Listening Valley (13 page)

“But how could I!” cried Tonia, bursting into sudden peals of laughter that were just a shade hysterical, perhaps. “How could I—er, postcard you when I didn't know your name—not even that you existed? And why on earth should I bother you, Mrs. Smilie? I'm sure you must be Mrs. Smilie.”

“I knew about you,” returned Mrs. Smilie with a reluctant smile. “Miss Dalrymple talked about you, even on. It was Miss Tonia this and Miss Tonia that and pictures of you on the mantelshelf from six months old, naked on a cushion, and Miss Louise in a sailor suit with HMS
Victory
on the cap.”

“Oh dear!” cried Tonia, sitting on the edge of the bath and laughing helplessly. “Oh, dear, I can't stop.”

“You're starved, that's what—and there's little sense in us dandering here and the sausages cooling in the fat—or maybe burning to a cinder if Alec hasn't the gumption to take them off the fire. Come away now, Miss Tonia, you'll feel a different being when you've had a cup of tea.”

“Will you take mustard, Miss Tonia?” inquired Mr. Smilie politely.

“Do you take cream and sugar in your tea?” asked Mrs. Smilie, pausing with the round, fat cream jug in her hand.

Tonia replied that she did, but she was amazed when she saw real, thick cream pouring out of the jug.

“It's just a treat,” explained Mrs. Smilie apologetically. “I just popped in next door when you and Alec were opening up the house, and Mrs. Wilson gave me a wee pickle of cream off the milk that was left over. Mrs. Wilson was dumbfounded when she heard you'd arrived.”

“It'll be all over the town tomorrow,” said Mr. Smilie.

“What of it!” returned his wife tartly. “Miss Tonia's not wanting to hide from folk. If the news goes around with the milk it'll be over and done with and less trouble for everybody.”

“That's true,” said Mr. Smilie, meekly. He was not so garrulous now; he was even a trifle embarrassed and was wearing party manners and playing the host to the best of his ability. Now and again his eyes sought the eyes of his wife to see if he was behaving as he should. After a little while, however, he began to feel more comfortable and to emerge from his shell, and the slight air of constraint that had hovered over the little party was dissipated.

“She's looking better, Mother,” declared Mr. Smilie, rubbing his hands together. “She was awful peaky, I thought.”

“Peaky!” exclaimed Mrs. Smilie. “Maybe you'd be peaky if you'd traveled all day long and were kept hanging about a cold platform and nobody to meet you.”

“Mr. Smilie met me,” said Tonia, smiling at him.

“You've a nice color now, anyway,” declared Mr. Smilie. “Hasn't she, Mother? She's a nice color now.”

Tonia felt a good deal better. The Smilies' kitchen was warm and comfortable and as clean and bright as a new pin. The sausages and bacon and fried potatoes, the scones and butter, and the strong sweet tea were just the sort of meal Tonia needed to revive her after her long journey. Some people might have found the meal trying to the digestion or refused the tea in case it should keep them awake, but Tonia had no qualms whatever; she ate and drank everything that was offered to her.

“I like to see folks enjoying their food,” declared Mr. Smilie, handing his guest the honey and watching her demolish her third scone.

“Wheesht, Alec, Miss Tonia's eaten nothing at all,” said his wife hastily. “Maybe she's had nothing to eat all day. You know as well as I do there's no food on the trains.”

“I was just meaning—” began Alec, with a crestfallen air.

“Everything is so good,” declared Tonia, laughing. “I've eaten an enormous supper, the best supper I've ever had in all my life.”

They talked of other things after that. Mr. Smilie spoke of “the children” and produced photographs of his grown-up family for Tonia to admire.

“Here's Archie,” he said, holding out a picture of a very smart sergeant. “He's in the King's Own Scottish Borderers. He's a great one for the girls is Archie…and this is Tom. He's in the Air Force…and Mary's in the Wrens. We've got one in all the services, you see.”

“What a pretty girl,” said Tonia.

“She's not bad,” agreed her father, looking at the photograph with fond pride.

“Now, Alec, don't you go worrying Miss Tonia,” said Mrs. Smilie. “Do you think she wants to look at photos of folks she's never seen?”

“Oh, I like it,” declared Tonia. “But you know I'm not really Miss Tonia; I'm Mrs. Norman.”

“You're Mrs. Norman!”

