say that he was delayed till Tuesday, and then came on Saturday after all. I was in the hall wondering why I felt so tired and whether I'd bother to change for dinner, when my brother let himself in at the front door, followed by Brown.
'Why, Ross, this is a surprise. I didn't expect you to-day!'
He had, however, somehow grown deaf during his absence, and merely said,—
'Good-evening, Margaret. See to the luggage, will you, Brown,' and walked upstairs, followed by all the dogs.
'Has anything happened, Sam?' I asked.
'Not in London, miss,' and he handed me the evening paper.
Obviously a storm was brewing, so I decided that it was worth while to dress. I put on my best and latest frock. At dinner I was sparkling, and told my brother all about the hospital in my most vivid style. Somehow he didn't think any of it the least amusing. I asked him then if he wasn't sorry to miss Toby, and he informed me that he had had lunch with him at the club in London.
Ross was, however, quite polite and civil, more so than he'd been for years, but as to rowing me as I had thought, oh, dear, no; he quite obviously was not interested in me at all, the whole subject of the hospital bored him stiff.
I thought I'd see if the date would warm the atmosphere.
'Ross, we've had such an excitement while you were away. We've found the date in the roof, and it's 1570.'
'Oh, really,' he drawled.
After that I gave it up. If 1570 wouldn't melt an iceberg, nothing would, so we adjourned to the hall for coffee, and now there sits on one side of the fire, surrounded by ice and snow fields, something which was once my twin, while I sit on the other writing my novel, trying to get thawed, pretending I don't mind a bit.
I have such a poisonous headache. I feel so funny! I——
* * * * *
For ten days I haven't been allowed to write, not even to Michael, and even now I may only do so for a 'very little while.'
After my headache I remember nothing till I found myself in bed and Ross making up the fire, still in his old dinner jacket. He looked a giant in the dim light, and I called out to him,—
'Why am I in bed if it's dinner time?'
'It isn't, it's eleven o'clock at night.'
'Then why are you here, Ross?'
'You weren't very well, fainted or something naughty, and I'm just going to change and stay with you for a bit.'
'But I don't want any one to sit up with me.'
'Sorry,' said the giant firmly.
'No, but I mean that I don't need any one.'
'The doctor's the best judge of that, Meg.'
'Ross, amIever the best judge of anything?
'Not to talk till you're better,' he replied.
I said, 'Oh, I shan't be better till I've talked.' So he said I might 'a very little while then.'
'Have I got the bug?' I asked.
'Yes, a minute one, so Nannie mustn't come because of the Gidger; it's nothing to be alarmed about.'
'I'm not a bit alarmed about the bug, only it always frightens me to faint. You won't leave me when I feel like fainting, will you?' I asked, feeling very like it at the moment. Even an iceberg seems a standby when you're going to faint. Then I began to shake and shiver and felt as if I were slipping down a slope, till Ross held me in his arms to stop me sliding down so fast. When I was a little better I said,—
'Oh, don't be angry with me any more.' He was so ridiculous then and teased me, said I must be much worse than the doctor thought, to mind about any one being angry with me.
'But I do mind,' I said.
He was very sweet to me. I can't think how big things can be so gentle.
'Of course, I'm not "angry" with you, darling, only I feel I have so badly bungled things, if you felt it was necessary to go to the hospital without telling me.'
'But, Ross, if you had been here, you wouldn't have let me go.'
'Well, of course I wouldn't when you catch the 'flu every time you meet the bug. Michael——'
'Oh, don't let Michael be angry with me either, I can't bear it.'
'Oh, Meg, I'm sure your temperature must have gone up miles, I shall have to send the S.P. for the doctor, if you go on being "meek." Has Michael ever been angry with you, you little goose?'
'No, except about the being taken care of side of things.'
'Well, don't you see, one must take care of something smaller than oneself. I can't explain, little 'un, only it's in one's blood, and your going to the hospital like that——'
'Hurt you?'
'Well, darling, if you make me say it, yes, a little bit.'
'I wish that I were dead and buried.'
'The bug always makes a chap feel like that, Meg.'
'It isn't the bug,' I answered, and cried against his sleeve. 'Oh, could you stop feeling hurt?'
'It depends how good you're to be in future,' said the giant, grinning. 'Will you do all the things I want you to, the next few days? Will you be a doormat just for once and let me trample on you because you've got the bug?'
'Yes,' I said meekly.
'Oh, my angel,' exclaimed my brother in great amazement, 'I do feel frightfully worried about you, I'm perfectly certain you'll be dead in the morning.'
So the list includes a nurse, no letters till I'm told I may, 'a willing spirit' as to letting the doctor decide when I am to get up, and millions of etcs. When I tell you that I took the whole lot 'lying down,' you will know to what deeps that bug has brought me. So I am a doormat, and Ross tramples on me.
One day Toby came to see me when I was feeling extra specially ill. Ross sent for him, I found out afterwards. And when he went away and Ross came back into my room he said,—
'Oh, Meg, you look heaps better, your eyes are shining so,—why, darling!' For the tears and smiles were all mixed up. But I couldn't tell him why just then, only Toby said he thought the stork might fly into my house again some day if I were careful.