CHAPTER XII

NEW QUARTERS AGAIN

AS the days went on, Orris began to wonder whether she should ever hear of Jock Muir again. Though she had told him not to write or follow her, she inconsistently began to want him to do one or the other. She had withdrawn herself from him of her own free will, but the miss of him brought an aching blank in her life. She took herself to task for this; she was angry that she could not shut him out of her thoughts, and tried her best to forget him.

Pippa still chatted incessantly about him, but, like a happy child, she took this change in her life philosophically, and was engrossed with her little playmate at the Vicarage. When he went home, and she was left alone once more, she turned to the old fishermen for companionship. They all loved her, and would take her out in their boats to their lobster-traps, and occasionally for a row out to sea.

Orris was at first a little nervous about these expeditions, but the old men were cautious and experienced boatmen, and Pippa was absolutely tractable and good when with them.

One day Orris was sitting on the rocks reading a letter from Venetia. She did not often write, but whenever she did, she made allusions to Pippa's education. Was she being sent to school? There was no possibility of having her out in California, but she hoped she would be well educated, for she regretted in her own case that she had not been at a good school when young.

Orris made an attempt at lessons with Pippa for an hour every morning, but she felt that the child ought to be learning more steadily. And now, the letter in hand, she was once more considering ways and means.

She was interrupted presently by the appearance of Miss Lyle, who sat down beside her to have a chat.

"What is worrying you this morning?" she asked at once.

Orris smiled.

"My old problem, which I must solve pretty soon. I cannot continue to laze away my life here, and let Pippa grow up a dunce. I can't bear to send her away from me, but she must be educated."

"It's very strange to find you at that problem this morning. You know, as I go through life, I am always trying to bring together employers and employees. It's a difficult task. I have told you that my interests in town are with the poor gentlefolk in our land. Now, I know a girl there who is simply working herself to death at a High School in Kensington. She is not strong, and the confined life is killing her. Her doctor told her the other day that she ought to get out of London, but in these days of competition she is afraid of giving up her present post for fear she would not find another. Her earnings help a delicate mother in little comforts. Now, can you afford to have her as governess to your small niece? She is not a London girl, she loves the country, and it would be the making of her to get these Atlantic breezes through her."

Orris considered.

"Of course, a governess is what Pippa ought to have, if she does not go to school. I cannot teach her. I feel it would spoil the conditions of our affection—if you know what I mean. Pippa needs a certain amount of discipline during lesson hours. She thinks she can play with an aunt, but she would not try to play with a governess. But I am a little uncertain of my movements, and Mrs. Dabbs could not find room for another lodger. May I think over it, and let you know?"

"Of course. But I want to say something more. You have told me a little about your circumstances, and I gather that the governess's salary may be a difficulty. Now I have a proposal to make to you. I spend, as you know, most of the year in town; my house lies idle, and will be empty this coming winter. Will you and your little niece take possession of it, and keep it warmed and aired for me? I have three or four old servants who find it dull without anyone there. Mabel Raynor can be fitted in easily. Now, please, listen, and don't let pride stand in the way of benefiting me and many others. I want you to do something for me. I have been longing to send down certain invalids and poor gentlefolk, who are needing comfort and rest, for a long stay at my house, but I cannot do it unless there is some one there who would act as hostess and run the house. You have managed a club in town: would you care to manage a kind of rest home for me? Live in my house and be the lady superintendent? I would give a salary of £200 a year, and this would help to pay for your little niece's education." She paused.

Orris drew a long breath. It seemed at first too good to be true. Her tangled knot was unravelled. Her way before her was clear and plain. She did not hesitate a moment. She turned to Miss Lyle with deep feeling in her tone:

"I can't thank you enough for your generous offer. I will not let pride stand in the way. Why should I? I must earn. I have not a big enough income to support Pippa as well as myself, and I am afraid her mother has cast her off for the time. You have indeed solved my problem. There is nothing I should like better than to take such a post."

"What a sensible girl you are! I shall come down for visits now and then, but I warn you I shall fill your hands with occupation. There are so many of my ventures in this small village in which I should like your help. You will be my substitute in my absence. I suppose you will not find it dreary in the winter?"

"How could I, with Pippa?" said Orris. "And I'm getting to know the fisher-folk, and I'm never tired of the sea."

Then they began to discuss the plan in every detail.

Miss Lyle lost no time in setting to work. She went up to town the next day, and insisted upon Orris accompanying her to interview Miss Raynor. She took Orris to her town house as guest; and when they came back in two days' time, the matter was settled.

Pippa had been as good as gold in her aunt's absence, but she was rather mystified as to what was going on. Orris broke the news to her one fine morning, as they sat on the sands together. At first Pippa pouted.

"I don't like governesses."

"How many do you know?" asked her aunt, laughing. "This governess is so young and bright, Pippa! She loves games, and will play with you as well as teach you; and I shall never be far-away."

But when told of their move into the big comfortable house by the sea, Pippa's spirits rose.

