Hitherto, Hans had been very young for his age. Perhaps his small size made everyone inclined to treat him as if he was younger than he was, and this had kept him something of a baby. But while he was in bed, he grew all at once from babyhood to boyhood, and he became a boy who might well have been older than his eleven years. His mind had grown up.
Alethea was unexpectedly happy in this new phase of her life. In the past, although Hans had been her most precious possession, he was a possession which she had enjoyed comparatively rarely. His home had never been hers. She had been a visitor to the house where he lived. This was now over. It was obviously impossible to find another nurse for him, as every suitable girl would be doing war work; but Alethea felt that a mother was justified in looking upon her child as her first duty. She gave up the hospital and went to live altogether at Cairn Gorm.
Hans’ education was making headway. Alethea now taught him most subjects, and she enjoyed the lessons with all her heart, her pupil was so quick, so alert, and so responsive. He seemed to find everything easy. Sums and latin he learnt with the vicar; but the chief thing in his life was his drawing. There was by now no doubt that he had a real gift; and fortunately there lived in the village a very remarkable painter. Mr. Crosby was a famous artist, and his studio was not half a mile from Miss Nash’s little cottage. He immediately recognized the boy’s talent, and he offered to give him lessons. These by degrees took more and more of Hans’ time; and as the months passed, Alethea began to feel that in spite of his appearance, Hans might some day become a great man. At any rate, his life at this time was overflowing with interests, and his mother shared them all.
While she was nursing in the hospital, Alethea had spent all Nicholas’s leaves with him in London. They stayed in a hotel, always running down to Brokeyates for a day or two, to picnic in the half-closed house. Those brief visits were like the bright intervals in a day of storm, when the sun shines with such abnormal brightness that it burns painfully. Their happiness had the intensity which only belongs to transitory things. And during those feverish days, always spent in unaccustomed places, and in circumstances unlike any they could have contemplated in the old days, Alethea often wondered what would happen when the war ended. They could never go back to the old life. Those years were carving in the lives of men and women, trenches deeper and more permanent than the trenches of France. They might in time be filled up. Flowers would bloom again upon the lacerated earth, and corn would grow; but in many human lives there must remain for ever a deep gulf fixed between the present and the past—a gulf across which a man would look back on to his youth, only to meet the eyes of a stranger, and a stranger who bore his own name. Surely Nicholas could not carry with him across that dividing line the bitterness which for so long had poisoned their lives. If he lived through the war, it could not leave him unchanged. He must at last feel the call of the blood between him and his child, and that call would be strong enough to make him forget the taint in it.
Each time that Alethea saw Nicholas, she felt more hopeful. This strange aloof man never achieved that camaraderie of spirit by which other men, often naturally uncongenial, discovered each other’s qualities in those years of fighting. He could not make friends. Although he learnt to seem outwardly at ease, he remained lonely at heart in the friendliest mess. And so he longed more and more for the only human being who had ever got through his defences. He and Alethea were infinitely nearer one another since their lives had been so near shipwreck. Nothing now was hidden between them. She knew all there was to know about him, and she was the only person on earth who did. But, far from hating him for what she knew, she felt that she loved him better because she understood.
And now at last he was gaining the power to express to her the love and gratitude which he felt. He was less perversely inarticulate. No wonder Alethea felt that, if the war ever came to an end, it would find them happier than ever before.
Nicholas had some leave about three months after the beginning of Hans’ illness, and Alethea was torn in mind as to what she ought to do. The child was quite well enough for her to leave him without anxiety, in the care of Miss Nash, and yet she was very reluctant to break, for a whole week, the constant companionship between herself and her son. She was terribly afraid that he might think that, like Greta, she had left him for ever. She resolved to go to London only for the day, and to try to persuade Nicholas to come back to Cornwall with her. She travelled through the night, and met her husband at the Grosvenor Hotel, where they had breakfast together.
Nicholas was shocked at his wife’s appearance, for though she looked far better than she had, yet she had aged perceptibly, and the youth she had lost had gone for ever.
‘You have been ill, and you didn’t tell me,’ he said anxiously.
‘Not ill. But I wouldn’t worry you by writing to tell you what we were going through. Hans was really alarmingly ill, and the whole thing was started by his nurse being sent off to an internment camp, as an enemy alien. It was a great shock to him, and then it was hard to nurse him without her. He was so used to her.’
‘I hope you have a good nurse for him now.’
‘Very, I think. I am the new nurse.’
She smiled at him.
‘I have given up the hospital altogether.’
‘I am afraid your new job takes more out of you than the old one.’
‘O no. I think the illness did, but now he is well, and everything is easy. Only, Nicholas dear, I want you to spend this leave with me in Cornwall. You must see Portia and … both the children. And I can’t help being anxious when I am away.’
She tried in vain to prevent her voice from shaking; but its tremor touched him to the heart, making her more than ever lovable.
‘Dearest, of course I will go,’ he said, and he kissed her. In the turmoil and strain of the war, in the changed world in which they found themselves, he did not even realize what a crisis this conversation meant for Alethea. She felt that the bitter struggle of the past years was over.
