Chapter 7: An Accident

“We cannot well forget the hand that holds
And pierces us and will not let us go,
However much we strive from under it.
The heavy pressure of a constant pain...
Is it not God’s own very finger-tips
Laid on thee in a tender steadfastness?”
Hamilton King.

“MY dear Mrs. Burke, you are never going out this afternoon?”

Rowena looked up from a newspaper which she was reading. She was toasting her feet over a roaring wood fire in Mrs. Burke’s pleasant morning-room at Minley Court. It was three o’clock in the afternoon. Outside the house, a storm of wind and rain was raging. For three days the weather had been so bad that they had been confined to the house. The rain was not quite so violent now, but after luncheon Mrs. Burke had told Rowena she was going to lie down in her room, with a novel, till tea-time.

“There is nothing else to do,” she had mournfully complained.

Now she burst open the door attired in an old tweed hat and in her fur coat.

“Yes; I’m going out,” she said. “I couldn’t stand my book, and I couldn’t sleep; so I thought I’d go over to Vi and Di. I haven’t seen them yet; and I’ve ordered out the car. And I may go on and look up the Sheringhams. I want the Colonel for my theatricals, on Boxing night.”

“I don’t expect Vale likes the prospect of driving in this storm,” said Rowena, looking at her friend with some dismay in her eyes. “Are you wise in going? You have a slight cold.”

“I shall be under cover, so will Vale.”

“It will soon be dark, remember.”

“What of that? We have lamps.”

“I wish I was better at amusing you,” said Rowena, with a twinkle of humour. “You are the sort that would appreciate a house fool, like the royalties used to have. He would keep you in the house an afternoon like this, by sitting at your feet and by amusing you with stories and songs and clever wit. I am too dull for you, and that’s the fact. If I had only known you were bored with your book, I would have rummaged through Mudie’s box and brought you another.”

“Oh, you’re all right,” said Mrs. Burke, patting her shoulder affectionately. “When I come in, I want to look through my gowns for a suitable one for me in the character of Lady Teazle. Your taste is so good that you will help me in that. Don’t wait tea for me. I may be late.”

Rowena came to the front door to see her off. The wind made a determined onslaught upon them directly the door was opened. The butler helped Mrs. Burke down the steps, holding an umbrella over her to keep off the driving rain. She waved her hand airily to Rowena when she was in the car, and Rowena went back to her comfortable seat by the fire. Her idle time was over; she had an hour’s work before her, finishing Mrs. Burke’s correspondence for the day. But she was writing letters now of great interest to her. One was to Mrs. Panton, Mrs. Burke’s sister, to enclose a Christmas cheque, and to ask her to let her grandchildren come to Minley Court for part of their holidays. Also to suggest to her to come down to the South of England, where schools were cheap, and where she could sometimes be seen by her sister. They were selling their furniture at the Vicarage, and Marion was going to Scotland the last week in January.

When Rowena had finished her work for Mrs. Burke, she began writing letters for herself.

She had seen her sister-in-law before leaving town, and she was, of course, delighted with her engagement. Now she wrote to her telling her she hoped to come to her for a week after the New Year to talk over her coming marriage; and lastly she wrote her letter to General Macdonald. They kept up a brisk correspondence with each other, and his letters revealed more of his real self than did any of his conversation. He possessed the Scotch reserve, in talking, which disappeared in his letters.

Rowena wrote to him with gladness in her eyes and smile.

“MY DEAREST, —”

“Your letter is before me. It arrived in a howling, blustering storm, when outside all was cheerless and grey; and it warmed my heart, as your letters always do, and made me feel as if the sun was shining out upon a gloriously happy world. Dear Hugh! May I prove worthy of such love as yours. Only don’t, I beseech you, place me on a high pedestal. I assuredly shall have a tumble if you do; and I want to keep my feet, for Mysie’s sake as well as your own. As you are greedy for all details in my daily life I will proceed to describe my day—”

She had only got this far when Dodge, the butler, appeared, ostensibly to close up for the night, as it was getting dark, and to bring in tea; but he moved about so uneasily that at last Rowena looked up.

“The storm seems getting worse again,” she remarked.

“It does, ma’am; and I wish the mistress were back. The postman says the bridge across Minley Weir is getting shaky. He thinks it unsafe. The river is terribly high.”

“They’ll have to go round by Tanbury if they can’t pass it,” said Rowena.

He said no more; but when her tea was brought in, and she heard the howling wind and the torrents of rain which were falling, she grew anxious. It was a pitch-dark night. Supposing that Vale, the chauffeur, was not told about the unsafe condition of the bridge? She knew he was a fast driver, and Mrs. Burke had more than once remarked that he was not cautious enough. If they dashed over the bridge and it gave way, there would be an awful accident, and the weir was only ten minutes’ walk from there.