Peter's Mother

  CHAPTER X

  "I never complain, Canon Birch," said Lady Belstone, resignedly; "butit is a great relief, as I cannot deny, to open my mind to you, whoknow so well what this place used to be like in my dear brother'stime."

  The canon had been absent from Youlestone on a long holiday, and onhis return found that the workmen, who had reigned over Barracombe fornearly two years, had at length departed.

  The inhabitants had been hunted from one part of the house to anotheras the work proceeded; but now the usual living-rooms had beenrestored to their occupants, and peace and order prevailed, where allhad been noise and confusion.

  "I should not have known the place," said the canon, gazing round him.

  "Nor I. We make a point of _saying_ nothing," said Miss Crewys,pathetically, "but it's almost impossible not to _look_ now and then."

  "Speak for yourself, Georgina," said her sister, with asperity. "Onecan't _look_ furniture out of one room and into another."

  The old ladies sat forlornly in their corner by the great open hearth,whereon the logs were piled in readiness for a fire, because theyoften found the early June evenings chilly. But the sofa withbroken springs, which they specially affected, had been mended, andrecovered; and was no longer, they sadly agreed, near so comfortableas in its crippled past.

  The banqueting-hall, which was the very heart of Barracombe House, hadbeen carefully and skilfully restored to its ancient dignity.

  The paint and graining, which had disfigured its mighty beams andsolid panelling, had been removed; and the freshly polished oak shoneforth in its noble age, shorn of all tawdry disguise.

  The spaces of wall and roof between the beams, and above the panels,were now of a creamy tint not far removed, as the two indignantcritics pointed out, from common whitewash. A great screen of Spanishleather sheltered the door from the vestibule, and secured somewhatmore privacy for the hall as a sitting-room.

  The Vandyck commanded the staircase, attracting immediate attention,as it faced the principal entry. In the wide space between the twogreat windows were two portraits of equal size; the famous Sir PeterCrewys, by Lely, painted to resemble, as nearly as possible, his royalmaster, in dress and attitude; and his brother Timothy, by Kneller.

  Farmer Timothy's small, shrewd, grey eyes appeared to follow the gazerall over the hall; and his sober wearing apparel, a plain green coatwithout collar or cape, contrasted effectively with the cavalier'slaced doublet and feathered hat.

  Gone were the Early Victorian portraits; gone the big glass cases ofstuffed birds and weasels; gone the round mahogany table, the waxenbouquets, and the horsehair chairs. The ancient tapestry beside thecarven balustrade of the staircase remained, but it had been cleaned,and even mended.

  An oak dresser, black with age, and laden with blue and whitechina, lurked in a shadowy corner. Comfortable easy-chairs and odd,old-fashioned settees furnished the hall. In the oriel window stood aspinning-wheel and a grandfather's chair. A great bowl of roses stoodon the broad window-seat. There were roses, indeed, everywhere, andbooks on every table. But the crowning grievance of all was thecottage piano which John had sent to Lady Mary. The case had beenspecially made of hand-carven oak to match the room as nearly as mightbe. It was open, and beside it was a heap of music, and on it anotherbowl of roses.

  "Ay, you may well look horrified," said Miss Crewys to the canon,whose admiration and delight were very plainly depicted on hisrubicund countenance. "Where are our cloaks and umbrellas? That's whatI say to Isabella. Where are our goloshes? Where is anything, indeed,that one would expect to find in a gentleman's hall? Not so much as awalking-stick. Everything to be kept in the outer hall, where trampscould as easily step in and help themselves; but our poor foolishMary fancies that Peter will be delighted to find his old home turnedupside down."

  "My belief is," said Lady Belstone, "that Peter will just insist onall this wooden rubbish trotting back to the attics, where my deargranny, not being accustomed to wooden furniture, very properly hid itaway. If you will believe me, canon, that dresser was brought up fromthe _kitchen_, and every single pot and pan that decorates it used tobe kept in the housekeeper's room. That lumbering old chest was inthe harness-room. Pretty ornaments for a gentleman's sitting-room! IfPeter has grown up anything like my poor brother, he won't put up withit at all."

