“But why learn?” asked Jerry. “I mean they’re so scarce, now, and so frightfully expensive.”
“I thought it would be nice.”
“And why cut your hair?” asked Jerry, for somehow or other she had a vague feeling that the two things went together.
“Oh!” said Miss Watt in a somewhat embarrassed manner. “Oh, I don’t know. I just thought…so I had it cut off. I look awful, don’t I?”
“You have a very well-shaped head,” said Markie.
“There!” exclaimed Jerry. “And Markie knows about heads—she’ll tell you what your racial characteristics are. Markie is brilliantly clever. She knows ethnology and anthropology—”
“Jerry!” cried Markie in dismay. “How often have I told you not to exaggerate my attainments! Miss Watt will think we are most extraordinary people—”
“I look awful,” repeated Miss Watt sadly.
“You don’t,” replied Jerry comfortingly. She didn’t look awful, exactly, thought Jerry, but she certainly did look a little strange. Jerry glanced at Markie and tried to catch her eye, for she longed to know what Markie was thinking—but Markie would not rise.
The following morning Markie started to turn out the sitting room but before she had got very far Miss Watt appeared and, seizing a broom leaning against the wall, she signified her intention to join in the operations.
“There is no need,” said Markie. “I can do it myself. Why not go out and have a look around—”
“There’s plenty of time for that,” replied Miss Watt.
It was obvious that Miss Watt was not used to domestic work, but she was doing her best to help, and Markie gave her credit for her good intentions.
“You are not used to housework, Miss Watt,” said Markie as she rolled up the hearth rug.
“No, but I can learn—and please don’t call me Miss Watt,” said Miss Watt, seizing the rug in her arms.
“Jane?” inquired Markie doubtfully.
“Yes, Jane. What shall I do with this?”
“Take it outside and beat it.”
“Of course—how silly of me!” said Jane and she bore it away.
“You like housework, Miss Marks,” said Jane when she returned with the rug.
“Yes,” said Markie. “Yes, it does not trouble me. Fortunately one can think of other things…don’t start dusting the mantelpiece until I have finished sweeping the floor.”
“How silly of me!” exclaimed Jane.
“Not silly at all. You are not used to this sort of work. I have no doubt there are a great many things you can do well. Perhaps you paint?” suggested Markie.
“No,” replied Jane.
“Are you musical?”
“I like music,” replied Jane. “I don’t play or sing—if that’s what you mean.”
“Are you interested in history?”
“Er—yes, of course,” replied Jane in a tone that disabused Markie of the hope that she might have found a kindred spirit.
This curious catechism was not being made for pleasure. Markie was not an inquisitive person, she was too fond of her own privacy to pry into other people’s affairs, but she had a feeling that she ought to find out a little about Miss Watt—it was her duty to do so.
“Do you know this part of the country?” she asked, trying a different gambit.
“I’ve driven through it in the car once or twice.”
“It is very pretty.”
“Most attractive…and once I came over to Wandlebury to—” She paused.
“Yes?” asked Markie.
“To tea,” said Jane.
They worked away for a little in silence.
“I have a feeling I have seen you before,” said Markie suddenly.
“Oh no,” said Jane hastily. “No, I’m sure you’re wrong. I should have remembered you at once.”
“I did not mean that we had met,” Markie explained. “Merely that I have seen you somewhere.”
“Shall I start dusting, now?” asked Jane.
“You are interested in Christian Science,” said Markie, handing her a duster…she had found a book upon Christian Science in Jane’s room when she went in to make the bed.
“Yes,” said Jane. “At least I don’t know much about it. I just thought it might help to—to clear up something in my mind.”
“Perhaps it may,” agreed Markie. “There was a mistress at Wheatfield House who practiced Christian Science and she had an extremely lucid mind…” Here Markie knelt down upon the hearth rug and began to lay the fire in the empty grate. “She was agreeable and cultured,” continued Markie. “I liked her very much and I was much interested in her conversation.”
