Chapter Ten
White Heather
DORIS Somerville was not only musical, but she delighted in painting. She told Forester that she had received good lessons at school, and had since attended a School of Art. She was anxious to carry away with her from Hildick some picture which would always remind her of the most pleasant holiday she had ever spent.
She set out alone one morning to choose the spot from which to make her sketch, and after wandering about for some time she fixed her eyes on the rocks almost underneath the farthest part of the headland. From her present viewpoint she would be able to get the trees above, the masses of rock in all shades of yellow, orange and red beneath, and then, as a foreground, the sea, with a fringe of white foam on the pebbly shore. This view charmed her immensely. If only she could reproduce it, however feebly and imperfectly, it would be a joy to her for ever.
She sat down with her sketch book, and was soon working away at her picture, far removed from the energetic party on the shore, and yet so interested in her work that she did not miss them.
The others were by their favourite rocks just underneath the old church. Joyce was throwing sticks into the water and coaxing her dogs to jump in and bring them back. Don Mainwaring and the Sinclair boys, Val, Dick and Billy, had set up an old tin and were pegging stones at it. Forester lay lying on the sand, the picture of idleness.
"Come along," cried Don presently, "we're going to play hockey on the sand. We've brought the sticks down."
Mab and Dolly Mainwaring jumped up at once to join the game.
"Come along, you lazy fellows," Dolly called to her brother Jack, and to Forester.
"Where's Doris Somerville?" asked Forester. "Why don't you get her to play?"
"Doris? She's off along the shore to paint. Up near the end of the headland. Come on, you two!"
Jack jumped up and followed them, but Norman Forester declared he was far too tired for hockey, and they were all soon out of sight. He jumped up the moment they had disappeared round the corner, and immediately began to walk swiftly along the shore in the opposite direction.
He found Doris seated on a rock, intent on her picture.
"Miss Somerville!" he said when he came up to her, as though she was the last person that he expected to see.
Of course, having come on her in this unexpected manner, it would not have been polite to pass swiftly on without looking at her picture and making a few approving remarks. The feeling of weariness apparently returned, and he found it necessary to sit down on the rock and watch her as she painted.
Whether he helped or hindered the picture it would be hard to say, but he certainly made the time pass so pleasantly that Doris would hardly believe him when he took out his watch and told her that it was nearly one o'clock. They had talked about almost every subject under the sun, and had learned more about each other in those two hours than many people did in as many years.
It was after this pleasant morning on the rocks that the doctor made a curious discovery. He found that the shortest way from his tent to the rocks by the church was to go to the end of the headland, climb down the steep cliffs, and then work backwards along the rocky shore.
Val, Dick and Billy Sinclair strongly contested this discovery, and maintained that the road which led past the castle would take him to the shore in less than half the time. They told him that if he came the old way he would also have the pleasure of their delightful company all the way down the hill. But Norman Forester stuck most obstinately to his own opinion, although the new way he had found sometimes took him so long that he did not arrive at the general rendezvous until it was almost time to return home for dinner, and then he appeared in company with Doris, carrying her camp stool and sketchbook.
Many were the mocking remarks from the Sinclair boys when he arrived, watches were brought out, and an exact calculation made of the precise length of time that this short cut had taken him. He was also asked to explain how it was that, at 7 a.m. when he went to bathe, he always found the road by the castle the shorter one, while later in the morning he carefully avoided taking it because of its length.
The doctor bore their teasing good-humouredly, for the pleasant mornings on the shore with Doris Somerville well repaid him for it all. They had that quiet part of the beach almost to themselves. Sometimes Maxie appeared on his way to his lobster pots, and greeted Forester with a broad grin of pleasure and a friendly nod, but they seldom saw anyone else.
One day, however, they spied a man coming round the point, and picking his way over the seaweed-covered rocks.
"I do believe it's that antiquarian Clegg," said Doris. "I'm so glad you're here. I can't bear that man."
It was Clegg, and the next moment he caught sight of them and came up to them. "Good morning, doctor," he said. "I haven't seen you for a long time -- not since we had that pleasant meal together in old Norris's kitchen."
But as soon as the man spoke, Forester knew that he lied. That was not the last time they had met. He had spoken to this man at the door of Daniel's cottage by the sea. His was the voice he had heard when in the middle of the night he had opened the door and looked out into the darkness. He had distrusted the man before, and now he felt convinced that his unfavourable opinion of him was absolutely correct.
