‘Is there? How does that come to be? Had any news reached you? No, you were unprepared. Did you expect me to stay last night and order a place for the morning? Well, I must be glad that I went home to my father. Something seems to guide us in such things.’
‘The something took a clumsy way of doing its work,’ said Mark.
‘So it was to be my place?’ said Matty, seeming pleased by the thought. ‘Perhaps you hoped that the truant guest would return and expiate her sins?’
‘It is Dudley’s place,’ said Maria, knowing that the truth must emerge. ‘We thought that you would not be here. But he has followed Miss Griffin’s example and left us for the time.’
‘Has he? Dudley? Has he run away and left you? Do we all manage to make ourselves impossible to those near and dear to us?’ said Matty, her voice rising with her words. ‘Is it a family trait? Well, we can all assure each other that our bark has quite wrongly been taken for a bite.’
‘Barking may be enough in itself,’ said Mark. ‘It may not encourage people to wait for the next stage.’
‘Our Dudley? Has he found things too much? Well, I can feel with him; I find things so sometimes. But running away is not the best way out of them. They will not get the better of him, not of Dudley. I should have been glad to get a sight of him, and borrow a little of his spirit. It seems that people who show the most have the most to spare. Theirs must be the largest stock. Well, I must have recourse to my own, and I have not yet found it fail. It is not your time to need it, but you may look back and remember your aunt and feel that you took something from her.’
‘Why had Aunt Matty not enough spirit to give some to Miss Griffin?’ said Aubrey.
‘She gave her a good deal, or she got it from somewhere,’ said Mark.
‘Yes, it is Miss Griffin, is it?’ said Matty, with a different voice and smile. ‘Miss Griffin who takes the thought and takes the interest? That is how it would be. The person who has suffered less makes less demand. And we who suffer more must learn it. Well, we must not make a boast of spirit and then not show it.’
There was silence.
‘I think we ought to find out where Miss Griffin has gone,’ said Justine. ‘I do really think so, Aunt Matty.’
‘Yes, dear, I said she would be in your minds. And I think as you do. I shall be so glad to know where she is, when you can tell me.’
‘I suppose we have no clue at all?’
‘That I do not know, dear; I have none.’
‘You have no idea where she may have gone?’
‘None as she has not come here. I had a hope that she might have. I am so used to finding the house a refuge myself - Matty gave her niece another smile - ‘that I did not think of her being perhaps struck by it differently. Especially as she has spent her time in it in another way.’
‘We are all very grateful to her. I am very hurt that she has not come here.’
‘Yes, dear? She has hurt us all.’
‘Has she any home?’ said Mark.
‘Her home has been with me. I know of no other.’
‘She has no relations she could go to?’
‘She has relations, no doubt. But, you see, to them she would be, as you say, a relation. It is to you that she is the person outside the family.’
‘She has no friends in the neighbourhood?’
‘She has those to whom you may have introduced her. She can have no others.’
‘Aunt Matty, I know that you think we might have introduced you to more people,’ said Justine. ‘But the truth is that when the house was running at full pressure, with all of us at home and you and Grandpa coming in, Mother could manage no more. It worked out that your coming here to meet our friends meant that you could not meet them, it implied nothing more and I am sure you know it, and Maria may manage better; but as concerns the past that is the truth. It seemed to be a rankling spot, and so I have let in a little fresh air upon it.’
‘No, dear, that is not the line on which my thoughts were running,’ said Matty, lifting her eyes and resting them in gentle appraisement on her niece. ‘They were on the death of my father, as they hardly could not be. And friends and houses and Miss Griffin all came second to it. Indeed only Miss Griffin came in at all.’
‘We have no clue either to my brother’s whereabouts,’ said Edgar, taking the chance of opening his mind. ‘It is a strange fashion, this silent disappearance. We must try to get on the tracks of them both. Was Miss Griffin prepared for going? It is very cold.’
