Barbara in Brittany Part 19

In that belief she was perfectly right, and perhaps it was a fortunate thing that Aunt Anne was there to help to remove the impression; for, that lady having already had Denys Morton's letter, was prepared for this one, and was glad she had been able to tell the news in her own way to her sister-in-law the day before.

"Don't look so scared, Lucy," she said. "I don't suppose there is anything much amiss, though I shall just pack up and go at once. What an irritating woman this must be--quite enough to make any one ill if she talks as she writes."

With characteristic prompt.i.tude Miss Britton began to make her preparations immediately, and only halted over them once, and that was when she hesitated about packing a dress that had just come home, which she said was ridiculously young for her.

"It will get very crushed," she muttered discontentedly. "But then---- Oh, well, I might as well put it in," and in it went. Mrs. Britton hovered anxiously about her, and watched her proceedings wistfully.

"You don't think I should go too, do you, Anne?" she asked.

"Not at present, certainly," Miss Britton returned promptly, regarding her with her head on one side. "I promise I will let you know exactly how things are, and whether you would be better there. I would say 'Don't worry' if I thought it were the least good, but, of course, you will."

Then she stooped and fastened a strap of her trunk. "It was a most sensible thing of the young Morton to write straight away, and, probably, if they are there, they will be quite sure to see Barbara has all she wants--the uncle always was a kind-hearted man."

Then she straightened her back and declared everything was ready.

She crossed by night from Southampton to St. Malo, and was greatly afraid that she would arrive "looking a wreck," and, to prevent that she partook largely of a medicine she had seen advertised as a "certain cure for sea-sickness." Her surprise equalled her delight when she awoke in the morning, having slept peacefully all night, and she refused to believe that her good night was probably owing to the calmness of the sea and not to the medicine.

She looked with a little dismay at the shouting, pus.h.i.+ng crowd of porters and hotel touts waiting on the quay, wondering how she would manage to keep hold of her bag among them all, and, as she crossed the gangway, clutched it more tightly than before.

"No," she said, as some one took hold of it as soon as her foot touched the quay. "You shall not take my bag--I would not trust it to any one of you. You should be ashamed of yourselves, screaming like wild Indians."

It was just then that Denys Morton and his uncle came through the crowd. "That is she--there," the elder man said, recognising her after fourteen years. "Go and help; I will wait here."

It was at a crucial moment, when Miss Britton was really getting exasperated and rather desperate, that the young man came up, and she accepted his a.s.sistance and explanation with relief.

"My uncle is down here," he said. "We have a _fiacre_ waiting. There is always such a crush and rout on the quay, we thought we had better come to pilot you through."

The young man, in spite of his easy bearing, had been a little anxious as to how the two would meet again, and dreaded lest there might be some embarra.s.sment. But beyond an air of shyness that sat strangely on both, and a kind of amused wonder at meeting after so many years, there was nothing to show that they had been more than mere acquaintances, and the talk centred chiefly on Barbara.

"She does not know you are coming yet," Denys said. "Mademoiselle Therese got your telegram, but said it would be better not to tell your niece in case the s.h.i.+p went down on the way!"

"What a cheerful person to live with!" Miss Britton e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "I'm afraid I may be very rude to her."

"I hope not," Mr. Morton said. "It would do no good, and she seems to be an excellent lady in many ways."

"We shall see!" Miss Britton replied grimly, getting out of the _fiacre_; and Denys felt rather sorry for Mademoiselle Therese.

But Miss Britton was often worse in imagination than in reality, and she behaved with all due politeness to both the sisters, who met her at the door, and led her into the _salon_. She even bore a certain amount of Mademoiselle Therese's explanations with patience, then she got up.

"Well, well, I would rather hear all that afterwards, mademoiselle, and if I may just take off my hat and coat I will go straight up to my niece. I had breakfast on board."

A few minutes later Aunt Anne opened Barbara's door and entered, a little doubtful lest her sudden appearance might not be bad for her niece, but thinking it could not be much worse than a preparation "by that foolish woman."

Barbara was lying with her back to the door, but something different in the step made her turn round, and she sprang up in bed.

"Aunt Anne! Aunt Anne!" and dropping her face into the pillow began to cry.

Aunt Anne stood a moment in doubt. It was such a rare thing to see any of "the family" cry that she was startled--but not for long; then she crossed the room and began to comfort her niece.

"It was dreadfully foolish of me," the girl said after a while, "but it was _so_ nice to see you again. Mademoiselle Therese is very kind, but--she creaks about, you know, and--and fusses, and it is a little trying to have foreigners about when you are--out of sorts."

"Trying! She would drive me distracted. Indeed, if I had only her to nurse me I should die just to get rid of her!"

"Oh, she's not quite so bad as _that_," Barbara returned. "She has been very kind indeed, aunt, and is a very good teacher; and you get used to her, you know."

"Perhaps. But now I'll just tell you how they are at home. Then you must be quiet, and, as I crossed in the night, I shall be glad of a rest too. I can stay in here quietly beside you."

Miss Britton having had a little experience in sickness, saw that, though probably there was no need for anxiety, Barbara was certainly _ill_. She felt more rea.s.sured after she had seen the doctor, who she allowed "seemed sensible enough for a Frenchman," and wrote her sister-in-law a cheery letter, saying the girl had probably been doing too much, and had felt the strain of the affair of the "solicitor" more than they had realised.

