CHAPTER XIV

A DIFFICULT TIME

MONICA, in a grey silk gown, and Sidney, in a russet-brown velvet with old point lace, stood in the drawing-room, warming their feet on the fender and waiting for Mrs. Norman's arrival. The Admiral met her in a friendly fashion in the hall, and brought her in. Her gown was of a heliotrope satin; it fitted her like a sheath; her dark hair was bound with silver braid and an aigrette; her complexion was, to even Monica's eyes, slightly made up with rouge and powder. But her manner was sweet and gracious, and had a touch of deference in it to the Admiral.

She took hold of both Sidney's hands, but did not offer to kiss her.

"You are a dear girl to send me such a sweet note! It took away all hesitation on my part about coming to-night. How nice to see you, Miss Pembroke! This is quite an unexpected pleasure."

"I hope you don't consider I shall be in the way," said Monica, with her grave smile. "I told Sidney that I had qualms about inserting myself into such a family party. But she and I are almost like sisters, so you will understand that I am glad to have an opportunity of offering you my congratulations."

"Thank you very much. I have really known you as long as I have Sidney, have I not?"

The easy way in which she uttered Sidney's name made the girl start, but she said nothing. The ice was broken, and, sitting down, conversation became general. Major Urquhart was the only one who was rather silent, but his eyes followed every gesture of the widow's, and his ears were only open to her words. When the ladies were in the drawing-room after dinner, Mrs. Norman seated herself on the sofa by Monica.

"I can't tell you how this has upset my quiet monotonous life! I had so little idea when I came here what would happen. And my heart is still in my little cottage, which I have made so pretty. It will be a great blow to leave it."

Sidney got up and moved about the room rather restlessly, putting things straight. Why was it, she wondered, that Mrs. Norman always tried to ignore her in conversation?

"But why should you leave it?" asked Monica in her quiet decided tones. "I should have thought it was an ideal home for two people."

Mrs. Norman heaved a slight sigh.

"Men require more room than women, do they not? The Major will not hear of it. And his impatience almost irritates me, if it were not so touching. He wants our marriage to be at once. I believe he thinks a week or so is quite long enough to wait. We mean to go up to town very quietly, and walk into one of the City churches one day, without any following at all, except the necessary witnesses."

Sidney came across the room and re-seated herself.

"I am sure you are wise in coming to that decision. Poor Uncle Ted has hated crowds all his life. Have you fixed the day yet?"

"Not at present. You may be sure I will tell you when we have."

Sidney gave a little laugh. She could not help it. Then Mrs. Norman addressed herself to her:

"Can you spare time to-morrow to show me over the house, Sidney dear? Your uncle is very anxious that I should have the choice of rooms. He wants me to have a little boudoir of my own upstairs, but you are not cramped for room at all, are you? So there will be no difficulty about that. He wanted me to come over yesterday, but I said 'No, I will speak to Sidney first.'"

"I will take you over the house whenever you like," said Sidney.

"Thank you. It is a dear old rambling place, is it not? And your old-fashioned bits of furniture seem to suit it. Don't be afraid that I shall make any changes. I am not fond of these comfortless modern rooms. As long as my own room is according to my taste, I shall leave the rest of the house as it is, and I hope, my dear Sidney, we shall be very happy together. I do not see any reason why we should not be. You will have your father to look after, and to be with; I shall have my dear Ted, and if I relieve you of the housekeeping, you will have the more time for your outdoor pursuits. Perhaps we shall be able to induce Gavine to spend more of her time at home; a house with young people in it is always cheerful, and I know you like her and she likes you."

Just for a moment Monica's eyes met Sidney's, and she had a glimpse of the misery that was in them. Her friends always said that Sidney's eyes betrayed her.

Sidney was almost breathless with the assurance and sweet determination of the widow, but she held her head high, and smiled as she responded:

"It is early days to talk of our combined households yet, Mrs. Norman. Perhaps it may never come to pass."

"Has Gavine gone away?" Monica called hastily, feeling that the atmosphere might get electric.

And in talking of that young lady, they veered away from the subject of the house and housekeeping.

Major Urquhart was the first to return from the dining-room, and he proposed some music.

Sidney sat down and sang with such warmth and sweetness that Monica marvelled at her. But she and the Admiral were the chief audience, for the Major and his ladylove retired to the farther end of the room, where they conversed in low tones until the party broke up.

It was not a comfortable evening, but as Sidney whispered to Monica in the hall as she was helping her into her cloak, "We have got through it amicably, and that was the most that I hoped."

