The New Warden. Ritchie David George
Dashwood put her hand out for a scarf she had thrown on to a chair; the way she moved her feet, moved her head; the way her plain black dress and the long plain coat hung about her, her manner of looking at Gwen and accepting her as a person whom she was about to know, all this mysterious "cachet" of her personality – made Gwen uneasy. Besides this elegant woman was not exactly elderly – about twenty-eight perhaps. Gwen was very much disconcerted at this unexpected complication at the Lodgings – her life had been for the last few months since she left school in July, crowded with difficulties.
"I don't think I want that man to speak," said Mrs. Dashwood, turning her head to look back at the portrait.
"What a funny thing to say!" thought Gwen, about a mere portrait, and she sniggled a little. "He's got a ghost," she said aloud. "Hasn't he, Lady Dashwood?"
"No," said Lady Dashwood briefly. "He hasn't got a ghost. The college has got a ghost – "
"Oh, yes," said Gwen, "I mean that, of course."
"If the ghost is – all that remains of the gentleman over the fireplace," said Mrs. Dashwood, "I hope he doesn't appear often." She was still glancing back at the portrait.
"Isn't it exciting?" said Gwen. "The ghost appears whenever anything is going to happen – "
"My dear Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, "in that case the ghost might as well bring his bag and baggage and remain here."
"What sort of ghost?" asked Mrs. Dashwood.
"Oh, only an eighteenth-century ghost – the ghost of the college barber," said Lady Dashwood. "When that man was Warden, the college barber went and cut his throat in the Warden's Library."
"What for?" asked Mrs. Dashwood simply.
"Because the Warden insisted on his doing the Fellows' hair in the new elaborate style of the period – on his old wages."
Mrs. Dashwood pondered, still looking at the portrait.
"I should have cut the Warden's throat – not my own," she said, "if I had, on my old wages, to curl and crimp instead of merely putting a bowl on the gentlemen's heads and snipping round."
"But he had his revenge," said Gwen eagerly, "he comes and shows himself in the Library when a Warden dies."
Lady Dashwood had not during these last few minutes been really thinking of the Warden or of the college barber, nor of his ghost. She was thinking that it was characteristic of Gwen to be excited by and interested in a silly ghost story – and it was equally characteristic of her to be unable to tell the story correctly.
"He is supposed to appear in the Library when anything disastrous is going to happen to a Warden," she said, and no sooner were the words out of her mouth than she paused and began thinking of what she was saying. "Anything disastrous to a Warden!" She had not thought of the matter before – Jim was now Warden! Anything disastrous! A marriage may be a disaster. Death is not so disastrous as utter disappointment with life and the pain of an empty heart!
"Come along, May," she said, trying to suppress a shiver that went through her frame. "Come along, May. Goodness gracious, it's nearly eight o'clock and we are going to dine at eight fifteen!"
"I can dress in two shakes," said May Dashwood.
"I've asked Mr. Boreham," said Lady Dashwood, pushing her niece gently before her towards the door and blessing her – in her under-thoughts ("Bless you, May, dear dear May!"). "He talked so much about you the other day," she went on aloud, "that when I got your wire – I felt bound to ask him – I hope you don't mind."
"Nobody does mind Mr. Boreham," said May. "I haven't seen him – for years."
"You know his aunt left him Chartcote, so he has taken to haunting Oxford for the last three months. Talk of ghosts – "
Then the door closed behind the two ladies and Gwen was left alone in the drawing-room. She went up to the clock. It was striking eight. Fifteen minutes and nothing to do! She would go and see if there were any letters. She went outside. Letters by the first post and by the last post were all placed on a table at the head of the staircase. Gwen went and looked at the table. Letters there were, all for the Warden! No! there was one for her, from her mother. She opened it nervously. Was it a scolding about losing that umbrella? Gwen began to read:
"My dear Gwen,
"I hope you understand that Lady Dashwood will keep you till the 3rd. You don't mention the Warden! Does that mean that you are making no progress in that direction? Perhaps taking no trouble!
"The question is, where you will go on the 3rd?"
Here Gwen's heart gave a thump of alarm and dismay.
"It is all off with your cousin Bridget. She writes that she can't have you, because she has to be in town unexpectedly. This is only an excuse. I am disappointed but not surprised, after that record behaviour to me when the war broke out and after promising that I should be in her show in France, and then backing out of it. Exactly why, I found out only yesterday! You remember that General X. had actually to separate two of the 'angels' that were flitting about on their work of mercy and had come to blows over it. Well, one of the two was your cousin Bridget. That didn't get photographed in the papers. It would have looked sweet. But now I'm going to give you a scolding. Bridget did get wind of your muddling about at the Ringwood's little hospital this summer, and spending all your time and energy on a man who I told you was no use. What's the good of talking any more about it? I've talked till I'm blue – and yet you will no doubt go and do the same thing again.
"I ought not to have to tell you that if you do come across any stray Undergraduates, don't go for them. Nothing will come of it. Try and keep this in your noddle. Go for Dr. Middleton – men of that age are often silliest about girls – and don't simply go mooning along. Then why did you go and lose your umbrella? You have nothing in this wide world to think of but to keep yourself and your baggage together.
"It's the second you have lost this year. I can't afford another. You must 'borrow' one. Your new winter rig-out is more than I can afford. I'm being dunned for bills that have only run two years. Why can't I make you realise all this? What is the matter with you? Give the maid who waits on you half a crown, nothing to the butler. Lady D. is sure to see you off – and you can leave the taxi to her. Leave your laundry bill at the back of a drawer – as if you had mislaid it. I will send you a P.O. for your ticket to Stow."
Here Gwen made a pause, for her heart was thumping loudly.
"There's nothing for it but to go to Nana's cottage at Stow for the moment. I know it's beastly dull for you – but it's partly your own fault that you are to have a dose of Stow. I'm full up for two months and more, but I'll see what I can do for you at once. I am writing to Mrs. Greenleafe Potten, to ask her if she will have you for a week on Monday, but I'm afraid she won't. At Stow you won't need anything but a few stamps and a penny for Sunday collection. I've written to Nana. She only charges me ten shillings a week for you. She will mend up your clothes and make two or three blouses for you into the bargain. Don't attempt to help her. They must be done properly. Get on with that flannelette frock for the Serb relief. Address me still here.
Nana's cottage at Stow! Thatch smelling of the November rains; a stuffy little parlour with a smoky fire. Forlorn trees outside shedding their last leaves into the ditch at the side of the lane. Her old nurse, nearly stone deaf, as her sole companion.
Gwen felt her knees trembling under her. Her eyes smarted and a great sob came into her throat. She had no home. Nobody wanted her!
CHAPTER III
PASSIONATE PITY
A tear fell upon the envelope in her hand, and one fell upon the red carpet under her feet. She must try and not cry, crying made one ugly. She must go to her room as quickly as she could.
Then came noiselessly out from the curtained door at Gwen's right hand the figure of Dr. Middleton. He was already dressed for dinner, his face composed and dignified as usual, but preoccupied as if the business of the day was not over. There were these letters waiting for him on the table. He came on, and Gwen,