Chapter VI: I Meet Good Fortune

‟WE want to get up a big boating picnic, Mother,” Beryl McNab said one morning at breakfast. “Everybody is coming: the crowds from Willow Park and Karinyah, and a few people from Wootong. We’re going to make a very early start, sail round some of the islands, bathe in the big diving-pools on Rocky Spit and land on Shepherd’s Island for lunch. After that we’ll do whatever the spirit moves us.”

“Or whatever we have any energy left to do,” Dicky Atherton said. “Personally, I shall lie flat on a hot patch of sand and sleep all the afternoon.”

“Then you’ll certainly find yourself marooned,” remarked Harry. “However, if you fly a towel as a signal of distress some one will probably pick you up within a few days. And the fishing’s pretty good from Shepherd’s Island.”

“One might be worse off,” Mr. Atherton rejoined placidly. “I’m beginning to need a rest-cure, thanks to the life you people lead down here.”

“We want to go on Thursday,” said Beryl. “Can we have an extra-special lunch, Mother?”

“I suppose so,” Mrs. McNab answered vaguely. She had been deep in thought, and it seemed an effort for her to rouse herself. It was understood in the house that the spirit of work was harassing her; she had spent most of the two previous days in the Tower rooms, and one gathered that at any moment she might be expected to go into retreat altogether. “Miss Earle, will you consult with Mrs. Winter about it? Just tell Miss Earle if there is anything in particular that you would like, Beryl.”

“We’re going, too!” chorused Judy and Jack.

“Oh, we don’t want kids!” Beryl said. “You two are a perfect nuisance on a picnic.”

“Oh, rubbish, Beryl!” Harry said. “The kids from Willow Park are coming, and they’ll want mates.”

Beryl shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, you can be responsible for them,” she said. “But you know perfectly well, Harry, that no one ever can tell what Judy and Jack will do.”

“Oh, they’ll behave—won’t you, kids?” said Harry easily. “I’ll hammer you both if you don’t. I say, Mother, I don’t see how we can possibly expect Miss Earle to have a big lunch ready as early as we want to start. Why shouldn’t she come too? If she had the lunch down at the boat-house about half-past twelve some of us could easily run across in the launch and pick her up.”

“Good-oh!” said Jack. “I’ll come back for you, Miss Earle. I can run the launch all right.”

“Not by yourself, young man, thank you,” said his brother. “But it would be quite easy to arrange. How about it, Mother?”

“Certainly, if Miss Earle would like to go,” said Mrs. McNab, a little less dreamily. “It would be good for her. Bence could carry the baskets to the beach. You would care for the outing, Miss Earle?”

“I should like it very much, thank you,” I answered, trying to keep any eagerness out of my voice. Except for bathing, I had scarcely been out of the house for some days, and the prospect of a boating picnic was alluring. Beryl had carefully refrained from making any comment, but this time it didn’t worry me. There would be so many people at the picnic that it would not be difficult to keep out of her way. I heaved an inward sigh of thankfulness at the recollection of a white linen frock that would be just right, and registered a vow to find time to wash and iron it next day.

“Then that’s all settled,” said Harry gleefully. “I’ll telephone to the other people. And just you youngsters make up your minds to behave as decently as you know how. I don’t say that’s much, but it may carry you through the day.”

I spent a hectic day in the kitchen on Wednesday. Mrs. Winter was fighting a bad cold, and chose to resent the list of extra delicacies which Beryl had airily handed in. “One ’ud think it was a ball supper at Govinment House, instead of a picnic on a sandy island,” she grumbled, and made a hundred difficulties. Beryl had disappeared; as a matter of fact, she had never appeared at all, but had sent her list by Julia; and Mrs. McNab was vaguer than ever, and had a kind of worried look that I put down to trouble over her writing. Whatever delight her work might give her when once she was shut up in her sanctum, the period while it was hatching in her brain seemed to be something like what one endures in cutting a wisdom-tooth. I felt sorry for her as she went about with her dreamy look—she was so far apart from all the cheery, happy-go-lucky house-party. At any rate, it was my job, as I recollected, to act as her buffer; and the end of it was I pretended that I had an easy day, rolled up my sleeves, and went to help in the cooking.

