Читать книгу Bracken Turning Brown - Pamela Wynne - Страница 8

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Susan was frightened when Millicent’s telegram arrived. It was brought up by the daughter of the postmistress, a fat girl of twelve who stood and stared past her into the dreary tiled hall. It had caused excitement in the post office, as no one had ever been to stay at the Rectory except a stray parson or so.

“Wait a minute,” said Susan, and she turned and rushed into the kitchen. “Rachel, how can I stop her?” she gasped.

“You can’t,” said Rachel laconically, and she lifted her eyes from the flimsy paper to the fat white clock on the wall. “She’s on her way by now, and a very good thing, too, if you ask my opinion, Ma’am.”

“Rachel!”

“I mean it,” said Rachel. “Send Nellie away, Ma’am; tell her there’s no answer. And then we’ll get busy about it. Why, Ma’am,” and Rachel’s nice rosy face broke into a broad smile, “weren’t we arranging to take visitors only a few days ago?” she said.

“Yes, but not my own family.”

“I’ll tell the girl there’s no answer,” said Rachel, walking out of the kitchen. Rachel knew the curiosity with which the villagers regarded the Rectory. Nellie stood there staring eagerly into the hall.

“No answer, thank you, Nellie,” said Rachel firmly and closed the front door. It closed with a clang and a rattling of the top of the letter box. The study door opened and the Rector stood there.

“Anyone for me, Rachel?” His thin face was pale and eager.

“No, sir.”

“What was it, then?”

“The mistress has had a telegram from her sister Millicent to say that she’s arriving to-day for a little visit,” said Rachel calmly.

“Here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, but——”

“She will have started by now, sir,” said Rachel, and she stood there solid and uncompromising.

“Yes, but,” and then the Rector went back into his study and shut the door of it. He stood there with his lips trembling and his eyes full of a great fear. One of her sisters coming: perhaps sent on purpose to find out ... And then he turned. His wife stood there.

“Did Rachel tell you, Arthur?”

“Yes.”

“It will be all right,” said Susan suddenly. “After all ...”

“After all, what?” said the Rector loudly. His fear made him speak loudly. A slinking horror of himself and of the life he led. And yet—God would make allowances. That man with whom he had waited until the very end, early that morning. Holding his hard frightened hand in his. “A God of love, Johnson, don’t you forget it for one moment. Waiting to lead you the little bit of the way along which I can’t come with you. Ah, that I could ...” and then in that tiny cottage bedroom the Rector had prayed with the tears standing hot on his own eyelashes. Ah, how wretched he was: how unutterably hopelessly wretched! Like a vice it held him; seeming to jeer at his efforts to wrench himself free from it. Although that morning as he had come through the still narrow lane underneath the mountains, the sun just showing pale and gold over the clear dark line of it, he had felt very definitely that God was near him. Sorry for him. Tenderly sorry as a kind father is sorry for his son when he seems to make, more than usual, a fool of himself.

“It will be all right,” said Susan again. What was it that made it impossible for her to say to her husband what she would like to say? That at any cost he must not let Millicent see him the worse for drink. That although they both knew the terror that lurked in the house it must remain a hidden terror. She gazed at her husband and wondered why two people who were husband and wife could be such utter strangers.

“I don’t understand what you mean when you keep on repeating that it will be all right,” said the Rector; and tall and thin he stood there and passionately wished that his wife would go away and leave him alone.

“Well, I don’t know, what I do mean,” said Susan stupidly, and then she went away and shut the door of the study. The hall was cold, frightfully cold. How ugly; how stupefyingly hideously ugly it was, she thought passionately. What would Millicent think of it? Millicent, who was the one who had always had ideas. Who had started the idea of having a notice-board on the landing outside their bedrooms, on which were pinned ridiculous notices of things that they all had to sell? A pair of old bedroom slippers for sixpence. When she, Susan, had married she had advertised masses of things to sell; the board had been quite covered with them. Fun ... such frantic fun. It had always been fun at home, thought Susan, suddenly remembering it. And now perhaps it would be fun again. She had always got on well with her younger sister; Millicent had come next to her. And now she was coming to stay, although she had been practically told that she couldn’t. It had been taken out of Susan’s hands. Suddenly feeling amazingly light-hearted Susan went bolting back into the kitchen.

And meanwhile Millicent was enjoying the journey. It was a long way from Warwickshire to Cumberland, although the trains were very convenient. Millicent was due at Keswick at half-past six in the evening, and it was now about two. She had brought her lunch with her and had eaten it in a crowded third-class carriage without minding in the least. People stared, so Millicent stared back. Her pale face was not nearly so pale as when she started. She felt better already. A journey always amused her. She liked the way the train raced up the Shap Fells. She liked the tang in the air when she let down the window. She smiled all over her cheerful little face when the lady opposite to her shuffled her feet and drew her collar closer up round her neck.

