august 20th.
it is lovely to be able to go out again into the sweet summer land, and drive about with father and mother, and have our nice, homely talks again. the greaves’ are perfect angels of kindness, and what we should have done without their hospitality i’m sure i can’t tell, but every family has its own little ways, and, of course, you like your own the best. the greaves’ way is always to say exactly precisely whatever they mean and nothing beyond, and to think you rather mad if you do anything else. our way is to have little jokes and allusions, and a great deal of chatter about nothing in particular, and to think other people bores if they don’t do the same. we call our belongings by proper names. my umbrella is “jane,” because she is a plain, domestic-looking creature, and mother’s, with the tortoiseshell and gold, is “mirabella,” and our cat is “miss davis,” after a singing-mistress who squalled, and the new laundry-maid is “monkey-brand,” because she can’t wash clothes. it’s silly, perhaps, but it does help your spirits! when i go out on a wet day and say to my maid “bring ‘jane,’ please,” the sight of her face always sends me off in good spirits. she tries so hard not to laugh.
father and i just make plain, straightforward jokes, like everyone else, but mother jokes daintily, as she does everything else. it’s lovely to listen to her when she is in a frisky mood!
we are all depressed enough just now, goodness knows, but it cheers us up a little to be together, and, in comparison with the greaves’ conversation, ours sounds frisky. yesterday we drove up to see the dear home, at which dozens of men are already at work. it was at once better and worse than i expected. the ivy is still green in places, and they don’t think it is all destroyed, so that the first view from the bottom of the drive was a relief. near at hand we saw the terrible damage done, and, when i went inside for a few minutes, the smell was still so strong that i had to hurry back into the air. it will take months to put things right, and meantime father has taken a furnished house four miles off, where we go as soon as vere can be moved, and stay until she is strong enough to travel to the sea, or to some warm, sunny place for the winter. we shall probably be away for ages. no balls, una! no dissipations, and partners, and admiration, and pretty new frocks, as you expected. furnished houses and hospital nurses, and a long, anxious illness to watch. those are your portion, my dear!
i am a wretch to think of myself at all. rachel wouldn’t; but i do, and it’s no use pretending i don’t. i’m horribly, horribly disappointed! one part of me feels cross and injured; the other part of me longs to be good and unselfish, and to cheer and help the others. i haven’t had far to look for my sister. while i was searching the neighbourhood for someone to befriend, the opportunity was preparing inside our very own walls! now then, una sackville, brace up! show what you are made of! you are fond enough of talking—now let us see what you can do!
august 28th.
the spinal chair arrived yesterday when i was at the lodge. father cried when he saw it. i hate to see a man cry, and got out of the way as soon as possible, and, when i came back, mother and he were sitting hand in hand in the little parlour, looking quite calm, and kind of sadly happy. i think bearing things together has brought them nearer than they have been for years, so they certainly have found their compensation.
the doctor says vere is to live out of doors, so this morning she was carried out on her mattress, laid flat on the chair, and wheeled to a corner of the lawn. as i had prophesied, she arranged all details herself. she wore a soft, white serge dressing-gown sort of arrangement, which was loose and comfortable, and a long lace scarf put loosely over her head, and tied under the chin, instead of a hat. everything was as simple as it could be. vere had too much good taste to choose unsuitable fineries, but, as she lay with the sunlight flickering down at her beneath the screen of leaves, she looked so touchingly frail and lovely that it broke your heart to see her. her hair lay in little gold rings on her forehead, the face inside the lace hood had shrunk to such a tiny oval. one had not realised, seeing her in bed, how thin she had grown during these last few weeks!
we all waited on her hand and foot, and walked in procession beside her, gulping hard, and blinking our eyes to keep back the tears whenever we had a quiet chance, and she laughed and admired the trees, and said really it was the quaintest sensation staring straight up at the sky; she felt just like “johnny head in air” in the dear old picture-book! it was a delightful couch—most comfortable! what a lazy summer she should have! if there was one thing she loved more than another, it was having meals in the open air—all in the same high, artificial note which she had used ever since her accident.
we all agreed and gushed, and said, “yes, darling,” “isn’t it, darling?” “so you shall, darling,” and we had tea under a big beech-tree, and anyone might have thought we were quite jolly; but i could see father’s lip quiver under his moustache, and mother looked old. i hate to see mother look old!
just as we had finished tea a servant came up to tell father that will and mr carstairs had called to see him. they had too much good feeling to join us where we were, but vere lifted her languid eyes and said “stupid men! what are they afraid of? tell them to come here at once.” and no one dared to oppose her.
i shall never forget that scene. it was like treading on sacred ground to be there when mr carstairs went forward to take vere’s hand, yet, of course, it would not have done to leave them alone. his face was set, poor fellow, and he couldn’t speak. i could see the pulse above his ear beating like a hammer, and was terrified lest he should break down altogether. vere would never have forgiven that! she thanked him in her pretty society way for all his “favaws,” the flowers, and the books, and the letters, all “so amusing, don’t you know!” (as if his poor letters could have been amusing!) and behaved really and truly as if they had just met in a ball-room, after an ordinary separation.
