Part 7 (1/2)
She put coal on the fire in Christopher and left the door ajar so that the flames might cast warm light on the landing: she took a towel from the rail and changed it for another finer one; then she went quietly down the stairs, with a smile for Mr. Pinderwell, and fancied she smelt the spring through the open windows. The hall had a dimness which hid and revealed the rich mahogany of the clock and cupboard and the table from which more primroses sent up a memory of moonlight and a fragrance which was no sooner seized than lost. She could hear Mrs. Samson in the kitchen as she watched over the turbot, and from the schoolroom there came the sc.r.a.ping of a chair. John had dressed as quickly as herself.
In the dining-room she found her stepmother standing by the fire.
”Oh, you look sweet!” Helen exclaimed. ”I love you in that dark blue.”
”I think I'll wait in the drawing-room,” Mildred Caniper said, and went away.
Once more, Helen wandered to the doorway; she always sought the open when she was unhappy and, as she looked over the gathering darkness, she tried not to remember the tone of Notya's words.
”It's like pus.h.i.+ng me off a wall I'm trying to climb,” she thought, ”but I mean to climb it.” And for the second time within an hour, she gave tongue to her sustaining maxim: ”I must just go on.”
She hoped Uncle Alfred was not expectant of affection.
Night was coming down. The road was hardly separable from the moor, and it was the Brent Farm dogs which warned her of the visitor's approach.
Two yellow dots slowly swelled into carriage lamps, and the rolling of wheels and the thud of hoofs were faintly heard. She went quickly to the schoolroom.
”John, the trap's coming.”
”Well, what d'you want me to do about it? Stop it?”
”I wish you could.”
”Now, don't get fussy.”
”I'm not.”
”Not get fussy?”
”Not getting fussy.”
”That's better. If your grammar's all right the nerves must be in order.”
”You're stupid, John. I only want some one to support me--on the step.”
”Need we stand there? Rupert's with him. Won't that do?”
”No, I think we ought to say how-d'you-do, here, and then pa.s.s him on to Notya in the drawing-room.”
”Very good. Stand firm. But they'll be hours rolling up the track. What the devil do we want with an uncle? The last time we stood like this was when our revered father paid us a call. Five years ago--six?”
”Six.”
”H'm. If I ever have any children--Where's Miriam? I suppose she's going to make a dramatic entry when she's sure she can't be missed.”
”I hope so,” Helen said. ”The first sight of Miriam--”
”You're ridiculous. She's no more attractive than any other girl, and it's this admiration that's been her undoing.”
”Is she undone?”