GAY BOWERS

THE old country house known as "Gay Bowers," which had been my aunt's home ever since she married, was situated some five miles from Chelmsford and no nearer to the railway. It was still early in the afternoon when I reached that station, but the air struck me as rather more than fresh as I stepped out of the train. I shivered as I buttoned my coat more tightly about me and looked round, hoping to discern a friendly face amid the bustling crowd on the platform, for I felt sure that my aunt would send some one to meet me.

"Nan!" said a voice beside me, and I turned to see a tall, well-set-up young fellow looking down on me with bright merry eyes. For a moment I was bewildered, then I recognised the face, which was still boyish in spite of the carefully cultivated moustache and the height from which he gazed on me. This was Jack Upsher, son of the Vicar of Greentree, the parish to which "Gay Bowers" belonged. He had been my playfellow when, as a child, I spent my summer holidays at "Gay Bowers"; but of late years he had been absent from the vicarage whenever I happened to visit aunt. So we had not met since we were both grown-up, and it was rather audacious of him to address me in that familiar way, but I did not resent it, especially as he hastened to add:

"I beg your pardon; I should have said 'Miss Darracott,' but you have altered so little from the 'Nan' I used to know, that the name sprang of itself to my lips."

"Indeed I hoped I had altered a good deal," was my reply. "But you are just the same, Jack, except that you have grown so immensely."

He laughed heartily as he shook my hand.

"That's right, Nan; call me 'Jack,' and snub me as you always did, and we shall feel quite at home together. How like you to tell me that I've grown, just as if I were a schoolboy home for the holidays!"

"It is perfectly true," I said.

"Exactly," he returned, "and I always had the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth from you. To be accurate, I stand precisely six feet in my socks."

"Then you have attained your highest ambition?" I said.

"Not quite," he replied; "but now you mention it, I remember that as a kid I always aspired to be six feet high. What have you in the way of luggage, for Mrs. Lucas has kindly granted me permission to drive you home, and the trap is waiting outside?"

I quickly found my trunk, and he directed a porter to carry it to the conveyance. Well did I know the high, old-fashioned phaeton which stood outside the station; but the horse which drew it was a recent acquisition and a more mettlesome creature than the Vicar usually drove. She would hardly stand while the porter strapped my trunk to the back of the vehicle and Jack helped me up and saw to my comfort.

"I am told that you require the greatest care," he said gravely, as he shook out a big, fur-lined cloak auntie had given him, and proceeded to envelop me in it, drawing the huge collar so high above my chin that little could be seen of me save my eyes and the tip of my nose. Then he placed a hot stone jar beneath my feet, drew a thick rug well over my knees and tucked it carefully in.

"How does that do?" he asked, surveying me with some satisfaction.

"First-rate," I said. "I feel ready for a journey to the North Pole."

"That's all right," he said as he sprang up beside me and signed to the groom to stand back. The man scrambled up behind us and we were off at a smart pace.

"What a splendid horse, and how it goes!" I said, in rather a shaky voice. It had never been my way to indulge in nervous qualms, indeed I had been contemptuous of girls who were easily frightened; but one effect of illness is to humble pride, and to my shame I now realised that I was sick with fear as Jack guided his high-stepping, swift bay mare through the market-traffic of the narrow streets of Chelmsford. For a few moments I heartily wished that Aunt Patty had engaged one of the slow, rumbling old station flys to bring me to her house.

"Yes, Bess is a beauty," said Jack proudly. "It was I who persuaded father to buy her. He was half afraid of her at first, indeed I rather think he is so still; but I hate to drive a horse that is as tame as a donkey."

He glanced at me as he spoke and added quickly, with a sudden change of manner, "You are not afraid, Nan, are you?"

"Of course not," I said hurriedly, jeopardising the character for speaking the truth with which he had credited me. I rallied my courage with the recollection of how in my childhood I had never been afraid of anything when Jack led the way, and as I saw the skill with which he drove, my fears soon vanished. We were leaving the town behind, and I began to enjoy the drive. Thanks to my aunt's thoughtfulness I was so wrapped up as to be scarce conscious of the cold. I only felt that the air was deliciously fresh and clear, a delightful contrast to the dull, foggy atmosphere of London.

