After some moments there was a shuffling sound in the hall and the door was opened by Mrs. Kenny looking even more drab than usual in a dirty overall and with curlers in her hair.
“He’s away,” said Mrs. Kenny and shut the door in her face.
Nell did not mind the rude reception — if reception it could be called — for if Mr. Orme were away it meant that he had discovered Anne’s whereabouts. Or at least Nell hoped it meant that. She walked home on air and meeting Stephen in the drive had a boisterous game with him, chasing him round and round the palm trees and eventually catching him and kissing him and tickling him and behaving in a perfectly ridiculous manner … and then they went up to the house hand in hand and arrived there late for lunch, breathless and dishevelled.
Mrs. Duff met them at the door with an anxious face. “It was the butter I was wanting, Miss Nell. We haven’t a bit in the house.”
“Oh Goodness!” cried Nell. I’ve lost the basket! I must have put it down somewhere.”
“When you were tickling me,” suggested Stephen. “I’ll get it, Aunt Nell.”
“Do you know the time?” inquired Mrs. Ayrton emerging from the dining-room.
“I’m sorry,” said Nell.
Nell had been saying she was sorry all week.
There was no news from Mr. Orme on Friday, nor on Saturday, and Nell could not ring him up because the Rectory was not on the telephone, but surely he would be back on Sunday.
Nell decided to go to church early; she enjoyed the quiet peaceful service at eight o’clock and often went to it, slipping out of the nursery door and going down to St. Stephen’s through the gardens. This morning was beautiful; the sun was shining, the hills were swathed in a pearly mist and there were tiny green leaves on the hedges. Browning must have been thinking of a morning like this when he wrote Pippa’s song:
The year’s at the Spring,
The day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hill-side’s dew-pearled;
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn;
God’s in His heaven —
All’s right with the world!
The lark was singing — Nell could hear him — but the dew was more like diamonds than pearls. As she pushed open the wicket-gate into the little churchyard she tried to make herself believe that all was right with the world. Perhaps Browning had meant the natural world of hills and trees and flowers; he could not have meant that all was right with the world of human beings. So many things were wrong — people were unkind and unforgiving — but God was in His Heaven. Nell believed that.
The church was empty when Nell got there (for she was early) so she went to one of the front pews and kneeled down. She prayed for Anne and for her mother — that they might be reconciled — and she prayed for wisdom so that she might know what she ought to do and how she could unravel all the tangles.
Presently Nell heard other people come in and take their places in the pews behind her with the usual quiet scufflings; then Mr. Orme appeared and the service began.
Nell could not help wondering as she looked at Mr. Orme whether he had been able to do anything about Anne … and then with am effort she controlled her thoughts and fixed them on the service. She had found, as most people do, that sometimes this service meant a great deal and sometimes not. One always hoped to be caught up out of the world and all its problems and sorrows and to lose oneself completely. This morning the little miracle happened and a beautiful feeling of peace filled the little church.
Nell waited for a few minutes after the service was over (she always waited so that she should not be brought down to earth too quickly by meeting people and having to talk) and then she rose and came out into the sunshine, feeling a little dazed but happy and at peace.
Everybody hurried home to breakfast except one woman — a slender woman in a shabby grey coat and skirt — and as Nell came down the path the woman turned and smiled at her.
It was Anne.
Nell had often imagined a meeting with Anne but she had never imagined it would be like this — alone, quiet and peaceful in the early morning sunshine. She had sometimes feared that her first meeting with Anne might be a little — difficult — a trifle embarrassing, but here and now there was no embarrassment at all. It was not even exciting, nor strange; it was perfectly natural; it was almost as if they had parted only yesterday.
Nell held out her hands and said, “Anne.”
Anne said nothing; she took Nell’s hands in hers and they stood there looking at each other for what seemed quite a long time.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” said Anne at last.
Nell wished she could say the same. This was her own dear Anne but how thin she had become, how worn and tired she looked!
