‘Are you feeling all right, my own?’
‘Yes, quite now, thank you, darling. Will the poor angel have red hair and a fiery nature as the result of it?’
When they got back to the others they found that quite a little crowd was collected on the lawn, constantly augmented by people from neighbouring villages, who straggled by twos and threes up the drive.
Those members of the house party who were not clothed were beginning to feel rather self-conscious. The sightseers all followed the same procedure. They stood for some time gazing at the fire, saying: ‘Hoots!’ – ‘Wisha!’ – ‘Mon it’s gran’!’ and other unintelligible phrases of the kind, after which they had a good look at the survivors, coming up quite close and breathing heavily. They then inspected the lares and penates on the lawn, piece by piece, admiring or criticizing. Having taken their time and seen everything of interest, they sat about the place in little scattered groups and ate.
‘Oh! I’m so hungry,’ said Sally, breaking a long silence.
The others agreed miserably. Although it was in fact only seven o’clock they all felt as though it must at least be luncheon time. It never occurred to any of them to wonder what the next step would be, but they felt instinctively that they must now see the thing through and wait there until the last beam had fallen.
Sally asked the butler, who was busy counting silver, whether any food had been saved, but he replied that both kitchen and larder had been in flames by the time that he had discovered the fire. Lord Craigdalloch’s factor came and spoke to Sally. He was in his shirt-sleeves, having been hard at work nearly from the beginning.
‘Good morning, Mrs Monteath. This is a very sad business, is it not? His lordship will be most terribly upset, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh! it’s too dreadful. Of course, one can hardly realize yet what it means, one is only so thankful that nobody was hurt. Is the house properly insured?’
‘It is insured, but I doubt whether the policy will anything like cover the loss. And then, you see, for sentimental reasons it is such a terrible tragedy. We hoped at first to be able to save Lady Muscatel’s tower, but we were too late. I think, if I may say so, that you all did wonders in rescuing so much furniture. I have sent to the home farm for wagons, it must be put in safety as soon as may be. I don’t like the looks of all these people: I’m sure they would think nothing of removing a few souvenirs here and there.’
Soon after half-past eight the house was a blackened ruin and the fire practically over. Walter and Mr Buggins were just discussing what they should do next, when a large old-fashioned Daimler drove up, and a middle-aged man in a very long kilt got out of it. Mr Buggins greeted him warmly and introduced him as Sir Ronald McFea.
‘Should McFea show the knee?’ whispered Albert to Jane. ‘You see, he doesn’t show it at all. Isn’t it too fascinating?’
‘This is a fearful thing,’ said Sir Ronald. ‘A fearful thing. My gillie came in just now and said Dalloch Castle had been burnt to the ground, he said. I couldn’t believe it – couldn’t believe it. Well, there it is. Poor old Craig. It will be a most terrible blow for him when he hears it; shouldn’t wonder if it kills him – shouldn’t wonder at all. He worshipped the place, every stick and stone of it. Poor old boy.
‘Now, my wife says you must all come over to Castle Fea and have some breakfast. She says you must be simply starving so she’s getting it ready.
‘Dear, dear! it must have been a near thing, too, for hardly any of you to have saved your clothes even – and the general in fancy dress. Never mind, we shall be able to fix you up all right, I don’t wonder. Hadn’t you better come along now?’
Brightening somewhat at the prospect of breakfast, they accepted Sir Ronald’s invitation with joy. Even the admiral stopped trying to put on Prince Charlie’s boot, and staggered with the rest of them towards the Daimler, which seemed by some miracle to hold them all. Sally arranged with the factor and Haddock that the servants should be boarded out in neighbouring cottages for the present, and said that she would come back later and make plans for them.
Castle Fea, though a sufficiently welcome asylum to the dazed and hungry survivors of the fire, proved to be a perfect temple of gloom. It in no way resembled a castle, being a large square house with Gothic chimneys and a Greek portico, situated in the midst of a perfect tangle of fir trees, laurels and other evergreens which grew nearly up to its windows. Mr Buggins pointed out the ruins of the ancient fortress upon an adjacent mound.
