CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
AN INVITATION.
With Sophie in hospital, pathetically anxious for visits, with the rentof the Laburnum Road lodgings to pay whether one lived in them or not,Claire nerved herself to spend August in town, with the prospect of aSeptember holiday to cheer her spirits. Through one of the othermistresses she had heard of an ideal farmhouse near the sea where thekindly housewife "mothered" her guests with affectionate care, wherefood was abundant, and cream appeared upon the table at every meal--thick, yellow, country cream in which a spoon would stand upright.There was also a hammock swung between two apple-trees in the orchard, abalcony outside the bedroom window, and a shabby pony-cart, with a ponywho could really go. What could one wish for more?
Claire planned a lazy month, lying in that hammock, reading storiesabout other people, and dreaming still more thrilling romances aboutherself; driving the pony along country lanes, going out on to thebalcony in the early morning to breathe the scent of honeysuckle, andsweetbriar, and lemon thyme, and all the dear, old-world treasures to befound in the gardens of well-conducted farmhouses. She had a cravingfor flowers in these hot summer days; not the meagre sixpennyworth whichadorned the saffron parlour, but a wealth of blossom, bought withoutconsideration of cost. And one day, with the unexpectedness of a fairygift, her wish was fulfilled.
It lay on the table when she returned from school--a long cardboard boxbearing the name of a celebrated West End florist, the word "fragile"marked on the lid, and inside were roses, magnificent, half-opened roseswith the dew still on their leaves, the fat green stalks nearly a yardin length--dozens of roses of every colour and shade, from the lustrouswhiteness of Frau Carl to the purple blackness of Prince Camille.Claire gathered them in her arms, unconscious of the charming picturewhich she made, in her simple blue lawn dress, with her glowing facerising over the riot of colour, gathered them in a great handful, andran swiftly upstairs.
There was no card inside the box, no message of any kind, but her heartknew no doubt as to the sender, and she dare not face the fire of MaryRhodes' cross-examination. In the days of daffodils she had treatedherself to a high green column of a vase, which was an ideal receptaclefor the present treasures. When it was filled there were still nearlyhalf the number waiting for a home, so these were plunged deep into theewer until the morrow, when they would be taken to Sophie in hospital.The little room was filled with beauty and fragrance, and Claire knewmoments of unclouded happiness as she looked around.
Presently she extracted two roses from the rest, ran downstairs tocollect box, paper and string, and handed rubbish and roses together toLizzie at the top of the kitchen stairs. Lizzie received her share ofthe treasures with dignity, cut off the giant stems, which sheconsidered straggly and out of place, and crammed the two heads into abrown cream-jug, the which she deposited on a sunny window-ledge.Claire saw them as she next left the house and shrugged resignedly, forshe was beginning to learn the lesson which many of us take a lifetimeto master, the wisdom of allowing people to enjoy themselves in theirown fashion!
The Willoughbys were leaving town in mid July, _en route_ forSwitzerland, and later on for a Scottish shooting-box. Claire receivedan invitation to tea on their last Saturday afternoon, and arrived tofind the drawing-room full of visitors.
Malcolm Heward was assisting Janet at the tea-table, but with thisexception she recognised no one in the room, and was thankful for theattentions of Master Reginald, who hailed her as an old acquaintance,and reproached her loudly for not turning up at "Lord's."
"I looked out for you, you know!" he said impressively, and Claire wasthe more gratified by his remembrance because Malcolm Heward hadrequired a second introduction to awaken his recollection. It is nodoubt gratifying to the object of his devotion when a man remains blindto every other member of her sex, but the other members may feel anatural objection to be so ignored! Claire was annoyed by the necessityof that second introduction, and as a consequence made herself sofascinating to the boy who _had_ remembered, that he hugged the sweetdelusion that she considered him a man, and was seriously smitten by hischarms. He waited upon her with assiduity, gave her exclusive tips asto her choice of cakes, and recited the latest funny stories which werealready stale in his own circles, but which came to her ears withagreeable freshness.
It was while the two were laughing together over an unexpected_denouement_ that the departure of two guests left a space across whichClaire could see a far corner of the room, and perceived that a ladyseated on a sofa had raised a tortoiseshell-bound _lorgnon_, to stareacross at herself. She was an elderly lady, and at first sight herappearance awoke no recollection. She was just a grey-haired woman,attired in handsome black, in no way differentiated from one or twoother visitors of the same age: even when the _lorgnon_ dropped to herside, disclosing a pair of very bright, very quizzical grey eyes, it wasa full moment before Claire realised that this was her acquaintance ofthat first eventful journey to London, none other than Mrs Fanshaweherself. There she sat, smiling, complacent, _grande dame_ as ever,nodding with an air of mingled friendliness and patronage, laying onehand on the vacant place by her side, with an action which was obviouslysignificant. Claire chose, however, to ignore the invitation, and aftera grave bow of acknowledgment, turned back to Reginald, keeping her eyesresolutely averted from that far corner. It was Mrs Fanshawe herselfwho was finally compelled to cross the room to make her greetings.