“He found you,” said Nell in a low voice.
Anne nodded. “Yes, he found us. Dear kind Mr. Orme, how glad I was to see him! He brought us back to his own house —”
“Do you mean you’re staying with him?”
“Yes.”
“But, Anne —”
“Darling, I’ve no time to tell you anything now, and there’s so much to tell that I don’t know where to begin. I must hurry back and get the breakfast. When can I see you?”
Nell tried to think. Sunday was a difficult day to escape from everybody.
“Come to-night,” said Anne urgently. “Promise me you’ll come.”
“Yes, of course,” said Nell. “But Anne, tell me —”
“Not now — it’s no good beginning — I must go, honestly.” She gave Nell’s hands a little squeeze and turned and ran down the path. She ran lightly, as if she were used to running, and when she reached the little gate which led into the Rectory garden she turned and waved. Then she was gone.
For a minute or two Nell stood there, dazed. It had been so unexpected; it had happened so suddenly, and was so quickly over, that she could hardly believe it was real. Had she really and truly seen Anne — and held her hands?
Then she came to earth with a bump and glancing at her watch realised that if she did not hurry home she would be late for breakfast — in fact she was already late for breakfast — so she hurried home.
2
“You didn’t tell me you were going to church early,” said Mrs. Ayrton fretfully. “I wish you would tell me the night before. Mrs. Duff has boiled my egg hard — I can’t think why she does it. She knows I don’t like hard-boiled eggs.” Nell heard herself commiserating with her mother over the hard-boiled egg but the real part of her mind was thinking of Anne, wondering about her. What had Anne been doing all these years? Why was she so thin and worn? Where had Mr. Orme found her? Anne had said, “He brought us back to his own house.” Did that mean Martin Selby was there too, staying in the Rectory? Would they come to Amberwell and try to make up the quarrel? Perhaps that was Mr. Orme’s idea. Perhaps that was why he had brought them … and if so what would happen?
It seemed strange to Nell that her mother could not see all these thoughts chasing each other through her head, but went on talking about how long an egg should be boiled and complaining that the tea was too strong.
“Mrs. Duff always makes it far too strong,” said Mrs. Ayrton. “And why don’t you sit down and eat your breakfast? Your egg will be like a stone and the tea is getting cold. Mrs. Duff has forgotten the tea-cosy.”
Nell went to the drawer of the sideboard and took out the tea-cosy. It struck her as she did so that her mother might have done this herself. There was nothing to prevent her — except that she had never done such a thing in her life. Mrs. Ayrton had never done anything in her life, she had never boiled a kettle or fried a rasher of bacon, she was as helpless as an infant and, left to herself, she would have starved. It was dreadful to be as helpless as that, thought Nell, looking at her mother pityingly … and then her thoughts swung back to Anne. She would see Anne to-night!
“You look a little feverish, Nell,” said Mrs. Ayrton. “I hop
e you haven’t caught a chill. Sometimes it’s very cold in St. Stephen’s.”
“No, I’m quite well, Mother.”
“Your eyes look feverish.”
“I’m perfectly all right — honestly.”
“Why haven’t you eaten your breakfast? You haven’t eaten anything.”
“Haven’t I?” said Nell in surprise.
It was not easy for Nell to go out after dinner for the simple reason that she never did — except occasionally to the Lamberts’ or to the Women’s Rural Institute. Mrs. Ayrton disliked anything unusual; she liked Nell to sit with her in the evenings, sewing or knitting and listening to the wireless. All day as Nell went about the house, doing the hundred and one things that had to be done, she tried to think of some way in which she could escape without telling an actual lie. Unless she could think of a reasonable excuse for going out there would be endless arguments. It even occurred to her to tell the truth, to say quite simply that Anne was at the Rectory and she was going there to see her — but of course that was impossible because she did not know Anne’s plans. She might wreck everything by telling her mother the amazing news.
