CHAPTER II

AN ACCIDENT

WHEN Adrienne reached home, she was met at the door by Drake with a very solemn face.

Drake was virtually the butler, but he was in reality the factotum in the house. He valeted both the Admiral and the General; he initiated the maids as well as the bootboy into their work, and kept his eagle eye on every part of the house. He saw that the brasses were shining, that the floors were well polished, that every nook and corner was thoroughly dusted. If the cook felt ill, he could take her place at a moment's notice, and his cooking did him credit. If horses or dogs were ill, he doctored them; if china was broken, he could mend it. As Adrienne leant upon Mrs. Page, so did the Admiral and General lean upon Drake.

Adrienne saw at once that something had happened.

"The General has had a nasty fall, miss. He slipped just outside the stable on a bit of ice. We've sent for the doctor. He has hurt his knee, but I don't think it is broken. A bad sprain, I should say. We got him up to his room, and he's on his bed."

"Oh, Drake, how dreadful! Poor Uncle Tom!"

She ran lightly up the stairs into the big sunny front room, which belonged to the General.

The next moment she was bending over her uncle tenderly.

"That you, Adrienne? This confounded frost has knocked me over, and I'm done for, as far as hunting this week is concerned. It was that dolt of a stable boy!—Slopping about with his buckets, and making pools all over the place—didn't even finish my job at the pipes out there—Have turned Drake on to them—Why on earth hasn't that fool of a doctor arrived? My knee is swelling up like a gas bag—smashed the knee-cap, I should say! And it hurts like fury!"

"You must have it bathed—a cold compress, I should say. Let me do it for you!"

"I won't have it touched—can't stand the pain of it—dislocated, I should say! If it's a long job, how am I to stick it? I was never meant to be off my feet. If this pain goes on, he must give me gas-morphia-chloroform—what's the stuff that puts you to sleep?"

As Adrienne was trying to soothe him, she heard the doctor's car drive up.

And thankfully she went to meet him.

The Admiral and she were both a little relieved at the verdict delivered a short time later.

Dr. Tracy told them the knee was badly sprained, and some of the ligaments were twisted, but that with rest and treatment it would soon be better.

"He will be a bad patient," he said to Adrienne; "but you and the Admiral must keep him in bed. Try to amuse and entertain him there, and keep him as still as possible."

Easier said than done. General Chesterton was a very bad patient, restless and irritable, and before that day was over Adrienne felt utterly exhausted. In the evening, after dinner, the General had at last gone off to sleep. Drake took up his position as head nurse in his room, and Adrienne and her uncle Derrick sat over the fire in the smoking-room and discussed the accident.

"We must read aloud to him," said Adrienne cheerfully; "and I dare say to-morrow evening he will be well enough to have his game of chess. He's very fond of detective stories. There's one just come down from Mudie's. And if this frost holds out, it will comfort him to feel that he couldn't hunt in any case."

And then, for the first time since the morning, she thought of the letter she had received from her aunt, and felt delightfully at rest now that she had a definite reason for not going to her.

"Uncle Derrick," she said presently, "I got a letter from Aunt Cecily this morning."

"Did you? You never mentioned it."

"No; I was keeping it from you, I am afraid. I wanted to answer it, before I told you about it."

"I suppose she wants you to visit her?"

"I'll go and get the letter. I left it in the pocket of my tweed skirt." She left the room and returned with it.

The Admiral read it through. Once he smiled; but he looked very grave as he handed it back to her. "We don't want to lose you, dear child. In any case, this accident of Tom's prevents your leaving us at present. He'll want your youth and gaiety to carry him through his days. What parasites upon the young we older folk are!"

"Now, Uncle Derrick, don't dare to talk like that! This is my home and I love it, and Aunt Cecily has no claim upon me. She owns herself that she did nothing for me when I was a child. I wanted care and attention then, but I got it from you and not from her. Her letter makes me feel bitter against her. I'm to go to minister to her wants. I shall have no life of my own, but will have to be an unpaid servant in her house. That is what Mathilde was."

"No, no, as a daughter, it was her duty to be with her mother and help her."

