‘Thank you, but I am quite capable of walking back alone,’ said Morland, gathering the shreds of his dignity about him and turning away.
‘I doubt it,’ replied Neil, falling into step beside him. ‘It seems to me that you’re not very capable of looking after yourself. For one thing there’s that burglar—possibly a pretty desperate customer—and for another, the inn will be closed and Rab asleep in his bed. It’s a cold night to spend out of doors, Mr. Beverley.’
‘Do you mean he will have locked me out?’ exclaimed Morland in dismay.
‘I wouldn’t wonder. If he’s riled with you he’s quite capable of bolting all the doors and snibbing all the windows (he’s a black-tempered customer, is Rab). But never mind,’ added Neil in soothing tones. ‘We’ll get in somehow. If the worst comes to the worst I can throw a few stones at Pat’s window; he’s the barman and sleeps in a wee room at the end of the passage. Pat owes me a good turn for sobering him up and keeping him out of jug on Orange Day.’
Morland had given up trying to understand the peculiar ways of Looking-Glass Country. He said, ‘It’s all quite ridiculous, but if they have locked me out I shall ring the bell and knock on the door and waken everyone in the damned place.’
‘I believe that would be best,’ admitted Neil. ‘Just you take a firm line with Rab and throw your weight about and if you can’t understand what he’s saying tell him to speak plain English.’
‘I shall,’ said Morland.
They walked along in silence for a while.
So far so good, thought Neil. He had done as he had intended; he had bewildered the fellow and given him a fright, which he richly deserved, but how was it possible to prevent the fellow from calling at The Square House to-morrow morning? The last thing Julia wanted was another interview with Mr. Morland Beverley. Her previous interview with him had upset her so much that she had almost fainted on that filthy dirty floor, so it was up to Neil to spare her another scene with the fellow if he could manage it.
‘About to-morrow,’ said Neil. ‘I wouldn’t advise you to go and see Julia to-morrow.’
‘But I want to see her. There’s something I want to explain.’
‘It will do no good. My cousin Julia is a girl who knows her own mind, Mr. Beverley.’
Mr. Beverley knew this already—none better—so it was in doubtful tones that he began, ‘Yes—er—that’s true, of course. I was just wondering whether Julia has—er—met someone else. I can see no other explanation of her extraordinary behaviour. It was so unlike Julia to rush off to visit an unknown uncle in defiance of my wishes . . . and her father’s wishes, of course.’
‘I thought the same when she told me about it.’
‘Did you?’ asked Morland with interest. ‘Did you, really?’
‘I thought it was out of character.’
‘Of course it was—completely out of character!’
‘I couldn’t understand it at all until she told me her reason.’
‘What was her reason?’ asked Morland eagerly.
‘My dear sir!’ exclaimed Neil indignantly. ‘I hope you are not asking me to betray my cousin’s confidence. If my cousin has not told you her reason it is not my business to inform you.’
Poor Morland! He had been led up the garden path and left in the air—so to speak. He certainly was no match for Neil in guile.
‘Oh—er—no, I suppose not,’ he muttered. ‘It was just that I have been wondering whether—whether she had met someone——’
‘Good night, Mr. Beverley,’ said Neil in a dignified manner. ‘I have brought you to your door. You will observe that there is still a light in the lounge, so you will have no difficulty in gaining admittance.’
Neil bowed and walked away. He was obliged to walk quickly, because there were little bubbles of laughter rising up inside him, but being of a merciful disposition he lurked in a neighbouring archway until he saw the door of the Black Bull open and his victim safely inside. Then he strode on his way home to Dunraggit, whistling softly but cheerfully, for in truth he was pleased with his evening’s work. Unless he was very much mistaken Mr. Morland Beverley would trouble Julia no more but would return to his own proper milieu convinced that she had ‘met someone else.’ (Not Neil, of course, but some other.)
