My Heart's in the Highlands
Copyright© 2024 by Amy Le Feuvre
Chapter 8: An Altered Outlook
“In any repentance I have joy—such joy
That I could almost sin to seek for it.”
Clough.
“WELL, I’ve come over at last! I heard that Mrs. Burke was receiving visitors.”
It was Vi Dunstan who spoke, and Rowena replied: “She has only seen the rector as yet, but I’m sure she will be glad to see you.”
“What an awful thing it is! Di and I have been quite upset over her; but we hate sickness in any shape or form, and always keep away from it. We hear the poor thing will never be the same again. Is it true?”
“That is quite true. But you will find her very cheery. Come along. It does her good to see visitors. She will know then that you haven’t quite forgotten her!”
“We think it’s partly our fault for not keeping her for the night that awful day. It was such a ghastly accident.”
Rowena led the way upstairs. It was March now, but Mrs. Burke had not yet left her rooms. A room adjoining her bedroom had been furnished as a sitting-room, and she was carried in there every morning, where she lay on her couch, as she was still unable to walk.
Vi greeted her affectionately, and Rowena left them alone. Mrs. Burke had often wondered that neither of the girls had been over to see her.
“You look better than I expected,” Vi said, after she had expressed her sympathy. “I don’t believe anything would ever upset your serenity. You look jollier than ever. You must hurry up and get well. Di and I were saying that this part stagnates unless you are down here to stir us up and keep us going!”
“I shan’t be able to do that any more,” said Mrs. Burke gravely.
“Never say die! Rheumatism is a thing that comes and goes, doesn’t it?”
“It won’t leave me, I am afraid. I wonder how much you care about me, Vi? I don’t expect you’ll understand, but an accident like mine makes one think. I’ve stared death in the face, and it has altered my life. I see now that this world isn’t enough. I want another.”
Vi gave an embarrassed laugh.
“I can’t fancy your taking to Pi jaw! How you’ve always mocked at such things!”
“And now I’m going to love them and uphold them,” said Mrs. Burke with emphasis. “If you give me a wide berth because of it, I shall understand, but I hope you won’t. I shan’t preach to you; I shall only try to live out my religion. The fact is, Vi, I used to believe in these things once, and then I gave it all up, and it made me extra bitter and reckless against the people who believed in it still. Of course, you’ll say I’ve taken to religion, because I’ve had to give up all my gaieties. It does seem mean, on the face of it. But I only know that I am twice as happy as I ever was before.”
“You look A 1,” said Vi.
She seemed slightly uncomfortable at this talk.
“Of course, I know who’s talked you over,” she said, after a minute’s silence. “It’s Miss Arbuthnot; she nearly talked me into it once. At least, she didn’t talk much, but she suddenly hit the nail on the head fair and square, and left me to think it out. Well, I’m glad you’ve something to cheer you! We’re a pretty dismal house at present. Have you heard the news? Bob is going to be married.”
“Oh, my dear, I’m sorry for you!”
“Isn’t it rotten? And it’s to that Dolly Duccombe of the Gaiety. She’s an awful little bounder. Di and I are pretty sick! Out of the house we have to go before next June. I mean to take on old Colonel Sheringham. He’s proposed to me five or six times, so I shall still be in the neighbourhood. What Di means to do I don’t know.”
“Are you really going to marry Tom Sheringham? My congratulations. He’s a nice man. I always liked him; but what will the General do?”
“He’ll have to go; so that will be another turn out. The house is the Colonel’s, not his. It’s pretty dreary for us all; and now the hunting is stopping! We’re always like bears with sore heads when that’s off. When is Miss Arbuthnot going to be married?”
“Oh, don’t ask! It’s awfully good of her staying on with me. But I know that I shall have to lose her soon.”
Vi chatted away for a good half-hour. When she left, she said:
“I’ll tell Di to come and see you. And she might be the better for a preach on her iniquities. She’s knee-deep in debt, and doesn’t know how to pay her bills. Ta, ta!”
Mrs. Burke was relieved when the visit was over. She had rather been dreading it, but her warm heart still went out to the two girls, especially now when they were experiencing, for the first time in their lives, what it was to lose their home.
They were the only ones of her old friends who still stuck to her. The rector and his daughter Maude came round very often. The days were long and monotonous to Mrs. Burke. She had never worked, and got tired of reading. Sometimes Rowena found it hard work to keep her cheerful.
