I said I did not mind.
It is written in my diary that Margaret and I took the bus to Linlithgow and saw the old palace, but to be quite honest I remember very little about it, which seems a pity considering how very interesting it must have been.
We saw nothing of Andrew all day but when I was getting ready for supper he knocked on my door and asked me to come out on to the landing.
“Come out on to the landing?” I echoed. “Hadn’t you better come in if you want to talk to me?”
“It would be better if you came out,” he replied uncomfortably.
I pulled him into the room and shut the door. I really could not wait a moment longer. “Well?” I asked anxiously.
“I’ve been to Ryddelton. It’s no use; I didn’t think it would be.”
“That wasn’t the right spirit to go in!”
“Perhaps not, but it wouldn’t have made any difference,” he replied.
He seemed perfectly calm and composed on the surface but beneath the surface I could sense his unhappiness. It was as if some inner light had gone out … and it was all my fault. Why had I not left well alone?
“What happened?” I asked. “What did you do? What did you say?”
“We walked about in the garden and I explained.”
“You shouldn’t have explained. You should have kissed her.”
“Good heavens, no! There was nothing like that! She gave me — no encouragement at all. She seemed — rather amused,” said Andrew miserably. “She was very kind, of course — she always is — but she made me see it was quite ridiculous to think of such a thing at our age. She said we were both too old. She said she was going to be a grandmother before very long. She pointed out that we both have obligations.”
“Obligations?”
“Yes, she’s got you and Rosalie to look after and I’ve got Margaret … look, Jane,” he added. “We had better go down. It’s supper-time and Margaret will be wondering.”
Margaret may have been wondering why we were late for supper, but most certainly she was wondering before the meal was finished for she had lived with Andrew so long and was so close to him in spirit that she could not fail to notice his preoccupation. She made no comment, for it was not her way to pry into other people’s business, but after supper when we were washing up the dishes together she suddenly turned to me and said, “Is something the matter, Jane? Don’t tell me if you’d rather not.”
“I’ve been putting my foot in it, that’s all.”
“Nobody is ill — or anything like that?” asked Margaret anxiously.
I had to tell her. As a matter of fact I thought she had a right to know. I was afraid she might be angry with me for interfering, but she was neither angry nor surprised.
“Well, of course,” she said. “He’s always loved Anna, that’s why he never looked at anybody else. That’s why I never managed my tour round the world. I shall never manage it now,” she added with a little sigh.
I looked at her for a moment and then flung down the dishcloth and went back to the dining-room, where Andrew was still sitting with a stone-cold cup of coffee in front of him.
“Listen, Andrew!” I cried. “You didn’t do it properly. You messed up the whole thing.”
“I shouldn’t have done it at all,” said Andrew miserably. “I’ve been thinking. Anna was right. We’re too old — and we’ve both got obligations. What on earth would Margaret do if I got married?”
“Go round the world.”
“Go round the world!”
“A tour round the world — it’s been her dream for years. You know how Margaret loves travel-books? Well, she wants to see all the places she’s read about.”
“What an extraordinary idea!”
“It’s a gorgeous idea — not extraordinary at all. I only wish I could …” and then I stopped and gazed at him with an astonishment which matched his own. Why couldn’t I? There was no reason at all why I should not go — with Margaret Rosalie could come too, if she wanted. Thanks to The Mulberry Coach I had the money to pay for us both.
I began to laugh excitedly. “We’ll do it!” I cried. “Your obligations will all go round the world together.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” demanded Andrew.
I saw then that I had gone the wrong way about it — so much so that it took a long time to convince him that I was in earnest — but at last he was convinced.
“Oh well, if that’s what you want there’s nothing to prevent you,” he admitted.
“Except our obligations,” I said. “We couldn’t possibly leave Mother alone at Ryddelton and Margaret wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone here.”
“I wish you’d be serious. I’ve told you I asked Anna to marry me and she refused.”
“But you did it all wrong! You should have kissed her — passionately —”
“Really, Jane!” he exclaimed in horrified tones.
“Yes, you should,” I declared. “You should have kissed her — and then explained. You should have told her that you had always loved her — that you had been faithful to her for twenty years. You should have said you had never looked at another woman and never would. You should have said you couldn’t be happy without her.”
“You’re laughing at me —”
“No, I’m not.”
“But it’s all true — every word.”
“Well, go and tell her,” I said crossly. “How is she to know all that unless you tell her?”
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning Andrew set off to Ryddelton so early that neither Margaret nor I was out of bed. We came downstairs to find a note to say he had gone — and that was all.
“Without any breakfast! Oh dear!” exclaimed Margaret in dismay.
“He’ll be there in time for breakfast,” I told her. It was not Andrew’s breakfast — or lack of breakfast — which was worrying me.
“Aren’t you going to have any porridge, Jane?” asked my hostess.
“No thank you, I don’t want anything except perhaps a cup of coffee. Oh Margaret, why was I such a fool! An interfering busy-body! What have I started? Why didn’t I leave things alone?”