That cheered Mrs. Winter a good deal. She was really very seedy, with the kind of heavy head-cold that makes speech difficult and extra brain-exertion a torment: she welcomed my cooperation even more than my actual help in the work, and forgot a good many of her woes in the course of the first hour. I made oyster-patties and charlotte russe and fruit salad, and we thought out new ideas for sandwiches and cool drinks. I even managed to enlist Judy and Jack, as the best means of keeping them out of mischief; Mrs. Winter supplied them with aprons and they beat up eggs and whipped cream, and became desperately interested in my sponge-lilies and cheese-straws. “I’d be a cook myself, if I could always make things like these,” Judy averred, as she sat on the table, delicately licking the cream from a sponge-lily, with a red tongue that seemed as long as an ant-eater’s. “How ever do you go on cooking things like boiled mutton and steak-and-onions, Mrs. Winter, when you might make gorgeous experiments all the time?”

Mrs. Winter sniffed.

“If you had to eat theb thigs for a week, Biss Judy, you’d be botherig roud the kitched for good boiled buttod and sdeak-ad-odiods,” she said severely—at which afflicted utterance the pair yelled with joy, and spent much time in devising questions that could only be answered in words containing letters impossible at the moment to the poor woman. By four o’clock we had made all the preparations that could be finished that day, and had got the dinner well under way as well. Mrs. Winter sighed with relief as I washed the kitchen table.

“I thought this bordig I’d be id by bed before dight,” she said. “But I’ve laughed at you three so buch by cold’s dearly god, I believe! Off you go, Biss Earle—you bust be tired.”

“No, I’m not,” I said. “I have a dress to iron yet: I’ll come back and help you when I’ve done it. You’re not to get yourself all hot over dishing-up.”

“’Deed, an’ you’ve been enough in the kitchen for wan day,” said a new voice; and Julia came in, with my rough-dry frock over her arm. “Let you run off to your tay: I’m afther bringin’ this in from the line, and I’ll have it ironed in two twos an’ be ready to do the dishin’-up meself. Take her away, now, Miss Judy an’ Master Jack. An’ for pity’s sake wash the two faces of ye before your Mother sees you, for there’s samples on them of every blessed thing that’s been cooked to-day!” Whereat Judy and Jack gripped each an arm and raced me off to my room.

I saw that they were respectable, made a hasty toilet myself, and we went out to the lawn, where afternoon tea was in full swing. A stranger was there, sitting in a basket-chair by Mrs. McNab: a spare, elderly man with keen blue eyes, at sight of whom my charges uttered a delighted yelp.

“Hallo, Dr. Firth! We’ve been cooking!”

“Then I won’t stay to dinner, thank you,” replied the stranger promptly. “Not that I believe you have; you’re far too clean!”

“Oh, that’s thanks to Miss Earle—she’s awfully fussy about little things like that,” said Judy, laughing. “This is Miss Earle, Dr. Firth. She’s the worst we’ve had!”

“Judith!” said her mother in a voice of ice.

“I can well believe you think so, judging by your fine state of polish,” said Dr. Firth, laughing. “You seem to have done wonders, Miss Earle—congratulations.” He had risen to shake hands with me: I liked his firm grip and his straight glance. “Now, where are you going to sit while I get you some tea? Jack, my boy, there’s a chair over there”: and Jack was off like a flash to fetch it.

To be waited upon at The Towers was something new to me. I looked round nervously. But some one else had claimed Mrs. McNab’s attention and every one appeared to be already supplied with tea; there was nothing for me but to do as I was bid and sit down. I did so thankfully, for I was tired enough after my day in the kitchen. Jack and Judy, already full-fed, had wandered away, and presently I was enjoying my tea, with my new friend sitting near me—our two chairs somewhat apart from the crowd.

