“I really must go,” she said. “Jock will think I’m lost.”
“That will be good for Jock,” said Mrs. Ogylvie Smith cheerfully. “It is good for husbands to feel anxiety about their wives; not too often but just occasionally. Do not forget that little piece of wisdom, dear Rhoda,” she added as she kissed her young friend good-bye.
19
IT WAS not often that Adam Forrester got a whole free day, for Doctor Black suffered from rheumatism and was unfit for much work, but two days before Christmas he suddenly decided that his assistant had earned a holiday and chased him out of the surgery forthwith.
“Away with you,” said Doctor Black. “You work too hard. You’re making an idler of me.”
Adam and Nan decided to visit Boscath. They could send no message of course but the terms of their friendship with the Dering Johnstones made this unnecessary. Adam fetched the car while Nan completed her household duties in a perfunctory manner and they set off without more ado. The ground was hard with frost and slippery in parts but this inconvenience was offset by the fact that the boggy part of the road was frozen. Adam negotiated it carefully and despite some slides and slithers they arrived safely at Boscath Farm.
James was just coming home to lunch, he waved wildly and hastened his steps; Rhoda, hearing the car, ran out to greet the unexpected guests and assure them of their welcome.
“You know,” said Rhoda as they sat down to lunch. “I’ve just discovered an advantage in having no telephone. If we were on the telephone you’d have rung up and said, May we come? and it wouldn’t have been nearly such a lovely surprise.” They discussed various matters at lunch, amongst them The Merchant of Venice. Adam and Nan had both been present at the entertainment (Nan behind the scenes helping to dress the actors) so there was quite a lot to be said about it.
“The wig was most effective,” declared Rhoda.
“That wig!” cried Nan laughing. “What an awful job it was! I tried all sorts of ways of doing it and eventually I got a piece of canvas and made it to fit Duggie’s head and then covered it with white fluffy wool — the kind you use for babies’ jackets — pulling it through and leaving the ends hanging. It really is a work of art, though I sez it as shouldn’t! You must get Duggie to show it to you.”
“He’s got it, has he?” said Rhoda.
“Oh, yes, he’s got it,” Nan replied. “Mr. Greig wanted to keep it in his chest of theatrical properties in case they should want it next year (his ambitions are soaring and he contemplates a production of King Lear by William Shakespeare and Thomas Grieg), but Duggie absolutely refused to part with the wig and I’m afraid I backed him up.”
“You coached him, didn’t you?” said Rhoda.
“A little,” replied Nan. “He didn’t need much coaching. As a matter of fact there was a good deal of unpleasantness over Duggie’s rendering of Shylock. Mr. Greig wanted it played quite differently and if there had been anybody else in the school who could have learnt the lines Duggie would have got thrown out on his ear. Fortunately there was nobody else, so the producer had to put up with Duggie and make the best of it.”
“I wish I’d seen it,” James said. “I shall make a point of seeing Lear. That ought to be even funnier.”
After lunch the party divided and the two young men set off for a walk over the hill. James wanted to have a look at his sheep and Adam had evinced a desire to accompany him. The day was grey and bleak, the glass had fallen and a thin chill breeze rustled through the heather, but in spite of the cold and the overcast skies Adam was enjoying the walk.
“This is your work,” he said, and something in his voice told James that Adam felt slightly envious.
“Yes,” agreed James. “It’s grand country, isn’t it? Sometimes it’s bleak and hard and cold — like today, for instance — but working for it is a man’s job. You’re working for it, too, in your different way.”
“I know,” agreed Adam. “I feel the same about it, but sometimes I wish …”
“What do you wish?” asked James.
“Impossibilities,” smiled Adam. “You can’t have everything, can you?”
James felt that he had everything (sometimes he felt quite frightened when he thought of his good fortune and of all the blessings which had been heaped on his head) but his happiness had not blunted his sensitive feelings and after a moment’s thought he said tentatively, “I daresay you’d like somebody of your own ilk to talk to.”
