Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went,
And cannot come again.
‘And cannot come again!’ he thought sadly. Truly this was a land of lost content for him, and always must be now.
Haystoun seemed unchanged, dreaming under a calm sky as he came into the town from the West Port, passed the railway station, and turned in at the old gates of Soonhope. Nothing was changed except himself, and he must pretend that he had not changed either. Unless he could delude himself into believing that, life would not be worth living, he thought, and at the same time, so strong is habit, waved a hand and smiled cheerfully to Mrs. Pow at the lodge door.
All in a minute he was coming round the bend in the drive, and the house was before him, waiting for him in its beauty of curving front and gracious lines, all the indefinable charm which made it lovely. Its air of happy peace was laid like a spell on Andrew, restoring to him some of his former content. He left his car standing at the door, took the two shallow steps up to it at a bound, and walked into the hall, which smelt, as it always had, of fresh air, fresh flowers, and a faint suggestion of pot-pourri. Two figures moved towards him from the shadowy arched entrance of the passage leading to the billiard-room: Kate Heron and Robin.
“Hullo!” said Andrew. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“You—you didn’t expect to see me—us?” faltered Kate for want of something better to say, though she knew perfectly well that he expected to see no one but his wife and children.
“No. I didn’t, but I’m very glad, all the same.”
“Drew, old fellow,” said Robin, taking pity on Kate, who was wondering how best to break the presence of the party. “I hope it really is a pleasant surprise, because we’re only a small part of it. Lucy’s got a regular house-warming gathered here to welcome you back.”
“The devil she has!” muttered Andrew, at a loss. Then, sharply: “Who’s here, Robin?”
“Your aunt Mrs. Barlas, all the Herons, and that redoubtable old warrior, Cousin Charlotte,” said Robin. “Aunt Jean and I are only here for tea. Your offspring are also among those present, of course.”
Andrew sighed. “Oh, well. It might have been worse, I suppose,” he said. “I say, Kate, I’m sorry. It sounds damned rude, I know, but it’s—well, a bit unexpected, you see.”
“I should be furious if I were you,” Kate said. “To come home and find your house full to the root of guests whom you hadn’t invited.”
“Oh, what does it matter, after all?” said Andrew carelessly. He had recovered himself, and was feeling faintly amused. It was so like Lucy to barricade herself against him behind a bunch of his own relatives. “All in the family. But I can’t quite understand Cousin Charlotte. Lucy never could bear her.”
“She came off her own bat,” said Robin with a chuckle. “And she’s been causing terror and dismay to all around her ever since.”
“She would,” Andrew agreed. “I’d have liked to be present at the merry meeting of Cousin Charlotte and Lucy. It must have been worth seeing—and hearing.”
“Kate saw it, didn’t you, Kate?” said Robin. “Go on, girl, tell Andrew about it, and don’t look so scared. He won’t bite.”
Kate shuddered. “I beg that you won’t remind me about anything that happened on that awful afternoon,” she said faintly.
“Fun and games?” Andrew looked hopeful.
“Well, if you like to call it fun and games. Cousin Charlotte got locked into the parlour, and Lucy arrived just as I was trying to prise her out by the window, where she stuck midway.”
“More locking doors. I won’t forget that cupboard in a hurry,” said Andrew feelingly. “Have you been up to anything else in that line?”
He was looking at her with smiling eyes, and Robin said: “Wait till you’ve heard. Come on into the parlour for a minute, Drew, and I’ll tell you all about her ongoings.”
Andrew hesitated. “What about the party?” he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the billiard-room. “I ought to go and see ’em all, I suppose.”
“They don’t know you’re here yet, and you won’t another chance like this for a devil of a long time,” Robin pointed out. “But if you want tea, of course—”
“Too late for tea. I could do with a drink, though.”
“I’ll get the whisky and soda,” said Kate. “Unless you’d rather have sherry?” Then she paused uncertainly. “I’m sorry. This is awful of me, playing the hostess to you in your house—”
“Don’t be an ass, my dear,” said Andrew kindly. “Fetch the whisky and a siphon and a couple of glasses. Three, if you’ll join us?”
Kate shook her head, and presently slipped into the parlour with a laden tray, to find the two men sitting on the window-seat filling their pipes. “There was a plate of sandwiches. I brought them too,” she said to Andrew, as she set her tray down on a table beside him.
“Gawd bless your kind ’eart,” he said. And to Robin: “The girl’s got brains, hasn’t she? Knew I was starving.”
In spite of the fact that she was the subject of Robin Anstruther’s libellous stories, Kate enjoyed what Andrew called their ‘cads’ party’ in the parlour. The tale of the leeks was told with embellishments, and caused Andrew to roar with laughter.
“We’ll have to go to the Show,” he gasped at length. “When is it? To-morrow, I suppose? First Saturday in September.”
“To-morrow it is,” said Robin. “But I’ve arranged a small shoot up at Pennymuir, the first of the partridges. Greystiel Heron and young Grey, and you and myself—and Adam. He’s keen to go. What about it?”