They talked of many things as they travelled to Cornwall, but Alethea’s thoughts were only of Hans and of his meeting with his father. Surely his charm would overcome the curse of the dwarf’s blood.
Miss Nash’s house was too small to receive another visitor, so Nicholas and Alethea were to sleep at the village inn, spending their days at Cairn Gorm. Portia was there for a week’s holiday, very possessive about her father, who delighted in her beauty, and her vigorous erect carriage, the result of Miss Gough’s excellent system of gymnastics. She would have made a glorious boy.
Nicholas had not seen Hans since the day when Alethea carried him away from Brokeyates to Friedenbach, and he had forgotten, as people do, how time had passed since then. So when the tiny figure burst from the house, and leapt into Alethea’s arms with joyous shouts of welcome, he was at first quite fascinated by the baby, as for the moment he took Hans to be. He might have been a very captivating child of about four or five years old. Nicholas couldn’t help smiling at the joyous apparition. The smile pierced Alethea through with a poignant joy, and she felt that Hans had conquered.
‘Say how d’you do to daddy,’ she whispered.
Hans hung his head, shy.
She put him down, and with a supreme effort of good manners, he walked stiffly to Nicholas and shook hands. Nicholas greeted him gravely.
‘Isn’t Hans tiny for his age?’ said Portia, fearing that her superior height was not being appreciated. ‘You would never believe, would you, that he is only one year younger than me?’
Alethea could have killed her daughter. She saw the old cloud come upon her husband’s face.
‘How old are you?’ he asked the little boy.
‘Twelve.’
It was incredible. Nicholas turned away, with a sigh which was almost a groan. The home-coming had been completely spoilt.
And then Miss Nash tripped out. She was the drollest figure. The little old lady had put on her best dress for the occasion, and its fas
hion was that of ten years earlier. Voluminous frills of lace streamed across the floor, held away from the feet in some mysterious way, and the sleeves too stood out from her shoulders by the sheer stiffness of their material. Round Miss Nash’s neck was an amusing ‘Toby’ frill of pleated lisse, and an elaborate necklace of silver filigree rambled upon her bosom. Her very small shoes were almost buried beneath the very large rosettes which adorned them.
‘Welcome to Cairn Gorm, Sir Nicholas. It is a great pleasure to me to see you here at last,’ and as she shook hands, she sank backwards into the elaborate court curtsy with which it was her habit to receive strangers into her house.
It was a most welcome diversion.
‘Supper is ready,’ Miss Nash continued. ‘Will you lead me in?’
Nicholas was unprepared for this formality, but he gave his arm to the little lady, and with great dignity they proceeded into the house, the others following them. Supper was served in Hans’ playroom, which was now the principal living room of the house, and a delicious meal had been placed on the table. Miss Nash had cooked everything herself, and most of the dishes had been altogether produced on her little estate. The old-fashioned nosegays on the table gave a rural appearance to the room, and this was increased by the wide glass dishes of honey and home-made jam. The deliciously scented bread was baked in Miss Nash’s brick oven, and she had herself made the butter and the cheeses from the milk of her own cows. Her eggs and chickens provided the staple courses.
She now seated herself at the head of the table with great self-possession, and Portia was called upon to say grace. This she did in a loud voice, her eyes tightly shut, and her hands placed together. There was no seat at the table for Hans, and while the rest of the party were taking their places, he had swiftly clothed himself in the costume of a very fantastic page-boy. This was his delight. Alethea had made him a scarlet Eton jacket, upon which she had sewn a collection of buttons of every shape and size, produced from Miss Nash’s pre-historic work-basket. Hans was immensely proud of his ‘livery’ and he now proceeded to wait upon the party with consummate gravity. He was an excellent servant, his small size making his neatness of hand the more striking. His shyness completely vanished now that he had his definite part to play, and Alethea saw to her relief that Nicholas had quite forgotten his momentary gloom. He talked pleasantly with Miss Nash, and now and again he gave Hans a friendly smile, as he helped himself from the dishes which were handed to him.
Alethea took Hans to his bedroom directly after supper. She wanted, on that first night, to leave Nicholas with the impression of the little boy in his amusing fancy dresss. She left her husband talking with Miss Nash and Portia and she sat with Hans till he went to sleep. At night, she went off to the inn with Nicholas, rather melancholy at the thought of leaving the children behind. She could hardly believe that after all these years, Nicholas had at last been persuaded to see his son.
The leave was not unalloyed pleasure. Nicholas was evidently trying to play his part conscientiously. He tried to be friendly with Hans, but he never saw the child at his best. Until his illness, the little boy had not known the meaning of shyness, but one of the consequences of that nervous break-down had been that he was now ill at ease with strangers. He was never altogether natural with his father, and never showed him the sparkling inconsequent gaiety which was his irresistible charm. This was not to be wondered at, for Nicholas too, when the child was present, was not at his best. That grim and lowering expression of his was never far away from his face, and this made him alarming. Their intercourse was always forced and unnatural. Portia did not mend matters. She enjoyed remarking on Hans’ physical inferiority to herself, and whenever she drew attention to his small size, Alethea could feel Nicholas flinch.