“Yes,” replied Adam, looking at his friend in surprise. “Yes, how did you know? When I was in the hospital there was far too much ‘shop’; we talked about our cases interminably and I must say one got very tired of it, but of course if one were worried about a case it was a relief to discuss it and perhaps get someone else to give an opinion. Here, it’s the other extreme. There isn’t a creature who knows the first thing about medicine (except of course Doctor Black who, to be perfectly honest, is a little behind the times). Here, there is literally nobody to talk to about one’s cases: interesting cases, worrying cases or cases that don’t yield to treatment. If only there were somebody who understood, or knew the difference between a tibia and a fibula!” Adam laughed and added, “But don’t listen to me, James. I’m an ungrateful pig. I’ve got Nan and I’ve got a home and I’ve got work which I love and which brings us enough to eat.”
They had reached the dyke by this time. James sat down in its shelter and filled his pipe. He understood exactly what Adam’s feelings were and felt inclined to say, “Why not try me?” (and this, not only for Adam’s sake, but because he liked Adam immensely), but as he did not know the difference between a tibia and a fibula perhaps it would not be much good. He said reflectively, “I felt the same at first after leaving the army, you know. I was often bored stiff with the mess and all the ‘shop’ but afterwards I missed it. I missed the companionship and the free and easy talk and of course I see it would be worse for you because you doctors are more specialised.”
Adam sat down beside him and they looked at the view spread before them: the hills, the river, the little clusters of trees, and for a few minutes there was silence.
“Don’t get it wrong,” said Adam after a bit. “Don’t think I’m regretting the fact that I chucked the post in London and came to Drumburly. I’ve never regretted it for a moment. The fact is I’m a Scot and, anywhere else on the face of the globe, I’m an exile. Sometimes when I was in London, surrounded by piles of bricks and mortar, I used to feel quite sick with longing to see a hill … a nice bald-faced, lowland hill with sheep upon it. I’d think of little bits of country that I knew: of a grey road zig-zagging up the side of a brae or a burn running in links through a green moss with wild flowers growing beside it. I’d see a huddle of hills with a gap between them and, through the gap, another hill, far off and blue with distance. I’d smell the sharp tang of bog-myrtle or a whiff of peat smoke … and all this in a London street!” He smiled apologetically and added, “I’d rather be a pauper here than a Dives in any other place.”
“It seems to me you’re a poet, whatever else you are,” said James.
Meanwhile Rhoda and Nan were having quite a different sort of talk, they settled themselves beside the fire and congratulated themselves on the fact that they need not go out in the cold. Rhoda produced a basket of darning and Nan insisted on helping with the task of mending the holes in James’s socks. They worked away together in complete harmony.
“I suppose you’re going to the party at Drumburly Tower?” asked Nan.
Rhoda nodded. “It will be fun, won’t it? I haven’t danced for ages, in fact I believe I’ve forgotten how. We’re going to spend the night, or what remains of the night at Mureth.” She pulled out another sock and displayed an enormous hole in the heel. “Look at that!” she exclaimed. “It’s because he walks such miles, poor darling! And I’ve been so busy lately that I’ve let them pile up. When I’m really excited about my work I simply can’t stop and mend socks and stockings.”
“A new pi
cture?” Nan asked.
“Yes, and it’s going to be good,” said Rhoda happily.
“Tell me about it. Is it a portrait or what?”
“It’s a portrait.”
“Somebody I know?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Rhoda mysteriously. It was natural to assume that Nan had met her brother’s friend.
Of course Nan wanted to see the portrait and as Rhoda was quite willing to show it to her they put the mending aside and went up to the studio together.
“There it is,” said Rhoda. “It isn’t finished of course, because he had to go back to Glasgow; but I’ve managed to do a good deal without him. One more sitting should finish it. You know him, don’t you?”
She stopped, waiting for Nan’s comment, but Nan was completely silent, staring at the portrait in a dazed sort of way. All the colour had drained out of her face leaving it haggard and wan. She put out her hand, groping for support.
“Nan!” cried Rhoda in alarm and she put her arm round her friend’s waist and guided her to a chair.
