Tommy and Grizel

by J. M. Barrie

  CHAPTER XXVII

  GRIZEL'S JOURNEY

  Nothing could have been less expected. In the beginning of May itsleaves had lost something of their greenness. The plant seemed to behesitating, but she coaxed it over the hill, and since then it hadscarcely needed her hand; almost light-headedly it hurried into itssummer clothes, and new buds broke out on it, like smiles, at thefascinating thought that there was to be a to-morrow. Grizel's planthad never been so brave in its little life when suddenly it turnedback.

  That was the day on which Elspeth and David were leaving for afortnight's holiday with his relatives by the sea; for Elspeth neededand was getting special devotion just now, and Grizel knew why. Shewas glad they were going; it was well that they should not be there toask questions if she also must set forth on a journey.

  For more than a week she waited, and everything she could do for herplant she did. She watched it so carefully that she might havedeceived herself into believing that it was standing still only, hadthere been no night-time. She thought she had not perhaps beensufficiently good, and she tried to be more ostentatiously satisfiedwith her lot. Never had she forced herself to work quite so hard forothers as in those few days, and then when she came home it haddrooped a little more.

  When she was quite sure that it was dying, she told Corp she was goingto London by that night's train. "He is ill, Corp, and I must go tohim."

  Ill! But how had he let her know?

  "He has found a way," she said, with a tremulous smile. He wanted herto telegraph; but no, she would place no faith in telegrams.

  At least she could telegraph to Elspeth and the doctor. One of themwould go.

  "It is I who am going," she said quietly. "I can't wait any longer. Itwas a promise, Corp. He loves me." They were the only words she saidwhich suggest that there was anything strange about Grizel at thistime.

  Corp saw how determined she was when she revealed, incidentally, thatshe had drawn a sum of money out of the bank a week ago, "to beready."

  "What will folk say!" he cried.

  "You can tell Gavinia the truth when I am gone," she told him. "Shewill know better than you what to say to other people." And that wassome comfort to him, for it put the burden of invention upon his wife.So it was Corp who saw Grizel off. He was in great distress himselfabout Tommy, but he kept a courageous face for her, and his last wordsflung in at the carriage window were, "Now dinna be down-hearted; I'mnain down-hearted mysel', for we're very sure he'll find a wy." AndGrizel smiled and nodded, and the train turned the bend that shuts outthe little town of Thrums. The town vanishes quickly, but the quarrywe howked it out of stands grim and red, watching the train for many amile.

  Of Grizel's journey to London there are no particulars to tell. Shewas wearing her brown jacket and fur cap because Tommy had liked them,and she sat straight and stiff all the way. She had never been in atrain since she was a baby, except two or three times to Tilliedrum,and she thought this was the right way to sit. Always, when the trainstopped, which was at long intervals, she put her head out at thewindow and asked if this was the train to London. Every station atrain stops at in the middle of the night is the infernal regions, andshe shuddered to hear lost souls clanking their chains, which is whata milk-can becomes on its way to the van; but still she asked if thiswas the train to London. When fellow-passengers addressed her, she wasvery modest and cautious in her replies. Sometimes a look ofextraordinary happiness, of radiance, passed over her face, and mayhave puzzled them. It was part of the thought that, however ill hemight be, she was to see him now.

  She did not see him as soon as she expected, for at the door ofTommy's lodgings they told her that he had departed suddenly for theContinent about a week ago. He was to send an address by and by towhich letters could be forwarded. Was he quite well when he went away?Grizel asked, shaking.

  The landlady and her daughter thought he was rather peakish, but hehad not complained.

  He went away for his health, Grizel informed them, and he was very illnow. Oh, could they not tell her where he was? All she knew was thathe was very ill. "I am engaged to be married to him," she said withdignity. Without this strange certainty that Tommy loved her at last,she could not have trod the road which faced her now. Even when shehad left the house, where at their suggestion she was to callto-morrow, she found herself wondering at once what he would like herto do now, and she went straight to a hotel, and had her box sent toit from the station, and she remained there all day because shethought that this was what he would like her to do. She sat boltupright on a cane chair in her bedroom, praying to God with her eyesopen; she was begging Him to let Tommy tell her where he was, andpromising to return home at once if he did not need her.

