Mark was at Loretto now; it was a splendid school and not too far from Dunnian. Mark liked it a good deal better than Welland House. He had developed into a grave, thoughtful boy, but there was a latent twinkle in his eye and he had a sense of humor much livelier than either of his parents. He was a very special person to Humphrey, first because he was such a splendid companion and second because Humphrey felt the necessity for making up to Mark for what he had lost. Humphrey was still unreconciled to the fact that Dunnian was to belong to Celia when he was dead; sometimes he blamed himself for accepting Aunt Celia’s decision so tamely, and sometimes he wondered whether things would have been different if he had insisted upon a proper “Dunne” name for his eldest son. If Mark had been Henry or Humphrey or William, Aunt Celia might have left the place to him—so Humphrey thought, and he blamed himself accordingly.
It was a good Christmas leave in spite of the war. They had a Christmas tree—one of their own small firs that Johnson brought in from the woods—and they all helped to decorate it with colored balls and tinsel and little candles. Even Celia helped. She was four and a half now, still tiny, but as pretty as a picture and as perky as a robin. The other girls were like Alice, but Celia was a Dunne.
“Oh, pretty!” Celia cried when the decorations were finished and they all stood back to admire their handiwork. “Oh, pretty tree—I think a squirrel would like to make his nest in you!”
“Silly!” exclaimed Joyce. “A squirrel would be frightened of it. Silly baby!”
Humphrey half expected tears, but Celia was not a crybaby and although she was so much smaller than the others she was quite able to stand up for herself. He found it very interesting—and sometimes a bit alarming—to see his children’s characters developing before his eyes. Alice had been an excellent mother when they were all small, but now he thought she was apt to spoil Edith, to cosset her and make much of her and imbue her with the sense of her own importance as “the eldest Miss Dunne.” He was so perturbed about this that he tackled Alice about it, but he did not get much satisfaction for his trouble.
“Edith is so sensitive,” Alice said with a smile. “Edith has such a tender heart. You don’t understand girls, darling. Girls are quite different from boys. They need encouragement, you know.”
“She’s a little sulky sometimes,” Humphrey pointed out, “and she’s apt to be selfish with the others.”
“It’s just her way,” Alice replied quickly. “Really and truly, she’s got a very sweet nature.”
That afternoon there was a children’s party at Dunnian. The Raeworths came (Andrew and Angela and Mildred) and the Murrays from Timperton and the Sprotts and a few others as well. It was delightful to see them all dressed up in their pretty frocks, flitting about the old house like a swarm of butterflies; it was entrancing to hear their happy laughter and the cries of astonishment that greeted the appearance of the tree. Humphrey dressed up as Father Christmas, distributed the presents, and enjoyed himself thoroughly in his unaccustomed role. He was very much amused when Celia came forward to receive her gift and announced gravely, “I think you must be a relation of mine, Mr. Christmas. You’re very like my daddy, if it wasn’t for your beard.”
It was a satisfactory leave in every way, and, although it was necessarily short, Humphrey felt he had accomplished a good deal. He and Mark had moved on a step further in their friendship. They took out a gun and shot some rabbits on the moor, and Mark made a good start at shooting. After dinner they went out together into the crisp, cold night and looked at the stars through Humphrey’s telescope. Like most sailors Humphrey knew a good deal about the stars, and he found that Mark was interested in them too. Humphrey would smoke his pipe and they would talk or be silent together in friendly understanding.
The days soon passed and Humphrey returned to his ship. He was a captain now, in command of a cruiser, so his responsibilities increased. When he was at sea Dunnian seemed like a dream and his family seemed like a part of the dream, vague and insubstantial.
At Jutland, when a shell hit the Glory with a sickening thud, Humphrey thought of Mark. Quite suddenly, and while he was giving the necessary orders in a cool, firm voice, Humphrey realized that he should have told Mark about Dunnian, that Dunnian was to be Celia’s house when he was dead. Mark was old enough to know and Humphrey wanted to explain the whole thing. It would be a pity if he had left it too late.
The old Glory was out of the fight, but she managed to stagger home. She staggered into Rosyth and dropped anchor above the bridge. Humphrey was dead tired, but before he went to sleep he sent off a wire to Loretto asking Mark to meet him at Hawes Pier on the following day.
The day was fine, and as Humphrey stepped into the ship’s boat and was rowed over to the pier, he scanned it eagerly to see if Mark had come. Would he be there? Would they have let him come? Yes, there he was! Humphrey’s heart turned over in his breast as he caught sight of the slim figure in the gray flannel suit standing upon the stone jetty waiting for him. He waved, and Mark waved back. Another few minutes and Humphrey had sprung out of the boat and was shaking hands with his son.
“Is everything all right, Mark?”
“Yes, Dad. Everything’s fine.”
“They let you come!”
“Of course—I explained—they didn’t make any fuss at all. Gosh, it’s grand to see you, Dad!”
“It was just a sudden idea—”
“A splendid idea—”
They walked up the pier together, their hearts bursting with pride and happiness. (What a son to have! thought Humphrey, glancing at the bright, eager face that was now almost on a level with his own. What a father! thought Mark, as he walked beside the blue-and-gold-clad hero. Gosh, I wish the fellows could see him!)
