The Heart of Una Sackville

by Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey

  CHAPTER SEVEN.

  It is rather jolly having a house full of people; and father and motherand Vere are so clever at entertaining. There is never any fuss noreffort, and people are allowed to go their own way, but there is alwayssomething to do if they choose to do it. I must say that, for grown-uppeople, these visitors are very frivolous, and play about together as ifthey were children. Mr Nash began showing me tricks with pennies afterbreakfast the first morning, and I was so interested learning how to dothem that it was half-past ten before I thought of joining father at thestables. It was too late then, and I wasn't altogether sorry, for itwas livelier going about with these new people, and it wasn't my fault,for I should have gone if I'd remembered. I was extra nice to father atlunch to make up, and he didn't seem a bit vexed, so I needn't troubleanother day. Really, I think it is my duty to help Vere all I can. Shequestioned me about Will Dudley the first time we were alone. I knewshe would, and decided to tell her of his engagement. I had been toldnot to speak of it generally; but to my own sister it was different, andI had a feeling that she ought to know.

  "Who is that Mr Dudley?" she asked, and when I told her all I knew, shesmiled and dropped her eyes in the slow, self-confident fashion whichother people think so fascinating but which always make me long to shakeher.

  "Really, quite an acquisition!" she drawled. "A vast improvement on thenative one generally meets in these wilds. We must cultivate him, Babs!He makes our number even, so we can afford to spoil him a little bit,as it is a convenience to ourselves at the same time. It will be agodsend for him to meet some decent people."

  "As a matter of fact, he came to live in the country because he was sickof society and society people. He is not a country bumpkin, Vere, andwon't be a bit grateful for your patronage. In fact, I don't believe hewill come oftener than once or twice. When a man is engaged it's a boreto him to have to--"

  "Engaged!" she cried. "Mr Dudley! Who told you he was engaged? Idon't believe a word of it. Some stupid local gossip! Who told youthat nonsense?"

  "He told me himself!"

  "He did? My dear Babs, he was having a joke! No man would confide sucha thing to a child like you!"

  "You are mistaken there. He has told me heaps of things besides this,and I know the girl, and have spoken to her about it. You know her,too. Rachel Greaves, who lives at `The Clift'."

  "Rach-el Greaves! Oh! oh!" cried Vere, and put her hands to her sidesin peals of derisive laughter. "Oh, this is too killing! And you_believed_ it? You dear, sweet innocent! That man and--Rachel Greaves!My dear, have you seen her hair? Have you seen her hat? Could youreally imagine for one moment that any man could be engaged to acreature like that?"

  "I don't imagine--I know! They have been engaged for years. It will beyears more before they are married, for old Mr Greaves won't give hisconsent. And Rachel won't leave home without it; but Mr Dudley isquite willing to wait. He says she is the best woman in the world."

  "Oh, I daresay! She is frumpy enough for anything; and you call that anengagement? My dear, he will no more marry her than he'll marry themoon. It's just a stupid platonic friendship, and as he has not knownanything else he thinks it is love. Imagine being in love with thatsolemn creature! Imagine making pretty speeches and listening to hercorrect copy-book replies! Wait! I should think she may wait! She'llhave a surprise one of these days when he meets the right girl, and bidsRachel Greaves a fond farewell!"

  "He'll do nothing of the sort," I said hotly. "I do hate you, Vere,when you sneer like that, and make out that everyone is worldly andhorrible, like yourself! Will Dudley is a good man, and he wants a goodwoman for his wife--not a doll. He'd rather have Rachel's little fingerthan a dozen empty-headed fashion-plates like the girls you admire. Butyou don't understand. Your friends are all so different that you cannotunderstand an honest man when you meet him."

