Bel Lamington

by D. E. Stevenson

  “Oh, Dr. Armstrong, but I couldn’t!”

  “Why not?”

  “I couldn’t afford it,” she declared. “I’d love it, of course, but—but I couldn’t—really.”

  “I’m offering you a holiday job.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Yes, come with us as a companion for Lou.”

  Bel was almost in tears. She said, “Oh no, it’s far too kind.”

  “It isn’t kind at all. Please come, Bel.”

  She hesitated for a few moments and then she said in a low voice, “It’s terribly kind—and anyhow I wouldn’t want to be paid. I mean if you really want me—if it could be arranged—if you’re quite sure about it—I could manage if you would pay my expenses.”

  “Oh well, we’ll see,” said Dr. Armstrong. “We’ll talk to Lou about it. We’ll see what Lou thinks.”

  *

  3

  Dr. Armstrong was sure that his daughter would be delighted at the idea of taking Bel with them to Drumburly, and he was not disappointed. It would be “simply perfect” Louise declared. They discussed it after dinner, sitting in the drawing-room with the windows wide open and the soft mild air drifting in from the garden bearing the scent of flowers.

  Dr. Armstrong did not say much, but watched and listened with a good deal of interest. Like most doctors he had studied psychology and it seemed to him that it would be difficult to find two girls so utterly different in their outlook upon life. That was why they were so good for each other, he thought. Louise was used to having her own way and, apart from his professional duties which were sacred to him, he was perfectly willing that she should “arrange” his life. There was not a grain of selfishness in his beloved Lou; her arrangements were made for the benefit of others and were usually wise. Bel was different—utterly different, thought Dr. Armstrong. Life had dealt her some hard blows; she accepted the blows and made the best of it. She did not expect Fate to be kind.

  Louise was so enchanted with the plan that she refused to see any difficulties which could not be surmounted with the greatest of ease. In ten minutes she had decided quite definitely that Bel was coming to Drumburly and was making arrangements about all the delightful things they would do together when they got there.

  To Bel the whole thing was vague and dreamlike. The difficulties seemed insuperable. To begin with there was the problem of fitting in the dates. Dr. Armstrong was obliged to take his holiday when he could get a locum to attend to his practice, and Bel could not get away from the office until Mr. Brownlee returned from South America,—perhaps not even then! She would have to stay until everything was in running order and he could dispense with her services conveniently. She explained this to Louise.

  “I’m sure he’ll be back,” declared Louise, and went on talking about Drumburly.

  Bel let her talk—as a matter of fact it would have been difficult to stop her—and there was no harm in listening as long as she did not allow herself to believe a word Louise was saying. It’s a dream, thought Bel. It’s a fairy-tale. Fairy-tales don’t happen.

  The Armstrongs went up to Drumburly every year—or nearly every year—explained Louise. It was a small town in the Scottish Borders with a very comfortable hotel. Dr. Armstrong’s cousin was married to a farmer who owned the fishing rights of the river, and allowed him to fish as much as he pleased. The Johnstones’ farm was called Mureth and was about five miles from Drumburly.

  “Aunt Mamie is a darling,” declared Louise. “Of course she isn’t really my aunt—she’s Daddy’s cousin—but she feels like an aunt—and Uncle Jock feels like an uncle. You’ll love them, Bel. They’re so kind—the kindest people in the world. They always try to persuade us to go and stay at Mureth House but it’s better, really, to stay at the hotel. It’s better for Daddy. He feels quite free. You never feel quite free if you’re staying with people—even if they’re relations, do you? And of course the hotel is frightfully comfortable and Mrs. Simpson is a pet. She doesn’t mind Daddy coming in late for meals and soaked to the skin. She just takes away all his clothes and dries them. Isn’t it kind?”

  “Yes, awfully kind.”

  “We can go to Mureth whenever we like,” Louise continued. “Aunt Mamie is always pleased to see us. Then there’s Tassieknowe. That’s another farm higher up the river. It belongs to the Johnstones too. Aunt Mamie’s nephew, James, lives there—and Rhoda, of course. Rhoda is perfectly beautiful, she’s got the most gorgeous golden hair. She’s just like an angel, isn’t she Daddy?”

