Chapter II: A New Friend

"Is not making others happy the best happiness?"
Amiel.

"MY dear Geraldine, what is the matter? Your face is a yard long. Have you had bad news?"

Mrs. Arbuthnot looked up from her letters and sighed.

She and Rowena were at breakfast. It was a lovely morning in June. The windows were open, a sweet brier bush outside was scenting the room with its fragrance.

"Madge is going to be married almost immediately."

"Three cheers for Madge! If I had a sister, and a sister who has been engaged for five years, I should be overjoyed at the event."

"Oh, I am glad for her sake, of course; but I have had four sheets from her showing me how impossible it is for mother to live alone, and imploring me to take the children and make Whitecroft my home."

"A most sensible arrangement. It is a roomy old house, and nearer town than this is. You will be very happy there, my dear!"

"I like a house of my own. I have always had it."

"Yes, but your mother is a dear, gentle, old lady. Madge always ran the house, and you can do the same."

Geraldine sighed again.

"I hate changes, and Madge is going to be married in a fortnight and going straight out to the Cape with Frank, and she wants me to pack up my things and go to mother the end of this month."

"Sir Arthur will let you off the rent of this, and nowadays he will have no trouble in getting another tenant. I would take it on myself if I had enough money."

"But you will be with us, of course."

Mrs. Arbuthnot raised a startled face to her sister-in-law.

Rowena swung herself up on the low window-ledge, and sat there with her hands in her pockets, and her feet swinging to and fro. She whistled softly to herself, but did not speak for a minute, and Mrs. Arbuthnot repeated her words:

"You will come with us? I am not going to part with you."

"My dear Geraldine, leave me out of the question. Your first thought is your mother, and being what she is, and having no other children to look after her, I consider it is your bounden duty to go to her. Make up your mind to it. Whitecroft is a sweet home, and it is your mother's own, and too big for her to live in alone. That point is quite clear, and now when is the wedding, and what are you going to wear?"

The question of clothes brought a smile to Mrs. Arbuthnot's lips. She began to see sunshine again; and after she was thoroughly reconciled to her duty which lay before her, Rowena left her to write her letters, and went off out of the house and along the lanes with swift light steps.

Once she knitted her brows, and murmured:

"It's a game of see-saw. Geraldine will go up, as far as comfort in her surroundings go, and I shall go down. What a darling Ted was to leave me enough to stave off starvation! But it won't give me a home. And I must have a roof over my head. And to think that only a few weeks ago I scoffed in my heart at Mrs. Burke's offer. The bread of dependence is not palatable, but it must be munched and eaten by you, my dear Rowena, and the sooner you settle it the better."

The three miles to Minley Court seemed of no account to Rowena. She was a good walker, and was too deep in thought to notice any details by the way. She found Mrs. Burke in her morning-room, and it was a propitious moment for her request. The impatient lady was seated at her writing-desk; letters and papers were fluttering all round her, and as she turned to greet Rowena, she swept a packet of papers upon the carpet with her elbow.

"Thank goodness, somebody has arrived to distract me from this chaos! Come out upon the terrace, and I will enjoy a cigarette if you will not join me. I have the car coming round in half an hour, I am going to the Fletchers. May I take you with me? They're charming people, and you ought to know them. He's a retired admiral, and she's a daughter of Lord Gallway."

"I'm afraid I must return home quickly. I have come on business this time, and will get to it at once. Do you remember you were good enough to ask me the other day if I would be your companion-secretary, and I told you how impossible it was for me to leave my sister-in-law and her children? Well, circumstances are changed. She is giving up her house and going to live with her mother in Berkshire, and I am not going with her. I couldn't: a mixed household is a mistake, so I am on my own, and able to do what I like. If your offer still holds good, I would like to accept it."

"You will? My dear girl, that's the best bit of news I have had for a long time! I shall be enchanted to have you. I feel inclined to plant you at my desk now, and start you at that infernal—well, we'll say unpleasant—mass of letters and bills. It's an accumulation of a couple of months. I never can overtake it. Why is the art of begging, and dunning, and boring, made so easy to all of us? When will you come to me? To-morrow?"

"Indeed no, but in another week or two."

"I suppose I shall have to wait your time. Now we must settle your salary. Will two hundred pounds suffice? Remember, it will be an arduous post, for I drive every one about me they say. My days are overfull, and I shall expect you to be at my beck and call for a good many hours I am afraid."

Rowena laughed.

"Your salary is munificent, and I am not afraid of work. I shall get a little quiet time to myself in and out. Thank you very much. Then it is settled. I should love to tidy up your papers to-day, but I must be getting back. Will you expect me this day fortnight?"