‘As far as I know, she went out of the garden without hat or coat or anything. The action was sudden and unpremeditated and she will probably be back at any time. She may be back now, in which case my father’s death will have been a great shock to her.’
‘Did she wander in the garden without hat or coat in this weather?’ said Clement.
‘Take care; Aunt Matty must have driven her out,’ said Mark. ‘And she did not wait to be called back, but went on her own way. And if she freezes or starves or dies of exposure, and it seems that she must do all those things, she will be better off than she has been.’
‘Had she money, Aunt Matty?’ said Justine.
‘I do not know - yes, dear, more than I have at the moment.’
‘And had she it with her?’
‘I can only know that when you find out and tell me. That thought has been in my own mind from the first.’
‘She cannot have gone far,’ said Maria, who had listened in silence. ‘We could send someone to drive about the country and look for her. We had better do it at once.’
‘May I interpose, ma’am?’ said Jellamy.
‘Yes, if you have anything to tell us.’
‘Mr Dudley and Miss Griffin were perceived to be walking together last night, ma’am.’
‘Oh, they were together. That is a good thing. How did you hear?’
‘The information came through, ma’am.”
‘You are quite sure?’
‘The authority is reliable, ma’am.’
‘Well, that is the worst off our minds about both,’ said Justine. ‘We need not worry about anyone who is in Uncle’s charge, or about anyone in Miss Griffin’s. Each is safe with the other. They both have someone to think of before themselves, and that will suit both of them.’
‘It is a mercy that their paths crossed,’ said Mark ‘What would have happened to Miss Griffin if they had not?’
‘She would have gone home, dear,’ said Matty, with a change in her eyes.
‘Well, they did cross, so we need not think about it,’ said Justine.
‘We can hardly help doing that,’ said Maria. ‘It was the purest chance that your uncle passed at the time.’
‘There are inns and other shelters,’ said Edgar, glancing at the window.’
‘For people who have money with them. She seems to have gone out quite unprepared.’
‘I told you that the action was unpremeditated,’ said Matty. ‘But they would have trusted her as she is known to live with me.’
‘People might not trust a person who was leaving the house where she was employed.’
‘Maria, it is a great feat of courage,’ whispered Justine, ‘and I honour you for it. But is it wise? And is it not an occasion when indulgence must be extended?’
‘Your aunt had not lost her father when she turned Miss Griffin out of doors.’
‘Oh, you have your own touch of severity,’ said Justine, taking a step backwards and using a voice that could be heard. ‘We shall have to beware. It may be a salutary threat hanging over us.’
‘Well, what of Dudley?’ said Matty. ‘Are we to hear any more about him, now that Miss Griffin is disposed of? Have you any room for him in your minds? Do you take as much interest in his comings and goings? Did he go out prepared for the weather? Had he any money? Did you have notice of his going? Tell me it all, as I have told you. We must not deal differently with each other.’
‘We will tell you, Aunt Matty. We admit that he went suddenl
y,’ said Justine. ‘And that we do not know the manner or the wherefore of his going.’
‘Mr Dudley was sufficiently equipped for the weather, ma’am,’ said Jellamy. ‘Miss Griffin was perceived to be wearing his coat when they were observed together.’
‘Was she? Then he was no longer in that happy state,’ said Matty, going into laughter rather as if at Jellamy and his interruption than at Dudley’s plight. ‘We can keep our anxiety to him. Miss Griffin no longer requires it. What about scattering some coats and hats about the road, for people to pick up who have fared forth without them? It is really a funny story. Somebody from the large house and somebody from the small, running away into the weather without a word or a look behind! Well, people must strike their own little attitudes; I suppose we none of us are above it; but I cannot imagine myself choosing to posture quite like that. And if I had had to pick out two people to scamper off into the snow with one coat and hat between them, I should not have pitched on Dudley and Miss Griffin.’ Matty bent her head and seemed to try to control her mirth. ‘It was a good thing that the coat belonged to Dudley, if they were to wear it in turns. He could not have got into hers.’
