The Fortunes of the Farrells Part 38

He held out his hand, and Ruth said good-bye with a little tremor of relief and thankfulness in her voice. Dr Maclure was a man of few words, but what he said he meant, and his quiet, a.s.sured manner made him seem a veritable rock of refuge in the midst of the storm.

Ruth felt happier and more hopeful than she had done for many a long day, despite the uneasiness caused by the doctor's appearance. His skin was bronzed by his tour abroad, otherwise he must have looked shockingly ill, for he was thin and worn to a marked extent. Remembering the date of his illness, it was impossible not to connect it with her own refusal, and Ruth's heart softened at the thought. "He has suffered for me, as I have suffered for Victor! He is a real man; true and strong and honest. Everywhere people run after him and admire him, but he cares only for me. How much he cares! His poor, thin face! All this time while I have been forgetting, he has been thinking of me, and grieving himself ill."

Sad though the reflection might be, there was comfort mingled with it.

The sore, slighted feeling of the last few weeks could not survive while a man of Donald Maclure's calibre placed her first among women.

That very evening, after his second visit to the invalid, the doctor was closeted with Mr Connor for an hour, and after his departure the latter joined his step-daughters in the dining-room, where Mollie was eating her deferred dinner in preparation for the night's watch, and the first glance at his face proved that a light had arisen in the darkness.

"The worst is over!" he said tremblingly. "Maclure has come to the rescue. He is a good fellow--a n.o.ble fellow! G.o.d will reward him; I am to draw upon him for necessary expenses for the next few months; and I have no doubt the business will go well--so many men have come forward and offered to support me if I could keep going. This will be the best possible medicine for your mother, and for us all. It will give us heart to work, and we shall have to work hard to pay off the loan."

Ruth set her lips in a determined fashion, which gave a new expression to her face. She was thankful beyond words for help in this time of need, but the fact that it had come from Donald Maclure, of all people, made the debt difficult to bear. He had already offered much, and had been rejected. She felt oppressed by his very generosity.

That night when she went to bed, Ruth unfolded the little bundle of letters which she had received from Raby since her return home, and read them over with lingering attention. No word from Uncle Bernard, though both girls had written to him more than once, telling him of their mother's illness and progress towards recovery. Not a line from Victor, though he must have known of the added trouble. A short, manly letter of sympathy from Jack Melland, who had heard of the bad news through Mrs Thornton--a letter addressed to Ruth, with "kindest regards to her sister"; three long, underlined epistles from that lady herself, and one sheet covered with a beautiful, distinctive handwriting, and signed "Margot Blount." Ruth opened this last letter first of all, and pa.s.sed hurriedly over expressions of condolence to the more practical part of the message.

"And now, Ruth, you must not think because Fate has separated us in this hurried manner that you have seen the last of me. I want to be your friend now and always, and hope to see a great deal of you in the future. Mrs Thornton says that you wish to find some work. I am neither rich nor clever, but I know a great many people, and I have some little influence, so I can certainly help you there. Write, dear, and tell me if you have any special vocation in view, or if you are willing to take the best chance that offers. I have a rich and gouty relation whose companion is shortly to be married. I could recommend you for the post, when you would be well paid, and live in luxury; but I know you would feel prisoned, and long to throw cushions at her occasionally. I should! There are numerous societies and guilds also to which I belong, and to one of which you might be appointed as secretary or treasurer.

Then you would be your own mistress, and free; but is freedom worth much in London lodgings? I can't fancy you roughing it by yourself, and I keep hoping against hope for some sudden turn of the tide which may still make it unnecessary. Don't settle to anything before telling me first. I know I can find something really good if you give me time.

"Mr Druce is very much in evidence, acting host at the Court, and visiting far and near. He tells me that Mr Farrell consults him on every point, and gives him carte blanche to do as he likes; and I hear as much from other sources, more reliable. As his position becomes more a.s.sured, his attentions increase; but he will not make the fatal mistake of burdening himself with a poor wife until there is no possibility of mistake. Therefore, it may some day be my painful duty to refuse to become mistress of the Court; but the refusing itself I shall enjoy.

You would not, for you have a gentle nature; but Mr Druce shall find that he cannot play with Margot Blount for naught!"

Ruth could see in imagination the haughty tilt of Margot's graceful head, and the flash in her eyes, as she wrote those words, and did not envy Victor his hour of awakening. Evidently the whole countryside now looked upon him as the accepted heir, and even hopeful Mrs Thornton ceased to prophesy for the future.