“Are you cold?” she inquired, and cheerfully shut the window again. It was easy to be good-tempered when it was all such fun, thought Millicent. What a mercy she had come, and not stopped to think about it. A whole heavenly month away in quite a new place. The compartment was suffocating; she would go out into the corridor for a bit. Millicent stepped politely over a barrier of rather hostile feet and emerged with a feeling of relief. It was fun to lean on the fat brass bar and stare out of the bigger windows. Oxenholme; they went tearing through it; the scream of the whistle left floating on the air behind them. And what air.... Millicent thrust a jubilant head out, staring ahead of her.

But in less than a minute she had it back again. By now Millicent was a little farther down the corridor. Sir Pelham Brooke alone in his first-class compartment wondered who the thin girl was who had suddenly pulled in her head and leaned against his window. He watched her from his seat in the corner. Something in her eye; from behind his Times he watched her more closely. A relief to be able to look at something and be interested. The Times hurt his eyes; he could only skim over the headings.

“My eye,” Millicent had turned her scarlet face to the window of the compartment against which she was leaning. There was a man there; he must get it out. There was a simplicity about Millicent that had made her many friends. She stood with her handkerchief to her face and stared in.

“Can I help you?” Sir Pelham had got up from his seat. He had nice hands, thought Millicent, watching them on the fastening of the door. He slid it back and lifted his hat.

“I’ve got something in my eye,” said Millicent.

“Let me see if I can get it out.” Sir Pelham had a very nice voice. He took Millicent by the elbow and led her into his compartment. “Unwise to put your head out of the window,” he said, and sat down beside her.

“I know,” Millicent was blowing her nose. Her clogged and flattened eyelashes lay on her cheek.

“I know it’s easier said than done. But try and open it,” said Sir Pelham. He had his silk handkerchief crumpled in his hand. “Now then,” he said, and deftly he lifted the quivering lid.

“Oh!”

“A huge chunk of coal,” said Sir Pelham, and there was satisfaction in his voice. He had forgotten to think about his own sight in his anxiety to help the child.

“Oh, do let me see?” Millicent was blowing her nose again. She wiped her streaming eyes and stared eagerly at the twisted corner of the handkerchief.

“There it is.”

“Why, it’s huge!” said Millicent. She smiled engagingly. “How kind of you,” she said. “And now I must go. I’m in a ghastly third-class compartment full of people who won’t have the window open. If the guard finds me here he will be furious.”

“Sit still for a minute or two,” said Sir Pelham. “I’ll explain it to the guard if he comes along. How does it feel now?”

“Quite all right.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Splendid,” said Sir Pelham, feeling an odd reluctance to let Millicent go. He had left London that morning with a passion of regret. His office—his beautiful rooms overlooking the river, handed over to a colleague for whom he had a great liking. A year ... who knew what might not have happened before the end of that year? Certainly he had had a huge practice and had made his name. But names were soon forgotten. What a blessed mercy he had saved, he thought, sitting back in the taxi as it slid along the squalid streets towards Euston. And a mercy that he knew and liked the Ferry Hotel at Ullswater. But after all you could not stay at an hotel indefinitely. Somehow he shrank from accepting the hospitality that was instantly showered on him the moment people had heard of the doctor’s verdict. After all, if you stayed with people you had to make yourself fairly agreeable. You could not inflict on them your private miseries and heartaches. No, the best thing to do was to go away and fight the thing out alone and then emerge and face the world again more or less master of one’s own miseries and regrets. But Millicent amused him. She had a round face like a kitten’s and the same placid gaze. She was gently bred and she sat neatly on the fat cushions of the well-upholstered seat.

“Are you going far?” Sir Pelham was smiling.

“Yes, I’m going to stay with my sister in the Lakes,” said Millicent. And then she shot a frightened gaze through the thick plate-glass window. “Here’s the guard,” she said.

“Why not move your things along to this compartment,” said Sir Pelham. “As a matter of fact,” and then, as the guard slid back the door, he smiled. “I have reserved the whole compartment,” he said, “I admit it was very extravagant of me, but then I dislike being chock-a-block with people I don’t know. Therefore there would be no objection, would there, guard, to this young lady changing from her third-class compartment into mine?”

“Not the slightest, sir,” said the guard, who knew Sir Pelham very well by sight. “Has the young lady had an accident?” he examined with official interest Millicent’s red face and slightly inflamed eye.

“A large lump of coal in her eye, which I was fortunate enough to get out,” said Sir Pelham cheerfully.

“Then I’ll bring the young lady’s things along,” said the guard briskly and departed to collect them. While Millicent stared excitedly at the tall man who smiled down at her.

“Can I really travel in here without paying?” she asked, and her young face flushed.

“If you will.”

“But I should simply adore it,” exclaimed Millicent. “Why, I’ve never travelled First before. How I wish the journey wasn’t nearly over.”