“Now you are not to move for twenty minutes,” he said, in a cool tone of command. “Doctor’s orders, and therefore not to be disregarded. No, you needn’t argue,” as I opened my mouth. His tone was so final that I pretended that I had merely opened it to put cake into it, and he laughed.

“That’s better. There are plenty of young fellows here to hand round teacups. And I want to talk to you. Mrs. McNab has been telling me that you are a doctor’s daughter. Not Denis Earle’s daughter, by any chance?”

“My father was Denis Earle,” I said, wondering—and wondered still more at the change in his face.

“If you knew how glad I am to find you!” he said. “I knew you when you were a baby, my dear. Did Denis ever speak to you of Gerald Firth?”

“Oh—often!” I cried. “But I thought you were in England. He—he just loved you, you know!” I felt an ache in my throat; my eyes swam as I looked at his kind face.

He moved his chair so that he sheltered me from every one else.

“Drink your tea,” he said quietly. “You’re tired, you poor child. And I’ll do the talking.” He leaned forward, his voice low.

“I was in England for fifteen years—until six months ago,” he said. “Then I came out hurriedly, to attend to business; my elder brother had died, leaving me his property near here. It was only just before I sailed from England that I heard that my old friend had gone; we were both bad correspondents, and not many letters passed between us. I did make inquiries about his children in Melbourne, but I couldn’t get on your track: I have been intending to go down and find you, but all my brother’s affairs were very tangled, and I have only just succeeded in straightening them out. It’s the queerest thing that I should come across you here!”

“Oh, I’m so glad,” I murmured. “It’s just lovely to find some one who knew Father!”

“He and I were friends as boys and at the University,” Dr. Firth said. “We took our degrees in the same year. I owe more to him than to anyone in the world—more than I could tell anyone except his own children. I was a pretty wild youngster, and I got into a horrible mess in my University days. It would have been the end of my career as a doctor, but for Denis. His help and his cool judgment pulled me through, but he went poor for three years because of it. I paid him back in money—hard enough it was to get him to take it, too. But the biggest part of it, that wasn’t money, I never could repay. I’ll be his debtor all my life.”

He paused, and I could see that he was wrung with feeling.

“I don’t know anything about it, of course,” I stammered. “But Father would never have thought anything of it. You were his great friend. He often talked to us about you, and told us what mates you had been.” I hesitated. “Colin is named after you: Colin Gerald Earle.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m rather proud of it. And where is Colin now? A full-fledged doctor, I suppose? He was a great little boy.”

“He is a great boy still,” I said. “He is just like Father. But he isn’t a doctor, and he never will be, now. He is just a clerk in an insurance office.”

“A—clerk!” he uttered. “But Denis wrote me that his whole soul was in medicine. He was to succeed your father in his practice. And you—why are you here, bear-leading these youngsters? Surely there were no money troubles?”

I told him, briefly, just how things had been. He did not say much, but it seemed to me that his face grew older.

“If I had known!” he said, when I had finished. “Denis’s children! Well, I can alter one thing, at any rate: you needn’t stay here as general factotum a day longer. Come over to my place, and look after me, instead: I’ve a huge house, and my old housekeeper will welcome you with open arms. I won’t have you earning your living here.”

I felt myself turn scarlet with astonishment. It was a wonderful prospect. I couldn’t take it all in, but it flashed on me that it would be very soothing to meet Beryl McNab on equal terms. Then I caught sight of Mrs. McNab’s face as she moved slowly across the lawn with her head bent and the look of worry plainly in her face, and I knew I couldn’t do it. Father would have said it wasn’t the square thing.

“It’s ever so good of you, Dr. Firth,” I told him, “and I’m very grateful. Some other time it would be lovely. But I couldn’t throw over my job here. I don’t think it would be fair to Mrs. McNab: her hands are very full, and I do believe she is beginning to depend on me.”

“She could get some one else to depend upon.”

“Not in the middle of the holidays. She wouldn’t have taken me if she could have found some one older and more experienced. And the children are really pretty good with me—I think it’s because I am young enough to play about with them now and then. They hate the elderly governess type.”