"Miss Gifford! Surely it is Miss Gifford? Mrs Willoughby told me sheexpected you this afternoon. And how are you, my dear, after this longtime?"
The tone was all that was cordial and friendly.
Claire stood up, tall and stately, and extended a perfectly gloved hand.It was not in human nature to be perfectly natural at that moment.Sub-consciously she was aware that, as the Americans would express it,she was "putting on frills"; sub-consciously she was amused at theartificiality of her own voice.
"Quite well, thank you. Exceedingly flourishing!"
"You look it," Mrs Fanshawe said, and seated herself ruthlessly inReginald's chair. "Tell me all about it! You were going to work,weren't you? Some new-fangled idea of being independent. So ridiculousfor a pretty girl! And you've had--how long--nearly a year? Haven'tgot tired of it yet, by any chance?"
"Oh, yes; quite often I feel very tired, but I should have felt the sameabout pleasuring, and work is more worth while. It has been veryinteresting. I have learnt a great deal."
"More than the pupils--hey?" chuckled Mrs Fanshawe shrewdly. "Don'ttry to pretend that you are a model school-mistress. I know better! Iknew you were not the type when I saw you on that journey, and after ayear's trial you are less the type than ever." She screwed up her eyesand looked Claire over with deliberate criticism up and down, down andup. "No, my dear! Nature did _not_ intend you to be shut up in agirls' school!" Suddenly she swerved to another topic. "What a journeythat was! I nearly expired. If it hadn't been for you, I should neverhave survived. I told my son you had saved my life. That was my sonwho met me on the platform!"
Was it fancy that an expression of watchfulness had come into the gayeyes? Claire imagined that she recognised such an expression, but,being prepared for some such reference, had herself well in command.Not a nicker of embarrassment passed over her face as she said quietly--
"Yes, I knew it was your son. I met Captain Fanshawe here one eveninglast winter, so I have been introduced."
Mrs Fanshawe waved her _lorgnon_, and murmured some vague words whichmight, or might not, have been intended as an apology.
"Oh, yes. So nice! Naturally, that morning I was worn-out. I did notknow what I was doing. I crawled into bed. Erskine told me aboutmeeting you, and of your pretty performance. Quite a professional_siffleuse_! More amusing than school teaching, I should say. _And_more profitable. You ought to think of it as a profession. Erskine wasquite pleased. He comes here a great deal. Of course--"
Mrs Fanshawe's smile deepened in meaning fashion,
then suddenly shesighed. "Very delightful for them, of course; but I see nothing of him.We mothers of modern children have a lonely time. I used to wish for adaughter, but perhaps, if I'd had one, _she_ would have developed afancy to fly off to India!"
That was a hit at Claire, but she received it in silence, being a littletouched by the unaffected note of wistfulness in the other's voice asshe regretted her lonely estate. It _was_ hard to be a widow, and tosee so little of an only child, especially if that only child happenedto be so altogether charming and attractive!
Mrs Fanshawe glanced across at the tea-table where Janet and hercavalier were still busy ministering to the needs of fresh arrivals.
"I asked Janet Willoughby to take pity on me for a few weeks thissummer, but she's too full up with her own plans. Says so, at least;but I dare say it would have been different if-- Well, well! I havebeen young myself, and I dare say I shouldn't have been too keen toaccept an invitation to stay in the country with only an old woman ascompanion. Enjoy yourself while you are young, my dear. It gets moreand more difficult with every year you live."
Claire made a protesting grimace.
"Does it? That's discouraging. I've always flattered myself that itwould grow easier. When one is young, everything is vague andunsettled, and naturally one feels anxious about what is to happen next.It is almost impossible to be philosophical about the unknown, but whenyour life has shaped itself, it ought to be easy to settle down and makethe best of it, and cultivate an easy mind."
Mrs Fanshawe laughed.
"Well reasoned, my dear, well reasoned! Most logical and sound. Andjust as futile in practice as logical things usually are! You wouldn'tbelieve me if I told you that it is the very uncertainty which makes thecharm of youth, or that being certain is the bane of old age, but it'sthe truth, all the same, and when you are sixty you will have discoveredit for yourself. Well! so my letter to Mrs Willoughby was of some useafter all? She did send you a card!"
Claire looked across the room to where Mrs Willoughby sat. Hero-worship is an instinct in hearts which are still fired with youth'senthusiasm, and this stout, middle-aged woman was Claire's heroine _parexcellence_. She was _kind_, and to be kind is in good truth thefulfilment of Christ's law. Among Claire's favourite books wasProfessor Drummond's "The Greatest Thing in the World," with itswonderful exposition of the thirteenth chapter of 1st Corinthians. Whenshe read its pages, her thoughts flew instinctively to this rich womanof society, who was not puffed up, thought no evil, was not easilyprovoked, suffered long, _and was kind_.