"I do love the sea so much, Aunt Ollie; there are so many lovely things in it—like crabs and seaweed and shells. But aren't we ever going back to see Master Jock again? I thought we'd come here for a holiday."

"So we did, darling, but the sea suits us both, doesn't it? And I have got a new job, Pippa. I can't be idle, you know; and I'm going to keep house for Miss Lyle when she is away, and look after some visitors of hers, who will be coming to stay."

This sounded rather exciting to Pippa. She loved making fresh friends, and would have made acquaintance with the whole world, could she have managed it.

A few weeks later, they left Mrs. Dabbs, and moved into Cudweed Chase.

A short time before their departure, Orris received a brace of partridges and a pheasant. This time the label was quite decipherable, and she knew they had come from Jock.

Still she could not make up her mind to write to him. He was obeying her injunction, and she felt, if she once broke the ice, he might come down and try to interfere with her plans.

Miss Lyle did not go back to town till Orris was thoroughly settled into her new home.

Miss Raynor arrived, and she and Pippa had a pleasant suite of rooms all to themselves—a schoolroom, a large bedroom, and a smaller one leading out of it where Pippa slept. The little girl was very proud and pleased to have a bedroom of her own, and took at once a great liking to her governess.

Mabel Raynor was a delicate-looking girl, with large dark eyes and pale cheeks, but she was energetic and high-spirited, and had the knack of teaching small children and keeping them happy in lesson time.

When Miss Lyle left, Orris began to find her time pleasantly occupied. She acted as organist every Sunday in the little church, she took the Sunday school in the afternoon, and she had a weekly class for the fisher-lads, and young men when they worked at crafts. She was thankful that she had little leisure for brooding over the past. When Dugald heard of this fresh move of hers, he came down to expostulate.

"You are the most extraordinary soul for falling on your feet," he grumbled. "I was hoping you would get so moped and dull with the lack of occupation and of society that you would thankfully throw yourself into my arms when I came down to see you, and beseech me to take you back to town."

"Is that like me?" questioned Orris, with dignity.

"Perhaps not, but I'm always hoping to see a change in you. You are too self-sufficing, my dear Coz."

"Oh!" sighed Orris, with downfallen face, as she remembered another who complained of the same fault in her. "Surely I am not, now. I have had a fall, and a bad one, Dugald. I sometimes think that, like Queen Mary with Calais, I shall go down to the grave with 'library' engraven on my heart. I hope I shan't fail in my trust now. I pray I may not."

Dugald looked around him. They were talking in the comfortable morning-room at Cudweed Chase, the room in which Orris chiefly lived. There was a blazing log fire in the open grate, golden chrysanthemums were in great bowls on the deep window-sills, brightening the room with their colour. If it was furnished in Early Victorian style, it was essentially comfortable. There were deep armchairs, and a big Chesterfield covered with bright cretonne; the Turkey carpet underfoot and heavy red velvet curtains to the three windows facing seaward all made for warmth and cosiness.

"Yes," he repeated; "you fall on your feet, and go from one comfortable house to another. Not that I call the farmhouse comfortable, but you started well down there, at Pinestones. What is that fellow doing? Going on with his farming, or living decently, like the rest of us?"

"I think his life as a farmer more decent than lounging about in London clubs," said Orris rather sharply. "I believe he is continuing to farm."

"Knew I would get a rise out of you if I but mentioned his name," said Dugald, with a short laugh. "Now, look here, Orris, you are not going to waste your life down in this quiet place, and spend the rest of your years as a housekeeper or caretaker—whichever you like to call it. Give it a trial if you like, but come up to town before Christmas, now do! Your flat will be vacant again, I believe, by that time. We want you badly."

Orris shook her head.

"You are a disturber of peace, Dugald. I may come up for some Christmas shopping, that is all that I can promise. I am perfectly happy here, and so is Pippa. I could not be dull. Next week we are having three or four visitors."

Dugald shrugged his shoulders.

"'Decayed gentlewomen'! Isn't that the expression? What a life for 'you!' Will you sit up doing knitting and crochet with them, and talking about rheumatics, and all the ills of poverty and old age?"

"At all events, I shall be trying to cheer poverty and old age," retorted Orris good-humouredly. And she sent him back to town with no ray of hope for himself in the situation.

"His life is so limited," she said to herself; "it is bounded on all sides by conventionality. Never, never could I link my life to his, and he must be convinced of it by now."

Her thoughts flashed to Jock. He would never stagnate anywhere. He was a born worker, and whatever he put his hand to seemed to prosper. "I should like a talk with him again," was the desire of her heart; "he braces one, and makes one believe in the happiness of work." Then, as usual, she took herself to task for thinking about him, and turned to other matters in hand.

A great pleasure soon came to Pippa. Miss Lyle kept a couple of horses for her own use, and a tiny Shetland pony to work the big lawnmower. She had an old coachman who had served her faithfully for years; and as he had to exercise the horses in his mistress's absence, he asked Orris if she would care to ride one of them.

"The little Missy could have the pony. I would dearly like to teach her to ride. Miss Lyle herself took her first riding lessons from me."