  "Can't I? What a pity! Don't get into a rage, dear, it's sounnecessary. I'm sorry I'm so obtuse; but at least I can learn. I'llmake it my business to understand Mr Dudley thoroughly during theautumn. It will be quite an occupation," replied Vere, with her head inthe air and her eyes glittering at me in a nasty, horrid, cold,calculating "You-wait-and-see" kind of way which made me ill! It wasjust like Tennyson's Lady Clara Vere de Vere, who "sought to break acountry heart for pastime ere she went to town," for Vere would never becontent to marry Will Dudley, even if she succeeded in winning him fromRachel. Poor Rachel! I felt so sorry for her; she has so little, andshe's so sweet and content, and so innocent that a serpent has enteredinto her Eden. It sounds rather horrid to call your own sister aserpent, but circumstances alter cases, and it really is appropriate. Ithink Vere expected me to fly into another rage, but I didn't feel angryat all, only sorry and ashamed, and anxious to know what I could do tobaulk her dark designs.

  "I'm thankful I'm not a beauty!" I said at last, and she stared for amoment, and then laughed and said--

  "Because of the terrible temptations which you escape? Dear littleinnocent! Don't be too modest, however; you really have improvedmarvellously these past few months. If you could hear what the men saidabout you last night--"

  "I don't want to hear, thank you," I returned icily; and that was onetemptation overcome, anyhow, for I just died to know every singleremark! It's awful to care so much about what people think about you,as I do. After she went away I sat down and reviewed the situation, asthey say in books, and mapped out a plan of action. I wanted to feelthat I was doing some good to someone, so I decided then and there to bea guardian angel to Will and Rachel. It's wonderful what you can do,even if you are only nineteen and a girl, if you set your mind to it,and determine to succeed. They have both been kind to me, and I amtheir friend, and mean to help them. I'd rather be flayed alive thansay so to a living soul, but I can now confess to these pages that I wasjealous of Rachel myself when I first heard of the engagement, and Iwondered, if Will had never seen her, if perhaps he--oh, a lot of silly,idiotic things; for he is so different from the other men you meet thatyou simply can't help liking him. So now it will be a discipline for meto have to forget myself, and try to keep them together. Perhaps whenthey are married they will know all, and bless my memory, and call oneof their children after me, and I shall be content to witness theirhappiness from afar. I've read of things like that, but I alwaysthought I'd be the married one, not the other. You do when you areyoung, but it's awful what sorrows there are in the world. I am nottwenty yet, and already my life is blighted, and my fondest hopes laidin the dust...

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  Such ripping fun! We are all going for a moonlight party up the river,with hampers full of good things to eat at supper on the bank above thelock. We are taking rugs to spread on the grass, and Japanese lanternsto make it look festive, and not a single servant, so that we shall doeverything ourselves. We girls are all delighted, but I think the men--Captain Grantly especially--think it's rather mad to go to so muchtrouble when you might have your dinner comfortably at home. Malecreatures are like that, so practical and commonplace, not a bitenthusiastic and sensible like school-girls. We used to keep awakeuntil one o'clock in the morning, and sit shivering in dressing-gowns,eating custard, tarts and sardines, and thought it was splendid fun. Ithink a picnic where servants make the fire and pack away the dishes istoo contemptible for words.

  Vere wanted Will Dudley to come with us, so I went round to the "TheClift" that very afternoon and invited Rachel to come too. I am as muchat liberty to invite my friends as she is to ask hers, and this wasmeant to be a checkmate to her plans; but Rachel was too stupid forwords, and wouldn't be induced to accept.

  "I always play a game with father in the evening," she said. "He wouldmiss it if I went out."

  "But he can't expect you never to go out! He would appreciate you allthe more if you did leave him alone sometimes," I said, talking tomyself as much as to her, for it was four days since
I had been a walkwith my father, and my horrid old conscience was beginning to prick."Do come, Rachel. I want you particularly," but she went on refusing,so then I thought I would try what jealousy would do. "We shall be sucha merry party; Vere is prettier and livelier than ever, and her friendsare very amusing. Lady Mary is very handsome, and she sings and playson the mandoline. She is going to take it with her to-night. It willbe so pretty, the sound of singing on the water, and she will look sopicturesque under the Japanese lamps."

  She looked wistful and longing, but not a bit perturbed.