  Next morning they showed her, at his lodgings, two lines in anewspaper, which said that he was ill with bronchitis at the HotelKrone, Bad-Platten, in Switzerland.

  It may have been an answer to her prayer, as she thought, but we knownow how the paragraph got into print. On the previous evening thelandlady had met Mr. Pym on the ladder of an omnibus, and told him,before they could be plucked apart, of the lady who knew that Mr.Sandys was ill. It must be bronchitis again. Pym was much troubled; heknew that the Krone at Bad-Platten had been Tommy's destination. Hetalked that day, and one of the company was a reporter, which accountsfor the paragraph.

  Grizel found out how she could get to Bad-Platten. She left her boxbehind her at the cloakroom of the railway station, where I suppose itwas sold years afterwards. From Dover she sent a telegram to Tommy,saying: "I am coming. GRIZEL."

  On entering the train at Calais she had a railway journey of somethirty hours, broken by two changes only. She could speak a littleFrench, but all the use she made of it was to ask repeatedly if shewas in the right train. An English lady who travelled with her formany hours woke up now and again to notice that this quiet,prim-looking girl was always sitting erect, with her hand on herumbrella, as if ready to leave the train at any moment. The ladypointed out some of the beauties of the scenery to her, and Grizeltried to listen. "I am afraid you are unhappy," her companion said atlast.

  "That is not why I am crying," Grizel said; "I think I am cryingbecause I am so hungry."

  The stranger gave her sandwiches and claret as cold as the rivers thatraced the train; and Grizel told her, quite frankly, why she was goingto Bad-Platten. She did not tell his name, only that he was ill, andthat she was engaged to him, and he had sent for her. She believed itall. The lady was very sympathetic, and gave her information about thediligence by which the last part of Grizel's journey must be made, andalso said: "You must not neglect your meals, if only for his sake; forhow can you nurse him back to health if you arrive at Bad-Platten illyourself? Consider his distress if he were to be told that you were inthe inn, but not able to go to him."

  "Oh!" Grizel cried, rocking her arms for the first time since she knewher plant was drooping. She promised to be very practical henceforth,so as to have strength to take her place by his side at once. It wasstrange that she who was so good a nurse had forgotten these things,so strange that it alarmed her, as if she feared that, without beingable to check herself, she was turning into some other person.

  The station where she alighted was in a hubbub of life; everyoneseemed to leave the train here, and to resent the presence of all theothers. They were mostly English. The men hung back, as if, now thatthere was business to be done in some foolish tongue, they had betterleave the ladies to do it. Many of them seemed prepared, if there wasdissension, to disown their womankind and run for it. They lookedhaughty and nervous. Such of them as had tried to shave in the trainwere boasting of it and holding handkerchiefs to their chins. Theladies were moving about in a masterful way, carrying bunches of keys.When they had done everything, the men went and stood by their sidesagain.

  Outside the station buses and carriages were innumerable, andeverybody was shouting; but Grizel saw that nearly all herfellow-passengers were hurrying by foot or conveyance to one spot, alldesirous of being t
here first, and she thought it must be the placewhere the diligence started from, and pressed on with them. It provedto be a hotel where they all wanted the best bedroom, and many of themhad telegraphed for it, and they gathered round a man in uniform anddemanded that room of him; but he treated them as if they were littledogs and he was not the platter, and soon they were begging for a roomon the fourth floor at the back, and swelling with triumph if they gotit. The scrimmage was still going on when Grizel slipped out of thehotel, having learned that the diligence would not start until thefollowing morning. It was still early in the afternoon. How could shewait until to-morrow?

  Bad-Platten was forty miles away. The road was pointed out to her. Itbegan to climb at once. She was to discover that for more than thirtymiles it never ceased to climb. She sat down, hesitating, on a littlebridge that spanned a horrible rushing white stream. Poets have sungthe glories of that stream, but it sent a shiver through her. On allsides she was caged in by a ring of splendid mountains, but she didnot give them one admiring glance (there is a special spot where theguide-books advise you to stop for a moment to do it); her onepassionate desire was to fling out her arms and knock them over.