‘I should think the McFea who built this house must have shown his knee quite often,’ murmured Albert as they got out of the car.
The inside of the house was, if anything, more oppressive than the outside. It was a mass of badly-stuffed animals, stained glass and imitation French and old oak furniture. The pictures were of a terrifying realism.
However, the breakfast to which the party now settled down in a grateful silence was more than excellent, and Lady McFea, an ugly, dowdy, but thoroughly nice woman, tactfully refrained from asking questions about the fire until all the poached eggs and scones had been consumed. It was indeed a heavenly meal and, when it was over, the Dalloch Castle refugees felt more able to cope with their immediate future.
Sir Ronald and Lady McFea begged that any who would care to do so should stay on at Castle Fea for a few days. Walter and Sally, after a short consultation with Mr Buggins, decided to accept this kind offer, feeling that it was more or less their duty to remain on the spot until they should hear from the Craigdallochs.
All the others, however, decided to leave by the four-thirty train for London that afternoon, and sleepers were ordered for them by telephone. These arrangements having been made, the McFeas took those who had lost their clothes upstairs, and fitted them out as best they could.
Albert and Jane found themselves alone in the drawing-room and kissed each other quite a lot. Presently Jane said in a gloomy voice:
‘I suppose I shall have to go home now; what shall you do, darling?’
‘Well, Mr Buggins most angelically says I can stay with him in London for as long as I like, so I think I shall do that. But hadn’t I better go and see your parents fairly soon? After all, I shall have to meet them sometime, shan’t I? And then we can be properly engaged if they approve of me. How far is it by train to Stow-on-the-Wold?’
‘Oh, the beastly hole! don’t mention it to me or I shall burst into tears. About two and a half hours, I suppose. And you needn’t think they’ll approve of you, darling, because they’re quite certain to kick you straight out of the house.’
‘Anyhow, I can but try; if I’m kicked out we’ll elope. It’s perfectly simple. Then I think you’d better go straight home tomorrow and more or less prepare them, and I’ll come down for lunch on Thursday. If they like me I’ll stay the night, and if not we’ll both go back to London together. Good plan?’
‘Yes, very good, I think. Sweetest!’
The rest of that day was spent in wandering about rather gloomily in the grounds of Castle Fea, and they were all quite pleased when the time came for them to say good-bye to kind Sir Ronald and his wife. The Monteaths, terribly depressed at the prospect of many more such days, waved to them from under the Gothic portico until the car was out of sight.
Jane, Albert and Mr Buggins dined together in the train that evening. At the opposite table Lord and Lady Prague, Admiral Wenceslaus and General Murgatroyd made a congenial foursome.
Albert was tired and in a very bad temper. Jane, who had never seen him like that before, felt miserable and rather resentful, but Mr Buggins was in excellent spirits, and when they confirmed his suspicion that they were engaged he ordered a bottle of champagne to celebrate the occasion. Albert insisted on reading a book between the courses which were very slow in coming.
‘Albert, darling, please don’t read. After all, I shan’t be seeing you after tomorrow, I do think you might talk to me; besides, it’s so rude.’
/> Albert took no notice but went on with his book, a very boring history of the Angevin kings. Mr Buggins, seeing that he was really not himself, tactfully tried to draw Jane into conversation, but she could not leave Albert alone.
‘Albert, do stop reading. Mr Buggins, isn’t it rude and disgusting of him?’
Mr Buggins felt like shaking them both, but went on quite calmly with his dinner.
‘Albert, really I do think even if you must read between the courses, honestly you needn’t read while you’re eating. Oh, well, of course, if you prefer those beastly old Angevin kings to conversation that’s one thing …’
At last she quite lost her temper, and snatching the book from him she threw it out of the window. Albert behaved extremely well about this, but none the less he was furious with Jane, who, in her turn, was completely miserable. They each felt that they had been stupid and childish, but rather less so than the other, and were both longing secretly to make it up.