  "I wish I could come! It sounds charming. I've hardly ever been on theriver, never in the evening; but I should be worrying about father allthe time. He is old, you see, Una, and he has such bad pain, and hisdays seem so long. It must be so sad to be ill and know that you willnever get any better, and to have nothing to look forward to." Her facelit up suddenly, and I knew she was thinking of the time, years ahead,when what she was looking forward to would come true. "I really couldnot neglect father for my own amusement."

  "But you have someone else to think of!" I reminded her cunningly. "Itold you who was coming. You ought to think of his pleasure."

  "Oh, he will enjoy it in any case! He loves being on the water; I am soglad you asked him!" she cried, quite flushed with delight, if youplease, at the thought that Will was coming without her. I did feel aworm! Never, no, never could I be like that. If I were engaged to aman and couldn't go anywhere, I should like him to stay at home too, andthink of me, and not dare to enjoy himself with other girls; but Rachelis not like that. Sometimes I wish she were just a wee, tiny bit lesssensible and composed. I could love her better if she were.

  We all went down to the boat-house at eight o'clock, we girls with longcoats over our light dresses, because it's silly to catch cold, and sounbecoming, and on the way I told Will about Rachel. He came at onceand walked beside me, and gave me such a nice look as he thanked me forthinking of it.

  "That was kind of you! She would be pleased to be remembered, but thissort of thing is out of her line. She will be happier at home!"

  Poor Rachel! That's the worst of being chronically unselfish; in theend people cease to give you any credit for it, and virtue has to be itsown reward, for you don't get any other. I did think it was hard thateven Will should misjudge her so, and be so complacent about it into thebargain, but it was hardly my place to defend her to him, of all peoplein the world.

  "You will come into my boat, of course," he said in his masterful waywhen we drew near the ferry; but I had seen Vere divide parties beforenow, and I knew very well I should not be allowed to go where I chose.It was as good as a play to see how she did it, seeming to ponder andconsider, and change her mind half a dozen times, and to be sospontaneous and natural, when all the time her plans had been made fromthe very beginning. Finally, she and Will took possession of the firstboat, with Lady Mary and Captain Grantly, who were always together, andwere too much taken up with their own society to have eyes for anyoneelse. Miss Talbot, Mr Nash, Mr Carstairs and I went into the secondboat--Miss Talbot furious because she felt it a slight to be put with achild like me--Mr Carstairs depressed as he generally was, poor man!--Iwith a heavy weight inside me, feeling all of a sudden as if I hatedparties and everything about them, and dear little Mr Nash, happy andcomplacent, cracking jokes to which no one deigned to listen. Isn't itfunny to think how miserable you can be when you are supposed to beenjoying yourself? I dare say if you only knew it, lots of people haveaching hearts when you envy them for being so happy. The people on thebanks looked longingly at us, but three out of the four in our boat wereas cross and dissatisfied as they could be; and it made it worse to hearthem enjoying themselves in the other boat; Vere's trills of laughter,and Lady Mary's gentlemanly "Ha, ha!" ringing out in response to themurmur of the men's voices. When you are on land with the wrong peoplethere is always the chance of a change, but you _do_ feel so "fixed" ina boat! I simply longed to reach the lock, and felt as cross as twosticks, until suddenly I met Mr Carstairs' eyes, looking, oh, so sadand hopeless, and I felt so sorry that I simply had to rouse up to cheerhim. He must know perfectly well that Vere doesn't care for him, but heseems as if he could not help caring for her, and staying on and on,though he is miserable all the time, I like him! He has a good look inhis face, and talks sensibly about interesting things, instead ofeverlastingly chaffing or paying compliments, which seems to be thefashion nowadays. I think I shall favour his suit, and try to help him.

  I talked, and he looked first bored, and then amused, and in the endquite interested and happy, so that we drew up by the bank to join theothers in quite a cheerful mood, much to my relief. It is humiliatingto look left out in the cold, however much you may feel it.

  Vere was flushed, and unlike herself somehow. She fussed over thelaying out of the supper, and it wasn't like Vere to fuss, and whenevershe wanted anything done she always turned first of all to Will Dudley,and half the time he was looking the other way and never noticed whatshe ask, when poor Mr Carstairs did it at once and got snubbed for hispains.