“You did it for the best,” said Margaret consolingly. “He’s been in love with Anna all his life. Why shouldn’t he have his chance to be happy? If it comes off we’ll go for our tour, and if not there’s no harm done.”
I was not so sure about ‘no harm done’.
Fortunately my agony did not last long; we had scarcely finished dallying with cups of coffee when the telephone rang and it was Andrew in a state of incoherent excitement saying he was a happy man. Then Mother snatched the receiver out of his hand and said Andrew was mad and nothing was settled and were we quite certain it was all right, because nothing would induce her to marry anybody and leave Jane in the lurch … and what was this hare-brained scheme about going round the world when we could all live together happily at Murrayfield Gardens?
Margaret spoke to them and so did I, but there was no sense to be got out of them. The truth was they were both in such a state of excitement that they did not know what they were saying.
“Well, I suppose it’s all right,” said Margaret when at last the line went dead and there was nothing more to be heard.
“It’s perfectly all right,” I said. “And if you don’t mind we’ll heat up those sausages because for some reason I’m frightfully hungry.”
*
Margaret and I had imagined that we would be able to settle things quite quickly and start off on our travels early in the New Year but all sorts of things conspired to delay us. Mother declared that she must buy some clothes (not a trousseau of course, that would be silly at her age; but she had not a single garment fit to wear) and Andrew insisted on having the Murrayfield house redecorated from attic to cellar for his bride.
Rosalie said she would come with us on our tour — and was quite excited about it — and then for no apparent reason she cooled off and decided to stay
with the Fergusons instead.
Then Helen became very ill and Mother abandoned all her preparations for the wedding and went off to London posthaste. Helen had been taken to hospital, so Mother stayed with Ronnie in their flat, looking after him and visiting Helen daily. At first it was thought that there was no hope for the baby but things improved a little and on the fourteenth of February Mother rang up to say that the baby had arrived. He was a seven-months baby, very small and weak, but they had hopes that he would live.
Mother stayed in London until Helen and her little son were better and she was able to leave them in charge of a capable nurse. They had called the baby ‘Valentine’ after his patron saint, not ‘Gerald’ as Mother had wanted, but he had been christened in such a hurry that there had been no time for discussion about his name.
By this time Mother was so exhausted that she would have backed out of her marriage if she could. She declared that she felt a hundred years old — she was an old done woman, more fit for her grave than her wedding — but Andrew refused to listen. Andrew had waited patiently for months and would not wait a day longer and he was so forceful and confident that he swept all before him. There need be no junketings, declared Andrew, and Anna needed no clothes except those she stood up in, but they would be married on Monday and go off to Skye for a peaceful honeymoon.
“Monday!” exclaimed Mother in dismay.
“Monday,” said Andrew firmly. “The whole thing is fixed and I’ve taken the rooms for three weeks.”
“Oh well —” said Mother … and then she added, “Perhaps you should take your rod, Andrew.”
“Two rods,” said Andrew with a smile.
*
It was the end of April when Margaret and I stepped out of the plane at Rome airport. Neither of us had flown before but after our first wild terror had worn off we had both enjoyed the experience of being airborne. We had agreed that our tour was to be leisurely; we had all the time in the world at our disposal. Certainly we had no intention of wandering round the globe for ever — like a couple of Flying Dutchwomen. Our intention was to return to Ryddelton and live at Timble Cottage … but that was far off, it was a tiny picture seen through the wrong end of a telescope.
Rome was our first choice, for there were a hundred things in Rome that both of us wanted to see. We prowled round the place with a guide-book, feasting our eyes upon old buildings and churches and pictures until the lovely old city became as hot as an oven and we could bear it no longer. We flew to Cape Town after that, and from there took ship to Australia …
It would be tedious to write of our travels day by day or week by week. We just wandered — and having discovered that we both liked ships better than aeroplanes we did most of our travelling by water.
Margaret was a perfect travelling companion; she never fussed nor worried; she never interfered. She was not stimulating nor very amusing (like Mother and Mrs. Millard) but she was extremely restful. She never besought me to ‘use my brain’ — and if I chose to walk round the deck with a young man she did not jump to conclusions. (Mother would have been the soul of tact, but in her own secret thoughts she would have robed me in white satin and orange blossom.)
I soon discovered that Margaret wore blinkers, but she wore them with a difference; they did not make her inconsiderate nor selfish, but they prevented her from interfering in other people’s affairs. Occasionally they got her into trouble and she floundered into bogs that a more perspicacious woman would have avoided … as when she remarked to the ageing husband of a very young wife, “How pretty your daughter is! All the young men admire her.”
I could rescue her from some of her indiscretions but not from that one.
It was when we were steaming across the Indian Ocean that we met a young American, Tony Meldrum, who possessed a small but very efficient telescope through which he surveyed the heavens every night. When he discovered quite by accident that to me the word ‘star’ connoted a celestial body and not the body of an actress upon the screen he was ‘thrilled to bits’ and invited me to join him. He was further delighted when he discovered that I could actually see through his telescope. He assured me that most young women of his acquaintance could not.