Many persons regard Essex as a flat and uninteresting county, but I had always found beauty in the woods and lanes. Even on this January day as we drove along muddy roads with brown hedges on either side, where sapless twigs and leafless roots waited for the touch of spring, the country did not lack charm for me. I marked with pleasure the beauty of "wintry boughs against a wintry sky," and the emerald freshness of pasture-lands thrown into relief by the rich brown of the upturned earth across which strong, shaggy horses were drawing the plough. We passed woods in which the ivy—surely a well-meaning if harmful parasite—was doing its utmost to clothe the bare trunks and limbs of trees with a garment of vivid green. And every now and then we caught a broad view of the open country and saw the woods and meadows melt into the exquisite blue haze of distance.

I should have been content to gaze and enjoy in silence, but Jack Upsher had always an abundant supply of small talk, and as we drove along, he told me in the most amusing fashion the news of the countryside.

"But how is it you are here now?" I asked. "I expected to hear that you were at Woolwich."

Jack's colour rose, and he shrugged his shoulders rather awkwardly.

"That's where I ought to be," he said, with a rueful air; "but unluckily I got ploughed in my exam. The governor was awfully mad with me; but it was not my fault that I could not answer the idiotic questions. Brains were never my strong point."

It was true that no one would credit Jack with scholarly tastes, but he was by no means stupid in his own line of life. I imagined that he had fair abilities, and it surprised me to hear of his failure, for I had always understood that the entrance examination for Woolwich was not an unduly stiff one.

"But how was it?" I asked. "Of course you worked hard."

"But I did not," he said; "that's the honest truth, Nan, so I suppose you will say it was my fault, after all. You see I was sent to a coach in town. Father thought I should work better there than at home, but it did not answer. I found it awfully jolly to be free to do as I liked in town after vegetating in sleepy little Greentree. There were the circuses and shows, and no end to see and do. With lots of lively fellows in the house I enjoyed myself immensely, but did not get much work in. Ah, Nan! I see you want to scold me."

"Indeed I do," I said severely. "I don't know what you mean by saying you were free to do as you liked, when your father sent you to London to study."

"Oh, well, I meant that we were free to arrange our hours as we liked," replied Jack. "Our tutor did not treat us as schoolboys. We were supposed to be in by eleven at night, but we could always get leave for an extra hour if we liked to ask for it, and, if not, we could contrive to get into the house without knocking at the front door. But I did work, Nan, quite hard sometimes, after old Rooke had given me a lecture. He warned me that I should not pass, but I quite hoped I should scrape through somehow."

I was silent, marvelling at the difference in the feelings with which Jack and I had contemplated our respective examinations. He would have been content to scrape through, while I aspired to win honours! I am afraid my thoughts at that moment had a tinge of pharisaism, for I certainly congratulated myself that, had I gone in for Matriculation and failed, I should have had the satisfaction of knowing that I had done my best, and no self-reproach would have embittered my disappointment.

It may be that Jack guessed what was passing in my mind, for, after a few moments, he said:

"By the by, Mrs. Lucas told me that you had been working for an exam—overworking, I believe she said, and have reduced yourself to a condition that only country air and rural repose can mend. That was not wise, Nan. You would do well to follow my example, for I can confidently affirm that I have never been guilty of that folly!"

"I can well believe it," I responded with a laugh, "but you can't think what a dreadful disappointment it has been to me to give up my exam."

"No, I can't!" he said decidedly. "I don't think girls should go in for exams. I know I would not if I were a girl."

"You think it one of the difficult undertakings we should leave to the superior sex, who so easily beat us in all high achievements, mental or physical?" I said.

He coloured, but laughed good-naturedly at my sarcasm.

"That's right, Nan, don't spare me! I know I deserve it. Smite hard, just as the little Nan used to do. She always got the better of me in every encounter of wits. All the same, I don't see why girls should bother themselves over exams."

"Don't you?" I said. "Then it shows a sad lack of discernment on your part. You forget that a great many women have to earn their own livelihood, and the test of an examination furnishes them with a credential which is of the utmost importance to them."

"I hold it a shame that any woman should have to work for herself!" he said hotly, and I returned with equal heat:

"And I call it a shame for man or woman not to work, and a positive sin if they waste their opportunities—"

"Ah, you have me there!" he broke in. "The cap fits, and I put it on. But, indeed, I mean to work better in the future."

"What are you going to do?" I asked, somewhat abashed by the readiness with which he took my words home.

"Oh, I have yet another chance of getting into the Artillery," he said. "I can go up again in six months' time. Meanwhile, I am working at home under the governor's supervision. There's a man at Chelmsford who is coaching me, and I go up to town for extra lessons."

