Chapter V: Trouble at the Hall

MAY AGNEW stood in the farmhouse porch listening. It was a rainy day, but equipped in her macintosh coat and hat, she defied the elements. She had come over to see Sara, and was spellbound by hearing her sing.

A simple little song, but accompanied by the guitar, the haunting melody of it surprised and delighted May. She waited till it ended, then she stepped inside.

And a minute later, Sara was greeting her warmly.

"You never told me you sang, nor that you had a guitar."

"I am not always in a singing mood," said Sara. "I forgot all about my guitar till the rain and winds of these last few days drove me indoors, and baby likes music, so now I play and sing to him."

"It is impertinence to pronounce an opinion upon your voice, but it is one of the most delicious that I have ever heard."

"Thank you," said Sara, laughing, "but I am no musician. I only sing to amuse myself and others. How are you? I have not seen you lately."

"I have been busy, and now father is beginning his shoots, they keep me occupied. I've come over to ask you up to dinner to-morrow night. Will you excuse a short invitation? And will you be an angel and bring up your guitar and sing to us? Father is so fond of music."

"Thank you for asking me. Yes, I will certainly sing to you if you would like me to do so. Is it a big party?"

"No, only the men in the house, and one of my aunts is staying with us. I shall ask Nellie and the Rector up. Then we shall be four ladies to six men, but I can't help that."

Baby Oliver, who had been sitting on the floor listening to the music, now demanded attention. Sara rang the bell and gave him to his nurse.

"I know you like children," she said, "but I don't want him to bore my visitors when they come."

"You don't let him do that as a rule. I love him. I'm so glad you're staying on here. You won't be going back to town just yet?"

"No," said Sara, clasping her hands tightly round her knees and gazing dreamily into the fire. "I have been thinking over it, but the fogs are very bad there, they say, and nurse seems to have settled down here. I'm inclined to stay on. You say it is never very cold here."

"Splendid! It's never cold in our village; we're sheltered from the north-east winds. You look so cosy here that I should love to stay and have a good talk, but I'm busy and I must move on. I shall look forward to seeing you to-morrow."

She was gone as quickly as she had come, but Sara did not stir from her seat. Her guitar and the little songs she had been singing had taken her thoughts back to Felstone Corner where she had sung so often to Mrs. Laird. She had not heard from her friend lately; and in her quiet life at the farm, she learnt to look for letters as a real treat.

She had settled down very comfortably in this small Devonshire village. She knew most of the villagers by this time. And though May had been quite right in saying there was no want or poverty amongst her father's tenants, yet Sara had found a good many sad hearts amongst them. If it was a model village, the inmates of the pretty cottages were much the same as other country people. They had their quarrels, their family troubles, their share of sickness.

Sara found an old blind man who loved to be read aloud to, and an old bedridden woman who welcomed every visitor with keen delight. These she visited regularly every week. The Rector had asked her to do so. She never found time heavy on her hands, and she was happy, in spite of the heartache of Graham's marriage, and all that she felt it entailed.

The next evening she went up to the Hall. It was not the first time that she had dined there, and she and the Squire were very good friends. Sometimes he would come to the farm to have a chat with her, and to bring her one of his favourite books. For though a farmer and a sportsman, Mr. Agnew was also a lover of books, and he spent an hour every day in his library amongst them.

Sara loved to watch May moving about amongst her guests. She was a perfect hostess, and on this night was in the brightest spirits. Sara wondered if the presence of a favourite cousin, a handsome young soldier, was accountable for this. He paid her great attention, but so did two other men, one a barrister, who to Sara's surprise knew her brother, and the other a young neighbouring squire. Nellie Peel looked very pretty in her soft white satin gown. May was in black and gold. A gold braid was threaded through her dark hair, and a crimson rose at her breast. Sara herself wore russet-brown velvet. Rare lace was in neck and sleeves, and a single row of pearls was the only ornament she wore.

Miss Agnew, a tall stout woman with plain features, but with a great deal of presence and personality about her, said to Sara as they gathered round the drawing-room fire after dinner was over—

"I never felt so plain in my life. You three young people quite put me in the shade. My niece has lost her heart to you, Miss Darlington. I knew you must be something special, for she is very critical as a rule."