“Did she convert you?” Jane asked.
“No, dear. If I have a pain I just take an aspirin in a little water. There is no need to bother God about it.”
Markie had now made up her mind about Jane. She liked her. If she had not liked Jane she would not have called her “dear.” She liked Jane but she had not learnt much about her, and what she had learnt made her more mysterious instead of less…for now it was obvious to Markie that Jane had a secret.
Markie was perfectly certain she had seen Jane before, and she said so to Jerry; but Jerry disagreed.
“I haven’t, anyhow,” said Jerry. “I should have remembered her, I’m sure. She’s so unusual, isn’t she? So unusual to look at, I mean.”
“Perhaps she was not always so unusual,” said Markie thoughtfully.
Chapter Fifteen
New Tenants for the Cottage
Nearly a week had passed since Wilhelmina Boles had returned to Ganthorne and nothing had been heard of her parents. Jerry was not quite happy about the affair, for she felt that the parents should be informed of their daughter’s safety, but whenever the subject was mentioned to Wilhelmina she began to sob in that horrible strangled way—which had frightened Markie at their first encounter—and declared between her gasps that nobody wanted her and she would drown herself in the river. Jerry might have written a note to Mrs. Boles on her own account but she did not know the address and Wilhelmina refused point-blank to disclose it—“Mrs. Boles, Stepney,” was obviously insufficient to ensure the delivery of a letter to Wilhelmina’s maternal parent.
Markie took no part in the struggle, for she had made up her mind to keep Wilhelmina and make her into a useful citizen. She had not expected much trouble with Wilhelmina, but neither had she expected so little. The child was clever and anxious to learn. She knew nothing, of course, but if you showed her how to do a thing she remembered it and did it correctly—and went on doing it.
“You must keep yourself clean,” Markie told her. “That’s the first thing to remember because, if you are not clean yourself, you cannot keep other things clean.”
Wilhelmina nodded. “Okay,” she said.
“Say ‘Yes, Miss,’” said Markie.
Wilhelmina said it obediently.
“Whatever you do, do it well,” said Markie. “If you respect yourself you will be too proud to do it badly. I want you to respect yourself, Wilhelmina.”
“Yes, miss,” said Wilhelmina. “I want to be clean an’ noice. I do reelly.”
Markie had found some old dresses that had belonged to Jerry when Jerry was a child. They had been put away in a box in the attic and forgotten, but now Markie resurrected them and altered them to fit her protégée. She took a good deal of trouble over their fit, for she wanted the child to look well—it was all part of the plan. Wilhelmina was delighted with the frocks; she wore them with pride and washed them and ironed them herself.
There was a long mirror in Jerry’s room and one day when Jerry went into the room she found Wilhelmina standing in front of the mirror looking at her reflection in the glass.
“Well, what do you think of yourself?” asked Jerry.
; “I think I look nice,” declared Wilhelmina, who already, under Markie’s tutelage, was beginning to pronounce her vowels in a more conventional manner.
“I think so, too,” said Jerry smiling.
She looked well and she looked happy. Her eyes were brighter and there was a faint tinge of pink in her cheeks. Her hair had improved, too; it was smoothly brushed and tied at one side with a piece of blue ribbon Markie had bought for her in Wandlebury.
“You look very nice,” said Jerry, nodding. “And you’re very useful to Miss Marks. I’ve decided to pay you wages.”
