The Heather-Moon
then: but because he admired what he called her "baby face," she has
always tried desperately to keep her looks that he mayn't find her
changed when (she doesn't say "if") they meet again. It is the most
pathetic thing I ever heard of, because in spite of all the troubles she
has had, enough to make her old twice over, she has never lost gayety or
courage. Grandma and Heppie think it wicked and frivolous of her not to
"bow to God's will," but I think she is a marvel, and I love every
little funny way and trick she has.
I don't know Mrs. James well enough to call her my friend, because I
don't often see her, and we've never been left alone together when she's
called on Grandma; Heppie took me to her house only once, just after
she'd grown poor through the breaking of some savings-bank, and turned
her little drawing-room into an antique shop. I fancy Heppie wanted to
go simply to spy out the nakedness of the land and satisfy curiosity in
Grandma. But I've never forgotten that day, and how brave and bright
Mrs. James was, selling off the pretty old things which she had loved:
heirlooms of her family and her husband's; old clocks, old vases, old
ornaments, and jewels, old china and glass, old samplers and bits of
embroidery or brocade, old furniture, old pictures and transparencies,
and everything of value except old books, which she adored because his
library had been her husband's life. It was clever of her, I think, to
group the treasures together in the little drawing-room with its oak
panelling and beams, its uneven, polished oak floor, and the two
diamond-paned windows which she enlarged and threw into one. It is not
like a shop, but just a charming room crowded full of lovely things, and
every one of them for sale, even the chairs. She wrote cards of
advertisement which the hotel people let her pin up in their halls or
offices, because they respected her pluck, and had liked Doctor James.
Americans and other travellers saw the advertisements, and went to her
house; so by and by Mrs. James made a success with her experiment. When
most of her own antiquites were sold, she could afford to buy others,
just as good or better, to take their places. She never made big sums of
money; but maybe that was because she had debts of her husband's to pay
off, which she kept secret. Besides, she is so generous and kind that
she would give good prices for things in buying, and ask small ones in
selling.
"Mrs. James: Antiquities;" it says in gilt letters over the door on
which you can still see the mark left by the professional name-plate of
Doctor James. His wife had that taken off before she opened her shop,
because she felt that her going into trade might seem to discredit "his
honoured name."
That is her great watchword: "his honoured name." I've often heard her
repeat it to Grandma, who invariably snorts and says something to
dishearten or humiliate the poor humble darling who thinks so much of
the Hillard and James families, and so little of herself.
Opening the door, which rings a bell of its own accord, you walk
straight into the drawing-room, or hall. There's an oak screen which
cuts off your view to the left, and gives an opportunity for surprises;
and straight ahead at the back is a lovely old carved stairway, that
goes up steeply, with two turns and two platforms, where stand tall,
ancient clocks. Behind this hall or drawing-room, turned into a shop, is
a tiny parlour, where Mrs. James spends her few free hours, eats her
tiny, lonesome meals, and faithfully reads nearly every book in her
husband's library, so that she may be an intelligent companion for him
if he comes back. The walls of the parlour are covered with his books,
on shelves reaching up nearly as high as the low-beamed ceiling. Behind
the parlour is the kitchen, which looks into a tiny garden with one
lovely apple tree in it; and a back stairway almost like a ladder leads
to what used to be servants' rooms. Now Mrs. James sleeps in one; and
next door is the young girl, rescued from something or other by the
Salvation Army, who is her only servant. The front part of the
"upstairs," which you reach by the lovely staircase in the shop, is
occupied by a curate-lodger. Heppie says Mrs. James can afford to give
up having a lodger now, and that she keeps him on only because she's
stingy; or else because she thinks it "distinguished" to have some
connection with "Church." But I'm sure it's really because she's so kind
and good-natured, that she can't bear to turn the curate away from rooms
which have been his only home for years.
She _was_ surprised to see me get out of an automobile with a man! I
know she did see me get out, because she opened the door herself,
exclaiming in her soft Devonshire voice, which has never been hardened
by the north, "Why, Barribel, my _dear_ child, can I _believe_ my eyes?"
She throws emphasis on a great many words when she talks, which Heppie
says is gushing, and not reserved enough for a true lady; but I like it
when Mrs. James does it, because it sounds cordial, and more interested
in you than any other person's way of talking which I ever heard.
I introduced Mr. Somerled, and hurried in the next breath to explain
that he was a MacDonald, because that made him seem like a relation, and
she wouldn't think to begin with that I was with a perfect stranger. But
as soon as I said "Somerled," she knew all about him, not only the
history of the first Somerled, which, of course, she _would_ know, but
that this one was a great celebrity. _I_ shouldn't have known that, if
Mr. Norman hadn't mentioned it: and Moore with the teeth told me, too,
that she'd heard Mrs. West say he was "a millionaire." I'm not sure if
Mrs. James knew about the millions, and even if she did, they wouldn't
seem half as important to her as his pictures, which she began to chat
about. Of course they're not as important, because anybody can have
millions by accident, but they can have genius only from what they are
in themselves. I felt more than ever how wonderful it was that he should
be so good to me; a person so flattered and run after; but all the same
I _couldn't_ make myself feel in awe of him. He seemed to me just a Man:
and I wanted as much as ever to see what he would do if I took my own
way and went against him.