"She has been very kind to me a stranger," said Sara, "and I am very fond of her."

"She ought to marry," her aunt continued, "but I don't know what my brother would do without her. And he is getting old. I see a great difference in him this time. I haven't been here for a year. I live in Bath, and am not fond of moving about. He does too much, I tell him; and his daughter takes after him that way. A pity that little creature over there doesn't do more in her husband's parish. What a get-up for a parson's wife! And yet she is so pretty that one can forgive her a lot!"

When the gentlemen came in, May begged Sara to sing.

"And sing that sweet little song you were singing to yourself and the baby the other afternoon in the twilight."

"It is very simple," said Sara; "all my songs are. They suit the guitar, which cannot accomplish much."

She sat where she was, and as she played and sang, she riveted the attention of all. Her graceful ease, and the happy, shining light in her big grey eyes, made the Squire turn to his sister—

"If I were twenty years younger, Maria, I should have lost my heart to her."

And Sara sang—

"Oh, how can you sing, and why do you sing,
Little Robin with voice so gay?
The snow and the frost have whitened the ground,
Your food has been taken away!

"I sing because I am sure of my food,
There is always some one to see
That robins have food when the ground is hard.
I'm certain it's coming to me!

"Oh, how can you sing, and why do you sing,
Gentle thrush with the speckled throat?
The bushes are bare, and the rain beats down;
You have not a sorrowful note!

"I sing because of the sweet coming spring,
I heed not this dismal wet day.
It will not last, for the sun will shine forth,
The clouds will be driven away!

"Oh, how can you sing, and why do you sing,
Fair maid in the gloomy black gown?
Alone in the world in a garret small,
And outside—a dull dreary town!

"I sing because I have joy in my heart,
And my eyes are so far away,
On the hills of gold where my treasures are,
And where I am going one day!

"Oh, Robin, and Thrush, and Maiden so fair,
With your joy and your faith so sure,
We'll all learn to sing in the darkest time,
We'll sing, and we'll learn to endure!"

Sara's voice struck a chord in every heart. The Squire brushed his hand across his eyes.

"Those simple songs for me," he said. "Can you give us some more?"

Sara complied with his wish. It was her voice perhaps more than the words that always reached the hearts of those who listened. If her song was gay, her hearers became so; if it was full of pathos, tears rose to their eyes; if it touched on some of the deep things in life, a sweet and softened expression came over the faces of her audience.

That was a very pleasant evening at the Hall; and Sara always looked back to it afterwards as one of her bright times.

When she left, the Rector and his wife said they would walk home with her. They were all accustomed to returning from their parties on foot. Nellie was longer than Sara in equipping herself for her walk home, and for a moment Sara stood on the broad stone terrace outside the front door enjoying the beauty of the night.

The Squire came up to her there, and startled her by putting his hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you, my dear, for the pleasure you have given us to-night. Your songs have brought back to me many sweet memories. I'm glad to think you're a friend of my girl's. You'll help her. She's a good girl, but a wee bit too sure of herself. As we get older, we realize how many mistakes we have made."

He gave a little sigh, and Sara hardly knew what to say.

"I'm very fond of May," she said, "and think myself fortunate in being made so welcome by all of you."

And then the Rector came up, and they said good-bye to their host and came away.

"I wish I could sing like you," Nellie said, taking her arm affectionately.

"I wish I could paint like you," said Sara, laughing. "We must be content with our own gifts, must we not?"

"We can all sing in our hearts," said the Rector, and he murmured to himself. "We'll sing, and we'll learn to endure."

His wife caught the words.

"I suppose you have to endure me," she said, half-laughing, half-vexed. "And I consider I have to endure much more from you than you do from me. Because I let you go your own way, and never interfere with you, but you won't let me go mine. Fancy, Miss Darlington, they're making a new golf course at Manstead, and he doesn't want me to become a member! Now what possible harm can golf do me?"

"We won't discuss that subject now," said the Rector, uneasily.