“Are you working too hard?” he asked doubtfully. “You are far too thin, you know, young lady.”

I told him I was by no means over-worked; there was plenty to do, but nothing really difficult. He was not satisfied: that was clear. He asked me a great many questions, and finally repeated that Mrs. McNab should be asked to find some one to replace me.

We were supposed to be an obstinate family, and I may have a certain share of the quality. At any rate, I shook my head.

“Please don’t ask me, Dr. Firth, for I hate saying ‘No’ to your kindness. But I’ve undertaken a responsibility, and I don’t feel that I can drop it. You know, Father always taught us that it was an unpardonable thing to let anyone down.”

He looked at me keenly.

“Yes, you’re like Denis,” he said. “Well, I won’t try to persuade you against your own judgment. But I warn you, I shall keep an eye upon you, and if I see that you are getting fagged, I shall write to Colin and take the law into my own hands. Give me his address, please”—he wrote it down—“and promise that you will tell me if I can help you in any difficulty. I know the McNabs pretty well.”

I promised that readily enough.

“But I don’t think there will be real difficulties,” I said. “I am beginning to feel that I can hold down my job, and I like the children. And it will all seem so different, now that I know I have a friend close by. I shan’t be lonesome any more.”

“I’m glad you feel like that about it,” he said. “And now, I suppose, I had better find my hostess: every one seems to have gone over to the tennis-courts.” He made me go with him, and we looked for Mrs. McNab, who was sitting alone, knitting, under a big jacaranda.

“You have had a long talk,” she said, her voice rather cold.

“We have,” Dr. Firth said cheerfully. “I have found an old friend, Mrs. McNab: I knew this young lady in her cradle. Her father was my greatest friend. It has been a very great pleasure to discover one of his children.”

“That is very nice,” said Mrs. McNab absently. “Won’t you sit down? Dr. Firth, have you heard anything of the robbery last night? Or is it only a rumour?”

“No rumour, worse luck. Some mean scoundrel broke into the Parkers’ cottage—you know, those two old maiden sisters who live on the outskirts of Wootong: they used to keep a little fancy shop, but they retired last year. Last night they went to choir-practice, leaving their place locked up, as usual. Some one managed to open the kitchen window and climb in, and when they came home they found their writing-table ransacked.”

Mrs. McNab leaned forward, looking anxious.

“Did they—was there much taken?”

“The thief was evidently looking for money only. Unfortunately, the old ladies had money in the house: a foolish habit of theirs. The writing-table drawers had flimsy modern locks, easily enough picked by anyone with a little skill in that direction. The rascal got away with five-and-twenty pounds.”

“How dreadful!” Mrs. McNab said. “I am so sorry for them. And—the police? are they looking for the thief?”

Dr. Firth shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, of course. But the Wootong policemen aren’t a very brilliant pair, and the man left no trace, they say. It is so easy, nowadays, to get away with the proceeds of a robbery; a motorcar or motor-cycle lands a thief forty miles away in an hour. And the Parkers’ cottage is on the main road, where cars pass every few minutes. I don’t suppose the poor old ladies have much chance of seeing their money again. It is a heavy loss for them: they have very little to live on, and the elder sister is not strong.”

“Poor old things!” Mrs. McNab said, in a troubled tone. “It was a very mean robbery.”

“It was; and it looks as though the thief knew something of their circumstances. One would not expect a little cottage like that to be burgled; the ordinary thief would hardly expect to get enough to make his risk and trouble worth while. Some people are saying that the burglar is not far off. It appears that Henessy, of the hotel, lost some money last week; some one had helped himself from the till. Henessy had been in and out of the bar a good deal, and a great many people had been there during the day; he felt that he had no clue, so he held his tongue at the time. But he told the constable about it this morning.”

“But that is very worrying to the whole neighbourhood,” said Mrs. McNab anxiously. “You should be careful, Dr. Firth: your house is lonely, and you have so many beautiful things in it.”

