A happy woman
it was from yourself," said Sara with surprise. She reminded herself
of the "comfort and cheerful society" she was expected to bring, but
wisely said no more.
Mrs. Laird looked at her breakfast with an invalid's querulousness.
"I don't feel inclined for anything, but you can leave me now. There is
a bunch of keys over there. Go down to the kitchen and give out from
the store cupboard the stores that will be needed for the day. I never
leave the stores unlocked. It will be in your charge, and you must
replenish the things as needed.
"Consult with Mrs. Thwaites about meals. I want you to undertake the
housekeeping; she is a very fair cook, but has no head, and prefers to
carry out orders given to her. I will ring when I want you. And you
will have to look after Izzie, she is lazy and careless and not very
clean, but she is Mrs. Thwaites's niece, and an orphan, so we keep her
on."
Sara departed, glad to have some details of what she was required
to do. And she found a good deal to employ both head and hands that
morning. She went up later to help Mrs. Laird dress, and then she read
the newspaper to her, but she could not persuade her to leave her room.
In the afternoon, Mrs. Laird had a nap, and for an hour Sara was off
duty. She escaped from the house, and made acquaintance with the garden
and small farmyard attached to it. Old Samuel, the one outdoor servant
kept, was groom and gardener and general farm help. He gave her one
bit of information, and that was that Mr. Laird was agent for a very
big property that lay on the other side of the lake belonging to a Sir
Malcolm Ferris.
Mr. Laird came home about half-past six that day. He took off his
outdoor boots, and then, tired as he was, slipped softly up to his
mother's room.
A strange sound and sight awaited him. The room was in firelight;
his mother sat back in the shadow of a screen placed between her and
the fire. Seated on a low chair in the firelight was Sara, a guitar
was slung round her neck. The scarlet ribbon made a bright spot of
colour. She wore a very simple black velvet gown, but the lace collar
and sleeves were of old Mecklin lace, and she was singing in a sweet
contralto some simple little pathetic songs. There was a rich lilt in
Sara's voice that appealed to all who heard her sing. She had the gift
of bringing to her audience both tears and laughter.
She was finishing a song now, and her tone was softly gay.
"So boy and girl sat side by side
Their differences forgotten,
For life is short, and time is sweet
When first love is begotten."
She laid down her guitar as she finished her little song.
"We are having some music," she said brightly.
"So I hear," said Mr. Laird, with great gravity, and Sara slipped out
of the room.
CHAPTER III
A ROW UPON THE LAKE
WHEN mother and son were alone, Mrs. Laird said fretfully—
"She's a very new broom! But they all begin so well."
Her son shook his head. There was an amused gleam in his eye.
"No, mother; three have informed me the first morning at breakfast that
it was not what they expected. She has not done that yet. What a pretty
voice she has!"
"So she seems to think herself. She insisted upon my listening to her.
But so far I must say she knows how to bring the sense of comfort and
order with her. Do you notice how tidy my room is? She wants me to go
into her room to-morrow, whilst she and Izzie have a clean out. She is
full of energy and reform, but it won't last."
"She has brought you a pretty nosegay of red berries and leaves."
"Yes, but they give me no pleasure."
A heavy sigh followed.
Mother and son had half an hour's chat together. Then a tempting little
supper-tray appeared. Sara brought it. And when a quarter of an hour
later, she came to the dining-room, she found Mr. Laird ready for his
evening meal.
He had lost his touch of reserve. Both of them chatted together in an
easy unembarrassed manner. Then when Izzie came in and removed the
cloth, Mr. Laird took out his pipe. And when she had left the room, he
said—
"I wish you could try to get my mother downstairs, Miss Darlington.
There is no reason why she should not venture. The change of atmosphere
would do her good."
"She speaks as if it were impossible. She seems to imagine she might be
worried with visitors. Have you any?"
"You can imagine not many!"
"Is there any real reason why Mrs. Laird should not meet people?"
He took his pipe out of his mouth, and looked at her. Was this
audacity, or the result of a keen observation, he wondered. He had
never had such a question put to him before.
Sara quietly waited for his reply.
"Why do you ask such a question?" he asked.
"Because I want to help your mother. I see she has something on her
mind; is it a delusion? I was singing a little song of a tiny girl's
talk with her mother about her dead father, and she stopped me with
agony of tone and gesture—
"'Never mention a girl child to me!' she cried. 'For one moment I
thought I was free from the haunting thought of her!'
"'I am sorry,' I said.
"'Sorry!' she cried. 'You sang that song on purpose! You are cruel! Do
you think my punishment is not already greater than I can bear?'
"Then she saw my astonishment, and said no more."
"My mother has grown morbid," Mr. Laird said slowly. "She has had a
great sorrow. I have told you so. You must bear patiently with her, and
try to get her from thinking too much."
"Ah!" said Sara. "That is a hard task. But I will do my best. And now I
think it is time I went up to her. I shall stay with her till she is in
bed; so I shall not come down again. Good night."
Mr. Laird sprang up, held open the door for her, and when she had gone,
tumbled back into his seat again.
