CHAPTER VI
Betty Tosswill sat up in bed and told herself that it was Friday morning.Then she remembered what it was that was going to happen to-day.
It was something that she had thought, deep in her heart, would neverhappen. Godfrey Radmore was coming back--coming back into her life, andinto all their lives. Though everything seemed just the same as when hehad left Old Place, everything was different, both in a spiritual andmaterial sense. The War had made a deep wound, nay, far more than onewound, in the spiritual body politic of Old Place. And it was of a verymaterial thing that Betty Tosswill thought first, and most painfully,this morning. This was the fact that from having been in easycircumstances they were now very poor.
When Godfrey Radmore had gone out of their lives there had been a great,perhaps even then a false, air of prosperity over them all. John Tosswillwas a man who had always made bad investments; but in that far-off time,"before the War," living was so cheap, wages were so low, the childrenwere all still so young, that he and Janet had managed very well.
Only Betty knew the scrimping and the saving Jack, at Oxford, and Tom, atWinchester, now entailed on the part of those who lived at Old Place.Why, she herself counted every penny with anxious care, and the stupid,kindly folk who asked, just a trifle censoriously, why she wasn't "doingsomething," now that "every career is open to a girl, especially to onewho did so well in the War," would perhaps have felt a little ashamed hadthey discovered that she was housemaid, parlourmaid, often cook, to alarge and not always easily pleased family. They never had a visitor tostay now--they simply couldn't afford it--and she hated the thought ofGodfrey, himself now so unnaturally prosperous, coming back to such analtered state of things.
Besides, that was not all. Betty covered her face with her hands, andslow, bitter, reluctant tears began to ooze through her fingers. She hadtried not to think of Godfrey and of his coming, these last two or threedays. She had put the knowledge of what was going to happen from her,with a kind of hard, defiant determination. But now she was sorry--sorry,that she had not taken her step-mother's advice, and gone away for a longweek-end. Betty Tosswill felt like a man who, having suffered intolerablyfrom a wound which has at last healed, learns with sick apprehension thathis wound is to be torn open.
Although not even Janet, her one real close friend and confidant, wasaware of it, Godfrey had not been the only man in Betty's life. There hadbeen two men, out in France, who had loved her, and lost no time intelling her so. One had been killed; the other still wrote to her atintervals, begging her earnestly, pathetically, to marry him, andsometimes she half thought she would.
But always Godfrey Radmore stood before the door of her heart,imperiously, almost contemptuously, "shooing off" any would-be intruder.And yet to-day she told herself, believing what she said, that she nolonger loved him. She remembered now, as if they had been utteredyesterday, the cruel words he had flung at her during their last hourtogether when he had taunted her with not giving up everything and goingoff with him--and that though she had known that there was, even then, apart of his acute, clever brain telling him insistently that she wouldbe a drag on him in his new life.... She had also been cut to the heartthat Godfrey had not written to her father when his one-time closestfriend, her twin-brother, George, had been killed.
To-day for the first time, Betty Tosswill told herself that perhaps shehad been mistaken in doing right instead of wrong, in coming here to helpJanet with her far from easy task with the younger children, instead ofgetting a good job, as she knew she could have done, after the War.
There is a modern type of young woman, quite a good young woman, too,who, in Betty's position, would have thought that it was far better thatshe should go out and earn, say, three or four pounds a week, sendinghalf the money, or a third of the money, home. But poor Betty was noself-deceiver--she was well aware that what was wanted at Old Place inthe difficult months, aye, and even years, which would follow the end ofthe Great War, was personal service.
And so she had come home, making no favour of it, settling into her oftentiring and tiresome duties, trying now and again to make Rosamund andDolly do their share. In a way they did try, but they were both veryselfish in their different ways, and only Janet knew all that everyoneof them owed to Betty's hard, continuous work, and sense of order. Notthat the girl was perfect by any means; now and again she would say avery sharp, sarcastic word, but on the whole she was wonderfullyindulgent, kindly and understanding--more like a mother than a sisterto the others.
Everyday life is a mosaic of infinitely little things, whatever those whowrite and talk may say. Betty had come back and settled down to life athome, mainly because her step-mother could no longer "carry on." Janetcould not get servants, and if she could have got them, she could not nowhave paid them. Then there had been the silly, vulgar but highlydangerous affair between Rosamund and their too attractive married"billet". Had Betty been at home that business would almost certainlyhave been checked in the bud. As for Dolly, she was worse than no good inthe home. But--a certain secret hope was cherished both by Janet and byBetty concerning Dolly. The bachelor vicar of the next parish seemed tofind a strange pleasure in her society. He was away now in Switzerlandand he had written to Dolly a minute account of his long, tiresomejourney.
She wondered, with a feeling of pain at her heart, what Godfrey wouldthink of them all. There had been such an air of charm and gaiety aboutthe place nine years ago. Now, beautiful in a sense as was the statelyGeorgian house, lovely as was the garden, thanks to Janet's clevernessand hard work, there was an air of shabbiness over everything thoughBetty only fully realised it on the very rare occasions when she got awayfor a few days for a change and rest with old friends.
This summer her brother Jack had said a word to her, not exactlycomplainingly, but with a sort of regret. "Don't you think we couldafford new furniture covers for the drawing-room?" and Betty had shakenher head. They could afford _nothing_ for the house--she alone knew howvery difficult it was to keep up Jack's own modest allowance.
