Bel Lamington

by D. E. Stevenson

  “You really wanted me?” asked Bel—quite unnecessarily one would think.

  “Wanted you!” cried Louise, hugging her again with renewed ardour. “Well, of course I wanted you! What a donkey you are! We’re going to have a simply gorgeous time together. I’ve been making plans about all the lovely things we’re going to do. I would have wanted you even if the weather hadn’t been perfect for fishing.”

  “Perfect for fishing?” asked Bel in surprise.

  “Absolutely perfect,” declared Louise. “It’s been like that ever since we came—a nice breeze and not too bright and no thunder—and the water has been just right. It scarcely ever is,” said Louise earnestly. “Scarcely ever! There’s nearly always something wrong. And another thing,” Louise continued as they followed the porter down the platform. “Mrs. Simpson’s cousin fell off a rock when he was walking over the hills to Crossraggle and twisted his ankle and lay there all night until he was found by the shepherd in the morning—so you see how much I’ve been wanting you!”

  Bel did not see the connection—perhaps it was stupid of her—but what did it matter? She saw that Louise was really and truly delighted that she had come.

  The car was waiting in the Station Yard. The luggage was loaded and the two girls got in.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to share my room,” said Louise as she started the car. “The hotel is full because of the fishing so Mrs. Simpson couldn’t do anything about it. It’s a very nice room with a lovely view over the river and there are two beds of course. I do hope you don’t mind awfully.”

  “Of course I don’t mind.”

  “There’s a man leaving in a day or two and when he goes you can have a room to yourself. Mrs. Simpson was very sorry about it but she couldn’t help it. The hotel is full.”

  “It will be fun,” declared Bel . . . and she meant it. The prospect of sharing a room with Louise was delightful.

  “I suppose Mr. Brownlee has come back? Of course I want to hear all about everything, but don’t start telling me till we’re out of the town. I want all my wits about me. The streets are so narrow and twisty and they’ve made a whole lot of one-way streets.” Louise giggled and continued, “When I was coming to meet you I suddenly found myself careering gaily along a street with all the traffic coming in the other direction and everybody started waving their arms and shouting at me. Of course I didn’t know what was the matter; I thought they had all gone mad . . . Oh heavens, I’ve done it again!”

  She had done it again. The traffic was all coming in the other direction and everybody was waving their arms and shouting.

  Louise drew in to the kerb and immediately an extremely large Police-constable appeared and looked in at the window.

  “You’ve got yourself into serious trrrouble,” he said sternly.

  The rolling Rs made the admonition sound very alarming indeed, but Louise was not alarmed.

  “I know,” she admitted contritely. “I’m terribly sorry. Isn’t it silly of me?”

  “Could you not rread the notice?”

  “I didn’t see it. You’ve made all these funny rules since the last time I was here.”

  “You’ll be a strrranger?”

  “Oh, not a stranger exactly. We always come here for our holidays; it’s so lovely, isn’t it?”

  “H’mm!” he remarked doubtfully.

  “My father likes fishing, you see.”

  “Fishing?” asked the constable, his eyes lighting up with interest. “Would it be the Annan?”

  “No, we’re staying at Drumburly.”

  “The Burly is a grand wee river. He’ll be getting good baskets, no doubt?”

  By this time the traffic was piling up and one impatient motorist started to blow his horn.

  “Oh dear!” exclaimed Louise. “I shall have to move, shan’t I? What would you like me to do?” she added with a helpless air.

  “You’ll need to rrevairrse.”

  “I suppose so. You’ll help me, won’t you?”

  The constable agreed. He walked along beside the car until they had come to a crossing and were out of danger. He was rewarded for his trouble with an enchanting smile.

  “How kind of you!” said Louise. “I’ll try to be good in future.”

  He grinned and said, “You’d better.”

  Soon they were bowling briskly along another street and Bel was relieved to see that here the traffic was moving in the same direction as themselves.

  “Wasn’t he a lamb?” said Louise. “And so good-looking! I do think the uniform is becoming, don’t you?”

