Chapter Twenty-Three
One day, when Sue had been at the Bullochs for about a fortnight, Mr. Bulloch received another letter from Darnay. It arrived just as he was going upstairs to tea, so he took it with him to read at his leisure.
“Where’s Sue?” he inquired as he sat down at the table and smiled at his wife.
“She’s away to Tog’s Mill to air the house,” Mrs. Bulloch replied. “I offered her to take the girl, but she said she’d rather go herself. Are ye wanting her, Thomas?”
“It’s a letter from Mr. Darnay,” said Bulloch, and he slit the envelope.
Mrs. Bulloch sat down and poured out the tea. She glanced at her husband’s face and saw that it was grave and frowning.
“Is there something wrong?” she inquired anxiously.
“Wrong? Aye, there’s something very far wrong… By heaven, I wish we’d never laid eyes on the man!”
“I’ve wished that a long while,” declared his wife. She waited a little, watching his face as he read and reread the crackling sheets of paper, and at last she could be patient no longer. “Thomas, what’s in it?” she inquired.
“Read it for yourself, woman,” he replied and put the letter into her hands.
She found her reading spectacles and put them on, but by this time, she was so upset and frightened that the clear black “painter’s writing” danced up and down before her eyes. “I canna’ make head nor tail of it, Thomas,” she said in a trembling voice.
“It’s clear enough. What’s the matter with ye that ye cannot read it?”
“I don’t know. It’s queer writing, Thomas. I think ye’d best tell me about it in plain words. I’m awful stupid…”
He took the letter away and patted her shoulder, for her pathetic admission had melted his heart. “It’s me that’s stupid,” he declared. “Here’s what it is in plain words. Mr. Darnay’s wife is wanting to divorce him.”
“That’s awful,” she agreed, “but what has it to do with us?”
“She’s fixed the blame on Sue.”
“The blame!” cried Mrs. Bulloch in horror-stricken tones. “Thomas! Does that mean… Oh, Thomas, it doesna’ mean—”
“It means nothing but what I’ve said,” Bulloch declared. “She’s wanting to divorce him and she’s fixed the blame on our Sue. Here’s what he says, Susan. ‘I need not tell you that the whole case is absolutely false, for that would be an impertinence on my part, but I am afraid we must face the fact that we have no proof of its falsity. The man who visited Tog’s Mill, and whom we thought to be a burglar, was a private detective employed by my wife. I have consulted my lawyer, and he agrees that the man overstepped the law in entering the house in our absence, but we have no real proof that he did enter the house except the cigarette end, which was thrown away. I think you should consult your lawyer. If you and he and Miss Pringle decide that we should fight I shall fall in with your wishes (money need be no object as I have had several orders for portraits. I refused them, but they are still open to me). I want to do what is best—or least bad—from Miss Pringle’s point of view. If the suit is undefended my lawyer says it will go through the courts with little or no publicity. If we defend the suit there will be more publicity. On the other hand, you may think that we ought to defend ourselves from the calumny and that it would be wrong not to do so. I shall abide by your decision.’ That’s the gist of it,” declared Bulloch. “The man goes on to call himself every name under the sun, but that doesn’t help us much.”
“Not defend themselves,” Mrs. Bulloch cried. “But that would be awful, Thomas. They ought to tell the judge that they did nothing wrong—he would see they were innocent then.”
“How would he see that?” inquired her husband in a dry tone.
“He would see when he looked at them, of course. Nobody could think ill of our Sue.”
Bulloch laughed mirthlessly.
“Thomas!” she cried. “What are you thinking on? The judge would see justice done, wouldn’t he?”
“He would see the facts, Susan, and the facts are that the two of them lived alone at Tog’s Mill for four months and more. He wouldn’t look further than that. I’ll go down and see Mr. Henderson, of course, but I’m thinking he’ll say the same.”
“What will folks say!” cried Mrs. Bulloch, wringing her hands.
“Nobody need know a thing about it. I’ll see what Mr. Henderson says, but that’s my view. We’ll keep the whole thing dark—we’ll not tell Will, even…”
“Will!” exclaimed his wife. “If ye tell Will he’ll tell Grace, and it’ll be all over Beilford by nightfall.”
“I said we’d not tell Will,” repeated Mr. Bulloch patiently. “We’ll tell nobody—nobody except Mr. Henderson, and solicitors are paid to keep their mouths shut. Dinna’ fash, woman,” he added tenderly, laying his hand on her thin shoulder. “We know our Sue, and that’s the main thing.”
She caught his hand. “Wait,” she said. “Wait, Thomas, could we not do anything? Could we not go to Mrs. Darnay herself? Maybe the puir soul’s miserable about it; she’d be glad to know it was all a mistake. Maybe she’s fond of him yet.”
“Ye’d not think ill of the devil, Susan.”
“Why should we think ill of her?”
“Because of the facts, woman, because of the facts. The whole thing is Mrs. Darnay’s fault; she went off and left her man in the lurch. Does that look as if she’s fond of him? I can’t see you traipsing off to London and leaving me to fend for myself… Ye’re not thinking of it, by any chance, are ye?”
