The Blythes Are Quoted (16 page)

“Well, you’ll see it now. We’ll go all over it and then we’ll sit down on the veranda and plan what we are going to do with it.”

“Oh, I’ve got all that planned out long ago,” said Jill airily. “Nan Blythe and I finished furnishing the sunroom last night. I suppose I can mention
her
name to you without her getting flattened out?”

“Well, yes. But she is not to know anything about this.”

“We promised,” said Jill, with dignified rebuke. “But if we are much at Orchard Knob the secret will soon get out.”

“But not the fact that I am following your ideas,” said Anthony.

Then he shrugged his shoulders resignedly. She should have her way. It would be fun of a sort to give her her head and see what she would make of the place. What earthly difference would it make to him? After Orchard Knob was renovated it would be easy to find a purchaser for it. Long ago it would have been almost impossible but summer tourists were coming to the Island now.

In any case it meant nothing to him, nothing.

Nevertheless, his hand trembled oddly as he unlocked the door. He knew what he should see inside.

Yes, there it was ... the big fireplace in the square hall and in it the ashes of its last fire beside which he had sat one unforgotten night, unforgettable night, fifteen years ago, and looked despair in the face before turning his back on the old place forever. Why hadn’t the ashes been swept up? Milton was supposed to find a woman to keep the place in order.

Evidently he hadn’t troubled about it. Dust was thick on everything.

Jill sniffed.

“For goodness sake leave the door open,” she commanded. “This house smells like a tomb. No wonder, poor thing. No sunshine for fifteen years. But we’ll change all that. If Susan Baker saw this place ...”

“Have you forgotten what I said?” demanded Anthony.

“Yes. You didn’t mean it, you know. I’m going to speak about Susan and the Blythe twins whenever they come into my head. But I won’t talk about your fixing up Orchard Knob with them ... I give you my word of honour for that.”

The next hour was one of wonder for the twins. They explored the house from attic to cellar and Jill went quite mad over its possibilities. Even P.G. waxed enthusiastic.

But one thing, Jill avowed, gave her the creeps ... the dead clock on the stair landing ... a tall grandfather clock pointing to twelve ... very like the one she had seen at Ingleside.

“I stopped them there one night fifteen years ago,” said Anthony, “long before the Blythes came to the Glen at all. I was on a sentimental orgy that other night, you know. I thought time was ended for me.”

“When we get this place living again I’ll start that clock going,” said Jill resolutely. “The one at Ingleside goes all the time. It belonged to Dr. Blythe’s great-grandfather. You ought to see the airs Susan puts on about it. And even Mrs. Blythe ...”

“Not a word of or about or against or for Mrs. Blythe,” said Anthony firmly.

“Don’t you like her?” asked Jill curiously. “We do.”

“Of course I like her. If I had met her before the doctor did ... or before I made an ass of myself ... I’d have married her if she would have had me. But of course she wouldn’t. Now we will drop that subject.”

They went out and sat down on the veranda steps. Anthony looked around him. What a beautiful, melancholy old place it was! And once it had been so gay.

How weedy had grown the garden his mother had loved! That far corner where nothing had been allowed to grow but violets was a jungle of burdocks. He felt the reproach of the house. It had once been full. Men and women had loved each other in it. There had been births and deaths ... agony and joy ... prayer ... peace ... shelter.

And yet it was not satisfied. It craved more life. It was a shame to have neglected it so long. He had loved it well once. And what a view there was from this front door, over a sea that was silver and sapphire and crimson. The view from Ingleside, over Four Winds Harbour, was justly renowned, but it could not compare with this, let good old Susan brag as she might.

“And now before we go home,” said Jill, “you might as well tell us why you left Orchard Knob all alone. You promised, you know.”

“I said I’d tell you sometime,” objected Anthony.

“This
is
sometime,” said Jill inexorably. “And you might as well begin at once because we must be home before it gets too dark or Mums might get worried.”

In the end he told them. He had never told anybody before. For fifteen years he had held his tongue and brooded. Now he found a queer relief in telling these round-eyed youngsters all about it. They wouldn’t understand, of course, but just to tell it sluiced some old bitterness out of his soul. He had had a queer craving to tell Mrs. Blythe the night he walked down to the Four Winds Harbour with her but concluded she would think him only a fool.

