“Quite nice,” Eveleyn Raeworth’s voice said at her elbow. “Gray silk and black furs—just right, don’t you think?”
“You mean black might have been just a little—”
“Yes, I think so,” Mrs. Raeworth said, nodding.
“I shall call, anyway,” said Lady Skene. “I mean, there are so few people now, and Celia would have liked me to call.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
The Skene carriage had driven up to the door, but Lady Skene hesitated. She said in a low voice, “Did Celia ever give you a hint—”
“Never,” replied Mrs. Raeworth.
They looked at each other and smiled. “Just like her,” Lady Skene said with a deep chuckle.
• • •
The county called in state. Broughams with sleek horses drove up to the door of Dunnian House and deposited ladies in furs with card cases clasped in their hands on the Dunnian doorstep, and Alice received them with smiles and polite conversation and regaled them with tea and cakes. It was a new experience for Alice and at first she was somewhat alarmed, but she soon discovered that there was nothing to be afraid of—everyone was very friendly. Humphrey had gone by this time—he had rejoined his ship—and Cousin Henrietta had returned to Bournemouth so Alice was alone in her drawing room.
“My dear,” Lady Skene said as she settled herself in the most comfortable chair she could see. “My dear, you must take your proper place in the county. A few little dinners perhaps—”
“Not until Humphrey comes back!” Alice cried in dismay.
“No, perhaps not, but we must see what we can do. Dear old Celia was one of my best friends. She was a personality—one of the old guard. She will be greatly missed.”
“Oh, I know,” agreed Alice. “I’m afraid I could never—”
“You’ll find everyone quite ready to be friendly—too ready perhaps. You must pick and choose, Mrs. Dunne. Some very queer people have come into the neighborhood. They’ll probably call. You must return the call, of course, but be sure to go on a fine afternoon when they will be out, and then make an end.”
“Yes,” Alice said meekly.
“I shall look after you, of course,” declared Lady Skene. “I shall give a little luncheon to introduce you to the county—just a few of the right people.”
“It’s very kind of you, Lady Skene.”
“Not at all. We’re very glad you’ve come,” Lady Skene said with a royal air. “We did not care for Nina. In any case they would have spent at least half their time in town. It’s much more satisfactory to have settled neighbors. Personally I think Celia has been well advised to leave the place to Humphrey and I shall say so to all my friends.”
“I’m glad,” said Alice, smiling happily. “I was afraid, perhaps—”
“Dear me, no,” interrupted Lady Skene. “Everyone knows that Celia always did exactly as she pleased. Nobody on earth could have wheedled Celia into doing anything she didn’t want to do. Of course the Maurices are furious.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“I had a letter from my daughter-in-law—my son is stationed in Edinburgh at the moment—and she tells me Nina is positively ill with rage. I must say I should have liked to see her face when she heard that all her trouble had been wasted.”
“I don’t think you would have liked it,” Alice said with more spirit than she had shown.
“Oh, it was as bad as that, was it!” exclaimed Lady Skene with her characteristic chuckle.
Fortunately the tea equipage appeared at that moment and the conversation turned into safer channels. Lady Skene was expecting her grandchildren to stay. Oliver was older than Mark, and Tessa was almost exactly the same age as Edith.
“I shall give a children’s party,” Lady Skene declared. She was extremely well pleased with Alice. Alice was a neighbor after her own heart. Alice was pretty and nicely dressed and would do exactly as she was told.
Mrs. Raeworth was the next caller at Dunnian House. She and Alice walked around the garden together admiring Johnson’s dahlias, which were particularly fine that year.
“You’re lucky to have Johnson,” Mrs. Raeworth said. “He’s the best gardener in the neighborhood. He knows his job from A to Z.”
“Yes, it’s lucky,” Alice agreed. “I know nothing about gardens. We’ve never had a garden before.”
“You’ll soon learn,” Mrs. Raeworth said comfortingly.
