My Heart's in the Highlands
Copyright© 2024 by Amy Le Feuvre
Chapter 1: At the Green Cottage
“All are not taken! There are left behind
Living Beloved’s tender looks to bring,
And make the daylight still a happy thing,
And tender voices to make soft the wind.”
E. Browning.
“ROWENA, I hope you mean to be kind to him. Remember he has taken all the trouble to travel down from Yorkshire to see us.”
“But we did not invite him.”
“Well, on board ship I gave him a kind of general invitation, seeing how smitten he was with you.”
Rowena’s brows contracted. She was silent.
Mrs. Arbuthnot looked at her a little anxiously.
“You know how desolate I and the chicks would be without you. Don’t think for a moment that I want to lose you, but I do want you not to miss the happiness of married life, and dear Ted often used to say to me how he hoped you would marry. We thought when your letters were so full of Hugh Macdonald’s child, that you would marry him; personally I never found him attractive. He had no sense of humour. And Ted said he couldn’t see you tied up with him somehow.” A heavy sigh followed, then impulsively Mrs. Arbuthnot turned to her sister-in-law.
“Oh, Rowena, I can’t get accustomed to being without Ted! I can’t believe he is silent for ever! I think it is cruel taking men so suddenly away; one day in full enjoyment of health and mental powers, the next struck down, and buried before one realizes they are dead! I wish—I wish we had never gone to India, I wish he had never taken that trip into the cholera-infected region! Nothing will ever comfort me! Men and women ought not to die till they lose their individuality. It is cruel, unreasonable. I never shall understand the reason for it.”
“Poor Geraldine! It is difficult for you, but let me pass on a sentence a very nice woman gave me long ago. I have never forgotten it: ‘Nothing is a puzzle, nothing is a mystery, if you have enough love and trust.’”
“Love and trust in whom?”
“In the One Who holds our lives in His keeping. Ted is not going to be silent for ever. I never felt so certain as I do now that he has stepped into the Kingdom of Heaven. Just before he went on that trip I had such a nice talk with him.”
“Oh, I know, I know! He used to tell me that he believed in what you believed, because of your life. And you aren’t a long-faced mute, I will say that for you. You comfort me when you talk so, but I’m a worldling. Don’t let us talk of our sorrow, let us return to Major Cunliffe. Don’t you like him? Oh, I wish you would, for your own sake! He is an old friend of Ted’s, and has such a lovely old house in Yorkshire! We stayed there once when his mother was alive.”
“He’s a nice man,” said Rowena slowly; “but I don’t think he will ever be anything more than that to me.”
“Don’t you ever mean to marry?”
Rowena laughed.
“Nobody axed me, sir,” she said.
“Now that’s a fib. You had three out in India who were your devoted admirers.”
“I feel like a kitchen-maid when you talk so,” said Rowena.
She was sitting over the fire with her sister-in-law in a small house in a Surrey village. They had not long returned from India. Colonel Arbuthnot had been carried off by an epidemic of cholera about five months after Rowena had joined them out there. As soon as she was able, his widow returned to England, and Rowena accompanied her. An old friend of Colonel Arbuthnot’s, Sir Henry Hazelwood, had offered her a pretty cottage in the village of which he was squire; for young Mrs. Arbuthnot had found it necessary to economize as much as possible. Her husband before his death was finding himself in difficulties, and had arranged to give up his Scotch lodge, much to his sister’s regret. They had now just settled in the cottage, and the young widow was striving to take up life again for the sake of her little ones.
Rowena, of course, was the mainstay in the house. Her cheery personality kept them all going, and she was ready to turn her hand to anything, from painting a gate to repairing a lock; she had just started poultry, and they were thinking of having a little rough pony and trap, for the market town was a good three miles away.
It was a cold afternoon in March. Outside it was cheerless and grey. Inside, though simplicity reigned throughout the cottage, the little drawing-room was a picture of cheery comfort. Mrs. Arbuthnot was seated on a comfortable Chesterfield couch by the fire, her sewing in her hand.
Rowena was in a lounge chair opposite her, knitting away at a boy’s sock.
“I suppose I must feel snubbed,” said Mrs. Arbuthnot with rather a sad little smile. “I will drop the subject. And I am sure, as I said before, it would be my own loss if you left me. Aren’t you afraid we shall find this place most painfully dull?”
