CHAPTER XXVIII

WATENDLATH FORGET-ME-NOT

BORROWDALE is beautiful at every season of the year. The summer sunshine lights up its purple, heather-covered heights; the autumn tints make the wood in its hollows ablaze with orange and red; and the winter snows give it a grand and Alpine appearance.

But the hand of spring, after all, lavishes most loveliness upon Borrowdale. It covers it with a carpet of primroses, it draws through its woods a pale-blue lining of wild hyacinths, it makes its fields into cloth of gold with buttercups; whilst the fresh green of the silver birch, the bursting buds of the chestnuts, the countless signs in every flower, bush, and tree of awakening resurrection life, combine to make the whole valley a perfect fairyland.

So Marjorie Douglas thought, as she set out that spring morning, and began to climb the hill behind Fern Bank, in order that she might pay her weekly visit to one of her favourite old women. Her heart was as full of brightness as the spring day, for was not this the week in which Captain Fortescue had said he was coming to Rosthwaite? She had not seen him for a year and a half, and had heard nothing of him, save those two short notes which he had written to her mother. Evidently he had never yet discovered the missing word in the letter, for he was still living in Birmingham, in that dismal little house in Lime Street.

She was glad that he was going to have a little holiday from his hard work. She was pleased to think that Borrowdale would look its very loveliest when he arrived, and she knew that her mother would be glad to see him and to have a talk with him again.

As for herself—well, perhaps, she would be glad too.

The path led her through a copse wood where the primroses were a sight to see, and then, as she went higher still, she came upon a rough mountain road. She followed this for some way, and, after a stiff climb over the moorland, she came to the little hamlet of Watendlath, which nestles in a hollow amongst the hills. A more picturesque place could scarcely be found; the few white farmhouses and small thatched cottages stand by the side of a quiet mountain tarn, and are reflected in its still waters; the little village seems completely shut off from the world by the mountains which surround it.

Old Sarah Grisedale lived in a cottage at a little distance from the lake. She was a tall, thin old woman, active, in spite of her great age, and still able to walk over the mountain to church, and to climb the steep hill again without even the help of a stick.

Marjorie had a long chat with her old friend, sitting in her usual place on a three-legged wooden stool in front of the peat fire, and then she emptied her basket of the good things she had brought for her, and went on to an ancient farmhouse standing just above the tarn, that she might buy some eggs which her mother had asked her to get there. Several dogs ran out barking when she drew near; but they knew Marjorie well, and were quiet as soon as she spoke to them.

The old farmhouse has stood in this secluded spot for many hundreds of years, and its low ceilings, oak panelling, heavy wooden beams, deep chimney corners, and carved cupboards are all relics of the days of long ago.

When Marjorie left the farm, she crossed the little bridge over the stream running into the mountain tarn, and as she did so, she noticed that growing by the edge of the water was a quantity of large blue forget-me-not. She climbed down the bank to the water and gathered the blue flowers, and then sat down on the grass to pull off the wet roots which had come up as she plucked it, and to arrange the flowers in her basket above the eggs.

As she did so, sitting by the side of the rushing brook and hearing nothing but its noisy babbling, she was startled by feeling something bounce against her arm. It was a large white collie, which had come bounding down the steep bank, and which now lay down beside her, putting its paws on her knees.

"O you beauty, you lovely fellow!" said Marjorie, as she stroked the dog's head. "Where have you come from, and whose dog are you?"

She was not left long in doubt on this point, for the dog's master was close at hand. She heard a voice behind her, a voice she knew well.

"Miss Douglas, I've found you at last."

"Captain Fortescue! How did you know I was here?"

"I called at Fernbank, and Mrs. Douglas told me you had come up the hill, so Laddie and I came in search of you."

He climbed down the bank and took her hand in his.

A piece of forget-me-not fell at his feet as Marjorie got up to speak to him. He picked it up and asked, "Is it for me?"

"If you like," she said in a low voice.

"I expect you thought I had forgotten you," he said; "but there is no need to give me the little blue flower, I assure you, Miss Douglas. I have never forgotten you. I never could forget what you did for me the last time I saw you."

"And yet it was all of no use," she said sadly.

"Don't say that. Who can tell? That letter may yet prove to be a most important link in the chain. What a lovely place this is! Shall we sit here and talk a little? It is so quiet and beautiful."

They sat down on the rocky bank, and the collie laid his chin on Marjorie's arm and gazed up into her face.

"Tell me what you have been doing the last eighteen months, Miss Douglas."