The girl's eyes were eloquent with love and admiration as they rested onthe plain, elderly face, and the woman who was watching felt a stab ofenvy at the sight. The old crave for the love of the young, and cherishit, when found, as one of their dearest possessions, and despite thenatural gaiety of her disposition there were moments when Mrs Fanshawefelt the burden of loneliness press heavily upon her.
"She has done much more than send me a card!" Claire said deeply. "Shehas been a friend. She has taken away the terrible feeling ofloneliness. If I were in trouble, or needed any help, I _know_ that shewould give it!"
"Oh, yes, yes, naturally she would. So would any one, my dear, who hadthe chance. But she's a good creature, of course; a dear creature. I'mdevoted to her, and to Janet. Janet and I are the best of friends!"
Again the meaning look, the meaning tone, and again in Claire's heartthe same sweet sense of certainty mingled with a tender compassion forJanet, who was less fortunate than herself. It was a help to lookacross at the tea-table, and to realise that consolation was waiting forJanet if she chose to take it.
Suddenly Mrs Fanshawe switched off on to yet another topic.
"And where are you going to spend your summer holidays, my dear?"
"In September I am probably going to a farmhouse near the sea."
"And in August?"
"In town, I think. I have an invalid friend--"
Mrs Fanshawe swept aside the suggestion with an imperious hand.
"Nonsense! Utter nonsense! _Nobody_ stays in town in August, my goodchild. The thing's impossible. I've passed through once or twice, _enroute_ for country visits, and it's an unknown place. The wierdestpeople walking up and down! Where they come from I can't conceive; butyou never saw anything more impossible. And the shops! I knew a poorgirl who became engaged at the end of July, and had to get her trousseauat once, as they sailed in September. She was in despair. _Nothing_ tobe had. She was positively in tears."
"I shall get engaged in June," Claire said firmly, "and take advantageof the summer sales. I call it most thoughtless of him to have waitedtill the end of July."
But Mrs Fanshawe was not attending; her eyes had brightened with asudden thought; she was saying to herself, "Why not? I should be alone.There would be no danger of complications, and the child would be adelightful companion, good to look at, plenty to say for herself, and amind of her own. Quite useful in entertaining, too. I could play offsome of my duty debts, and she could whistle to us after dinner. Quitea novelty in the country. It would be quite a draw... A capital idea!I'll say a week, and if it works she can stay on--"
"No, my dear, you cannot possibly endure town in August, at least notthe entire month. Run down to me for a break. Quite a short journey;an hour and a half from Waterloo, and the air is delightfully fresh. Ishall be alone, so I can't offer you any excitement, but if you are fondof motoring--"
The blood rushed into Claire's face. She was so intensely,overpoweringly surprised, that, for the moment, all other feelings werein abeyance. The last thing in the world which she had expected wasthat Erskine's mother should invite her to visit her home.
"I don't know if you care for gardening. I'm mad about it myself. Mygarden is a child to me. I stand no interference. The gardeners arepaid to obey me, and carry out my instructions. If they get upsetting,off they go. You'd like my garden. It is not cut out to a regulationpattern; it has a personality of its own. I have all my meals on theverandah in summer. We could get you some tennis, too. You wouldn't beburied alive. Well? What do you say? Is it worth while?"
"It's exceedingly kind. It's awfully good of you. I--I am socompletely taken by surprise that I hardly know--I shall have to think."
"Nonsense, my dear; what is there to think about? You have no otherengagement, and you need a change. Incidentally also _I_ want acompanion. You would be doing me a good turn as well as yourself. I'msure your mother would wish it!"
No doubt about that! Claire smiled to herself as she realised how MrsJudge would rejoice over the visit; turning one swallow into a summer,and in imagination beholding her daughter plunged into a very vortex ofgaiety. She was still smiling, still considering, when Janet camestrolling across the room, and laid her hand affectionately on MrsFanshawe's shoulder.
"I haven't had a word with you all afternoon! Such a rush of people.You had tea comfortably, I hope: and you, too--Claire!" There was justa suspicion of hesitation before the Christian name.
"I have just been asking Miss Gifford to take pity on my loneliness forpart of August. She is not knee-deep in engagements, as you are, mydear, and that precious son of mine; so we are going to amuse eachother, and see how much entertainment we can squeeze out of thecountryside!"
"But I haven't--I didn't--I'm not sure," stammered Claire, acutelyconscious of the hardening of Janet's face, but once again Mrs Fanshawewaved aside her objections.
"But _I_ am sure! It's all settled, my dear--all but the day. Put youraddress on this silly little tablet, and I'll write as soon as I'velooked over my dates. Now, Janet, I'm ready for a chat. Take me out tothe balcony, away from this crowd."
"And I must go, I think. I'll say good-bye." Claire held out her handto the daughter of the house. "I hope you may have a delightfulsummer."
"Oh, thanks so much. Oh, yes, yes, I'm quite sure I will," Janetanswered mechanically. She touched Claire's hand with her fingers, andturned hastil
y aside.
The Independence of Claire Page 18
