Celia's House
Page 27
“Yes,” agreed Humphrey. He reflected that it would give him a very funny feeling if he had not an anchorage at Dunnian. “Was Glenway a family place?” asked Humphrey.
“It belonged to my grandmother’s people. Grandfather belonged to Pennsylvania. He had land there, but he sold it up when he married.”
Humphrey nodded understandingly. It was interesting to get a glimpse of the boy’s background. He would have liked to know more, but he was afraid of being thought inquisitive. “What made you come to Ryddelton for your leave?” Humphrey asked.
“That’s quite a story. My great-grandmother came from this part of the country and I thought I’d like to have a look at the place. I thought maybe the people in the house would let me look around.”
“Your great-grandmother,” Humphrey said thoughtfully.
“Yes. I never saw the old lady—she died before I was born—but Grandfather used to talk about it a lot. About Ryddelton, I mean. And I came across a bundle of letters one day—it was after the old man died and I was clearing up. Letters written to my great-grandmother by her sister. Seems an old story, but I like old stories,” said the young man, smiling apologetically.
“You’re Dale!” Humphrey exclaimed with sudden excitement.
The American looked at him in surprise.
“You are, aren’t you?” urged Humphrey. “Good heavens, of course you are! I’ve been wondering all the time why you seemed familiar. It’s because you’re a Dunne! You’re Mary Dunne’s great-grandson!”
“Gee, if that doesn’t beat everything! Courtney Dale is my name. I was called after my great-grandfather—”
“I knew it!” cried Humphrey, seizing his hand and shaking it cordially. “I knew it! We’re cousins. I’m Humphrey Dunne.”
“Cousins!”
“Yes, cousins—”
“Then this is Dunnian!”
“Yes, of course, my dear fellow!” cried Humphrey, patting him on the back. “I can’t tell you how glad I am. It’s simply splendid. Go in and see the place. We must find Celia and tell her all about it.”
“This is wonderful,” Courtney Dale began in a dazed sort of voice. “I never thought there might be Dunnes living here. It’s—it’s—wonderful—”
“It’s marvelous,” agreed Humphrey, laughing excitedly. “I’ve always wondered what had become of Mary Dunne’s family. Why did you disappear into thin air? But never mind that now; you’re here and that’s all that matters. I knew, the moment I saw you, that you weren’t a stranger. It’s because you have a look of old Humphrey, that’s why.”
“Old Humphrey!”
“The old chap who built Dunnian House. I’ll show you his picture—”
“You’re like my grandfather,” declared Courtney Dale, looking at Humphrey and smiling. “I guess that’s why I liked you the very first moment I saw you at the gate…”
“You can always tell a Dunne,” replied Humphrey. “It’s the shape of the face—something about the forehead—but, come along, don’t stand there in the road. Come see Dunnian. You’ll come stay here, of course, for the rest of your leave. We shall be delighted to have you.”
“It’s very good of you, but I’m quite comfortable at the hotel—”
“At the Black Bull!” said Humphrey, laughing incredulously. “No, no, my boy, you’ll come to Dunnian. We can make you a great deal more comfortable here.”
“I’m sure of that—but what about food?” said young Dale, hanging back. “It’s very, very good of you and I appreciate it a lot, but I know it’s difficult having guests—”
“You aren’t a guest,” declared Humphrey, taking his arm. “There will be food for you, war or no war. We’ll manage all right. Good Lord, do you think I’d let you stay at the Black Bull! Come along, come in. I’ll send a man down to the village for your bag…”
Courtney Dale made no further objections. He was quite as pleased and excited as this newfound cousin, though not quite so voluble. It had been a most extraordinary experience and he was still a trifle dazed from the effects of it. There he was, walking along a strange road in an absolutely strange country and feeling—if the truth were told—just a trifle homesick for his own land…and suddenly he had been hailed by an extremely pleasant and personable old gentleman, whom he had never seen before, and called by name and accepted as one of the family, welcomed into the bosom of the family as a sort of prodigal son. If that didn’t beat everything, Courtney Dale did not know what would!
They walked up the avenue together talking and laughing; Humphrey was trying to explain the exact relationship that existed between them, but he was too excited to do it very well.
“My grandfather and your grandmother were brothers—I mean, brother and sister—no, it was your great-grandmother, of course—so you’re my second cousin once removed. Is that right? Well, it’s quite near enough anyway. Wait until I show you the tree—”
“A genealogical tree?”
“Yes. I must put you in. You can give me the details of your branch. I’ve always wanted to complete your branch of the family.”
Dale was looking about him with interest. “The Dunnes have always lived here, haven’t they?” he asked.
“Yes, there have been Dunnes here for centuries—long before Dunnian House was built. You must see the Peel. Celia will show it to you.”
“Celia was the name of the old lady who wrote the letters,” began Courtney Dale. “The letters to my great-grandmother—”
Humphrey nodded. “Of course. My daughter, Celia, was called after her, just as you were called after your great-grandfather. It’s odd—” Humphrey began and then he stopped. Perhaps later, when he knew young Dale better, he would tell him about Aunt Celia’s romance, or perhaps he would never tell him. Humphrey was not quite sure.
As they came around a bend in the avenue, they halted and Courtney Dale saw Dunnian for the first time. He looked at the old house in silence, for he felt a strange surge of emotion in beholding it. He had expected a good deal, and it was not quite as he had expected, not quite so big and imposing, but for all that, it satisfied him. Dunnian was beautiful and symmetrical. It was part of the landscape; it seemed to belong to the ground, to spring from the ground as naturally as a tree.
“So that’s Dunnian,” Courtney said at last with a sigh.
“That’s Dunnian,” agreed Humphrey.
“It’s a lovely house,” Courtney said slowly. “There’s something about it. I don’t quite know what it is. Something very satisfying.”
“Yes,” Humphrey said encouragingly.
“I know,” declared Courtney. “I’ve got it now. It’s a home, that’s what it is. That’s what’s so very special about it. Dunnian looks like a place for people to live in and be happy.”
Humphrey smiled—no praise could have pleased him better.
They were still standing there when Celia came out the front door. She hesitated for a moment and then began to walk toward them down the drive. Celia was wearing a cherry-colored linen frock and her head was bare. She was carrying a basket on her arm.
And this, thought Courtney, as he went forward to meet his fate, is one of the happy people who lives at Dunnian House.
Suddenly the sun came out from behind the clouds, and all the birds in the garden began to sing.
About the Author
D. E. Stevenson (1892–1973) had an enormously successful writing career: between 1923 and 1970, four million copies of her books were sold in Britain and three million in the United States. Her books include Miss Buncle’s Book, Miss Buncle Married, The Young Clementina, Listening Valley, The Two Mrs. Abbotts, The Four Graces, Celia’s House, and The Baker’s Daughter. D. E. Stevenson was born in Edinburgh in 1892; she lived in Scotland all her life. She wrote her first book in 1923, but her second did not appear for nine years. She published Celia’s House in 1943.
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