What the antiquarian wanted at that cottage, for what purpose he took that midnight walk on such a night of storm, Forester had no idea. Did Clegg suspect that he had recognized him, or did he hope that he had been able to throw him off the scent? Forester could not tell.
Whatever his feelings were, the man had the impudence to endeavour to continue the conversation, and even to lean over Doris while he passed remarks on her picture.
"Pretty view that, miss. And very well done too. I'm a bit of an artist myself, so I know a good picture when I see one."
Doris made no reply, but hastily began to put away her drawing materials. Forester looked at his watch, and taking no notice of the unpleasant intruder, said, "Miss Somerville, we ought to be going now." Then without even wishing Clegg good morning, they walked on together in the direction of the church.
The next event of importance was another birthday -- that of little Joyce Sinclair.
"I'm going to be eight tomorrow," she announced to Forester, "and we're going to have a picnic, and everybody is coming to it, and you're coming too."
The invitation, given in this curious fashion, was gladly accepted by the doctor, and he looked forward to it with pleasant anticipation.
The place chosen was a small bay lying about four miles nearer to Llantrug, and close to which was a castle even more in ruins than that of Hildick. It formed a picturesque object on the hillside, standing as it did in the midst of a grassy valley running down to the sea.
They decided to go early in the morning while the tide was low, so that they could walk across the firm sand. By skirting Hildick Bay and passing the point beyond, they would reach the sheltered cove which was to be found at the entrance to the green valley in which the castle stood. Maxie's donkey and cart were requisitioned to carry their provisions, and it was settled that the large party should start not later than nine o'clock.
Long before that hour, however, the doctor was up and walking across the headland, away from the castle and the place of rendezvous. Why was he so anxious to add to his walk by taking exercise so early in the morning? And why did he stoop from time to time to look under the furze bushes? What did he expect to find? Whatever it may have been, he seemed to have discovered it after a time, for he returned to his tent, found his kettle boiling, and after a hasty breakfast hurried down to the castle.
Joyce Sinclair ran to meet him, full of excitement, her two dogs bounding after her.
"Come and look at my presents," she said, as she dragged him into the castle. "I never had such lovely ones before."
The presents were all set out on a small table in the window, and he duly admired them one by one.
"Now," Forester said, "you haven't got my present
. Can you guess what it is?"
"Yes, I know," said Joyce. "It's that sweet little bit of white heather in your button-hole!"
"No, it isn't that. Feel in my coat pockets and see if you can find anything."
She found a large box of chocolates which Forester had sent for by the coach the day before, and she ran off to exhibit it to her mother.
The day was one of those rarely fine days on which no one dreamed of taking waterproofs or umbrellas, even as a precautionary measure.
Everyone was in high spirits, and a merrier party probably never crossed the sands of Hildick Bay. The only one who seemed a little less lively than usual was Jack. As Forester watched him, he appeared at times to be lost in thought. It was not that he was depressed or unhappy, but he seemed to be far away, and sometimes he did not appear even to hear the lively conversation going on around him.
About halfway to the bay near the castle a stream came running down towards the sea, and they had to take off their shoes and stockings to wade across. On the other side the party became somewhat broken up. Joyce had ridden across the stream in the donkey cart, and continued to drive on the other side as the walk was rather a long one for her. She resented old Maxie walking by the donkey's head.
"He thinks I can't drive," she whispered to Forester.
He walked beside her for a little way, and then looked round to see what had become of Doris. She and Jack had lingered behind, and he noticed that Jack had slipped his arm through hers, and they were in earnest conversation. Not liking to interrupt their talk, Forester ran on ahead and soon caught up with the rest of the party.
They had chosen a sheltered place for dinner, laid the cloth, unpacked the baskets, gathered sticks for a fire, and had in various ways taken possession of the shore for the day -- before Jack and Doris appeared. Everyone was hungry after the walk, and did full justice to the farmhouse fare which Mrs. Norris had packed up for them.
Forester sat on a rock between Mab and Dolly Mainwaring, and they laughed so much all the time that Joyce told them that if they were not quiet she would turn them out of her birthday party!
When dinner was over, everyone helped to pack up and clear away. Old Maxie, who had been eating sandwiches by the dozen behind a rock close by, undertook to light the fire and have the kettle boiling in time for tea. The girls had found a brook on the hillside where they were washing the cups and mugs which had been used for lemonade, so they would be ready for the next meal.