"Well, now she can get a companion and pay her. She's very well off, is she not?"

"I don't think so. We wanted her to get rid of the Château years ago when her husband died, but she would not. Indeed, I think she cannot, under the terms of his will. It is to go to a son of her husband's. She was the second wife, and, strangely enough, his first wife was American, not French. She wrote to me a few weeks ago mentioning him, and I gathered that he has lately appeared in her neighbourhood, and she is very angry because he won't live with her in the Château."

"Then she has somebody belonging to her? I did not know she had."

"You must write to her at once, Adrienne. She will be expecting you. Tell her about your uncle's accident and she will understand."

So Adrienne moved across to the big writing-table, and there and then composed a very nice refusal of her aunt's invitation.

As she sealed and stamped it, she brought down her slender fist upon it with some force.

"There! That's my final word to her. I have suggested that she should get a companion."

She came across to the fire, and threw herself into the big easy-chair opposite her uncle.

She looked at him affectionately:

"I believe you're missing your game of chess. Now, aren't you? Will you let me play with you and I dare say to-morrow evening Uncle Tom will be well enough to play himself."

"I think we might have a game," said the Admiral with alacrity; "you can play very well if you like, Adrienne."

And Adrienne did, throwing her whole heart and soul into the contest, and casting all thoughts of her aunt to the winds.

It was only when she went to bed that she murmured to herself:

"Fate has been kind. I am no longer hesitating between cross-ways, but cheerfully trudging along in the sunshine, and in the path which I love."

She went to visit the invalid just before breakfast the next day. She found him irritable.

"What kind of a night have I had? The devil of a night, and I've been swearing like a trooper all through! That fool of a Drake snored—yes, he snored like a bull! Out of my room he shall go to-night. He fussed himself in, but what good did he do me? My knee feels as big as a Christmas pudding. I wanted sleep and relief from pain. Why didn't that young jackass give me an opiate to make me sleep? What's the weather like?"

"The frost still holds," said Adrienne cheerfully; "so there 'll be no hunting, and you look in the lap of comfort with your blazing fire and breakfast tray by your side. It won't be half bad, Uncle Tom, to be in bed for a few days. I'll come up and read to you, and Uncle Derrick will bring the chess-board. I'm sorry you're still in pain, but you might have been worse—cracked your head or your spine, or broken your jaw or your nose!"

The General gave a grim smile.

"You're too cheeky by half, young woman! Just ring the bell for Drake. He might have brought me 'The Times.' Go on down to breakfast. I've had mine, worse luck. There's nothing to do in bed but eat and sleep, and I can't do either now."

"I'll come and see you very soon, and tell you something. You did me a good turn by falling down, but you'll never guess how. I'll send up the paper."

Adrienne left him and ran lightly downstairs. She found her uncle Derrick waiting for her.

"How's our invalid? Drake said he slept fairly well, but I went into his room early this morning, and he told me a different tale. We shall have a pretty stiff time with him."

"Yes, but he looks well, and he has eaten a good breakfast. Of course he is never ill, so he feels it all the more now. Will you dine at the Hall on Thursday?"

"I don't think so," said the Admiral slowly.

"Will you go, and let me stay at home? You know I hate dinners. Now do, Uncle Derrick. Lady Sutherland is very fond of you, so you must not disappoint her."

"And what will Godfrey say if you don't appear?"

"It won't cause him the flutter of an eyelid. We see each other as often as we want to. I told him about Aunt Cecily's letter to-day. Of course he thought I ought to go."

"He's a bit of a prig. A good parson spoiled, I always say!"

"Oh, I won't have you call him a prig! He's not a bit. He is too natural and unaffected to be that!"

The Admiral smiled, and Adrienne began discussing other things.

The day proved to be more difficult than she had anticipated.

The Admiral, who was a J.P., had to attend some court meeting in the neighbouring town, and he went off soon after breakfast in his closed car, and did not return till half-past three in the afternoon. All that time, with the exception of half an hour for lunch, Adrienne was in the General's room. She talked, she read, she played games with him. He would not try to sleep, and was like a child in his restlessness and discontent. The doctor came at twelve o'clock, and offended him greatly by some plain speaking.