"You're too good for the post," said Mrs. Burke, putting her hand on her shoulder affectionately. "I shall pretend you're a sort of daughter, but daughters nowadays wouldn't do their mother's dirty work, would they? Oh, I'm delighted to have you. There's something so restful and dependable in your face, and you do enjoy a joke! I hate these stuffy solid folk who open their eyes widely, and think one a lunatic if one indulges in a bit of fun. Good-bye, if you must go, and I'll give you the second best spare room; it's sunny, and bright, like yourself."

Rowena marched home feeling she had burnt her boats, and wondering why she had such pride of heart as to mentally squirm at the thought of her future.

"An empty purse and high head don't harmonize," she said to herself. "I must consider that I'm benefiting one of my fellow-creatures by becoming one of her dependants, and I shall have a chance of getting beneath her outer crust. There's something I don't understand in her composition. She's too sensible to be so frivolous."

When Mrs. Arbuthnot was informed of Rowena's plans, she was very perturbed and vexed.

"I have a great mind to refuse to go to mother. What shall I do without you? It's cruel of you! You're like a bit of Ted left to me—and the house is big enough for you, and mother would be charmed to have you."

"It can't be done," said Rowena firmly. "Ask me to pay you a visit sometimes."

"Oh, if Mrs. Burke gets you into her clutches, she will never let you go! I wish you had never met her. She's like an octopus for drawing all the best into her nets. I cannot see her attractiveness. To me she's thorough bad style, and you'll lead a most rackety life, and will never be able to call a moment your own!"

Rowena could not comfort her. Happily, there was so much to do and arrange that it took away her thoughts from their parting. She arranged to go to her mother before the wedding, and the little house was dismantled and bare within the prescribed fortnight. Rowena was the last to leave it, and when she eventually drove off to Minley Court in the car sent for her with her luggage packed up behind, she felt as if this second rooting up of her life was a very black and gloomy performance. But she arrived at her new home with a cheerful countenance. She found Di and Vi Dunstan with Mrs. Burke.

"We feel so deadly when the hunting is off," said Vi. "Mrs. Burke is our only cheer. We are trying to concoct a few new games for her next garden-party. Come and help us with your wit!"

"You're going to have diggings here, aren't you?" questioned Di. "Good for you. I'd like the job myself."

"Miss Arbuthnot's job is not going to be an easy one," said Mrs. Burke with her jolly laugh. "She's going to supply all my deficiencies, and run me and my household in a more orthodox fashion."

"Oh, dash orthodoxy!" cried Vi. "How I loathe the word, as bad as conventionality and propriety, and all the rest of the prudisms and prisms!"

Rowena had to sit down then and there and discuss seriously whether a game of hare and hounds, in which the hare was to trail the contents of scent sachets or scent bottles behind him, could take place in the grounds of Minley Court.

"We'll have six hares, all men, and ladies must be the hounds, and one might use pepper as his scent, and another onions; and another might scatter rose-leaves behind him—nothing like variety! It will be topping!"

It was difficult for Rowena to show much interest in their childishness, but Mrs. Burke took pity on her. "Come on up to your room, and we'll leave you in peace till tea comes. Vi and Di are quite equal to organizing their own schemes."

So Rowena followed Mrs. Burke up the old staircase along a very broad corridor, until they came to the room prepared for her.

It was, as Mrs. Burke had told her, one of the brightest rooms in the house, and looked, in its dainty dimity coverings, very cool and sweet.

Rowena glanced at the comfortable chairs and couch, and at the charming writing-table in one window.

"My dear Mrs. Burke," she said gaily, "how can I thank you for indulging me so? I hope this luxury will not unfit me for my duties."

"Duty is never mentioned in my house," said Mrs. Burke, putting her hands on both her shoulders and suddenly stooping and giving her a quick warm kiss on her cheek. "We slip along as we like, and pick up what fragments of necessary work we can, just to prevent the house tumbling to pieces. You'll work, and I'll continue to play, but I shan't work you hard, and I warn you that you must suffer gladly continual interruption. To-day you are to be my guest; to-morrow you can tackle my correspondence."

"Thank you, then I'll take this hour before tea to settle my belongings, and congratulate myself upon such a role!"

Mrs. Burke left her. When she joined her young friends again, she said:

"I'm in luck's way at last. I can't think why she has not married!"

"There's time yet," said Di laconically; "there's a reaction set in, now there are no more embryo heroes to be wed. There aren't many sound able men just now, plenty of boys, but they'll keep."

"You always go for a fresh pal like hot bricks!" said Vi. "She isn't a bad sort, this Miss Arbuthnot, but she's hardly one of us. I see something more solid in her face than her first appearance would warrant. Her eyes make you think she's out for larks, but there's a twist to her lips that shows she's a quizzer!"

"I like her," Mrs. Burke asserted stoutly, "and you'll like her too when you know her better."

Rowena was relieved when she came down to tea to find that the Miss Dunstans had taken their departure. She and Mrs. Burke were alone, and they had tea under the rose pergola at the end of the terrace.