‘Isn’t it a pity,’ said Mr Buggins, ‘for two people with as much sense of humour as you have to behave like this?’
‘Well, I may have a sense of humour, I hope I have,’ said Albert, ‘but I see nothing funny in throwing an expensive book away like that; and, as we’ve paid the bill, we might as well go to our sleepers.’
‘Here’s my share for dinner,’ said Jane, offering it to Albert, who had paid for the two of them.
‘I don’t want it.’
Mr Buggins got up and left them alone at their table.
‘Don’t be so silly, Jane.’
‘Well, I’m not going to be your kept woman, thank you.’
‘Oh! really! I thought that was just what you did want to be.’
‘Certainly not; I happened to be in love with you and offered to be your mistress. That’s quite different.’
‘Exactly the same.’
‘Quite different. Of course, I should have earned my own living.’
‘Oh! I see. May I ask how?’
‘Well, I’m not sure.’
‘Nor am I; not at all sure.’
‘I suppose I could be a model.’
Albert had a sudden vision of the fastidious Jane posing to a lot of half-washed French art students and burst out laughing.
‘Darling, how absurd you are.’
‘Well, it was horrid of you to be so cross and horrid of you to read, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, beastly. And horrid of you to throw my book out of the window, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, quite.’
‘Yes, very.’
‘Yes, very, then. Look, we’re the last people left, we’d better go.’
‘Well, give me a kiss.’
‘Not in front of that waiter.’
‘He’s not looking.’
‘He’s coming to turn us out. We really must go.’
As Jane rolled into her sleeper she just stayed awake for long enough to think luxuriously of the contrast between her journey to Scotland three weeks ago and her present one.
‘I know now for certain,’ she thought, ‘that I’ve never been really happy before.’
17
To Jane’s amazement, real or pretended, her parents remained perfectly calm when she told them that she was engaged. The fact was that it had long been their greatest wish to see her married, and almost any respectable young man of reasonable fortune would have been received by them with open arms. When, the following day, Albert made his appearance, they took an immediate liking to him.
He, on his side, was very agreeably surprised. Even allowing for a good deal of exaggeration, Jane’s account of her father and mother had been far from encouraging, and all the way down in the train he had been bracing himself up to meet a pair of cruel old lunatics who would probably attempt to murder him at sight. Instead of this he was greeted by two charming and good-looking people who were not, as far as he could judge, particularly put off by his appearance.
Jane took him for a little walk in the garden before lunch. ‘I told them all about it,’ she said, ‘and they weren’t nearly so horrified as I thought they would be, but I dare say they think it’s a cleverer plan to pretend not to mind at first. Apparently mamma used to know your mother quite well when they were girls. She says she was a great beauty.’
‘Yes, she was very beautiful.’
‘But they don’t know yet that you’re an artist. I expect that will upset them, all right.’
‘Really, darling! To hear you talk one would think you wanted them to be upset. I believe you’ve got a totally wrong idea of your parents, you know. I’ve only had a glimpse of them so far, it’s true, but they seem very nice and kind – quite different from what you led me to expect.’
‘Oh, well, I suppose now you’re going to take their side,’ said Jane pettishly. ‘Anyway, there’s the bell for lunch, so come along. Perhaps you’ll see my point when you know them better.’
During luncheon Albert realized that, as he had always been inclined to suspect, Jane’s pretended hatred of her parents was the purest affectation. She was evidently very fond of them as they were of her. He thought it a curious anomaly that a person with such a straight-forward nature as Jane seemed to him to possess should be capable of deceiving herself to this extent upon any subject, but consoled himself by thinking that marriage would bring home the real truth to her.
The Dacres did not in any way show that they knew of Jane’s engagement, but behaved to Albert quite as they would have to any other visitor. They were anxious to hear every little detail of the Dalloch house party and laughed heartily at Albert’s description of Lady Prague.
Encouraged by this he broached the subject of General Murgatroyd, delicately, as he imagined from what Jane had said that no officer in the British Army would be considered a fit subject for jest. Great, therefore, was his amazement when Sir Hubert Dacre cried out:
‘Not really! Was Mildew Murgatroyd there? Jane, you never told me that! Well, I’m sure you got plenty of fun out of him, didn’t you?’