“It’s all right,” said Nan shakily. “Don’t worry — I shall be all right in a minute. It was just — just seeing him suddenly. I didn’t know — you never said.”
“I’m terribly sorry. It was idiotic of me,” Rhoda declared.
“It’s all right,” repeated Nan. “I don’t know why I was so silly. It’s all over long ago. It’s just — he’s the man — the man I told you about.”
Rhoda knew this already. She had known the moment she had seen Nan’s stricken face. It was Henry who had been “not really engaged” to Nan and then had changed his mind but she could hardly believe it! Henry was not like that.
“I’m sorry,” Rhoda repeated. “I might have guessed.”
“How could you possibly?” said Nan. “It was my fault for telling you a little bit and then stopping. I’d like to tell you it all if it wouldn’t bore you.”
“Of course you must tell me, but let’s go downstairs to the fire.”
Nan had recovered now. She went and looked at the portrait again before following Rhoda out of the studio. “I didn’t tell you how good I thought it was,” said Nan. “But perhaps that wasn’t necessary. Do people often pass out on being shown one of your pictures?”
“Oh, frequently,” declared Rhoda, taking her arm and dragging her away. “As a matter of fact one of my pictures had to be removed from the walls of Burlington House, because —”
“Rhoda!”
“Not everybody was affected, of course,” continued Rhoda with complete gravity as she piloted her friend downstairs. “Only very sensitive people were affected (as you know many people have skins like rhinoceri) but a few were so deeply moved that an extraordinary meeting of the committee was convened, and a deputation, headed by Sir Alfred Munnings, called upon me and asked permission to remove the picture. Of course I was obliged to consent and the picture was taken from the walls and replaced by a reproduction of Landseer’s ‘Stag at Bay’ which, although affecting to members of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, was less painful to other members of the public.”
By this time Nan was giggling helplessly and allowed herself to be led into the sitting room and placed in a chair by the fire and, as Flockie had prepared tea in their absence, her restoration was completed by a cup of that cheering beverage and an ambrosial oven scone.
“I’d like to tell you,” said Nan after a little. “You know most of it already of course and you’ve probably guessed a good deal. You know that he was in charge of the hospital in London and Adam was one of his assistants. Everybody in the hospital admired him; he really is brilliant. He was known as ‘H.O.’ Everybody called him H.O., some to his face and others behind his back.”
“Rather neat! I always liked H.O. in the Would-be-Good stories,” said Rhoda nodding.
“Adam had to live in the hospital and I had to live in the school where I was assistant matron, so we didn’t see very much of each other but we always met on Sundays. Adam used to talk a lot about H.O., how marvellous he was and what a brilliant diagnostician he was. Adam always used to say what wonderful hands he had. As a matter of fact I got quite tired of listening to Adam singing his praises and was quite prepared to dislike the paragon. But I didn’t dislike him.” She sighed and then continued. “One Sunday Adam and I had arranged to go for an expedition to Virginia Water. It was one of our favourite expeditions and I was rather annoyed when Adam rang up and said H.O. was coming with us. Well, he came and — and I liked him. After that he often came with us and we went to all sorts of places, the three of us together, and we had all sorts of funny little adventures. We talked a lot. He felt he could be natural with us and I think it was a relief to him. He had to be very proper and sedate in the hospital. He asked us to call him Henry and we did when we were alone with him, or at least I always did (Adam found it difficult for he had always called him H.O.). He talked about his home at Drumburly and about the hills and the river and how beautiful they were.
“Adam and I love the country too. We had always said that someday we would go back to Scotland and make a home together, it was a sort of dream. We used to say ‘When we have our little house we’ll have a green gate’ and Henry used to laugh at us. Then one day he heard from his Mother that Doctor Black at Drumburly was looking for an assistant and he said to Adam, ‘There’s your chance, Adam. What about it?’ He said it in fun but Adam jumped at it. Adam was madly keen. This was what we had always talked of, hoped for, prayed for. I must give up my post at the school and come and keep house for him. We should have a home — a real home at last. If it hadn’t been for Henry I would have been wildly happy because I had always wanted a home and wanted it just as much as Adam.”