"Your pulse is good, and so is your heart; there's nothing for it but to set your teeth and endure the discomfort and pain. Your knee is going on very well; but if you won't keep the limb still, you'll make it a longer job. And we must put it into a cradle. You won't like that."

"He's a cussed jackanapes!" said the General to Adrienne when his visit was over.

She shook her head at him, but did not argue the point. And then she began to tell him about her aunt's letter. That really interested him.

"Cecily is a hypochondriac—she always has been—since her husband's death. She ought to be ashamed of herself to write to you like that! Don't turn a hair. Derrick and I mean to keep you with us. You surely didn't wish to go to her?"

"No, oh, no! But if you hadn't been ill, I might have gone to her for a little visit!"

"Not to be thought of! When once you're over there, you'll never get away! I went once soon after her husband's death, but never again! I loathe those French meals; you starve till twelve o'clock, then overeat yourself—not with good nourishing food, but all kinds of slops and vegetable messes. They give you cabbage-water for soup, and their chickens are all skin and bone. And as for drink, some white wine is Cecily's one and only! She always was a bad housekeeper, but her meals over there are perfect cautions!"

"How came she to marry a Frenchman?"

"She met him in Paris. Your father was Consul there at the time, and she went to stay with him, and got acquainted with the Count. I think the title and Château had some weight with her. He was a nice old chap, years older than herself, and he had been married before, and had one son."

"Then how is it that his son doesn't have the Château? Why does Aunt Cecily live in it?"

"Châteaux are not very attractive in these days. There is seldom enough money to keep them up, and they're cold and draughty, and tumbling to pieces. He told his father before he died that he would never live in it. He was a keen explorer and has spent his life travelling round the world. I believe he has come back now for a time. He owns the small home farm, not far from the Château, where he stays. He paid us a visit here once. It was when you were at school. Rather a bumptious young fellow. Not a bit French! Takes after his mother, who was an American."

Adrienne thought over this.

"Then I suppose Aunt Cecily owns the Château, and she likes it better than England."

"She's more French than a genuine Frenchwoman; always liked Paris—its ways—and its gowns! No, she'll never end her days in England!"

Then giving a lurch in bed, he hurt his knee. Conversation was at an end, and Adrienne needed all her patience to cheer and soothe him.

When the Admiral returned, things were better, and she was able to get away, and have a little time to herself.

But the General was in bed for a week, and when at last he could get downstairs, it was only to hobble about with the help of a crutch.

The frost disappeared and hunting recommenced. Adrienne had the pleasure of exercising "Catkins," the hunter. She was a good rider, and did not often get as much riding as she would have liked. Sir Godfrey lent her a mount occasionally, and sometimes she would take the old pony that did the station work and ride off across the hills to a bit of Dartmoor. When she did this, she would take some lunch in her pocket and be out all day. She loved solitude, and the moon had a peculiar attraction for her. The strange thing was that, though she liked riding, she did not care for hunting. She told her uncle she loved the horses and the jumps, but hated the chase of the fox. Every animal's life under the sun was precious in her eyes and nobody could argue her out of it.

One morning she took Catkins off to the Morays' farm on a quest of a broody hen. She managed the poultry yard herself, and had a sitting of ducks' eggs, but no hen to oblige her. It was a sunny morning in February. Since the disappearance of the snow, there was distinctly a promise of spring in the air. The catkins hung their yellow heads in the sunshine; the sap was rising in the bare brown trees and swelling their tiny buds; a few early primroses were in the sheltered lanes. Bruce trotted happily along at the heels of her horse, and Adrienne lifted up her sunny face to the blue sky, inhaling the fresh sweet air with delight.

Tents' Farm, as it was called, lay halfway down a sunny slope of pasture land. The house itself was small, with stout cob walls and thatched roof. The buildings behind it were more modern, and, in common with all Sutherland property, in thorough good repair. There was a small garden in front of the house. Adrienne pulled up outside the green wooden gate and called. In a moment or two a young man opened the porch door and came down the path.

