CHAPTER ELEVEN.
_August 17th_.I was wheeled into the library every day, and lay in state upon thesofa, receiving callers. Mother drove over each afternoon for a shortvisit. Will came in often, and brought Mr Carstairs with him. Theother members of Vere's house-party had returned home, but this poor,good fellow could not tear himself away from the neighbourhood until thedoctor had come to some more definite conclusion about Vere.
A specialist had been down from town, and he pronounced the spineinjured by the fall, but hoped that, with complete rest, recovery waspossible in the future. How long would she have to rest? It wasimpossible to say. If he said a year, it would probably be excitingfalse hopes; it might be two years, or even three. And at the end ofthat time, even of the longest time, was there any certainty? It wasimpossible to be certain in such cases, but the probabilities made forimprovement. Miss Sackville had youth on her side, and a goodconstitution. It was a mistake to look on the dark side. "Hope, mydear sir, hope is a more powerful medicine than people realise! Fiftyguineas, please--thank you! Train leaves at two o'clock, I think yousaid?"
I was thankful I had not to tell Vere the verdict. Father broke it toher, and said she "took it calmly," but he looked miserable, and everytime he went to see her he looked still more wretched and _baffled_.There is no other word to express it. He seems impatient for me to seeher, and when at last I could hobble to the door of her room, went withme and whispered urgently, "Try what you can make of her! Don't avoidthe subject. It is better sometimes to speak out," and I went in,feeling almost as anxious as he was himself.
Vere was lying in bed, with her hair twisted loosely on the top of herhead, and wearing one of her pretty blue jackets, all ribbons andfrilly-willies. In a way she looked just the same; in a way sodifferent that I might never have seen her before. The features werethe same, but the expression was new; it was not that she lookedtroubled, or miserable, or cross, or anything like that; you could nottell what she felt; it was just as if a mask covered everything that youwanted to see, and left only the mere bare outline.
She spoke first.
"Well, Una! So your foot is better, and you can get about? I was sosorry to hear it was bad. I suppose you are not able to get out yet?"
"Oh, no! This is my longest walk. I am afraid of attempting thestairs. The Greaves are very kind. I believe they like having ushere."
"Having you, you mean. I am sure you must make a delightful break inthe monotony. As for me,"--she thrust out her hands with an expressivelittle grimace--"I have been rather a nuisance to everybody while thesestupid doctors have been debating over the case. It's a comfort thatthey have made up their minds at last, and that I can be moved as soonas there is a place ready for me. Father is ordering a spinal carriagefrom London with the latest conveniences, like the suburban villas. Ibelieve you lie on a mattress or something of the sort, which can belifted and put down in the carriage. Such a saving of trouble! It iswonderful how cleverly they manage things nowadays."
Just the old, light, airy voice; just the same society drawl. She mighthave been talking of a new ball dress for any sign of emotion to beseen, and yet I know well that Vere--the old Vere--could have faced nofate more bitter than this! I stared at her, and she stared back with afixed, unchanging smile. I knew by that smile that it was notresignation she felt; not anything like that lovely willing way in whichreally good people accept trouble--crippled old women in cottages, whowill tell you how good God has been to them, when they are as poor asmice, and have never been out of one room for years; and other peoplewho lose everybody they love best, and spend their lives trying to makeother people happy, instead of glumping alone. I have really and trulyknown people like that, but their faces looked sweet and radiant.Vere's was very different. I knew now what father had been worryingabout the last few days, and what he meant by advising me to speakopenly, but it was not easy to do so. I was afraid of her with that newlook!
"We are both cripples for the time being, but if I get strong before youdo, I'll do everything I can to help you, dear, and make the time passquickly," I was beginning feebly, when she caught me up at once, as ifshe did not want to hear any more.
"Oh, thanks; but I love lazing. I am quite an adept in the art of doingnothing, and you will have quite enough on your hands. It's a capitalthing for you, my being out of the running. You would never have takenyour proper place unless you were really forced into it. Now you willhave to be Miss Sackville, and you must keep up my reputation and docredit to your training."
"I shall never take your place, Vere," I said sadly, and thensomething--I don't know what--reminded me suddenly of Mr Carstairs, andI asked if she knew he was staying with Will.
"Oh, yes. He writes to me frequently--sheets upon sheets. He has madeup his mind to stay until he can see me again, and realise that I amstill in the flesh, so he will have the pleasure of seeing me in my newchair. I must send him an invitation to join me on my first expedition.He really deserves some reward for his devotion."