It was delightful to be able to do a good turn for Julia, besides being his duty as a cousin. The cousin idea was a good one. Neil had no family; Julia had been cast off by hers. They had nobody belonging to them except Uncle Ran. Neil could look out for himself; he was supremely confident of his own abilities, but girls had to be looked after. Therefore it was absolutely essential that Julia should have somebody to look out for her—somebody to whom she could turn if need be—in other words a cousin.
And I’m sure we are cousins, thought Neil as he strode along through the darkness. I’ll get out that tree and have a look at it some day when I’ve time.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The day after the interview with Morland was wet and miserable; Julia spent the morning darning linen, quite unaware that but for Neil she might have had a visitor. She thought about Morland and all that he had said, but she did not worry unduly; probably he was on his way home by this time.
In the afternoon Julia went to Edinburgh by bus as usual and called at the nursing home to see Uncle Ran.
Sister Don was waiting for her on the landing outside the patient’s door. ‘I’m very glad you’ve come,’ she said. ‘He has been wearying for you and wondering whether it would be too wet. Will you come into the pantry for a minute, Miss Harburn? I want to speak to you.’
Julia followed her into the little pantry.
‘Mr. MacTavish asked me to tell you that he has decided to operate,’ said Sister Don. ‘He meant to see you and tell you himself but he was called away to an urgent case. He said you had given him permission to do as he thinks best, so the operation is to be performed to-morrow.’
‘To-morrow!’
‘If a thing has got to be done it’s better to be done quickly. Mr. MacTavish thinks it would be unwise to delay. You said he was to do as he thinks best, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, of course, but——’
‘It’s better to get it over, Miss Harburn.’
‘Oh dear, I suppose it is,’ said Julia miserably.
Sister Don nodded. ‘Mr. MacTavish asked me to tell you that he would like you to be here to-morrow at two o’clock or soon after. Will that be all right?’
‘Yes, of course. Does my uncle know he’s having the operation to-morrow?’
‘Mr. MacTavish told him this morning and he’s being very good about it. Don’t stay with him too long this afternoon and don’t upset him, will you?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Julia indignantly.
Sister Don smiled rather grimly. ‘You have no idea how foolish some people are,’ she declared.
The little pantry was private. Julia spent some minutes there. She had hoped against hope that perhaps an operation would not be necessary and that Mr. MacTavish would be able to suggest some treatment instead, so the news that it was to be done—and done to-morrow—had come as a shock. However, it was no good being foolish, and it was no good lingering here and thinking about it, so Julia put on a bright smile and went into Uncle Randal’s room.
His face lighted up when he saw her. ‘Julia!’ he exclaimed. ‘I was afraid it would be too wet for you to come.’
‘Did you think I was made of brown paper?’
‘I thought you were made of sugar and spice.’
‘I’m much more durable,’ said Julia. She kissed him and added, ‘Maggie sent her best respects as usual.’
‘Give Maggie my love; she’s a dear kind creature and she’s been a good friend to me.’
As usual he wanted to hear ‘all the news,’ so she told him what she had been doing (but not about Morland nor the curious adventure last night). She told him about the salmon, which interested him greatly; he wanted to know how large it was and where Sam Fraser had
caught it, but unfortunately Julia did not know. Then she told him about an old book, all about Leddiesford, which she had found on the top shelf in the study and they talked about that for a while.
‘Have you heard from your father, Julia?’ asked Uncle Randal suddenly.
This was a little difficult to answer. ‘I haven’t had a letter yet, but perhaps he’ll write soon,’ she replied.
‘I’ve been lying here thinking about it. I’ve been wondering if I did the right thing in telling you that old story. Maybe I should have left it alone.’
‘I’m glad you told me.’
‘Listen, Julia. I want you to make it up with your father.’
‘I’ve written several times.’
‘I know, but I’m sure if you went and saw him you could win him round,’ said Uncle Randal earnestly. ‘Promise me you’ll go and try.’
‘Yes, I’ll try,’ she said, nodding. ‘But I can’t go until you’re better. I couldn’t go away and leave you until you’re better, could I?’
‘Have they told you about to-morrow?’
‘Yes, darling. I shall be thinking about you—but you know that, don’t you?’