Orris demurred at first. She had ridden as a young girl, and had always loved horses. As for Pippa, she went perfectly wild at the thought.

Miss Lyle was consulted, and she said she would be only too glad for them both to exercise the horses. So the riding began.

Pippa took to it as a duck takes to water. She went out directly after breakfast with Perkins, before her lessons began, and sometimes had a ride with her aunt in the afternoon. The narrow lanes and steep hills did not incommode the horses. Perkins said that he was thankful they kept the motors and charabancs from coming near them. Like most grooms, he had a jealous horror of Miss Lyle taking to a car and putting down her horses.

"Oh, Aunt Ollie," said Pippa one day, coming in rosy and breathless after her ride, "How I wish Master Jock could see me on my pony! Shall we 'never' see him again? He is my bestest friend in the world!"

"Perhaps he may come and see us one day," said Orris.

She knew that the word must come from her, but she was not yet ready to send it, and little thought of the circumstances in front of her that would force her hand.

The first visitors to arrive from town were a lonely clergyman's widow, an Irish single lady who had lost her beautiful property, and an Indian Officer's daughter who had attempted to set up a small preparatory school for little boys at Hampstead Heath and had failed in the attempt.

Of the three, Orris's sympathy was mostly with the latter. She was barely thirty, but looked much older. She had a young brother at a public school, whom she was educating; and latterly she had almost starved herself to do it. Miss Lyle had found her one day fainting in a 'bus. In her usual prompt energetic way, she had accompanied her home, and then, seeing the poverty of her bed-sitting-room, she had insisted upon taking her into her town house as a guest, and, after hearing her story, had sent her off to Cudweed.

"If you don't like to be idle," she said brusquely to her, "I'll give you orders for knitted silk jumpers. I supply a shop in town with those made by different friends of mine."

So Kathleen Walters had arrived, and Orris and she became very good friends.

Miss O'Flauty and Mrs. Hatton, the other two ladies, got on extremely well together. Orris had often heard of the great difficulty in having a happy household of perfect strangers, but so far she had had no disagreeables. Each of the three was thankful beyond words to be for a time freed from the carking care of a small purse and a lonely life.

And then one morning Miss Raynor came to Orris with a troubled face.

"I don't think Pippa is at all well, so I am keeping her in bed. She does not want to get up, says her head hurts her. She complained of the cold yesterday evening, and I gave her a hot drink and put her to bed; it may be a slight chill. Will you come to her?"

Orris had been at her fisher-lads' class the evening before.

"Why didn't you tell me last night?" she said, as she took a thermometer into Pippa's room.

"I thought it might pass off."

Pippa seemed drowsy and flushed when her aunt bent over her. Her temperature was found to be one hundred and three, and the doctor was sent for at once. He looked grave when he had examined her.

"Has she been playing in the village at all?" he asked.

"I don't think so. Why?"

"There's an outbreak of fever—rather a nasty kind; and one child is dying, I fear."

Orris's face blanched.

The doctor, an old man, put his hand on her shoulder.

"Don't get frightened. With good nursing, there ought to be no danger, but one can never tell. Would you like a nurse?"

"No, oh, no," cried Orris; "not unless she gets very much worse. Is it infectious?"

"Slightly, I should take precautions. If you nurse her, keep in this part of the house." Then he gave her directions, and Orris listened with a clear head but an aching heart.

Very anxious days followed. Miss Raynor ran the house, and looked after the guests. Orris never left the sick child's room. Maria Dabbs came up to help, and proved very efficient as a nurse. Poor little Pippa became delirious, for the fever ran very high, and her incessant talk was about "Master Jock."

"I want Master Jock. Why doesn't he come? I want to go to the powder-room. Let's hide from Snuffy! Not you, Aunt Ollie, I want Master Jock to carry me!"

She was a frail little thing, and had always had more spirit than strength. The doctor was anxious, for her strength seemed ebbing away.

And Orris, outwardly calm and almost cheerful, was in her heart absolutely hopeless. She thought of the light-hearted careless mother so many thousands of miles away, but who yet had a great affection for her child; and she thought of her own life unbrightened by the winning ways and joyous spirits of her little niece. Her lips moved in continual prayer:

"O God, let it be Thy will to spare her! Have mercy on us! Come near, in our hour of need, and heal and save, for we cannot!"

The fever ran its course, and, when it left her, the child lay like a broken lily, her little wasted face, with its big eyes, white as the pillows on which she rested. She hardly knew her aunt, until one afternoon she sat up in trembling agitation.

"Master Jock! Oh, I want Master Jock."

The pitiful wail was too much for Orris.

"Yes, darling, he will come. I'll send for him."

The doctor happened to call at that moment. Orris followed him out of the room.

"She seems to be conscious. Shall I send for Mr. Muir? She cries continually for him."

"Send by all means. I've known that kind of thing answer if—if he can be in time, but she's getting weaker. A distinct step down-hill this morning."

With trembling hands Orris wrote out a wire:

"Pippa wants you. Come immediately."

And dispatched it by the hands of Perkins.