Nell always prepared supper on Sundays when Mrs. Duff was out, and as they ate their simple meal she suddenly decided to take a firm line. Never explain, thought Nell smiling a little to herself. She cleared the dishes and washed them up and looked into the cosy little morning-room where her mother was settled by the fire reading the papers. “Listen to this, Nell,” said Mrs. Ayrton. “It’s perfectly frightful. I don’t know what the world’s coming to —”
“Not now,” said Nell. “You must tell me about it tomorrow. I’m going out.”
“Going out!” exclaimed Mrs. Ayrton in amazement. “Where are you going?”
“Just — out,” replied Nell. “You’ll be all right, won’t you? If you want anything you can ask Nannie. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Nell, where are you going?”
“Out,” repeated Nell smiling cheerfully. “Why shouldn’t I go out? It’s a lovely evening.”
“But you can’t!” cried Mrs. Ayrton. “I mean you can’t go out — at night — for a walk — by yourself. Are you going to the Lamberts’?”
“No,” said Nell. “Don’t wait up for me; I may be late. I’m taking the key.”
“Nell —”
“Good night, Mother!” She kissed her mother and ran.
As she went out of the front door she heard her mother calling but she took no notice. I’m not a prisoner, she thought. There’s no earthly reason why I shouldn’t go out. Nannie and Mrs. Duff go out, so why shouldn’t I? It’s ridiculous to feel guilty … but she felt guilty all the same.
The feeling of guilt persisted uncomfortably as she ran down the path through the gardens and did not vanish until she got to the Rectory and rang the bell. The door opened almost immediately and Anne was there and the next moment they were in each other’s arms.
“Oh, Nell,” whispered Anne. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”
“I couldn’t get away before,” explained Nell. “Mother wanted to know where I was going — and of course I couldn’t tell her. Anne, you must tell me everything.”
“It would take days and days!”
“But you’re here — and well. That’s the main thing. I was so terribly worried about you — so miserable. Why didn’t you write?”
“I did write — and then I got your letter saying that you hadn’t heard — and a letter from Father to say I was not to write to you again; saying that my own foolishness had cut me off; saying … Oh well, never mind. What he said was true. I was terribly foolish.”
“But you’ve been happy?” asked Nell, drawing back and looking at her. “You married him because you loved him. It isn’t foolish to marry somebody you love.”
Anne did not answer directly. She said, “Oh I don’t regret what I did, because it’s given me the most valuable thing in all the world.”
“You’re talking in riddles!”
“I know, but I can’t help it. How can I begin to tell you everything that’s happened to me in all these years. I will tell you some of it if you give me time.”
“All of it,” urged Nell.
“No, darling, just some of it. Come into Mr. Orme’s study. He was tired so he went to bed early. He gets tired very easily you know. He’s so kind and good and never thinks of himself; he really needs somebody to look after him.”
They went into the study and the first thing Nell saw was a large doll with flaxen hair lying upon a chair. It was such an unexpected sight and seemed so out of place that she gave a gasp of amazement.
“This is Jenny,” said Anne smiling and picking it up. “Isn’t she lovely? Mr. Orme bought her and gave her to Emmie … but of course you don’t know about Emmie — I keep on forgetting that you don’t know anything about us — Emmie is my most valuable possession.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Nell had said she wanted to hear “all of it” but of course that was impossible. Anne knew before she began her story that she could never make Nell understand. Anne herself did not understand how it had happened. When she looked back and thought about her visit to Edinburgh (when she had stayed with Aunt Beatrice and met Martin Selby) the whole thing seemed crazy.
Why had she married Martin? She had never loved him — that was very certain. Of course she had been flattered and thrilled at Martin’s attentions; Martin was so much older than herself and so clever. He had been to Rome and Florence and could talk about all sorts of interesting things.
Martin enjoyed talking and Anne enjoyed listening to him; usually she listened without comment but one evening when Martin came to dinner at the flat he began to tell Anne about a friend of his who had an apiary.