“If they hadn’t let me come,” Mark was saying. “Well, I would just have come all the same. They couldn’t have kept me from coming—wild horses couldn’t. I got a train from Musselburgh and changed at Edinburgh. It was quite easy.”
Soon they were sitting in the queer old-fashioned dining room of the Hawes Inn having lunch together, and Mark was looking about him with interest and excitement.
“You’re thinking of David Balfour,” Humphrey said, smiling.
“Yes, of course I am. You always know what I’m thinking, don’t you, Dad?”
It was early, so the dining room was empty and Humphrey was able to tell Mark all about the battle—or at least about the Glory’s part in the action. He illustrated his story with spoons and forks and cruet stands, moving them about to show Mark what had happened.
“That’s the Glory,” said Humphrey, and ever after, Mark associated the old Glory with a mustard pot. “That’s the Glory, you see. We were following the line…the Valiant was just here…”
“Was it a victory?” Mark wanted to know.
“It would have been if we hadn’t lost them in the fog,” Humphrey replied a little doubtfully.
“They ran away, so it must have been a victory,” Mark pointed out.
“Time will tell,” replied Humphrey. “We don’t know enough yet to be able to say for certain. We lost more ships, but—as you say—they avoided further action.” He sighed and rearranged the spoons. “I wanted to talk to you about things,” he added.
“Yes, Dad.”
“You see, I couldn’t help thinking. It’s war and there may be another show—and—and we can’t be sure that it won’t be the old Glory’s turn to go up next time. You see what I mean?”
Mark saw.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you,” Humphrey said.
“Yes,” said Mark. “Yes.” He looked out of the window and saw the Glory lying at anchor in the sparkling water. The scene was a trifle blurred.
“It’s about Dunnian,” Humphrey said. “Dunnian belonged to Aunt Celia—you know that, of course—and she left it to me for as long as I’m alive, but after that it goes to C
elia.”
“To Celia!”
Humphrey nodded. “It was Aunt Celia’s idea. She was a queer old lady and that was what she wanted. She was born in the house and she lived in it for ninety years and she wanted another Celia to have it.”
“What a funny idea!”
“Yes. Perhaps I should have told you before.”
“Why?” Mark asked in bewilderment.
“Well, didn’t you—I mean, perhaps you thought it would be yours.”
“Mine?” asked Mark.
“That would be the usual thing,” Humphrey pointed out. “I mean, you’re my eldest son, but Aunt Celia had this queer idea and so—”
“Yes, I see.”
It was very difficult, far worse than Humphrey had expected. He decided that he must take the next fence with a rush; it was the only way. “So you see,” Humphrey said very quickly. “You see, Mark, if anything happened to me, Celia could turn you all out of the house when she is twenty-one. I don’t suppose she would do it, of course, unless she married, but she would be entitled to do it if she felt inclined.”
“Celia!” Mark exclaimed again. “But Celia is just a baby.”
“You have to look ahead,” Humphrey said desperately. “We must look ahead, old fellow. There isn’t much money except what goes with the house and it goes to Celia, of course. I wouldn’t be saying all this if it wasn’t for the war, but we’ve got to look ahead…just in case…” I shouldn’t be saying it at all, he thought, as he saw Mark’s face whiten. It’s ghastly to upset him like this. He’s only a child when all’s said and done, but I might be killed any day. He thought of the Queen Mary, of that frightful explosion and the burst of flame that had followed it. Humphrey would never forget that sight as long as he lived.
“Yes, of course,” Mark said huskily.
“So that’s how it stands,” continued Humphrey, trying to speak quite cheerfully. “And that’s why you’ll have to think very seriously and try to decide what you want to do.”
“I have been thinking about it, Dad. I think I should like to be a doctor. Would that be all right?”
“I suppose so,” Humphrey said in surprise, for somehow he had never thought of this. “It’s a long training, but once you were qualified you would be independent. You really think you’d like it?”
“Yes, I’m sure I should.”
“You had better go ahead then. It’s a great thing to know your own mind, to have a definite goal and go all out for it; that’s the way to succeed.”
“Would it take too much money, Dad?”
“No,” Humphrey said firmly. “No, there’s a little money—enough to see you through. It might not run to Oxford or Cambridge—”
“I thought of Edinburgh.”
“Fine—it would be near home too.”
Mark was silent for a few moments and then he said, “What about the others?”
“Your mother has a little money of her own, not much of course, but—but she would get a pension if…and Billy wants to go into the service, doesn’t he?”
Mark nodded.
“Don’t worry, old chap,” said Humphrey. “I wouldn’t have told you all this, but I felt I would rather tell you myself than leave you to find out about it later. I’m not dead yet, you know.”
Mark smiled faintly.
“Don’t worry,” repeated Humphrey. “And of course don’t talk about it to anyone—except Mother, of course. You can talk about it to Mother if you like. Now then, how about coming aboard.”