  "I suppose, in one sense, it's Peter's house, or will be veryshortly?" said the canon.

  "In _every_ sense it's Peter's house," cried Lady Belstone; "and hecomes of age, thank Heaven, in October."

  "I had hoped to hear he had sailed," said the canon. "No news is goodnews, I hope."

  "The last telegram said his wound was doing well, but did not give anydate for his return. Young John says we may expect him any time. I donot know what he knows about it more than any one else, however," saidMiss Crewys.

  "His letters give no details about himself," said Lady Belstone; "hemakes no fuss about his wounded arm. He is a thorough Crewys, notgiven to making a to-do about trifles."

  "He could only write a few words with his left hand," said MissCrewys; "more could not have been expected of him. Yet poor Mary wasquite put out, as I plainly saw, though she said nothing, because theboy had not written at greater length."

  "I find they've made a good many preparations for his welcome down inthe village," said the canon, "in case he should take us by surprise.So many of the officers have got passages at the last moment,unexpectedly. And we shall turn out to receive him _en masse_. Mr.Crewys has given us _carte blanche_ for fireworks and flags; and theyare to have a fine bean-feast."

  "Our cousin John takes a great deal upon himself, and has madeuncommonly free with Peter's money," said Lady Belstone, shaking herhead. "I wish he may not find himself pretty nigh ruined when he comesto look into his own affairs. In my opinion, Fred Crawley is littlebetter than a fool."

  "He is most devoted to Peter's interests, my dear lady," said thecanon, warmly, "and he informed me that Mr. John Crewys had donewonders in the past two years."

  "He has turned the whole place topsy-turvy in two years, in myopinion," said Miss Crewys. "I don't deny that he is a rising youngman, and that his manners are very taking. But what can a Cockneylawyer know, about timber, pray?"

  "No man on earth, lawyer or no lawyer," said Lady Belstone,emphatically, "will ever convince me that one can be better than_well_."

  "My sister alludes to the drains. It is a sore point, canon," saidMiss Crewys. "In my opinion, it is all this modern drainage that setsup typhoid fever, and nothing else."

  "Bless me!" said the canon.

  "Our poor Mary has grown so dependent on John, however, that she willhear nothing against him. One has to mind one's p's and q's," saidLady Belstone.

  "He planned the alterations in this very hall," said Miss Crewys, "andthe only excuse he offered, so far as I could understand, was that itwould amuse poor Mary to carry them out."

  "Does a widow wish to be amused?" said Lady Belstone, indignantly.

  "And was she amused, dear lady?" asked the canon, anxiously.

  "When she saw our horror and dismay she smiled."

  "Did you call that a smile, Georgina? I called it a laugh. It takesalmost nothing to make her laugh nowadays."

  "You would not wish her to be too melancholy," said the canon, almostpleadingly; "one so--so charming, so--"

  "Canon Birch," said Lady Belstone, in awful tones, "she is a widow."

  The canon was silent, displaying an embarrassment which did not escapethe vigilant observation of the sisters, who exchanged a meaningglance.

  "Well may you remind us of the fact, Isabella," said Miss Crewys, "forshe has discarded the last semblance of mourning."

  "Time flies so fast," said the canon, as though impelled to defendthe absent. "It is--getting on for three years since poor Sir Timothydied."

  "It is but two years and four months," said Miss Crewys.

  "It is thirty-three years since the admiral went aloft," said LadyBelstone, who often became slight
ly nautical in phrase when alludingto her departed husband; "and look at me."

  The pocket-handkerchief she held up was deeply bordered with ink.Orthodox streamers floated on either side her severe countenance.

  The canon looked and shook his head. He felt that the mysteries of awidow's garments had best not be discussed by one who dwelt, so tospeak, outside them.