‘You’re my own dear wee lassie!’
‘Mr. MacTavish is very clever; everyone says so.’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘And you like him.’
‘He’s a fine man.’
‘It’s a good thing to get it over, isn’t it?’
He sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose it’s just as well . . . but I’d have liked to stay with you a little longer, my dear. We’ve not had very long together.’
‘I’ll be there waiting for you when you come home,’ Julia told him, smiling as cheerfully as she could. ‘We’ll have a lovely time when you come home. You’ll be so much better and stronger that we shall be able to go for little walks together. That will be nice, won’t it?’
Uncle Randal did not reply.
‘I must go now,’ she added. ‘Sister Don said I mustn’t stay too long.’
‘Just a little longer,’ he said. ‘Tell me about the garden.’
Julia told him about the garden, but she had a feeling he was not really listening, he was just lying and looking at her, so presently she got up and kissed him. He took her hand and clung to it for a few moments, and then he let her go.
She paused at the door and looked back. ‘Au revoir, darling,’ she said, smiling and blowing him a kiss.
*
2
When Julia got outside the door her smile faded. Uncle Ran had been wonderfully cheerful, but she did not like the way he had said, ‘I’d have liked to stay with you a little longer.’ The words haunted her. She went on thinking about the words, and the sad way he had said them, as she walked down the street to get her bus. She thought, too, of the earnest manner in which he had begged her to go and see her father ‘and make it up with him.’ It was easy to see what he had been thinking when he said that.
Julia was so lost in her unhappy thoughts that she would have allowed the bus to go without her if a completely unknown woman had not taken her by the arm and said, ‘Here’s the Leddiesford bus, Miss Harburn!’
Julia awoke from her trance, thanked the unknown woman and scrambled in.
‘You’ll have been in seeing Mr. Harburn,’ said the woman, sitting down beside her. ‘Is he keeping any better?’
Julia gave what news she could about the patient.
‘Oh dear!’ exclaimed the woman. ‘It’s to be to-morrow, is it? I could see you were feeling a bit upset. But Mr. MacTavish is just wonderful. Everybody says so. I must tell the boys,’ she added. ‘They were saying this morning they wondered how he was keeping. Maybe a few nice fresh eggs would come in useful?’
‘I’m afraid he isn’t allowed eggs.’
‘Oh well, it’ll just have to be sweet-peas then. I’ll send up one of the boys with a bunch. Maybe it would cheer him a bit and you could tell him that Mrs. Lang and the boys were thinking about him and wishing him well.’
‘I’m sure it would cheer him,’ declared Julia. She herself was beginning to feel considerably less woebegone under the influence of Mrs. Lang’s sympathy. ‘It’s very kind of you,’ she added.
‘Not at all, Miss Harburn; you see I’ve got three boys,’ replied Mrs. Lang as if the fact that she was the proud mother of three boys explained the matter fully.
‘How lovely for you to have three boys. What are their names?’ asked Julia.
This subject proved very fruitful; Julia heard all about the boys (the eldest was called Randal) and what they were doing and how much they enjoyed going to the boys’ club in the evenings . . . and how much better it was to have a nice place like that to go to instead of hanging about in the street and getting into mischief.
After that they talked about gardens; Jamie Lang had reported that he had seen Miss Harburn working in the garden at The Square House.
‘Yes, I’m digging up the weeds,’ said Julia. ‘I’ve got some packets of seeds but I haven’t planted them yet.’
‘You’ll be wasting your time, Miss Harburn. There’s nothing’ll grow in yon garden unless you get dung.’
‘Unless I get dung?’
‘Manure,’ explained Mrs. Lang. ‘You’ll need to get a cart of manure and dig it in thoroughly. There’s no goodness in the soil; it’s been neglected for years. But I tell you what, Miss Harburn; you get the dung—manure, I mean—and the boys’ll come and dig it in. That’s the plan.’
‘How very kind!’
‘Not at all,’ replied Mrs. Lang cheerfully. ‘When would you like them to come?’