No one joined in the laughter, and Matty wiped her eyes and continued it alone, and then stopped short and adjusted her skirt as if suddenly struck by something amiss.
‘I have heard better jokes,’ said Mark. ‘The weather is icy cold and one coat is not enough for two.’
‘I wonder who was wearing the hat,’ said his aunt in a high voice which seemed to herald further laughter.
‘Miss Griffin was perceived to be wearing a shawl about her head, ma’am.’
‘Oh, what a picture! It sounds like a gipsy tableau. I wonder if they intended it like that. I wonder if they had a caravan hidden away somewhere. I know that Miss Griffin has plenty of hats in her cupboard. Some of them I have given her myself. What can be the reason of this sudden masquerade?’
‘Perhaps she had none in the garden,’ said Clement.
‘We know they have not a caravan,’ said Mark. ‘And it is hard to see how they are to manage without one.’
‘There is the inn,’ said his father, in a sharp tone.
‘Of course there is, Edgar,’ said Matty in a different manner. ‘They all seem to think that the scene is staged on a desert island. But the scene itself! I can’t help thinking of it. I shall have many a little private laugh over it.’
‘But no more public ones, I hope,’ muttered Mark.
Maria rose from the table, and Justine, as if perceiving her purpose, instantly did the same. Matty followed them slowly, using her lameness as a pretext for lingering in Edgar’s presence. She came to the drawing room fire in a preoccupied manner, as if the cares of her own life had returned.
‘Well, you are well in advance of me. I came in a poor third.’
‘We know you like to follow at your own pace,’ said Justine.
‘I do not know that I like it, dear. My pace is a thing which I have not been able to help for many years.’
‘Well, we know you prefer people not to wait for you. Though Father and the boys have waited. I suppose they saw that as unavoidable.’
‘Yes, I expect they did, dear. I don’t think we can alter that custom.’
‘No, naturally we cannot and we have not done so. But poor Aunt Matty, of course you are not yourself.’
‘No, dear, of course I am not,’ said Matty, with full corroboration. ‘And it has been silly of me to be surprised at seeing all of you so much yourselves. This morning is so different from other mornings to me, that it has been strange to find it so much the same to other people. You have not had days of this kind yet. Or you have put them behind you. Sorrow is not for the young, and so you have set it out of sight. And you have filled your empty place so wisely and well, that I am happy and easy in having helped you to do it. Any little shock and doubt and misgiving has melted away. But my father’s place will be always empty for me, and so I must remain a little out of sympathy - no, I will not say that - a little aloof from the happiness about me. But I am glad to see it all the same. I must not expect to find people of my own kind everywhere. They may not be so common.’
‘I should think they are not,’ said Clement.
‘You mean you hope not, naughty boy?’ said Matty, shaking her finger at him in acceptance of his point of view.
‘You do not want to think they are.’
‘I only found myself noticing that they were not.’
‘We might - perhaps we might see ourselves in other people more than we do,’ said Edgar.
‘We all have our depths and corners,’ said Justine.
‘And we all think that no one else has them,’ said Mark.
‘Dear, dear, what a band of philosophers!’ said Matty. ‘I did not know I had quite this kind of audience.’
‘Do you see yourself in us more than you thought?’ said Clement.
‘No, dear, but I see a good many of you at once. I did not know you were quite such a number on a line. I had thought of you all as more separate somehow.’
‘And now you only see yourself in that way?’
‘Well, dear, we agreed that I was a little apart.’
‘I don’t think we did,’ said Mark. ‘You implied it, but I don’t remember that you had so much support.’
‘I am going to end the talk,’ said Maria, rising. ‘Your aunt is more tired than she knows and must go and rest. And when I come down your father and I will go to the library, and you can have a time without us.’
‘How tactless we have been!’ said Justine. ‘We might have thought that they would like an hour by themselves. But what were we to do while Aunt Matty was here?’
‘What we did,’ said Mark. ‘No one could have thought that the scene was to our taste.’
‘I do admire Maria when she gives a little spurt of authority.’
