Priorsford (Historical Novel). O. Douglas
in the morning.' The girl agreed politely, and asked if she were to come to The Rigs in the morning, or work at The Neuk.
'Well--when things are in their usual place I'll come to you every morning, just as I do at home, but to-morrow--to-morrow, I fear, will be a very unsettled day. Just work away by yourself, will you? There'll be rather an accumulation of letters to go through, I expect. Bring them over to me at tea-time.'
They rose and stood by the fire. Jean said: 'You have everything you need? You are sure? I hope they have a good fire in your room, and everything comfortable. I'll see it to-morrow. . . . Good night, Betty, sleep well. I expect you feel rather far from home.'
'Oh, no, thank you, Lady Bidborough. I can't feel far away from what I haven't got! Good night.'
The door closed behind the girl, and Jean stood looking about the empty room. How familiar it was, and yet how strange!
Pamela had filled the place with chrysanthemums, the single ones that Jean loved: they were beautiful, against the yellow walls. . . . Every one was kind, and it was absurd to feel so desolate. She gathered together some belongings and proceeded upstairs to bed.
A murmur of voices from the kitchen meant that Mrs. McCosh and Ninny were enjoying their talk.
All was peace upstairs. Peter lay asleep in Jock's old room, with Black Douglas in his basket beside him.
Alison shared a room with Elsie, who was making everything tidy before going to bed. Quentin was with Ninny.
Jean went into her own room. Her things were unpacked and put away; her dressing-gown and slippers toasted before a bright fire. It was cosy and welcoming, but how small the room seemed, and shabby. . . . She had been so proud of this room: the Indian rug had seemed such an extravagance: she had made the curtains and bedcover herself. . . . It was cruel to look critically at it, for once it had seemed so fine, but--it was Jean Jardine's room, not Lady Bidborough's.
'You can't go back,' Jean told herself, rather bleakly. 'You can't go back.'
She sat down by the fire and tried to think over what had been happening. The past six weeks seemed to her like a confused dream. There had been so much to arrange, such endless plans to make, so many people to see, and over everything had brooded the thought of parting. 'Anyway,' Jean told herself, 'that's over. Now that Biddy's really away, every day is bringing him back. At least----' She sighed as she thought of the waste of waters that already lay between her and her love.
She rose and took a step to the writing-table, and stopped.
'No,' she said to herself. 'I shan't begin a letter to-night. It'd be sure to tell how home-sick I was. In the morning I'll be better.'
Before Jean got into bed she opened her wide window and let the cold clean air, smelling of autumn, rush in.
The sound of Tweed over its pebbles mingled with her dreams.
CHAPTER V
'He dwelt in a house by the high road and gave entertainment to all that passed by . . .'
Iliad.
The next day went, as Mrs. McCosh said, like a cried fair.
Breakfast was hardly over when Mrs. Elliot arrived from Laverlaw. She was greeted with enthusiasm by Jean and the children.
Jean sprang up from the rug where she was playing with Quentin, crying: 'Pamela, how good of you to come so early. And look at your flowers! It was so cheering to find them here last night.'
Pamela Elliot was taking off the long cape she wore.
'Yes,' she said. 'I thought flowers would be the best welcome. I'd have come myself, but I was afraid I'd merely be in the way. . . . Well, this is fine! I don't believe Quentin knows me: he's hiding his face. . . . Jean, I think Alison is like me.'
Jean regarded her small daughter, such a square little figure beside the tall elegance of her aunt.
'I hope you're right,' she said. 'I'd like her to have your height and grace, but I confess I see little sign of it at present.'
'I was rotund at that age, too.'
Jean shook her head. 'I can't believe it. I can't picture you anything but long and slim. But you do look well, and so young: younger than you looked ten years ago when you came first to Priorsford, and stayed at Hillview with Bella Bathgate, and lived almost entirely on a diet of duck eggs and stewed steak and carrots! Why did you do it, Pamela? I never really understood what brought you to Priorsford.'
Pamela laughed, as she settled herself in a corner of the sofa.
'This was my special place, you remember? I used to sit here with my embroidery and spread my silks all about. . . . Is it ten years, Jean? Unbelievable!'
'Ten years,' said Jean. 'In some ways it seems much longer. . . . Pam, dear, why did you come to Priorsford?'
'For one thing, darling, I liked the name. It beckoned to me, like St. Anthony in Roseland. . . . As a matter of fact, when I first knew Lewis he used to talk to me about the little town among the hills, and when it suddenly came over me that I was growing old (now, at fifty, I feel quite young!) and that I had done nothing worth while with my life, I longed for simplicity, for time to think; and, remembering Lewis' little town, I set out for it. . . . I had written for rooms, but how could I judge without seeing them? When I met Miss Bathgate and her chilly welcome and crept to a bed that seemed to be stuffed with cannon-balls, I all but turned tail and fled back to London. . . . In which case, Peter, my lad, you wouldn't have been in the world.'
'Not me neither?' Alison asked.
'Not you neither, nor Quentin: you're all part of the Red King's dream.'
'That's from "Alice,"' said Peter. 'Aunt Pam, are there any puppies at Laverlaw?'
'Three,' his aunt told him, after a minute's thought.
'Oh, Mummy, I'll take Black Douglas to see them?'
'Who?' said Pamela.
'Peter's puppy,' Jean explained. 'His whole name is "Black-Douglas-tender-and-true".'
'I must see him. Fetch him, Peter, do.' And as Peter ran willingly on his errand, Pamela turned to her sister-in-law, saying: 'Do you know, Jean, I sometimes positively shiver when I think of the little accidental happenings that mean so much. When I think how easy it is to miss one's happiness. . . . It's quite true, if I hadn't come to Priorsford in all probability I'd never have met Lewis again, Biddy would never have found you--It hardly bears thinking of.'
'But,' said Jean, 'if you believe that everything is ordained from the beginning----'
There was a sound of scuffling and Black Douglas burst into the room, knocked over Quentin, leapt on Pamela and licked her face, then threw himself in the air in an attempt to reach the ham which had not yet been removed from the sideboard.
'Heavens!' cried Pamela, 'he's not a dog, he's a tornado!'
'I've got a gold-fish, too,' said Peter, 'called "Baxter".'
Pamela, vainly trying to protect herself from the puppy's affectionate onslaughts, became convulsed with helpless laughter. 'Take him away, Peter,' she gasped, 'and fetch the gold-fish: he'll be a more restful companion. . . . Ninny, how do you put up with this all day long? But you seem to thrive on it.'
The children and the puppy were removed, so that a peaceful talk was possible. At last Pamela said: 'I'm taking up all your morning. What should you be doing now?'
'Nothing,' said Jean, 'nothing that matters. Some time I'm going to see The Neuk and Betty Barton.'
'Betty--oh, the secretary. I remember her. Let's go now, shall we?'
The two eldest children were waiting, ready, and, as they all went down the