  I was the youngest, and had to do all the uninteresting things, such asunpacking the spoons and forks, and taking the paper wrappings off thetumblers, while the others laid out the provisions and quarrelled overthe best arrangement. But it was fun when we all sat down and began toeat. The Japanese lanterns were tied to the trees overhead, and madeeverything look bright and cheery, for the moon had hidden itself behindthe clouds, and it had been just a wee bit cheerless the last half-hour.We heated the soup over a little spirit-lamp, and had lobster salad ondainty little paper plates, and cold chicken and cutlets, and all sortsof delicious sweets and fruit, and we all ate a lot, and groaned andsaid how ill we should be in the morning, and then ate some more anddidn't care a bit. It was almost as good as a feast in the dormitory.Then we told funny stories, and asked riddles, and Lady Mary sang coonsongs to her mandoline, and I was enjoying myself simply awfully whensomeone said--it was Mr Nash, and I shall never forgive him for it--

  "Now it's your turn, Miss Una! Your father is always talking of yoursinging, yet we never seem to hear you. Too bad, you know! You can'trefuse to-night, when we are all doing our best to amuse each other.Now, then, what is it to be?"

  I was horrified! I love singing, but it seemed so formidable with noaccompaniment, and no piano behind which to hide my blushes, but themore I protested, the more they implored, until Vere said quitesharply--

  "For goodness' sake, child, do your best, and don't make a fuss! Nobodyexpects you to be a professional!"

  "Start ahead, and I'll vamp an accompaniment. It will be better thannothing," said Lady Mary kindly, and Will whispered low in my ear:"Don't be nervous. Do your best. Astonish them, Babs!" And I did.That whisper inspired me somehow, and I sang "The Vale of Avoca,"father's favourite ballad, pronouncing the words distinctly, as thesinging mistress always made us do at school. I love the words, and theair is so sweet, and just suits my voice. I always feel quite worked upand choky when I come to the last verse, but I try not to show it, forit looks so silly to cry at yourself.

  There was quite a burst of applause when I finished. The men clappedand called out "Bravo! Bravo!" Lady Mary said, "You little wretch!You do take the wind out of my sails. Fancy having to be bothered tosing with a voice like that! Gracious! I should never leave off!" andVere laughed, and said in her sweetest tones, "But, for pity's sake,don't turn sentimental, Babs! It's so absurdly out of keeping! Stickto something lively and stirring--something from the comic operas! Thatwould be far more in your line, don't you think so, Mr Dudley?"

  Will was leaning back on his elbow, resting his head on his hand.

  "It's a question of taste," he said lazily. "Some people are fond ofcomic operas. Personally, I detest them; but I don't profess to be ajudge. I only know what I like."

  "A sentimental ballad, for example?"

  "Occasionally. Not always, by any means." He seemed determ
ined not togive a straight-forward answer, and Vere turned aside with a shrug andbegan to talk to Mr Carstairs. She always takes refuge with him whenother people fail her. I felt all hot and churned up with theexcitement of singing, and then with rage at being snubbed in thatpublic fashion. It spoiled all the pleasure and made me wonder if I hadreally made an exhibition of myself, and they were only pretending to bepleased.

  The others were chattering like magpies; only Will Dudley and I weresilent. I felt his eyes watching me, but I wouldn't look at him forquite a long time, till at last I simply had to turn round, when hesmiled, such a kind nice smile, and said--

  "Well, better now? Got the better of the little temper?"

  "I don't know; partly, I suppose, but I do hate to be snubbed. I didn'twant to sing. I did it to be polite; and it's horrid to think I made anidiot of myself."

  Silence. It was no use. I _had_ to ask him--

  "Did I make an idiot of myself?"

  "You know you didn't."

  "Did you--did you think it was nice?"

  "Yes."

  That was all. Not another word could I get out of him, but I feltbetter, for it sounded as if he really meant it, and I cared for hisopinion most of all.