She told him of Mr. Holtby's death, and how they had all left Daisy Bank.

"Yes," he said, "I went there one day to see you, and found you gone."

"Did you? I wish I had known!"

"Why? Oh, I see. You thought I had forgotten. Well, where did you go next?"

"I went to some friends of yours, very great friends, I believe. I was companion to Lady Violet Berington."

She glanced doubtfully at him as she said this, as though she wondered whether the mention of the name would give him pain, but she was reassured by his face. There was no trace of anything in it but great interest in her story.

"I wonder how you found out that I knew them."

"I saw your photograph in Lady Violet's book."

"Yes, in the Riviera. I remember I was taken with her a great many times."

"And I thought—"

"What did you think?"

"You will laugh when I tell you! I thought you were Lord Kenmore."

"Kenmore, of all people on earth! Why did you think that?"

"I knew that Lady Violet was engaged to Lord Kenmore, and I thought that perhaps Kenmore was the missing word which we tried to read in the letter."

"I see. And you thought Lady Violet and I seemed very much together in the photos? I understand now. Have you seen Lord Kenmore?"

"Yes, once; he came to see Lady Violet, and I went into the room expecting to see you. I had followed him up the avenue, and he looked exactly like you in the distance. Have you ever met him, Captain Fortescue?"

"Never."

"His figure is really very like yours, and his hair and the way he walks—really very much alike; but his face is quite different."

"Were you glad or sorry when you found that I was not Lord Kenmore?"

Marjorie did not answer, and he repeated the question; but she was busily throwing the forget-me-not flowers on the water, and watching them float under the bridge, and still she did not speak.

"How long were you at Grantley Castle, Miss Douglas?"

"I left at Christmas. Lady Violet was quite well then."

"Were you sorry to leave?"

"Yes, in some ways; it's a lovely place, and they were really very good to me, all of them. I think, I am sure Lady Violet would have liked me to stay a few months longer, to help her in the preparations for her wedding; but—"

"But what?"

"Well, I fancy Lady Earlswood was anxious that I should not stop longer. Captain Fortescue, do you know Captain Berington?"

"Yes, of course I do; we were at Sandhurst together."

Marjorie stopped, as if she did not like to say more.

"Please go on, Miss Douglas. What about Captain Berington?"

"Well," she said, "perhaps I ought not to say it, especially as you know him, but I rather think it was on his account that Lady Earlswood wanted me to leave."

"Why on his account?"

"Well, he was very kind to me, and when I went for my afternoon walk in the park, he often happened to be going in the same direction. I couldn't help it, could I? But I think Lady Earlswood thought I could; and it was rather uncomfortable, you see, so I was glad to get away."

"Really glad?"

"Yes, really glad. It was so very awkward. I did not want him to come, but he always seemed to turn up wherever I went, and I did not know what to do."

"So you came home at Christmas?"

"Yes, on Christmas Eve."

"Have you heard from any of them since?"

"Only once. I had a letter from Lady Violet a few weeks after I left, saying there was some disturbance about Lord Kenmore's property, or rather the property which he expected to get at his brother's death, and she was afraid he would be robbed of what rightfully belonged to him; but she did not say what the trouble was, nor who wanted to rob him. That was in January, and I have never heard since."

"Not from any of them?"

"Oh no. Now, will you tell me what you have been doing?"

"Well, things have brightened a bit for me. As I told Mrs. Douglas in my letter, I am better off than I was. I am leaving Mrs. Hall."

"Poor Mrs. Hall!"

"Yes, she seems sorry to lose me, good old soul!"

"Where are you going to live? At the other end of Birmingham?"

"No, quite out in the country."

"Not the Daisy Bank way?" she said, laughing.

"No, north of Birmingham."

"I'm so glad you will be in the country! I love the country, and it will be so restful for you after your hard work in the city."

"Yes, I hope it will; I feel sure it will."

"What is the name of the place?"

"North Eaton."

"Have you got nice lodgings there?"

"No, I am not going into lodgings again. I am going to start housekeeping."

"Housekeeping! Have you got a house?"

"Yes, I have got a house. I have had one for a few weeks now."

"Is there a garden?"

"A very nice garden; and the house is—well, rather a nice house, I think. It only wants one thing. Marjorie dear, can you not guess what that one thing is?"

She was bending over Laddie, so that he could not see her face.

"Can you guess, Marjorie?"

She shook her head.

"You can't guess?" he whispered, as he took hold of the hand which was stroking Laddie's head. "Then I shall be obliged to tell you; Marjorie darling, it wants you!"