  Dr. Armstrong smiled and agreed. He said, “I think you’ve told Bel enough about it. She’s looking a bit dazed.”

  “But I must tell her about it,” objected Louise. “She wants to know all about it before she comes. Don’t you, Bel?”

  “If I can come——”

  “Of course you must come!” cried Louise. “It will be so lovely to have you with us. We can walk over the hills together. We can have picnics. Daddy doesn’t like me walking over the hills by myself but he won’t mind if we’re together—and he can go off and fish every day and all day long without bothering about me at all. That’s what he likes doing better than anything and it’s so good for him. You will come, won’t you, Bel?”

  “Yes, if I can.”

  “I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”

  “I’m sure I should,” Bel agreed. “It sounds absolutely wonderful—but I can’t promise. It all depends on Mr. Brownlee.”

  “Bother Mr. Brownlee!” exclaimed Louise.

  Chapter Nine

  Sunday morning was beautifully fine and sunny. The two girls rose early and went to church. This had been decided the night before but not without a certain amount of argument.

  “I like going to the early service,” Louise had said. “But my dailies don’t come on Sundays so it’s a bit of a rush. You must stay in bed and I’ll bring up your breakfast when I get home. It may be a bit late but you won’t mind, will you?”

  “I’d like to come with you,” said Bel.

  “Why not stay in bed? Daddy said you were to rest as much as possible.”

  Bel smiled; she said, “Your Daddy is a wonderful man but all the same I’d like to go to church.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I go every Sunday unless the weather is absolutely frightful.” She hesitated and then added, “It sounds rather cowardly but I can’t risk getting ill.”

  Getting ill was Bel’s most dreaded nightmare. Lying alone and helpless with nobody to look after her, nobody to care whether she lived or died . . . and then, if she didn’t get better quickly, to lose her job!

  “Yes, it’s horrid to be ill,” Louise was saying. “When I had appendicitis it was frightful. It came on suddenly in the middle of the night like a clap of thunder. I shouted for Daddy and he bundled me up in a blanket and took me straight to the hospital—then and there. You’ve no idea how horrible it was,” declared Louise. “But when the horrible part was over and I began to feel better it was rather nice. People are so kind, aren’t they? I was simply swamped with flowers and magazines. I suppose you’ve got lots of kind neighbours.”

  Bel did not answer that. It was not really a question. She merely repeated her statement that she would like to go to church the following morning and asked Louise to waken her in plenty of time.

  The little church was only ten minutes’ walk from Coombe House. It was a small church, but old and very lovely with fluted columns supporting the huge oak beams of the roof. The morning sunshine streaming through the stained-glass windows made a jewelled pattern on the floor. Not many people were present and the service was quiet and simple; there was peace here and sincerity and a feeling of intimacy which Bel found very moving.

  The two girls came out and for a few minutes they walked along together in silence.

  “What a lot people miss,” said Louise at last. “I mean people who don’t go to church. It makes me feel like a little girl with a clean pinafore. Of course the pinafore gets dirty much too soon but it
feels nice while it’s clean.”

  Bel smiled; she said, “I don’t think your pinafore is ever very dirty.”

  “Oh yes, it is,” declared Louise. “Sometimes I’m quite bad and wicked. It’s a horrible feeling and it makes me miserable. I wonder why it should be. I mean,” said Louise, trying to explain. “I mean if I want to be good and nice why can’t I? What prevents me? That’s what I’d like to know.”

  Bel nodded. “Yes, but I think everybody feels like that sometimes. Even the saints had their ups and downs. We’re told that, aren’t we? Oh Louise, I wish you had known Aunt Beatrice; she was so good—and her goodness made her happy. I think she was the happiest person I’ve ever known.”

  “You still miss her?”

  “Yes, I still miss her frightfully. It’s two years since she died but I haven’t got used to doing without her. I still keep on wanting to tell her things.”

