Celia's House (7 page)

“What fish?”

“The fish that Daddy and I are going to catch—is that where it lives?”

“I shouldn't wonder,” said Johnson.

• • •

Mark was in bed. (He was very tired after his first day at Dunnian. There had been so much to do and see.) He had said his prayers and Nannie was just going to turn out the lamp when Daddy looked in.

“Here's Daddy!” Nannie exclaimed. “Now you'll be a happy boy!”

Mark was quite happy already, but he was delighted to see Daddy. He put his arms around Daddy's neck and kissed him.

“Had a good day?” asked Daddy.

Mark nodded. Of course he had: this was Dunnian.

“You've made a lot of new friends,” said Daddy.

Mark nodded again. “Who is the lady?” he asked.

“What lady? Do you mean Cousin Henrietta?”

“No.”

“Becky then?”

“No,” Mark said, shaking his head vigorously.

“Who do you mean?”

“She's nice,” said Mark. “She's old, but she's very nice.”

“Did she speak to you?”

“No,” said Mark.

“I don't know who it could be,” Daddy said, wrinkling his forehead.

“He's been talking about her all the time he was having his supper,” Nannie declared. “He said he met her on the stairs—”

“A lady,” Mark repeated, nodding.

“What was she like?”

Mark could not answer this. He knew what she was like, of course, but he did not know how to describe her.

“Did she know you?” Daddy asked.

“Yes,” said Mark. “Yes, of
course.
She knew I was Mark. She was pleased to see me.”

“But she didn't speak to you?”

“No.”

“She's a mystery,” Daddy said, laughing.

“Is that her name?”

“What?”

“Miss Terry,” said Mark.

“I think it must be,” Daddy said.

The parish church in Ryddelton was always very well attended, but for a long time the Dunnian pew had stood empty save for the slim figure of Becky in her neat black coat and hat. On the Sunday morning following the arrival of the Humphrey Dunnes, Becky was early on the scene and instead of sitting in her usual place she moved up the pew to the far end, leaving vacant a large expanse of red-cushioned seat. This unusual circumstance was noticed by a good many people with a good deal of interest.

After a bit there was a rustle of silk and Mrs. Humphrey Dunne swept up the aisle. She was followed by a little lady in black and, behind the little lady, came a tall man with a clean-shaven face and a very small boy in a sailor suit.

A small stir, like wind in a field of corn, passed through the church. Heads were turned and necks were craned eagerly. Some of the Ryddelton people knew the Maurice Dunnes and thought they had been badly treated; others held the opinion that Miss Dunne was entitled to do as she pleased with her own property, but one and all were anxious to see the newcomers, for, in a small community such as Ryddelton, it mattered a good deal what sort of people one had as neighbors. The Dunnes appeared unconscious of the interest they had aroused. They filed into the Dunnian pew and sat down.

On the other side of the aisle was the Raeworths' pew. Mr. Raeworth was tall and gray-haired; Mrs. Raeworth was small and plump. They sat one at each end of the seat and between them sat two of their children, Andrew and Angela. Andrew had heard about the “Dunne boy” and was so anxious to see what he looked like that he stood on a hassock and leaned right over the book rest. He was pulled back to his proper place by his mother. Mrs. Raeworth had not turned her head, but somehow or other she had accomplished the seemingly impossible and had caught a glimpse of “the new Mrs. Dunne.” Gray silk and black furs and a large black hat—all very nice and proper.

I
shall
call
, thought Mrs. Raeworth as she rose for the first psalm.
I
shall
call
at
once. Dear old Miss Dunne would like me to call. It will be nice to have neighbors with children
.

Lady Skene was even less conveniently placed for seeing her new neighbors, for the Skenes always sat in the front pew. She heard the stir and was aware what had occasioned it, but she would have to wait until after the service to make up her mind about the newcomers. (Lady Skene's daughter-in-law was a friend of Nina Dunne and had written to Lady Skene saying that the Humphreys were quite impossible, but Lady Skene was not prepared to accept this statement as gospel truth. She would judge for herself.) Unfortunately she was delayed after the service and reached the church door just as the Dunnian carriage was driving away. She stood there, peering after it with her shortsighted eyes. It was nothing but a blur.

“
Quite
nice,” Eveleyn Raeworth's voice said at her elbow. “Gray silk and black furs—just right, don't you think?”

“You mean black might have been just a little—”

“Yes, I think so,” Mrs. Raeworth said, nodding.

“I shall call, anyway,” said Lady Skene. “I mean, there are so few people now, and Celia would have liked me to call.”

“I'm sure you're right.”