“Oh, monkeys!” cried Anne. “What fun to keep monkeys! Aunt Beatrice and I saw some at the Zoo.”
“One keeps bees in an apiary, not monkeys,” said Martin without a smile. “The word is derived from the latin — apis, a bee. An apiarist is a man who studies the habits of bees.”
“Oh, I thought —”
“You thought the word was derived from ape,” said Martin.
Anne felt slightly annoyed; but of course it was very silly and Martin was so clever. It was ridiculous to feel annoyed.
Apart from that somewhat unfortunate contretemps everything went well and Martin’s visits became more frequent and prolonged. Aunt Beatrice was very excited about it.
“Martin is devoted to you,” she declared. “He’s so tall and handsome and so romantic! It’s wonderful to see him look at you with his heart in his eyes.”
It was rather wonderful, thought Anne. Nobody had ever looked at her like that before. Nobody had ever sprung to his feet to open the door for her; nobody had ever given her roses. All the same when she discovered that Martin wanted to marry her she was a little frightened.
Aunt Beatrice soothed Anne’s fears and pushed her very gently into Martin’s arms.
It was all settled and everybody was happy and excited. Anne lost her head completely; she was swept away. It was delightful to be the principal person in the affair, to be praised and cherished and to have all her wishes consulted. That night they had a celebration — a little dinner for three in Aunt Beatrice’s flat — Anne wore her new pink frock and looked enchanting; her eyes shone like stars and her cheeks were rosy. They drank each other’s healths.
“I wish Nell were here,” said Anne at last. “That would make it quite perfect.”
“Yes,” agreed Aunt Beatrice. “But things can’t be absolutely perfect in the world.”
“I suppose it will be all right,” said Martin. “I suppose Anne’s father won’t object. You haven’t told him yet, have you?”
“No, we must talk about that,” replied Aunt Beatrice. “As I said before things can’t be absolutely perfect — and I know my brother so well. He’s very unreasonable.”
“But, Miss Ayrton!” exclaimed Martin in alarm. “You said —�
�
“It will be all right, I promise you,” declared Aunt Beatrice and forthwith revealed her plan that they should marry without the consent of Anne’s parents.
“But why?” asked Martin. “Surely it would be better to ask them.”
“They wouldn’t give their consent.”
“Good heavens!” Martin exclaimed. “You don’t mean —”
“I know my brother,” repeated Aunt Beatrice. “He’s very unreasonable indeed. He would absolutely refuse to allow you to be married. If you go and ask Anne’s parents you may as well give up the idea of getting married altogether. They would send Martin away and you would never see each other again. My parents did that to me. If you wait and talk and argue it will all fall through. That’s what happened to me. I shall never forget how dreadful it was — all the talk and the arguments — all the unkind things that were said to poor Harry! Eventually he went away and I never saw him again.”
There was a horrified silence.
“Then you think —” began Martin.
“I know,” said Aunt Beatrice firmly. “The only thing to do is to get married and then tell them. They can’t part you once you’re married.”
Anne had said nothing. She had a feeling that Aunt Beatrice was right; her father would not like Martin. Martin was wonderful of course, but he liked his own way — so did her father. The idea of talk and arguments between them was appalling. It would end in a row, thought Anne. Martin would be sent away and she would never see him again … and she would be like Aunt Beatrice, unloved and unwanted.
“What do you think about it, Anne?” asked Martin.
“Well, Aunt Beatrice knows better than I do,” said Anne doubtfully.
“Of course I do,” agreed Aunt Beatrice. “You leave it all to me. I’ll arrange everything.”
Aunt Beatrice was as good as her word, and for the next few days she was extremely busy. Minors can be married in Scotland without their parents’ consent so there was no trouble on that score. She bought Anne’s small trousseau out of her own pocket.
Amberwell (Ayrton Family Book 1) Page 21
