CHAPTER I

A VENTURE

IT was four o'clock in the afternoon in the beginning of January. The room was cosy and comfortable. Outside, there was a bitter north-east wind; the grey dusk hid the opposite row of houses, but the noise of the traffic in the next street was ceaseless, and the girl sitting before the blazing fire, her hands clasped loosely round her knees, was continually raising her head in a listening attitude. Then she heard the electric bell of her flat ring, and she rose to her feet expectantly.

The door opened, and a man was ushered in by a very trim maid.

The girl uttered an exclamation of dismay.

"'You,' Dugald!"

"Yes, it's myself," said the newcomer in brisk tones; "don't look so 'dour,' as we Scotch say."

The girl smiled. She was tall and slender, but she was not beautiful; only a pair of merry brown eyes and a humorously twisted mouth redeemed her from plainness, but she carried her inches with dignity, and she had an attractive personality.

"Sit down. I'm expecting my sister-in-law and my small niece to stay with me. It is all rather sudden. Here's her letter. What do you think of it?" She took a letter off her mantelpiece and handed it to him.

"MY DEAR ORRIS,—

"Calamity has overtaken me. I told you I was going to marry Captain Arteris. My wedding day was fixed for the tenth of next month, and we were to have been married in Cannes. I must tell you, about four months ago, he persuaded me to invest all my capital in an oil well of his; he said it would give me twelve per cent. right away. The oil has failed, and the company, which I rather gather is Frank himself, is insolvent. He came to me perfectly abject, saying he couldn't afford to marry, and is now on his way to try new fields of fortune in California. So that's off. The shock of it was too much for me, and I have been very ill. How are Pippa and I to live upon my small pension? I must come and talk over things with you, and I'm writing this just before leaving by the night express.

"Your affectionate sister,

"VENETIA."

"Calamity seems to be her portion," said the man coolly; "but I fail to see why you should be brought into it again. You set her up in a millinery venture, did you not?"

Orris nodded.

"She has neither the health nor capacity to earn," she said.

"Take my advice and don't offer her a home."

"I think," she remarked, "that you had better not stay. I hear a taxi, and you and she never hit it off."

"Hang her!" muttered the man under his breath. But he got up from his chair. "I came to suggest a dinner at the Carlton to-night. Marie is up in town, and wants to see you."

"I'm sorry."

She waved a rather impatient hand to him, and he left the room with a heavy frown.

"Venetia is a born parasite," he said to himself, "and Orris is a perfect fool in her hands."

Then, in a moment or two, the door opened, and Orris's sister-in-law appeared.

She shed her fur coat before she embraced. "Oh, what weather! And we've had such a rough crossing! I'm perished with cold!"

"Where's the child?" demanded Orris.

"Downstairs, chattering her head off to Dugald, who tumbled into us. Does he still live in your pockets, Orris?"

Orris flushed, then she laughed.

"You never will realize that our cousinship is a thing by itself. Ah, here comes Pippa!"

Venetia had taken off her hat and was standing over the fire; she had a pale golden bobbed head and a very short dress. She looked about seventeen in the firelight. The child who danced into the room and up to Orris was dark-eyed, with a mop of very curly fair hair. She had small features and a beautiful skin.

"Aunt Ollie—Aunt Ollie!" she cried, throwing her arms round her aunt. "Aren't you very glad to see me? I've grown yards, and mummy's shoes almost fit me if I stuff paper into the toes! And I walked all round the ship with the captain, and do you know I have a darling dove in a cage? And Cousin Dugald was saying a wicked word when he met us on the stairs, so I put my hand in his pocket quick like a thief, and picked his cigarette-case; and then he and me had a scrimmage, but he says there's a new bear at the Zoo wants to see me, and we think we'll go to-morrow."

She paused for breath. Her mother turned her head.

"Go and fetch me my handbag, Pippa. I left it in the cab, and Anita has got it."

The child instantly obeyed.

"You can put us up, Orris?"

"Of course. I have a big spare room."

"You're very comfortable in this flat. I suppose you realize that we're penniless. Pippa and I have both been in the doctor's hands. He advised a good healthy out-of-door life for us both. So ridiculous! But I couldn't stay on in Cannes."

"Pippa looks thin and white."

"She's never still; she tires me to death. I never ought to have been a mother. I haven't the health for it. Children are a never-ending care and responsibility. You'll have to take her off my hands for a bit. Have you still got your job at the club?"

"Yes, I'm still manageress."

"I should like a similar job if I could get it. You have a very good time and a good salary."

"It's good enough for one," said Orris, laughing, and her laugh was clear and ringing, "but it won't be very good for three. I'll do the best I can for you, Vennie dear. We must talk over this idea of a country life."

"Don't make me an item in it. But Pippa has a cough which ought to be cured. If I had the money, I would send her down to a country farmhouse with Anita, my maid. I suppose you can put her up too? I forgot to say I was bringing her over with us. She's half Italian, half French, and adores Pippa, and knows how to manage her."

"I think she can share my one maid's room," said Orris.

Pippa was back.

"I wiss I was a organ-man, mummy! There's one with a monkey in the street. May I go and be friends with him?"