The Skene carriage had driven up to the door, but Lady Skene hesitated. She said in a low voice, “Did Celia ever give you a hint—”

“Never,” replied Mrs. Raeworth.

They looked at each other and smiled. “Just like her,” Lady Skene said with a deep chuckle.

• • •

The county called in state. Broughams with sleek horses drove up to the door of Dunnian House and deposited ladies in furs with card cases clasped in their hands on the Dunnian doorstep, and Alice received them with smiles and polite conversation and regaled them with tea and cakes. It was a new experience for Alice and at first she was somewhat alarmed, but she soon discovered that there was nothing to be afraid of—everyone was very friendly. Humphrey had gone by this time—he had rejoined his ship—and Cousin Henrietta had returned to Bournemouth so Alice was alone in her drawing room.

“My dear,” Lady Skene said as she settled herself in the most comfortable chair she could see. “My dear, you must take your proper place in the county. A few little dinners perhaps—”

“Not until Humphrey comes back!” Alice cried in dismay.

“No, perhaps not, but we must see what we can do. Dear old Celia was one of my best friends. She was a personality—one of the old guard. She will be greatly missed.”

“Oh, I know,” agreed Alice. “I'm afraid I could never—”

“You'll find everyone quite ready to be friendly—too ready perhaps. You must pick and choose, Mrs. Dunne. Some
very
queer people have come into the neighborhood. They'll probably call. You must return the call, of course, but be sure to go on a fine afternoon when they will be out, and then make an end.”

“Yes,” Alice said meekly.

“I shall look after you, of course,” declared Lady Skene. “I shall give a little luncheon to introduce you to the county—just a few of the right people.”

“It's very kind of you, Lady Skene.”

“Not at all. We're very glad you've come,” Lady Skene said with a royal air. “We did not care for Nina. In any case they would have spent at least half their time in town. It's much more satisfactory to have settled neighbors. Personally I think Celia has been well advised to leave the place to Humphrey and I shall say so to all my friends.”

“I'm glad,” said Alice, smiling happily. “I was afraid, perhaps—”

“Dear me, no,” interrupted Lady Skene. “Everyone knows that Celia always did exactly as she pleased. Nobody on earth could have wheedled Celia into doing anything she didn't want to do. Of course the Maurices are furious.”

“Yes, I'm afraid so.”

“I had a letter from my daughter-in-law—my son is stationed in Edinburgh at the moment—and she tells me Nina is positively ill with rage. I must say I should have liked to see her face when she heard that all her trouble had been wasted.”

“I don't think you would have liked it,” Alice said with more spirit than she had shown.

“Oh, it was as bad as that, was it!” exclaimed Lady Skene with her characteristic chuckle.

Fortunately the tea equipage appeared at that moment and the conversation turned into safer channels. Lady Skene was expecting her grandchildren to stay. Oliver was older than Mark, and Tessa was almost exactly the same age as Edith.

“I shall give a children's party,” Lady Skene declared. She was extremely well pleased with Alice. Alice was a neighbor after her own heart. Alice was pretty and nicely dressed and would do exactly as she was told.

Mrs. Raeworth was the next caller at Dunnian House. She and Alice walked around the garden together admiring Johnson's dahlias, which were particularly fine that year.

“You're lucky to have Johnson,” Mrs. Raeworth said. “He's the best gardener in the neighborhood. He knows his job from A to Z.”

“Yes, it's lucky,” Alice agreed. “I know nothing about gardens. We've never had a garden before.”

“You'll soon learn,” Mrs. Raeworth said comfortingly.

Alice was not so sure. She had conducted Mrs. Allworthy around the garden and had discovered that every plant had a long and almost unpronounceable Latin name. It was somewhat humiliating to be browbeaten by a stranger in one's own garden—so Alice found—and she had done her best to be upsides with Mrs. Allworthy. She had pointed out the snapdragons—there was a huge bed of them near the toolshed—and had commented on their lovely colors. “Ah, yes, antirrhinum,” Mrs. Allworthy had said. After this setback Alice had given up trying and had tagged along after her erudite visitor saying “yes” and “no” and letting the stream of Latin names flow in at one ear and out of the other. Mrs. Raeworth was quite different, of course. She did not air her knowledge, but she gave Alice one or two useful hints.

“Make Johnson put the things in clumps,” said Mrs. Raeworth, pointing to the herbaceous border. “Gardeners always like to put plants in rows, but they don't look nearly so effective.”

“Yes, I will,” Alice said, nodding.

It did not take long for Mrs. Raeworth to make up her mind that Mrs. Dunne was a very desirable neighbor. She was pleasant and friendly and there was no nonsense about her—how different from Nina!

“You must come over to tea and bring the children,” Mrs. Raeworth said cordially. “The children must be friends.”