  “I know the feeling,” said Louise. “I miss Mummy like that. It comes and goes. Sometimes I forget about it—and then the tide rises and I’m almost drowned. It happens quite suddenly—I never know when it’s going to happen.” She put her hand through Bel’s arm and gave it a little squeeze. “Let’s be sisters,” she said.

  “Sisters?”

  “Yes. Am I being silly? I just meant we could tell each other things.”

  Bel did not think it silly. She thought it would be pleasant and comforting to have a sister like Louise . . . and it would be quite easy to tell her things.

  “Darling Bel, begin by telling me what’s the matter,” suggested Louise. “There is something, I’m sure. That day when we met you at the picture gallery you were on top of the world. There was a sort of glow about you.”

  Bel hesitated for a moment. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, there was something that made me feel happy, but it was just a mistake. I thought someone was—was fond of me, but he wasn’t. That’s all, really. There was nothing in it at all.”

  “Oh Bel!”

  “I was idiotic,” Bel said rather desperately. “I can’t imagine how I could have been such an absolute fool. That’s the worst of it. That’s what makes me so ashamed.”

  “I suppose it was Mark.”

  Bel was silent.

  “I thought it might be him,” said Louise regretfully. “I just thought . . . but you needn’t be ashamed.”

  “I am,” Bel told her.

  “No, darling, honestly,” said Louise firmly. “You mustn’t feel like that. Mark is terribly attractive. Every girl he meets falls in love with Mark. They can’t help it. It’s just one of those things. Of course he’s selfish—if you can call it selfish. He doesn’t really mean to be selfish but he never thinks of anybody except himself. He just goes his own way and it’s his nature to be charming—but of course you couldn’t know that, could you?”

  “No,” said Bel doubtfully. “But all the same——”

  “I’m so thankful I was inoculated when I was a child,” said Louise with a sigh.

  “Inoculated?”

  “Yes, inoculated,” said Louise seriously. “You know how children are inoculated against scarlet fever and diphtheria and things like that—Daddy inoculates hundreds of children against all sorts of diseases—well, I was inoculated against Mark in exactly the same way. You see Mark used to come and stay with us in the Summer Holidays. That inoculated me against him.”

  Bel laughed.

  “It did, really,” declared Louise. “I’m immune. I couldn’t fall in love with Mark even if I wanted to. He’s charming to me and I can see he’s terribly attractive but he leaves me cold.”

  “Perhaps there’s somebody else——”

  “No, there isn’t. I’ve never been the slightest bit in love with anybody. It’s because Daddy is so marvellous. There’s nobody to compare with him.”

  *

  2

  Dr. Armstrong stood upon the steps of his house watching the two girls approach. They were walking rather slowly, arm in arm; he thought they made a charming picture. He had been out all night at a difficult confinement and despite all his efforts the baby had died. Nobody could have saved it—he knew that—but all the same he felt sad and discouraged.

  The sight of his daughter and her friend returning from church together lightened his spirits a little; he was able to watch them quite comfortably for they were so engrossed in their conversation that they did not see him. What were they talking about, he wondered. What did girls talk about? These two had talked without ceasing since Bel’s arrival on Friday night.

  It was good for Lou to have a friend and Bel was exactly right. He had sized her up in the first ten minutes when they had met so opportunely at the Welcome Gallery—he was used to sizing people up and was rarely disillusioned—Bel Lamington was made of the right stuff.

  Dr. Armstrong hoped the Drumburly plan would come off, but he was neither as optimistic as Lou nor as pessimistic as Bel. He realised that if Bel could not come his beloved Lou would be wretchedly disappointed. Perhaps it would have been better if he had not suggested the plan or had left it for a little until he saw whether it would be possible for Bel to come. However it was no use thinking of that now. One must just hope that Mr. Brownlee would return from his South American trip in plenty of time.

  The girls had arrived at the bottom of the steps, they looked up and saw the doctor.

  “Oh Daddy!” exclaimed Louise. “You’ve been out all night! I heard you go out. Oh Daddy, how tired you are, darling! You had better have a bath and get into bed.”