I had a vision of them as they would look. Vere stretched at fulllength, flat on her back, on that horrid-looking chair, and MrCarstairs towering above her, with his face a-quiver with grief andpity, as I had seen it several times during the last week. If it hadbeen me, I should have hated appearing before a lover in such a guise,and I am only an ordinary-looking girl, whereas Vere is a beauty, andhas been accustomed to think of her own appearance before anything inthe world. I could not understand her.
"I like Jim Carstairs," I said sturdily. "I hope some day I may havesomeone to care for me as he does for you, Vere. It must be a lovelyfeeling. He has been in such distress about you, and on that night--that awful night--I shall never forget his face--"
"Ah, you have an inconvenient memory, Babs! It was always your failing.For my part I mean to forget all about it as soon as possible. Youwere very good and brave, by the way, and, I am afraid, hurt your footin trying to save me. I would rather not return to the subject, so Iwill just thank you once and for all, and express my gratitude. Youpractically saved my life. Think of it! If it had not been for you Ishould not have had a chance of lying here now, or riding about in myfine new chair!"
"Vere, _don't_! don't sneer!" I cried hotly, for the mask had slippedfor a moment, and I had caught a glimpse of the bitter rebellion hiddenbeneath the smile. "It is awful for you--we are all wretched about it;but there is hope still, and the doctor says you will get better if onlyyou will give yourself a chance. Why do you pretend? why smile and makefun when all the time--oh, I know it, I know it quite well--your heartis breaking!"
Her lip trembled. I thought she was going to break down, but in amoment she was composed again, saying in the same light, jeering tones--
"Would you prefer me to weep and wail? You have known me all your life;can you imagine me--Vere Sackville--lying about with red eyes and aswollen face, posing as an object of pity? Can you imagine me allowingmyself to be pitied?"
"Not pitied, perhaps--no one likes that; but if people love you, andsympathise--"
"Bah!" She flicked her eyelids impatiently. I realised at that momentthat she could not move her head, and it gave me a keener realisation ofher state than I had had before. "Bah! It is all the same. I wantnothing from my friends now that they did not give me a month ago. If Ihave to be on my back instead of walking about, it is no affair oftheirs. I neither ask nor desire their commiseration. The kindestthing they can do is to leave me alone."
I thought of the old days when she was well and strong, and could runabout as she liked, and how bored she was after a few days of quiet homelife. How could she bear the long weeks and months stretched outmotionless on a couch, with none of her merry friends to cheer her anddistract her thoughts. The old Vere could not have borne it, but thiswas a new Vere whom I had never seen before. I felt in the darkconcerning her and her actions.
We talked it over at tea
that afternoon, Rachel and Will and I. He cameto call, so Mr Greaves sent up a polite message that he preferred toremain in his own room, and, of course, his poor wife had to stay, too,so for once we young people were alone. I was a little embarrassed atbeing number three with a pair of lovers, as any nice-minded personwould be. I did all I could for them--I pretended to be tired, and saidI thought I'd better be wheeled back to my room, and I made faces atRachel behind Will's back to show what I meant, but she only smiled, andhe said--
"I can see you, Babs, and it's not becoming! We have no secrets to talkabout, and would much rather have you with us, wouldn't we, Rachel?"
"Of course you are to stay, Una dear; don't say another word about it,"Rachel answered kindly, but that wasn't exactly answering his question.She was too honest to say that she would rather have me there, and Idon't think she quite liked his saying so, either, for she was evenquieter than usual for the next five minutes. Then Will began to talkabout Vere, and of Mr Carstairs' anxiety, and father's distress abouther state of mind. He seemed to think that she did not realise what wasbefore her, but Rachel and I knew better than that, and assured him thathe need fear no rude awakening.
"Vere is not one of the people who deceive themselves for good or bad.She is very shrewd and far-seeing, and, though she may not say anythingabout it, I know she has thought of every single little difficulty andtrouble that will have to be faced. When it comes to the point, youwill see that she has her own ideas and suggestions, which will bebetter than any others. She will order us about, and tell us whatclothes to choose, how to lift her, and where to take her. And she willdo it just as she is doing things now, as calmly and coolly as if shehad been accustomed to it all her life."
"Extraordinary!" cried Will. He put down his cup and paced up and downthe floor, frowning till his eyebrows met. "Marvellous composure! Ishould not have believed it possible. A lovely girl like that to haveher life wrecked in a moment; to look forward to being a hopelessinvalid for years--perhaps for ever. It is enough to unhinge thestrongest brain, and she bears it without a murmur, you say; realises itall and still keeps calm? You women are wonderful creatures. You teachus many lessons in submission."