“Ye’re daft, Thomas. What would I do in London?”
“Ye’d enjoy yerself,” he told her. “Ye’d be going out to the pictures and the theaters—or maybe to one of these night clubs.”
“Ye’re clean daft,” Mrs. Bulloch declared, smiling in spite of herself at the absurdity of the idea.
“Well, well,” he said, patting her shoulder again. “Well, well, it’s a great relief to my mind that ye’re staying on here, for there’s no other body can cook bacon to my taste.”
He left her laughing, which was perhaps his intention, and, taking his hat from the peg, went off to speak to Mr. Henderson about the disaster that had befallen them.
* * *
Sue was already so miserable about Darnay that the new development made little difference to her. She had answered his letter but had not heard from him again, and he seemed to have disappeared completely out of her life. The new development did not bring him any closer, for it was so extraordinary that she scarcely believed it. She knew, of course, that people did divorce each other—just as she knew that people sometimes flew to America, but both were equally incredible to Sue. The fact that she was a corespondent in the case of Darnay v. Darnay and Pringle made no difference to her life. She rose at the same hour, helped in the shop, ate her meals, and went to bed at night.
Mr. Bulloch replied to Darnay’s letter in terms dictated by Mr. Henderson, saying that his solicitor advised that the case should be allowed to go through the courts undefended, but he added a little bit at the end on his own responsibility. “Sue says she stayed on at Tog’s Mill on her own,” wrote Mr. Bulloch in his old-fashioned copperplate hand. “She says you told her to go home and she would not go. She says will you please remember this and not feel too bad about what has happened. We are not telling anybody about it, and Mr. Henderson says it is not likely anybody here will get to know. When Sue settles down and gets married, I will need to tell the man, but it will make no difference to him, for he knows Sue as well as we do. It matters little what the world says if your friends know you have done nothing wrong, so ‘dinna’ fash,’ Mr. Darnay, and remember none of us bear you ill will.”
Mr. Bulloch hesitated for a moment before he dropped his letter into the box, for he wondered suddenly if he had done right to mention Hickie… Nothing was settled yet between Sue and Hick
ie, of course… But I didn’t actually mention him, thought Mr. Bulloch, frowning with the effort to remember his exact words. The letter dropped into the empty box with a thud.
* * *
Although Sue had so much to occupy her mind she had not forgotten her friends the Graingers, and sometimes on a Sunday afternoon she would walk up to their cottage on the moor and spend the evening with them. It was more difficult for May to visit her, for the chickens could not be left, and now when the hatching time had come it was necessary for somebody to be constantly on the spot, watching the incubators and testing the temperature of the “foster mother.” The Graingers had their troubles as well as Sue, for the moors were wild and hawks and stoats took toll of their stock, but they met adversity with courage and were not dismayed. The brother and sister were devoted to each other, but they had been parted for years—May had been working in Glasgow as a typist, Alec, as a clerk in Birmingham. A small legacy had enabled them to train themselves in chicken farming and to start a farm of their own, but they had very little money left and they began to realize that unless they could make a success of their new venture, and do so within the next year, they might have to give it up and return to their office stools.
Sue understood all this, and she approached her grandfather on the subject, suggesting that he should buy the Graingers’ produce and make a special feature of it, and Mr. Bulloch agreed.
“Away up to the cottage and see them about it,” he said, smiling at her kindly. “Ye can put through the deal yerself, Sue. It will be good practice for ye.”
Sue walked over to see the Graingers that very afternoon. She was glad to be the bearer of good tidings. It was a fine day, sunny and bright with a strong breeze that fluttered her skirt like a banner and blew roses into her pale cheeks. Sue took off her hat, for it was pleasant to feel the cool wind flowing through her hair. She felt like a speck upon the moors today, for they were deserted and the clouds were high—there was no mist or vapor to hide the spacious emptiness of the hills.
The Graingers were digging in their garden when Sue came down the rutty track to the gate. She called and waved to them from afar, and May relinquished her spade and ran to meet her like a child.
“Sue, where have you been?” she cried breathlessly. “We thought you’d forgotten us.”
Alec followed more slowly. He was a well-built, solid young man with a pleasant open face, but he had not the verve or the vitality that made his sister so attractive.
They all three leaned on the gate while Sue unfolded her plan. “Grandfather will pay you market prices,” she told them, “and he can lift the eggs when he sends up your order from the shop. That will save you the expense of carriage, won’t it?”
“Oh, Sue, it’s a splendid plan!” cried May.
Alec was silent for a few moments, his face grave. “We’ll have to think it over,” he said dubiously.
“Think it over!” echoed Sue. “Why should you need to think it over? I thought you’d be pleased.”
“There’s a lot to think of,” replied Alec. “For one thing, Mr. Bulloch would have to get the eggs cheaper if he lifted them himself. May and I are not going to take advantage of our friendship with you.”
“What use are friends—?” began Sue, but she got no further, for May seized her arm and dragged her down the path toward the cottage.