"Come in and have a cup of tea," he said when he had learnt her errand. "Phemie and I are alone. Mother went off to Lufton this morning, and hasn't got back yet. How's the General?"

[Illustration: "Come in and have a cup of tea," he said, when he had learnt her errand. _Adrienne]_ _[Chapter II]_

"Getting on fine! Can you take Catkins? I mustn't stay long."

Dick Moray was in corduroy breeches and an old tweed coat, but nothing could conceal the fact that he was a gentleman by birth. He had a thin, rather worn face, with furrows across his brows between his eyes, and he stooped with a peculiar hunch of his shoulders, telling of chest delicacy. He had been badly gassed in the War and had not entirely—even now—got rid of its ill effects.

Adrienne handed over Catkins to his charge, and as he took him round to the stables, she made her way into the house.

There was a small entry, and a staircase going up from it. To the left was a door, and it was this that Adrienne opened. It led into a large comfortable farm kitchen, but it was furnished comfortably. The floor was tiled, and, under a window, and near the fire, were two good Indian rugs. The oak gate-table, drawn near the fire for tea, held a silver teapot and tray, and the china upon it was dainty, as was also the white cloth.

Phemie was in the act of making the tea, taking a kettle off the fire for that purpose. There was a plain glass bookcase on one side of the room, a writing-table in one of the casement window recesses. The rest of the furniture, the dresser, the well-scoured table, the store cupboard and the big open stove, all essentially belonged to a kitchen.

"Come along, Adrienne. How nice to see you! Sit down at the table, will you? How's the General?"

"Much better, but oh! We've had a time!"

"I'm sure you have. I said so to Mother the other day."

Adrienne always enjoyed her meals at the farm. Phemie's butter was beautiful; there was no lack of cream, and always home-made bread and plain currant cake.

To-day there were hot scones.

"Just as if we expected you," said Phemie, laughing, "but I made them for Dick as a treat. When Mother is out, we always have a good tea. There is no one to bustle us away from the table."

Dick here made his appearance, and sat down to enjoy both Adrienne and his tea.

The young people chatted gaily together.

"You don't know of my dissipation, do you?" said Phemie. "I actually was asked to dine at the Hall last week. To fill your place, of course. I hardly knew myself, but Sir Godfrey came round with an invitation from his mother, so I went. Mother was willing. I had an ancient black dress, but I chopped off a good foot of it in length, and I happened to have one good pair of evening-shoes. Mother lent me a pair of silk stockings, and Dick went off and brought me a huge bunch of violets from the florist in Lufton. Wasn't he a dear? The only part of me that disgraced me were my hands. I used to have such nice ones, too!"

A little sigh fell from her lips, as she spread out her reddened work-worn hands before her.

Adrienne smiled.

"Nobody would notice your hands. I'm sure you looked very nice. Uncle Derrick told me you were there. I made him go, but I could not leave Uncle Tom. Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I enjoyed the dinner," said Phemie honestly; "it's such a pleasure to eat when you do not cook. And Colonel Blake took me in and was very amusing. Some of them played Bridge and the rest of us talked. We had no music. Sir Godfrey insisted upon walking home with me; wasn't it good of him?"

"No, I don't think so. He always loves an evening stroll, and so does Tartar. I'm sure he accompanied you."

"Oh, yes. Do you see anything new in front of you?"

"That embossed brass jug on the chimney-piece."

"Yes, Sir Godfrey gave it to me. He picked it out of his collection in the smoking-room. I couldn't help admiring them. You know how I love brass! but I never dreamt of his doing such a thing. Mother was cross. It's always a bone of contention between us. I say that farmhouse kitchens are always renowned for their pewter, their copper and their brass, and that we ought to have some. We have a few pieces hidden away in the attics. Mother won't allow me to bring them down. She says they bring and make work, and she's not going to have to clean useless ornaments.

"I would willingly rise half an hour earlier or go to bed half an hour later, to keep them bright and shining; but it's no good. They're tabooed. So that's that!"

"Phemie would like to turn this into an art studio if she could," Dick said with a little chuckle. "The Mother doesn't see it, and I honestly don't think it would work."