  When they were out of the town, but not before, Bel broke the news that she had lost her job. She had expected Louise to be appalled at this news but Louise took it in her stride.

  “Oh darling, how horrid for you!” Louise exclaimed. “That Wills man must be crazy—but you’re here, that’s the main thing. I mean if you hadn’t lost your job you wouldn’t be here, would you? It’s so lovely to have you here.”

  “Yes, but you see——” began Bel.

  “You don’t need to worry,” declared Louise. “Daddy will find you a much nicer job. You must tell Daddy all about it. He’ll know what to do. You aren’t worrying, are you?”

  Curiously enough Bel discovered that she was not worrying—or at least not worrying very much. She was here, with Louise, and it was all delightful: the fresh air, the rolling country, the purple hills in the distance, the blue sky above! Bel cast care aside and gave herself up to enjoyment.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Drumburly is a small town—scarcely more than a good-sized village—a cluster of grey stone houses in a little valley with rolling hills all round. The Shaw Arms Hotel stands near the bridge on the right bank of the river which laps against its thick stone wall. Long ago it had been a change-house and there had been ample stable accommodation behind the Inn, but the stalls and loose-boxes have now been made into garages for the convenience of the residents. The big arched gateway still stands, leading into a spacious cobbled yard.

  The house itself is interesting and unusual; parts of it are very old; but it has been built onto from time to time so there are passages and steps in unexpected places. Some of the rooms are large and others small. The lounge is very large and comfortably furnished in an old-fashioned style with big easy chairs and Victorian book-cases and a big round table in the window with papers and magazines displayed upon it—and there is nearly always a splendid fire of logs burning merrily in the old-fashioned grate. Drumburly stands high and there are very few evenings, even in summer, when a fire is unwelcome—and in Mrs. Simpson’s opinion there is an inhospitable look about a fireplace with no fire.

  Mrs. Simpson was well aware that her hostelry was not up-to-date but she refused to alter it. Her clientèle consisted chiefly of “gentlemen for the fishing” and they appreciated the comfort of big chairs and thick Turkey carpets and solid furniture.

  Upstairs there was solid furniture too (large mahogany cupboards and chests of drawers) but Mrs. Simpson had installed several extra bathrooms, and basins with hot and cold water in all the bedrooms. She had seen to it that the basins were the right size and shape for a gentleman to shave with comfort and that the electric light was in the correct position. Last but not least all the beds were fitted with interior-spring mattresses.

  All this had cost money but Mrs. Simpson was reaping the benefit of her outlay. The gentlemen returned to The Shaw Arms year after year and sometimes brought their wives. Quite often they mentioned the place to their friends, and their friends came and discovered that it was every bit as comfortable as they had been led to believe . . . and came again.

  The cooking at The Shaw Arms was good and plain. It was the sort of food that appealed to gentlemen who had been out in the fresh air all day long. Mrs. Simpson was very particular about the cooking. She saw to it herself.

  The staff of The Shaw Arms consisted almost entirely of young girls from the surrounding country-side, big buxom lassies with rosy ch
eeks and bright eyes who endeavoured to make up for their lack of experience by cheerful, willing service. Mrs. Simpson found them a little too cheerful and willing for they were inclined to sing loudly whilst cleaning the stairs and they were only too ready to abandon their proper duties to help each other. Quite often the kitchen-maid was discovered helping to make the beds instead of peeling the potatoes; the chambermaid scrubbed the scullery; the cook, thrilled at seeing a car draw up to the door, would rush out to receive the arriving guests and to carry up their luggage.

  This was very nice in some ways, it showed a Christian spirit, but Mrs. Simpson would have preferred a well-trained staff. However, as this was impossible to get—or keep—in an isolated place like Drumburly, she made do with what she had. She trained the girls as best she could and kept them in tolerably good order.