"No," said Sara, quietly; "a third person ought never to be brought into a discussion between two. It isn't fair, especially if she wants to remain a friend of those two!"

Nellie laughed.

"But you see I want you to take my part. John thinks it right to deprive me of so many pleasures. I should like to ride out with the hounds. May has offered to mount me, and I can ride a little, but it is tabooed. They are going out to-morrow. Would you like to come to the meet with me? I am going on foot. They meet at Spelding's Cross. It will be a nice walk—just two miles from here."

"No, I am afraid I can't go to-morrow," said Sara. "Nurse is having a day out, so I have the baby."

"Oh, that blessed baby! Well, I won't say anything against him, for I know you adore him, and he is a darling. I do allow that."

Then the Rector began to talk of the Squire's library, and as he and Sara were both book lovers, they waxed enthusiastic over it, whilst Nellie laughed at them both.

As they parted with Sara at the gate, the Rector said—

"I hope you will bring your guitar over to us one day. I haven't enjoyed an evening so much as I have to-night for a long while."

And as they went along the lane, Nellie called out—

"You were the success of the evening, Miss Darlington. Good night."

Sara smiled.

"Ah!" she said to herself. "How little they know what a poor creature I am at heart! But I will be glad. I have plenty to make me so. Life is full, and I have found very pleasant friends in this quiet little spot."

The next afternoon, she was in her sitting-room trying to soothe her little nephew who was teething and rather fractious in consequence, when her door burst open, and Mrs. Shiplake appeared panting with excitement.

"Oh, ma'am, what do you think! My Frankie has just run in with the news. Our poor dear Squire has broken his neck out hunting! It's given me such a turn, I be tremblin' to where I stand."

Sara stood up. She could not believe her ears.

"Not dead!" she cried. "Oh, he can't be dead!"

"But 'tis Gospel truth, ma'am—he were carried home an hour ago, and two doctors wired for, and my Frank stayed till he heard the head groom say 'twas all over! What an awful situation for the whole lot of us!"

Sara felt quite dazed. She recalled the Squire's last words to her on the previous night. How little she thought that she would never see him alive again, and then her whole heart went out to May. How would she bear this awful blow? Had she been with him when the accident occurred, she wondered. She felt glad that May had her aunt staying with her, but she knew what a terrible shock it would be to them all.

Later on she heard further particulars from Frank. It was in taking a high fence that the Squire's horse came down, and flung his master against the trunk of a tree. Death was instantaneous, and May riding on in front was absolutely unconscious of what had occurred. Her cousin broke the news to her, and every one said her calmness and composure astonished them all. She walked home by the side of her father's dead body, and when they arrived at the house issued all necessary orders with an unfaltering voice.

Sara knew the reaction would come, but during the next few days, May was still the ruling spirit in the house.

The Rector came over to Sara with a white shaken face. He had been over to the Hall to see the last of his old friend, and had found May very cold and grave, very absorbed in necessary business, and not in any respect broken down with grief at her loss.

"I cannot understand her," he said to Sara; "her aunt is absolutely ill with the shock of it, but May talks as if she is arranging a funeral for some outside stranger. Has she no feelings, do you think?"

"I am sure she has," said Sara, earnestly; "she and her father were devoted to each other. She will feel it more by and by. I expect the shock has for the time stunned her."

"I asked her if I could do anything to help her, but she said her cousin, Captain Talbot, was seeing to everything for her. She seems as if she wants no sympathy from any one. I was allowed to give her no comfort."

"The time for that is not just yet," said Sara, thoughtfully. And she was right.

It was not till after the funeral had taken place, and after all the relatives and friends had left the house, that May began to realize her loss.

Her aunt remained with her, but even she got upon May's nerves. She longed to be quite alone, and at last, frankly told her aunt so.

Miss Agnew was much hurt, but she herself wanted to get home, and was glad to have the excuse of leaving her niece.

"I will come down to you later," she said; "for you are too young to be left long in this big place alone, and it would not be the thing. But for the present, if you want to nurse your grief in solitude, you can do it!"

Sara had written a little note of sympathy to May, and she had a line acknowledging it. But she did not see her till three weeks after the funeral, and then May surprised her one day by walking in whilst she was at tea.