Tonia nodded. She had been trying to find an opportunity of making this announcement, but an opportunity had not occurred so she had been obliged to make one for herself. Perhaps if she told the Smilies the whole story there would be no need to tell anyone else—already Tonia had realized that Ryddelton was a self-contained community, a cozy sort of place, and that everybody here was interested in everybody else's affairs, not having much contact with the outside world. Besides, the Smilies deserved to hear her story; they deserved the best she could give them, and it was no part of Tonia's intention to conceal her identity. She told them about her marriage and the trip to India and touched lightly upon her experiences in the London raids, and finally she told them about her work in the office and about Robert's death last winter and her decision to come to Ryddelton and make it her home. She could not have had a more sympathetic audience. They did not say much, but what they said was exactly right.

“You're young to have had all that trouble,” said Mr. Smilie at last.

“I thought you looked as if you'd been through a good deal,” added Mrs. Smilie.

“You'll need to feed up a bit.”

“And rest.” Mrs. Smilie nodded. “Ryddelton's a fine place to rest. You'll get no bombs here; that's one thing. If you don't mind I'll just go on calling you Miss Tonia. It's easier somehow. I'd not know where I was if I had to start saying Mrs. Norman.”

Tonia did not mind at all. It was rather pleasant, really, for it reminded her of Nannie and made her feel at home.

“And now,” declared Mrs. Smilie in a different tone of voice. “Now it's high time you were in bed. The sheets are warmed through, and I'll make it up while you're getting undressed.”

“I can do it myself,” objected Tonia. “Really, Mrs. Smilie, there's no need for you to bother. Just give me the sheets—”

Mrs. Smilie took no notice. She said, “I've aired the house once a week ever since Miss Dalrymple died, so there's no fears of it being damp for you to sleep in, Miss Tonia…and there's no need to thank me for
that
; I was paid for doing it by yon lawyer in Edinburgh and I liked doing it forby. It's not often you get paid for doing a thing you like doing,” she added with one of her rare smiles.

“And I've gotten paid for keeping an eye on the garden,” added Mr. Smilie, nodding. “I'd like fine to show you the garden when you've time, Miss Tonia.”

“You'll be sleeping in the back room,” continued Mrs. Smilie, collecting the linen from the pulleys and folding it with swift capable movements. “It's the best room. Old Miss Melville had it as her own because it was quiet and looked out over the garden and got all the morning sun.”

“She's like old Miss Melville,” declared Mr. Smilie, starting to fill his pipe. “I thought as much when I saw her at the station. D'you see the likeness, Mother?”

“I saw it first thing.”

“She was a grand lady,” declared Mr. Smilie. “There was nobody like her. She was a good friend to me. It was old Miss Melville bought this house and let me buy it off her bit by bit.”

“And that's how Alec and me got married,” added Mrs. Smilie.

Mr. Smilie interrupted her, saying with a proud air, “Mother could have had anybody in the town, but it was me she took.”

“And many's the day I've regretted it,” returned his spouse, smiling at him affectionately.

***

Tonia woke suddenly—the morning sun was streaming in through the uncurtained window, filling the room with golden yellow light. She had a feeling that she had dreamed something just before she woke, something friendly and pleasant, but the more she tried to remember the dream the quicker it faded. The room was low ceilinged, like all the other rooms in Melville House. The furniture was old-fashioned but it wore an air of elegance and refinement. Tonia recognized Nannie's hand in the crochet mats that decked the dressing table and the top of the chest of drawers, but otherwise (she was pretty sure) the room was exactly as Great-Aunt Antonia had left it.

As she looked around, noting these details with interest, Tonia's nostrils were suddenly assailed by a familiar odor—the smell of frying bacon—and her quick ears caught the sound of someone moving about downstairs. It was Mrs. Smilie, of course.

Goodness! thought Tonia (who had told her most distinctly that she was not to come). Goodness, what a woman! There isn't any way to keep her out unless I put a bolt on the back door. Tonia could not help smiling at the idea of putting up bolts and bars to keep out kindness. But really (she thought as she swung her feet out of bed and felt for her slippers) really and truly it can't go on…

There was a knock on the door. It opened wide and Mrs. Smilie staggered in with a tray. It was an enormous tray and on it was an enormous breakfast—a breakfast fit for a giantess, thought Tonia, looking at it in amazement.