“Coming aboard!” Mark echoed in amazement. “You don’t mean I could come aboard the Glory, do you?”
“Why not?” Humphrey asked, smiling.
It was a sudden idea of Humphrey’s to take Mark aboard and it was a very good one, for Mark was so excited at the privilege of being on board a ship that had just taken part in a battle that he forgot his troubles; his face lost the strained expression that had worried Humphrey so much and became boyish and eager. Some of the officers were on board and were very kind and cheerful. They showed Mark the scars that had been sustained by the ship, and one of them presented Mark with a shell splinter he had found in his cabin. Mark was interested in everything, and Humphrey saw that he was making a very good impression on everyone who spoke to him. Humphrey could not help wishing that Mark was going into the service. It would be easier from a financial point of view, but it never crossed his mind to try to influence Mark, for he wanted Mark to be free and make a success of his chosen profession.
Chapter Fifteen
Celia
With a hop and a skip and a jump, Celia went down the garden path. Old Johnson was digging; he was turning over the rich brown earth in long straight drills. He stopped digging when he saw Celia and leaned on his spade and smiled at her. Johnson was fond of all the children, but he liked Celia best—a wee crack with Celia was one of his chief pleasures.
“They were telling me there’s going to be a party,” Johnson said.
“It’s Edith’s birthday, that’s why. She’s fifteen.”
“You’re all growing up.”
“Not fast enough,” said Celia, shaking her head. “Mark is seventeen, you know. He would be in the war if he was older.” She hesitated and then added, “And you would be in the war if you were younger.”
“That’s so,” agreed Johnson.
“I think they’re silly not to have you,” Celia continued thoughtfully. “You could dig the trenches for them.”
“So I could,” he agreed.
“You’re very good at digging, Johnson.”
“I’ve been at it a long time,” he pointed out.
Celia nodded.
Having finished with that subject in a satisfactory manner, Celia started another. “Nannie’s going,” she said.
“So they were saying,” replied Johnson. “I was surprised to hear it, mind you, for I thought she was a fixture.”
“She likes babies,” Celia said in an aggrieved tone of voice. “She would rather go look after a nasty howling baby than stay here with me. It’s funny, isn’t it?”
“It sounds daft to me,” declared Johnson.
“It is daft,” agreed Celia. “That’s just what it is—daft.”
“Are you getting another nurse?”
“No, Becky’s going to keep an eye on me,” Celia said gravely.
“You’ll like that.”
“Yes, I shall. Becky isn’t nearly so strict and she’s a lot more interesting, but all the same,” said Celia, and there was a tremor in her voice. “All the same—I think I shall—miss Nannie—a lot.”
There was a short silence. A robin hopped onto Johnson’s spade and watched them with bright, beady eyes.
“And how is the captain?” Johnson asked suddenly.
“Very well,” Celia replied with the little sharp nod that always reminded Johnson so forcibly of old Miss Dunne. “Very well indeed, thank you, Johnson. Of course we don’t know where he is because he isn’t allowed to tell us. You see, I might tell you and you might tell Downie and Downie might go down to the Black Bull and get drunk—that’s how the Germans hear where our ships are, you see.”
Johnson chuckled. He said, “What about me going down to the Black Bull and getting drunk?”
This was considered a good joke and Celia laughed delightedly.
“So you think there’s German spies in Ryddelton?” Johnson inquired.
“Of course there are,” replied Celia, suddenly grave. “There are spies everywhere, you know, so we’ve got to be very careful.”
“About this party,” said Johnson. “You’ll not bring a horde of children into my garden, I hope.”
“I won’t bring them,” Celia replied with a mischievous look. “It isn’t my party, you know. I hate parties just as much as you do.”
“If they come here they’ll get
more than they bargained for,” murmured Johnson. “If they come here, trampling on my beds and breaking down my bushes…”
“I never have a party on my birthday,” Celia pointed out.
“That’s true enough,” allowed Johnson.
“How’s Doris?” Celia inquired anxiously. “Have her puppies been born yet?”
“Yesterday,” replied Johnson. “Two dogs and a bitch—you’ll be wanting one of them most likely.”
“Oh, Johnson—if they’ll let me!”
“They’ll let you if you go about it the right way. One of the dogs is a beauty. I just thought when I saw him, ‘That’s the one for Miss Celia,’ I thought.”
“Oh, Johnson!” cried Celia, clasping her hands.
“You’ll see them on Thursday,” Johnson continued, nodding encouragingly. “You come down on Thursday morning and I’ll let you see them.”
There was another silence. Celia had perched herself on the handle of Johnson’s barrow. She had picked up an unripe pear and was biting into it with her small sharp teeth—every now and then she shuddered.
“You’ll have collywobbles,” Johnson warned her.
“I never do,” she replied. “I can eat anything at all. Nannie says my inside is made of leather.”
“Who’s coming to the party?” asked Johnson.
“The Raeworths, of course, and Tessa and Oliver Skene. They’re staying at Ryddelton House.”
“That’ll be Colonel Skene’s children,” said Johnson. “They’ll be nice friends for you.”
“They’re too old to be any fun,” Celia replied.
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