Part 8 (1/2)

She had almost finished when the door opened to admit a little, grey wisp of a woman with a mild white face and large faded eyes which might once have been beautiful. She was dressed entirely in lavender, a fondness for this colour being one of the many harmless fancies born of a brain not quite normal. The rather expressionless face brightened at sight of the girl by the table.

”Why, Esther--I didn't hear you come in. Have you put a mat under the bowl? See now! You have marked the table.”

Esther good humouredly reached for a table-mat, for the polish of this particular article of furniture was the pride of Aunt Amy's life. ”It's all right, Auntie. It's not really a mark. Look, aren't they sweet? It is like one of father's posies. Is mother any better?”

”The children must think a lot of you, Esther!”

”Yes, although I think they would bring flowers to any one, bless 'em!

Is mother--”

”Your mother hasn't been down all day. I went up with her dinner but she didn't take any. She wouldn't answer.”

”Auntie, don't you think she ought to do something about these headaches?”

”I don't know, Esther. She'll be all right to-morrow. She always is.”

”Yes. But they are getting more frequent, and you know--she is so different. She can't be well. Haven't you noticed it?”

”No,” vaguely.

”Well, Jane has. So it can't just be imagination. She ought to consult a doctor.”

”She won't.”

”But it's absurd! What shall we do if she goes on like this? If there were only some one who would talk to her! She won't listen to me because she is older and married and--all that. All the same she doesn't seem older when she acts like this--like a child!”

”Well, you know, Esther, there isn't any doctor here that your mother just fancies.”

The girl stooped lower over the blue bowl, perhaps to hide the little smile which crinkled up the corner of her mouth. The faint colour on her cheek may have been a reflection from the flowers.

”Yes, but haven't you heard? There is a new doctor. He seems quite different--I mean they say he is awfully nice. Mrs. Sykes' Ann was telling me all about him. He is going to board with Mrs. Sykes. The child just wors.h.i.+ps him already. Perhaps mother might see him.”

”I shouldn't worry,” said Aunt Amy placidly. ”This pepper-gra.s.s will be very nice for tea. Did you tell Jane she might have two apples, Esther?”

”No. I told her she might have one. But I don't suppose two will hurt her.” Esther was used to Aunt Amy's inconsequences which made impossible the discussion of any subjects save the most trivial. But she sighed a little as she realised anew that there was no help here.

”Jane is feeling badly about Timothy,” she explained. ”Don't you think we might have tea in here, Auntie? It is so cool.”

Aunt Amy, who had been anxiously rubbing an imaginary spot on the table, looked up with a startled air. ”Oh, Esther!” she said, in the voice of a frightened child. Then with a child's obvious effort to control rising tears, ”Of course, if you say so, Esther. But--but do you feel like risking the round table? Couldn't we have it on the little table in the corner?”

The girl settled the last of her flowers and pushed back her hair with a worried gesture. A pang of mingled irritation and anxiety lent an edge of sharpness to her soft voice.

”Auntie dear! I thought you had quite forgotten that fancy. You know it is only a fancy. Round tables are just like other tables. And you promised me--”

”Yes, I know, but--”

”Well, then, be sensible, dear. We shall have tea in here.” Then seeing the real distress on the timid old face, the girl's mood softened. ”No, we shan't,” she declared gaily. ”We'll have it as usual in the dining room. You will fix the pepper-gra.s.s and I shall set the table.”

But the end of Aunt Amy's vagaries was not yet. She hesitated, flushed and more timidly, yet as one who is compelled, begged for the task of setting the table herself. ”For you know, Esther, the sprigged tea-set is so hurt if any one but me arranges it. Yes, of course, it is only a fancy, I know that. But the sprigged tea-set does feel so badly if I neglect it. All the pink in it fades quite out. You must have noticed it, Esther?”

The girl sighed and gave in. Usually Aunt Amy's vagaries troubled her little. Disconcerting at first, they had quickly become a commonplace, for the coming of Aunt Amy to the doctor's household had been too great a blessing to invite criticism. Esther had soon learned to express no surprise when told that the sprigged china had a heart of extreme sensitiveness, and that the third step on the front stair disliked to be trodden upon, and that it was dangerous to sit with one's back to a window facing the east. All these and numberless other strange facts were part of Aunt Amy's twilight world. To her they were immensely important, but to the family the really important thing seemed that, with trifling exceptions, the new inmate of the household was gentle and kind; her housekeeping a miracle and her cooking a dream. In the years she had lived with them there had been but one serious thrill of anxiety, and that came when Dr. Coombe had discovered her endeavouring to infect Jane with her delusions. This had been strictly forbidden and the child's mind, duly warned, was soon safeguarded by her own growing comprehension. Jane quickly understood that it was foolish to shut the garden gate three times every time she came through it, and that no one save Aunt Amy thought it necessary to count all the boards in the sidewalk or to touch all the little posts under the bal.u.s.trade as one came down stairs. Some of the prettier, more elusive fancies she may have retained, but, if so, they did her no harm.

As for Aunt Amy herself, she lived her shadow-haunted life not unhappily. Dr. Coombe she had wors.h.i.+pped, yet his death had not affected her as much as might have been feared. Perhaps it was one of her compensations that death to her was not quite what it is to the more normal consciousness. It was noticeable that she always spoke of the doctor as if he were in the next room. Her devotion to him had been caused by his success in partially relieving her of the most distressing burden of her disordered brain--the delusion of persecution. Aunt Amy knew that somewhere there existed a mysterious power known vaguely as ”They” who sought unceasingly to injure her. Of course it was only once in a while that ”They” got a chance, for Aunt Amy was very clever in providing no opportunities. More than once had she outwitted ”Them.”