Rachel and I looked at each other and were silent, but I knew that sheknew, and I had a longing to hear what Will would say. Somehow, eversince knowing him I have always felt more satisfied when I knew hisopinion on any subject. So I told him all about it. I said--
"I'll tell you something, but you mustn't speak of it to Mr Carstairs,or father, or anybody; just think over it yourself, and try if you canhelp her. Rachel knows--she found out for herself, as I did. Vere isnot brave nor submissive, nor anything that you think; it is only apretence, for in reality she is broken-hearted. She won't allow herselfto give in like other people, so she has determined to brave it out, andpretend that she doesn't care. She has always been admired and envied,and would hate it if people pitied her now, and I think there is anotherreason. She is angry! Angry that this should have happened to her, andthat it should have happened just now when she was enjoying herself somuch, and was so young and pretty. She feels that she has been ill-used, and it makes her cold and bitter. I've felt the same myself whenthings went wrong. It isn't right, of course: one ought to be sweet andsubmissive, but--can't you understand?"
"Yes," said Will, quickly. He stopped in his pacings to and fro, andstood thinking it over with his head leant forward on his chest. Hisface looked so kind, and troubled, and sorry. "Oh, yes," he said, "Iunderstand only too well. Poor girl, poor child! It's awfully sad, forit is going to make it all so much more difficult for her. She doesn'tsee it, of course, but what she is trying to do is to accept the burdenand refuse the consolation which comes with it."
"I must say I fail to see much consolation in an injured spine," I saidhastily, and he looked across the room, opening his eyes with thatquick, twinkling light which I loved to see.
"Ask Rachel," he said, "ask Rachel! If she broke her back to-morrow shewould have at least twenty good reasons for congratulation with which toedify me for the first time we met. Wouldn't you, dear? I am quitesure you would accept it as a blessing in disguise."
"If I broke my back I should die, Will. It is always fatal, I believe!"quoth Rachel the literal, blushing with pleasure at his praise, buttalking as primly and properly as if she were addressing a class in aschool. She is a queer girl to be engaged to!
I saw Will's eyebrows give just one little twitch on their own account,as if he thought so himself, but the next moment he sat down beside herand said gently--
"But if you were in Miss Sackville's place, how would you feel? Howwould you face the truth?"
She leant back in her chair and stared before her with big, rapt eyes,her fingers clasping and unclasping themselves on her knee.
"There is only one way--to look to God for help and courage. Pride andanger can never carry her through the long days and nights that will beso hard to bear. They must fail her in the end, and leave her morehelpless than before. The consolations are there, if she will open hereyes to see them, and afterwards--afterwards she will have learnt herlesson!"
We sat quiet for quite a long time, and then came the inevitablesummons, and Rachel went away and left us alone.
"I told you she was the best woman in the world!" Will said, smiling atme proudly. I didn't feel inclined to smile at all, but the tears camesuddenly to my eyes, and I began to sob like a baby.
"Oh, yes, yes, but I am not, and Vere is my sister, and she was sopretty and gay. I can't be resigned for her! I can't bear to see herlying flat on her back; I can't bear to think of that awful chair. Howcan I talk to her of submission when I'm rebellious myself? I'm allhot, and sore, and miserable, and I want to know why, why, why? Why wasour dear old home burnt when other houses are safe and sound? Whyshould we be crippled and made sad and gloomy just when we thought itwas going to be so nice? All my school life I have looked forward tocoming home, and now it's all spoiled! I'm not made like Rachel. Ican't sit down and be quiet. It doesn't come natural to me to beresigned; I want to argue and understand the meaning of things. I haveto fight it through every inch of the way."
"I, too, Babs," he said sadly. "I'm afraid I have kicked very hardagainst the pricks several times in my life. Every now and then--veryrarely--one meets a sweet soul like Rachel who knows nothing of thesestruggles; they are born saints, and appear to rise superior totemptations, but most of us are continually fighting. There's thisconsolation, that the hour of victory can never be so sweet as when itcomes after a struggle."
"And Vere--will she win too? I can think of no one but her just now.We used often to quarrel, and I've been jealous of her hundreds oftimes. I never knew I loved her so much till we were in danger, but nowI'd give my life to save her, and help her through this terrible time!"
"And you will do it, too. Vere will win her battle, but not with herown weapons, as Rachel says. Pride and anger won't carry her very fardown the road she has to travel, poor child. It will be a gentlerweapon."
"You mean--?"
Will turned his back to me, and stood staring out of the window. Helooked so big and strong himself, as if no weakness could touch him.
"I mean--love," he said softly.
I wondered what he meant. I wondered why he turned his face from me ashe spoke. I wondered if the thought of Vere lying there all broken andlovely was too much for his composure, and if he was longing to save herhimself. But then there was Rachel. He could never be false to poortrusting Rachel!
The Heart of Una Sackville Page 11