Julia hesitated. ‘I don’t quite know,’ she said vaguely. ‘I shall have to see. . . .’
‘Yes, of course,’ nodded Mrs. Lang. ‘You’ll need to wait till Mr. Harburn is better. Just let me know. The boys can come along any evening and they’ll be glad to do it.’
It certainly was very kind, but Julia could not accept the offer without finding out how much it would cost to buy a cartload of manure. She had begun to feel worried about money. Sometimes, when she thought about it seriously, she felt very worried indeed. Seven hundred pounds had seemed a vast sum to Julia but it had begun to dwindle away.
Julia had discovered that the housekeeping at The Square House had been conducted in what seemed to her a most extraordinary manner. ‘I just ask him for money when I’m wanting it,’ Maggie had explained. ‘He gives me the cheque and I take it down to the bank and Mr. Edgar gives me the money. I keep it in a soap-box in the dining-room cupboard and take it out when I’m needing it to pay my wages and the shops. That’s the way we do it, Miss Julia. It’s easiest for him. He’s not wanting to be bothered with bills and such-like.’
Julia was somewhat horrified at this revelation; she was much more horrified when she was told that there was now no money left in the soap-box, Maggie’s wages were in arrears, and the shops had not been paid for weeks.
‘I just didna like to bother him when he was not so well, and that’s the truth,’ explained Maggie apologetically.
Julia had put matters right and was now paying the housekeeping bills regularly; they were not very large, for Maggie was economical to a fault, but all the same it was a constant drain upon her resources. Furthermore Julia had inquired at the nursing home how much Uncle Randal’s room and treatment were costing per week and had been absolutely staggered at the reply. How long would she be able to carry on—that was the question—and would she have enough money to pay Mr. MacTavish’s fee? To make matters worse, she had received a short note from Mr. Silver informing her that the allowance from her father had been discontinued. This was no surprise, of course, it was what she had expected, but somehow it seemed the last straw.
Chapter Forty
The waiting-room at the Westchester Nursing Home was a comfortably furnished apartment with easy-chairs and a big round table with a pot-plant in the middle. Julia had arrived there at two o’clock and had been sitting there for hours waiting for news of Uncle Rand
al. The operation had taken place in the morning; Mr. MacTavish had told Julia that it was successful but Mr. Harburn was very weak. Mr. MacTavish had looked different to-day; he looked tired and anxious, his manner was grave.
‘Will he be all right?’ Julia had asked.
‘I hope so,’ he had replied . . . and that was all.
The matron was a little more communicative. She looked in and asked if Julia was comfortable.
‘It’s a very comfortable room,’ replied Julia politely.
‘Would you like a book to read?’
Julia shook her head. ‘I’d like to see him,’ she said. ‘Why can’t I see him, Matron?’
‘It would be no use at present. Mr. Harburn is still under the anæsthetic. Mr. MacTavish wants you to be here when he recovers consciousness.’
‘Oh, I see!’ exclaimed Julia. She had been wondering why they wanted her to be here, if she was not to be allowed to see Uncle Ran.
‘You won’t go away, will you? Mr. MacTavish is very anxious for you to be here.’
‘Of course I shall be here.’
‘You may have to wait for hours.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ declared Julia. ‘I’ll do whatever you say.’
‘Just wait,’ said Miss Johnstone. ‘I know it’s one of the hardest things to do. I’ll send you in some supper.’
It certainly was one of the hardest things to do. Julia walked about the room, she stood and looked out of the window. The prospect was not enlivening, for the room was at the back of the house and looked out onto a small garden with bushes and trees all wet and dripping with the rain which was falling, not hard but persistently, from leaden skies. She took up a magazine which was lying on the table, but she found she was reading the words without taking in their sense, so she put it down again.
A young girl came in with a tray of supper. There were lamb cutlets and green peas and a dish of trifle, it was nicely cooked and served and looked very appetising, but it tasted like sawdust and stuck in Julia’s throat so that it was almost impossible to swallow it. When she had swallowed as much as she could she rose and walked about again.
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