“Good enough. But we must drop in for a few minutes and see those leeks,” Andrew said. “Your father won’t be pleased, Kate, if I sneak away, even for an hour, but I dare say his opinion of me is so bad by this time that it can’t be much worse.”
He spoke lightly, but Kate was distressed by the bitterness which must have prompted the words. She hesitated, not knowing quite what to say, and in the silence that had fallen on all three of them, they heard the billiard-room door open, and Lucy’s clear voice proclaim: “Andrew must have come. I’m sure I heard his laugh.”
“I knew that laugh of yours was far too loud,” growled Robin. “Now we’re for it. Caught in the act.”
Lucy’s quick step crossed the hall and came, almost without faltering, towards the parlour.
“Andrew?” she said, opening the door and coming in. “What on earth are you doing in here?” Then, seeing the glasses, the decanter and siphon and the empty plate, her face hardened. “Couldn’t you have come into the billiard-room?” she asked. “Or didn’t you know we were there?” This with a suspicious glance at Kate and Robin, who stood by in guilty silence.
“Yes, I knew. I wanted a word with Robin, and a drink in peace before I faced the mob,” said her husband. “I’m sorry, Lucy. Let’s go in now and see them all.”
“It’s a little late,” Lucy said coldly, but she led the way back to the billiard-room.
Kate thought that there could hardly have been a stranger meeting between a husband and wife who had been separated for years. Then, remembering the reason of that separation, she felt that it might have been much worse. The clarion tones of Henry, now attired in a pair of incredibly dirty trousers, smote on her ears as she entered, and seemed to sum up the situation very aptly. “Gosh!” he was saying. “Gosh! We’re thirteen now that Father’s here. Isn’t that unlucky?”
2
There was a tap at Kate’s bedroom door, followed by the voice of Nina, discreetly lowered. “If ye please, Miss Kate, could I speak tae ye a meenit?”
“Come in,” called Kate, who was twisting and writhing in violent efforts to do up her black dinner dress, which
fastened at the back and caused her to curse heartily every time she wore it. “What is it, Nina? Hadn’t you better go to Mrs. Lockhart if anything is wrong?”
“There’s nothing wrang, Miss Kate,” said Nina. “Will I do yer dress for ye? It’s just Mrs. Pow’s May says can she see ye afore she goes hame.”
“May? Very well, tell her I’ll be down soon,” said Kate, adding inwardly: ‘I suppose she’s broken something, and wants me to break the news to Lucy. I only hope it’s nothing valuable.’
But when she went downstairs and met May hovering by the backdoor, there were no signs of dismay on that damsel’s cherubic face, only a suppressed excitement which threatened to bubble over into giggling.
“Please, Miss Kate,” she began breathlessly “The queerest thing ever ye heard tell o’s happened. My Dadda says could ye come down to the lodge an’ see his leeks?’
“His leeks, May?” Kate simulated what she hoped looked like genuine astonishment.
“Ay. His leeks,” said May, nodding her bobbed and waved head and pursing up her lips as if afraid to say too much.
As Kate also was afraid that she herself might say too much and rouse suspicion, she replied briefly: “I’ll try to come down after dinner.”
“That’s fine. Ye’ll get an awfu’ big surprise,” May promised her, and pattered off across the courtyard on her absurdly high heels.
Kate wished that she could invite Robin Anstruther, her partner in crime, to go with her, but Geordie would probably wonder, and they could not afford the risk of making anyone wonder. Then, with a guilty start, she realized that the gong had boomed through the house, and she must be keeping everyone waiting. Tripping over her long skirt, she ran upstairs, and slunk into the drawing-room, where Lucy was beginning to look impatient, her hostessly mind obviously concerned with the fear that dinner might be spoilt. As soon as Kate entered the room she rose briskly, and saying, “Shall we go down now? I think we are all here,” set the party in motion.
Henry, proceeding downstairs by the simple method of draping himself over the banisters and propelling himself with a casual thrust of the toe on every fourth or fifth step, suddenly found that he had overtaken Kate. So he raised his person to an upright position and sang in her ear:
“Cousin Kate, you are awfully late,
And Mother has been in no end of a bait!”
“I know I was late, Cousin Henry, you nasty little boy,” said Kate crossly. “Don’t boo in my ear.”
“Are you in a bait, too? Kate’s in a bait because she was late. Which do you like best?” said Henry.
“Neither,” said Kate.
Henry, unabashed, continued his progress beside her. “Are you very hungry? I am. There’s an ice-pudding and mushrooms on toast,” he told her. “If you don’t care for ice-pudding, you can give me your share, and I’ll let you have my mushrooms. I hate them.”
“Thank you, Henry,” said Kate, her slight ill-humour ending in a laugh. “But I happen to like ice-pudding myself—and mushrooms. Never mind, I dare say you’ll manage to get two helpings of pudding.”