  “I don’t think——”

  “Yes, do,” said Louise firmly. “I’ll bring up your breakfast in twenty minutes. You’ll have it in bed.”

  “But Lou——”

  “Go now, like a lamb. Bel will help me.”

  “Of course!” exclaimed Bel.

  “Twenty minutes,” repeated Louise, throwing her hat and gloves on to the hall table. “Your breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes.”

  “Well, perhaps I will go to bed,” said Dr. Armstrong with a sigh. “I’m a bit tired. But I won’t bother about breakfast—and you must be sure to wake me if I’m wanted at the hospital.”

  He began to walk upstairs slowly, like an old man, and then he paused and looked back. “Joan is all right,” he said. “You can go and see her tomorrow.”

  Bel followed her new sister into the kitchen and found her preparing a tray. “Tell me what to do,” she said.

  “Bacon and eggs,” said Louise in a queer choked voice. “Oh dear, it’s the baby of course! Oh poor Joan! You’ll find the bacon in the fridge. She was looking forward to the baby so frightfully much. He likes his eggs poached. I do them in a silly little pan——”

  “How do you know it’s the baby?” asked Bel in surprise.

  “Because,” said Louise, “because I know. I mean he said Joan was all right, didn’t he? And he wouldn’t look like that if everything was all right. I know him so well, you see. Oh dear, it does seem hard—and queer——” declared Louise, dashing away her tears and diving into the cupboard for the silly little pan in which to poach the eggs. “I mean there’s Mrs. Swinton with more children than she knows what to do with and more babies arriving every minute——”

  “Toast?” asked Bel.

  “Yes, two pieces. Here’s the bread-knife. I wonder why everything happens on a Sunday morning when Mrs. Haggard isn’t here. We’ll give him his breakfast first and then have ours. You don’t mind, do you? If we aren’t quick he’ll go to sleep.”

  Bel wished she were not so useless—one felt such a fool in a strange kitchen, not knowing where anything was kept—she sliced the bread and put two pieces under the grill. “Tea or coffee?” she asked.

  When Louise had taken up the doctor’s tray she returned to the kitchen and found Bel busy with preparations for their own breakfast.

  “How clever of you!” she said. “I’m sorry I was so long but I wanted to make sure he would eat it all right. It is the baby, of course. I knew it was. But Joan is be
ing very good about it and I can go and see her tomorrow afternoon.”

  “You can take her some flowers,” suggested Bel.

  “Yes, of course—but what good is that? Quite useless,” said Louise miserably. “And I can say I’m sorry—but what good is that? It’s beyond all the usual kind of easy sympathy.”

  They sat down to have their breakfast and for a little while there was silence.

  *

  3

  Monday was the last day of Bel’s short visit—she had been given leave until Tuesday—so the two girls drove over to Shepherdsford in Louise’s little car. It was a beautiful day of warm sun and cool breezes, with white puffy clouds moving slowly across the blue sky. The trees were now in leaf—those first fresh green leaves which are so much more beautiful than the heavy foliage of late summer—and there was a faint haze of green over the fields where the corn was springing up.

  It was so beautiful that Bel could hardly bear it. Tomorrow, at this time, she would be in London surrounded by huge stone buildings; instead of the scents of hawthorn blossom and new mown hay there would be the smell of petrol-fumes. She would have exchanged the lovely peace of the country for the bustle and noise of the town.

  “I shall miss you frightfully,” Louise said suddenly.

  “Oh Louise, don’t!” exclaimed Bel in a choked voice. “I can scarcely bear it. You’ve been so good to me—and it’s all so lovely——”

  “You must come back. Come any weekend you like . . . and we’ll look forward to Drumburly, won’t we? And we can write to each other. Don’t forget we’re sisters.”

  “I’m not likely to forget it,” said Bel.

  Shepherdsford was a village some miles from Ernleigh, it nestled at the foot of a wooded hill. There was a good golf-course here and when Dr. Armstrong managed to get away from his practice he came over for a round of golf. Louise pointed out the golf-course as they went down the hill and over the bridge to an Inn near the river where they intended to have lunch.