  "Poor Mary can do nothing gradually," said Miss Crewys. "She leapt ina single hour out of a black dress into a white one."

  "Her anguish when our poor Timothy succumbed to that fatal operationsurpassed even the bounds of decorum," said Lady Belstone, "andyet--she would not wear a cap!"

  She appealed to the canon with such a pathetic expression in hersmall, red-rimmed, grey eyes that he could not answer lightly.

  They faced him with anxious looks and drooping, tremulous mouths.They had grown curiously alike during the close association of nearlyeighty years, though in their far-off days of girlhood no one hadthought them to resemble each other.

  Miss Crewys crocheted a shawl with hands so delicately cared for andpreserved, that they scarce showed any sign of her great age; hersister wore gloves, as was the habit of both when unoccupied, and shegrasped her handkerchief in black kid fingers that trembled slightlywith emotion.

  The canon realized that the old ladies were seriously troubledconcerning their sister-in-law's delinquencies.

  "We speak to you, of course, as our _clergyman_," said Miss Crewys;and the poor gentleman could only bow sympathetically.

  "I am an old friend," he said feelingly, "and your confidences aresacred. But I think in your very natural--er--affection for LadyMary"--the word stuck in his throat--"you are, perhaps, over-anxious.In judging those younger than ourselves," said the canon, gallantlycoupling himself with his auditors,' though acutely conscious that hewas some twenty years the junior of both, "we must not forget thatthey recover their spirits, by a merciful dispensation of Providence,more quickly than we should ourselves in the like circumstances," saidthe canon, who was as light-hearted a cleric as any in England.

  "They do, indeed," said Lady Belstone, emphatically; "when they cansing and play all the day and half the night, like our dear Mary andyoung John."

  "You see the piano blocking up the hall, though Sir Timothy hatedmusic?" said Miss Crewys.

  Her own mourning was thoughtfully graduated to indicate the time whichhad elapsed since Sir Timothy's decease. She wore a violet silk ofsombre hue, ornamented by a black silk apron and a black lace scarf.The velvet bow which served so very imperfectly as a skull-cap wasalso violet, intimating a semi-assuaged, but respectfully lengthened,grief for the departed.

  "And now this maddest scheme of all," said Miss Crewys.

  "Bless me! What mad scheme?"

  "A house in London is to be hired as soon as Peter comes home."

  "Is that all? But surely that is very natural. For my part, I haveoften wondered why none of you ever cared to go to London, if only foryour shopping. I am very fond of a trip to town myself, now and then,for a few days."

  "A few days, it seems, would not suffice our cousin John's notions. Heis pleased to think Peter may require skilled medical attendance; and,since he wrote he was in rags, a new outfit. These, it seems, can onlybe obtained in the Metropolis nowadays. My brother's tailor stilllives in Exeter; and with all his faults--and nobody can dislike himmore than I do--I have never heard it denied that Dr. Blundell is askilful apothecary."

  "_Very_ skilful," added Miss Crewys. "You remember, Isabella, howquickly he put your poor little Fido out of his agony."

  "That is nothing; all doctors understand animals' illnesses. They killnumbers of guinea-pigs before they are allowed to try their hands onhuman beings," said Lady Belstone. "The point is, that if my poorbrother Timothy had not been mad enough to go to London, he would havebeen alive at this moment. I have never heard of Dr. Blundell findingit necessary--much as I detest the man--to perform an operation onanybody."

  "Apart from this painful subject, my dear lady," murmured the canon,"I presume it is only a furnished house that Lady Mary contemplates?"

  "During all the years of his married life Sir Timothy never hired afurnished house," said Miss Crewys. "The home of his fathers sufficedhim."

  "She may want a change?" suggested the canon.

  Miss Crewys interpreted him literally. "No; she is in the best ofhealth."