In a few days the neighbourhood received the news, and Mrs. Norman was recognised as the Major's fiancée. Mrs. de Cressiers could not conceal from Sidney the relief which this turn of affairs had brought to her.

"So much more suitable than my poor dear Austin! She was quite true in all she told me. She never had cared for my boy. It was a very one-sided attachment."

And Sidney and her father just waited on, saying very little to outsiders, but feeling all the more. It was a difficult time to them, and Sidney's spirits, though generally good, fluctuated occasionally.

After her inspection of the house, Mrs. Norman did not trouble them much with her company, but the Major talked of nothing but her wishes and her views and her likings, until even the Admiral began to lose his equanimity of temper. One day there was a question raised about the guns on the Terrace.

"Ethel wants to know if you would mind very much if they were moved. She says they spoil that bit of lawn. I told her you were attached to them, but they wouldn't look bad in the field on the edge of the cliff. She says they would show a more imposing front there to the public up and down the river."

Then the Admiral turned upon his brother.

"Look here, Ted, if those guns go, I go too. You know they've been part of the soil for a couple of generations. For goodness' sake, man, let your future wife keep to her own province, and not meddle with our family trophies. And let her have a right to our name before she begins to turn our household topsy-turvy."

Major Urquhart said a bad word and flung himself out of the room. From being good-tempered and in high spirits, he relapsed into sullenness and gloom, and spent all his days down at the cottage. Sidney guessed that Mrs. Norman was quietly and steadily exerting all her powers to estrange him from her and her father. But her heart ached for him, as she knew he was being used as the widow's mouthpiece, and did not like the business.

The wedding-day was fixed, and Sidney packed her uncle's portmanteaux and thought of everything him. By Mrs. Norman's wish, none of the family were to come up to it. They were going to Paris for a fortnight, and then coming straight to The Anchorage.

Just before the Major left the house, he found Sidney tidying in his dressing-room. She put her hands affectionately on his shoulders.

"Oh, dear Uncle Ted, I do wish you happiness." He looked at her wistfully.

"I do believe you do," he said. "I'm—I'm rather too old for this kind of thing. It makes me feel nervous. But I wish you felt nicer in your heart towards Ethel. It always gives me an uncomfortable feeling when you are talking together."

He shook his head as he spoke.

"Now, look here," said Sidney with earnestness, "if we aren't a happy family when we all settle in together, you must let father and me slip away from you, and then there will be no friction. We mustn't live at warfare with one another. We will see how things work. You have told father you don't want him to go, but I won't have him stay here, if he is miserable."

"No, no," the Major said hastily. "We will see, as you say. Why shouldn't we go on as we have done all these years? And I won't have those guns moved. I have told her so. We've been very good friends, little Sid, have we not? We shall pull together all right."

But when he had gone Sidney went away to her room and had a good cry.

She knew that the old days were gone, and would never come back again; that nothing would ever be the same when Mrs. Norman came to live in their midst.

And then she poured out her soul in prayer, and rose from her knees with a bright and steadfast spirit. "I will make father happy anywhere. I must. If it were not for his feelings, I would set to work at once to find a fresh home. But he will break his heart, if he has to leave this. God knows about it, and He loves dad better than I do. I will trust Him to do what He sees best. And meanwhile we shall have a very happy fortnight together."

Jockie kept Sidney bright at this juncture. She was always popping in at unexpected times and giving her news of Chuckles, or of the village, and no one could be in her presence long without being infected by her spirit of mirth. She learnt to be very silent on the subject of the absent bride and bridegroom, for she saw her outspoken remarks were neither palatable to Sidney nor her father, and, as she wisely remarked to Monica:

"Now the thing is done, it's no good to sit down and moan about it. We must all grin and bear it."

Gavine had said very little in her letters about her mother. She wrote to Sidney long details of her work, and said she was very happy.

"Yet the work would not have made me happy," she wrote; "there is so much that is depressing and disheartening. But after that wonderful talk I had with you, I see things so differently. And I really do feel now that one's Foundation is the only comfort in life. When I visit the sick, and realise how little I can relieve their pain, I know I can tell them of the certain cure for their weary, sin-stained souls. And hope, glad hope, of our good time by and by, is better than any doctor's tonic."

Sidney kept up a brisk correspondence with her, for she felt that she had been brought into touch with her to help her. And Gavine wrote to Jockie that "Miss Urquhart's letters were like 'angels' messages.'"