“There was a young fool once ...”

“You?” demanded P.G.

“Hush! Have you no manners?” said Jill in a fierce whisper.

“Never mind manners. They don’t come into this. Yes, I was the young fool. And I am not any wiser now. There was a girl ...”

“Always a girl,” muttered P.G. in disgust.

“Pig, hush!” ordered Jill terribly.

As he told them the story his eyes and his voice grew dreamy. He ceased, Jill reflected, to look like a pirate and began to look like a haunted poet.

He and this girl had been pals in childhood ... and then, as they grew older, lovers. When he had gone abroad for his education he had given her a little ring which she had promised to wear “as long as she cared for no one else.”

On his return from England three years later she was not wearing the ring. That meant she didn’t care for him any longer. He was too proud and hurt to ask why.

“Just like a man,” said Jill. “Why, there might have been some perfectly good reason. It might have got too loose and slipped off her hand when she was washing. Or it might have broken and she hadn’t had time to have it fixed.”

“Well, I had this place shut up ... it was mine then as my parents had died ... and left it to dust and decay.”

“I don’t think you managed a bit well,” said Jill cruelly. “You should have asked her right out why she didn’t wear the ring.”

“
I
would have, you bet,” said P.G. “No girl would ever put anything like that over on me. And, as Jill says, there might have been some perfectly simple explanation.”

“There was. She was in love with another man. I soon found that out.”

“How?”

“People told me.”

“
She
didn’t tell you. Maybe she was as proud as you were. Nan Blythe says Susan Baker told her lots of stories like that. Susan Baker delights in telling love stories even if she is an old maid. I don’t think I’ll be an old maid, even though I think there are some advantages.”

“
Do
stick to the subject, Jill,” said P.G. irritably. “It’s so like a girl to roam over everything. Susan Baker doesn’t know a thing about this.”

“How do you know she doesn’t? She knows a lot about everything, Diana says.”

“Well, even if the story was true there was no sense in leaving Orchard Knob to die, was there?” asked P.G.

“Men are such selfish pigs,” said Jill. “Susan Baker says Dr. Blythe is the most unselfish man she knows but even he, if anyone eats the slice of pie she leaves for him in the pantry when she goes to bed, raises Cain.”

“Men in love are never sensible ... and rarely unselfish, Jill. And, you see, I was terribly hurt.”

“Yes, I know.” Jill slipped her little brown paw into his and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. “It’s rotten to have anyone let you down like that. What was she like?”

Ah, what had she been like! Pale, shy, sweet. She laughed rarely but her laughter was exquisite. She was like ... why, like a silver birch in moonlight. All the men were crazy over her. He had thought the other night that Mrs. Dr. Blythe of Glen St. Mary reminded him of her somewhat. Though they didn’t look a bit alike. It must have been some soul resemblance.

No wonder she wouldn’t have him ... a poor devil whose only patrimony was a small country estate.

And her eyes ... blue as the sea and bright as the stars ... why, a man might die for such eyes.

“Like Helen of Troy’s,” murmured Jill.

“Helen of ... how much?”

“Of Troy. Surely you know who Helen of Troy was!”

“Of course. My ancient history has grown a little rusty, that’s all. She was the lady men fought for ten years about. I wonder if the winner thought she was worth fighting about so long?”

“Susan Baker says no woman ever is or was,” said P.G., “but then nobody ever fought about
her
.”

“Never mind Susan Baker. Whom do you pretend is Helen of Troy?”

“The artist who is boarding next door to Aunt Henrietta’s for the summer. We don’t know her name but she smiled so beautifully at us when we meet her. She has such sweet blue eyes ... oh, she is transcendently lovely.”

“She’s a good-looking gal, not so young as she used to be,” said P.G., who liked to pretend he was hard-boiled and who had heard Dr. Blythe say the same of someone.

“Oh, do shut up,” said Jill furiously again. “Did she ... I mean your girl ... marry the other fellow?”

“I suppose so.”

“You
suppose
so! Don’t you
know
?”

“Well, her family moved out west next year. I don’t know what became of her.”