  "Better than I have ever seen her, and--and _gayer_" said LadyBelstone, with emphasis.

  "People who are gay and bright in disposition are the very oneswho--who pine for a little excitement at times," said the courageouscanon. "There is so much to be seen and done and heard in London. Forinstance, as you say--she is passionately fond of music."

  "She gets plenty. _We_ get more than enough," said Miss Crewys,grimly.

  "I mean _good_ music;" then he recollected himself in alarm. "No,no; I don't mean hers is not charming, and Mr. John's playing isdelightful, but--"

  "There is an organ in the parish church," said Miss Crewys, crochetingmore busily than ever. "I have heard no complaints of the choir. Haveyou?"

  "No, no; but--besides music, there are so many other things," he saiddismally. "She likes pictures, too."

  "It does not look like it, canon," said Lady Belstone, sorrowfully.She waved her handkerchief towards the panelled walls. "She hasremoved the family portraits to the lumber-room."

  "At least the Vandyck has never been seen to greater advantage,"said the canon, hopefully; "and I hear the gallery upstairs has beenrestored and supported, to render it safe to walk upon, which willenable you to take pleasure in the fine pictures there."

  "I am sadly afraid that it is not pictures that poor Mary hankersafter, but _theatres_," said Miss Crewys. "John has persuaded her,if persuasion was needed, which I take leave to doubt, that there isnothing improper in visiting such places. My dear brother thoughtotherwise."

  "You know I do not share your opinions on that point," said the canon."Though not much of a theatre-goer myself, still--"

  "A widow at the theatre!" said Lady Belstone. "Even in the admiral'slifetime I did not go. Being a sailor, and _not_ a clergyman," sheadded sternly, "he frequented such places of amusement. But he saidhe could not have enjoyed a ballet properly with me looking on. Hisfeelings were singularly delicate." "I am afraid people must betalking about dear Mary a good deal, canon," said Miss Crewys,whisking a ball of wool from the floor to her knee with muchdexterity.

  Her keen eyes gleamed at her visitor through her spectacles, thoughher fingers never stopped for a moment.

  "I hope not. I've heard nothing."

  "My experience of men," said Lady Belstone, "is that they never _do_hear anything. But a widow cannot be too cautious in her behaviour.All eyes are fixed, I know not why, upon a widow," she added modestly.

  "We do our best to guard dear Mary's reputation," said Miss Crewys.

  The impetuous canon sprang to his feet with a half-utteredexclamation; then recollecting the age and temperament of the speaker,he checked himself and tried to laugh.

  "I do not know," he said, "who has said, or ever could say, one singleword against that--against our dear and sweet Lady Mary. But if there_is_ any one, I can only say that such word had better not be utteredin my presence, that's all."

  "Dear me, Canon Birch, you excite yourself very unnecessarily," saidLady Belstone, with assumed surprise. "You are just confirming oursuspicions."

  "What suspicions?" almost shouted the canon,

  "That our dear Lady Mary's extraordinary partiality for our cousinJohn has _not_ escaped the observation of a censorious world."

  "Though we have done our best never to leave him alone with her for asingle moment," interpolated Miss Crewys.

  The canon turned rather pale. "There can be no question of censure,"he said. "Lady Mary is a very charming and beautiful woman. Who coulddare to blame her if she contemplated such a step as--as a secondmarriage?"

  "A second marriage! We said nothing of a second marriag
e," said LadyBelstone, sharply. "You go a great deal too fast, canon. Luckily, ourpoor Mary is debarred from any such act of folly. I have no patiencewith widows who re-marry."

  "Debarred from a second marriage!"

  "Is it possible you don't know?"

  The sisters exchanged meaning glances.

  He looked from one to the other in bewilderment.

  "If our sister-in-law remarries," said Miss Crewys, "she forfeits thewhole of her jointure."

  "Is that all?" he cried.

  "Is that all!" echoed Miss Crewys, much offended. "It is no less thantwo thousand a year. In my opinion, far too heavy a charge on poorPeter's estate."