“It will be lovely for them,” Alice agreed.

This was the beginning of a firm friendship between the two families. Hastley Dean was only two miles from Dunnian by the path across the moor and, as Eveleyn Raeworth was a good walker and enjoyed exercising her dogs, it became a recognized custom for her to walk in the Dunnian direction and drop in for a chat. Alice was not so fond of walking, but she could have the carriage when she liked and she often visited Hastley Dean.

The first visit to Hastley Dean was a great success. Alice took Mark and Edith to tea, dressed in their best and suitably warned to be on their best behavior. The Raeworth children were friendly and cheerful and eager to make their guests feel at home. They chattered happily while their mothers gossiped and grew to like each other better. By this time Alice had discovered that her new friend was fond of painting and spent a good deal of her time pursuing the art.

“Do you paint landscapes?” Alice inquired.

“Sometimes,” Eveleyn Raeworth said, smiling. “But I like portraits best. I should like to show you a portrait I did last year. I'm rather proud of it, to tell you the truth.”

The portrait was produced without further comment and Alice looked at it with interest and admiration. It was the portrait of an old lady in a gray silk dress. She was sitting in a high-backed chair, leaning forward a little as if she were just going to speak. Her eyes were brown and bright and her face was full of animation.

“Oh, Mrs. Raeworth!” Alice exclaimed impetuously. “I had no idea you were a real artist!”

Eveleyn Raeworth laughed, for the naive compliment pleased her. She was aware that none of her friends and neighbors gave her the credit she deserved.

“It's lovely,” continued Alice. “It's perfectly beautiful. What an expressive face she has!”

“It's Miss Terry!” Mark cried in surprise. “That's who it is. It's Miss Terry.”

“I'm afraid you're wrong, Mark,” replied Eveleyn Raeworth, smiling down at the eager little face. “That's a picture of old Miss Dunne—your great-great-aunt Celia—”

“Daddy said her name was Miss Terry,” said Mark, nodding his head emphatically. “Daddy said—”

“Hush, Mark,” said Alice gently.

“She was a wonderful subject,” said Mrs. Raeworth, looking at the portrait affectionately. “I loved doing her. You never saw her, did you?”

“No, I wish I had,” Alice replied.

The friendship with the Raeworths solved the problem of Mark's education, a problem that had begun to cause his parents some anxiety. The Raeworth children had a governess and she was willing to take Mark into the schoolroom and teach him with the others. It was arranged that he should be driven over to Hastley Dean every morning in the pony cart and brought back to Dunnian in time for his midday meal.

The days passed; the family shook itself out, settled down, and formed new habits. Alice began to feel she had lived here all her life. It had been a bit difficult at first, but Becky was a great help to her and guided her past a good many pitfalls with unfailing tact and sense. There was no talk of Becky leaving Dunnian now, for Alice needed her and all that Becky asked of life was to be needed and liked. Becky knew everybody and could tell Alice all sorts of interesting and amusing details about the people in the neighborhood.

“That's Mrs. Browne-Pilkington,” she said, when Alice described a woman she had met at a luncheon party. “Yes, that's who it is. Sticking out teeth and bright red hair?”

“Yes,” said Alice, nodding.

“
She
won't be much use to you,” Becky declared scornfully. “All gush—that's what Miss Dunne used to say about her. She takes up with anybody new and then drops them like a hot potato. Don't you bother with
her
.”

“No,” Alice said meekly. “I didn't think she was quite my sort of person, Becky.”

“I could tell you one or two things about Mrs. Browne-Pilkington,” Becky declared with a chuckle, and after very little persuasion Becky did.

“Now, the Miss Farquhars,” said Becky. “They're quite different. You'd like the Miss Farquhars. They won't be calling because they haven't got a carriage. Miss Dunne used to go over and see them and take them a few flowers.”

“Do you think I should go?”

“Why not?” asked Becky. “They're right out in the country, over Timperton direction; they'd like to see you.”

Becky was a help in other ways as well. She knew exactly how a large house should be run; which duties belonged by right to the head housemaid and which should be assigned to her inferiors. “Don't you stand for any nonsense,” Becky advised. “If you give them an inch they'll take an ell—that's what Miss Dunne used to say. They'll respect you and like you all the better if you show them you know what's what.”

Alice did not know what was what, but she was learning rapidly.

“And don't let Mrs. Drummond come over you,” Becky continued earnestly. “That piece of cod last night—she'd no business to serve it up without a sauce. She'd never have dared to when Miss Dunne was here.”

“I don't mind very much about food when I'm all by myself.”

“That's neither here nor there. She's got to be kept up to the mark and you've got to do it.”