"There's one thing I want to ask you," said Rowena presently; "and that is if I may have Sunday to myself? I don't care how hard I work in the week, but I should like to feel free on Sunday."

Mrs. Burke looked at her rather curiously.

"Oh, well," she said, after a minute's silence, "I shan't want you to do any secretarial work on Sunday, but socially it's a day that hangs a bit heavy, and I may want your help with my guests. I have a good many week-end parties, you know."

"Yes. I don't want to sound disobliging, but I still want that day for myself."

"I wish you would explain. Do you want to go right away, or is it a question of principles? Are you a Sabbatarian? Nothing so out of date, I am sure. I go to church occasionally, when it's not too hot, and when I'm not too tired. Very often I keep to my bed till lunch. If my guests bore me I invariably do so."

"I like a quiet Sunday," said Rowena, looking at her with her frank smile. "I suppose I have always been indulged in that way. In India my brother and his wife always went down to the Club, but I retired to my room for the afternoon; they never minded. And of course I shall go to church, I always have done so."

"Oh, you can go to church all day long if you want to," Mrs. Burke said with impatience in her tone; "only don't dictate to me as to how I should keep the Sabbath. I had enough of that when I was young!"

Rowena looked at her sympathetically.

"I expect you were driven with too tight a curb, weren't you? Isn't it a pity when children are made by force of circumstances to hate what should have been their joy?"

"I don't think you will find children look upon church-going as a joy," said Mrs. Burke, with bitterness in her tone. "In one case I have a vivid remembrance of sitting up in church with aching head and back, and with a positive loathing for the unutterably weary prayers, and lengthy sermon. My father was a parson, and when I grew older I had to be at early service at 7.30, Sunday school at ten, service again at eleven, school at three. Evening service at 6.30, and sometimes a choir practice afterwards. I would come into supper after our day of devotion was over, sick in body and soul of it all!"

"If your heart wasn't in it, it must have been torture, I've always had a lax bringing up as regards church, but somehow from a child I enjoyed it. About eighteen months ago I had an accident in the hunting field, and was laid up on my back for a year. I went to my brother's house in the Highlands, and used to hear the church bells across the loch as I lay on my couch and longed that I could go. After a year's privation from church-going, I went out to India, and there we only got a service about once a month when we were in the hills—at other times a church parade lasting about half an hour. Now since we have been back in England I'm thoroughly enjoying my church. I learnt a lot of things when I was lying on my back, and it is a matter of principle with me to have a quiet day on Sunday; I hope you don't like me the less for it."

"I didn't think you were that sort," Mrs. Burke said. Her tone was almost sulky.

"Have we made a mistake? Shall I throw it up, and go away with my sister?"

"Good heavens, no! You shall have your Sundays, but don't let me feel you're carping at us if we can't live up to your level."

"My dear Mrs. Burke, if you saw into my mind you would know that it's the last thing I would do. I'm such a stumbling sort of creature myself, that I feel at the very lowest level of all. One day, when I'm more at home with you, perhaps you'll let me tell you of a bit of my Highland experience. Till then believe me, that I shall never be your critic. I have come here to give you my help, and I honestly will try to do my best in your service."

Mrs. Burke's face cleared.

"All serene then! And now we'll talk of other things. Do you know the Fortescue Bakers? I hear they have just taken a farm house near here. They've bought it, and mean to turn it into a lovely little house. He is an artist you know, and bound to make everything beautiful that lies across his path."

Rowena listened to the local gossip, and pleased Mrs. Burke by her interest and sympathy.

For a wonder Mrs. Burke was alone. She was expecting visitors the next day. After dinner they strolled through the beautifully kept grounds, and Mrs. Burke told Rowena the details of her past life.

"I was, as I told you this afternoon, a parson's daughter, and my father was of the strict evangelical school. We were supposed to live apart from all worldly gaieties. Never allowed to dance, or go to a play, or enjoy ourselves with any young people who did so. And strange to say I was content and even happy in those days. I was the youngest. Two of my sisters married neighbouring curates. One is now a missionary with her husband in China; the other is in Liverpool. I have lost touch with her; we did correspond before my husband's death, but she and her husband thoroughly disapprove of me. My third sister was the one who kept everything going at home, but a bad time came. Our mother, who was always delicate, went down with 'the Flu.' It raged round us. One of my brothers had it with the complication of double pneumonia, and both he and my mother died. Then my sister got it and went into a decline. She was overworked and could not battle with it. I was just seventeen then, so had to take command and run the house and parish. There was never a question of recreation or rest for a parson's daughter. We were wretchedly poor, and the struggle to keep up appearances was awful. My remaining brother was at college, and we fought hard to keep him there. I often wish he had earned his bread in a humbler sort of way, for three years afterwards he died in London—a question of underfeeding and overwork—the same as my poor sister. I can tell you the record of those years sent the iron into my soul. There is no tragedy so great as some of these parsons' lives! Well, to make a long story short, my father died when I was twenty-three, and I was left penniless and homeless."