There were now two extra people at Ganthorne—Miss Watt and Wilhelmina—and Markie found herself with leisure for reading. It was real leisure (not just little snippets of time while the kettle boiled or the sausages were frying in the pan) but Markie did not enjoy it quite so much as she expected, nor did she get so much hard reading done, because she was beginning to get uneasy. The pain in her side bothered her more often and her panacea—an aspirin in a little water—did not always have the desired effect. Sometimes the pain was bad and sometimes it was so slight that she forgot about it, but it was never really absent…and it frightened her. Supposing she got ill, what would Jerry do? Jerry would keep her and look after her tenderly—Markie never doubted that—but Markie did not like the idea of being a burden. In fact it was a frightful idea. Markie began to get thinner and her skirt bands became so loose that her skirts went around and around. It’s because of the war, said Markie to herself, but she did not believe it. She was aware that the sensible thing to do would be to go to the doctor and ask him what was the matter with her, but supposing Dr. Wrench found it was something serious, thought Markie. Supposing he said she must remain in bed! He might discover that it was—no, it could not be that. She would not even think of it. Thinking things brought them to you—at least some people said so.
Markie was in the sitting room, trying to read Blumenback’s Manual of Comparative Anatomy and Physiology and finding it a little less absorbing than usual when the window was suddenly darkened by a large body. Markie looked up and saw that it belonged to Colonel Melton.
“It’s about the cottage,” he said, leaning his arms on the window sill. “Is it to let, Miss Marks?”
“I don’t think Jerry has thought of it,” said Markie in surprise.
“Do you think she would let it to me?”
“To you!”
“For my daughter,” he explained. “Melanie is very anxious to come to Ganthorne and be here with me.”
“It wouldn’t be nice enough,” objected Markie. “It isn’t that sort of cottage.”
“Fraser thinks it would do,” interrupted Colonel Melton. “Fraser is really at the bottom of the whole thing. He told Melanie about the cottage and Melanie has written to me saying I’m to take it. The fact is Fraser has been with me for so long that he practically runs me,” declared Colonel Melton smiling. “I run the battalion and Fraser runs me. It works quite well, really. Fraser is tremendously loyal and trustworthy; he’s a benevolent autocrat; he likes people to do exactly what he tells them and to be happy in the way he thinks best. His organizing ability is amazing, his energy is beyond belief. In short—”
“He comes from Fife,” said Markie, smiling.
Colonel Melton also smiled. “Well, that’s how it is,” he said. “Fraser and Melanie have combined forces over the cottage so I haven’t much choice in the matter.”
“You had better see the cottage. I’m afraid you will be disappointed, for it is not at all well-furnished. Just wait a moment and I will get the key.”
Colonel Melton waited and presently Markie appeared with the key, and together they examined the cottage with a view to Miss Melton’s requirements. Colonel Melton surprised Markie a good deal, for she was not used to gentlemen who took an interest in domestic affairs (Markie’s father, for instance, had scarcely known one end of a broom from the other and never noticed his surroundings unless he found cause to complain of them). The colonel looked at everything. He looked in the cupboards and beneath the carpets, he noticed that one of the bars of the range was broken and made a note of the fact. He lighted a piece of paper and put it in the grate to see if the chimney were clear. He examined the sink with meticulous care and suggested that it required a new draining board…“I’ll get it done,” he added hastily. “There’s no need for Mrs. Abbott to bother.” The bathroom window would not open easily and, when open, refused to remain in its position. “It’s the weights,” said Colonel Melton. “Fraser will put that right in a jiffy.”
“I am afraid the bath is in a very bad condition,” said Markie in apologetic tones.
“Looks as if your previous tenants had been keeping coal in it,” said the colonel, laughing.
Markie did not laugh. She thought the idea by no means an improbable one.
“Never mind,” said Colonel Melton. “A couple of coats of enamel will work wonders. You won’t know the bath when Fraser and I have had a go at it.”
“Do you really think it will do?” asked Markie anxiously.
“Of course it will do—Melanie won’t mind a little inconvenience. You see we want to be together while we can. I may be sent abroad at any moment.” He hesitated and then continued. “Melanie and I have never had much chance to be together. My wife died when Mell was five and I had to go to India and leave her with my sister. She was quite happy, and my sister was extremely good to her but of course it wasn’t like having a home of her own. She’s eighteen now—though I must say I find it difficult to believe. She’s been nursing in a hospital in the north but it was too much for her and she got ill—she isn’t very strong—so they sent her home to my sister for a long spell of sick leave. I want to have her near me and see something of her.”