Alice was not so sure. She had conducted Mrs. Allworthy around the garden and had discovered that every plant had a long and almost unpronounceable Latin name. It was somewhat humiliating to be browbeaten by a stranger in one’s own garden—so Alice found—and she had done her best to be upsides with Mrs. Allworthy. She had pointed out the snapdragons—there was a huge bed of them near the toolshed—and had commented on their lovely colors. “Ah, yes, antirrhinum,” Mrs. Allworthy had said. After this setback Alice had given up trying and had tagged along after her erudite visitor saying “yes” and “no” and letting the stream of Latin names flow in at one ear and out of the other. Mrs. Raeworth was quite different, of course. She did not air her knowledge, but she gave Alice one or two useful hints.
“Make Johnson put the things in clumps,” said Mrs. Raeworth, pointing to the herbaceous border. “Gardeners always like to put plants in rows, but they don’t look nearly so effective.”
“Yes, I will,” Alice said, nodding.
It did not take long for Mrs. Raeworth to make up her mind that Mrs. Dunne was a very desirable neighbor. She was pleasant and friendly and there was no nonsense about her—how different from Nina!
“You must come over to tea and bring the children,” Mrs. Raeworth said cordially. “The children must be friends.”
“It will be lovely for them,” Alice agreed.
This was the beginning of a firm friendship between the two families. Hastley Dean was only two miles from Dunnian by the path across the moor and, as Eveleyn Raeworth was a good walker and enjoyed exercising her dogs, it became a recognized custom for her to walk in the Dunnian direction and drop in for a chat. Alice was not so fond of walking, but she could have the carriage when she liked and she often visited Hastley Dean.
The first visit to Hastley Dean was a great success. Alice took Mark and Edith to tea, dressed in their best and suitably warned to be on their best behavior. The Raeworth children were friendly and cheerful and eager to make their guests feel at home. They chattered happily while their mothers gossiped and grew to like each other better. By this time Alice had discovered that her new friend was fond of painting and spent a good deal of her time pursuing the art.
“Do you paint landscapes?” Alice inquired.
“Sometimes,” Eveleyn Raeworth said, smiling. “But I like portraits best. I should like to show you a portrait I did last year. I’m rather proud of it, to tell you the truth.”
The portrait was produced without further comment and Alice looked at it with interest and admiration. It was the portrait of an old lady in a gray silk dress. She was sitting in a high-backed chair, leaning forward a little as if she were just going to speak. Her eyes were brown and bright and her face was full of animation.
“Oh, Mrs. Raeworth!” Alice exclaimed impetuously. “I had no idea you were a real artist!”
Eveleyn Raeworth laughed, for the naive compliment pleased her. She was aware that none of her friends and neighbors gave her the credit she deserved.
“It’s lovely,” continued Alice. “It’s perfectly beautiful. What an expressive face she has!”
“It’s Miss Terry!” Mark cried in surprise. “That’s who it is. It’s Miss Terry.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong, Mark,” replied Eveleyn Raeworth, smiling down at the eager little face. “That’s a picture of old Miss Dunne—your great-great-aunt Celia—”
“Daddy said her name was Miss Terry
,” said Mark, nodding his head emphatically. “Daddy said—”
“Hush, Mark,” said Alice gently.
“She was a wonderful subject,” said Mrs. Raeworth, looking at the portrait affectionately. “I loved doing her. You never saw her, did you?”
“No, I wish I had,” Alice replied.
The friendship with the Raeworths solved the problem of Mark’s education, a problem that had begun to cause his parents some anxiety. The Raeworth children had a governess and she was willing to take Mark into the schoolroom and teach him with the others. It was arranged that he should be driven over to Hastley Dean every morning in the pony cart and brought back to Dunnian in time for his midday meal.
The days passed; the family shook itself out, settled down, and formed new habits. Alice began to feel she had lived here all her life. It had been a bit difficult at first, but Becky was a great help to her and guided her past a good many pitfalls with unfailing tact and sense. There was no talk of Becky leaving Dunnian now, for Alice needed her and all that Becky asked of life was to be needed and liked. Becky knew everybody and could tell Alice all sorts of interesting and amusing details about the people in the neighborhood.