‘What did you call him, sir?’ asked Albert, hardly able to believe his ears.
‘Mildew Murgatroyd. They called him that in the South African War because he was so untidy and slovenly. People used to say that even his revolver was coated with mildew. Why, he’s a perfect joke in the army, you know. During the last War they wouldn’t have him in France at all. He was given some job in connexion with the Inland Water Transport, I believe.’
‘Oh good!’ said Albert; ‘only I wish I’d known it before. I pictured him leading his men like anything, from the way he talked. He told us a most blood-curdling story about how he and twenty privates held a kopje in South Africa, alone and unaided for a fortnight.’
‘Yes, and did he tell you that when the relieving force came up in answer to his urgent messages they found there wasn’t a Boer for thirty miles, hadn’t been the whole time, you know, except in his own imagination.’
‘Oh, why didn’t we know all this before!’ sighed Albert.
‘I hear Buggins was up there,’ went on Sir Hubert. ‘Such a very nice, cultivated man, and a great authority on Scottish history.’
There was a silence. Albert began to feel very much embarrassed; the end of the meal approached rapidly and he dreaded the moment when he would be left alone with Jane’s father. He looked helplessly round the room for something to talk about, and presently said:
‘What a lovely Richmond that is, Sir Hubert!’
‘Yes, quite a pleasant picture in its way, I think. Those two children are boys, though with their long hair and frilly skirts one would rather suppose them to be girls. The one on the left is my father.’
‘I see that it is painted in his earlier manner. I am inclined myself to prefer his middle period. Did Jane tell you that I was fortunate enough to be able to save two very beautiful pictures from the fire at Dalloch? Winterhalters. Is he a favourite of yours?’
‘How funny,’ said Lady Dacre, ‘that it should be the fashion to admire these Victorian artists again after so many years.’
Albert, who rather particularly prided himself on being quite uninfluenced by such things as fashions, looked down his nose at this remark.
Lady Dacre now rose to her feet and Albert, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, was left alone with his future father-in-law.
He thought, ‘Better get it over quickly,’ and was beginning a beautiful and well-constructed sentence which he had made up in the train, when Sir Hubert interrupted him with:
‘Have some more port?’
‘Thank you, sir. The thing is,’ Albert said hurriedly, forgetting all the rolling periods which he had been about to pour forth, ‘Jane and I think … that is, we know … that we would like to get married.’
‘Be married,’ said Sir Hubert severely. ‘I very much dislike the expression “to get married”.’
‘So do I,’ replied Albert earnestly.
‘Then why use it? Well, so you and Jane wish to be married, do you? And isn’t this a little sudden?’
‘Sudden, sir?’
‘How long have you known each other?’
‘Oh, for a very long time – quite six weeks altogether, and we’ve been engaged for nearly a fortnight.’
‘Yes, I see – a perfect lifetime! And have you the means to support her?’
‘I have a thousand a year, beside what I can make.’
‘And what is your profession?’
Albert felt his nerve vanishing.
‘If I say “artist” he will kick me out of the house. I can’t face it. I shall have to tell a lie.’
‘I am in business, sir.’
‘What business?’
‘In the city.’
‘Yes; but what is your business in the city?’
‘Oh, I see! Yes, I’m a pawnbroker – did I say pawnbroker? I mean, stockbroker, of course.’
Sir Hubert looked deeply disgusted.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said, ‘although in these days people must take what work they can get. I have always felt myself – no doubt wrongly – that stockbroking is a very unproductive sort of profession. If I had a son I should have wished him to choose almost any other, and I always imagined that Jane would end by marrying a man of talent, say, a writer or an artist. However, that’s neither here nor there, and I don’t see that there can be much objection to your engagement. Jane is of an age to know her own mind. Personally, I should advise you to wait for a few weeks before announcing it. Let’s go to the drawing-room, if you’ve quite finished your port.’