“Oh, they’re well enough secured, I fancy,” he said. “My brother had very special locks for all his cabinets of curiosities. All the same, I admit that I think there is too much there for prudence. I have none of the collector’s fever, as my brother had, and a good many of his treasures mean very little to me, valuable as they are. They would not be much use to the average burglar, either.”

“Oh, but think!” Mrs. McNab urged, leaning forward. “The jewels set in those barbaric ornaments—they would be easily removed. I don’t think you should run the risk.”

“Well, yes, I suppose the jewels would make decent plunder,” Dr. Firth admitted. “To tell you the truth, Mrs. McNab, I don’t seem to have had time to learn my brother’s collections yet: there are ever so many things of which I have only a hazy notion. They are all listed, of course, and I had an expert down to value them, in connection with Michael’s estate; but since then they have been locked away.” He looked almost apologetic as he spoke. “I’m pretty busy, you know: there has been so much business to see to, and so much writing to England—I left at a moment’s notice when the news of Michael’s death came. And the local people won’t believe that I am not a practising physician: they come to me whenever Dr. Harkness is not to be found in Wootong. I tell them it’s their own risk, considering that I haven’t practised my profession for fifteen years. But one can’t refuse them. So my time is sadly cut to waste. But for that I should have found out Miss Earle and her brother and sister long ago: and then, I doubt if you’d have had Miss Earle here, for I should have wanted her myself.”

To my astonishment, Mrs. McNab looked genuinely concerned.

“You do not want to take her away, I hope?”

I shot him a warning glance, and he laughed as he answered the quick question.

“I don’t imagine that she would come if I suggested it,” he said lightly. “But don’t let her over-do it, Mrs. McNab: she is not as strong as she might be. I mean to exercise my rights as an old family friend and keep a sharp eye upon her.”

“Oh!” said my employer. “Quite so. By all means, Dr. Firth. But I trust that we are not overworking Miss Earle. Though indeed,” she added, apparently recollecting something, “I was much horrified, on going to the kitchen just now, to see how my cook is, to be shown all the cookery you have done to-day. Piles of dainties. But quite unusual, I assure you, Dr. Firth.”

“Quite,” I said, laughing. “I haven’t gone in for such a baking orgy since I left my cookery class. It was really great fun, Mrs. McNab, and Judy and Jack enjoyed it, too. Please don’t worry about me. I am really much stronger than when I first came here.”

“I am very glad to hear you say so,” Mrs. McNab said. “Indeed, Dr. Firth, I should be sadly lost without Miss Earle. For one so young she has surprising tact in dealing with cooks and children!” At which I turned a brilliant red, and Dr. Firth laughed and said good-bye. I walked with him to the gate, where his car stood. Just as he started the engine, Judy and Jack came tearing up.

“When are we to come over to see you? You said we were to come one day in the holidays!”

“So you are. Miss Earle, too, if she will: I’ll telephone and fix a day. And look here, you two: I knew Miss Earle when she was much younger than either of you, and she is my charge. Just you behave decently to her, or you needn’t expect to be friends with me.” He nodded over the wheel at them, and was gone.

Judy and Jack looked at each other.

“Well, I like that!” uttered Jack. “He was about the only one in the country that didn’t jaw at us, and now he’s begun!”

“And there wasn’t any need to jaw, either,” added his sister. “For we do treat you quite beautifully, don’t we, Miss Earle?”

“Quite,” I told them. “We have established friendly relations.”

“I’m hanged if I’m friendly with most of my relations,” said Jack. “They’re a moulty lot: always on the jump for what a fellow’s going to do next. But you’re sensible, Miss Earle.”

“Yes,” said Judy. “You don’t expect us to behave like angels every bit of our time.”

“I do not—and isn’t it a good thing?” said I. “But I would be really glad if you would try to check your queer desire to put things into people’s beds. I really didn’t mind the Jew-lizard you put into mine, because I have met Jew-lizards before, and also because I found him before I got into bed. But Miss Vaughan was quite peevish about the frog she found in hers last night.”

“He was a gorgeous green one!” said Judy soulfully. “Do tell us what she said, dear Miss Earle!”