Mrs. James invited us into the house in her cordial, emphatic way, while
our coming and our being together were still mysteries which must have
puzzled her wildly. I saw by the blue flash in Mr. Somerled's eyes that
the artist in him admired the shop-drawing-room, and I thought from his
manner that he had taken a fancy to Mrs. James herself. I am so used to
her looks, from seeing her once a month ever since I can remember, that
I can hardly judge what she is like: and I suppose she _is_ peculiar.
But why shouldn't she try to keep young for the sake of her dream? I
think it's romantic and beautiful, and all one with her efforts to
become the intellectual equal of her lost husband. Grandma and Heppie
sneer after Mrs. James has been and gone, at the long words she uses,
and condemn her for wanting to deceive people into thinking she's much
younger than she is. But that is because they've no romance in them, and
can't understand her true motive.
Her figure is like a young girl's, though perhaps a little stiffer and
less rounded. She is short, and has the tiniest waist in the world, so
tiny that it must hurt her to breathe, but that is her chief pride,
because "the doctor" (as she always calls him) fell in love at first
sight with her slender waist; and she has never let it measure an inch
more than it did then. A big man could span it with his hands. Perhaps
Doctor James could. She dresses her hair now as he liked best seventeen
years ago, though the fringe looks old-fashioned and odd. Grandma says
her hair is bleached, otherwise it couldn't have kept its yellow colour
at her age, forty-five. But it shines and is a lovely golden. She takes
the greatest pains in doing it, too, even when she's in a hurry on a
cold winter's morning, because she's never sure "the doctor" mayn't
appear that day, to give her a surprise. It would be too bad if, after
all these years, he should walk in and find her not looking her best!
She has features like a doll's, with large dark blue eyes, and high
arched eyebrows which give her an innocent, expectant expression. Heppie
says she blacks them; but Heppie has no eyebrows at all, so it's
difficult for her to believe in other people's.
When Mrs. James came to meet us at the door, she had a ladies' paper in
her hand, open at a page where it told you in big letters, "How to be
Beautiful Forever," so I suppose it's true, as Heppie says, that she's
always looking for recipes to keep young. She had on a lavender muslin
dress, very becoming to her fair complexion, which would be perfect if
she hadn't a very few little veins showing in the pink of her cheeks,
and some faint, smiling-lines round her eyes, which you see only if you
stare rudely as Grandma does, to "take down Mrs. James's vanity."
Lavender was the doctor's favourite colour, and she invariably wears one
shade or another of it. She never would go into mourning for him, as
people thought she ought to do when he disappeared.
I explained everything, talking so fast that I got out of breath, while
Mr. Somerled walked round the room looking at the curiosities. I was
glad no customers came in to interrupt; but luckily there wasn't much
danger at that hour, as it wasn't yet half-past two, and people had
scarcely finished their luncheons. As I talked, she gave little
exclamations almost like the cooing of a dove; and the most desperate
thing in our story seemed to be, in her opinion, the fact that we hadn't
lunched.
She insisted on giving us eggs and apple-tart and coffee in her own
dining-room, and she let us come into the kitchen and help cook. Mr.
Somerled looked quite young and boyish. We all three laughed a good
deal. Not a word did Mr. Somerled say about my going to Edinburgh or the
chaperon business until we'd finished our picnic meal, and he had
selected several of the best and most expensive things in the shop for
himself. After that, how could Mrs. James refuse him what he called "a
great favour" even if she'd wished to say no, which she didn't. On the
contrary, she was enchanted. Everything had worked together to make her
going possible. The curate had gone off for a holiday, giving her
permission to use his two rooms if she liked. I could have them till we
started; and she would ask a friend from next door to attend to the
shop, a nice girl who often helped her, if she were ill or had to go
away on a "curiosity quest." "Just think!" she exclaimed, "I've never
been to Scotland, though it's only eight miles distant, and I've pined
to go all my life. You'll find that I've a good book-knowledge of the
country, if that's any use, for my dear husband's favourite pastime has
been the study of history. Since he--left Carlisle, I've devoted much
time to following his researches."
The long words do come so nicely from her pretty little mouth, and she
shapes them with such care, that they seem to issue forth one by one
like neatly formed birds being let out of a cage. She is making a
speciality of pronunciation, and what she sometimes speaks of as
"refined wording." She was a farmer's daughter in Devonshire.
It was arranged that the girl from next door should be called in at
once, in order that Mrs. James and I might go and buy things. I was rich
on the proceeds of the brooch; for Mr. Somerled counted out the rest of
the money on the parlour table; and Mrs. James abetted him in saying
that fifty pounds was not a penny too much to lend on such a treasure.
But it does seem wonderful! Mrs. James herself must have felt flush