  As a matter of fact Mrs. Simpson was famed far and wide for her ability to train young girls in the arts of domestic service. She spent her days making silk purses out of sows’ ears. It was very hard work but she would not have minded if she could have kept the silk purses when they were made. This was never possible; the girls came to learn and no sooner had they learnt than they departed. Either they married or else found a more exciting post in Edinburgh or Glasgow where there were bright lights and fascinating shops and picture houses. Then Mrs. Simpson had to start all over again with another rosy-cheeked lassie who had not the faintest idea how to lay a table, hand a dish of vegetables or tidy a room.

  These troubles might have soured some women and made them thin and irritable and dyspeptic, but Mrs. Simpson was not like that at all. She was large and comfortably padded with solid flesh; her cheeks were pink, her eyes were bright and kind and she had a ready smile. The fact was she enjoyed running The Shaw Arms, she liked making her guests comfortable, she loved chatting to them. If ever there was a round peg in a round hole it was Mrs. Simpson—and the best of it was she knew she was happy; she would not have changed places with the Queen.

  When Mrs. Simpson went into the lounge and saw her guests sitting on her comfortable chairs warming themselves at her cheerful fire and reading the nice glossy magazines which she had provided for them her heart turned over in her bosom and she loved them. Yes, she loved every one of them—even the troublesome ones who threw their towels on the floor and flooded the bathroom and complained about their food—she loved them like an indulgent nannie.

  But even an indulgent nannie has favourites and Mrs. Simpson’s favourites were naturally those who returned year after year to enjoy the amenities of The Shaw Arms . . . and the chief of Mrs. Simpson’s favourites was Dr. Armstrong. In Mrs. Simpson’s eyes Dr. Armstrong was absolutely perfect. She loved Miss Armstrong too—everybody loved Louise.

  Unfortunately Louise Armstrong was not enjoying her holiday as much as usual. Mrs. Simpson knew this and was sorry. The doctor fished all day, which was right and proper, but Miss Armstrong was not fond of fishing. On previous occasions when the Armstrongs had stayed at The Shaw Arms Miss Armstrong had taken sandwiches in her pocket and had been out all day, walking over the hills and watching the birds and had returned in time for dinner with a glowing face and sparkling eyes and an exceedingly good appetite for Mrs. Simpson’s wholesome fare. Dr. Armstrong had been slightly worried about these expeditions but had given in to his daughter’s persuasions and allowed her to have her way. This year, however, it had been different and Dr. Armstrong had absolutely forbidden his daughter to go far afield.

  Mrs. Simpson was all the more unhappy about this because she felt it was her fault. It was unreasonable to feel guilty about it, for of course she could not help it, but it was her cousin George who had had that nasty accident when he was on his way to Crossraggle Farm. George had missed his footing and given his ankle a bad twist and had lain in the heather all night. It was a fine dry night and the experience had done George no harm—his ankle had recovered and he was now as fit as a fiddle—but Dr. Armstrong had taken fright when he heard about George for the accident had shown what could happen—and happen very easily—on the rolling solitary hills. Supposing the same thing happened to Louise! The idea was too dreadful to contemplate. So Dr. Armstrong had put his foot down very firmly indeed and Louise was obliged to confine her ramblings to more frequented ways.

  Mrs. Simpson liked people to be happy, so she was delighted when she heard that Miss Armstrong was having a friend to stay. The two girls could go off together and walk over the hills to their hearts’ content and Dr. Armstrong could enjoy his fishing in peace. It was most unlikely that two girls could both fall down and twist their ankles at the same moment; if one of them were incapacitated, like the unfortunate George, the other could go for help. It was for this reason that Mrs. Simpson was looking forward so eagerly to the arrival of her new guest.

  Mrs. Simpson was on the steps of the hotel when the two girls arrived and her welcome to Miss Lamington was very cordial indeed. Miss Lamington was astonished at the warmth of her welcome. She had been told that Mrs. Simpson was very kind but this exceeded her expectations. It was quite extraordinary. She had a feeling that Mrs. Simpson was about to envelope her in a loving embrace! Mrs. Simpson did not do so, of course (she managed to refrain) but she enquired with the greatest solicitude what sort of a journey Miss Lamington had had and whether she were tired and suggested that Miss Lamington might like to go straight to her bed and have a bit of supper on a tray.

