The Rutherfurd Saga. Anna Buchan
that have been more than life to you. Mrs. Buckler is a nice woman and not nearly so discontented as she might be. She takes her servant troubles humorously, and she’s proud of her children.”
“Why, Mums, have they children? They struck me as being distinctly childless. I’m glad they have. . . . I liked Mr. Buckler so much. And, Babs, we met the young man I told you of the other day, and—wasn’t it silly?—I clean forgot to ask any one if he really is the Everest man.”
“But,” said Barbara, “you haven’t called on the whole population of Kirkmeikle? There are others, surely.”
“We called at the Manse but Mrs. Lambert wasn’t at home, but we didn’t reach the Kilgours.”
“I must say they sound a dull lot,” Barbara said as she poured out tea.
“They’re not exciting, perhaps,” Nicole confessed. “But, Babs, I want you to come and see an old woman—Betsy something, who comes from Langhope. To hear her speak was like a drink of water in a thirsty land. . . .”
Nicole took a bun and her cup of tea and went and curled herself into one of the window-seats. She liked peering out at the Harbour in the dusk, watching the lights along the shore come out one by one.
“I wonder,” she said in a little, “how the Jacksons are getting on. Jean Douglas has never said she has called.”
“Too busy, I expect. By the way, Christmas isn’t very far away. What are we going to do about it this year?”
Nicole smiled lazily at her cousin. “Need we do anything about it? Are ‘the last sad squires’ expected to keep Christmas? We’ve shed all our responsibilities, haven’t we? I expect Mrs. Jackson will do great things at Rutherfurd. Do you remember . . .” She stopped realising that to recall other and happier days was not wise.
“I must see in time about boxes for my old people,” Lady Jane said. “I wouldn’t like them to feel forgotten. The next time you go to Edinburgh, Babs, you’ll see about it, won’t you?”
“Yes, Babs, you’re our shopper-in-chief. Please get me a selection of useful articles also. . . . I believe, Mums, that this wise virgin has already heaps of presents, all made by herself, stored neatly away. . . . Oh, letters!”
Barbara took them from Christina. “Three for you, Aunt Jane, two for me, the rest for Nikky.”
Nicole looked with distaste at her lot. “Bills, I think. I don’t believe I’ll open them.”
“Isn’t that one from Jean Douglas?” Barbara said, and Nicole pounced on it with the cry, “Now we shall have some news.”
A few minutes later Lady Jane looked up from her letters and said, “Well, Nikky, what does Jean say?”
Nicole handed over the sheets to her mother who began at once to read, while Barbara, perched on the arm of the chair, looked over her shoulder.
“I wish, dear Nikky,” so the letter ran, “that I could go with this letter across the Forth Bridge, and slip into the Harbour House about five o’clock in the afternoon, and find you three sitting in the room with the four long windows. I expect I would be able to greet everything in the room as an old friend! I would take my own chair and draw it up to the fire, and with my feet on the fender, listen to all you have to tell me.
“Tom has been laid up with lumbago which has kept me pretty much at home, but on Thursday last I fulfilled my promise and went to call at Rutherfurd. I simply hated going. Every inch of the road brought back some memory, and to go through the gateway and wave as usual to the curtseying Lizbeth, and to know that I would find no Rutherfurds at Rutherfurd, made me both fierce and tearful, so that I was in no mood to be pleased with the new owners.
“The place is very well kept, leaves most carefully swept up, and gravel raked, not a twig out of place, and oh, my dear, how beautiful it is! It came back to me with a sort of surprise the exquisiteness of the lawns running up to the mouth of the glen, the burn with its turf bridge, the bracken-covered hill-sides, and the long grey front of the house. No wonder the Jacksons coveted it!
“It was a comfort to have Johnson open the door. His manner was perfect—I always admired the artistry of Johnson—chastened with regret that times had changed yet subtly exuding loyalty to his new employers.
“The hall, as of course you know, is the same, except that Mrs. Jackson has introduced a few little conceits of her own, a bronze boy now supports a lamp, another figure holds a tray for cards. There are also masses of hot-house flowers, an opulent innovation which I resented, and I missed—but what is the good of tearing your heart with what I missed, you who will miss it ‘until the day ye dee.’
“I was shown into the drawing-room. Nothing could spoil that gracious room, and Mrs. Jackson, to do her justice, hasn’t tried. I told you I would hate her, but when she rose to greet me in a smart velvet gown complete with a hat covered with Paradise-plumes, and an ermine stole, I thought she was about the most pathetic thing I had ever seen. She gave me a very warm welcome, and as I sat beside her on the sofa she confided in me that, except for the minister and his wife, I was her first caller.
“ ‘I wish they’d come,’ she said wistfully, ‘for the cook bakes special things for tea every afternoon, and I dress myself, and when nobody comes I hardly know where to look. I’m a wee bit afraid of Johnson anyway—— D’you mind telling me, are there many people round about to call?’
“I told her truthfully the names of every one from the Duke downwards. She sighed. I fear she finds life rather a burden.
“The son came in while we were at tea. ‘Andy,’ his mother called him. I like ‘Andy.’ His manner to his mother was perfect, he had an amused, protecting smile on his face as he watched her sitting there in her Paradise-plumes and her ermine. He told me with the greatest frankness that he knew practically nothing about country life, and felt very much in a mist, so I asked him to come to Kingshouse and let Tom put him wise about a lot of things. Mrs. Jackson and I had a very interesting talk, mostly about you people. She wanted to know everything I could tell her about you all, and she is pathetically eager to model herself on your dear mother. It is funny, but I know you won’t laugh. I confess that you were right, there is something about Mrs. Jackson that melts one’s heart. I range myself by her side, and I’m going straight away to hustle people up to call. I simply can’t bear to think of the poor dear dressing up for people who don’t come, and feeling shamed in the eyes of her servants. . . . Nikky, I can’t tell you how I miss you all, how every one misses you. Tilly Kilpatrick even, and Alison Lockhart twisted that wicked amusing mouth of hers at me the other day, and said: ‘I’m a worse woman because Jane Rutherfurd has left the district.’ Tell your mother that though it sounds obscure I feel sure it is a compliment. Write to me very soon, and promise that you will come for Christmas. It’s going to be quite gay, two hunt balls, and several private dances, not to speak of theatricals at Langlands. Won’t you be tempted? A fortnight? Or even one week? Please think about it, and tell my dear Lady Jane I ask as a great favour that she should add her persuasions to mine. She would have Barbara with her and she is a host in herself.—All love from Mistress Jean——.”
“Will you go, dear?” Lady Jane asked, as she handed back the letter.
“Is it likely? Leave you and Babs our first Christmas in a strange place. Why, Mums, there aren’t so many of us now that one can go without being missed. Besides, I’d hate it above everything.”
“I thought you were so fond of the Douglases?” Barbara said, as she got out her work.
“So I am, but—oh, don’t let’s talk about it. I should feel like a ghost going back to dance among ghosts. Some day I’ve promised to go to Mrs. Jackson, but that’s different. Then I wouldn’t be going for my own pleasure. . . .” She looked into the fire with unseeing eyes for a minute, then jumped up. “Now I’m going to have my hour with Scott’s Journal: that takes me back in the spirit to my own country, I don’t want to go back in the flesh.”
“Poor Mrs. Jackson,”