Forester followed them there, and turning to Doris said, "Miss Somerville, shall we go and see the old castle? It's only a mile away."
"Thank you," said Doris, blushing, "but Jack has asked me to go with him."
She did not even say, "Will you come too?"
So Forester could only answer, "Oh, all right!" and hurried away to help old Maxie to make up the fire.
Then the older members of the party brought out books and newspapers and prepared for a quiet afternoon, while the younger ones hurried up the valley to explore the castle.
As they were walking there, Norman Forester asked Dick Sinclair how the ghost was going on, and he told him that he had not heard it for several nights. He thought it was getting tired of going up and down stairs.
"However," said he, "I'll catch it yet. Just you see if I don't!"
"And find it to be the old mare kicking her heels in the stable," teased his brother Val.
"A regular mare's nest, that," added Don Mainwaring.
"Wait a bit," answered Dick. "Don't you fellows laugh until I've given you something to laugh about. I'm on the scent, I tell you."
"Tell us what the scent is," said Forester.
But Dick only laughed, and told them he was not going to let them into all his secrets.
"My idea is that Clegg and his friend are up to something at the castle," said Forester. "Why else are they always prowling about there? Antiquarian or no antiquarian, one comes to the end of exploring any old ruin after a time."
But Dick would not reveal what his suspicions were, and kept repeating that they would see presently.
By this time they had reached the castle, which they found far less interesting than the one at Hildick. They raced all over it, looked into every cranny and corner of the ruins, but nowhere could they see Jack and Doris. They had noticed them in front of them walking up in the direction of the castle, but no one had seen them since, and now they seemed to have utterly disappeared from sight.
"What are those two after?" asked Val Sinclair. "They seem ever so keen on each other's company today!"
"I think they always are," said Don. "My brother Jack and Doris have been chums ever since they were small. We have a photo of them at home. You should see it -- two little babies sitting side by side in a pram with their arms round each other, and looking at each other with the most sentimental grin."
"Who took it?" asked Val.
"Doris's father. He used to photograph every holiday. He hasn't taken a single one this year. Getting too old, he says. I do wish we had that photo of Jack and Doris here. There they are, those two, smirking at each other like two little lovebirds! We call it 'The Young Lovers.'"
"Is that why they're together this afternoon?" asked Val.
"I shouldn't wonder. I don't mind if it is," said Don. "She's a jolly girl is Doris Somerville -- always the same, you know, and she's just the one for Jack. He tells her about his work and that sort of thing, and she knows how to look after old women and sick people, and all the rest of it."
"I think Jack's just splendid," added Billy.
Don laughed. "So he is, though I says it as shouldn't, as Jack's old landlady would say. He's a regular brick in the pulpit and out of it. But he's not a bit too good for Doris, I'll say that."
"She seems pretty fond of him," said Val.
"I should just think she is," replied Don. "If you want Jack's praises sung, go to Doris. She'll let you have them right enough. I run him down sometimes, just to tease her, and don't I catch it!"
Forester never spoke a word, but he was listening most attentively to the whole of this conversation. Not a single word was lost on him. How blind he must have been not to have noticed this before. Everyone else had seen it, and of course they were right in the conclusions they had drawn. Jack and Doris were exactly suited to each other in every way. How foolish he had been!
He had imagined that Doris liked to be with him, and that she had enjoyed those quiet mornings on the shore as much as he had done. But now he felt that all the time she must have thought him a terrible nuisance, and must have been longing for Jack to come and take his place. Forester recognized that if there was one thing that he held in abhorrence more than another, it was going anywhere where he was not wanted.
Jack and Doris did not appear until teatime, and then gave a lame account of their proceedings. Oh yes, they went to the castle, but there was not much to see there after all. So they went on the hill beyond, and lost their way in the wood.
Val winked at Jack's brother Don. "What a pity you found it again," he said. "We could have had no end of fun looking for you, and might have found you wandering like the babes in the wood."
Doris laughed, such a light-hearted laugh, Forester thought, as she told them that she and Jack had enjoyed a pleasant afternoon in spite of being lost.
Tea was a welcome meal, and everyone did full justice to it, including the large birthday cake covered with icing and sugar-plums, with a broad inner layer of almond paste. The cake bore the lettering in pink sugar on the top of it -- Many Happy Returns of the Day.