  “Oh no, I’m not a bit tired. The air is so lovely,” said Bel. “Nobody could feel tired here.”

  At this Mrs. Simpson was even more delighted with her new guest, for the invigorating air was one of the amenities which she was proud to offer. She could not have been more proud of it if she had provided it herself at great cost—as she had provided the new bathrooms and the mattresses with their hidden springs.

  “We’re late I’m afraid,” said Louise. “But I expect you’ve kept something for us, Mrs. Simpson. Perhaps we could have it in the little dining-room at the back.”

  “That’s just what I thought,” replied Mrs. Simpson nodding. “Your dinners will be ready in ten minutes—that will give you time to get tidied. The doctor’s not back yet from the fishing, but he’ll not be long and you can all have your dinners together at the wee table in the window. Will that do?”

  Louise said it would be perfect and, taking her friend’s arm, led her upstairs to wash off the dirt of her journey.

  *

  2

  When Dr. Armstrong returned from fishing he found his daughter and her friend finishing dinner. It was dark by this time but the curtains had not been drawn. The table stood near the window and was lighted by a shaded lamp which threw its light upon the two heads: the one dark and curly, the other brown with big smooth waves. The two heads were close together and their owners were talking hard. This did not surprise the doctor in the least.

  “Hullo!” exclaimed the doctor, advancing and laying his hands firmly upon their two shoulders. “How are you, Bel? You can’t imagine how pleased we were when we heard you could come after all.”

  “It’s lovely,” declared Bel, looking up and smiling at him.

  “Lou met you all right?” he asked. “Everything went according to schedule?”

  “Oh yes, it was all quite easy.”

  “Except Dumfries,” said Louise giggling. “I kept on rushing along one-way streets but there was a perfect lamb of a policeman who rescued us and put us right.”

  “Did the lamb book you by any chance?” enquired Dr. Armstrong somewhat anxiously as he sat down and unfolded his table-napkin.

  “Goodness, no! He was far too nice and kind, and far too interested in fishing.”

  “Interested in fishing, was he?”

  “Yes, frightfully. He wanted to know if you fished the Annan.”

  “Really?” asked Dr. Armstrong. He was a little surprised that an unknown police constable should take such an interest in his doings.

  “Yes, really,” declared Louise. “And, talking of fis
hing, did you have a good day?”

  “Not bad at all. Six nice trout.”

  Louise nodded. “Good, we’ll have trout for breakfast—but what a pity that big one got away.”

  “Yes,” agreed the doctor. “Yes, it was very annoying. He was all of two pounds . . . but how on earth did you know?”

  Louise could not reply. She was giggling.

  “Oh, you wretch!” exclaimed Dr. Armstrong. “Oh, you wicked little monkey to tease your poor old father like that! Isn’t she naughty, Bel?”

  Bel smiled. She could not see anything very funny in the fact that poor Dr. Armstrong had not been able to catch the big fish, but her two companions were laughing, so she supposed it must be a joke. Having been brought up by a maiden aunt Bel knew nothing about fishing. The gentle art of angling was a closed book as far as she was concerned. Of course she had seen pictures of gentlemen in waders standing in rivers with rods in their hands—but that was all. Fortunately she was aware of her ignorance and had decided to go warily until she saw what was what. It was obvious that fishing was serious and important to Dr. Armstrong, and Louise seemed to know all about it. Say nothing and smile, thought Bel. That’s the best way.

  They went on talking about fishing for several minutes. Dr. Armstrong explained how he had hooked a good one on his tail-fly, a Bloody Butcher, in the pool just below Mureth House; how it had gone down and lurked beneath a stone so that he thought he had lost it, and how it had appeared again and leaped and run up the river like an arrow from a bow and how he had played it carefully and gradually enticed it towards the bank and finally waded in and netted it.

  Louise listened and made the appropriate comments. Bel listened and nodded and smiled.

  When the saga was over, but not before, Louise said, “Listen, Daddy. Bel is awfully worried because she’s lost her job.”