"She is angry, because I won't tell her," he muttered. "Well, there is
plenty of time. I've never told any of her predecessors. But she is
different to any of them. Can't think why she takes such a post. It's
like old times—to see a woman of that sort opposite one at table."
Upstairs Sara was finding Mrs. Laird difficult to please. She was very
irritable, and nothing that Sara did was right.
"I'm tired of trying to train young women to my ways. It's only
Graham's whim that I should have some one about me. Now, don't hurry
me. I suppose you are like the rest of them, wanting to get down and
make yourself pleasant to him."
For one moment an angry spark shot from Sara's eyes, then she said with
extreme quietness—
"I wished Mr. Laird good night before I came up. You must not say such
things to me, Mrs. Laird, not until I deserve them. I have been too
much accustomed to men to take any special notice of your son. If we
are to live happily together, you must believe that I am single woman
by choice, and am far too content to be such to ever wish to try to
alter my state."
"One of these rampant suffragettes, I suppose!"
"No," said Sara, laughing; "I emphatically am not one of them. And now
will you let me brush your hair?"
She talked away quite pleasantly. Her gentle deft ways soothed the old
lady. When she was comfortably in bed enjoying what her son called her
"nightcap," Sara said—
"Would you like me to read you the evening Psalms before I leave you?"
"Why should you? I burnt my Bible and Prayer-book long ago, and all the
pious books which I possessed. I am not a hypocrite, and if there is a
God, He has treated me so inhumanly that I never wish to see His Face."
Sara was shocked, but she did not expostulate.
"I have my Prayer-book in the next room; please let me read to you."
She opened the door into her room, and came back with the book in her
hand.
Mrs. Laird said no more. In a soft, reverent voice Sara read the
evening Psalms. She made no comment on them, and Mrs. Laird did not
speak again.
Then Sara went to her room, and occupied her time by writing a letter
to her brother.
"MY DEAREST ARNOLD,
"Here I am as far from town seemingly as Kamschatka is! But oh, the
beauty of the scene from my window! I have just had a peep out. Do you
know we're in the heart of the lake country, a lake is down below me
framed with blue hills, and the moon is on it now, and the hoar frost
makes the woods like fairyland! My dear boy, don't give me a pitying
thought. All my desires and hopes and energies and machinations are
centred in an old lady, who is in the next room to me. I am going to be
her physician, nurse, and friend, all rolled into one.
"You know how I adore old people, so rest assured I am having a good
time. I am given 'carte blanche' to manage her household, and I have
two very good-natured and inefficient servants to deal with. We live
in a solid square granite house, but it has its redeeming points,
mullioned windows, oak beams across the lower rooms, and is a genuine
fourteenth-century manor house.
"Mrs. Laird's son, who lives with her, is agent to a big landowner
near us. They are gentle-people, and I am at present quite content with
my enterprise. Good-bye, old boy. I know you live in the clouds, but
Millie will be with you, and I hope that Lacy makes you comfortable.
"Ever your own sister,
"SARA."
She sat for a moment after writing this letter with her cheek in her
hand. Her eyes grew very soft and tender.
"A soured embittered sorrowful woman," she said to herself, "and more
behind than I am allowed to know. How I hope I may bring her comfort!"
Comfort of body Sara certainly did bring her employer from the moment
she entered the house. In a few days, her room was a picture of dainty
freshness.
The whole house was the better for Sara's presence. She did not scold
Izzie for her untidiness and want of thoroughness in her cleaning. She
simply tidied and cleaned herself, until from very shame Izzie learnt
to do better.
Every evening when dusk fell, Sara played and sang to Mrs. Laird. But
she always laid aside her guitar when Graham Laird entered the room.
She did not know that he often crept up quietly and sat on the top
stair of the old staircase outside, listening for some time before he
opened the door.
Except at meal times, they did not meet much; and Mrs. Laird was quite
content that it should be so. Sara read to her and talked to her, and
Sara was a very good talker. She had travelled, and had met a good
many interesting people. She produced some easy fancy-work which she
persuaded Mrs. Laird to work at. She herself began to make chintz
covers for the shabby couch and chairs in the bedroom.
Shopping by post was a new experience to Mrs. Laird; she began to take
interest in the patterns and parcels, and was almost bright whilst
opening and discussing them. But Sara soon found her black moods of
gloom more frequent, as she became accustomed to her. There were days
when she would not utter one word, and when she could with the greatest
difficulty be persuaded upon to take her meals.
"Why should I eat?" she exclaimed suddenly one day. "Why should I try
to prolong my miserable life? Am I of any use to any one in the whole
wide world? Would not Graham shut up the house with glee and go back to
his former world feeling like an escaped prisoner if I were only out of
the way? Prisoner! It is I who ought to be a prisoner. I should have
felt better had they made me suffer as I deserved!"
Sara found the best way was to ignore such speeches as these, but they
made her think.
One afternoon she found her way down to the lake. It was a still bright
day in February. To her surprise, she came upon a boat lightly tied to
a post outside a boathouse. She had often rowed on the Thames with her
brother, and seeing the calm stillness of the water, a longing seized
her to go out in it.