Easter was coming round, and then Mrs. Burke called Rowena to her one morning.
“I mean to have an Easter party. I am well enough to enjoy young people. Will you write to my sister and tell her to bring her grandchildren here? And then, after they are settled in, wouldn’t you like to go to your people?”
“I should, very much,” said Rowena frankly; “but I can wait.”
“And is your Scotch General content to wait? How he must hate me! I’m a selfish woman, Rowena, and the habits of a lifetime can’t easily be discarded. I am selfish still. It will be a black day for me when you leave me.”
Rowena wrote to Mrs. Panton; she was still in the North, but had been in constant correspondence with her sister; and she gratefully accepted the invitation to stay at Minley Court.
The little party arrived at the close of a bright spring day. Mrs. Burke received them upstairs in her room. There were tears in her sister’s eyes as she embraced her. And Mrs. Burke remarked in her cheery way:
“There’s nothing left of me to be afraid of. I’m just an old rheumatic cripple, and there will be nothing in my house now to shock or distress you. Now introduce me to my great-nephew and nieces.”
George Holt was a handsome boy, slight in make but very upright. The elder girl Bertha was fair, with a sweet, sunny face. The young one, Milly, was a bright little tomboy. Her short curly hair and piquant mischievous face attracted Mrs. Burke at once.
Before very long the young people were chatting to her as if they had known her all her life, and she was, in her genial happy way, promising them all kinds of joys through the holidays—ponies to ride, expeditions to the sea, and boating on the river. Their delight in their new surroundings amused and pleased her.
“We never knew you had such a lovely house,” said Milly. “Why it seems like a palace to us! You should just see our lodgings that we have left. Granny was miserable in them—they were so dirty.”
“You must all make yourselves at home,” Mrs. Burke told them. “Don’t ask what you may do, but just do it, if you want to.”
It brought much enjoyment to her hearing the young voices about the house. Rowena found her gazing out of the window one day following, with real enjoyment, the antics of George and Milly as they chased each other over and round the flower-beds, a couple of dogs yelling at their heels.
“It keeps me young to have them here, Rowena,” she said rather pathetically. “Couldn’t I keep them altogether? Must they go away to school?”
“George ought to, of course,” said Rowena. “I don’t know what your plans are. But you might have a resident governess for the girls and keep them with you, if you would like them.”
Mrs. Burke laughed.
“That ridiculous child Bertha tells me she has finished her education. Finished at sixteen! And her French is too awful for words. And her general knowledge hopelessly deficient. But her music is delightful. She has inherited that from her grandmother. Would a governess drive me wild, I wonder?”
“Have over a daily governess from Crossington,” suggested Rowena. “It’s a big town, and must contain some teachers. She could come in by train, and you would get rid of her between four and five in the afternoon.”
“That would be a good idea. I feel inclined to deluge these children with luxuries—they have had to go without so much. And my sister Helen too—she’s a mere shadow. I believe the whole batch of them have been at starvation point these last two or three difficult winters. I want to make it up to them now.”
“Happy woman!” murmured Rowena, half under her breath, but Mrs. Burke caught the words.
“Well, I am happy,” she said; “a good deal happier than I have ever been before. But why do you make that ejaculation at this present moment?”
“Because you have the means and power to give such happiness to others,” replied Rowena quickly. “Only don’t err on the side of spoiling them. Their grandmother told me she was afraid of it.”
“Oh, Helen is a born Spartan; thinks it wrong to have anything comfortable, rejoices in cold baths and open windows all through the winter. But she and I understand one another. I shall make her have a home with me. She has really no money to start one herself.”
For a moment Rowena wondered whether the gentle Mrs. Panton would be happy in her sister’s house, but later on she had a talk with her. Everybody confided in Rowena, and she found that the sorrowing widow had no desire to start another home.
“It would be no home to me now that he has gone. I am only waiting till I can join him; and if I can be of any use to poor Caroline, I will gladly stay with her. It is very generous of her to offer us all a home. Do you think my noisy young people will be too much for her?”
“I think they will be the greatest comfort and cheer to her. She has always loved the young; and I should let her have her way with them. She won’t do them any harm by giving them as much pleasure as she can. You know I must leave her before long. If I can feel you are settled in here, I shall go much more happily.”
“She won’t let me help her by writing her letters, and you do that for her. Who will do it when you go?”
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