The fortnight flew by, and then came the arrival of the bride and bridegroom.

Major Urquhart looked bright, but there were times when a nervous flicker of his eyelids and an anxious look in his eyes betrayed a want of ease in his wife's society. She was, as usual, sweetness itself, and expressed herself delighted with her rooms and all the preparations made for their arrival. Only Sidney noticed that a certain sharp inflection of tone had crept into her conversations with her husband. Major Urquhart had never taken the initiative in household matters, and was with the greatest difficulty prevailed upon to do so now. He could not understand his wife's continual hints and suggestions, and would say bluntly:

"Well, ask Vernon; he'll see to it, or else Sidney will."

The situation was a tense and difficult one to all.

One thing Major Urquhart utterly refused to do, and that was to sit at the head of the table. Sidney relinquished her seat at once, and Mrs. Urquhart promptly took it, but the Admiral faced her.

Before very long Sidney came to her father:

"We cannot continue to live here, dad dear. It will be a ceaseless fret to all of us. I have given over the housekeeping to her, and she is altering all the hours of everything, just for the mere sake of changing our ordinary routine. There is no reason in it. I asked for the pony carriage yesterday, and could not have it. To-day I have asked again, but she has again ordered it for her own use. She is pulling down the outside greenhouse, and a conservatory is going to be built on to the hall. I don't know where the money is coming from. And she has just told me that some friends of hers are coming down for the week-end, and she is afraid she will have to ask me to give up my room and move up to the top floor whilst they are here. I never make a single objection to anything she says, but the more I acquiesce the more she demands. What are we to do?"

The Admiral looked at his daughter with troubled eyes.

"I am afraid she resents our presence here. Well, little girl, if we have to go, we must. Would You like to come up to town for a month or two before We settle down again?"

Sidney's face flushed and sparkled with pleasure. She had never been able to induce her father to stay long in London at any time. She had often longed to see a little more life, and renew her friendship with old school friends and distant relations, but would not leave her father. Such a prospect before her seemed to take all the sting out of her present circumstances.

"Why, dad, that will be delightful! Let us go at once! We can say it is for a visit, and it will be better for them to settle down alone together."

They planned it all out, and at dinner that evening, after the servants left the room, Mrs. Urquhart again mentioned her coming visitors.

"They are such charming people. Surely you have met them? She is a niece of Lord Berrydown's, and her sister, who lives with her, is quite one of Society's beauties. I met them abroad a few years ago, and we were the greatest friends. They have just let their flat in town. He is ordered into the country for a rest. He has had a kind of nervous breakdown—so sad for a man! But he is a scholar, and has been working too hard at deciphering some old Persian books. I thought you would let him have the run of your study, Vernon. He will enjoy your library, and he will be able to lie on your couch by the window, and read and smoke by the hour together, looking out on that lovely peep of the river."

The Admiral smiled; he could not help it. It was his turn now, he felt, to be ousted from his quiet retreat, which had hitherto been monopolised solely by himself and his daughter.

Sidney never betrayed a sign of vexation. Her father marvelled at her perfect self-control.

"That will be very pleasant for him," she said, meeting Mrs. Urquhart's eyes with serene equanimity. "I hope the change down here will do him good, poor man! It will fit in very well, for father and I are going up to town the end of this week."

"To town!" the Major blurted out. "Why, Vernon, you hate it! You never told me you meant to go. I—I don't see how we're to get on without you here to entertain these people."

He looked helplessly at his wife. If Sidney's statement was news to her, she never showed her surprise, but went on peeling her walnuts with an unconcerned air.

"My dear Ted," she said, "I would not think of troubling Vernon to entertain my friends. That is the last thing I should wish or expect. If Sidney wants her father to go to town with her, I should not dream of raising any objections to it."

"The fact is," the Admiral said pleasantly, "we have come to the conclusion that we would like a little change. Sidney has been such a thorough housekeeper that she was always chary of leaving her duties up to now, but she is free from that, and Ethel and you, Ted, will be quite equal to run the house in our absence. It is good for me to be routed out of my quiet groove. And I think Sidney and I will get much enjoyment out of our little jaunt together."

"I should think we would!" murmured Sidney, smiling contentedly to herself.

It was arranged very easily. Sidney went over to see Monica before she went, and her news was received with much approbation.

"It's the best thing that you can do," said Monica heartily. "I think you are all in very difficult circumstances at present. Things will shake down, and you will be able to see much more clearly when you return how to act for the best."

