Hungry Hill (11 page)

She went on sitting in the little summer-house, by her brother’s vacant chair, and wondered what his thoughts had been, this spring and summer, lying up here day after day, when he had first risen from his bed after his illness. Henry, who so enjoyed activity, discussion, people, and travelling, to be obliged to do without them, and without even the strength to help his father with the business of the mine. Anyone but Henry would have become morbid, restless, irritable, but if he felt any of these things he did not show them. He had always a smile for each member of his family, some jest to make, some amusing observation, and would be full of plans of what they would all do when he was well again, the parties and the picnics they would have.

“We will have one more picnic, anyway,” he had said, that very afternoon, “before I sail for the Barbados.

We will take the horses, and go to the lake on Hungry Hill, as we used to do when we were children, and Willie Armstrong shall come, and young Dickie Fox from the garrison-ah, don’t blush, Jane-and Fanny-Rosa Flower, if Mrs. White will let her, and her brother Bob, if he is still on leave from his regiment, and we will all enjoy ourselves immensely, and no one will be sick, or sad, or sorry.”

And in his excitement and delight at the project he had brought on an attack of coughing, and vividly, horribly, she would remember the night of the trouble at the mine, and Henry standing in the library, shivering in his wet clothes. Well, that was all over, anyway. No more thieving, no more fighting, and Morty Donovan was dead. Sam Donovan had sold the farm, and was keeping a shop in Doonhaven. How angry the proud old man would have been-he would have considered it a disgrace for a Donovan to keep a shop. The other brother lived in a poor way on the road to Denmare. He kept a few pigs, and a cow, and sold whisky without a permit. No, the Donovans would never trouble any of the Brodricks again. The old mine was flourishing, and a new one had been started, and more men than ever were employed. Everything was going smoothly. They would all be so happy, but for the anxiety about Henry. And a little shiver came over Jane. The summer-house felt lonely suddenly without Henry, queer and deserted, as though he had already left for the Barbados and the sun was no longer shining through the trees. They should be thinned, she thought; one day they will enclose the summer-house, and the sun will not come to it at all, and she picked up her book of poetry, and the cushions, and the coverlet, and went away down through the flower-garden to the house.

As she stood on the slope above Clonmere she could see John and Doctor Armstrong mooring the boat in the creek. They had been over to Doon Island to exercise John’s greyhounds. John was looking up and laughing, his lock of dark hair falling over his face, and he saw her, and waved his hand. The dogs were coupled together, and stood shivering in the bows of the boat, eager to spring ashore, straining at the leash that held them. The great silver cup they had won last season was now John’s proudest possession, and graced the sideboard in the dining-room. He had shown it to Fanny-Rosa Flower, when she had driven over with her father and brother to enquire after Henry, and Jane had been secretly amused when Fanny-Rosa told him, with great seriousness, that he should have his family crest put upon the cup, to give it greater majesty, and that he should also have the Brodrick coat of arms stamped upon the dogs’ blankets.

Poor John, he had sat quite abashed and silent, while Fanny-Rosa drank her tea, watching him out of the corners of her eyes; and Jane had wondered how much of what she had said she really believed and was a little unconscious snobbery inherited from her mother, and how much was deliberate teasing, done to amuse herself and to provoke John.

How lovely she was. though, thought Jane, and how amusing a companion, and how extraordinary it was that Doctor Armstrong, who had been at Clonmere at the time of the visit, should have said so firmly, after the Flowers had departed, that Fanny-Rosa was too flamboyant and restless for his taste, and had a careless streak to her nature that was not due merely to youth but was part of her blood. “What type do you admire, then?” Jane had enquired, in all innocence, and he had looked back at her very earnestly, as though he longed to say something, but had not done so, and instead he observed that doctors were forbidden by their profession to admire anyone, in case they became patients, and he left it to Dickie Fox and the young officers on Doon Island to do all the admiring for him.

All this passed through Jane’s head as she watched her brother and the doctor climb from the boat with the dogs, and she wondered what Doctor Armstrong would say if he knew that the book of poems in her hand had been sent across to her from the garrison by Lieutenant Fox, with one page in particular marked with a cross-a love poem, by an Elizabethan poet, entitled “On Entering My Lady’s Chamber.” Perhaps he would find it shocking.