“That’s Mrs. Browne-Pilkington,” she said, when Alice described a woman she had met at a luncheon party. “Yes, that’s who it is. Sticking out teeth and bright red hair?”
“Yes,” said Alice, nodding.
“She won’t be much use to you,” Becky declared scornfully. “All gush—that’s what Miss Dunne used to say about her. She takes up with anybody new and then drops them like a hot potato. Don’t you bother with her.”
“No,” Alice said meekly. “I didn’t think she was quite my sort of person, Becky.”
“I could tell you one or two things about Mrs. Browne-Pilkington,” Becky declared with a chuckle, and after very little persuasion Becky did.
“Now, the Miss Farquhars,” said Becky. “They’re quite different. You’d like the Miss Farquhars. They won’t be calling because they haven’t got a carriage. Miss Dunne used to go over and see them and take them a few flowers.”
“Do you think I should go?”
“Why not?” asked Becky. “They’re right out in the country, over Timperton direction; they’d like to see you.”
Becky was a help in other ways as well. She knew exactly how a large house should be run; which duties belonged by right to the head housemaid and which should be assigned to her inferiors. “Don’t you stand for any nonsense,” Becky advised. “If you give them an inch they’ll take an ell—that’s what Miss Dunne used to say. They’ll respect you and like you all the better if you show them you know what’s what.”
Alice did not know what was what, but she was learning rapidly.
“And don’t let Mrs. Drummond come over you,” Becky continued earnestly. “That piece of cod last night—she’d no business to serve it up without a sauce. She’d never have dared to when Miss Dunne was here.”
“I don’t mind very much about food when I’m all by myself.”
“That’s neither here nor there. She’s got to be kept up to the mark and you’ve got to do it.”
Mark was settling down too, and finding his new life easy and pleasant. He liked driving over to Hastley Dean for his lessons; it gave him a feeling of pride and importance to come out of the front door every morning and find Downie waiting for him in the pony cart. He liked his lessons and he liked the Raeworth children. Andrew was a little older than Mark, but Angela was exactly the same age; they battled through the multiplication tables together and became fast friends. Lessons were interesting, but Dunnian was even more enthralling. He was allowed to go out by himself and “explore.” Soon he began to know the place pretty thoroughly; every stone and tree became familiar to him. He gave his own names to the various localities, names that he made up out of his head or that grew naturally from some incident associated with them. There was, for instance, “Hornie Path,” where Mark had encountered a very alarming cow with horns upon its head and had turned and fled for dear life, and there was “Sunny Patch,” a little glade in the woods where a tree had been felled and left an open space.
The woods were Mark’s chief playground; they were full of rabbits, and sometimes, if you sat very still for a long time, you saw a squirrel peeping at you from a tree. There were pigeons too, and in spring they filled the woods with peaceful cooing sounds that blended with the rustling of the leaves. At first Mark was interested only in the geography of the place, the stones, the rocks, the hills and the winding paths, but after a while he wanted to know more about Dunnian, about things that had happened there long ago.
Mark found that Becky could help him here, for Becky knew all sorts of interesting things about Dunnian. She told him about the building of the house, how the stones for it were brought in carts from the quarry at Timperton Law, so that really and truly Dunnian was a part of Timperton Law—that was interesting. She told him about the ruined cottage Mark had found in the wood and about the old mill on the Rydd Water that was hundreds of years old but was still working, sawing up timber, but, best of all, Mark liked the stories about Great-Great-Aunt Celia when she was a little girl.
“You must be very old, Becky,” Mark said one day, looking at her with large, innocent eyes.
Becky laughed. “Oh, I’m not as old as all that,” she replied. “I wasn’t born then; it’s just what I’ve learned from other people, and I’ve heard a good deal. My mother was maid to Miss Dunne before she was married—and that’s not yesterday—and there’s an old, old woman in Ryddelton who remembers when the Miss Dunnes were all young and could tell you all about the balls and junketings and about Miss Isabel’s wedding.”