"My sister in Liverpool said I must come to her till I got some sort of employment. Now romance steps in. In spite of my training, and discipline and poverty, I was a bright pretty girl then. I thoroughly believed in my father's steadfast creed that all things worked together for good to those who love God, and that belief served to keep my head above water. Whilst the contents of the Parsonage were being sold, our Squire's wife, Lady Mary Crosby, took pity on me, and insisted that I should come up to the Hall till things were settled. It was there I met my husband. He was Lady Mary's nephew and young and handsome: there were no other girls for him to take notice of, and we fell headlong in love with each other. Lady Mary treated it as a boy and girl flirtation; she never gave Alfred credit for anything serious. When I eventually went to my sister, I considered myself engaged to him. She was horrified. Everyone at the Hall had always been considered 'worldly'; and she tried to show me how impossible and wicked such a union would be. But they say a worm will turn at last. I had had enough of the hard penurious life of the godly. I was young, and felt the blood rising and beating in my veins. Before me was a life of pleasure and luxury. I looked at my sister with her thin cheeks and prematurely wrinkled face, I noted her children, seven in number, were all growing up, and requiring food and clothing which could not be given them. I saw her husband too weak in body to be strong in soul. His preaching was a failure: He was a dispirited disappointed man; an irritable husband and father, a gloomy narrow-minded parson. Oh, I know you think me hard, but looking back, I don't wonder that my youth rebelled against such a fate as my sister's! I felt secure of Alfred's affection, and determined to stick to him. To make a long story short, we wrote to each other and in spite of much opposition from both his family and mine, we finally married, and I have not regretted doing so!"

There was something almost defiant in Mrs. Burke's tone. Rowena was deeply interested.

"How well I seem to see it all!" she said. "But did you discard religion as an old glove when you married?"

"I did. I was nothing, if not sincere in those days. I knew my husband was out to enjoy life, and I meant to enjoy it with him. It had to be one thing or the other with me. I felt that a certain part of me had always been starved, my sister assuring me that it was the worst part of me. But I meant to have my fill of what the world could give me. I threw my ultra-fastidious conscience to the winds. I determined to live as the greater part of the young world lives, for pleasure and amusement, and I have done so ever since. My motto is to have a good time and to help everyone else to have the same."

"And when your husband died?"

"Ah, don't remind me of the black blots in my life! I have had two. I lost our darling little only child at two years old, and then my husband, after only five years of happy married life. He was killed out hunting. But these times come to us all. I forget them or try to do so."

Rowena remembered that only two years previously she had been living the same life as Mrs. Burke; and felt that she could not judge her.

There was a little silence, then Mrs. Burke said with an effort:

"They say every one has a skeleton in the cupboard. Do you know what mine is? It's a certain verse from the Bible that haunts me, and turns up at times to disturb my tranquillity. You see I know my Bible well. We were too much nourished on it ever to forget it, and the verse was a favourite one of my father's; he used to preach on it:

"'Cast not away therefore your confidence which hath great
recompense of reward!'"

"That comes up at intervals. Of course I have cast my confidence away. I have none in God or Heaven or in any of the unseen things which good people say we ought to have even down here. I have made my choice and must abide by it. There now! To no living being have I ever confessed so much before. What is it about you that makes me talk so?"

"I don't know," said Rowena with her sunshiny smile, "but I know now why you have attracted me. I felt there was something beautiful deep down out of reach."

"Beautiful! Deep down! What do you mean? Haven't I just shown you, as parsons would say, the depravity of the human heart?"

Rowena did not speak for a moment; she was looking away dreamily as if into space. They were pacing up and down an old box-bordered walk, and now for a moment paused at the end of it. The sun was sinking slowly behind a belt of pines silhouetted against the line of the blue distant hills.

"I remember about a year ago," said Rowena slowly, "talking to my brother's Scotch gardener about a certain part of the shrubbery where things grew in the most wonderful thriving way. He said that long ago that bit of ground had been a vegetable plot, and had been well worked. Later on a summer-house had been built upon it, then it had fallen into ruins and the shrubbery planted. He said that deep down under the rubbish cleared away of the summer-house, there was real good soil, and it was making itself felt in spite of the time that had elapsed since it had been worked."

"Now what on earth are you doing? Giving me a parable to read. There's no good soil left in my soul, let me tell you! Come along in, and don't for goodness' sake set my skeleton walking! He is shut up and locked away as a rule."

Rowena said no more.

When "good night" was being said, Mrs. Burke remarked with her jolly laugh:

"One day I shall demand an account of your depths, and you will have to give it to me. But I warn you in my house, you will have to frivol whether you like it or not."