"No," said her mother sharply; "you may not. Oh, dear! How tired I am! Orris, I'll go straight to bed. Anita will wait on me—I only want a cup of tea."

Orris took her to her spare room without a word. She saw that she had every comfort there, and then returned to her little niece, whom she found in front of the fire with two dolls and a Teddy bear.

"It's my family, Aunt Ollie—Beauty and the Beast and their little baby. I'm really fondest of the Beast; he's so soft and squeezy."

Then a fit of coughing stopped further talking. And as Orris watched the child's flushed, strained face and beating heart, sudden anxiety seized her.

"Pippa, my darling, you're nothing but a bag of bones with a little skin over them!"

She took her on her lap as she spoke, and, exhausted by her coughing, the child rested her head on her shoulder and sighed.

"Mummy hates fat people. There was a fat lady on the boat. She could hardly walk. I can run faster than anybody can catch me."

Tea was being brought in. Orris was distressed at her niece's small appetite. When it was over, she found her hands full helping the travellers to unpack and settle them comfortably for the night. But later on, she came back to the fireside and sat very still in her chair, as she reviewed the situation.

"This will make a big change in my life," she said to herself. "I cannot support Vennie in the luxury she demands, if we live on in town. And the child will die here. For Jim's sake, I must look after them. Well, it is good to have belongings; I was getting selfish and self-centred—and a few days will do wonders, I expect. I must get a doctor's opinion, and arrive at Vennie's mind. Light will come—it always does."

As she sat there, she looked back to her girlhood's days. Her first real trouble was when she was a happy careless schoolgirl of fifteen. She was recalled from her boarding-school to her young mother's death-bed. She had caught a severe chill which turned to pneumonia, and after a few days' illness passed away, whispering in a breathless way to her little daughter: "Take care of daddy."

Orris had had eight years of sheltered life with her father, who was a dreamy scholar, and lived in a world of books and manuscripts. He was twenty years older than her mother, and died leaving his daughter almost penniless.

Her one brother was a Civil Servant in India. He came home on leave at his father's death with his wife and child, and wanted Orris to go back to India and make his house her home. This she refused to do. Venetia and she had little in common. And she knew she would not be a welcome visitor to her sister-in-law.

Through an old school friend she obtained a post as assistant manageress of a woman's club in London, and proved so capable and dependable that, on the retirement of her friend, she was elected the manageress, and had been there ever since.

Trouble came again. Her brother was carried off suddenly by virulent typhus, and his widow and child came home, where Orris did her best to obtain some employment for her sister-in-law. But Venetia was not a worker; she threw up everything after a few weeks' trial, and eventually went out to the Riviera as travelling companion to a rich young widow. She had drifted about on the Continent for two years. And as Orris realized now that her small income had entirely disappeared, it needed all her courage and buoyancy to face the future.

"I think," she murmured to herself, with a smile breaking over her face, "that my role is to be one of the world's caretakers. Better that than stagnating in a lonely pool! And if Venetia may prove a difficult problem, Pippa will be my greatest joy."

And with this conclusion she went to bed. She had learnt already how to grapple with difficulties and yet maintain a cheerful contented spirit.

A week later she walked into her flat with a radiant face.

It was nine o'clock in the evening. For a wonder Venetia was at home. She was crouched over the fire reading a novel, and looked up at her sister-in-law with discontented eyes.

"What a time you've been! I've had a rotten day. I'm getting fed-up with this cold fog and rain."

"So sorry, dear! I was kept later than usual, for a Mrs. Calthrop wanted to talk to me, and our talk was so engrossing that I did not notice how the time was going. Such good news, Vennie! An open door, I call it."

Orris slipped off her fur coat and drew an easy-chair up to the fire.

Venetia looked at her with a half-scornful curl of the lip.

"You're easily pleased," she said.

"Yes, I hope I am, but even you must acknowledge that this is what we have been wanting. I had been telling one or two of the members that I feared I would have to give up my post as I wanted to try for something in the country, and Mrs. Calthrop had heard of it. I don't know if you've heard me speak of her. She's a very energetic busy woman with an only son—rather delicate. He has lately come into an old property quite unexpectedly. He was secretary for some years to the owners of it. An old man and his wife. Their name was Muir. The husband died about three years ago, and the wife the end of last year. Young Calthrop had made himself very useful to them both. And to everyone's astonishment, the whole of the property has been left to him."

"Do come to the point," said Venetia languidly. "I'm not interested in these people."

"Yes, but you must be, because of what follows. Mrs. Calthrop is anxious for her son to sell the whole of the library in the old house. It is a very valuable one, but is in a state of hopeless confusion. The death duties and taxes have rather crippled them this year, and she wants to go to Algiers with him and travel a bit. Neither of them are book lovers, but she knows I am. She knew my father many years ago, and briefly her proposition is this: that I should go down and catalogue and put the library into perfect order before it is put into the market for sale. She wants a good price for it, and will get it, I expect. I can't understand her being willing—or her son either—to part with such a possession. But there it is! She offers me board and house room, says I can take friends or relations with me, and offers me three pounds a week. I think it will be a year's task. She means to be abroad for about that time with her son, and says she would like me to take up my quarters there till they return."