  "No man with any self-respect," said Lady Belstone, "would desire tomarry a widow without a jointure. I should have formed a low opinion,indeed, of any gentleman who asked _me_ to marry him without firstmaking sure that the admiral had provided for me as he ought, and ashe _has_."

  The canon, though mentally echoing the sentiment with much warmth,thought it wiser to change the topic of conversation. Experiencehad taught him to discredit most of the assumptions of Lady Mary'ssisters-in-law, where she was concerned, and he rose in hope ofeffecting his escape without further ado.

  "I believe I am to meet Mr. Crewys at luncheon," he said, "and withyour permission I will stroll out into the grounds, and look him up.He told me where he was to be found."

  "He is to be found all over the place. He seizes every opportunityof coming down here. I cannot believe in his making so much money inLondon, when he manages to get away so often. As for Mary, you knowher way of inviting people to lunch, and then going out for a walk,or up to her room, as likely as not. But I suppose she will be downdirectly, if you like to wait here," said Lady Belstone, who hadplenty more to say.

  "I should be glad of a turn before luncheon," said the canon, who hadno mind to hear it. "And there is an hour and a half yet. You lunch attwo? I came straight from the school-house, as Lady Mary suggested. Iwanted to have a look at the improvements."

  "Sarah Hewel is coming to lunch," said Miss Crewys. "I cannot say weapprove of her, since she has been out so much in London, and becomesuch a notorious young person."

  "It's very odd to me," said the canon, benevolently, "little Sarahgrowing up into a fashionable beauty. I often see her name in thepapers."

  "She is exactly the kind of person to attract our cousin John, who isquite foolish about her red hair. In my young days, red hair was justa misfortune like any other," said Miss Crewys. "Dr. Blundell islunching here also, I need hardly say. Since my dear brother's deathwe keep open house."

  "It used not to be the fashion to encourage country doctors to be tamecats," said Lady Belstone, viciously; "but he pretends to like theinnovations, and gets round young John; and inquires after Peter, andpleases Mary."

  "Ay, ay; it will be a great moment for her when the boy comes back. Agreat moment for you all," said the canon, absently.

  He stood with his back to the tall leather screen which guarded theentrance to the hall, and did not hear the gentle opening of the greatdoor.

  "I trust," said Miss Crewys, "that we are not a family prone todisplay weak emotion even on the most trying occasions."

  "To be sure not," said the canon, disconcerted; "still, I cannot thinkof it myself without a little--a great deal--of thankfulness for hispreservation through this terrible war, now so happily ended. And tothink the boy should have earned so much distinction for himself, andbehaved so gallantly. God bless the lad! You are well aware," said thecanon, blowing his nose, "that I have always been fond of Peter."

  "Thank you, canon," said Peter.

  For a moment no one was sure that it was Peter, who had come soquietly round the great screen and into the hall, though he stoodsomewhat in the shadow still.

  A young man, looking older than his age, and several inches tallerthan Peter had been when he went away; a young man deeply tanned, andvery wiry and thin in figure; with a brown, narrow face, a dark streakof moustache, a long nose, and a pair of grey eyes rendered unfamiliarby an eyeglass, which was an ornament Peter had not worn before hisdeparture.

  The old ladies sat motionless, trembling with the shock; but the canonseized the hand which Peter held out, and, scarcely noticing that itwas his left hand, shook it almost madly in both his own.

  "Peter! good heavens, Peter!" he cried, and the tears ran unheededdown his plump, rosy cheeks. "Peter, my boy, God bless you! Welcomehome a thousand thousand times!"

  "Peter!" gasped Lady Belstone. "Is it possible?"

  "Why, he's grown into a man," said Miss Crewys, showing symptoms of aninclination to become hysterical.

  Peter was aghast at the commotion, and came hurriedly forward tosoothe his agitated relatives.