“it’s quite an age since i saw you; and now, i suppose, it is a case of ‘how do you do, and good-bye,’” she said lightly. “you must be longing to get away from this dull place, to pay some of your postponed visits.”
“they will have to be postponed a little longer. dudley is good enough to say he can put me up another week or two, and i should like to see you settled at bylands. there—there might be something i could do for you,” returned the poor man wistfully, but she would not acknowledge any need of help.
“dearie me! have you turned furniture remover? are you proposing to pack me with the rest of our belongings?” she cried, lifting her chin about a quarter of an inch in feeble imitation of her old scornful tilt. it was very pitiful to see her do it, and mr carstairs’ lip twitched again, and he turned and began talking to mother, leaving the coast clear for will dudley. he looked flushed, but his eyes were curiously bright and determined.
“i am so thankful to see you out again, miss sackville,” he said. “that’s the first step forward in your convalescence, and i hope the others may follow quickly!”
that was his cue! he was not going to allow vere to ignore her illness talking to him; he had determined to make her face it naturally and simply, but the flash in her eyes showed that it would not be too easy. she stared up into his face with a look of cold displeasure, and he stared straight back and said—
“are you as comfortable as possible? i think that light is rather dazzling to your eyes. let me move you just a few inches.”
“i am perfectly happy, thank you. pray don’t trouble. i prefer to stay where i am.”
“i’ll move you back again if you don’t like it,” he said coolly. “there! now that branch screens you nicely. the sun has moved since you first came out, i expect. confess, now, that is more comfortable!”
she would not confess, and she could not deny, so she simply dropped her eyelids and refused to answer; but a little thing like that would not daunt will dudley, and he went on talking as if she had thanked him as graciously as possible. presently, however, the hospital nurse gave us a private signal that vere was getting tired and ought to rest, so we all strolled away and left them alone together beneath the tree.
we had only three days more at the grange, and during them rachel devoted herself as much as possible to vere, trotting between the house and the beech-trees on everlasting missions, and reading aloud for hours together from stupid novels, which i am sure bored her to extinction. vere herself did not seem to listen very attentively, but i think the sweet, rather monotonous voice had a soothing effect on her nerves; she was relieved to be spared talking, and also intent on studying this strange specimen of human nature.
“oh, admirable but dullest of rachels, she absolutely delights in doing what she dislikes! it was as good as a play to watch her face yesterday while she read aloud the reflections of the worldly lady peggy! they evidently gave her nerves a severe shock, but as for omitting a passage, as for even skipping an objectionable word, no! not if her life depended upon it. ‘it is my duty, and i will.’ that is her motto in life. how boring people are who do their duty!” drawled vere languidly on the last afternoon, as poor rachel left her to go back to the other invalid, who was no doubt growling like a bear in his den as he waited for her return. everyone seemed to take rachel’s help for granted, and to think it superfluous to thank her. even will himself is far less attentive to her wants than my fiancé shall be when i have one. i simply couldn’t stand being treated like a favourite aunt, and really and truly he behaves far more as if she were that, than his future wife. he is never in the least tiny bit excited or agitated about seeing her.
i wouldn’t admit this to vere for a thousand pounds, but i felt cross all the same, and said snappishly—
“it’s a pity she wasted her time, since you were only jeering at her for her pains. i don’t know about enjoying what she hates, but she certainly loves trying to help other people, and i admire her for it. i wish to goodness i were like her!”
at this she smiled more provokingly than ever.
“yes. i’ve noticed the imitation. it’s amusing. all the more so that it is so poor a success. your temper is not of the quality to be kept persistently in the background, my dear.”
it isn’t. but i had tried hard to keep patient and gentle the last few weeks, even when vere aggravated me most. i had been so achingly sorry for her that i would have cut off my right hand to help her, so it hurt when she gibed at me like that.
“i’m sorry i was impatient! i wanted so badly to help you, dear. you must forgive me if i was cross.”
“babs, don’t!” she gasped, and her face was convulsed with emotion. for one breathless moment, as we clutched hands and drew close together, i thought the breakdown had come at last, but she fought down her sobs, crying in tones of piteous entreaty—
“don’t let me cry! stop me! oh, babs, don’t let me do it. if i once begin i can never stop!”
“but wouldn’t it be a relief to you, darling? everyone has been terrified lest you were putting too great a strain on yourself. if you gave way once to me—it doesn’t matter for me—it might do you good. cry, darling, if you want, and i’ll cry with you!”
but she protested more vigorously than ever. “no, no, i daren’t! i can’t face it! be cross with me—be neglectful—leave me to myself, but for pity’s sake don’t be so patient, babs! it makes me silly, and i must keep up, whatever happens. say something now to make me stop—quickly!”
“i expect the men will be here any moment. you’ll look hideous with red eyes,” i said gruffly. it was the only thing i could think of, and perhaps it did as well as anything else, for she calmed down by degrees, and there was no more sign of a breakdown that night.
after that day we seemed to understand each other better, and when i saw danger signals i was snappy on purpose, and felt like a martyr when will and mr carstairs glared at me, and thought what a wretch i was. we wanted vere to be resigned and natural about her illness, but we dreaded and feared a hysterical breakdown, which must leave her weaker than ever, and she had said herself that if she once began to cry she could never leave off.