But they were all together, and for the first time; and though it was almost a relief when the time came for Nicholas to go back to France, Alethea felt that the ice had been broken. She assured herself that things would now be every time easier.
Chapter Twenty-Two
NICHOLAS left the army in the spring of 1919, and Alethea had to decide what was to become of the children when she and her husband went back to Brokeyates.
This was easy as far as Portia was concerned, for that young lady had very definitely made up her mind as to her own immediate future. She was very happy at school, where she was now in the sixth form, was captain of the cricket eleven, and was a prominent member of the hockey and lacrosse teams. At the moment, it seemed to her that the world held no loftier heights to be scaled. Portia was stimulated by competition, and without being interested either in books or in games for their own sakes, yet her immense desire to excel made her succeed both in lessons and in sport. She had inherited, to a lesser extent, her grandmother’s mental equipment—a hard business head, a practical turn of mind, and the gift of using the smallest circumstance for her own advantage. These are qualities which make for success both in business and in a completely organized school. Portia intended to go to Oxford when she left Penzance. Alethea would have preferred a daughter not entirely moulded to the pattern of school and college, but Portia made her understand that this was most re-actionary on her part. The poor girl was often forced to blush for her mother, as when Alethea came to see her at Penzance she showed a lamentable ignorance of many points of school etiquette, and she never could be persuaded to see how important they were, in spite of the explicit manner in which Portia pointed them out.
However, it seemed best to leave the girl where she was for the time, and a more anxious question was what should be done with Hans. Must he stay at Cairn Gorm? Obviously a boys’ school was not suitable for him, as his school-fellows would not be slow to remind him that he was only about four feet in height, although they would possibly fail to appreciate that his every inch was beautiful.
Small as he was, he was perfectly formed. His face was oval, like his mother’s, but otherwise he was not at all like either of his parents. His brown hair was almost yellow in some lights, and at other times, it was a dark chestnut colour. His pencilled eyebrows were clear and dark, and his eyes were of unalloyed gold, a colour which few people ever see or would recognize if they saw it. It is neither yellow nor green, and it is seldom found on earth, for it is one of Nature’s deep and lovely secrets. It hides underground in the darkness of a mine, or it can be seen on the horizon in one short moment between the twilight and the dawn. Sometimes it shows faintly on a stormy day, when the sun’s rays are reflected in a wet sky. And this rare colour looked out from under Hans’ brown lashes. His mouth curved in a captivating fashion when he laughed, and his teeth were very beautiful. His head was of a curious peaked shape, and this made him look more elfin than ever. At Cairn Gorm, Hans was a delight to the eyes, but he would not be so at a boys’ school. Alethea asked herself how he would appear at Brokeyates.
For it was her dream to take him home with her. She shrank from the thought of leaving him behind, and she hoped to persuade Nicholas to engage a tutor for him at Brokeyates. It was true that his lessons with Mr. Crosby were very valuable to him, but Alethea thought that another artist might be found to teach him at home. The whole thing hung upon Nicholas. What would he feel about it? During the last two years, he had spent all his leaves in Cornwall, and had grown accustomed to the appearance of his son. Alethea really did not know what his feelings were. He certainly now showed no actual aversion for the boy, but he also paid very little attention to him. But could she hope that he would tolerate the presence of the child at Brokeyates, the place which was his pride and his glory, while Hans was his disgrace? But, thought Alethea, whatever Nicholas may think, the place will come to Hans some day, and he ought not to grow up a stranger to it.
She met Nicholas in London on the day he was demobilized, and they went down to Brokeyates together. It was April. A faint green haze hung about the boughs of the willows which bordered the lake, and cowslips glowed softly over the turf in the Park. The war years had given to the place something of the lost
neglected look which it had worn when Nicholas first saw it. Paths and flowerbeds were unweeded, and the nettles had begun to assert themselves again. But the house itself had not suffered. Nicholas had done his work of restoration too well for that. Its beauty caught at both their hearts.
A gardener and his wife were care-taking in the house, and only one housemaid had been engaged. The servants failed to hear the motor arrive, so that Nicholas and Alethea let themselves into the hall alone. The house was silent. The sun was already low in the sky, and it shone through the windows in the library, sending a long shaft of golden motes to play upon the leather bindings of the books. On their way, they passed through Alethea’s hair, and played about her, as she sat in the great leather chair, her head erect, and her hands resting a little wearily upon its arms. Nicholas remembered that it was there that she had sat the first time she came to Brokeyates. Then it was her light youth which had captivated him, transient against the grave antiquity of the room. Now he saw that her youth had gone. In its place was a calm nobility, and her eyes seemed to hold memories as profound as those which hung about the walls of the room itself. A passion of tenderness took hold of him. He could not sit there, watching her, beautiful as she was in his eyes. He went to her and took her into his arms, holding her so closely that her beauty was invisible to him. But he felt it, in every fibre of his body, as he pressed her against himself, and kissed her again and again. It seemed like a new marriage, more sacred than the marriage of their youth.
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