Harvest Part 33

Half way up the hill, Janet came across old Betts bringing down a small cart-full of furze for fodder, and she stopped to speak to him. A little later on, nearer to the camp she overtook Dempsey, who rather officiously joined her, and a.s.suming at once that she was in quest of the Camp Commandant, directed her to a short cut leading straight to Ellesborough's quarters. There was a slight something in the manner of both men that jarred on Janet--as though their lips said one thing and their eyes another--furtive in the case of Betts, a trifle insolent in that of Dempsey. She with her tragic knowledge guessed uncomfortably at what it meant. Dempsey--as she had made up her mind after ten minutes'

talk with him--was a vain gossip. It had been madness on Rachel's part to give him the smallest hold on her. Very likely he had not yet actually betrayed her--his hope of favours to come might have been sufficient to prevent that. But his self-importance would certainly show itself somehow--in a hint or a laugh. He had probably already roused in the village mind a prying curiosity, a suspicion of something underhand, which might alter Rachel's whole relation to her neighbours. For once give an English country-side reason to suspect a scandal, and it will pluck it bare in time, with a slow and secret persistence.

Well, after all, if the situation became disagreeable, Rachel would only have to choose Ellesborough's country as her own, and begin her new life there.

_Supposing that all went well!_ Janet's mind went through some painful alterations of confidence and fear, as she walked her bicycle along the rough forest-track leading to Ellesborough's hut. She believed him to be deeply in love with Rachel, and the spiritual pa.s.sion in her seemed to realize in the man's inmost nature, behind all his practical ability, and his short business manner, powers of pity and tenderness like her own. But if she were wrong? If this second revelation put too great a strain upon one brought up in an exceptionally strict school where certain standards of conduct were simply taken for granted?

Mystic, and puritan as she was, there were moments when Janet felt her responsibility almost unbearable. Rachel deserted--Rachel in despair--Rachel turning on the woman who had advised her to her undoing--all these images were beating on Janet's tremulous sense, as the small military hut where Ellesborough and two of his junior officers lived came into view, together with that wide hollow of the forestry camp where he and Rachel had first met. The letter in her pocket seemed a living and sinister thing. She had still power to retain it--to keep it imprisoned.

A lady in the dress of the Women's Forestry Corps appeared on another path leading to Ellesborough's hut. Janet recognized Mrs. Fergusson, and was soon greeted by a shout of welcome.

"Well, so Miss Henderson's engaged to our Captain!" said Mrs. Fergusson, with a smiling countenance, as they shook hands. "The girls here, and I, are awfully interested. The camp began it! But do you want the Captain? I'm afraid he isn't here."

Janet's countenance fell.

"I thought I should be sure to find him in the dinner hour."

"No, he went up to town by the first train this morning on some business with the Ministry. We expect him back about three."

It was not one o'clock. Janet pondered what to do.

"You wanted to see him?" said Mrs. Fergusson, full of sympathy.

"I brought a letter for him. If I leave it, will he be sure to get it directly he returns?"

"His servant's in the hut. Let's talk to him."

Mrs. Fergusson rapped at the door of the hut, and walked in. An elderly batman appeared.

"I have a letter for Captain Ellesborough--an important letter--on business," said Janet. "I was to wait for an answer. But as he isn't here, where shall I leave it, so that he will be certain to get it?"

"On his table, if you please, ma'am," said the soldier, opening the door of the Captain's small sitting-room--"I'll see that he gets it."

"It'll be quite safe?" said Janet anxiously, placing it herself in a prominent place on the writing-table.

"Lor, yes, ma'am. n.o.body comes in here but me, when the Captain's away.

I'll tell him of it directly he comes home."

"May I just write a little note myself? I expected to find Captain Ellesborough in."

The servant handed her a sheet of paper. She wrote--"I brought Rachel's letter, and am very disappointed not to see you. Come at once. Don't delay. Janet Leighton."

She slipped it into an envelope, which she addressed and left beside the other. Then she reluctantly left the hut with Mrs. Fergusson.

"I am so sorry you didn't find him," said that lady. "Was it something about the wedding?" she added, smiling, her feminine curiosity getting the better of her.