Sara was shocked to see how white and ill she looked. But she held her head high, and spoke much as usual.

"You always look so cosy here! How is the baby? For once I find you without him!"

"He is very well, thank you. He is asleep in the nursery now. I am so glad to see you. I did not come up to you, because I thought you would not care to see visitors."

"I don't count you as a visitor. But I have been frightfully busy, and Mr. Dane, our lawyer, is still in the house. I suppose you know my aunt has left me?"

"I heard she had. Are you sorry?"

May gave a wintry smile.

"No, I'm glad; she worried me. I have never been accustomed to have women fussing over me, and I could not appreciate it. She threatens to come back to me, says it's improper my living alone! Now, isn't that very Early Victorian? What do you think? Tell me frankly. I am expecting my brother back in three months' time. His ship is still at Hong Kong, but till he comes, I shall keep everything going as it always has been. Why on earth should I require a chaperon?"

"It isn't necessary," said Sara, slowly, "but I think it would be pleasanter for you. It would leave you freer to have your friends at the house."

"You don't think I am going to entertain at present, do you? Now, look here. I want to ask you a favour. I've been thinking over things, and I suppose I had better not run the risk of having Aunt Maria coming back just yet. Will you come up and stay with me? I'm perfectly certain we should get on. You would go your way and I should go mine, and you never worry nor fuss."

"My dear! I don't think I can. It is not possible. I should not like to leave my small nephew down here without me."

"But, of course, you can bring him with you. There are the old nurseries. We could make him and his nurse quite comfortable. At all events, you can stay with me till Alan comes back. Do try to do it. I won't press you for an answer to-day. There's no hurry; think it over."

Sara looked at May without speaking for a moment, then she said—

"I'll do it if I can, if it will be any help to you, I'll come. It is very generous and good of you to take us all in. Could I bring Lacy as my maid, do you think?"

"Of course."

May was drinking a cup of tea. She put it down hastily, and got up to go.

"I can't stay. I have business to do with Mr. Dane before dinner. Thanks awfully. You don't know how I shall like it."

She shook hands abruptly with Sara, but when she reached the door, she turned—

"Do you know what father said to me before we went to bed that last evening? I suppose you know how struck he was with your singing. He said of you,—

"'That's a most charming woman, May. I should like to see more of her. One feels the better for having her near one. Couldn't we ask her to stay in the house?'

"And I said I was afraid you wouldn't leave the baby."

She broke off, slipped out of the door, and was gone, leaving her sentence unfinished.

Sara understood. She knew that the mention of her father, and the memory of that last evening of his, had proved too much for her self-control.

It was the remembrance of the Squire's words to herself that had made her accept May's invitation so promptly.

"He would like it, dear old man!" she thought. "He asked me to be her friend and help her; and God helping me, I will."

She knew that there would be difficulties in her way, and she found that it needed a good deal of talk and persuasion to make both nurse and Lacy willing to accompany her. Mrs. Shiplake was aggrieved too, for she had quite looked forward to having her as a permanent lodger all the winter. However, Sara managed to soothe them all, and a week later she went up to the Hall.

Nellie Peel was very excited over the news.

She met Sara out one afternoon, and told her that she had just heard of the plan from her father who had been up to the Hall.

"I do think May might be a little more friendly with me. She hasn't been near us, and we are quite her oldest friends here. She is so self-important now. One would think that she was squiress. It all belongs to her brother, and some people say he is engaged to some girl out abroad. If he leaves the Navy and comes home and marries, May may find herself without a home. I wonder how she will like that!"

"She would bear it as other women have before her," said Sara, quietly. "We will hope, for her sake, that she will not be turned out of her old home just yet."

"I don't wonder that she has sent for you," said Nellie, quickly, not liking the pained look in Sara's eyes. "If I ever get into a hobble about anything, I should do the same—I wonder how you will like it up at the Hall? I always love staying there. It is so luxurious!"

But the luxury and comfort did not appeal to Sara, who had only one overwhelming longing, and that was to comfort this sorrowful lonely girl in the hour of her trouble.