“I’d like to see her,” Mark said.
“So you shall,” promised Becky. “I’ll take you to see her one fine day. She’ll be as pleased as a dog with two tails.”
These talks with Becky gave Mark a feeling for history; they made the dry bones of history come alive. Mark found he could remember the date of Waterloo because Aunt Celia had been born the day after the battle, and Aunt Celia’s grandfather (whose picture hung over the mantelpiece in the dining room) had seen Prince Charlie with his own eyes, which made Prince Charlie real. Dunnian was all mixed up with history, for, although the house was not really old, there had been a fort at Dunnian for unknown ages. This fort—or peel—was ruined now and its only inhabitants were owls and jackdaws, but long ago people had lived there—and the people were called Dunne.
Mark loved to hear stories about these ancestors of his, stories about battles against the English, stories about forays and cattle raids, when the Dunnes armed themselves and rode over the Border to “get their beef.” “Tell me more, Becky,” he would say when Becky paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. “Tell me about Sir Humphrey Dunne being knighted by Robert the Bruce.”
“You’ve heard it before.”
“I know, but I like hearing it. Tell me again.”
“Once upon a time,” Becky began, taking up a stocking and beginning to knit industriously. “Once upon a time, long, long ago, the Borders were very unsettled and the Border Barons were powerful and bold. Some of these Barons were more powerful than the Dunnes and had more men under them, but none of them had stronger men nor better equipped than Humphrey Dunne. Thirty-six men at arms, he had, all picked for boldness and strength and cunning and all well mounted too. It was in the time of Robert the Bruce. He went to Ireland for a bit, and while he was away, there was talk of an English invasion, so Sir James Douglas built a strong encampment near Ferniehurst, and you can see the remains of it to this very day. Things were quiet enough for a wee while and then Sir James got word that the English were coming. Ten thousand men, there were, with axes, and they were going to cut down the forest of Jed, which was one of the places where the Scots had ambushed the English before. The Forest of Jed was one of the best defenses Scotla
nd had, for it lay directly in the path of an advancing army and the Douglas was not going to stand by and see it leveled to the ground—not he. The Border Barons were summoned, but time was short and the distances were long and the English were coming down from the passes before the Barons had assembled. The Douglas only had a very small force of men-at-arms and some crossbowmen, but he had a head on him and he knew just what to do. Well, what he did was to make a trap for the English. He wove a lot of branches together and made a sort of maze and then he hid his men and waited until the English came. As soon as he saw that they were into his trap he gave the order to start and his men rose up from their hiding places shouting: ‘A Douglas, a Douglas!’ and fell upon the English and fought them tooth and nail. It was in the middle of the battle that Humphrey Dunne arrived on the scene. He had ridden thirty miles at breakneck speed and he did not hesitate now. Into the battle he plunged, shouting, ‘The Dunnes are here!’ and his thirty-six men were not far behind him. That turned the tide, and the English broke and fled for their lives the way they had come and the Dunnes and the Douglases after them. It was for arriving so soon and helping in the battle that Humphrey Dunne got knighted by Robert the Bruce.”
“And that’s our motto now,” said Mark, looking at Becky with shining eyes. “That’s what’s written on our crest, isn’t it? ‘The Dunnes are here!’”
Chapter Eleven
June 1910
As the train steamed slowly into Ryddelton Station, Commander Humphrey Dunne put his head out of the window and saw the little group that stood near the bookstall awaiting his arrival. Nannie was fatter than ever. Her round, rosy face was creased with anxiety as she scanned the windows of the train. She had a little girl on each side of her and was holding their hands tightly, while, beside her, capered Mark, half crazy with excitement. It was usually Alice who brought the children to meet Humphrey, but a new baby was due to arrive shortly, so Humphrey had not expected Alice to come to the station today. He was glad to see that the children looked well—they had grown considerably since last September.
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