"I should work much the better for having a few beautiful things to look at," said Phemie. "I should like a picture or two on the walls, but those again are banned by Mother."

"Well, you do as you like in your own room," said Adrienne; "for I've seen it, and that is where you want beauty most."

"I'm rather with the Mother that a kitchen ought to be a kitchen," said Dick; "but then I'm only a male, and have no artistic tendencies."

"You lose a lot of pleasure," said Phemie, looking at her brother with thoughtful eyes.

"I don't go into raptures over a baby calf as you do, or see pictures in rotten barn-doors and decaying roofs; but I do take pleasure in the earth, and all that comes out of it, barring the weeds!"

"Dick and Mother have things in common," said Phemie; then she tossed up her chin, and a light came into her eyes, making her look positively handsome; "and if my father had lived, he and I would have understood each other. As it is, I stand alone with my father's spirit in me, which cannot be beaten even if it is suppressed."

There was a moment's silence. Her words were true. Her father had loved art and was full of it to his fingers' tips, though he had never made a name for himself. He had died at an early age, leaving only half-finished, undeveloped paintings, and bits of sculpture behind him. And his widow having known penury and want, and being left almost penniless, felt bitterly towards the art that had proved so disastrous to her husband.

Adrienne changed the conversation. She felt that the topic was difficult, if not dangerous, so she began telling them of her invitation to her aunt.

Phemie was full of interest at once.

"But you will go to her when your uncle is better? Oh, you must. How delightful! An old country Château. It sounds so romantic. I should love to see the country life in France. And she is your aunt, isn't she? Oh, I wish, I wish I were in your shoes."

"Well," said Adrienne impulsively, "why should you not go instead of me? Will you? She only wants a bright young companion. I will tell her that I can send a substitute. She will welcome you. Will you do it?"

Phemie laughed, but there was bitterness in her laugh.

"My dear Adrienne, if the King himself wrote and offered me a position in Buckingham Palace, do you think I could go? Would the upheaval of a mountain move me a hair's-breadth out of my rut?"

"Don't be a rotter!" said her brother, turning upon her. "You speak as if you are a slave. You are of age. You could leave us to-morrow if you chose, and you know you could. If you choose to stay here, don't grouse!"

"Do I grouse?"

"No, I'll own you don't, unless Adrienne comes along."

"Then I'd better stay away," said Adrienne with her pretty laugh. "Oh, Phemie, you're a dear, and much too good and valuable to waste your life on a capricious old lady like Aunt Cecily. You're the light and sunshine of your home, you know you are. What would Dick do without you!"

Then they all laughed together, and the slight storm blew over.

The opening of the front door suddenly startled them. The next moment Mrs. Moray made her appearance. She was a tall good-looking woman with rather a weather-beaten face, and very dark eyes which dominated and held her auditors when she spoke. She was dressed in rough tweed coat and skirt and a plain grey felt hat.

"How do you do, Adrienne?" she said briskly, nodding to her as she deposited some parcels on a side-table.

"Dick, do you know that it's past milking-time, and Andrew won't be back from Lufton till six as I told you."

Dick was at the door in a moment.

"I was just going. Good-bye, Adrienne. My respects and sympathy to your invalid."

Adrienne rose from her seat, and took her departure.

Phemie was already being sent here, there, and everywhere.

There was always a stir and a bustle when Mrs. Moray made her appearance, and though her daughter implored her to sit down and have a cup of tea, there seemed endless small things to do first.

Adrienne's feeling, as she escaped, was thankfulness that she did not live in the same house as Mrs. Moray. She went to the stables and found her horse tied outside and ready for her. Dick appeared from the cow-sheds and helped her to mount.

"I always feel an idle drone when I see how you and Phemie work," she said; "do you never get fed up with it?"

Dick laughed.

"We have our discontented days, Phemie and I, but I love the land. Always have. The very smell of the earth is a tonic to me!"

"Yes, I understand that. When I go to town, the air has no life in it. Good-bye, Dick, and thank you."

She rode away. For one moment Dick's eyes rested on her light graceful figure in the saddle; then, with a short sigh, he went back to his milking.