There had been a discussion between herself and Janet as to whether Mr.Tosswill should start taking pupils again in his old age, but they haddecided against it, largely because they felt that the class of pupilswhom he had been accustomed to take before the war, and who could alonebe of any use from the financial point of view, could not now be madereally comfortable at Old Place. Betty was ashamed of feeling how much ithurt her pride to know how concerned Godfrey would be to find how poorthey had become. She would not have minded this if he had been poorhimself. But she hated the thought of a rich Godfrey, who flung moneyabout over foolish, extravagant presents, discovering, suddenly, howaltered were their circumstances since the day when he had rushed outof the house throwing the big cheque kind John Tosswill had shamefacedlyhanded to him, on to the floor.
* * * * *
After Betty had had her own cold bath, and had prepared a tepid one forher father, she dressed quickly, and going over to the dressing-tablein the large, low-ceilinged room--a room which, in spite of the factthat everything in it was old and worn, had yet an air of dainty charmand dignity, for everything in it was what old-fashioned people call"good"--she looked dispassionately at herself in the glass.
Her step-mother had said, "You haven't changed one bit!" But that wasnot true. Of course she had changed--changed very much, outwardly andinwardly, since she was nineteen. For one thing, the awful physicalstrain of her work in France had altered her, turned her from a girl intoa woman. She had seen many terrible things, and she had met with certaingrim adventures she could never forget, which remained all the more vividbecause she had never spoken of them to a living being.
And then, as she suddenly told herself, with a rather bitter feeling ofrevolt, the life she was leading now was not calculated to make herretain a look of youth. Last week, in a fit of temper, Rosamund had saidto her:--"I only wish you could see yourself! You look a regular'govvy'!" She had laughed--the rather spiteful words
passing her by--forshe had never cared either for learning or teaching. But now, as shegazed critically in her mirror, she told herself that, yes, she reallydid look rather like a nice governess--the sort of young woman a certaintype of smart lady would describe as her "treasure". Forty or fifty yearsago that was the sort of human being into which she would have turnedalmost automatically when poverty had first knocked at the door of OldPlace. Now, thank God, people who could afford to pay well for agoverness wanted a trained teacher, not an untrained gentlewoman fortheir children.
But Betty did not waste much time staring at herself. Throwing her headback with what had become a characteristic gesture, she went off andcalled her sisters and brothers before running lightly down the backstairs.
Nanna was already pottering about the kitchen. She had laid and lit thefire, and put the kettle on to boil for Mrs. Tosswill's early cup of tea.The old woman looked up as Betty came into the kitchen, and a rathertouching expression came over her old face. She had a strong, almost amaternal affection for her eldest nurseling, and she wondered how MissBetty was feeling this morning. Nanna had been told of the coming visitorby Timmy, but with that peculiar touch of delicacy so often found in herclass, she had said nothing about it to Betty.
"Well, Nanna? I expect Mrs. Tosswill has told you that Mr. Radmore iscoming to-day, and that he's to have George's room."
Nanna nodded. "It's quite ready, Miss Betty. I went in there yesterdayafternoon while you was all out. He'll find everything there just as heleft it. Eh, dear, I do mind how those dear boys loved their stamps andbutterflies."
Betty sighed, a sharp, quick sigh. After calling Jack she had thought ofgoing into the room which had been her brother's and Godfrey's joint roomin the long, long ago. And then she had decided that she couldn't bear todo so. The room had never been slept in since George had spent his lasthappy leave for now there was never any occasion to put a visitor in whatwas still called by Nanna "Master George's room."
"I expect he'll arrive for tea," said Betty, "and I was wondering whetherwe couldn't make one of those big seed cakes he and George used to be sofond of."
"That's provided for, too," said Nanna quietly.
And then, all at once, almost as though she were compelled to do so bysomething outside herself, Betty went across the kitchen and threw herarms round her old nurse's neck and kissed her.
"There, there," said Nanna soothingly, "do you mind much, my dearie!"
"No, I don't think I do." Betty winked away the tears. "It's George I'mreally thinking of, Nanna."
"But the dear lad is in the Kingdom of the Blessed, my dear. You wouldn'thave him back--surely?"
"Not if he's really happier where he is," said the girl, "but oh, Nanna,it's so hard to believe that." She went across to the big old-fashionedkitchen range, and poured the boiling water into a little silver teapot.Then she took the tray to her step-mother's room.
Next she went down into the drawing-room--she always "did" that roomwhile Nanna laid the breakfast with the help of the village girl who,although she was supposed to come in at seven, very seldom turned uptill eight. And then, while Betty was carefully dusting the quaint,old-fashioned Staffordshire figures on the mantelpiece, the door opened,and Nanna came in and shut it behind her. "There isn't any wine," shebegan mysteriously. "Gentlemen do like a little drop of wine after theirdinner."
"I think what father and Jack can do without, Mr. Radmore can do without,too," said Betty. For the first time her colour heightened. "In any case,I don't see how we can get anything fit to drink by this evening."
"I was thinking, Miss Betty, that you might borrow a bottle of port wineat Rose Cottage."
"I don't think I can do that," said Betty decidedly, "you see, MissPendarth's port is very good port, and we could never give her back abottle of the same quality."
And then, as Nanna sidled towards the door, the old woman suddenlyremarked, a little irrelevantly:--"I suppose you've told Miss Pendarththat Mr. Godfrey is coming, Miss Betty?"
Betty looked round quickly. "No," she said, "I haven't had a chance yet.Thank you for reminding me."
The old woman slipped away, and Betty suddenly wondered whether Nanna hadreally come in to ask that question as to Miss Pendarth. Somehow Bettysuspected that she had.