"The doctor says it is a kind of low fever," she told the Mortons; "but _I_ say, heat, smells, and fussiness."

After a few days' experience, she owned that the Loires were certainly not lacking in kindness, but still she did not care to stay there very long; and she told Denys Morton that she had never been so polite, under provocation, in her life before. The uncle and nephew, who had not yet moved on, did not speak of continuing their travels for the present, and Miss Britton was very glad to know they were in the town.

One of Barbara's regrets was that she had missed seeing the meeting between Mr. Morton and her aunt, and that she was perhaps keeping the latter from enjoying as much of his company as she might otherwise have done. There were many things she wanted to do with Miss Britton when allowed to get up, but in the meanwhile she had to content herself with talking about them. She was much touched by the attention of Mademoiselle Vire, who sent round by Jeannette wonderful home-made dainties that, as Barbara explained to her aunt, "she ought to have been eating herself."

A fortnight after Miss Britton's arrival Barbara was allowed to go downstairs, and, after having once been out, her health came back "like a swallow's flight," as Mademoiselle Therese poetically, though a little ambiguously, described it. She and her aunt spent as much time out of doors as possible, going for so many excursions that Barbara began to know the country round quite well; but, though many of the drives were beautiful, none seemed to equal the one she had had with Mademoiselle Vire, which was a thing apart.

They drove to La Guimorais again one afternoon, and on their return the girl told Denys Morton, who had been with them, the story of the _manoir_. He was silent for a little at the close, then, as if it had suggested another story to his mind, he looked towards where his uncle and Miss Britton were walking up and down.

"I would give anything--almost anything, at least--that he might be happy now; he has had a great deal of the other thing in the past," he said.

"So would I," Barbara agreed. "You know, I couldn't quite understand it before, but I do now. When you're ill--or supposed to be--you see quite another side of Aunt Anne and one that she doesn't always show.

Of course, your uncle is just splendid. I can't understand how aunt could have been so silly."

Denys laughed softly, then grew grave, and when they spoke again it was of other things, for both felt that it was a subject that must be touched with no rough, everyday fingers. "They would hate to have it discussed," was the thought in the mind of each. But the story of Mademoiselle Vire, and all that he had heard about her, made Denys wish to see her, and as Aunt Anne felt it a duty to call there before leaving St. Servan, Barbara took them all in turns, and was delighted because her old friend made a conquest of each one. Even Miss Britton, who did not as a rule like French people, told her niece she was glad she had not missed this visit.

As neither Mademoiselle Vire nor Miss Britton knew the other's language, the interview had been rather amusing, and Barbara's powers as interpreter had been taxed to the uttermost, more especially as she felt anxious to do her part well so as to please both ladies. When Mademoiselle Vire saw that her pretty remarks were not understood, she said gracefully--

"Ah! I see that, as I am unfortunate enough to know no English, madame, I can only use the language of the eyes."

Barbara translated the remark with fear and trembling, afraid that her aunt would look grim as she did when she thought people were talking humbug, but instead, she had bidden Barbara reply that Mademoiselle Vire would probably be as far beyond her in elegance in that language as in her own; and the girl thought that to draw such a speech from her aunt's lips was indeed a triumph.

The lady certainly did smile at the inscription Mademoiselle Vire wrote on the fly-leaf of a book of poems she was giving the girl, and which, Miss Britton declared, was like an inscription on a tombstone--

"A Mademoiselle Barbara Britton, _Connue trop tard, perdue trop tot._"

But she did not laugh when she heard what the little lady had said on Barbara's last visit.

"We are of different faiths, _mon amie_, but you will not mind if I put up a prayer for you sometimes. It can do you no harm, and if we do not meet here again, perhaps the good G.o.d will let us make music together up yonder."

Miss Britton fixed the day of departure as soon as Barbara was ready for the journey, proposing to go home in easy stages by Rouen and Dieppe, so that they might see the churches of which Mr. Morton had talked so much. The uncle and nephew had just come from that town, and were now returning to Paris, and thence, Denys thought, to England.

Mademoiselle Therese was "desolated" to hear that Barbara's visit was really drawing to a close, and a.s.sured her aunt that a few more months would make Barbara a "perfect speaker; for I have never known one of your nation of such talent in our language," she declared.

"Of course that isn't true," Miss Britton said coolly to Barbara afterwards, "though I think you have been diligent, and both Mademoiselle Vire and the queer little man next door say you speak fairly well."

The "queer little man next door" asked them both in to supper before they went, to show Miss Britton, he said, what a Frenchman could do in the cooking line. Barbara had some little difficulty in persuading her aunt to go, though she relented at last, and the experience was certainly very funny, though pathetic enough too. He and his sons could talk very little English, and again Barbara had to play interpreter, or correct the mistakes they made in English, which was equally difficult.

They had decorated the table gaily, and the father and son both looked so hot, that Barbara was sure they had spent a long time over the cooking. The first item was a soup which the widower had often spoken of as being made better by himself than by many a _chef_, and consisted of what seemed to Barbara a kind of beef-tea with pieces of bread floating in it. But on this occasion the bread seemed to have swelled to tremendous proportions, and absorbed the soup so that there was hardly anything but what seemed damp, swollen rolls! Aunt Anne, Barbara declared afterwards, was magnificent, and plodded her way through bread sponges flavoured with soup, a.s.suring the distressed cook that it was really quite remarkable "potage," and that she had never tasted anything like it before--all of which, of course, was perfectly true.