"Does she boss the show? What is this son like? Not married, is he? I should like to meet him."

Venetia's interest was awakened. She lit a cigarette, and lay back in her chair, thinking hard.

"I think she is boss, if you ask me. I have only seen her son once, and then he struck me as a good-looking effeminate creature. I believe one of his lungs is affected. No, he is not married, I'm glad to think. He's not your sort, Venetia."

"My sort," said Venetia, taking her cigarette out of her mouth, and watching the spiral of smoke ascend from her lips, "is anyone with decent manners, and a good balance at his bank."

"I don't fancy he has too big a balance at present, but I daresay later on, he'll be all right. The house is charming, I believe, but rather in the wilds. It is on the borders of Hampshire, on high ground, and is in the pine district. Very healthy, she says. I was thinking what a chance for Pippa!"

"And what about me?"

Orris looked at her sister-in-law with a good-humoured tolerance.

"You must come with us and make the best of it. The salary, of course, isn't much, but we can make it do, with board and lodging thrown in. In two years' time Pippa will, we'll hope, be strong and robust. I believe there are three or four good old servants left with the house, so we shall be comfortable."

"I conclude you have accepted the post?"

"Not until I have talked it over with you. But we should be fools to throw such a chance away. I am to let Mrs. Calthrop have my decision to-morrow morning."

There was silence. Orris knew her sister-in-law well enough not to urge her consent.

And at last, Venetia spoke.

"We can but try it. It will be good for the child. I think that I'll let you take her down and settle in first. I've promised to pay the Lucas-Seymours a visit the beginning of next month."

"All right. I rather think I can get Mary Watson to come back to the club for a bit. She resigned, you know, because her brother lost his wife, and wanted her to look after his children, but the eldest is home from school now, and she's not wanted in the same way. There will be a lot to see to, but I shall try to sub-let this flat. I don't want to store my bits of furniture."

A busy time for Orris followed. Once having made a decision, she never looked back. Her friends and a few relations objected to her leaving town. Her cousin, Dugald McTavert, was one of these.

"It's the height of folly turning yourself into a book grubber for such a paltry screw, and burying yourself in a mouldy rat-eaten ruin for the sake of a child who could be boarded out quite cheaply in any lodgings or farm."

"Well, now," said Orris, facing him gravely, "I always tell you that I am led into pleasant pastures. I'm longing myself, after three years of London turmoil, to breathe pure country air and live a quiet life. It has come to me so easily and quickly that I simply look up, and give thanks for it."

"As you gave thanks for your job in town," said Dugald.

"Yes, I did; and I've enjoyed all of it. I love my fellow-creatures, and I've had some experience in dealing with them. And I won't say that my brain hasn't benefited by my town life, and all the lectures and music that I have enjoyed. But there's another side of me that I have not cultivated. I've never had time to think—I won't use that old-fashioned word, meditate—but I shall have time to browse amongst my books, and have Nature around me."

"Deadly dull, you'll become!"

"Not I, with a child like Pippa to keep me young. She's alive to her finger tips, and she's worth keeping in this world, Dugald. To let her pine and die for lack of the right atmosphere would be pure murder!"

"And Madame la Mère?"

"Well, we must wait and see. She's willing to make the experiment, and she will put in some visits when she's bored."

"I'm a relation, so I'll look you up one weekend," Dugald announced.

"My mouldy ruin won't interest you. I wish you could see the photo of the house which Mrs. Calthrop showed me. It isn't anything near a ruin. And the garden is a dream. But, of course, you can come and see us, if you can tear yourself away from town."

"You'll hail my advent with joy. You aren't made to live alone, Orris, as you'll find to your cost. Your life has been pretty full of acquaintances and friends these last few years, and it will be a big drop down to one small child and a few country yokels! As for Madam Parasite, she'll flee back to town after two days of it. Why, Calthrop himself won't live there!"

"It's his health," Orris said; "he was there for some years as secretary."

"Yes, he was preparing his habitation. Do you know that there's a nephew of the old Muirs somewhere? Rather hard lines on him! A rolling stone, I believe, couldn't stay at home, and they took offence, and cut him out of the will. But people say Mrs. Calthrop is a powerful personality; she was a cousin of the Muirs, was she not? She stayed a good bit with them. The rotten part of it all is that the old people left her son the property as he appreciated their library so. That is mentioned in their will, and the first thing he does is to sell the blooming concern!"

"It isn't sold yet. How did you hear all this gossip?"

"I looked up the will at Somerset House, and I've known Calthrop. He belongs to my club. He's a nincompoop, and entirely under his mother's thumb."

"Well, they've been very good in giving me the job, and I'm not hearing anything against them."

"You and Pippa in a lone empty country house—ghosts perhaps! My dear girl, you're taking a false step. Back out of it!"

But Orris laughed at him and pursued her own way. And at last, her affairs were settled, and one grey day towards the end of March, she and Pippa and the Italian maid started from Waterloo for their new home.