Tony and I spent hours gazing at the Southern Cross and examining the craters of the moon. Like most Americans he knew his subject and was delighted to talk about it to anyone who showed an intelligent interest, and as I was delighted to be instructed we got on exceedingly well.
Tony was an attractive young man, well set up, with a thin eager face and bright eyes. At first we talked about stars and planets and satellites, but after a bit we began to talk about other things … and one night when the moon was full and its beams were shining across the tumbled water, Tony kissed me and asked me to marry him. I very nearly said yes.
I liked him so much, he was kind and considerate and earnest, and although we had not known each other long we had spent a great deal of time together and had got to know each other well. I very nearly said yes, but at the last moment I found I could not say it.
Sometimes I wondered whether Margaret suspected that there was anything more than astronomy in my friendship with Tony Meldrum but if she did she was unusually discreet.
Some of the places we visited were slightly disappointing — we had expected too much — but others exceeded our wildest dreams. The Taj Mahal, for instance, struck us dumb. We visited it by moonlight when it gleamed like a silvery palace in a vision. We stayed on at Agra for several days and saw it at sunrise blushing like a pink pearl. It was a perfect thing, perhaps the most beautiful thing that was ever built by the hands of men. It would be difficult to pick out the high-light of our tour, but if I were obliged to do so I think I should pick out the Taj Mahal.
*
Our wanderings were so haphazard that letters followed us from one place to another and we were apt to get large budgets of news at infrequent intervals (occasionally we cabled and received a cable in reply to say that all was well); but on our way home we stayed at Trinidad and found a bundle of mail waiting for us at the hotel. Margaret had the lion’s share — she always did, for she corresponded faithfully with numerous friends in Edinburgh.
I had hoped for a letter from Mother, but although there was one from her in the bundle it was addressed to Margaret and not to me. There were no letters from Rosalie nor Helen (my share of the mail consisted of a few uninteresting letters which had been forwarded from Ryddelton) so after a decent interval I went along to Margaret’s room to hear the news.
“Anna writes a very difficult hand,” complained Margaret, looking up as I went in. “It’s large and looks easy but the words are all joined together in a curious way. I think she must write very fast.”
“She does,” I said.
“I can’t make out what she means,” Margaret continued. “But she says you will have heard from Rosalie so I suppose you know all about it.”
“Not a word!”
“Something is happening on the 14th. That’s to-day, isn’t it?”
“They aren’t ill, are they?”
“I don’t think it’s that, but they want us to fly home at once.”
“Give it to me for heaven’s sake!” I cried, seizing the letter out of her hand. Mother’s writing had no terrors for me — compared with the writing of Lady Esmeralda Pie it was as plain as a pikestaff — so I read it aloud:
Dearest Margaret,
By this time Jane will have had Rosalie’s letter so of course you will know all about it — I wonder what you will think!!! This is just a hasty scrawl to catch you at Trinidad if possible — Andrew is waiting to post it — we both think you should fly home if possible before the 14th. It would be such a help if you were here. Of course we don’t want to spoil your fun but you have been away such a long time and surely you have had enough travelling. Andrew is a darling and gets nicer every day — I can only hope they will be as happy. Andrew says we must be enthusiastic about it or at least pretend to be — but it is not easy t
o be enthusiastic. Andrew says if I don’t finish this letter at once he will have to run all the way to the post.
Much love to you both
ANNA
P.S. It seems so queer — such a difference in age and not very attractive — such silly little feet!
“What does it mean?” asked Margaret in bewilderment. I too had been absolutely bewildered … until I got to the postscript. Then I began to laugh helplessly. “It’s all right,” I gasped. “Rosalie is going to marry Sir Edward Fisher, that’s all.”
“Sir Edward Fisher? You mean the man who bought Mount Charles? But Anna doesn’t mention him? Did you know about it before?”
“I never thought of it for a moment. As a matter of fact I thought it would be nice for Mother to marry him and go back to Mount Charles as its chatelaine — and I thought he rather liked Mother.”
“But Jane —”
“It shows how silly I was, doesn’t it?”
Margaret looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you were right,” she said. “I mean Rosalie is like Anna, isn’t she? Only not so pretty.”
*
We could not be present at the wedding — even by flying — for presumably the wedding was taking place at that very moment. So I suggested we should show our enthusiasm by cabling our best wishes to the happy pair.
Margaret was a little reluctant. “But supposing it isn’t,” she objected. “I still don’t understand how you can possibly know it’s him.”
“It is him,” I replied, regardless of grammar. “We’ll go down to the desk right now and send enthusiastic cables and blow the expense. Andrew says we are to show enthusiasm and there’s no other way.”
She rose at once and followed me downstairs.
Chapter Nineteen
The evening when Margaret and I came home to Timble Cottage was one of those perfect spring evenings which often bless the Border Country after a day of intermittent rain. We had been delayed by a breakdown on the railway, and it had annoyed us both out of all proportion; for although we had wandered over the big world happily foot-loose for a year we were now suddenly impatient to be home.
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