"Oh, no--not yet," said Janet, startled.

"Well, I suppose it won't be long," laughed Mrs. Fergusson. "He's desperately in love, you know!"

Janet smiled in return, and Mrs. Fergusson, delighted to have the chance, broke out into praises of her Commandant.

"You see, we women who are doing all this new work with men, we know a jolly deal more about them than we ever did before. I can tell you, it searches us out, this joint life--both women and men. In this camp you can't hide what you are--the sort of man--or the sort of woman. And there isn't a woman in this camp, if she's been here any time, who wouldn't trust the Captain for all she's worth--who wouldn't tell him her love-affairs, or her debts--or march up to a machine-gun, if he told her.

In a sense, they're in love with him, because--as you've no doubt found out, he has a way with him! But they all know that he's never been anything to them but the best of Commandants, and a good friend. Oh, I could never have run this camp but for him. He and I'll go together! Of course we're shutting up very soon."

So the pleasant Irishwoman ran on, as she walked beside Janet and her bicycle to the top of the hill. Janet listened and smiled. Her own mind said ditto to it all. But nevertheless, the more Ellesborough was set on a pinnacle by this enthusiastic friend and spectator of his daily life, the more Rachel's friend trembled for Rachel. A lover "not too bright and good" to understand--and forgive--that was what was wanted.

She reached the farm-gate about two o'clock, and Rachel was there, waiting for her. But before they met, Rachel watching her approach, saw that there was no news for her.

"He wasn't there?" she said, drearily, as Janet reached her.

Janet explained, and they walked up the farm lane together.

"I would have waited if I could," she said in distress. "But it would have looked strange. Mrs. Fergusson would have suspected something wrong."

"Oh no, you couldn't have waited," said Rachel, decidedly. "Well!"--she threw her arms out in a great stretch--"it's done. In half an hour he'll be reading the letter. It's like waiting for one's execution, isn't it?

Nothing can stop it; I may be dead before tea!" She gave a wild laugh.

"Rachel!"

"Well, that's how I feel. If he gives me up, it will be death--though I dare say I shall go on fussing round the farm, and people will still talk to me as if I were alive. But!"--she shrugged her shoulders.

"He won't give you up--" said Janet, much troubled--"because--because he's a good man."

"All the more reason. If I were he, I should give me up. Shall I tell you a queer thing, Janet? I hate Roger, as much as I can hate anybody. It would be a great relief to me if I heard he were dead. And yet at the same time I see--oh yes, I see quite plainly--that I treated him badly.

He told me so the other night--and it is so--it's _true_. I never had the least patience with him. And now he's dying--at least he says so--and though I hate him--though I pray I may never, never see him again, yet I'm sorry for him. Isn't that strange?"

She looked at Janet with a queer flickering defiance, which was also a kind of remorse, in her eyes.

"No, it isn't strange."

"Why not?--when I hate him?"

"One can be sorry even for those one hates. I suppose G.o.d is," Janet added, after a pause.

Rachel made a little face of scorn.

"Why should G.o.d hate any one? He made us. He's responsible. He must have known what He was doing. If He really pitied us, would He have made us at all?"

Janet made a little protesting sound--a sound of pain.

"Does it give you the s.h.i.+vers, old woman, when I talk like that?" Rachel slipped her hand affectionately through Janet's arm. "Well, I won't, then. But if--" she caught her breath a little--"if George casts me off, don't expect me to sing psalms and take it piously. I don't know myself just lately--I seem quite strange to myself."

And Janet, glancing at her sideways, wondered indeed where all that rosy-cheeked, ripe bloom had gone, which so far had made the constant charm of Rachel Henderson. Instead a bloodless face, with pinched lines, and heavy-lidded eyes! What a formidable thing was this "love," that she herself had never known, though she had had her quiet dreams of husband and children, like her fellows.

Rachel, however, would not let herself be talked with or pitied. She walked resolutely to the house, and went off to the fields to watch Halsey cutting and tr.i.m.m.i.n.g a hedge.

"If he doesn't come before dark," she said, under her breath, to Janet, before setting off--"it will be finished. If he does--"