“You had better finish the digging, Alec,” she said over her shoulder. “You’ll just have time to finish the row while I get the tea.”
Once they were in the kitchen with the door shut, May proceeded to explain her brother’s attitude to the new plan. “Alec is so independent,” she said. “You mustn’t mind if he seems ungrateful. It’s because he won’t accept favors from anybody.”
“But it’s not a favor,” Sue declared. “Grandfather will be glad of the eggs—and the honey too, when the time comes for it. He would need to pay market prices wherever he got them.”
“Leave it to me,” said May. “I’ll manage Alec all right. The plan is an absolute godsend—almost too good to be true; things are not going too well for us at the moment.”
“You’re so brave!” exclaimed Sue impulsively.
“Not really brave,” replied May with a faint smile. “I’m an awful coward at night. I think of the bills and try to calculate how much money we’ve got left, but it’s no use going about with a long face and moaning over our bad luck, for that would only make things worse. I’ve got to think of Alec and keep him cheerful and that’s a great help. It’s when you’ve only got yourself to think of that it’s difficult to smile through troubles.”
Sue digested this philosophy in silence, for she saw that she could apply it to her own case. And May’s troubles are worse than mine, Sue thought as she walked home across the moor, for I’m sure of a roof over my head and plenty to eat. My troubles are imaginary. They are all in myself, and the best thing to do is to pull myself together and make the best of life. She determined to cease brooding about Darnay. She had to do without him, so she must try to do without him cheerfully and find what pleasures she could in small things. She had a comfortable home and kind friends and interesting work. It was ungrateful to be dissatisfied with life.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Could ye spare Sue this afternoon?” Mrs. Bulloch inquired one day as they were sitting down to dinner.
“Could I?” said Mr. Bulloch, smiling. “I see by the gleam in yer eye that I’ll need to spare her, whether or no. What’s on this afternoon, Susan?”
“The Bonnywall Gardens are open,” replied Mrs. Bulloch, “and I was thinking Sue and I might go over and have a look at them. The rhodies will be lovely, Thomas. Could ye not come yerself?”
“I could not,” declared her husband firmly, “but that’s no reason why you two shouldn’t go. I suppose ye’ll take the bus?”
“I suppose so,” replied Mrs. Bulloch without much enthusiasm.
Mr. Bulloch roared with laughter. “What a woman!” he cried. “Ye know perfectly well I’d not let ye take the bus. As a matter of fact, there’s an order going over to the Admiral this afternoon, and I’ll send the big van. There’s plenty of room for the two of ye on the front seat.”
Sue was aware that the expedition had been planned for her benefit, and she was very grateful to her grandmother for the kind thought. She put on her best hat, powdered her nose, and was ready at the appointed hour. Mrs. Bulloch was ready too and was looking very smart in a new spring coat. It was a great outing for her, and Sue could see that she was filled with the determination to enjoy every moment of it. They drove over to Bonnywall House very comfortably in the big van, and on the way Mrs. Bulloch and Dunn, the van man, discussed the march of progress. She reminded him of the days when it took over an hour to drive to Bonnywall. That was before motors came in, of course.
“Aye, it was old Prince we had,” agreed Dunn. “He was a fine old horse was Prince. I was gey sorry to part with him when Maister Bulloch bought the Ford van.”
“We had to walk up the hill,” Mrs. Bulloch said, settling herself comfortably in the padded seat. It was evident that she preferred modern transport and had no sentimental regrets for old Prince.
“Aye, it’s changed days,” continued Dunn. “I mind one day—it was very like this—when I drove you an’ Miss Mary over to Bonnywall House. They were having a bazaar or something. Folks never thought on opening their gardens to the public then.”
“I remember it too,” declared Mrs. Bulloch. “We were late coming home that day, for I lost Mary in the crowd and never found her until the whole affair was over.”
Sue scarcely listened to the talk. The beauty of the country made her heart ache, and despite all her good resolutions she could not help thinking of Darnay. If he were here now there would be plenty of subjects for his brush. Winter had fled, and spring was so beautiful: a slow awakening, sunshine gilding the hills, fat buds on the ches
tnut trees, and a scatter of yellow primroses in the sheltered hollows.
There was a long hill up to the gates of Bonnywall House, and when they reached the top they turned into an avenue between high stone gateposts carved with the arms of the Lang family. Dunn slowed down here, for the avenue was crowded with cars and pedestrians who had come from far and near to inspect the Admiral’s rhododendrons.
“We’ll get out,” said Mrs. Bulloch, who had no desire to drive up to the front door in her husband’s van. “We’ll just get out here, and ye can meet us at the big gates at six.”
“Any time suits me,” agreed Dunn pleasantly. “I’ll maybe take a wee stroll around the rhodies mysel’.”
Mrs. Bulloch and Sue got out of the van and walked up to the house. It was well worth a visit on its own account, for parts of it were very old, dating from the fourteenth century. It was set on a slight eminence surrounded by lawns and trees, and its old square tower looked solid and permanent as a rock.
The Baker’s Daughter Page 16