Then came the walk home along the shore, during which no one appeared to be in better spirits than Norman Forester. He never flagged the whole way, and there seemed to be no end to his jokes, his amusing stories, and his power of repartee.
It was not until he had said goodnight to them all, and had pinned his bit of white heather onto Joyce Sinclair's dress as he gave her a kiss and told her to be sure to ask him to her birthday party next year, for it was the
nicest he had ever been to in his life; it was not until he had left the castle behind and found himself out on the lonely headland, with only the quiet stars shining above him; it was not until then that he dared to pause and look into his own heart.
During the last few weeks he had enjoyed himself, from day to day, in a way in which he had never done before. He had delighted in Doris's company; he had interested himself in finding out her thoughts and ideas on various subjects; he had contrasted her with someone else whom he had known, and marvelled at the difference. He had gone on from day to day in a kind of happy dream, never asking himself where all this was leading him, never stopping to call his feelings by the right name, never looking into the future at all; but just enjoying to the full the happy present in which he was living.
But since he had left his tent that morning his eyes had been opened. As he threw himself down on the heather that warm night he had no difficulty in reading his own heart. He loved her. Oh, how he loved her. He had thought once that he knew what love was, but now he discovered that he had never really loved anyone before.
Certainly he had always felt a certain amount of affection, admiration for a pretty face and charming manner, and a longing to escape from the solitude of bachelor life and settle down to the quiet home life. He'd had all this, and thought that the kind of love in story books was not a reality. He had imagined that his ideal did not exist, that she was not to be found in this faulty world, and that therefore he must be content with the nearest approach to that ideal that he could discover.
But he had never known what real love was. He knew tonight. Yes, he had found his ideal. Doris Somerville was everything of which he'd ever dreamed; she was more than he had ever pictured to himself. Yes, he had found her, but she was not for him. She was Jack's ideal too. Jack loved her, and had probably loved her long, long before he came on the scene. Dear old Jack, so thoroughly worthy of her -- such a contrast to himself. Jack, who was always the same, utterly free from the moods to which he knew that he himself was liable -- Jack, so good, so strong, so true.
Surely he could never stand in Jack's way after everything Jack had done for him, even if it had been possible for him to do so. Jack deserved her, and he was the one to make Doris happy. Who was he that he should complain? He would wish them God-speed in the bright future which lay before them. He would rejoice in their joy, even though it meant his own loss.
But not tonight, no. Just for tonight he must think of himself, and of the sorrow that had come upon him. He had not cried since he was a boy, he had not shed a single tear on that day, not long ago, when he discovered how he'd been deceived. He'd been angry then -- disappointed, annoyed, depressed; but he had never cried. Yet now the hot, scalding tears came, in spite of all his efforts to keep them back.
There was no sleep that night. He was a man of strong feelings, and his whole nature was stirred. He did not even attempt to go to bed. He paced about the headland. He even climbed down to the rocks and sat for the last time on the spot where he and Doris had sat so often together while she painted.
Jack would be the one to see that picture finished. He must now return to London. When he was busy with his patients, or going round the wards in the hospital and doing what he could to lessen pain, to cure disease, and bring comfort and help to others, he would feel stronger and better.
Yes, he would get back at once. He would write to Mrs. Timmis tomorrow. His old housekeeper was having a holiday in the country, but he would ask her to return at once and have all in readiness for him. This was Thursday -- at least, yesterday was.
It was early morning now. He would write today, Friday. Mrs. Timmis would get the letter on Saturday, but not in time to get back that day, for she was in an out-of-the-world place. She would not be able to get off until Monday morning, but he could catch the night train and be back in his rooms early on Tuesday. That would give him time to get his tent down and pack it up.
He settled it all in his mind, to the smallest detail, even to the wording of his letter to Mrs. Timmis -- anything to occupy his thoughts sufficiently to get through the next three days.
But with my God to guide my way, 'tis equal joy to go or stay.
What made those words flash into his mind just as he returned to his tent? They seemed to bring a strange untold comfort with them. He was going away on Monday, but he would not go alone. Jesus his Guide would go before him, and go with him. And in his busy life, in his weary, constant fight with disease and death, in the quiet hours of his solitary life, he would never again be alone. The Son of God had loved him and died for him, and He would be there with him, even unto the end.