“Oh, Mrs. Smilie!” she exclaimed with a curious blend of gratitude and reproach. “How kind of you—but I wish you wouldn't—”

Mrs. Smilie was impervious to gratitude and reproach. She brushed them both aside and explained in a grumbling tone that the eggs were pickled and the bacon nothing but rubbish; tea, nowadays, was sweepings, that was all, and scones made with national flour were not worth eating; and, settling the tray carefully on Tonia's knees she departed.

The despised food seemed good to Tonia. She ate it with relish and, thus fortified, descended, prepared to have it out with Mrs. Smilie.

It was curious to feel that the house was really hers—her very own. She touched the mahogany banister rail and thought, with surprise,
it's mine.
She looked at the large Chinese jar that stood on the upper landing and wondered where it had come from. There were green dragons on it—dragons with red tongues and long, curly tails. Its new owner was extremely pleased with it. The whole house pleased Tonia enormously. It looked quite different in daylight with the sunshine streaming through the windows into the dark, paneled rooms. The mixture of dazzling brightness and dark corners was most intriguing. Intriguing, also, was the mixture of elegant old Melville furniture and modern Dalrymple. One could read the history of the house quite easily. The Dalrymples (mother and daughter) had intended to keep the house exactly as Miss Melville had left it, for they had the sense to realize its charm, but they had not been able to resist the lure of a pair of china vases, an occasional table made of wicker work, and one or two colored oleographs of mountain cattle and children with dogs. Nannie's mats were everywhere, of course. Her antimacassars were spread upon the backs of all the chairs, and these results of Nannie's labors brought back their maker to Tonia with positively astounding clearness. Tonia could
see
Nannie making them, her nimble fingers flickering quickly to and fro, her lips murmuring the intricate pattern as she waited for the children to finish their tea. I was always the slow one, thought Tonia, taking up an elaborately fashioned mat and holding it in her hands. I wonder when she made this one. I wish I had taken more interest in Nannie's crochet. Her heart was bursting with gratitude to Nannie for this splendid gift, this darling house. She loved it already, and she knew she would love it more dearly every day. It was a happy house; she felt that it had welcomed her and was prepared to cherish her. She would live here always.

The drawing room was the largest room in the house; it stretched from back to front with windows at each end. The back windows looked out on to the garden and were full of morning sunshine. In the evening the sun would shine into the room at the other end. Opposite the fireplace was an alcove that held an old-fashioned piano with yellowed ivory keys. Tonia was enchanted with the instrument, for she felt it would suit her exactly. Pianos, when they were new and shiny, had a lordly air. They were scornful of fingers that could not accomplish trills, but this piano would never be scornful. It had been neglected for so long that it had grown humble and wistful; this piano would like to be played. She struck a few chords and found that its voice was still sweet.

Mrs. Smilie was sweeping the kitchen floor when Tonia went in.

“Now, Mrs. Smilie—” began Tonia in a firm voice.

“Now, Miss Tonia,” interrupted Mrs. Smilie perfectly seriously. “You and me had better have a talk. It's like this, you see, I can run this house with one hand and it will give me something to do. Time hangs pretty heavy now the children are away and Alec at his work—and I never was one for reading. You'll not get a girl in the place; they're all at ammunitions.”

“I don't want a girl. I'm going to run the house myself.”

“That's right, then,” declared Mrs. Smilie beaming with pleasure. “You'll run the house yourself and I'll just look in and give a hand when I can spare the time. In the mornings, that is, and maybe an hour in the afternoons. I'm a good enough cook if you're not wanting fal-lals.”

“I don't think I can afford it,” said Tonia in desperation. “I mean, I don't quite know how much money I shall have. I came away without telling anyone where I was going, because they tried to make me do something I didn't want to do…so, you see, I don't know what will happen…and I must be very economical and try to make the money I've got in the bank go as far as I can…”

Mrs. Smilie could make very little of this halting explanation of Tonia's financial affairs, but that did not worry her at all. “I wouldn't take a penny,” she declared. “It would just be a neighborly sort of arrangement. You're not used to cleaning and I am. Cleaning never tires me and to tell the truth I enjoy it more than the pictures.”

“But I couldn't let you—”

“Och, nonsense. There's lots of little things you could do for me if you felt like it.”

It was a long argument—almost heated at times—and Tonia was handicapped from the start by her sense of humor. Every now and then laughter rose within her like steam in a boiling kettle, and she was obliged to force it down.

“Well, that's settled, then,” said Mrs. Smilie at last. “I'll not come in the afternoons but just the mornings. I'll get your breakfast and clean up a bit and maybe start the dinner and you'll manage the rest yourself.”