“And you never took the trouble to find out. Well, I guess Susan Baker has more sense than most women,” said the disgusted Jill.

“Well, you see I was too sore ever to try to find out. Now, shall we call this a day? Helen of Troy will probably be anxious about you even if your mother isn’t.”

“Helen doesn’t know us, and mother is very anxious about us as a rule,” said P.G. indignantly. “Only Aunt Henrietta is very exacting. She was our father’s sister, not Mum’s. And Susan Baker says she is the worst crank on the Island. Even the doctor says ...”

“P.G.,” said Jill solemnly. “You are not to repeat gossip ... not even if Diana Blythe tells you.”

“Who is it he’s stuck on?” whispered Anthony to Jill. “Nan or Diana?”

“Both,” said Jill. “But now what about this house?”

“I’ll run up to town tomorrow and by next week we can get started,” said Anthony.

A few days later an army of workmen descended on Orchard Knob and Jill entered the seventh heaven. Never in all her life had she had such fun. She bossed the men to death, but as she had the technique of managing the sex at her fingers’ ends, they never knew it and did exactly as she ordered. She let Anthony and P.G. run the outdoors alterations for the most part, but as far as the house was concerned she was supreme.

The old place had been asleep for many years but now it was wakened up with a vengeance. The chimney was built up, the roof shingled with lovely green and brown shingles, the house wired from top to bottom and fitted up with all kinds of mechanical gadgets.

Jill, for all her romantic tendencies, was surprisingly practical when it came to equipment. She insisted on a china closet being put in between the kitchen and the dining room and the lovely green and mauve and old-rose bathrooms ... she had a colour scheme for every floor ... ran up a bill that would have staggered Jill if she had ever seen it.

When it came to refurnishing her cup ran over. She was brimming with ideas. Anthony had to get a Chinese embroidery Jill liked for the hall walls and a dear little blue china cabinet with bouquets painted on its doors, and wonderful brocade curtains for the living room that were between spring-green and pale gold ... oh, Jill certainly had a taste! Mirrors in all the closet doors ... Persian rugs like velvet ... brass andirons and silver candlesticks and a lace-like, wrought copper lantern to hang in the new porch.

Jill often reflected that it was well that the Blythe girls were away up at some place called Avonlea, visiting an aunt. Otherwise she did not see how she could have refrained from telling them the whole matter and showing them what was being done. The whole countryside was said to be wild with curiosity. This must be being done for a bride, of course.

“Anyhow, you have your window,” said P.G. comfortingly to Anthony.

P.G. secretly wished the Blythe girls were home and could come over and see him bossing the workmen at the swimming pool and strutting around the tennis court.

As for the window, Jill and Anthony had had several pitched battles over that window.

He wanted one cut in the hall at the side of the living room door, so that a wonderful view of the sea, with Four Winds Harbour in the distance, could be seen, but Jill was sure it would spoil the wall.

Anthony proved surprisingly stubborn, said he didn’t care if the wall was spoiled, and in the end they compromised. He was to have his window and Jill was to have the bedroom that had already been painted a robin’s egg blue redecorated with a startling wallpaper spattered with parrots.

Anthony thought it would be rather awful but as usual the result vindicated Jill’s taste.

Finally the end came. The workmen had gone. All the disorder had been eliminated. Orchard Knob lay in the late August sunshine, a beautiful, gracious place, inside and out.

Jill sighed.

“It’s been a heavenly summer,” she said.

“I’ve enjoyed it myself,” admitted Anthony. “I hear your friends, the Blythe girls, are home again. Perhaps you would like to have them see it.”

“Oh, they were over here this afternoon,” said Jill, “and we showed them everything. They thought it wonderful ... I
will
admit they are not a bit jealous ... but they
must
have thought Ingleside pretty small potatoes after this.”

“Ingleside is a pretty nice place just the same,” said P.G., who had been down there and found he liked Susan Baker’s pies.

“But ...” Jill looked at Anthony reproachfully, “this house wants to be
lived
in now.
That
is the advantage Ingleside has.”

Anthony shrugged.

“Well, someone will be living in it ... in the summers at least. I’ve had a good offer already, from a New York millionaire. I think I’ll close with it.”