We were driving rapidly across a breezy common, and, as he spoke, the wind caught my cloak and blew it across my face. He leaned forward to pull it down, and to tuck the rug more closely about me, and I caught an unusually serious look from his dark eyes as he said:

"I mean to be good now, Nan. I have promised Mrs. Lucas. She was talking to me only yesterday. She is an angel—a veritable angel, and so sad and lonely now at 'Gay Bowers.' I am glad you have come to be with her. You will cheer her."

"I should like to cheer her," I said, and then fell silent, for we were almost at "Gay Bowers," and I was beginning to dread the meeting with my aunt. Like many another young girl, I felt a morbid shrinking from any one on whom a heavy stroke of bereavement had fallen. I felt incapable of giving true sympathy, and was nervous lest I should do or say the wrong thing.

It was a story told against me at home that once, some years before, when mother sent me to carry a parcel to a poor woman who had just lost her husband, and she said to me, "Oh, miss, it's a terrible thing to be left a widow with four children—" all I could say by way of consolation was, "Yes, but you know it might have been worse—you might have been left with eight!" Certainly my suggestion had the desired effect, for she responded briskly, "You're quite right, miss, so I might!" Yet my matter-of-fact condolence long furnished Olive with a joke at my expense.

We had left the common and were descending a long, narrow lane with trees on either side. The mud was rather slippery, and Jack had to give all his attention to his horse. Then we mounted a shorter hill, and the white gate came in sight. It had been set open in anticipation of our arrival, and we drove at once up the short drive to the door of the long, low, red-bricked house, a very ordinary-looking abode with five straight windows piercing the upper part, and below two on each side of the white porch, yet not without a certain individuality of its own. In summer, green creepers and climbing roses beautified the front of the house, but now their branches showed bare and brown as they clung to it.

I need not have dreaded the meeting with my aunt. She came smiling to the door as Jack helped me down from the phaeton. Her face looked pale and thin, but there was the sweet, loving look in her eyes I had always seen there, and every sign of sorrow was resolutely held in check. Always slight in appearance, she looked slimmer than ever in her plain, black gown. It was strange to see her wearing the little gauzy cap with its long, white streamers, but it did not take me long to decide that it was eminently becoming to my aunt's winsome face, at once so gentle and so strong.

"I am very glad to see you, dearest Nan," she said. "It is so good of you to come to me."

"Good of me to come" when it had been "Hobson's choice" as far as I was concerned! But it was like Aunt Patty to put it in that way.

Jack did not stay a minute after he had seen my luggage carried into the house. He drove off, saying that he would be sure to see me again before long.

With her arm about me, aunt led me across the wide hall. The little room to the left of the entrance had been uncle's peculiar sanctum, and Sweep, his favourite dog, a black retriever, lay on the mat outside it. She viewed my arrival with indifference, and only faintly wagged her tail when I bent to pat her. With her forepaws extended and her muzzle resting on them she crouched in an attitude of profound dejection.

"You must be dreadfully tired, dear Nan," aunt said. "A cosy tea will be ready in a few moments. Perhaps you had better not go upstairs till afterwards."

But I was too excited just then to know how tired I was, and I elected to go to my room. The house had the pure, sweet aroma I always associate with country houses, but it seemed strangely quiet and bare as we went upstairs. I saw that uncle's coats and hats had disappeared from the spot where they used to hang, though his guns and sticks still kept their places in the hall. A feeling of awe came to me with the sense of missing him.

Several rooms opened on to the spacious landing at the head of the stairs. I was pleased to find that aunt had given me the one above the porch, adjoining her own. It was a fair-sized room, but not so large as most of the bedrooms in the house. The window opened on to the top of the porch, which formed a little balcony on which it was possible to sit. The fact that this had been forbidden ground in my childhood probably accounted for the attraction the room had for me.

With a bright fire glowing on the hearth, and thick, soft-hued curtains draping the window, the room looked delightfully cosy at this hour. I detected various little improvements which auntie had made with a view to my comfort. A bunch of snowdrops adorned the dressing-table, and a tiny bookcase to the right of the bedstead presented a charming array of volumes. Remembering the doctor's prohibition, I was thankful that Aunt Patty had not thought it necessary to banish these.

"Oh, auntie, what a sweet room!" I cried. "It all seems so restful and quiet after London. Oh, you don't know how I have longed for rest and quiet!"

"I can well imagine that there is little quiet in your home during the children's holidays," she said. "Well, you will find it quiet enough here, dear, and can rest as much as you please."

"But I want to help you too, auntie," I said quickly.

"So you shall, dear," she replied; "we will help one another."

Her voice was a trifle tremulous, and I saw there were tears in her eyes. But the next minute she was smiling as she helped me off with my coat.