And now Eliza was leaning from her bedroom window, calling that Thomas had rung the dressing-bell, and it wanted but a quarter of an hour to dinner, and if John and Doctor Armstrong were going to walk the dogs to the kennels they would be late, and father would be put out.

Father was coming down through the woods at this moment, with Henry leaning on his arm, and Barbara had joined them from the walled garden, a basket of nectarines on her arm, the fruit still warm from the sun, and Jane was aware of a strange feeling of happiness, of security. We are all here, she thought, the whole family, smiling and chatting and at ease with one another, dinner will soon be on the table, Thomas is walking through from the kitchen with his tray, the doors and the windows of the castle are flung open, catching the last gold rays of the sun before it sinks westward behind the trees. If only these moments would linger, would stay forever, and there would be no packing up and departing, no covering of the furniture with dust-sheets and closing of shutters and taking the steam-packet from Slane one chilly autumn morning, and a winter ahead chat might bring uncertainty and change.

So the long days of August passed, and September came too early and too fast, with the preparations for Henry’s journey to the Barbados. It was arranged that he should leave Doonhaven by his father’s ship, the Henrietta, which was sailing with her cargoes to Bronsea, and from there Henry would go to Liverpool and embark for the West Indies.

Already he seemed better, stronger, and less troubled by his cough, and on the very day of his departure the long-promised picnic was held on Hungry Hill. The day was fine and clear from the start, with the soft brilliance that late summer brings, and as the little cavalcade set forth on horseback from Clonmere, with Henry driven in state by Tim the stable-boy, the tip of Hungry Hill, shimmering under the sun, held a promise of warm grass and scented heather, of gay dragon-flies skimming the still lake, of great rocks and stones, rusty with lichen, lying hot and bare beneath the sky.

They climbed the western face of the hill, away from the mine, and then, when the track became broken and lost, and the carriage could go no farther, John dismounted from his horse and helped his brother into the saddle, while Tim, weighed down by the picnic baskets, stumbled in the rear. What a party they were! Barbara-carrying a monstrous sunshade to keep off the flies-and Eliza, with sketching materials and stool and easel (for she fancied her water-colours), and Jane, with two volumes of poetry and escorted on either side by two young officers from the garrison, Lieutenant Fox and Lieutenant Davies, the latter having been asked for Eliza but appearing unaware of his duties, and Doctor Armstrong leading Henry’s horse, with Henry himself in the saddle directing one way and John directing another, and Bob Flower, who was a Captain in the Dragoons and thought himself a little superior to the young officers from the garrison, and lastly Fanny-Rosa, who kept the whole party, and John in particular, in a frenzy of anxiety, because she would ride her horse at a distance, over the most uneven part of the ground, and when called to in warning shook her head and would not listen.

At last they came to the lake, with shouts of relief from the young men and cries of delight from the ladies, and Barbara at once busied herself with the unpacking of the food and the setting down of rugs, in case the ground was damp-which of course it was not-and seeing that Henry was not fatigued, while Henry himself lay on his back and closed his eyes and felt the warm grass with his hands and was still and happy.

Fanny-Rosa was climbing a rock to have a better view of the bay, and pulling her petticoats above her knees to give her more freedom, and John, who wanted to be with her, watched her moodily, thinking that if he joined her the others would notice and imagine that he did so because she was showing her legs in this barefaced fashion, which would be perfectly true in a sense and yet not the whole truth. Because he could not make up his mind, he went on standing uncertainly by the side of the lake, wishing he had not come on the picnic, yet knowing that if he had stayed at home he would have been miserable, so his day was doomed anyway.

Jane had disappeared with both her young officers, and Doctor Armstrong, sighing for some reason or other, asked Barbara whether he should help her with the setting out of the food.

“Please do,” she said gratefully, hoping he was not feeling unwell (for it was unlike him to sigh), and wondering in the same breath what had happened to the dozen meat patties she herself had packed in the basket. If they were lost there would not be enough chicken to go round, and she must somehow manage to warn the family to take a drumstick apiece and leave the white meat to the guests.