  "Is this your boasted self-command, Georgina?" said Lady Belstone,weeping.

  "We cannot always be consistent, Isabella. It was the unexpected joy,"sobbed Miss Crewys.

  "Peter! your _arm_!" screamed Lady Belstone and she fell back almostfainting upon the sofa.

  Peter stood full in the light now, and they saw that he had lost hisright arm. The empty sleeve was pinned to his breast.

  His aunt tottered towards him. "My poor boy!" she sobbed.

  "Oh, that's all right," said Peter, in rather annoyed tones. "I canuse my left hand perfectly well. I hardly notice it now."

  Something in the tone of this speech caused his aunts to exclaimsimultaneously--

  "Dear boy, he has not changed one bit!"

  "You never told us, Peter," said the canon, huskily.

  "I didn't want a fuss," Peter said, very simply, "so I just got thenewspaper chap to cork it down about my being shot in the arm, withoutany details. It had to be amputated first thing, as a matter of fact."

  "It has given your aunt Georgina and me a terrible shock," said LadyBelstone, faintly.

  "You can't expect a fellow who has been invalided home to turn upwithout a single scratch," said Peter, in rather surly tones.

  "How like his father!" said Miss Crewys.

  "Besides, you know very well my mother would have tormented herself todeath if I had told her," said Peter. "I want her to see with her owneyes how perfectly all right I am before she knows anything about it."

  "It was a noble thought," said the canon.

  "Where is she?" demanded Peter.

  He seemed about to cross the hall to the staircase but the canondetained him.

  "Oughtn't some one to prepare her?"

  "Oh, joy never kills," said Peter. "She's quite well, isn't she?"

  "Quite well."

  "Very well _indeed_" said Miss Crewys, with emphasis that seemed toimply Lady Mary was better than she had any need to be.

  "I have never," said the canon, with a nervous side-glance at Peter,"seen her look so well, nor so--so lovely, nor so--so brilliant. Onlyyour return was needed to complete--her happiness."

  Peter looked at the canon through his newly acquired eyeglass withsome slight surprise.

  "Well," he said, "I wouldn't telegraph. I wanted to slip home quietly,that's the fact; or I knew the place would be turned upside down toreceive me."

  "The people are preparing a royal welcome for you," said the canon,warmly. "Banners, music, processions, addresses, and I don't knowwhat."

  "That's awful rot!" said Peter. "Tell them I hate banners and musicand addresses, and everything of the kind."

  "No, no, my dear boy," said the canon, in rather distressed tones."Don't say that, Peter, pray. You must think of _their_ feelings, youknow. There's hardly one of them who hasn't sent somebody to the war;son or brother or sweetheart. And all that's left for--for those whostay behind--not always the least hard thing to do for a patriot,Peter--is to honour, as far as they can, each one who returns. Theywork off some of their accumulated feelings that way, you know; and intheir rejoicings they do not forget those who, alas! will never returnany more."

  There was a pause; and Peter remained silent, embarrassed by thecanon's emotion, and not knowing very well
how to reply.

  "There, there," said the canon, saving him the trouble; "we candiscuss it later. You are thinking of your mother now."

  As he spoke, they all heard Lady Mary's voice in the corridor above.She was humming a song, and as she neared the open staircase the wordsof her song came very distinctly to their ears--

  _Entends tu ma pensee qui le respond tout bas_? _Ton doux chant me rappelle les plus beaux de mes jours_.

  "My mother's voice," said Peter, in bewildered accents; and he droppedhis eyeglass.

  The canon showed a presence of mind that seldom distinguished him.

  He hurried away the old ladies, protesting, into the drawing-room, andclosed the door behind him.

  Peter scarcely noticed their absence.

  _Ah! le rire fidele prouve un coeur sans detours, Ah! riez, riez--ma belle--riez, riez toujours_,

  sang Lady Mary.

  "I never heard my mother sing before," said Peter.