"I have seen Mr Farrell twice this last week, but have not succeeded in making him mention your names," she wrote in her last letter. "I talk continuously of you--in what vein you can imagine!--and read extracts from your letters; and he listens intently, but makes no remarks. I can see him mentally pounce on anything which gives him fresh insight into your life here, as if he were still interested in the study of your characters; but the moment I stop speaking he turns the conversation to impersonal topics. Only one thing he has done which I thought really thoughtful. Ruth's camera was found lying about, and he gave instructions that it was to be taken down to the photographers the same day, and copies printed from all the films, so that your mother might receive them as soon as possible. I believe they were sent up yesterday, so that you may expect them soon, and perhaps a letter at the same time. Mr Druce is kind and amiable, and very much the man in possession. I don't take to him, but my husband believes he will make a good squire."

"Will," not "would"! This from Mrs Thornton was conclusive indeed!

Ruth dropped a salt tear on the back of the sheet as she folded it up.

It was good news to hear of the trouble Uncle Bernard had taken on her behalf. Surely, surely he would not forward the photographs without enclosing some sort of an answer to her many notes!

For the next few days Ruth's heart leapt every time the postman's knock sounded at the door; but, when the longed-for packet arrived, the words, "Photographs only," written on the back, killed her hopes at a glance.

The pictures themselves were fairly successful, and gave a happy half- hour to the invalid, who bent lovingly over each familiar scene.

"It takes me back to my youth to see the dear old rooms again! How successful you are with interiors, Ruth; but you have no photograph of the library, one of my favourite haunts. How did you come to leave that out?"

"I didn't. I took it twice over. I'm sorry, dear, but I expect they were failures," said Ruth wearily.

She could not guess that on these missing pictures hung the fate of many lives.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

LOVE'S CONQUEST.

Six months had pa.s.sed by, taking with them the keen edge of anxiety, but leaving behind the dull, monotonous routine which is almost as hard to bear. It is not enlivening, to be obliged to work instead of play, to look ten times at a sixpence before you dare spend it, to consider what you can do without, rather than what you can have, and to see no prospect ahead but continual cheese-paring and self-denial; and when you happen to be young and full of life, it is harder than ever.

With Dr Maclure's help, Mr Connor was able to continue his business, and his City friends rallied round him, doing their best to put work in his way; but, even so, there were pressing debts to be settled besides the loan which one and all were anxious to repay, so that housekeeping expenses had to be reduced to a minimum. It was decided that one of the elder girls must stay at home, while the other tried for work abroad, and it was at once a relief and a blow for Ruth when Mollie was chosen as mother's help. She had dreaded the irksome duties of mending, cooking, dusting, and everlasting putting to rights, which would have fallen to her share, but it would have been a comfort to have been chosen!

"Don't feel hurt, darling; it's a pure question of suitability," Mrs Connor had explained anxiously. "Mollie is stronger than you are, and has a more adaptable temperament. She won't feel the little jars as you would, and will get on better with the maid. It is the art of a good general to place his forces in the best position."

"Yes, of course, dear. It's quite--quite right! Arrange everything as you think best," replied Ruth sweetly, kissing the little, wistful face as she spoke; for Mrs Connor was still very fragile, and by Dr Maclure's orders had to be spared all possible worry.

The same orders were extended to forbid Ruth from taking advantage of Lady Margot's offer to procure work at a distance.

"Unless it proves absolutely impossible to find a suitable post here, I don't think it would be wise to subject your mother to any further anxiety. She would be constantly worrying about your welfare, and that is the very thing we wish to avoid. Would it be a great disappointment to you to give up going to London?" he inquired, with a quick, grave look at Ruth's face.

"It would be a blessed relief. I'd a million times rather be at home; but what can I find to do? I am ashamed to think how incompetent I am!

Here we are back again where we were three months ago, Dr Maclure, when I worried you and Eleanor about a vocation!"

Ruth smiled, then flushed crimson at a sudden remembrance of how that conversation had ended. She was immeasurably thankful to the doctor for looking in an opposite direction and continuing to talk in the most matter-of-fact manner.

"It occurred to me last night that I knew of a post which might suit you for the next few months. The secretary of our Home for Nurses is on the point of breaking down, and needs a good rest. The work needs no special knowledge; it consists mainly in answering endless notes of inquiries, and in keeping some very simple accounts. I could soon coach you up in what is necessary. You would have to be there from ten to six--not heavy hours, as things go. I think I could secure the post for you for, say, the next three months, if you cared to accept it."

"And how much should I get?"

"Miss Edgar's salary is forty pounds; you would get a fourth of that--"

"Ten pounds!" Ruth stared at him with dilated eyes. "Ten pounds!

Every day from ten to six for three whole months, and only ten pounds!