‘She did not like to think of Miss Griffin wandering by herself in the snow,’ said Aubrey, bringing this picture into the light to free his own mind.
‘Little tender-heart!’ said Justine, simply evincing comprehension.
‘Without a coat or hat, and I suppose without gloves or tippet or shawl,’ said her brother, completing the picture with ruthlessness rather than with any other quality.
‘It is odd that we feel so little about Grandpa’s death.’
‘Aunt Matty’s life puts it into the shade,’ said Mark.
‘Well, he was old and tired and past his interests, and we really knew him very little. It would be idle to pretend to any real grief. It is only Aunt Matty who can feel it.’
‘And it does not seem to drown her other feelings.’ ‘Perhaps that is how sorrow sometimes improves people,’ said Aubrey.
‘No, no, little boy. No touch of Uncle at this moment. It is too much.’
‘We might all be better if our feelings were destroyed,’ continued Aubrey, showing that his sister had administered no check.
‘Poor Aunt Matty! One can feel so sorry for her when she is not here.’
‘You do betray other feelings when she is,’ said Mark.
‘I suppose I do. We might have remembered her trouble. Even Father and Maria seemed to forget it.’
‘Well, so did she herself.’
‘She will be very much alone in future. I don’t see how we are to prevent it.’
‘Will grief be her only companion?’ said Aubrey.
‘Well, she has driven away her official one,’ said Mark.
‘She will be confined to rage and bitterness and malice,’ said Clement.
‘So she will be alone amongst many,’ said Aubrey.
‘No, no, I don’t think malice,’ said Justine. ‘I don’t think it has ever been that. I wonder what Miss Griffin and Uncle are doing. But their being together disposes of any real problem. I think Uncle may safely be left to arrange the future for them both.’
‘Uncle has been left to do too much for people’s futures,’ said Mark. ‘And not so safely. We
can only imagine what happened last night.’
‘You are fortunate,’ said Clement. ‘I cannot.’
‘Or unfortunate,’ said Aubrey, who could.
‘I have been keeping my thoughts away from it,’ said Justine.
‘They have had enough to occupy them,’ said Mark. ‘But they will return. Grandpa’s death, Miss Griffin’s flight, even Aunt Matty’s visit will all be as nothing. We may as well imagine the scene.’
‘No, my mind baulks at it.’
‘Mine does worse. It constructs it.’
‘Maria was there,’ said Aubrey.
‘Yes, poor Maria!’ said Justine. ‘What a home-coming! It never rains but it pours.’
‘I think it nearly always rains. We only notice it when it pours.’
‘Yes, it is Uncle. Clear, natural and incontrovertible,’ said Justine, with a sigh, as if this fact altered no other. ‘Well, you may be clever boys, but you have a depressed sister today.’
‘How would it all have been if Maria had kept to Uncle?’ said Aubrey.
‘That is not Uncle,’ said Clement.
‘Little boy, what a way of putting it!’
‘Miss Griffin would still have run away; Grandpa would still have died; Aunt Matty would still have paid her visits,’ said Mark. ‘Only it might have been Father instead of Uncle who met Miss Griffin. And that might not have worked so well. He would have been more awkward in offering her his coat. So perhaps it is all for the best. That is always said when things are particularly bad, so there could hardly be a better occasion for saying it.’
‘Look,’ said Justine, going to the door and holding it ajar. ‘Look at those two figures passing through the hall, as two others used to pass. What an arresting and almost solemn sight! Do we let our hearts rejoice or be wrung by it?’
‘We will take the first course if we have the choice.’
‘Which is better, the sight of two beautiful men or of a beautiful man and a beautiful woman? I do not know; I will not try to say.’
‘I am letting my heart be wrung,’ said Aubrey, grinning and speaking the truth.
‘Will they ever be three again? Ought we to wish it? Or ought we just to hesitate to rush in where angels fear to tread?’
‘We might be imagining them four,’ said Aubrey, in a light tone.
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