“But there was Henry,” nodded Rhoda understanding.
“Yes, and I could see he was far from keen on the idea. He had said it in fun and now he wished he hadn’t. For one thing he didn’t want to lose Adam, and for another thing … there was me. One Sunday Adam had to be in hospital so Henry and I went to Kew together and walked round the gardens. It was a cold, horrible day, but it didn’t seem to matter. It was that day I knew certain — or thought I knew — that Henry wanted to marry me. He didn’t say anything definite, because every now and then it rained and we had to shelter in the hot-houses which were packed with other people sheltering from the rain … and coming home in the bus it was crowded too.”
Nan stopped and made a little helpless gesture with her hands. “I didn’t know what to do,” she said. “I couldn’t say anything to Adam and yet I felt I ought to. How could Adam go to Drumburly alone? Goodness, how I worried! It just shows how silly it is — to worry,” added Nan in a shaky voice. “As it was I needn’t have worried.”
Rhoda leant forward and patted her knee.
“That’s all, really,” said Nan. “At least it’s nearly all. While I was still wondering what I should do Henry went away for a long weekend and when he came back he was quite different. He made it obvious that he had changed his mind. He had seen Doctor Black and spoken to him about Adam and if Adam really wanted the post it was his. There was a house too, Henry said, a tiny house in the High Street which he thought would be the very thing for Adam and me … and then he laughed and added that unfortunately the gate was brown but a pot of paint would soon put that right.”
“Nan!” exclaimed Rhoda.
“It’s all right,” Nan said. “Don’t worry. I suppose I was silly. Probably I imagined the whole thing. At any rate it’s all over now and I’m quite happy with Adam … very happy with Adam,” added Nan emphatically.
20
THE SHEEP-farmer is always busy, first with one thing and then with another. Roy was doing well now and taking an interest in his work, but he could not be expected to do all the work himself and James took it in turn with him to walk round the hills. The tups which James had bought at the Lockerbie Sales had been running with the ewes since the end of November, and while they were out on the hills
they had to be watched and herded and kept from straying. The ewes were divided into groups (to every forty or fifty ewes there was a tup) and this meant that James or Roy must walk round the hirsel at least once a day to make sure that all was well.
It was impossible to do this kind of work without a dog and Dan had managed to get one for them; he was a shaggy friendly creature who answered to the name of Shad. Shad was no beauty, and he was not as good a sheep-dog as Gyp, but he was improving and James was quite pleased with him.
Sometimes Rhoda went up the hill with James and they took their lunch and had it together in the shelter of a boulder. Then James would go on, round the great bulk of Crowthorne Hill and Winterfell and Rhoda would amuse herself sketching until he picked her up on his way home. Rhoda enjoyed these outings, she enjoyed walking over the hill in James’s company.
“I’m going round the hill today,” said James one morning at breakfast. “It’s too cold for you, I’m afraid. You can’t sit and sketch, you’d be frozen.”
“I’ll come part of the way and then come back,” replied Rhoda who was unwilling to forego her walk.
They set out together with Shad bounding along beside them. It was certainly very cold but there was not a breath of wind; the sky above the hill-tops was pale and misty. There had been frost in the night and the film of it was silver-grey upon the withered heather and the rushes and upon every blade of grass. The pools in the river were smoking delicately in the morning sun. James and Rhoda took the track to the hills, walking shoulder to shoulder. The sun was in their eyes as they went; it had risen from behind Crowthorne Hill like an orange ball but gradually it gained in power and the mists that swathed its rising were disappearing, evaporating in its rays.
“It is lovely,” Rhoda said with a sigh. “The funny thing about this place is that although it’s freezing it doesn’t make one cold. It’s quite different from a town. In London when it’s cold and frosty the chill goes right through to one’s marrow. I’m almost too hot.”
Shoulder the Sky (Drumberley Book 3) Page 13