“I will not: there was too much of it for me to remember. But you might bear in mind that I reap the harvest when you sow frogs. If Dr. Firth heard——”

“Oh, he mustn’t!” Judy cried. “Miss Earle, he’s got the jolliest place ever. It belonged to old Mr. Michael Firth, who was a perfect Jew and hated every one, so, of course, no one went there. Then he kindly died, so this brother inherited it, and he’s a dear. The house is just full of queer things that old Mr. Firth collected. He never would let anyone look at them, except people as snuffy as himself, but Dr. Firth is going to show us everything. I’m so glad he’s going to let you come too!”

I went to my room that night, tired enough, but with a heart lighter than it had been since my arrival at The Towers. Mrs. Winter had beamed upon me after dinner, and had forbidden me to come near the kitchen next morning, remarking that if she could not pack a few baskets her name was not Susad Widter. Julia had left my white frock on a hanger in my wardrobe, ironed to a glossy smoothness of perfection that was heartsome to see; and even Bella had unbent from her haughty pedestal to hope that the weather to-morrow might be fine. I had not again encountered Mrs. McNab, who had disappeared directly after dinner into her upper fastness: but her words in the garden with Dr. Firth had been reassuring. Judy and Jack were friendly—even roughly affectionate. It really seemed that my holiday job might be a success.

And, best of all, I had found an old friend. A good many of our friends had vanished after we fell on evil times. No one had been actively unpleasant; we simply felt that we were outside the circle, and we had made up our minds, rather bitterly, that money was the only thing that counted. To meet Dr. Firth, with his warm memories of Father, had helped me wonderfully, even though I had not felt able to do as he wished in leaving The Towers. It was delightful to think that we were to have his friendship after I had gone back to Prahran. Now—what a jolly letter I could write to Colin and Madge! I could not wait a moment to begin: I found writing materials hurriedly, and in a moment my pen was fairly flying over the paper.

It was late when I finished. My eyes were aching, and I switched off the light and leaned out of the window. Every one seemed to have gone to bed: the house was very still, and the scent of a great bush of bouvardia under my window came up to me in a wave. I stayed there dreaming, until I began to feel cold, and found myself yawning.

Just as I turned to undress and go to bed a faint sound below caught my ear. I held my breath to listen. Clearly there was some one below: the muffled, stealthy steps were unmistakable. The memory of the Wootong burglar flashed upon me. Was the thief about to try his luck at The Towers?

As I listened, the soft movements passed from the path beneath my window, and seemed to come from the direction of the yard. I heard a faint crunch that could only be the gravel at the back. There, I knew, everything was locked up—Mrs. Winter had a pious horror of unfastened doors and windows, and saw that all were secure every night before she went to her room. I resolved to reconnoitre a little farther before alarming the house. In a moment I was running softly down the back staircase.

Half-way down, a sudden sound brought me to a standstill, trembling. Some one had come in and had closed a door, very gently. In a moment stealthy steps were mounting the stairs towards me.

There was no time to get back to my room: quiet as the steps were, they were swift—whoever was coming was almost on me. The scream which all proper young persons should be able to produce refused to come from my lips; my feet would not move. I put out my hand to the wall to steady myself, shrinking away, and my fingers encountered an electric light switch. Almost without knowing what I did, I turned it on.

The light, magically transforming the black darkness, shone full on Mrs. McNab, coming up the stairs in her dark day gown and soft hat. She might have been out for a morning walk. But the glimpse I had of her face under the brim of the hat staggered me, so white was it and so haggard.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. McNab!” I stammered. “I thought you were a burglar!”

She had started violently when the light flashed out—started almost as though she would run away. Then she came on swiftly, and brushed rudely past me, without a word or glance. I stood staring after her, but she did not turn. Her quick strides took her beyond the landing: I heard her feet on the upper staircase, and then the click of her door as it shut.

I made my way upstairs, still trembling. Within the shelter of my room I collapsed on my bed, thankful for its support.

“Well!” I uttered. “Literary genius may make you do queer things, Mrs. McNab, but it needn’t give you the manners of a jungle pig!”