"Yes," Sidney replied. "But, oh, Monica, I never quite imagined it would be as bad as it is. You see, Ethel never loses her temper, and I think I keep mine in pretty tight control; but my feelings and my bottled-up anger inside are terrible! She knows how to cut, and she seems to delight in picking out the weak points in one's armour. Dad and I have not a corner in the house now where we can retire and be undisturbed. Her energy is ceaseless; so is her passion for altering furniture and every habit of our quiet household."

Monica looked distressed.

"I am afraid you will not be able to live together."

"I am certain we shall not. Well, as you say, we shall see, and meanwhile dad and I are going to town, and it will be enchanting! One gets the sun with the clouds, doesn't one? They come after each other in pretty quick succession. I don't think you're looking very well, Monnie. Tell me how things are going with you."

"I'm having an anxious time. My right hand, as I call him, is leaving me. He is going to set up for himself in Canada."

"Not John Bayley?"

"Yes. Of course, I can get another man to take his place, and I know enough myself to see that he does all that is required, but I shall be busier than ever. John has saved me so much."

"I think that is quite a disaster," said Sidney.

Monica laughed.

"No, it's a set-back. I'm going through all the accounts with John. This last year has not been a prosperous one, but the previous ones have, and it will only mean harder work for me till the new man has learnt my ways. There is nothing to be anxious about, only sometimes a wave of doubt seems to sweep over me; and when I doubt myself and my powers, the outlook seems very black."

"I did not know that you could doubt your powers," said Sidney, laughing.

Monica smiled, too.

"You always have thought me too self-sufficient, haven't you? But I don't often get a fit of blues. I have quite decided to send Chuckles to boarding-school after Easter."

"I believe that is at the bottom of your depression. You don't like losing him. I'm sure I shall miss him on Sundays dreadfully. And just while I am away, will you let Jockie teach him on Sunday afternoons? It will do her good as well as him."

"If she is willing to be saddled with him, I shall be very glad."

After a little more talk, Sidney said good-bye and left. She paid one more visit, and that was to Mrs. de Cressiers, but she did not confide in her. She simply stated the fact that she and her father were going up to town.

Mrs. de Cressiers thought it a very good plan.

"Your dear father moves about so seldom that the change will do him good. And now, Sidney, what is this about your handing over the reins of government to your uncle's wife? Is that wise of you? You are not a very young girl, and are undoubtedly the proper mistress there. I cannot imagine why your uncle does not get a house for himself and his wife. He must do so before long. A joint household is always a failure."

"If it is," Sidney said quietly, "father and I mean to go and leave them in possession."

"My dear girl, what do you mean?"

"It is something we have discovered lately—the house is legally my uncle's. I cannot go into details. We have lived together many years without any necessity for making this known; in fact, we were not aware of it ourselves till lately."

"But I happen to remember and to know more than you do, Sidney," said Mrs. de Cressiers gravely. "I remember when your grandfather died, and when your uncle was 'sowing his wild oats,' as people say. He sent word he did not want to take the house and would not settle down, and then sold it to your father."

"I did not know you remembered it all," faltered Sidney. "Well, there was no legal transaction between them, it seems, and—"

"But your uncle is an honourable man."

"Oh, yes—yes; but please don't talk of the past or refer to it. Mrs. Urquhart does not see it as we do; she worries him till he begins to look at things in a different light; and we have decided that we had better go—at least, I think we shall do so. Nothing is absolutely settled yet."

Mrs. de Cressiers looked almost dazed.

"I shall begin to think as hardly of her as Jockie does. That girl is a strange mixture. Do you know she has been coming up and playing draughts with my poor husband, and chatting away to him so entertainingly that he quite enjoys her visits. But, my dear Sidney, you and your father must not leave this neighbourhood. You really must not. Why, it will break your father's heart. He is bound up with that house and those old guns. I shall have to go down and have a talk with your uncle, I think."

The colour mounted in Sidney's cheeks. She raised her head proudly.

"I hope you will do nothing of the sort. If we go, it will be because we prefer to do it. There is no question of expulsion."

Mrs. de Cressiers smiled, and patted Sidney on the shoulder.

"I always like to see your de Cressiers blood come to the fore. Go to London, my dear, and things will be different when you return."

So Sidney and her father departed, having the sanction of their dearest friends; and Mrs. Ted Urquhart watched them go with a triumphant heart, for she meant to reign supreme, and she knew that this step would further her resolve.