“But it isn’t,” said Sir Pelham. “It’s only half-past three and we don’t get to Keswick until half-past six.”

“Are you going to Keswick, too?”

“Nearly to Keswick. I get out at a station called Troutbeck just before you get there,” smiled Sir Pelham. Accustomed to studying the faces of those with whom he had to deal he felt perfectly at ease with Millicent. She was young and unsophisticated, and would divert him. He smiled again as he settled himself in the corner opposite to her.

“This is positive bliss,” remarked Millicent. “As I say, I have never travelled First before.”

“No?”

“No,” and then Millicent became conversational. As the train fled through the beautiful scenery Millicent leaned innocently forward and poured it all out. How she had had influenza and had felt utterly wretched. How that an aunt had offered to pay for her to have a holiday. How that her sister hadn’t seemed to want her, but that she had just decided to go. “Because, you know——” and then Millicent hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Well, you see my sister married a clergyman two years ago and we’ve none of us seen her since,” said Millicent. “To my mind there’s something odd about that and I want to see what’s going on.”

“Quite.”

“What could be going on?” said Millicent ruminantly.

“Nothing,” said Sir Pelham. Although in an instant his well-trained mind had made a leap. Some hidden grief eating up the life and hope of this child’s sister. Hidden away in a sheltered valley of the most beautiful part of the Lake District. Hoping to be left to it, and now this keen-eyed child descending on her like a gust of wind.

“Why do you say ‘nothing’?” inquired Millicent.

“Because what should there be?” replied Sir Pelham. He smiled across the little space that separated him from Millicent. Such bright inquiring eyes and ingenious mouth. These children must have a delightful father, he decided. Millicent’s frank and innocent description of the Rectory in Warwickshire and her evident devotion to her widowed father had brought it all vividly before his eyes. Sir Pelham suddenly discovered that his head and eyes no longer ached. That he no longer felt old and derelict and as if he had been shoved into a corner with a collection of unwanted rubbish.

“Well, it might be that Susan had found out that instead of loving him as she thought she did she only tolerates him,” said Millicent shrewdly. “Or ...”

“Well?”

“I’m not at all sure that there wasn’t something funny about Arthur’s eyes,” said Millicent meditatively. “When you looked straight at him you noticed it. They slid away from you when you didn’t expect them to.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I expect you are blessed with a vivid imagination,” smiled Sir Pelham. “May I smoke?”

“In your own railway carriage? Of course you may,” chuckled Millicent.

“May I offer you one?” Millicent’s eyes dwelt rapturously on the slender gold cigarette case extended.

“No, thank you, I don’t often smoke,” said Millicent. Her eyes suddenly wandered.

“Would it be rude of me to ask you who you were?” she inquired.

“Not in the least. My name is Brooke,” through the haze of fragrant smoke Sir Pelham’s tired eyes smiled.

“Your Christian name?”

“No, my surname. My Christian name is Pelham.”

“Pelham?” and then Millicent’s gaze was riveted. “Not Sir Pelham Brooke?” she gasped.

“Yes, why?”

“The man who got off the woman who murdered her husband. Good heavens ...” Millicent suddenly dropped back against the padded cushions and stared wildly at the man sitting opposite to her.

And now for the first time since he could remember Sir Pelham was laughing uncontrollably. Healing joyous laughter that filled his lungs and his soul with a sudden sensation of well-being. He wiped his eyes and coughed and laughed again. “I can’t have done it very well if that’s the decision you came to,” he said, and his eyes were suddenly clear and full of merriment.

“But didn’t you know she had done it?” said Millicent And then her eyes darkened. “He was a devil and a fiend,” she said. “Of course she did it, and quite right, too.”

“Why read about such things?” said Sir Pelham, quietly. He felt a little weary after his sudden outburst. He drew in a long breath of smoke and let it linger in his lungs.

“Because I like to know what is going on,” said Millicent decidedly. “I’ve always felt that. Susan is older than me and yet I’m miles older than she is, really. She’s always been sort of dreamy ... expecting everything to be marvellous, and plunged into the depths if it isn’t. Well, I don’t believe in that. That means awful agony when you find out that things aren’t as nice as you expect them to be. I like to go along expecting things to be sort of ordinary, and then when they aren’t you’re in a transport.”

“Very sensible,” smiled Sir Pelham. And then as the train flung itself through a tiny wayside station he leaned forward and crushed the still burning end of his cigarette into the tiny brass ash tray fastened to the panel of the door. “Tea,” he said briefly. “Don’t you think so?”

“In here?”

“Of course,” said Sir Pelham, and again his smile was very charming.

“Tea in a first-class railway carriage with the most famous barrister in the world is almost more than I can bear,” said Millicent dramatically, and she sat very straight up on the seat and clasped her neatly gloved hands in her lap.

And again Sir Pelham was laughing. Healing, restoring laughter that swept through him like a fresh breeze and set his soul and spirit dancing.