“No,” said Rowena brightly; “why should we? It’s a lovely part of the world. Think of the woods and meadows for your pale-faced children. How many picnics we shall have this summer! And Sir Henry and his wife are always wanting us to join their social gatherings. Of course, you don’t feel inclined to do so yet, but you will by and by. Ted would not like you to shut yourself up. And I think we’re very lucky in our parson. I like him extremely. I have a great admiration for his eldest daughter, mothering the parish as she does, in addition to mothering her small brothers.”
“Oh, Mr. Waring is all right enough! He’s a gentleman and a scholar, and you and he have a good deal in common. I suppose India spoils one, and nothing will ever be the same to me without Ted—I hate a house without a man! It is like a cart without the horse, a train without an engine.”
“Well, now turn your attention upon Major Cunliffe. I see him walking up the path.”
A moment after, a tall handsome man was shaking hands with them both. But it was easy to see which of the women was the object of his visit.
Rowena leant back in her chair with easy friendliness. Not a blush on her cheek, or quiver of her eyelash, told that she was in the least impressed by his personality.
“We heard you were coming to the Hall,” she said, looking at him with the usual twinkle in her eyes; “but we did not expect to see you quite so soon. You only arrived yesterday evening, did you not? Sir Henry called here just before he drove to the station to meet you.”
“My inclination was to come round immediately after breakfast,” Major Cunliffe replied promptly; “but Lady Hazelwood insisted upon inspecting her pet rock-garden, and she kept me there the greater part of the morning. I do not like people with hobbies. They ride them so hard.”
“I think if a woman has no children it’s a good thing to have a hobby,” said Mrs. Arbuthnot, “especially in the country. The Hazelwoods are hardly ever in town. He’s a born farmer. Don’t you remember how he used to yarn in India about his shorthorns and pigs?”
“By Jove, yes. And we called him ‘Mangels’ in the mess. What a ripping little house you have here. How are the youngsters?”
“You remind me of my duties,” said Mrs. Arbuthnot. “I promised to go up to them to-day when nursery tea was on. I shan’t be long.”
She slipped quietly out of the room.
Instinctively Major Cunliffe drew his chair a little nearer Rowena.
She looked up at him with her frank smile.
“Geraldine’s hobby is her children, and they have comforted her a lot.”
“Poor Mrs. Arbuthnot, she must be feeling rotten. But she’s awfully sensible—she knew I wanted to see you alone, so she’s bolted. Now, please don’t put on that careless bored expression. I mean to have it out with you, and now is my chance. You kept me from speaking on board ship—circumstances always seemed to favour you. I shan’t forget that ass of a Captain in a hurry, but you must listen now. I beseech you to be kind. You know I just adore you, and can’t live without you.”
“I don’t know anything of the sort,” Rowena replied very calmly and sweetly. “I know you were a most kind friend to us on board, and I always had a liking for you, because you were so fond of—my poor brother.” Her voice faltered. He broke in quickly:
“Yes—I felt you had a liking for me—one can tell it—and now I want something more. Don’t say you can’t give it to me.”
She looked at him gravely, and shook her head.
“I’m afraid it is no use, Major Cunliffe. I hate to give pain. You can never say I have encouraged you. I honestly think I shall never marry.”
“It will be a sinful shame if you don’t,” said the Major hotly; “and I’m positive you and I would pull together A 1. Do just think of it—I’ll wait a bit longer if you like. Why on earth should you be so detached? I suppose I’m not up to your level.”
“Oh, please, please don’t make me out such a brute.”
There was real feeling in Rowena’s voice. She went on a little unsteadily:
“I tried to make you see on board that I could never be anything but a friend. I was afraid of this. You would make anyone a good husband, Major Cunliffe; you are so unselfish, so tender as far as women and children are concerned. But I will be frank with you. My heart is not mine to give away. We women are foolish creatures; and I am the most foolish of my sex—I can say no more.”
“You love some one else.”
He murmured the words, but blank dismay was in his eyes—Rowena was absolutely, silent, then she put out her hand.
“Shake hands, and bear me no ill will. I shall live and die a single woman. Of that I feel sure, but life is full of interest to single women, and we do value friendship. May I think that I can still have yours, even if our paths in life lie apart. I wish I could give you the answer you want, but I cannot.”
Major Cunliffe looked at her in a dazed sort of way. Then he wheeled round towards the window, and stood looking out with his back to her trying to bear his disappointment courageously.
Rowena sat with clasped hands and dejected mien. She was very tender-hearted, and could not bear to give pain. In a few minutes he turned to her.
“Well—you seem sure of your own mind. I will say no more. It’s no good prolonging our interview. Say good-bye to Mrs. Arbuthnot. I feel I can’t face her—and if ever you do happen to think differently, I hope you’ll let me know.”
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