Dr Maclure, do you know it is a real, true, honest fact that I paid twenty pounds for a ball-dress only a few weeks ago? I've got it now in a box upstairs!"

The doctor smiled.

"I should like to see you in it! I hope I may some day. It certainly seems a good deal of money, but I suppose it is very fine, and will last a long time."

"But it won't! It's a mere wisp of gauze, that will only be fit to burn after being worn two or three times. And I should have to work for six months to earn enough to pay for it! How shocking! What a terrible difference there is between the lives of the rich and the poor!"

"Ah, there you have touched on a great problem! After you have had some experience of being a working woman, you may not care to buy any more twenty-pound dresses, even if the opportunity offers. I know that the payment is small, but I am afraid you would find it difficult to get more without any special knowledge or training. It is hard for you, especially coming so soon after your taste of luxury; but if you can face it--"

"Oh yes, indeed! I'll take it, and be thankful; and perhaps, if I do very well and keep the books nicely, I may be worth fifty pounds next time!" said Ruth, with a charming courage, which might well have aroused any man's admiration.

Dr Maclure made no remark, and turned his head aside. He had a habit nowadays of looking at other things when he was speaking to Ruth. So it happened that while Mollie worked at home, Ruth went forth every day to her monotonous task, trudging along the same well-known path, in sun and rain, heat and cold--for the secretary's leave of absence had to be prolonged--until Christmas was close at hand, and the ten pounds' salary had doubled in value.

"I shall be able to buy myself a new mackintosh and a pair of good stout boots," Ruth said to herself, as she trudged home one dismal December evening, and felt a suspicious dampness in the soles of her tired little feet.

She had no idea what a charming figure she made in her long, dark coat, with her hair curling in wet rings about her face; for she carried no umbrella, as her cloth toque defied the weather, and she preferred to keep her hands free to hold her skirts from contact with the muddy roads. The pink-and-white face, with its delicately cut features, and straight black brows, shone out like a flower among the tired, colourless-looking throng of workers who wended their way homeward; and her expression was bright and alert, despite the dismal surroundings.

Ruth was surprised at her own happiness of late. Her work was dull and monotonous, and she had few pleasures to relieve it; yet, for some mysterious reason, she was more truly content at heart than in those days of ease and luxury, which seemed like a dream of the past. Six months had pa.s.sed since that memorable day when she and Mollie had bidden adieu to the Court; and Uncle Bernard still lived, and was apparently in the same condition.

Mrs Thornton kept her friends well informed of the news of the neighbourhood, so that they knew that, though Victor Druce had ostensibly returned to town at the expiration of his three months'

visit, he was constantly running down and bringing friends with him for a few days' shooting, with the privilege of a son of the house. For the rest, Margot Blount had returned to town, and Jack Melland's communications were limited to an occasional picture-postcard bearing half a dozen words of greeting. Mollie made no comment on the briefness of these missives, and was always cheery and busy, but sometimes on her return from her day's work Ruth would look at her anxiously, and wonder if it were only imagination that Mollie looked different, thinner and older--a woman rather than a girl. Perhaps after all she had the harder path--shut up in the house, without the daily variety of seeing fresh rooms and fresh faces. The regular const.i.tutional, too, was in itself health-giving, and though Ruth received much pity at home on the score of her long, wet walks, it was astonishing what pleasant surprises loomed out of the fog at times. She smiled to herself, and a dimple dipped in her cheek.

The good old fairy days were not yet over, when a tired Cinderella, trudging through the mire, was suddenly provided with a comfortable carriage, springing as it were out of the earth to carry her to her destination. It was extraordinary how often Dr Maclure's brougham "happened" to be travelling in the same direction as herself on wet evenings; and although the doctor himself was conspicuous by his absence, the coachman was wonderfully quick to recognise one figure out of many, and to draw up with a "Just driving past your house, miss. Can I give you a lift?"

Ruth had no doubt that it was the master, not the man, who was responsible for these meetings, and the conviction brought with it a glow of content, of which as yet she failed to realise the meaning.

Nevertheless, her heart beat with a pleasurable excitement as she threaded her way through the crowded streets, wondering if once again the fairy equipage would be sent to the rescue, if it would appear at this corner or the next. At last, through the driving sleet, she recognised the familiar outline of the brougham drawn up beside the pavement, but for once the coachman sat stiffly on his box, while the master stepped forward to meet her.

"Miss Ruth, it is a shocking evening! I have a call to pay in this neighbourhood. Do let George drive you home before you are wet through."

Ruth stood still and looked at him. The drops of moisture were thick upon hat and coat, her soft cheeks were damp with rain, but her eyes danced with a spice of mischief which was more like Mollie than the grave, elder sister of the family.