Now Eliza, rather red in the face and frowning, was pulling at her arm.

“I wish you would speak to Jane,” she whispered fiercely. “She has gone behind a rock with those two young men. It looks so improper. I hardly know what Captain Flower will think of her.”

And Barbara, still frantically searching for the meat patties, answered back rather impatiently that “Captain Flower would do well to look after his own sister, and no doubt Jane and the officers were hunting for butterflies.”

Eliza sniffed, and said there were plenty of butterflies about without looking for them behind rocks, and as for that Lieutenant Davies, she could not for the life of her imagine why he had been asked to the picnic at all; he was quite odious, and his laugh was too loud; she certainly was not going to have him looking over her shoulder while she sketched, he would be dreadfully in the way.

“Perhaps he won’t want to, dear,” said Barbara absently, and oh, what a relief! there were the meat patties after all-she remembered now she had put them in a napkin to retain the heat better.

“Would you tell everyone that luncheon is ready?” she asked Doctor Armstrong, and he went off at once to hunt up Jane and the officers, and they all returned almost immediately, Doctor Armstrong and the young officers watching one another like suspicious terriers, and Jane herself very quiet and demure, her large brown eyes turned upon each in turn.

“How delightful this is, and how well I feel, and what nonsense that the foolish fellows of your profession, Willie, should send me to the Barbados,” said Henry gaily, sitting up and looking at the food placed so temptingly in front of him. “Barbara, I starve; two meat patties, please.”

And soon the whole party were assembled and tucking in to the chicken and the patties, and the cold bacon, and the jellies, as though they had never eaten before.

Fanny-Rosa sat cross-legged, like a tailor, and John wondered whether he was the only one to notice that her feet were bare beneath her dress-he could see the toes peeping out from under her.

She had sat herself down by Henry and was telling him he was the sultan of the feast, and she was a slave-girl ministering to him.

“How extremely amusing it would be if it were really so,” said Henry, making her a mock bow.

“Shall I bring you back gold bangles from the West Indies, and ear-rings? Slave-girls always wear those things, you know, as a sign of submission.”

“Please,” begged Fanny-Rosa, “and a tambourine also, and then I will dance for you.”

John wished he could talk in that easy, gay fashion. He supposed Henry had learnt how to do it on the Continent, and Fanny-Rosa too.

“If the Barbados prove disappointing,”

Fanny-Rosa was saying, “then you must come back and join us in Naples. I am quite determined to go to Naples for the winter.”

“Father and mother have said nothing about Italy to me,” objected her brother. “I should think such a project extremely unlikely.”

“You will be with your regiment, and have nothing to do with it,” said Fanny-Rosa. “If I make up my mind father and mother will obey, We will go to Naples and gaze at Vesuvius, and listen to music, which will delight father, who will become sentimental and drink more than is good for him, and I shall buy a heap of gowns and dress like a Neapolitan, and wear a flower behind my ear, and throw kisses to you, Henry, from a balcony.”

“Take no notice of her,” said Captain Flower. “I regret to say that both my sisters are quite mad. Matilda, the young one, is even worse than Fanny-Rosa. She spends all her time in the stables, now we have no governess in the house.

Castle Andriff is like an asylum.”

“Poor Mrs. Flower!” said Barbara. “You ought to try and help her, Fanny-Rosa, and set Matilda a good example. Jane is a great help to me, and she is nearly three years younger than you.”

“Ah, but Jane thinks always of other people, Miss Brodrick,” said Fanny-Rosa, “and I think only of myself. “Enjoy yourself while you can,” said father to me only yesterday; “we may all be dead before the year is out.”

“That is certainly true,” said Henry, “but before it happens let us meet in Naples, as you suggest, and I will claim that kiss from the balcony.”

And so they continued through lunch, laughing, and teasing, and making plans, while John filled his mouth savagely with cold fat bacon, thinking of Lincoln’s Inn, and his gloomy chambers, and the grey, damp fogs of December, that had nothing in common with sunny Naples and balconies.