Seated at table between Adam and Cousin Charlotte, she found that very little was required of her in the way of conversation, Adam not being as talkative as his brother, and Cousin Charlotte entirely engrossed with her share of an excellent meal, through every course of which she doggedly munched her way, displaying an appetite only equalled by Henry’s.
They were no longer thirteen, for Mrs. Anstruther had home, but Robin was there, sitting at Lucy’s left, on the same side of the long table as Kate. She had caught a glimpse of him in the drawing-room, and thought that his swarthy face looked even darker against the shining starched shirt. He was much more squarely built than the other men, but they were all nice to look at, from Henry, proudly conscious of his first dinner-jacket, and blissfully unaware that he had crumpled his shirt abominably during his passage downstairs, to Greystiel who wore kilt and silver-buttoned doublet with a grace and distinction which no man could surpass.
Outside, the sky in the west was pale primrose, but the dining-room was always rather dark, owing to its panelled walls and ceiling, and Lucy had dull blue candles burning in two-branched Sheffield plate candlesticks on the polished table. A glass posy-bowl in the centre held a Victorian bouquet of small bright flowers with one dark red rose at its heart. Little silver dishes were filled with salted almonds, candied violets, and bright green peppermints. It was a charmingly arranged table, Kate thought, and Lucy matched it in her dull blue taffeta with the puffed sleeves and tight bodice, her fair hair shining in the soft candle-light.
‘What a pretty creature she is!’ thought Kate without envy, ‘Oh, if only she had a few human failings! . . .’ “I’m so sorry, Adam,” she apologized, suddenly aware that he had muttered something. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I only said that Cousin Charlotte’s laugh sounds like a hen that has just laid an egg,” he said.
Certainly the cackle which some remark of Andrew’s had caused Miss Napier to utter was astonishingly like a fowl, Kate had to agree, but she said in a warning undertone: “Don’t let her hear you saying anything like that, or I tremble to think what would happen to you.”
Cousin Charlotte’s voice, indeed, broke in on these very words. “What are you and That Boy mumbling about?” she demanded, levelling a suspicious lorgnette framed in tortoise-shell at the boy in question, who turned a guilty scarlet. “I thought so. Mischief,” she added with tremendous satisfaction. “No boy is ever out of mischief, even at the dinner-table.”
Adam turned even redder at this insult addressed to him as if he were a child at a prep. school; he, a house prefect, a member of the Fives Ties, and well in the running for his First XV colours next term—and in front of that kid Henry, too!
Henry, of course, was not slow to take advantage of his elder brother’s discomfiture. “Gosh!” he exclaimed in his piercing tones. “Adam’s as red as a tomato!” As Adam, speechless with rage, glared at him across the table, Henry burst into such hearty laughter that a portion of ice-pudding, too large for anyone’s mouth but his, flew from his spoon to land with a plop in Cousin Charlotte’s glass of Vichy water.
“Henry!” said his mother disapprovingly, and it was Henry’s turn to blush, for Cousin Charlotte could be heard remarking acidly: “This is what comes of allowing boys to dine. That one ought to be having bread-and-milk in. the schoolroom at his age.”
“What was Andrew saying to make you laugh, Cousin Charlotte?” asked Kate, carrying the war into the enemy’s country with a bravery that delighted the two boys.
“None of your business,” said Cousin Charlotte promptly. “Don’t be so curious.”
“I’m sorry,” said Kate with great meekness. “I thought you wouldn’t mind my asking, as you asked me what Adam and I were talking about.”
“At my age, one is allowed a little licence. You are an impudent hussy,” said Cousin Charlotte, but it was felt to be a very poor comeback, and Adam hissed joyfully in Kate’s ear: “You win, Kate!”
Not long after that, Lucy collected the women with one swift look and marshalled them upstairs, and Kate, seeing that her hostess was occupied by Cousin Charlotte to the exclusion of everything else, seized the first wrap which she could find from the cloakroom, gathered her trailing skirts high above her silver shoes, and ran down the avenue to the lodge. All the way she practised amazed remarks. “Your leeks, Geordie! You’ve got them back! How wonderful!” she said aloud, in a high, artificial voice ending in a squeak.
“The leeks, Geordie,” she murmured again. “No, that won’t do at all. I’ll just have to leave it to chance and the moment.”
Geordie, in his shirt-sleeves and carrying a lantern in hand, answered her knock so quickly that she was convinced he had been standing just inside the door waiting for her. He shut the door behind him, and said in a loud whisper: “I’ve sent the wife tae the pictur’s, an’ May’s ben the hoose patchin’ ma breeks, for ye see, Miss Kate, I’ve a wee
surprise for ye.”
“The leeks, Geordie?” (Better this time.)
“Ay, the leeks. But—” with a dark look at her, “there’s mair aboot yon leeks than ye ken. Ye’ll mind the wife was cairryin’ on aboot Barrie stealin’ them?”
Yoked with a Lamb Page 13