Markie nodded. She realized that there was a good deal left unsaid in this short résumé of Melanie’s history, but she was able to fill in some of the blanks. “I wish it were better furnished,” she said.
“It’s beautifully clean,” replied Colonel Melton. “We can bring a couple of comfortable chairs. Melanie will be quite happy here.”
They had finished their tour of the cottage and were coming out of the door when Jerry came up the drive in the pony cart and stopped to speak to them.
“What have you been doing?” she asked. “You have a slightly guilty air about you as if you had been up to some mischief. I hope you aren’t making off with the knives and forks—Markie has rescued them once already.”
“It’s the house I want,” replied Colonel Melton. “The whole place—lock, stock, and barrel—not only the knives and forks.”
“For target practice, I suppose!”
“No.”
“Street fighting then?”
“For a purely domestic purpose.”
“As a love nest?” asked Jerry seriously.
Colonel Melton laughed and after a little more cheerful badinage he explained his purpose—as he had explained it to Markie—and asked if he might have the cottage on a lease.
“Of course you can,” said Jerry. “You can have it as long as you want—it used to be a nice little cottage when Mrs. Lander was here.”
“Thank you very much,” he replied. “Just think it over and let me know what you want in the way of rent.” He hesitated and then added, “You really are most awfully kind to us. I don’t feel I have thanked you half enough for your kindness to the men, but we do appreciate it. I hope they behave themselves. If there’s any trouble you must let me know at once.”
“It’s Markie, really,” said Jerry. “She has all the bother.”
“They are no trouble at all,” declared Markie hastily.
“You see,” said Jerry gravely, as she gathered up the reins and prepared to drive on. “You see, Markie is used to that sort of thing. She taught in a girls’ school for years and years…”
Colonel Melton choked.
He tried hard not to laugh but the thing was beyond his power. He laughed until he was sore…and all day long whenever he thought of it, and visualized Jerry’s serious face and Markie’s astonished one, he laughed again.
***
Markie worried about the cottage all night. She had cleaned it, of course, but had she really cleaned it thoroughly? Should it be cleaned all over again before Miss Melton arrived? I must go down and see, she thought, as she turned over in bed for the fourth time. I might distemper the hall and see if I can get rid of that queer greasy mark on the wallpaper…
It was afternoon before Markie had finished her household work and had found a pot of distemper and a couple of brushes. She told Wilhelmina to get tea ready at the proper hour, put on an overall, tied a red and white duster over her hair, and set forth. When she reached the cottage, she saw, with surprise, that the chimney was smoking. She hesitated and looked at it, and as she looked she was assailed by the appalling idea that Mrs. Boles had returned. Perhaps there had been a raid on London and Mrs. Boles had decided that it was better to moulder than to burn, perhaps Mrs. Boles had discovered that Wilhelmina was at Ganthorne and had come back to fetch her…but it was no use standing and looking at the smoke, Markie would have to go in and see who was there. She opened the door and went into the hall.
The door of the kitchen was ajar and, looking in, Markie saw a young girl kneeling on the hearth rug, blowing up the fire. She was so intent upon her task that she had not heard the front door open and Markie was able to have a good look at her. Pretty, thought Markie, in approval. Very, very pretty, but far too thin…as if a breath of wind would blow her away.
The girl laid down the bellows and turned. She saw Markie and bounded to her feet with one lithe movement.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I do hope it’s all right moving in like this. Daddy telephoned last night—so I just came. Daddy was quite horrified when he saw me. He didn’t really mean me to come till next week. He said he hadn’t fixed it up properly with Mrs. Abbott—about the rent and everything. Are you Mrs. Abbott?”
The Two Mrs. Abbotts Page 12