  She had often walked twenty miles in a day, in a hill country too,without feeling tired, and there seemed no reason why she should notset off now. There were many inns on the way, she was told, where shecould pass the night. There she could get the diligence next day. Thiswould not bring her any sooner to him than if she waited here untilto-morrow; but how could she sit still till to-morrow? She must bemoving; she seemed to have been sitting still for an eternity. "I mustnot do anything rash," she told herself, carefully. "I must arrive atBad-Platten able to sit down beside him the moment I have taken off myjacket--oh, without waiting to take off my jacket." She went into thehotel and ate some food, just to show herself how careful she hadbecome. About three o'clock she set off. She had a fierce desire toget away from that heartless white stream and the crack of whips andthe doleful pine woods, and at first she walked very quickly; but shenever got away from them, for they marched with her. It was not thatday, but the next, that Grizel thought anything was marching with her.That day her head was quite clear, and she kept her promise toherself, and as soon as she felt tired she stopped for the night at avillage inn. But when she awoke very early next morning she seemed tohave forgotten that she was to travel the rest of the way bydiligence; for, after a slight meal, she started off again on foot,and she was walking all day.

  She passed through many villages so like each other that in time shethought they might be the same. There was always a monster inn whenceone carriage was departing as another drove up, and there was a greatstone water-tank in which women drew their washing back and forward,and there was always a big yellow dog that barked fiercely and thengiggled, and at the doors of painted houses children stood. You knewthey were children by their size only. The one person she spoke tothat day was a child who offered her a bunch of wild flowers. No onewas looking, and Grizel kissed her and then hurried on.

  The carriage passed and repassed her. There must have been a hundredof them, but in time they became one. No sooner had it disappeared indust in front of her than she heard the crack of its whip behind.

  It was a glorious day of sweltering sun; but she was bewildered now,and did not open the umbrella with which she had shielded her headyesterday. In the foreground was always the same white road, on bothsides the same pine wood laughing with wild flowers, the same roaringwhite stream. From somewhere near came the tinkle of cow-bells. Faraway on heights, if she looked up, were villages made of match-boxes.She saw what were surely the same villages if she looked down; or theone was the reflection of the other, in the sky above or in the valleybelow. They stood out so vividly that they might have been withinarm's reach. They were so small that she felt she could extinguishthem with her umbrella. Near them was the detestably picturesquecastle perched upon a bracket. Everywhere was that loathly waterfall.Here and there were squares of cultivated land that looked likedoor-mats flung out upon the hillsides. The huge mountains raisedtheir jagged heads through the snow, and were so sharp-edged that theymight have been clipped out of cardboard. The sky was blue, without aflaw; but lost clouds crawled like snakes between heaven and earth.All day the sun scorched her, but the night was nipping cold.

  From early morn till evening she climbed to get away from them, butthey all marched with her. They waited while she slept. She woke up inan inn, and could have cried with delight because she saw nothing butbare walls. But as soon as she reached the door, there they all were,ready for her. An hour after she set off, she again reached that door;and she stopped at it to ask if this was the inn where she had passedthe night. Everything had turned with her. Two squalls of sudden raindrenched her that day, and she forced her way through the first, butsought a covering from the second.

  It was then afternoon, and she was passing through a village by alake. Since Grizel's time monster hotels have trampled the village todeath, and the shuddering lake reflects all day the most hideous ofcaravansaries flung together as with a giant shovel in one of theloveliest spots on earth. Even then some of the hotels had found itout. Grizel drew near to two of them, and saw wet halls full of openumbrellas which covered the floor and looked like great beetles. Thesebuildings were too formidable, and she dragged herself past them. Shecame to a garden of hops and evergreens. Wet chairs were standing inthe deserted walks, and here and there was a little arbour. She wentinto one of these arbours and sat down, and soon slid to the floor.

  The place was St. Gian, some miles from Bad-Platten; but one of theumbrellas she had seen was Tommy's. Others belonged to Mrs. Jerry andLady Pippinworth.